#looked it up this has happened to like 7 of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fear-is-truth · 2 days ago

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i don't know if you've already done this (if you have, i haven't seen it), but, how would the evans do with a girlfriend with a high sex drive? how many times a week, how many rounds, etc. i don't know if some of them could keep up-

-🫐

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans x nympho!gf .ᐟ | nsfw. mdni

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march‧ kai anderson

i love this idea sm anon, kissing ur brain rn mwah

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate wouldn’t exactly be keeping a tally, but he’d totally match your libido. it’s like he’d been waiting his whole (after)life for someone like you, so he’s not complaining. three times a day? no problem. repeat the same routine every day of the week? sign him up. he’s got nothing but time.

he’d thrive on the attention. tate’s got a lot of insecurities, and having someone who genuinely wants him that much? it’s a massive confidence boost, even if he doesn’t admit it. he’d also loves that it’s your idea most of the time—takes the pressure off him and makes him feel wanted.

verdict: several times a day, so it’s honestly hard to account for.

rounds/stamina: probably 2 rounds per session when he was alive, very clingy afterwards. as a ghost he can’t physically burn out, and he’s just as clingy so you’re in luck.

notes: tate wouldn’t just indulge your high libido—he’d love it and go along it.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

kit walker is 100% a giver—like, he’s all about making you happy. if you’re a nympho, he’d try his best to keep up. (plus he’s a horny mf too..)

sure, he might get tired after a long day at work, but if you look at him a certain way or tug him towards the bedroom, he’s done for. he might jokingly tease, “darlin’, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” but he’d always be down to fuck, no questions asked.

he’s so husband about it. he wouldn’t just go along with your needs—he’d cater to it. need him to be sweet and slow? check. want things a little more kinky? he’s on board. he’s the type of man to always check in with a soft, “this okay for you, baby?” and genuinely mean it.

he’s probably in awe of your energy. he might be embarrassed the first time he realises how…enthusiastic you are, but once he gets used to it, he’s all in. he’d see it as a sign of how much you love and trust him, which melts his heart every time.

if an “oops” happens, he’d take full responsibility and raise the baby with you lol.

while he’d try to keep up with you, there might be nights when he’s genuinely exhausted from work or parenting duties. in those cases, he’d pull you into his arms and offer a compromise: “how ‘bout i cuddle you tonight, and tomorrow, i’m all yours?” he’d always want to make you feel loved, even if he’s too tired to fully match your energy.

overall, kit would be so sweet and attentive, completely willing to cater to your needs while cherishing how much love and (spiritual + physical) connection you bring into his life.

verdict: he’d love to indulge you as often as you want, but realistically, it would average 6-7 times a week. kit is a family man who wants to make you happy, but he also has a job to manage.

rounds/stamina: 2–3 rounds per session. kit is physically fit and has great stamina but wouldn’t push himself to exhaustion. his priority is making sure you’re satisfied first and foremost.

notes: kit is all about making you feel loved and satisfied, but he’s also very attuned to your comfort. you guys might unintentionally add a new member to your family if you’re not careful—just saying lol (just hope you don’t get snatched by aliens)

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle spencer is the definition the golden retriever boyfriend—sweet, attentive, and always eager to make sure you’re happy (in every sense of the word).

as a frat boy who’s physically active (probably from intramural sports, he’s not a gym bro but still works out), kyle’s got the energy and endurance to keep up with you. if you’re in the mood, he’s down. and he’s definitely very thorough about making sure you’re satisfied—he lives for the gold-star boyfriend role.

there are definitely times when he’s more focused on studying or finishing up a project for class. during those moments, he’ll be sweet about letting you know: “babe, i have to hand in this paper tonight. rain check?”

he’s the kind of guy who’ll compromise, though. he might take a quick break from studying to give you some attention (a quickie or blowjob, depending on time), then dive back into his books after.

post-study reward ! if he’s been putting you off all day, he’ll make it up to you later with extra enthusiasm. kyle’s not the type to do things halfway, so when he does finally focus on you, it’s all about you.

verdict: 4–5 times a week. kyle is sweet and eager to please, so he’d do his best to keep up, even if it means sacrificing some of his study time.

rounds/stamina: 3–5 rounds per session.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

jimmy has a naturally high sex drive and would match your energy without much hesitation. growing up in the freak show, he’s not exactly a stranger to their… unconventional lifestyles, so he’d embrace your enthusiasm wholeheartedly. “you wanna go again, doll? yeah, i can do that.”

despite his willingness, jimmy would draw a hard line when it comes to anyone else at the freak show getting involved, especially knowing how open and uninhibited the other performers can be about their sexual escapades. while he doesn’t judge them for their choices (cuz he low-key used to be like that), he makes it crystal clear that you’re his and only his.

as for elsa mars, jimmy knows how manipulative she can be and how far she’s willing to go for her ambitions. he’d be paranoid about her trying to use you in one of her schemes, especially after what happened with penny. he’d warn you about her, telling you to steer clear of any “favors” or “opportunities” she might offer.

he’d prioritize your needs above his own, even if it left him worn out. he’d take your super high sex drive as a challenge, always wanting to prove himself capable of keeping up with you. and he’d probably brag about it just a little.

verdict: 8–10 times a week. easy, no problem.

rounds/stamina: could keep up for least 2-3 rounds in a single session, especially when he’s well-rested. however, if he’s had a long day or is emotionally drained, one round might be all he has in him.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

james patrick march is the definition of indulgence and excess, but he’s also a man of particular tastes and high standards—so an energetic, nympho of a partner would definitely be met with mixed feelings.

he’s indulgent, but not always approving: james would absolutely adore the attention and relish in how much you crave him—it would feed into his ego and his possessive streak.

however, he’s also a man of control, and your frequent advances might make him pause. “my darling, while i am most flattered by your… boundless enthusiasm, even i must draw the line somewhere.” (sometimes a man just wants to murder his hotel guests. let the man indulge in his hobby)

he’d appreciate your eagerness, but he’d always make it clear that he sets the terms. if he’s in the mood, he’ll more than rise to the occasion and keep you thoroughly occupied.

oh, when he decides it’s time, he’ll absolutely make you regret pestering him earlier. james is nothing if not thorough, and he’d turn your enthusiasm into a marathon session (picture that scene with the countess… yeah). “now, my darling, this is what happens when you beg a man of my caliber for attention.”

verdict: depends. i’d say at least 10 times a week if he’s really obsessed with you.

rounds/stamina: unlimited, technically. he’s a ghost and doesn’t have the physical limitations of the living. however, he might limit himself for your sake.

notes: james would enjoy your enthusiasm and entertain your requests pretty often. however, he’d insist on keeping things “in moderation” and not letting it interfere with his other pursuits (murder)

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀��𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

okay, let’s be real—kai absolutely has the stamina to keep up with a nympho gf. dude’s wired on adderall and his own ego, so when he’s into it, he’s really into it. could probably go all night if he’s in the mood.

here’s the thing: kai’s got a lot on his plate—councilman duties, plotting world domination, a cult to run. so if you really pushed him, interrupted his plans one too many times, or just kept teasing him when he was trying to focus? he’d make you pay for it later—like, to the point where you can’t walk straight for days.

smug as hell about it too, tossing out things like, “maybe next time you’ll think twice before being such a needy little bitch, huh?”

but if he’s in a petty mood—or just wants to watch you suffer—he’d force you to hump his thigh while he’s not lifting a finger to help. or even outright forbid you to even touch yourself…and the bastard would enjoy every second of it.

but he’s not completely heartless, not when it benefits him. when he’s too busy to fully cater to you, he’ll let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him while he’s working at his desk. it’s his way of keeping you close while staying focused on his agenda.

if kai has a rare moment of downtime, you’re all he’s thinking about. he’d probably find your enthusiasm flattering (in an “of course you can’t resist me” kind of way) and give in with a casual, “alright, i’ll let you tire yourself out on my dick.”

verdict: 3–5 times a week. sometimes more. he’d only indulge your high sex drive when he has time and isn’t busy scheming or running his cult.

rounds/stamina: 3–4 rounds on average, but on rare occasions, he might go 5–6 rounds in one night just to prove a point.

notes: he’d alternate between indulging you until you’re begging for mercy and withholding just to torture you. a shitty boyfriend but the sex is bomb.

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thecranberriesslut · 3 days ago

Text

Californication

Summary: You and your best friends dad commit sin on family vacay.

Pairing: no-outbreak! Joel Miller x Fem!Reader ’Cara’

Wc: about 3k

Warnings: The age gap is girthyyyy (Joel is 40-something, reader is 18), dirty themes, smut, read at your own risk, inappropriate jokes.

Notes: It’s my first fanfic posted on this account so please be nice, also english is not my first language so sorry for any typos, also you decided to read this so don’t complain about the age cap, it’s legal guys…

Californication Pt. 2

The sky is bleeding shades of gold and orange over the navy blue early morning shade, only a couple of stars still visible from the night before. You shift in your bed uncomfortably, not having been able to sleep almost the entire night, mostly due to pure excitement. Luckily, your alarm sounds, and you get up to turn it off. 7:01, you manage to make out as your eyes adjust to the morning hue. You gather your honey-blonde hair and tie it up, so it's out of your face. As you retrieve your phone from charging on your bedside table, you see 4 new messages from Sarah, your best friend since grade school, right when you moved to the suburbs from New York.

You love Sarah, you have from the very first moment you met her. When you had just moved to a new house, and you felt all blue until you saw a beautiful blonde girl about your age in the yard next to yours-- wearing denim overalls with flowers on them, reading a book and eating a strawberry popsicle. She saw you looking through the window, and yelled to ask you whether you wanted a popsicle too. Sarah was an angel-- unfortunately, you were the fucking devil, especially when it came to Sarah's father.

Joel Miller-- You had begun to notice his appeal in the seventh grade, right around the time you started feeling things while watching that one scene in titanic. When you happened to scrape your knee outside Sarah's house and Joel had to patch you up. He lifted you onto their bathroom counter and placed a hello kitty band-aid on your knee, while looking up at you with his dark brown, captivating eyes and giving your knee a kiss. He told you that you were such a good girl for being so brave. You, being a horny 13-year-old, thought about that for months. He was your sexual awakening.

And now you're 18, still not able to look at him without your face growing hot, and your knees nearly giving out, going on spring vacation to Palm springs with your parents, Sarah, and Joel.

“Cara, are you up? We're leaving in two hours, with or without you!”

You hear your mom's perky voice yell from downstairs, she can be quite dramatic. But you wouldn't change her for anything.

“Yeah, mom!”

You quickly gather yourself and make a mental note to not think absolutely anything dirty about Joel 'sex god' Miller while on vacation. You answer Sarah's anxiously worded texts about what to pack for the vacation, and whether she can wear a bikini or will your mom think it's too whorish. The thing you love about Sarah is how much she thinks about stuff, she knows your mom loves her, and still, she's worried. You tell Sarah not to worry, and that you'd already packed, because you can think ahead too. You move onto picking an outfit for the trip.

It has to be something cute, but not too cute so my parents don't get suspicious-- but Joel has to like it.

You think to yourself, and then go on to curse yourself for thinking about Joel, and what he might like. You need to get yourself together. He's like 40, not to mention your best friend's father. You settle on some classic Levi's 501 shorts and a white Brandy Melville long sleeve, because the morning dew can cause a chilliness in the air. You decide on no makeup, and to wear your hair down, unstyled. You hurriedly grab the last of your things, phone charger, bikini-- a book.

Furthermore, you grab a Red Bull from the fridge quickly before you make it down to the driveway. Sarah's already sitting in the backseat of your moms gray sedan, and Joel's loading up their stuff. You feel weak as you see Joel, he's wearing a black t shirt that shows off his sweat glazed biceps and that damn cross necklace hanging around his neck. God-- there's something in you melting right now, and it is not from the heat outside.

“Hey darlin', need any help with that?”

Joel asks, in his low voice, smooth like whiskey, topped with the most charming southern drawl imaginable.

“Uhm, yeah! Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

You smile at him as you hand over your suitcase, trying to paint your face with an attractive smile, it is probably coming off as shy and adolescent if anything. Joel smiles back, the kind of smile that could stop traffic, and he pats you on your lower back, his hand lingering there for a second too long to be considered innocent. Even after he lets go, the heat of his big hand lingers there.

“It's no problem, a pretty lil' girl like you shouldn't be doin' heavy lifting, go on sit down, Sarah's in the car already.”

You go in the car, ready to blame the heat for your fiery crimson cheeks if it comes up. You hug Sarah excitedly and your parents carry the rest of the stuff to the car. You almost choke on your Red Bull as you see Joel opening the back door and motioning you to sit in the middle so he can fit in the back. Reluctantly, you move to the middle seat, as close to Sarah as possible, so you don't accidentally brush up against her smoke show of a father and go even more red than you knew to be humanly possible.

---------

After a long 5-hour drive of sitting next to Joel as still as you could, avoiding sliding closer to him during bumps in the road, and trying not to look at the slight bulge in his shorts. You were exhausted. You were so aroused and embarrassed, you feared that in the span of 5 hours Joel had noticed your horniness, had thought it was super gross, and had somehow telepathically told your parents about it. You were pulled out of your thoughts as the car came to a stop in front of a gorgeous white beach villa and Joel patted your thigh.

“Finally here, bet you're dyin' to stretch those legs, huh?”

He fucking knew. And now you needed to find the nearest hole in the ground and bury yourself in it. You just let out an awkward laugh as he got out of the car, and tried to console yourself.

He doesn't know anything, you are being paranoid.

You and Sarah managed to get out of the car, and you almost dropped your phone when you saw it.

“There's a huge fucking pool!”

You yelled in utter shock and excitement.

“Watch your mouth, young lady!”

Your dad yelled from behind the car. You and Sarah just laughed as you ran inside the villa, the tile floor freezing in contrast to the scorching hot air, you ran to the biggest bedroom and claimed it for you and Sarah. There was a huge king-sized bed laying in the middle of the room with expensive looking white sheets, and pillow mints set on the pillows.

“I could get used to this.”

You exclaimed, joking with a certain sense of indifference, as you unwrapped the pillow-mint. Sarah only laughed and said something about her dad, before he appeared in the doorway with our bags.

“Speak of the devil.”

Sarah said.

“You were talkin' 'bout me?”

Joel asked, a smug smile on his face, as he set our bags down with ease. The veins in his forearms prominent as his muscles bulged. He was strong, like-- incredibly strong, those bags weighed a lot, and he lifted them with not as much as a grunt. His rich dark brown hair fell over his eyes and he pulled it back with his hands, revealing some gray salt and pepper hairs underneath.

“Yeah, Cara was saying how embarrassing you were in the car.”

Sarah said nonchalantly, rolling her eyes and smiling at you. You were horrified. First of all, you were already terrified of Joel and now the fact that he probably thought you disliked him.

“I didn't say that! I-”

You defended yourself frantically, until Joel interrupted you.

“Sure you didn't, you lil' troublemaker. Your dad 'oughta teach you a lesson about respectin' adults.”

He joked. You couldn't say anything back, just stare at him as he turned to leave the room.

“Gosh, my dad's embarrassing.”

Sarah complained.

“No he's fine.”

You said quietly. Joel's jokes sounded like normal jokes to everyone else, but if you were a horny 18-year-old avid dirty book reader, his jokes always had a dirty undertone to them. Like that one time he suggested he bend you over and spank you for stealing some of his beers with Sarah. His words always had an effect on you, and sometimes you felt like he was doing it on purpose. Although every time he joked, you tried to hide behind your shy, enigmatic personality and not reveal that you had just gotten hornier than ever.

You had all settled in by the time the sun was starting to set, your parents had gone out for a walk and Sarah wanted to go scout the surrounding area for shops and things to do. So you were alone at the villa-- with Joel. You hadn't dared to leave your room yet, but your stomach was begging you to go get food already, and you had no other choice. So you gathered your courage and went into the kitchen, Joel was nowhere to be seen. You opened up the fridge to see a tuna sandwich, and came to the conclusion that it was probably for the road trip, and you could eat it now. So you took a bite, and felt someone's eyes on you, you turned around to see Joel wearing only his swimming trunks, hair soaking wet, and his abs glistening, as he dried them with a white towel.

“So... now the naughty girl is stealin' sandwiches too, huh?”

He accused you playfully, while dragging the towel across his body lazily, as if trying to torture you.

“What? I- I didn't know this was yours-”

You were quick to defend yourself.

“Relax, Cara.”

He said, a sly smile painting his beautiful face. The way your name rolled off his tongue felt like a direct attack to the tough exterior you were trying to keep up around him, and it went straight to your core.

“I'm jus' jokin' with you, you're always so tense around me, why is that?”

He asked, his voice remaining velvety smooth.

“Uhm... no, I'm not.”

You tried to sound convincing, you didn't. The way you fidgeted with your shirt hem and always slightly lowered your head when you spoke to him, suggested that you were genuinely afraid of him. But you weren't, just head over heels in lust. Wrongful lust.

“You jus' seem nervous is all... is everything all right?”

He asked as he walked slowly closer, like a predatory cat, he was a tall man, well over 6 foot. As he got closer, he started to tower over you in an intimidating but undeniably attractive manner. His build was strong, he looked like a man who could throw you across the room and not break a sweat.

“I'm not nervous.”

You lied. He looked at you knowingly, like a teacher who had just caught you cheating and was about to embarrass you in front of the entire classroom. He brought his big rugged hand to your forehead and made a caressing motion, you were confused until he held his hand to the light and confronted you.

“You're sweatin', and it ain't even that hot in here, you're also red as a beet.”

He smiled, having caught you in a lie. You were about to say something, but he stopped you.

“You know, lyin's not nice-- only bad girls lie.”

“What are you, my father?”

You clapped back, soon to realize that was a mistake. Because he placed his hand on your chin gently, but in a way that was meant to intimidate you, and forced you to look straight in his dark, scary eyes.

“No, and you're damn lucky I ain't, cause I'd sure as hell punish you for lyin' to me, make you respect your daddy.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you could feel the familiar redness rising to your cheeks. He dropped your chin and laughed a hearty laugh.

"Listen, kiddo, I'm jus' messin' with ya.”

“Oh!”

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and tried to shake off your dirty thoughts.

He didn't say anything sexual, you are just a weird ass dirty minded virgin.

“And I'd work on hidin' your emotions better. Gettin' all worked up by your best friend's father callin' himself daddy-- you are one sick puppy.”

His crude words should have disgusted you, you should've felt gross or violated or something, but you didn't. All your feelings were overpowered by one. Complete intoxicating arousal, purely from his words. You didn't have a lot of time to gather yourself when you heard the door and saw Sarah walking inside with something in her hands.

“What do you have?”

You asked, curious. Sarah held the items up, and you could make out two bagels and two diet cokes. You smiled like you had just seen a million dollars.

“I love you so much!”

You screamed as you ran for the bagels.

“I thought you'd probably be starving, I found this cute ass little café down the road.”

You took the bagels and headed to your room. Feeling extremely guilty about what had happened with her dad just moments prior, how could he just say something so-- vigorous out of nowhere, and now you had to pretend it didn't happen. You placed the bagels on the bed and changed your denim shorts into your comfortable pink Hollister mini shorts, you took out your MacBook and scrolled endlessly, trying to find something for you both to watch.

“Can we watch The Kardashians?”

You asked Sarah, she just nodded a quick yeah and bit into her bagel. You watched the show until it was very late, the sun had set completely, and the only sound throughout the house was the quiet hum of an air conditioner. Sarah was half asleep, you had almost forgotten about the whole thing with his dad already.

It's fine, you were just reading too much into it, he didn't mean anything by it.

You were way too in your thoughts to go to sleep, so you decided that a little midnight swim could do you good. You changed into a tan Burberry bikini and retrieved a white towel from your closet, and made your way to the massive pool. The air felt warm, the night had brought a cold breeze, but the heat of the day still lingered in the air, almost like a memory. The water was warm, it was sitting there day after day in the heat, so it had gathered some of it. You could easily just go all the way in, it felt heavenly-- After having swam a couple of laps you lifted your head out of the pool. You almost drowned when you saw Joel, crouched by the side of the pool, staring at you and smiling.

“Fuck! You scared me!”

You screamed at him. Coughing out some water you had accidentally swallowed when you saw him.

“Sorry... was jus' enjoyin' the view.”

He said, smugly. You decided that if he wanted to play games, you would play along. You splashed him with water so his sweatpants and white tee got soaking wet, and smiled at him-- challenging him.

“Whoa! Kitty's got claws... But you ain't a brave girl.”

“Why's that?”

You asked, swimming closer to him and holding onto the border of the pool, inches from him. The light of the moon reflected on you from the water. The air smelled like smoke, brittlebush, and chlorine.

I probably look fucking ethereal right now.

You thought to yourself, feeling confident, trying your best to give Joel 'fuck me' eyes, something you'd learned while reading one of your grotesque books.

“You know I can't come in that pool, you're hidin' out 'cause you know you shouldn't challenge me.”

If there was ever a time to be courageous, this was it. You lifted yourself out of the pool slowly, Joel observed you with a slight sparkle in his eye. You got out of the pool and slowly walked over to your towel to dry yourself off. Joel laughed a low, hearty laugh.

“I guess I was wrong.”

He said, holding his hands up in defeat.

“So, what are you doing up this late?”

You asked him, party curious, partly trying to relieve the tension.

“Oh, well darlin' if I told you I'd be considered a dirty, bad man. Let's jus' say I couldn't sleep.”

To be continued.

#Spotify #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #smut #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #girlblogging #aesthetic

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waltztothesea · 19 hours ago

Conversation

these are actually hella fucking cute y'all

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

6: do you keep plants?

7: do you name your plants?

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends?

12: what's your favorite planet?

13: what's something that made you smile today?

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

16: what's your favorite pasta dish?

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

20: what's your favorite eye color?

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

22: are you a morning person?

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into?

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor?

28: sunrise or sunset?

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

33: what's your fave pastry?

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now?

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

39: what color do you wear the most?

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you?

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving?

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

50: what's an odd thing you collect?

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point?

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

59: what's your favorite myth?

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received?

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with?

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

68: what's winter like where you live?

69: what are your favorite board games?

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

71: what's your favorite kind of tea?

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it?

73: what are some of your worst habits?

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

75: tell us about your pets!

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't?

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

82: are/were you good in school?

83: what's some of your favorite album art?

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

89: are you close to your parents?

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most?

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

#these are super cute #questions #feel free to ask

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quarterlifekitty · 2 days ago

Note

sorry to add more messages to your inbox but i got this idea at work today and i thought that you would see the vision (for reference i work at a hotel)

so you work at a hotel right and you’re tasked with calling all the guests who booked rooms for the 2nd week of february bc the hot tub will be down for scheduled maintenance. better to let them know ahead of time so they can cancel if need be than for guests to show up and the hot tub be down and you get screamed at for it (like YOU’RE the one who has the power to decide when the hot tub receives maintenance and not your manager, but i digress).

you go down the list of phone numbers and names (there’s a surprisingly large amount for the middle of february) and at some point you (unknowingly) dial the wrong number. it’s an easy mistake to make. one slip of your finger and you’re punching in an 8 when it should have been a 7. it’s an even easier mistake to miss, especially when the guest doesn’t pick up. you unknowingly leave a voicemail, not for your intended guest, but for one simon “ghost” riley.

and while ghost has no idea who this “carl” is or why you think that’s him, he can’t really complain about this turn of events. your voice is just so sweet and melodious. like a pretty little bird. lucky for him, you happened to leave your name, location, and a phone number to call you back at like the meticulous little employee you are. kinda dangerous to do so if you ask him though. you’re just out here giving any old bastard the means to snatch you right up. it’s like you’re begging for it really.

ghost’s already made up his mind. looks like he’ll be making a trip to your hotel on his next leave. and if he returns home with a pretty little bird as a souvenir, well, that’s no ones business but his.

LITERALLY I make calls like this at work 😫 don’t give me more fantasies to have on the clock!!!

But I work in a kids place so like adults aren’t allowed to visit by themselves so I’m imagining Ghost being like “Price. Is your son doing anything this weekend.” “you mean the one that’s 4 years old?” “Yeah, that one.”

And like. As if he needed any more excuses to wanna get a girl pregnant. There’s all these munchkins runnin around. You’re asking for it. Like what else is he supposed to think???

#almost writing #cod fanfic #cw kidnapping #cw obsessive #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader

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melankkholy · 2 days ago

Text

what size does love wear? (part 1)

✎ The lights, the podium, and the spotlight are all yours. As an upstart model, your life went by pleasantly with the girls, but maybe you were too dim to realize that you were living in an illusion. Could Leon, the one and only rockstar of the hearts, be the man you were waiting for in a milieu full of counterfeit people, or are you too much of a hopeless romantic?

cw: NO MINORS AND I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY IT, messy messy messy, drugz, fem! model reader, family drama aka daddy and mommy issues, very uncanny and might be disturbing for some people idek, vom!ting and possibly or (implied eating disorders), p in v, oral (fem! receiving) praises, reader is going thru some shii, MDNI, that's all i can come up with, but please let me know if i missed something very vital, and find the song lyrics:3

It all unfolds that night at a soirée to which you were invited in the most gingerbread-like language.

You don’t have a clue how fat cats hang out at such a lavish icebreaker. That these people took you in very recently, right after your meteoric rise to superstardom, and with a wham bang. You didn’t quite make it onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame with all those big golds and jet-set stars, sure, but your killer legs, waist, and pretty tits promised you a chance to eavesdrop a wee bit on Victoria’s secret. Well, who knows? Maybe one day, even without any formal studies in acting, you could star as an aspiring actor in some movie and kiss the handsome and beefcake famous guys. You could be the next lead in a new goofy movie like Fifty Shades of Grey. Hollywood is full of pretty model casts these days, anyway.

So many possibilities.

Mostly with your height, physique, and poise, which would make most men who can’t be more than 5 feet and 7 inches tall (barely) outclass them in every way (never mind the grandfatherly inheritance that your mother inherited from whomever-whatever-who-cares and your surname that unexpectedly gained a notoriety, even your daddy abruptly switched to your mother’s maiden name on paper), you’re the size perfection angel of the runways. Precious, precious you.

A happy family tableau with your mother, who doesn’t listen to your advice to break up with that man, who happens to be your father, and he has a mania for alcohol and the girls younger than him of late.

The only vestige of this particular and domestic picture is you here, dressed in the elegance of a collectible piece from a costly collection of so-and-so, to the party you were summoned to.

“It tastes like shit.”

Claire’s whining in front of you, idly brandishing a hurricane glass full of bubbly as pale pink and powdery as her rosy cheeks. Thankful for the leverage of your elbows on the bistro table between you, you lift your chin, planted in the inner cushions of your joined palms, and give her a passing glance. Then your starry eyes drift back to the human orgy you’ve been tracking since the moment you stepped in the venue.

A myriad of eminent names. How exciting to be able to see their imperfect skin up close under the veneer of make-up. Turns out there is a huge Photoshop business going on in this particular circus.

Still, it’s hard not to get caught up in the allure of their luster. Thinking about how you were unanticipatedly plunged into a world of gold and silver, of all the thesauri that connote the existence of riches, you should absolutely bask in it—if they’ll let you.

“You’ve had too much to drink.” Jill gives Claire a little mouth joke from beside her, which elicits a muttered snort from Claire.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Dunno. Maybe snort a line or two. Together.”

“You could’ve told me from the start, Valentine.” Claire rolls her eyes and surveys you with her big blue lenses.

“Hey, you.”

You look up at Claire, a giddy smile lacing your lips.

“Huh?”

“Get in the back room. Jill, you and I are getting the motherfucking sniff on some good coke.”

Coke. Oh, great.

The hot “sport” of your demographic. Once your wacky mom’s, too.

The poison you swore you’d never put your mouth (actually your nose) on, or the antidote to survival, as your father would call it.

A silly little girl’s dumbest and greatest fear.

But you’re too much of a sucker to risk losing a high-profile group of friends like Jill and Claire, the only two girls you respect in this game of whatever. Just reject them, and in a fraction of a second, you’ll be all alone, and people here would pulverize you raw.

So without saying a word, you tag along behind them on a whim, as if cocaine is your passion. Since your friends are here, you just came to kick it.

The proverbial back room turns out to be really far back.

The smell of weed is tangy and mixed with other substances you can’t name the second you walk in. The scent of perfume adds a different festivity. Leaves a seductive melody and holds promises to give you airborne wings.

This must be the precise definition of getting wasted.

A few familiar faces greet you, occasionally stopping your group of three to take a quick photo—a social media travesty, for a photo that implies that the girl who wrapped her arms around you in nylon hugs with her platinum blonde and padded lips, whom you haven’t even said a word to yet, is a hoot on your social media account. Is it worth it?

Hell, maybe.

Followers are everything, even for you.

Chris, ass up, nose to nose in the coarse dust strewn on the glass surface table of the Boeing 707, straightens up as three pairs of heels materialize in front of him, oozing through the see-through transparency of the glass table.

“You’d be a great big brother if you didn’t always finish the best one ahead of us.”

“I’m always a big and great brother.” Chris Redfield, big and virile, stretches up in front of your eyes and wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve like a credit card sliding horizontally and smoothly through a POS machine.

Just like a goddamned joke.

In flesh and blood, Chris Redfield, the lead guitarist—a member of the very band you’ve been a diehard fan of since you were a teenager and whose songs have lulled you into slumber—is in front of you. Yes, you really were sleeping with rock music playing in the background.

His pupils are vacant. Like his cranium.

“You all look like those three girls from that cartoon where a professor accidentally creates three special strong girls—ahhh—what was the name again?”

“Powerpuff Girls?” Jill interjects at Chris’ reference with a wan grin, leaning her leg over the glass tilt table. Claire also crouches in front of her and clasps onto Jill’s knees. Almost as if she’s biding her time to eat her out. She might do that. Later.

“Yeah!” Chris snaps his fingers.

“Uh, I...” You spring forward to introduce yourself before the conversation drifts. Girls are already nose-dipping in the dusty spill on the table, and you stick your hand out to Chris.

Surprisingly, he accepts the handshake straight away. In the course of these formal introductions, whenever you were to extend your hand to someone, they’d be looking you over from head to toe like you were a little bit of a poseur. Ironically, Chris welcomes you with a genuine smile. It seems modesty hasn’t kicked the bucket.

You’re being all polite, handing Chris your name, and then—cue dramatic music—someone crashes through the pivot door like it’s a Hollywood blockbuster.

Every head turns in the cumulative direction of the sound, all but assured by the door’s dramatic swoosh, all collectively.

Turns out it’s none other than Leon Kennedy, the finest and equally “big-time rockin’ rock star of the twentieth generation,” as they say.

“His ass again?” Claire pipes up from where she’s sitting. She’s not a big fan of Leon. She has her reasons. In the interest of brevity, Claire and Leon had, in fact, dated in the interim. Once upon a time, there was a ship named Cleon, a name the adoring admirers nicknamed their own ship name in all corners of the tabloids.

While you can understand how ticked off she is, you might as well not do it at all. There is, at last, a deck of cards in front of you that you may see for the first and last time in your life. In fact, he is even moving towards you with his own confident steps.

For you, it’s a moment of blimey, but for him it’s as natural and insignificant as the instinct to pee when he’s drunk too much stuff.

“Hi there.”

Now you can understand people amplifying at the mere sound of a certain voice and, if necessary, wetting their pants, pussies, and dicks—Leon isn’t the pickiest about it, really. Now everything makes total sense. He must be getting laid as much as he’s making money with his mouth.

And he is. Add a pinch of that buzzing singing voice to a muscular body, a tall stature, and money in swollen pockets, and Leon gets what he wants in a jiffy. Kiss his ass if you will.

“There’s my cutest groupie.” Leon waves at Claire, heading for a fall.

Claire draws her middle finger at him and bites back a repartee.

Not a single name he doesn’t speak in the narrow circle of this social outlet. Then he sees you, and the wheel of fortune takes a reversal.

A newfangled face, delicate facial expressions, and striking beauty. Clearly, you’re the precious neophyte around here.

The art of the soft soap in the eccentric azure of his eyes is hard to miss. A depth to be dug into with picks and shovels.

How he greets you with a small mental shake of his head in contrast to his expressive gaze is enough for the conventional first pleasantries.

It’s hard to calculate how much it’s right to cast pointed glances at your friend’s ex-boyfriend. On a more cursory inspection, you and Claire weren’t that close, at least not close enough to make those ground rules—chicks before dicks ones. (Excuses!) You definitely need proper shrinks.

“Fucker.” Claire coughs up any remaining resentment in an epithetical whisper under her breath.

The exes find their way out of the scene, separated, and Claire tugs on your arm and flings herself straight into the dance floor. Leave it to Leon to steal a glance at you. He stares long and hard at the beauty next to his ex as you stomp off the scene. To Leon, the past is in the past, and the present is here to be remade. It’s nerve-racking when you leave, but he loves to watch you walking away.

And Jill is too doped up on cocaine to join you all.

─────────────────

“We never would have come if we knew he’d be here.” You tell Claire as she strums her hips to a peppy groove. You just want to bring your girl back to earth, even if it’s just a pulse.

“What? Jesus! Can’t hear you, gorgeous!” Claire curls her hands at the corners of her mouth as she lets it out. Of course she can’t hear you over this hubbub. You’re such an airhead.

But point taken. You shrug your shoulders as if to say it’s nothing and dance in unison to the song along with her jigging dance moves.

─────────────────

The DJ gets you moving with the record and the tempo of his tunes, the laser disco lights blinking on and off like thunder, making you dizzy from the jetlagged fatigue of the fateful night. For how many hours have you been standing in these Pigalle Follies and guzzling Silver Oak? God, you’re a mess. A hot one, that is.

The flashing disco lights alternately brighten and dazzle your eyes. You can’t even take a step, let alone do the dance. Sure, you’re running on fumes, but at least you look cute doing it.

That’s what happens when you drink on an empty stomach. Stupid bitch, you’re chewing yourself out.

Lights are moving sideways and up and down.

The sweat beading on the hair gathered at the nape of your neck is cold. You blink your eyes and cast them around for Claire, dim and desperate. Not a single facsimile of a peer stands.

Okay, but where’s she?

You push your way through the flesh and blood horde and find your way out of the club to the back door. Threshing, you flounder out of a dented metal door. The pit of your stomach is parched, as if tiny worms have colonized your entrails and organs.

Your hand pressed against your midsection is of no help.

Leaning against the wall, you’re propped up; you squint at the figure of a man (?) that now unfolds in front of you with the swoosh of the door. A lighted cigarette in his hand, he makes a knife-edge turn and spots you right off the bat.

Sewn into his eyes is a tapestry of something akin to concern. They are adumbral but bloodless and ultramarine.

Voices buzzing in your ear burst the bag of intricacies with a sharp pinprick. When you can feel the echoes finally reaching your earbuds, you can vaguely feel the man reaching for your forearm and tracing circles on your skin with soothing strokes.

“What the hell are you so tipsy for?”

Tipsy? Hell? He’s probing something about you.

“Leave me alone.”

“What? Leave you like this in the middle of an alley? What are you? Five?”

Your stomach produces a strange twinge, right there, in that very second.

You totter, but the man holding you by the arm means what he says.

“Look at you. What a fucking mess, huh, girl?” There he goes, tutting you like it’s his favorite sport.

“Don’t push it, Leon. What’re you, my mother?”

You just frown and shoot him a syringe of Claire’s inherited hatred but in your style.

“Go away. I’ll be fine.”

With all the audacity of a brilliant I-fucking-hate-my-best-friend’s-ex-boyfriend, you pull your arm free of his reach.

“They’ll eat you alive in here. You know that, right?” His voice is scratchy, preaching to you, but it’s emptier than a banker’s heart. His gaze, as in.

You don’t know. Makes you edgy, this one fucker.

“Why do you care?”

Really. What’s it really to him? Leon, too, in the clash of a second and a spontaneous question, unexpectedly finds himself striving for words.

When you push off the wall against which you were leaning, balance beats the hell out of you. Standing on the spikes of your heels is like an arsenal of iron nuts. So much so that Leon sucks in his breath in sheer exasperation before gripping you tightly by the forearm and flicking the glowing amber stub to the ground. Savior complex moment perhaps; he’s a martyr to his savior complex, not even understanding why he’s going this far.

“Where’re those girls you’re always stuck with? Claire and Jill?”

Obviously you don’t have an answer to that. You, for that matter, don’t have an answer to anything in the preamble. You just gawk at him with a vagabond animus.

You brush it off with a dejected shrug, and the withering stare you garner from him is quite enough to put you in your place, and then more. The abject skeleton in the closet that follows is beyond telling.

The puddle of bile that you can’t hold in any longer gushes out of your mouth. There and then. Luckily, courtesy of your miraculous reflexes, you turn your back on him and excrete the stagnant liquor in your system.

Leon retaliates by stepping back, as your arm falls out of his hands and you stoop, knees sore. A nervy and explosive burst of emotion is impinging on his face. You can’t see it, but you can more or less picture what kind of acrimony he’s donning.

What a perfect first impression spectacle.

Your gagging voice dies from throwing up in the empty streets; warm, misty tears well up in your eyes, the usual stuff, but the averse touch of his hand brushing your hair back from your face is a special ooh.

“You’re so fucked up.”

He couldn’t be more serious.

“You’re so pretty.”

You can’t be serious either!

But just as you lift your head to give him an answer, your stomach lurches to your feet one more time. So yes, you called your close friend’s singer boyfriend “pretty” in its truest essence, in all its pomp and circumstance. Delirious and graphic, hats off to you. You feel dizzy and more than ever dead. Like dead dead, open mouth, insert foot. The nebulous valance in front of your eyes is as opaque as an unaesthetic Instagram filter. Your balance is in tatters, and you slump, and then a thickset arm supports the back of your head securely.

─────────────────

How you made it through the dawn is a big red question mark.

The bundle of sunlight struck by the zenith of the alarming number of the morning is bright and citrusy. Almost no trace of its golden amber flavor. That’s because it’s not a morning sun. This is a midday sun.

You finally open your eyes at two o’clock in the forenoon. The sight that awaits you... what the hell is this?

This certainly isn’t your house, but whose residence is this?

And most importantly, where are your clothes? Why are you in your underwear?

You swallow the venin on the underside of the tongue, finding no strings as you idle around because you don’t even have any clues to connect the pieces together.

Could you have gotten so hammered yesterday that you fucked someone like those people in the movies?

At least he’s rich.

The interior is lavishly decked out; your restless eyes drift from the bed to the rows of frames on the wall. Pictures and hyperlinks and whatnot. Why would anyone hang a picture of the fucking Golden Gate Bridge in their bedroom?

What kind of moron did you fuck last night?

It’s up to you to figure out the equation.

You slip on a tacky jacket and spring out of bed. When you pick up your phone and peer at the screen and see that the digital numbers are advancing by leaps and bounds, you dash out of the room. Whatever the fuck you did in this bed yesterday with whomever you did it with has to be consigned to the past. No time for any of that. That’s what one-night stands are all about.

“Oh, fuck. Claire, I overslept. You gotta help me sway Ada so she doesn’t give me a hard time, babe.” Your fingers are rapidly drumming, and your eyes are on the screen as you thump into someone’s fucking chest.

It’s like lightning is spinning in your head. The phone falls out of your hand and thuds a heartbeat on the floor. Ouch. No shit. Apple, what a shitty marque of ass.

“My phone!”

It seems no matter how much money is just a green piece of paper to you now, or digital numbers with fat zeros in your bank account, there will always be a staunch ghetto in you. Somewhere deep in your very psyche.

“Jeez. Relax.” He crouches down and picks up the very remnant of your hapless phone.

“What happened to ‘hi’ and ‘hello’?”

No, but wait a second.

The distinct sound of yesterday’s “tryst.”

“Leon!”

Apparently your memory has erased all the barf memories from last night. Give them a little time, and they’ll chip away piece by piece and roast you in vile hell for the rest of the day.

“Leon!” He’s impersonating your voice, or rather your holler. Pretty much verbatim. It’s disturbingly good. He hands you your phone. The screen is cracked and spiderwebbed, and you take it reluctantly. Cough it up. You have to get a new model.

“Is this your place?”

“Eh. Like what you see?”

He’s acting like it’s all fun and games, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash if the sky fell. His arrogance is of a priceless candor.

Just take a deep breath, in and now out. Everything’s all right. Everything is right as rain.

No way you fucked your best friend’s ex-boyfriend. You refuse to believe that.

“Why am I here?”

Leon gets the message.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t want to spoil your good mood by regaling you with your yesterday throw-up story, and he doesn’t want you to start your day like that. Everyone deserves to have a good day, and especially after a night of fuckery like last night, you need a whole Mediterranean circumnavigation.

“Look, sweetheart,” he begins, “let me buy you a brunch, yeah? There’s this place, okay? Down the block. Oh, they whip up scrambled eggs so fine. I’m talking about finger-licking good.”

He really is treating you over for some “brunch.”.

But why does everything have to be piled on top of each other? He just leaves you high and dry.

“Come on. Omelet and coffee. Yummy. Huh, and a special mix for you that’ll sober up a hangover.” Leon reaches out his hand to you as if in a desperate bargain.

“It’s a special Kennedy remedy.”

Your eyes fall on his outstretched palm while he’s grinning winningly.

“Sure. Why not? You do owe me an explanation anyway.”

There you go. He’s got you under his thumb now—like a walk in the park.

“Nice bra.” Leon can barely avert his eyes from your cleavage. “But don't forget to change, sunshine. I reckon I can find a spare shirt for ya.”

What a dipshit.

Rest is a moot point.

─────────────────

You’re not exactly sitting with the shittiest man in the world and chowing down on a portion of omelette. Really, the place where he brought you for a meal isn’t bad enough to be described as decent.

“So last night—”

He derails the conversation.

“No. We didn’t.” He sips his coffee, which dribbles down his parched throat. He’s been telling you this story for what seems like forever, even though it’s downright laughable—something hard to believe.

Pleasantly enough, you manage to shake off the blues, but now Leon’s hot under the collar.

The truth is, these bitter coffees are not his cup of tea, ’cause he loves tea more, but when he saw you getting a heavy Caffè Americano, he ended up ordering one too, just for a little spice.

Now Leon regrets his decision. Never again. Vanilla all the way, long live crony capitalism.

“I can’t even bring myself to believe it.”

“Neither can I. Who knew you had a little Viking god in you?”

“Viking god?”

Leon nods in approbation. The musing is rather sweet, but too much sweetness makes your cheeks fat, and that’s the absolute last thing you need. Pounds. Swollen face.

“They drink heavily too, don’t they?”

“I don’t drink that much,” you rectify him.

“You do. I know a blackout drunk when I see one.”

You palm your face in dismay, because how long can you put up with this charade?

“Why did you drink all that?”

For what does it matter to him? That you have to implicitly profess to him that you detest him. Can’t be buddy-buddy with someone Claire hates; blood and guts be damned.

“Nevermind. I mean, you don’t always get some chivalrous knight on a white horse coming to your rescue. Watch yourself. Get your shit together next time.”

Get your shit together.’

You’re not planning to get your life together, which has never been in order, on his say-so.

This is no picnic.

─────────────────

That day, after that specific coffee date, not only were you tardy for the last rehearsal, but you were also vituperated by Claire.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Claire, I swear to you—”

“Oh, not this again!”

Sheva’s writhing between you and Claire, her head is cracking open, so to speak. She keeps one hand on your shoulder and the other on Claire’s forearm, but her arms draw back, both of you rebuffing her every gesture.

“You showed up in his jacket. For fuck’s sake. You’re looking me in the eye and fucking lying to me.”

“It’s not what you think.”

Your words have always been meager in expressing your true self-defense. It’s no better now.

“So you really are fighting over a guy. This is really happening. Girls, this guy bleaches his hair regularly!” Sheva chimes in and maintains her equanimity. What you are doing is quite puerile in her eyes.

“I wonder how you’d react if your best friend fucked your ex-boyfriend, Sheva. Would you be so cool and mighty about it?”

Aww. She still considers you her BFF.

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called, an ex! Why can’t you just believe her? If you can’t trust your best friend, who else can you trust?” Sheva nudges Claire with a little gust of force, and Claire slumps down on the couch. She’s cross and indignant and doesn’t care that her butt stings when Sheva pushes her.

Seems calmer, or that’s what you’re praying for. Please let it be so. Please, please, friendship Gods and Goddesses.

“You need to believe me, Claire. I told you.”

Not a word comes out of her mouth, and she purses her million-dollar lips closely. Looking like she can’t decide on what might fall out of her tongue.

“I didn’t sleep with Leon.”

You grovel on your knees; just how pathetic you can be when you want to be.

Another last whine, forlorn (you may have already said the same thing a hundred times since you’ve arrived home).

“You saw it on my dress. Full of fucking retch, Claire!”

More details to go, and you wish you could explain to her how utterly incapacitated you were last night. From under her pretty eyelashes, she gives you a downcast appraisal.

“I went out for some air after dancing with you. I was a mess, Claire. I looked everywhere for you. Then he came, and, you know, silly me, I fucking dozed off.”

Sheva hugs her arms across her chest, monitoring a hushed and more subdued conversation between the two of you. Probably best not to interrupt.

“Ugh. He always loved being the big hero.” Claire finally swallows her reticence, endearingly vacillating. Thank God.

“Don’t fall for him. Don’t be a moron. God, you’re so stupid. You don’t even know it. He’ll set you up in a game, and before you know it, you’ll be stuck in the mud.”

Well, you weren’t expecting a herd of counselors from your best friend. It leaves a peppery ginger on your tongue.

“Pfff. Claire, don’t be ridiculous. You really think I’m hung up on Leon? He’s not my type. Piers is my type, duh.” You say it like the kookiest thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

For all the things you don’t know, you speak with the vanity of a clueless nepo baby, as if you’ve been in this line of endeavor since the day you were born.

“I saw the way he looked at you. I know that look.”

Ha. Now she’s channeling the ultimate Daenerys Targaryen speech.

“Very well, Claire Targaryen.” You smile dotingly at her, thinking it wouldn’t harm sharing a witty little tidbit.

“Seriously... just go, okay? Leave me alone.”

That’s where the rubber hits the road. Claire, your dearest friend, wants you out of here. It’s unbelievable. In your head, your memory is bare and there are no words, but your heart is crushed in a tearful pain that you can’t articulate. There are no labels or names for this feeling in your vocabulary.

You blink at her, twice and your smile frazzle subtly.

She won’t change her mind, that is for sure. She wants you gone.

You get up and walk out of there while you can. Sheva lingers behind you, but you’re fast and rightfully upset.

─────────────────

Wearing Leon’s Schott jacket and the t-shirt combo he provided is not exactly the kind of fancy getaway you’d want to pull off, but you’re quite adamant.

You go to the only place you can go.

To home.

It’s been years; you haven’t seen your parents, and who knows what it’s like now? In the car, your model face, admired by millions, the one you bequeathed from those two people who hated each other like a curse on their souls so passionately, is in a state of shambles.

Walking into the garden of a vast estate your mom bought for a pittance, you can spot your father’s nifty all-black Stellantis. It sparkles in the glow of the porch light just above the main doorjamb.

You cringe and then look at the door and the gold-engraved “welcome” inscription on the double sash of the wooden door. Just how “cozy” would it be to step in here again after so many years?

As you muster up the guts within yourself to ring the doorbell, the door itself flies open. Two pairs of eyes you’ve never seen before, but who instantly identify your face, are staring at one another.

“Oh my God! It’s you!” The girl is the walking example of the L.A. accent itself.

Since she’s wearing a skintight “daddy’s girl” tank top and a short denim skirt, odds are good that you’re talking to one of your dad’s new dollies. You know, the bimbo and the Barbie ones.

She envelops you in a bear hug. Sweet, toffee, and mucilaginous undertones of muscat perfume overwhelm all your senses.

“I’m your biggest fan. Oh, my room and my walls are full of your latest Vogue photoshoots. Versace was such a fantastic choice for your palette. That dress... ah! I-uh. Was. In. Love.”

There’s a certain luster in the girl’s eyes as she goes on and on. Really, Dad, how old could this poor girl be? You can’t stop thinking about it, but the more you think about it, the more deeply it sickens you.

“Thanks.”

As riveted as you were by the prospect, you had gotten far enough in this biz to learn how to keep those around you at bay with fake cheerful smiles. Perhaps you really do have that rampaging Hollywood blood coursing through your veins.

“I came to see my dad, but—”

She sweeps her arm down from your shoulder to your waist, and with her free hand, she whips out her flip phone, smiling at the camera.

“Say cheese!”

You don’t.

Your pose with a faded pallor mirrors on her screen, and you catch a dubious glance from her. She’s plainly querying you.

“A little smile would do you good...”

“Bitch.” She nags the last word in a barely audible coo, clammed up more than any of the preceding chunks of words that came out of her mouth.

Excellent.

Like you have no problems, and you have to put up with this horseshit. Why did you even bother coming here? This house isn’t even your home. Not anymore. They’ve carted away everything from your childhood, and a handful of crumbs of fragmentary images of the past are all that’s left of any of it for you.

No point insisting on three drips of memories in a life that takes many liters to survive. Nostalgia is frivolous.

Besides, you feel bitchy enough to give this girl her paycheck.

Except your dearest father does intervene. His noisome mug never dims a morsel, not even when he sees you.

“What a strange coincidence, sweetheart.”

“Certainly is.”

Forget it.

Could a man who never knew how to be a decent father suddenly, by some strange turn of fate, come to discover what it means to be one? You’re a delusional one. This is just one of your little glitches—the very first instinct of a little girl running to her daddy any time she’s hurt. He never knew how to mend and heal those little wounds in the first place.

“Why did you come here?” Your father’s brows shoot to his hairline. A horrible sight for his hair is receding. Reprehensibly.

Doesn’t look like he’s going to let you in, though. He appears quite happy with his new girlfriend on his arm, and his common-law wife, your mother, is somewhere who knows where.

“Well. It’s Mom.” You perjure, drawing a blank verse or two. Moments like these are precisely when the words essentially latch at the base of your throat.

“She’s not here.”

“Ha. Yeah. I can see that.” Your facial tissues, your lips, they all start to ache from ersatz smiling arts and language. Poker face can only do what it costs.

“I think—”

“You need to—”

Your words and your father’s words jar with one another. It’s a mess. Even for a glimpse, it baffles you how much emotion there is in the old man’s face. And him too. His girlfriend rolls her eyes, a numbing distaste for the father and daughter in all this kerfuffle.

“Ugh. This is so boring.”

She walks inside.

You nervously fidget with the folds of the jacket Leon gave you as a provisional.

“I think I’d better go.”

“You’re right.” The old man clears his throat as if he were about to overcome an obstacle. He’s silently begging you to put an end to his misery here, and you’re doing that just fine; you’re always ready to walk the tracks.

“Good night, Dad.”

“Night, kiddo. I’ll call you when your mom gets home.”

“Sure. I’ll be waiting.”

You won’t. How would anybody give a fuck? It’s too late.

It’s nothing but a night alone for a wounded heart and the coveting of a whim that never had a chance to bloom.

Either your menstrual cycle is nearing or the end itself is near.

The billboards are lit up with crystallized lights. It’s a visual. Makes your eyes glaze over a bit.

The sign just above it reads “THE END IS NEAR!” in capital lettering. Above that are plaques with the new single releases of Leon and his group. He’s the talk of the city, and the world for that matter, so his face is in the foreground, a cerebral display, and Chris and Carlos’ faces are hot on his shoulders. The chorus of their million-selling track on Spotify is rasping in your frostbitten ears. Leon’s voice is a smooth crossover riff, raspy, and he’s making love with the bass guitar.

On the terrace where you are sitting, a breeze gently caresses your face, leaving the crisp touch of snow on your cheek. The cold sinks into your veins, blue-tinted blood rushing through your body, no thanks to the booze. You feel queerly toasty.

Leon’s jacket definitely lasts through the cold winters. It’s like your personal furnace.

The traffic is hectic past the glass handrail, jostled by the car lights streaming down, and the first baby snowflakes of January are pelting down from the sky. It’s quite late, the rush hour of hungover midnight.

Even as the elliptical chases the minute hand, you watch the passers-by. The prominent and whitewashed faces are just names. They greet you, acknowledge you with gracious smiles, but that’s it. Never so genuine that they would actually sit down next to you.

Except for one name.

Except for Leon, who, in what must have been an illusory twist of fate, casually crosses the table with a flute of champagne in his hand.

He doesn’t recognize you at first when he passes by your booth, but on the second glance, he captures that swan-like grace at once.

Stepping backwards, as if he’s moonwalking, he skips over to your side to forestall your horrified side-eye.

“I shoulda known you were a vampire. You never sleep.”

He thinks he’s made a stylish enough debut with these words. Whatever it takes to charm you.

“No, come on. Are you stalking me?”

“Nah. I’m too much of a busy man for that kind of thing, sweetheart. Though I’ve heard on some fanfiction sites that there are people out there. They write me off as a complete weirdo.”

He slides into the chair straight across from you.

“Check it out when you’re feeling like it.”

Absently your eyes wander over his shoulder and zero in on the mass of light in the distance. In shimmering floodlights, people are laughing and making TikTok videos, some twerking, others striking jaunty poses for the camera for their thirst trap edits. Bread and butter for the fans.

“’s rude to overlook someone when they’re talking to you. Didn’t your mother tell you that?”

In your consciousness, you realize that even Leon’s name is lost in the cacophony of your milieu. You still do have a problem named Leon at this table.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?”

Thoughts pile up in the back of your foggy brain, but they don’t coalesce into a harmonious, final answer. The blurry words worm their way out of your mouth, and they evaporate in the bitter cold air.

Should you be kind and remind him that you’re weak?

“I don’t know.” You bluntly say, but Leon can smell the suspense.

“Are you drunk again?”

The arch of your eyebrow furrows instinctively, automatic as the blooming of a flower when you water it—flourishing and blushing. But drown it too much, and it wilts, fades. He just doesn’t grasp it, can’t get it through his thick skull that you don’t want to chit-chat.

Be that as it may, there’s one fact that’s indisputable: you want to fuck him. You’re simply at odds with yourself.

The more Leon comes at you, the more you’re falling into error, but beggars can’t be choosers.

It’s unfortunate that you can roll over when you feel a stone.

That thing you’re ruthlessly searching for could quite possibly be Leon. He’s the one who has reduced you to the devil’s quarry himself. Either that or you’re the one in extremis.

Right now, however, it’s a bet neither of you care about. Unworthy of further discussion. Mouths are otherwise occupied.

Your mouth shamelessly hyphenates his name while his mouth ecstasies on the honeydew betwixt your spread legs. Your eyes roll graphically as the tip of his nose, which looks good when he takes a snort from the lining of vanilla icys, bumps against the nacre of your clit a crack or two. It’s like you’re possessed by something, by demons or poltergeists.

The sullen and muffled fumes of profanity are belching out of the bedroom door where he’s propping you up against it. This is the very public domain information; Leon Kennedy is an excellent pussy eater.

It’s one thing to hear from the women he’s slept with that he’s that swell; it’s quite something else to have the saccharine taste of your cunt melting in his mouth like cotton candy on the tip of his tongue just then.

“Leon... fuck. No. Want it.” Your tongue is all dry.

You can’t remember the last time you felt the highs of ecstasy from a tongue fuck like this. Hollywood is full of people with small dicks, and the whole insertion and pull-out game sucks here, foreplay is long gone.

Luckily, you can always take a chance on someone (actually your best friend’s ex-boyfriend) who at least knows how to worship what he sees, and you reap the rewards of the risk you take. And he feels generous enough to let you have it all tonight.

With a touch as sensuous as a butterfly’s wing, his thumb meanders through your aching bundle of nerves, igniting a fire of euphoria through your body. When he lightly palms your opening, when he feels the plushness of your slick walls, a delicate breath escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of subservience to this very moment of pure pinch and rapture.

“So sweet when you cum.”

He blows your mind, the story of how you got here, the blowjob you pulled on him in his car — all that’s in the past. The only thing that matters is that you need to forget everything that happened tonight in the morning and the painstaking labor of that commitment. Pulling his belt on and off takes no extra time flat. His aching erection takes a toll on Leon, both psychologically and physically.

When he tucks you properly into his bed, he casts a phantom over you like he’s your own exclusive brand of ghost. Kissing on a first date was never his thing, but he can’t let you go when his lips are still tantalized by your moreish taste.

He’s making a nicer entrance than you’d expect and then some; you’re squeezing him so tightly, and he’s stippling hot kisses across the tender flesh of your throat.

Breathless and forehead to forehead is too romantic and superfluous for a debut tryst, but that’s what rebound sex is for.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Maybe he’s louder than you are in these seconds— in these very seconds of his whet of thrust followed by the seconds of him pulling out soon to only bully back into your dewy cunt.

Makes your head reeling, and he wallows in the sin of the tightness stretching around the sheer girth of his cock.

“Pussy’s so fucking good. She’s all swollen from me.” His whisper is fervid and sweeping against your cheek.

Yes. Indeed, his mouth doesn’t seem to be shutting up here either, even when he’s fucking you deep in his own bed.

The deep azure shade of his eyes is clouded with pearlescent blue; his pupils are pitch-black orbs, and he watches his cock slide in and out of your drenched pussy in chaotic upheaval, the metal of his frenum piercing taunting your swollen clit as you drape his dick in a warm cocoon.

“Pretty, pretty pussy suckin’ me so nice, yeah?” His voice is a throaty whisper that makes your poor, mushy brain tingle tunefully — an acrid, itchy scab that has just covered the wound.

“Fuck,” he grunts crassly, “been thinking about this all—ungh!—night—this fucking skirt up and fucking you real loud, baby.”

Seriously, he could just write a song or a lengthy poem for your lovely pussy right here and then.

A hubristic tinge variegates his pink lips, a wicked one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s enjoying this; hell, he’s fucking loving it. His laugh-like treble is a low rumble as he pounds into you with a little more force, a little more urgency. The bed rocks under you, groaning abjectly.

“C’mon, baby, cum on my cock. Y’know I got you. I got you so good.”

He knows how to do it.

Once bodies and emotions are merged, they move into a harmonic coherence, and just like that, he makes you cum for the second time tonight. A string of bland events that are frozen in your brain, clinging to your fiber, you feel your own tears trickling down your cheek in an attempt to get rid of them in one fell swoop, barely blinking open your eyes.

You cradle his cheek closer, pushing away the wisps of hair falling in curtains in front of his blues. You want to kiss away the cruelty that cloaks his lips, but Leon, unable to tear himself away from your pussy that is still squeezing him, is too engrossed for such kisses.

One blink and you’ll miss that fleeting moment as the seconds tick by, Leon barely pulls out a shred from you and strokes his cock on your belly until he finds comfort in it, painting white ribbons on your dainty skin.

Seconds afterward are spent on your own, burdened by the cost of your one night’s slip-up, and you two stare at each other wide-eyed.

Two pairs of eyes, parted lips, and a kind of rare prettiness you usually find in men that will haunt you for a while. Ken blonde hair aglow in the light of the dawn and buried layers of emotions locked away in secrets that are too debauched to divulge.

Pearls of promise on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare spill them out. Heaven will hate you. Claire will hate you.

In Leon’s estimation, per contra, you’re a damsel in distress, big eyes, and a girl who has somehow succeeded in wrapping all her depravity in the thin threads of her angelic eyes. Seraphic but dangerous. An inner part of his brain keeps hammering into his thoughts that everything has only just begun.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy

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peachhcs · 1 day ago

Text

the new guy | the wonder years

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will finds out about samy's new boyfriend kevin after thinking there might be a chance for them after they kissing at her senior year kickoff party

wc: 1.7k

cooked this up because 1. i love wonder years and 2. i don’t think i’ve ever written everyone meeting kevin for the first time (i’m also running out of pics so im resorting to gifs lol)

au masterlist

it was a typical friday night for the boys. they raced home after their game to change and make it to samy's first soccer game of the season that started promptly at 7. their goal this season was to make to every single one of her games that didn't coincide with their own games. ryan's mom's suv was definitely going to be put to good use.

the seven of them piled in and were on the road by 6:15 which was record time for them considering their game just finished at 5:30. will was feeling a bit giddy tonight. he had a great game with two goals and an assist and now he was about to see samy for the first time since last weekend. he was still thinking about that drunken kiss they shared.

he knew they were just playing with one another like back in april during that seven minutes in heaven, but will couldn't help thinking that maybe it meant something more this time. it'd been on his mind since last weekend when it happened and the boy started wondering what exactly the relationship he had with the girl was. they were friends, yeah, but..could there be a possibility for something more?

will's never really thought of her that way. maybe that one time when they were twelve, but that didn't count because they were twelve. all he knew was that she'd been on his mind a lot more recently and he started wondering what it meant or if it was even normal to be thinking of his best friend that much? surely it was because he thought of all the guys in the car with him a fair amount. either way, will was excited to see her.

they pulled into the already full lot exactly fifteen minutes before kick off. gabe was texting marcie and riley asking where they were sitting as they walked towards the bleachers. they spotted the two girls in the student section and quickly joined them.

"i'm surprised you guys made it in time," marcie teased and made room for the seven of them.

"you should've seen will barking us around. he was not playing around," ryan teases the blonde who flushed. he scanned the field for samy.

she was by the bench talking with some of the girls. her captain band was wrapped proudly around the top of her shin before her socks started. will knew how hard samy worked for that honor this season and he was proud of her for finally being able to show it off and lead the girls to another successful season in her last year.

"this should be an easy sweep. central michigan has always had a shitty defense," marcie mumbled as the boys' gazes swept over to the other team warming up.

will's gaze followed the other students in the stands. he recognized some of them from the parties samy dragged him to. being in the student section really made the boys feel like they were in high school which was another reason why they wanted to go to the games because they got to experience high school traditions the dev program didn't give them.

samy finally waved up at the stands to the boys who eagerly waved back at her. will smiled widely when he caught her gaze. he watched her gaze fall to the other side to wave at her parents and then the next person she waved at caught him off guard.

it was a guy with brunette hair about three rows down from them. he was taller and stood with some friends that looked to be on the boy's soccer team. samy was smiling widely at him and will's stomach twisted seeing her wave at him.

but he tried to not think about it too much. maybe he was just a friend? yeah, a friend. she could have friends. will was thinking about this too much.

the game was a clean sweep like marcie said. samy's team scored three goals, one of them being from samy and she assisted the other two. the students cheered for them as they ran up to the bleachers to give out high-fives before running back to the benches. the students began filing out of the bleachers to meet the players in the parking lot after their post game debrief.

the boys talked with marcie and riley waiting for samy to come out. her parents joined them a second later where ellen and jim happily greeted them and thanked them for coming. will was too immersed in his conversation with drew and aram that he didn't see samy come out and turn her attention to the boy she waved to before the game started.

she greeted him with a warm hug and blushed when he gave her flowers. will didn't see them coming until gabe nudged his shoulder and marcie ran to hug her best friend.

"you played so well!" the girl exclaimed making samy flush.

"thanks for coming guys. i didn't actually think you'd make it on time," the soccer player said the the boys.

"thank will. he got us moving," ryan clapped his friend's shoulder. the blonde smiled softly at her. she returned it before directing her gaze back to the boy will saw earlier.

he quickly noticed the flowers in her hand and the shy expressions on both of their faces. that twist in will's stomach quickly returned as he put the pieces together.

"there's someone i want you guys to meet. this is kevin," samy introduced him and he shyly waved at everyone.

for a second, everyone looked at will while the blonde had a blank expression on his face. the excitement he had earlier started fading as he realized what this meant.

"nice to meet you. we're samy's hockey friends," ryan finally said and held his hand out. he was always the one to break the ice first. kevin shook his hand.

"good to meet you guys. samy talks highly of all of you," kevin chuckled.

will struggled to meet samy's gaze that he knew was on him because she was searching for his approval. he didn't really know what to think.

it was dumb to think that maybe he had a chance with her. samy was right. those two kisses were just for fun because they were drunk half the time anyway. it didn't mean anything and will shouldn't have thought it did. he swallowed and sucked up his pride.

"didn't know samy had a new fling," drew chirped up with a small, teasing smirk.

"we've been talking for a few weeks," the girl giggled and then will's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. a few weeks? she's been talking to this guy a few weeks and they still made out in her friend's bathroom last weekend. were they even official then?

"we've been keeping it on the down low until making it official a few days ago," kevin slung his arm around her shoulders.

will found gabe's gaze beside him. the dark-haired boy spoke with his eyes like he knew exactly what will was thinking. gabe didn't really know about the drunk make-outs will and samy have done, but he could probably take a guess. it was fairly obvious whenever the two came back out of the bathroom. all gabe did was place a hand on his friend's shoulder and offered a tight-lipped smile to the new guy in front of them.

"well, it's nice to meet you, kevin. hopefully we'll see you around more," gabe said.

"we're gonna head out, but thanks a lot for coming guys. i always like seeing you guys up there," samy grinned and walked back through the parking lot with kevin.

ellen and jim wished the others goodbye and safe travels back to plymouth. the boys glanced between one another.

"sorry i didn't mention anything. samy wanted to like..surprise you guys," marcie said and looked at will. everyone seemed to be looking at will.

"it's fine. he seems cool," the blonde finally said.

"i know you guys are..and we tease you guys about.."

"no, we're just friends, you know that. all of that doesn't mean anything to us," will cut marcie off, managing his best smile. the others exchanged quick glances before deciding to let it go for now. they said goodbye to marcie and riley before climbing back into ryan's suv to head back.

the car ride was a bit silent. will stared out the window suddenly rethinking everything. he should've known him and samy's relationship would just be a friendship and nothing more than that. it was stupid of him to even think otherwise. they hardly even talked too. usually, samy would be all over him after the game and wanted to talk until they had to leave.

she just left without even saying a word to him really. that did kind of hurt.

ryan dropped everyone back off at their houses. the two boys walked back into the house in silence. ryan didn't want to prod, but he's also never seen will so quiet before.

"look, i know it's not my business, but are you good?" the brunette raised his eyebrow when they were away from the prying ears of their moms.

"i'm fine, why?" will didn't meet his gaze.

"you're just weirdly quiet," ryan mumbled.

"i'm fine. it's nothing," the blonde shrugged and as much as ryan hated prying, he kept talking.

"look, i know the teasing we make at you is all in good fun about samy, but..i didn't know she was talking to someone. i'm sorry."

"why are you sorry? it's not like we were like together or liked each other," will said quickly and ryan gave him a look that both of them knew the blonde was not telling the full truth or at least that ryan saw right through him.

"right, yeah," the brunette mumbled. they left the conversation at that because ryan wasn't gonna poke anymore. will was left to think about ryan's words and what exactly they meant to him because surely, he didn't actually like samy like that.

right?

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luniviravosshipper · 5 hours ago

Text

I used to be hesitant to accept this interpretation of his character arc’s ending. But I was looking at really old posts from way back when the fandom first started to emerge and apparently people have longggg speculated that Viren was depressed. Those analyses were definitely eye openers. And even though I’m not sure I agree with this interpretation still, the fact that you can so easily draw comparisons between his death and an attempt to ending one’s own life, and not only that by itself but alongside the evidence pointed out by fans of Viren actually wanting to possibly make such an attempt from the get go of the series… it might be telling of a lot of things the writers may have failed to consider or had simply ignored when making the final decision of how his death should play out.

(In case anyone is curious, I’ll try to find the specific posts I’m talking about later and reblog them.)

At the end of the day, I think it’s just insane how hard the narrative seeks out to punish Viren (even at the expense of taking away a chance for real closure with other characters he’s wronged) and after giving us such a rushed complete 180 with his character in season 4.

What was it for?

Like for a show all about breaking cycles and such, Viren would have been and most certainly should have been the absolute, most perfect opportunity to explore that theme in depth and they completely threw it down the gutter because of some insistence that he was undeserving of a second chance when that’s literally contradictory to that one specific, central theme to the show that happens to fit him so much.

Anyways, but yeah. I’m still sour about the handling of his arc and his death. I’m only reblogging this now because season 7 didn’t help relinquish any of my hard feelings regarding him.

…And especially with how comfortable the fandom’s gotten with shitting on his character after the creators did.

(Yes, you don’t have to like him. No, I’m not a Viren defender or a defender of his past wrongdoings. And of course I don’t think all the choices made in writing him or his arc were bad or poor. I don’t mean this to sound targeted or bitter to any fandom member in particular because it’s not. But I still get agitated regardless when other people use their hatred of his character to refuse to look deeper into him and his writing at all angles.

Your hatred of a character and the narrative affirming it doesn’t mean it is deserved for the character to be relentlessly treated like garbage by the narrative to satisfy you. Please just don’t excuse poor writing or refuse to examine and consider—whether you end up agreeing or not—how some writing is poor just because you personally like and enjoy it.)

I mean, you can literally see how it’s clear the fandom has used their contempt towards his character to completely stand by the writers in how they decided to handle his arc with the example of the person speaking up in this reblog chain. (For the record, I’m not even saying that what the person above is saying is right. I’m not sure it was intended by the writers to prove that “karma is a bitch”. Rather, I just think that they made the mistake of accidentally writing it in such a way it could be very easily used by the fandom to fuel their misinterpretations of the show’s biggest lessons and ideals it otherwise argues in support of. And… that’s a problem. A really big one if you were to ask me.)

Okay, I have to get it out of my system. The thoughts I had on what The Dragon Prince did and why, deep down, it repulses me on a profound level. (I’ve shared these thoughts elsewhere but here’s my analysis on Viren’s arc and ending in season 6.)

The season begins with Viren waking from what was teased to be death (and viewers were left thinking he died for a year). He feels free and unburdened and has hope. Maybe things can be better, maybe he can change, maybe he can fix what he has broken.

Spoiler alert: He doesn’t even get off the starting block. From there it is a descent towards despair and his self-inflicted death.

After he wakes, he encounters his bloodied daughter Claudia. This shock smacks back to reality and he sees what he has caused. He realizes the cold truth: his daughter is better off without him so he leaves her despite her cries for him to stay. It is worth noting as he leaves, he openly acknowledges it may kill him—and he doesn’t much care if it does.

He goes back home to Katolis searching for anyone to talk to. He begs to speak to King Ezran and is denied and told he deserves “no mercy.” He reaches out to his son Soren in an attempt to reconcile, to apologize, and Soren accuses Viren of trying to manipulate him. Viren realizes he will receive no help or solace here as he’d hoped, and despairs.

His feeling of hopelessness is symbolized by the show panning to a fly trapped in a spider’s web about to be consumed. The abject image of being trapped with nowhere to go except death.

Next we see him, he is alone in his cell, penning a letter of his regrets, which is not that dissimilar to one's final thoughts in a suicide note. But he reconsiders. After all, this is self-indulgent pain to burden the living, so he burns it. His last thoughts and words gone.

It isn’t much after this moment Soren tells Viren the only thing he has of value to offer is his ability to do Dark Magic—the thing Viren has been running from, the thing he now hates, the thing that ruined his life. Throughout the show, dark magic can be allegorically read as a form of self-harm, done out of fear and trauma while causing lasting scars to the user. And Viren succumbs to it. He agrees. With the biggest expression of it: offering his own body to feed the spell. He stabs a knife into his own chest (reminiscent of Shakespearean suicide). And he dies.

What happened here wasn’t just a blaring example of a heel-face door slam where a character vying to change their life around and be better is coldly denied. It was also a suicide—a glorified one at that.

For a show supposedly about hope and forgiveness and breaking cycles, having a character who for three seasons is striving to walk a different path take his own life in an act of despair when he has nowhere else to go is... well. Sure is something. Nothing good in my world.

#the dragon prince #tdp #tdp critical #fandom critical #lord viren #viren #tdp viren #viren tdp

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cheesymellow · 2 days ago

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EP 7-8 SHADOW MILK COOKIE THEORYYY!

(Badly explained)

(It was like 1am) SOO first of all heres how i think the story will go ig

Pure vanilla and the trio go to beast yeast to find the beast sealing ritual to avoid more chaos as said in the website. And where else to go in best yeast but the kingdom of knowledgee? And yk whos the holder of knowledge?

SHADOW MILK COOKI-

Anyways after arriving, Shadow milk will of course find out and probably separate them from PV.

The trio will probably be forced to play shadow milks game while trying to find pure vanilla cookie AND the seal thingy

While Shadow milk will make pure vanilla cookie follow his footsteps into corruption as said in the trailer:

— “Time to accept the truth you like so much! Your are merely following in my footsteps” - Shadow Milk

I believe that theres a chance pv will get corrupted or experience the corruption cycle. Mainly because i think devsis knows by by now that we are probably used to the typical cycle of the beast stories.

-Ancient goes to beasts land, ancient loses then Ancient awakens and defeats beasts.

It would honestly be SUCH a cool twist id go estatic if its real..

So there is still a chance they might twist up the story, I have lot’s of hope.

What i believe is going to happen to PV is shadow milk will probably torture him with games and trivias. Slowly destroying all his sanity!.. Making him fall under smilks control. And there is some SLIGHT proof in this theory as shown in this screenshot (1:03 in the trailer)

Notice anything? Look at his eyes, He has BLACK PUPILS

But there are indeed some sprites of cookies with these pupils when scared/frightened. But its normally matching their EYE COLOR.

Pure vanilla’s pupils in the photo are def BLACK not WHITE. And yk who has black pupilsss..

SHADOW MILK COOKIEeEeEeee

(But yes ik he has white and black eyes but idgaf, this is still good evidence)

But im also thinking it could maybe be him potentially getting posessed but mind controlled/corrupted is something id like more.

Anyways i also of course wanna talk abt the korean livestream photos

Pv seems to be climbing a tower/spire.. Im thinking its because hes trying to escape from shadow milk cookie's influence but once hes up. The lies start hitting him hard, giving him an existential crisis!

Ever since i saw this photo id always thought of what if pv awakens by falling

Like.. Imagine, Pure vanilla cookie finally reaching the top and he starts questioning everything then shadow milk suddenly tells him the cruel truth he's never heard. and tells him why he started telling lies and stuff bla bla bla. Then tries getting pure vanilla corrupted the same way he did.. And maybe he does get corrupted or i dont know honestly LOL

Ive seen many theories of his awakened design being angelic like so i hope he gets angelic bird like wings. his design is kinda sharp like feathers..

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gallavichthoughts · 2 days ago

Text

Shut up and kiss me.

Summary: Mickey is a jealous fucker. First kiss. Sort of piggy backing off of the show, mostly made up.

___

Mickey was torn.

He didn't want to seem like a little bitch, or like he was too attached to the boy he'd been sleeping with for almost three months now, not even including his stint in juvie. He was, was the thing. If he wasn't so afraid of being with someone, and mostly of his father, he probably would've handcuffed himself to him and stayed with him constantly.

That was a scary thought.

Ian Gallagher came into his life like a hurricane. All red headed and freckles, high cheekbones and a silly grin and a laugh that had his head spinning and his world turning upside down with want. He would've said he was annoying. Would've told anyone that he hated him, that he wanted to beat the shit out of him every time they saw each other. It would be a lie.

The first day it happened, it was an accident. A total, complete accident that Mickey still relives when he's especially horny and thinking of the other times couldn't quite get him there. That first time was special. One second he was about to beat him with a tire iron that the red headed boy brought to defend himself and the next he had was stripping his clothes off himself. He made the first move. He wanted to do it. And when it was all over, Ian had tried to kiss him, Mickey had warned him that he'd lose his tongue.

If you'd asked Mickey, that was his first mistake. Letting himself give in to temptation that he'd felt towards this boy since his sister claimed to be dating him was a massive terrible mistake. Because now he felt things he couldn't fucking afford to feel.

He wouldn't change it. Even if he could. That was the scariest part.

Now, he's torn between ripping the guy that's flirting with Ian's head off, or laying claim right now. He ended up doing neither one.

Mickey eyed the young guy at the register of the Kash 'N Grab. He was leaned in close to Ian, too close for Mickey's comfort if he did say so himself. Ian had gotten him a job as security of the store not long after the owner had fucking shot him over a candy bar. For some reason, the wife of that guy had decided that Mickey could really help them keep thieving down after Ian had proposed the idea.

Mickey stepped a little closer with his fists balled up. "So tonight at 7? At the diner? I'll meet you there?" The guy had asked his redheaded, even if that wasn't even really the case, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there!"

No, this wouldn't do. Ian was going out with someone tonight, because Mickey was emotionally unavailable. He really couldn't have that. He'd been pining after this boy for so long, has had him pounding into him more times than he could count at this point, and the thought of someone else having that had Mickeys head all fucked up.

Once the man had left, Ian had met Mickey's eyes with a raised eyebrow at the look on his face.

Anger. Annoyance. Jealousy. Rage. Mickey had to look away before all of those feelings boiled over and he said or did something stupid.

"You gonna go out with that queer?" Mickey had asked conversationally as he scanned his eyes over the bags of chips as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Yeah. I'm going out with him again." Ian sipped a beer that he had gotten from the coolers in the store and looked down at the magazine he had been flipping through. Peoples Magazine. How Mickey never noticed he was gay before the tire iron incident, he'd never fucking know.

"Again?" Mickey asked incredulously, "As in. Another time? As in, you've been out with him before?" Mickey couldn't believe how heavy the pit of his stomach suddenly felt.

"Three times now. This will be the fourth. He's nice." Ian couldn't seem less bothered. He was though, Mickey knew him better than that. There was a reason he was seeing someone else all of a sudden. Before, he'd beg Mickey for scraps of affection. Attention. Mickey never gave him what he asked for. He'd bend over for him, he'd suck his cock, but he didn't do hugs. Or kissing. Or even holding hands. He did hot, quick and dirty and that was it. Ian was never that type of guy, they'd had that conversation many times before. How much Ian had wanted more and Mickey had made him leave every single time. Mickey's head snapped up at his words and they were staring into each other's eyes again.

"What do you even see in that fucking loser, anyway?"

Ian finally set the magazine down in a harsh gesture. He couldn't have this conversation sitting down, so he stood and began walking towards the coolers to do a random, not at all time yet, inventory check. He'd fidget and give this all away. Mickey knew him too well for this, as weird as that sounds. They get each other. They'd actually become pretty decent friends over the course of their arrangement. Mickey knew it was becoming not enough for Ian though. He could tell in his eyes every time they were putting clothes on. He could practically see the words 'kiss me' going through Ian's head when it was time for him to leave.

He never did.

Mickey walked towards them as well and stepped right in front of Ian so he had to look at him again. He didn't want him to be able to run from talking about this. Which was foreign for Mickey to be on that end of things.

"Fuck. I don't know, Mick. He's nice to me. He takes me out. He buys me things that make him think of me, he doesn't leave directly after sex," he trailed off, "He isn't afraid to kiss me."

And there it is. The words he knew had been coming, but wished they wouldn't. The sharp stab of something resembling guilt crept up his body and into his chest.

Mickey didn't respond for a long time. They let the words settle in the air but their eye contact never dissipated.

"So, what? You're looking for prince charming, Red?" Mickey snorted but the sound of his voice surprised even himself. He sounded agitated, but he also sounded sad. That wasn't good. That was weak, and now Ian's heard it.

"No, Mick. I'm not looking for a prince. I'm looking for someone who wants me. Not my dick."

And there goes Mickey's heart breaking again.

Mickey was laying on his couch watching the clock. Seven was coming up soon, and he just couldn't sit here and let Ian go on a fourth date, he'd decided. Sure, the knowledge that Ian had fucked this dickhead already was fucking with his mind, but it was Mickey's own issues that had them able to see other people. He knew this was his fault. He knew he had to fix it.

He knew Ian felt something for him. He could see it in the way the younger boy looked at him. His eyes lit up, his smile was almost permanent. He was a little fidgety every time, almost like he was nervous. Sometimes, he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch, but knew that he risked a punch to his face. Mickey could throw up at the thought of Ian seeing him in that light.

He shrugged on his jacket to fight off the biting cold of Chicago and his shoes at exactly 6:45. It would take him seven minutes to get there, but he wanted to make sure he was there before Ian was. Before Mr. Leather Jacket and Skinny Jeans showed up with his redhead on his arm. Mickey knew how this was going to go, and he felt almost bad for the dude with Ian. Almost.

When they walked in the door, the first thing he noticed was that Ian looked gorgeous. Light wash jeans that hugged his legs perfectly and a long sleeve gray shirt that brought out his pretty eyes. Mickey knew it brought out his eyes from so far away, because he's seen the shirt on him before. He'd been fucked the night he'd seen Ian wearing wearing that shirt, he thought smugly. The second thing he noticed was the other man's arm around Ian's waist. First pang of anger. The last thing he noticed, and quite possibly the reason things went down the way they did, is seeing Ian's arm around his shoulder and squeezing his bicep. Oh, fuck no, he thought to himself as he stood up from the table they'd put him at.

He ordered food and drinks just to not waste his waitresses time, or get kicked out, but that all was left behind with money and as much a tip as he could afford as the jealous Mickey trudged his way towards the 'happy couple'. Ian didn't look as happy with whatever this dudes name is as he did with Mickey. No gleam in his eye. Maybe that was his brain telling him that, but either way. Ians mouth dropped open as Mickey stood there.

"Ian. Can we talk." Mickey asked. He made it a point not to make any eye contact with the man Ian was out with. He would've knocked him the fuck out on the spot and he knew it. He wasn't worried about jail, honestly, because in Southside you don't call police for fights. You handle it yourself.

"No. I'm with Ryan." Ian shrugged and went to move past him. Mickey grabbed his arm.

"Ian-" Ryan, how fitting for the douchiest looking guy in the world, lifted his hand up to speak but Ian was grabbing it and yanking it down. He knew Mickey all too well to let him do something like that and piss Mickey off.

"Got something to say, Bryan?" He asked as he took a step closer to the man so they were toe to toe, "Because I'd change my mind if I were you."

Ian rubbed his hands over his face as Ryan got into Mickeys face as well. "My boyfriend here said no, so back the fuck off." Mickey looked like he'd been slapped, but it switched to fury so fast Ian couldn't believe it.

"He's not my boyfriend, Mick. Calm the fuck down." Ian said quickly to keep him from swinging and to really let him know that Ian hasn't moved on. He hasn't. Mickey didn't even look at him. The anger on his face was only getting worse. "Mickey." He'd tried again and grabbed Mickey's hand. He yanked it away and balled it up. Oh fuck, Oh God, Ian thought, he's about to hit Ryan.

He was right. Mickey reared back and shot his fist forward into Ryan's eye with practiced ease and watched him collapse onto the ground. He jumped on top of him and got one more hit in, maybe two before familiar hands wrapped around his middle and yanked him up with a force he couldn't fight against. "Mick, let's fucking go," he'd yelled as Mickey attempted to fight against him once he saw the man wasn't out for the count. In fact, he was already getting up.

"You fucking dick!" Ryan screamed loudly as Ian hauled Mickeys feet off of the floor and out of the diner with one arm around his waist. It would've turned him on if he wasn't so fucking angry. Next thing he knew, his back was against the wall down an alley and Ian's arms were by his head, caging him in.

"Fuck you," Ian spat in his face, but Mickey grinned. There was that gleam in his boys eyes that he noticed only came around when he was looking directly at Mickey. He'd watched him interact with Mandy. It wasn't there then. It sure as hell wasn't there when he was wrapped around Ryan. That was reserved for him. "Why the fuck are you even here? You plan on hitting everyone I fucking date now?" He was hurt. He was angry. He was confused. But something deep down inside of him was singing at the fact that Mickey came for him.

""I'm here because I don't want him to have you. I don't want anyone fucking having you!"

"The fuck? Even though you don't want me? You don't want me, but no one else can? Do you fucking see how fucked up that is? How fucked up I am over you and this whole 'i can't do relationships' bullshit, I can't keep-"

As nervous as Mickey was, he decided to speak then.

"Shut up," Mickey cut him off with a soft shaky inhale, his eyes searching Ian's for anything that could give away what he was feeling. Anger, at the moment. But that gleam was still there.

"Mickey, honestly fuck you!" He'd snapped again but now Mickeys hand was on the back of his head and he was pulling him in.

He rested their foreheads together. "Shut up and fucking kiss me,"

"Fuck," was all he heard Ian say before Mickey was pushing up on his tip toes a little to kiss him. When lips touched, Mickey could've fucking died right then. The overwhelming feeling of butterflies erupted in his stomach, which is so fucking gay but an accurate description and he suddenly couldn't breathe though his nose correctly. Ian deepened the kiss almost as soon as they began. No one would be able to blame him, he'd wanted to do this for almost five months now. He even thought about kissing him while Mickey was in juvie. It's really sad how much time he spent dreaming of lips he'd never touched before. Ian's mind was spinning. This was better than he could've ever imagined it being. His body was tingling, his hands were a little shaky. Now that he'd had this, he couldn't ever go without it. He was sure of that much.

Ian had his arms pinned against the wall now as he controlled the motions, dominating the kiss just like he did everything else in the bedroom. Ian kissed a lot like he fucked. Determined, wet, delicious. That one track mind determination of making Mickey jelly in his hands. Of making his boy come apart and feel so good. Mickey whined high in his throat into the kiss which isn't what he'd expected to do, but he couldn't help how much Ian turned him on. Especially when he was kissing him like he'd just come home from war.

Their kiss was disrupted by a loud scoff from behind them, and Ian moved away barely to see who had done it. Ryan, icing a black eye and with toilet paper sticking out of his nose, was watching them from the entry of the alley. He'd come looking for Ian to make sure he was alright. Apparently, he was more than alright. "Fuck this shit. You were a good fuck, but apparently that's all you're good for." He'd called to Ian, and Mickey's post kiss bliss was cut like a knife. He tried to push off of the wall, to get to that bastard but Ian had anticipated that without even having to look at him. He squeezed his wrists gently and kept him pressed against the wall by his hands. Ian turned his head back to face the boy he loved so much, and Mickey saw that he wasn't affected by what Ryan had said. No, he was more entranced by Mickey and everything that kiss had meant to him. It melted Mickey just a little, he wouldn't lie. Mickey relaxed a little bit but still, he wanted to kill that guy.

"Fuck you!" Mickey had yelled to the man he'd beaten up not even six minutes prior, "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Shh," Ian had whispered to him, "Ignore him, yeah?"

"Can I just go fuck him up a little? Come on, he's right there!" Mickey tried to pull away again but Ian turned his face.

"Eyes on me."

Mickey had heard that come out of Ian's mouth before, but they definitely had a lot less clothes and a lot more things stuffed inside of Mickey. Mickeys eyes shot to his and he melted a little. When he did, Ian's eyes were blown out a little with lust. He was thinking the same thing Mickey was. About the last time he'd said those words.

"Oh, you wanna fuck now, huh, firecrotch?" Mickey laughed. He'd know that look on Ian's face from anywhere, but this time held something a little different. Mickey couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe hope. Mickey could share that sentiment.

Ian grabbed his face and laughed,

"Shut up and kiss me."

That night was far, far from over.

Lmk if you want a part two!

#gallavich drabbles #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #gallavich

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cartersblogabtnothing · 3 days ago

Text

i didn’t think about adding babs or steph because i know they aren’t technically batkids, but i shall do it now for fun!

stephanie has not a fucking clue how she got where she is, wherever… that… is…

it looks like new york, sounds like new york, smells like new york… but… there’s something different about it that she can’t put her finger down on.

the last thing she remembers happening in gotham is taking a bite of a burger from Batburger. it was a good burger. probably because she hadn’t spent any of her own money on it.

but, just as soon as her teeth sunk into the burger, a weird light bulb blew and then the next thing she knew she was sitting in a different restaurant. she felt different too, like her insides had been rearranged.

she was very uncomfortable.

steph wandered around for a while, her eyes darting around the city aimlessly as she tried to find something as an identifier. she came up empty handed outside of some news channel complaining about some… spider… guy.

she wasn’t really paying attention in all honesty. she was more concerned with where she was.

steph let out a sigh, shaking her head. she felt a little hopeless, walking around aimlessly in an unfamiliar city in god-knows-where. she tried thinking about what bruce would do, but the thought made her angry so she ignored it completely.

she took a left, and suddenly she was face-to-face with the spider guy from the news channel. she blinked a handful of times, making sure she wasn’t going mad.

the person was climbing a wall like it was the most normal thing in the world, their lean build making climbing easy and efficient. she considered, just for a second, to try and do that herself whenever she got home.

“what the fuck,” she lets out suddenly, staring.

the person’s head whips around and they stare with a blank expression on their mask. they tilt their head, staring.

“you’re not from new york,” they said simply, and steph rolls her eyes. “you’re not from here, are you?” they ask and she stiffens.

“how did you know that? did you send me here? if i could —“ she starts and the person shakes their head.

“no. i didn’t, but i can help bring you home.” they sigh and hop down, landing on the tips of their toes with practiced grace.

and they did just that, after eating mexican food with steph on the rooftop of their apartment building. they talked for a while, mainly about their shady parents and even shadier parental figures. they really did bond, and steph actually really liked peter. even if their… strange�� spidery tendencies scared her. she liked them.

she liked them so much that she even offered them to come with her after the weird contraption had been built, but they declined. she left their world feeling both a little lighter, and a little empty.

barbara had been considering quitting for years, after getting shot and almost killed by the joker really put a damper on her second life. even if she loved batgirl, she couldn’t continue putting her health at risk.

…which is what she told herself before she jumped at the first opportunity to go on patrol with bruce again. she really should’ve said no, especially considering the new magic user in gotham city.

which is why she’s in the situation she is, now. he had blasted her with… some sort of… ray from his fingertips. it was weird, it felt violating, and she felt sick afterwards.

well, she felt sick after she hit the hardwood floor of someone’s apartment.

someone who… curiously enough… had jumped up and stuck to a wall, and stared at her with wide eyes. they looked nervous, scared, and protective.

they reminded her a lot of tim. it made her smile.

and then gag.

where was she??

she stood slowly, brushing the dust off her suit before placing her hands on her hips.

“where am i?” barbara asks, tilting her head.

“my apartment.” the person huffs before they hop off the wall, landing gracefully.

“i assumed.” barbara huffs back, crossing her arms over her chest. “and where is that?”

“queens, new york.” the person mutters, standing in a defensive position - but their limbs remained loose and pliable. it was a talent that only dick could master, and she was immediately impressed.

“new york…” she murmurs, nodding her head. “i’m not from new york.” she sighs.

“i can tell.” the person hums, nodding their head. “jersey? you sound like it.” they mutter, and she smiles softly, nodding.

“yeah — uh — but… i feel weird. like… my insides are twisted.” barbara mumbles, holding her stomach.

the person’s eyes widen slightly before nodding tiredly, and they walk away. barbara didn’t even have a chance to call out before they came back in with some device.

“do you know how many people i’ve had crash into my apartment after being teleported across dimensions?” they ask as they ready the device up. “four people. it’s concerning.”

barbara laughs, and the two talk for a while as the person — peter, she learns — fixes the device up to help her get home. she learns that peter’s a vigilante too, named spider-man, and they were bit by a radioactive spider. which she thought was cool. she also learned their favorite things, their interests, and she realized they were more like than she thought.

she had offered to show them where she comes from, but they told her it was a one way trip. barbara felt like she was losing an old friend, which was strange, but she moves on anyway. brace face and all.

she goes back to gotham and tells a million stories of peter and her adventures, and she wishes she could be back in his shabby apartment laughing over goldfish and protective fathers.

i’m sure we’ve all read at least one or two “peter parker in gotham” fanfics. they’re a personal favorite, especially when they’re done well. and i do get why peter is always in gotham, but…

…why not put one of the batkids in peter’s new york? i think it’d be interesting.

my personal favorite is tim drake, but i do think any of the batkids would be absolute comedic gold. here’s why:

dick would’ve 100% “fallen” into some portal during a fight and ended up in new york. at first he thought it was just that, the portal teleported him into new york. whatever. that’s like a regular tuesday for him.

but then he saw some news program (“The Daily Bugle”) talking about some… Spider-man guy that dick’s never seen! never heard of! who the fuck was this guy and where is dick!?

he momentarily freaks the fuck out before giving himself a mission; find out where the fuck he is and then get back home. easy enough. he’s been stranded before. it should be easy for him to get back home.

at least he thinks so, until he bumps into the aforementioned Spider-man guy, who is surprisingly friendly despite the strange way they move. guess the spider thing was fr.

they bond over acrobatics while peter is attempting to figure out how to build a teleporter (he figures it out quicker than expected and spends far too much time styling it)

jason was on a mission with the outlaws, and one thing led to another and now he and the rest of his team had been teleported to different locations.

he had assumed that bullshit ray gun was some dollar general version of the big stuff until he walks head first into a humongous spiderweb that sticks to his helmet.

jason fucking hates spiders.

he freaks out (duh) and yanks his helmet off and stumbles away, staring at the way it just… hangs there… and suddenly he knew for a fact he wasn’t supposed to be there.

he looks around for a while after that, helmet-less and confused as all fuck. he thinks distantly that maybe he could just restart here. no joker, no batman, no nightwing, no responsibilities. he could make it work.

on his walk, he comes across a mugging. he attempts to get in there, of course, but he’s completely outgunned by some soft-looking fuck in red spandex.

red spandex! what the fuck!

the red-spandex person cleans the mugging up swiftly, and then they turn around to see jason there. they freeze, their mask scrunching up.

jason tries to shoot at them, but his hands get webbed to the wall before he could even reach into his pants.

he’s mildly impressed.

tim is completely whelmed when he just… disappears on his walk back to the manor after school. there’s no portal, no laser beam, no spell… he just… trips once and then falls through the sidewalk. it was so fucking weird.

he’s caught off guard as he’s spit back up from the other side, coughing and heaving breath after breath into his lungs as he takes in his surroundings. he’s in some bad smelling alleyway, and he could feel at least three other people near him.

he’s in a loud, busy city with tall buildings and aggressive crowds. it’s too bright to be Gotham and too gloomy to be Metropolis.

where is he?

he stands shakily, brushing himself off before looking around again. more focused this time, though. he focuses on his location.

he turns to see a homeless man staring, and before he could even open his mouth, the man screams before hissing at him and running the opposite way.

what the fuck?

he tosses his hands in the air before getting cut off by a snort, and he whips around to see a lean, thin, soft-looking person in red and blue spandex. their face is covered by a mask, but even then their mask is so animated that tim feels immediately impressed.

“you scared jimmy.” the person says simply, tilting their head.

“you scared me.” tim responds, tilting his head slightly to mirror them. they laugh, their white eyes narrowing.

“you’re not from around here,” the person says slowly, leaning forward slightly. “let me guess… jersey?”

“huh, how’d you know?” tim snorts, shaking his head.

“accent.” the person shrugs.

the two bond quickly, over everything and nothing at the same time; and they simultaneously figure out that tim is in an alternate dimension and they work together to figure out how to get him home.

by the time tim returns to gotham, he’s picked up more of peter’s spider-like attributes than he’d ever like to admit.

damian doesn’t want to admit that he went head first into a villain’s trap, but… he did.

in his defense, his father did nothing to stop him from doing it. truly, it’s his father’s fault. not his.

he blinks awake to find himself in a puddle, and theres cold rainwater falling onto him and soaking into his suit. it’s uncomfortable, cold, and he feels like curling into a ball and hiding.

but he can’t. he can tell he isn’t in gotham. what if he was somewhere unsafe? he needed to stay vigilant and aware.

he sits up, and immediately feels eyes on him. he looks around, paranoid and on guard.

before he can really understand what’s happening, he sees a person dressed in red spandex hop off what looks like a human sized spider web, landing on their feet with perfect, practiced elegance.

“you’re too young to be dressed like that,” the person begins as they walk closer. “too young to be what you are.”

damian scoffs and stands slowly, hiding a wince as he leans on his left foot. something’s sprained.

“hardly.” damian shakes his head, and the person tilts theirs in response.

“i had a feeling, but i had hoped i was wrong.” the person says softly before walking closer.

the last thing damian remembers before waking up in a warm bed was a warm hand grabbing his arm gently.

the person in red spandex reveals themselves, and they talk. for a while. damian ends up really liking them, especially after they tell damian all about the spider that bit them.

he almost doesn’t want to leave.

while shadow traveling (like in pjo?), duke goes a little too far. he knows he should’ve gone back, but he’s never gone this far and he was so curious it ached.

so he kept going until he walked out the other side, into a very busy alleyway. it smelled of garbage and weed, which didn’t necessarily bother duke but it did tickle his nose slightly.

he decided to figure out where he was first, and then worry about getting back. if he found out a way to get from one timeline to another, then bruce would be extremely grateful to have duke’s abilities on his side.

right?

duke could only hope so.

he walks around for a while, ending up on a very busy sidewalk. he sighs and steps next to a hot dog cart, to which the man stares at him strangely before shrugging and preparing a hot dog. duke goes to refuse, but hears… something in the distance.

he didn’t have time to react before the hot dog cart’s owner held the hot dog out to the street, and a person dressed in red spandex swung past and snatched it up. then, a few seconds later, a five dollar bill was… webbed to the side of the hot dog cart.

duke stared in awe, his eyes wide as he watches the scene. he immediately searches for a library, and immediately begins looking up who this person in red is.

does he forget that he isn’t dressed like a normal civilian half way through? yes. does he fix that? no.

he tracks spider-man down pretty easily, and asks them a million questions all at the same time, to which his mouth gets webbed for. spider-man snorts and answers every single one of his questions.

duke feels so heard it hurts his heart.

he shows spider-man how he did it, bids them farewell after letting spider-man take a picture and several notes of duke’s powers.

duke goes back to gotham feeling light and warm, a smile on his face.

cassandra woke up on a rooftop, feeling sick and tired. she assumed it was some sort of alternate dimensional travel, considering she had been in a space ship beforehand and now she wasn’t.

she uses context clues as well.

the loud bustling streets, the tall but modern buildings, the laughing, the music — none of it is gotham. she knew that very well, but she was still rather confused.

if she wasn’t in space, if she wasn’t in gotham, where was she?

she lets out a silent grunt before slowly sitting, and then standing up. everything hurt. she guessed her spaceship had crashed into some sort of… cosmic ray or portal and she fell out of it. made the most sense.

she looks around slowly, taking in her surroundings like she was taught. she sighs softly when she turns up empty handed, back at square one.

one thing she does notice is the obvious eyes on her. the person isn’t trying to hide, which means she probably in their terf. that isn’t good. not good at all.

cassandra barely turns her head before she feels something pulling at her wrist. looking down, she finds her wrist being tugged by a synthetic spiderweb. it was sticky, silky, and had far too much pull to it.

she twists her arm and pulls on the webs, and then the person comes forward with a heavy step. shiny red and blue spandex fits this person’s body like a glove, and the mask they wear is far too animated to be authentic. must be a function.

the two fight, and as they do cassandra watches the person’s spider-like tendencies. they move with suck fluidity that she feels inferior for the first time in a long time. she’s left in awe, almost.

eventually, she forfeits. she knows when she’s about to lose a fight, when it’s better to stop and give up then die fighting. even if this spider person doesn’t seem hostile, just protective.

“i’m not from here.” she states simply as she’s allowed to stand.

“i know.” the person responds, and cassandra feels more at ease than she did beforehand.

the person - peter takes care of her during her time in new york. gives her a bed, hot food, and even a fake identity for the time being. it works, and eventually she’s back home.

sometimes she tries to mimic peter’s fighting style, but without his abilities, she comes up short.

but the memories are warm and fuzzy and she likes to dream about it.

#barbara gordon #stephanie brown #babs gordon #steph brown #batgirl #spoiler dc #oracle

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simplegeneral · 3 days ago

Text

It was an early morning in the Sky Queendom, arriving at nearly 5 am at a meeting planned to happen at 9 am, the new queen of the SandWings past her mother queen Burn's passing, Oasis and her envoy had arrived extra early in order for her to prepare mentally to meet the other queens at the now famous Queens' Summit, happening every 5 years, this time earlier thanks to the new sandwing queen's ascension to power.

Depressed, angry and above all else, volatile, queen Oasis has declared speech after speech she would deliver to the queens, but to no avail nor her own approval, being only encouraged by her envoy, the adviser, principal and all-doer Sunny and her father, the ex-king now general Sandstorm.

At around 7 am, queen Moorhen, quite often seem as the matriarch and arbiter of the summit had arrived, so confident she would be the first one there, as always happened, only to find the young queen angrily snarling fancy words around in an attempt to showcase her nobility.

" Your new majesty, queen Oasis. A pleasure to meet you finally face to face. How long have you been here? " She spoke, ever so softly and stern as a mother figure, the mudwings behind her begun to hastily unpack their belongings to guard and offer during the summit.

" Oh. Your majesty.... Queen Moorhen... Of the mudwings, of course! I have been here for a few hours, I believe... " Oasis stumbled in her memories the coherent words to say in such situation.

" Oh three moons! Energetic aren't you? In fact, I do believe where all this energy came from... " Moorhen spoke as she looked Sunny, who was approaching them from the side. " Sunny, oh my, your energy is fueling through the ground or something? Its causing our royal guest here to feel accelerated! "

" No no no, your majesty, I mean, yes, I mean, kinda of. I mean I have been advising Oasis to the best of my abilities... " Sunny yelped cutely.

" Ha ha! Oh well. Delightful as it have been meeting your person, queen Oasis, I may ask, is everything alright? " Moorhen directed towards the young queen.

" Well... I am nervous, absolutely. Such a summit, it seems marvellous but, politicing at home is complicated, and I can not imagine what will be in foreign affairs...

- Ah, yes, indeed. Come with me, if you don't mind. Lets go to a walk to a nearby pond, we will talk there. You too can come, Sunny. "

The three of them made their way through the bushes, flowers and trees, into a large pond of cristaline waters, so pure they could see all the way to the bottom.

" Beautiful, isn't it? This pond is so refreshing, its waters so pure. It always relaxes me, and you?

- I do feel calmer by its beauty... But, what do you seek to talk with me?

- Oh. Direct to the point, eh? I see. Just like your mother! Ah, Oasis, once you live up as long as I did, the beauty of life is to live very calmly and tranquil. Your mother, queen Burn, and your grandmother before her, Oasis as well, were very agitaded and hard working dragons.

- I believe so. What do you know about my mother?

- A lot. We were allies during the succession war before you hatched. I believe I was one of the few dragons who could stand up to her, be direct, straightfoward, honest, and she always reciprocated. I met very few dragons in my life like her.

- I feel like I am her daughter but... I don't have much of anything of her, not the courage, the strength or the honesty.

- You are only so young! Be patient, queen Oasis. Let me tell you one quick story about your mother's first meeting with the other queens, at this very summit.

- Oh. Oh! Its queen Moorhen's story time!!!

- Calm down, Sunny, you might spoil everything to our guest here before I can even begin! "

The three of them sat down at the edge of the pond, and Moorhen begun:

" Your mother, queen Burn, was as nervous as you are when she first arrived at this summit. The proud warrior had a terrible charisma, her oratory was terrible and she couldn't get her ideas across in a convincing way to the council. As soon as she arrived, usually not so long after me, we would come here to this very pond and I would tell her stories, like I am doing to you, of how her mother, Oasis, stumbled on her words and embarrassed herself at courts held by other queens...

- She did? How do you know that?

- I am old enough! I saw Oasis' rise from a dragonet to the queen she would become. Burn was usually not very kind to anyone who addressed her mother with any lack of respect, but she usually tolerated my mockery because she knew I was saying light-heartedly. Oasis and I were good friends and allies back in a day, so I missed her too, it was all in good heart to remember what seemed to be better days. Oh well... So, the first time she arrived here, you had hatched only a few months before, and Burn had refused to leave you at the wingery of the palace, so she brought you ALL the way over here, and she was desperated!

' Moorhen! ' she yelled, ' I brought my dragonet over here, how embarrassing it will be when I address the council for the first time and she starts crying at the talons of my husband?! '

I said ' Calm down, Burn. I see you could win a thousand battles, but apparently you can not figure out motherhood haha! '

' THIS IS SERIOUS, MOORHEN! ' She snarled at me.

' Alright, alright. Calm down, Burn. Look. If she does cry, so what? She may or may not do anyways. Other queens are also bringing their dragonets because they do want them close, the situation is tense, its our first meeting, for ALL of us, not only you. I can list all of the dragonets who might cry if you would like. '

' Argh... Fine. Thank you, Moorhen... I can bark orders all I want, but properly address a crowd, I have never done that, it feels such a waste of time. '

' Words are more powerful than your talons, Burn. If you seek the other queens to believe in your ability to follow the international laws we seek to establish commonly among the queendoms, you must show yourself capable of reasoning, either you like the outcome or not. '

' I see. You are right... Good thing my daughter is here. I will do it for her, for I do not seek a dangerous world for her to live. '

' Remember Burn. Speak for what you love, not against what you hate. Good luck, my friend. '

- And so Burn and me nodded at each other and departed to the meeting. It was alright. Burn stumbled on her words but she delivered them with her heart in the right place, the crowd was pleased, and she proved to Pyrrhia she was a respectable leader, both in times of strife, and now in times of peace. "

Oasis had paid attention to Moorhen's words like she have never had to anyone, not even Burn in the later years. She spoke:

" Mother seemed so confident, so powerful, I confess, I never thought she could be such a nervous dragon...

- We are all normal dragons at the end of the day, Oasis. And as queens, its expected the most out of us. Known where your heart lies in, and speak with the oratory to melt their hearts, its my elderly wisdom to you, young one.

- Thank you, queen Moorhen. I... I wrote so many speeches to impress, to mark me as a powerful and decisive queen, yet none of them came out of my true beliefs, what my mother, my father, even what Sunny has told me. Maybe its too late to change all of it.

- We still have a hour until the meeting, Oasis. Its not too late.

- You think so?

- I know its not. Rewrite it. And remember the lesson your mother also had, reason your ideals, be ready to be challenged, respect the outcome.

- I will keep this in mind, thank you, once again, for sharing this with me, queen Moorhen.

- Worry not, young one. Expect nothing, deliver everything. You will do well. "

As Moorhen stayed in the pond, ever reflective, Oasis and Sunny departed back to their caravan, Oasis more than ready to write with her heart in the right place.

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ladyeyrewrites · 1 day ago

Note

Hey, i wanna ask for some 💭💭💭💭💭💭 and 👻👻👻👻👻 please😊

@eliotwaughdeservesbetter Here you go! Thanks for making me write!

💭But I Was Just in Peru Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Unc Buck,” little Kevin tries to imitate, but he’s a bit behind where he should be speech wise. Evan was telling Tommy about how Maddie was looking to start him with a speech pathologist soon only the day before. God, it feels like a lifetime since they were curled together on the sofa after Tommy’s shift talking about how Evan was worried about how stressed Maddie seemed. And now Maddie’s got her brother’s missing memory to worry about on top of her kid.

“How is he?” Bobby asks, and it once again strikes Tommy how lucky Evan is to have come to the 118 while Bobby was there, to have been shaped by someone who cares so much, someone who grew to become more of a father to Evan than Tommy’s actual father-in-law and God, Tommy’s going to have to call Phillip and Margaret and tell them what’s happened.

He’s never quite sure where he stands with them. They’ve been nothing but polite since Evan first introduced Tommy to them, almost painfully polite. Like they know there’s a way they’re supposed to act in order to keep up appearances, but they never seem to express a genuine emotion unless they’re criticising Evan over something, which automatically puts Tommy on the defensive when he’s around them. Honestly, the only reason he’s polite to them is because Evan’s trying to hard to have a relationship with them and Tommy guesses they’re trying to, in their own way.

Evan having amnesia is certainly going to throw a wrench into repairing their relationship, though.

But that’s a problem for the future. For now, he has to say something. He has to look the anxious eyes of Evan’s chosen family and tell them that Evan isn’t their Buck right now, that they’re all strangers to him. Tommy takes a deep breath, filling his lungs as though extra oxygen will somehow soften the blow he has to strike. “He’s awake,” Tommy begins.

And some 👻 Marry My Dead Tommy snippet 1 and 2

“Motherfucker!” Chim swore. “Not again! Why am I always the one getting haunted?” First his mom’s ghost and then Kevin and now Tommy Kinard of all people. At least his mom had crossed over once she’d been sure Chim was safe with the Lees. Kevin seemed to come and go as he pleased, warning Chim of any danger before it happened before disappearing again. What kind of ghost was Tommy going to be?

Tommy shrugged. “Trust me, if I had the option of haunting someone else, I would.”

Being haunted by Tommy hadn’t been as bad as Chim had first thought it would be. Turned out that without the pressures of living and working under Gerrard’s thumb, Tommy was actually pretty fun. After work, Chim would come home and they’d watch movies together and Tommy would gripe about the cheap beer Chim kept stocked in his fridge even though Tommy couldn’t consume anything anymore.

When Hen started at the 118, Tommy got real quiet. It wasn’t that he disappeared. He hovered around the firehouse even more if anything, scowling at Gerrard and the guys who played along with him. Not that Chim exactly stood up for Hen, either, but he tried to at least be friendly.

Tommy had gone a little poltergeist, not towards Hen, but rather towards Gerrard: moving his coffee, knocking things off his desk, burning his uniform. “What’s with the pranks man?” Chim had asked him one day when they were back at Chim’s place watching Fight Club.

“I just hate how he’s treating her,” said Tommy.

Make Me Write

#bucktommy #tevan #chimney han #tommy kinard #evan buck buckely #ghost marriage au #9 1 1 fanfiction #bucktommy fic #marry my dead Tommy #but I was just in Peru #amnesia fic #make me write #eyreanswers #maddie han #wip

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chaotic-orphan · 3 days ago

Text

Whumpuary No.7

Unfair fight // Insomnia // “no one is coming”

This was a long one, hoi boi🫡 but she’s done…

“Hero…” Second in command said softly. Hero didn’t reply. She just kept walking after their team across the rocky terrain to the shelter that Navigator spotted a few kilometres back. “Hero.”

“What?” Hero asked. There was nothing sharp about the question. She didn’t snap. She didn’t sigh or demand an answer. It was empty. A sound that carried no meaning behind it. She was tired. She was beyond tired. She just wanted… she just…

“We’ll get them back.” Second told her. Hero didn’t reply. She just kept going. That’s all she could do. Keep walking. Keep breathing. Keep going until they somehow managed to rescue Vigilante from Supervillain.

Nobody that Supervillain took had ever been seen again, nevermind… nevermind— she buried that thought under a hatch in her mind and padlocked it down. Getting emotional wouldn’t get Vigilante back after all… no… she just put one foot in front of the other. It was easy. It was quiet. It was…

She was…

Leader, Navigator and Medic had dropped their packs and started setting up a camp, rolling out their bedding on the smooth rock. Rogue and Youngest were already gone, to fetch some wood for a fire no doubt when Hero and Second arrived.

Hero disengaged from the group and went to the cliff edge outside the shelter and settled her back against the rock of the cave. She heard the usual routine happening behind her, without her.

Then he appeared like an apparition in front of her. Translucent but full formed, a shadow of Villain with his self-satisfied smirk and gleaming eyes. Hero didn’t say anything as he approached her.

“Hello darling. You’re looking worn, drained.” Hero looked through him, literally, as he crouched down and pressed a phantom hand to Hero’s cheek. She wished she couldn’t feel it. She knew he was able to not let her feel it, but he was a sadistic fucker. “My my, have you been sleeping, pet? Your bags have bags,” he noted, pulling down her eyelid.

Hero batted his hand away, but her hand went straight through his projection and she huffed out a breath and looked away as Villain laughed.

“You know damn well why I’m not sleeping.”

Villain released her and sat in front of her instead. He tilted his handsome head to the side. “Is it Vigilante, hmm? The guilt of knowing you could have saved them but didn’t.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh shush. You know how much I enjoy our little chats, Hero,” he said, waving her insult away. “Besides,” his eyes sharpened. “We both know what else I could spend my time doing if you don’t feel like talk—“”

Hero lurched forward a hand out that went through Villain’s visage. “No! No! I— I wanna talk.”

Villain grabbed Hero’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes danced with a gleeful satisfaction. “So desperate, Hero. So needy. But don’t worry. I’ll stay with you. We can talk all night long.”

Hero wanted to punch him. She wanted to cry and scream and wrap her hands around his throat because she didn’t know how much longer she could take this. The taunting, the teasing, every night, once the sun set, Villain would appear to her and force her to chat with him through the night so she couldn’t sleep. The first few days it was fine. She could catch an hour before and after Villain appeared, and she was fine. But they were travelling for two weeks now, and Hero had had to start sleeping by day to the annoyance of their teammates.

The worst part was she couldn’t even tell them about Villain, or Villain promised he’d make Vigilante pay and let Hero see all of the torture for herself.

How many times had she debated telling her team? How many times has she wanted to scream about it to somebody, anybody, but Villain somehow sensed that too after the fourth day.

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back after she challenged him. “Maybe Vigilante’s life isn’t enough of a threat, hmm? You know… Youngest in your team seems quite—”

“No!” Hero screamed, struggling against a ghost.

Villain leaned down, craning Hero’s neck all the way back but she didn’t drop eye contact with him as he hissed: “then behave.”

Dinner came and went. Hero denied any food. She felt too sick to eat. Almost woozy from the insomnia, and when she did eat it was like she was pumped of adrenaline that only led her to crashing later.

“Hero… you should really eat. You’ll turn into skin and bones if you don’t,” Villain chided with a smile.

When it came time to sleep, Hero said she’d take first watch. Leader came out and stood above her. “Hero, no.”

“Oooh,” Villain cooed from behind Hero, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Your boss is so forceful Hero. But tell him you insist.”

Hero shivered as the phantom hand settled on the nape of her neck. “I- I insist,” she said quietly.

Medic came out after Leader.

“Hero, get inside. We need to cover a lot of ground tomorrow and we can’t have you dozing off when the sun comes up again! We’re losing time to save Vigilante.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Hero cried, hands flying to her hair and pulling. “I— I want to save Vigilante more than anything.”

“She’s right you know,” Villain purred, standing behind Medic. He started whispering in Medic’s ear, loud enough for Hero to hear. “She wants to save poor Vigilante more than her circadian rhythms demand.”

“Please!” Hero cried. “I— I- I need to stay awake.”

Villain’s violet eyes flashed at Hero over Medic’s shoulder. “That’s right. Good girl. You tell them.”

Hero swallowed hard. Leader frowned and looked over his shoulder to where Hero stared, almost as if in a trance. Medic found his gaze, erudite eyes coloured with concern.

Leader looked back at Hero.

“Alright.” Leader said. Hero relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief that seemed to be the only thing holding her up. She swayed as the world spun around her and would have fallen if not for Leader catching her halfway to the ground.

“Please,” Hero said with a breath, not entirely sure she didn’t blackout for a second. “Please, trust me,” she pleaded.

Leader nodded and sat her back against the rock. “I trust you, Hero. I know losing Vigilante has been hard on you, but there’s some leftover food and you will eat some of it if you won’t sleep, do you understand?”

“I—” Hero protested. Leader spoke over her.

“Or I’ll have Rogue take watch and ask Medic to force—”

“Okay! Okay!” Hero rushed out, panic seizing her heart. Leader smiled and tucked her hair out of her face.

“Good. I’ll grab you a plate. And you will eat it all, Hero.”

Hero nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

The two disappeared back into the cave. Hero could hear Medic berating Leader as they retreated but she didn’t really care about what they said anyways. Villain walked back in front of her and plopped himself down in front of her. His eyes alight with a dangerous amusement.

“You’re so good at taking orders, Hero.” Villain purred. “So pliant and malleable like this,” he said. He propped his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. “Oh, if only I thought of taking Vigilante sooner. Maybe the heroes wouldn’t have given us as much trouble when you’re distraught and sleep deprived.”

Hero didn’t answer. A hot tear dripped from her eye onto her cheek. Maybe that was answer enough. She was going mad, she knew. Villain was driving her mad, making her seem crazy, torturing her for his own cruel enjoyment.

“Oh Darling,” Villain cooed as Hero started to cry silently, her shoulders shaking up and down and letting out silent sobs that sounded only like gasps of breath. He moved towards her and pulled Hero into his arms, his legs on the outside of hers as he pushed her head into his shoulder. She didn’t move. “Darling, shush. Crying will waste so much of your energy.”

Hero continued to cry. “Oh you poor sweet angel. There, there. I know it’s hard,” he said, patting Hero’s back. “I know, pet. But you’re just so stubborn, hmm? This can all be over if you like.”

Hero stiffened in Villain’s arms. “W-what?” She asked wetly, mucus clogging her words.

Villain pulled Hero back and smiled down a kind smile at her, but his horrible eyes betrayed him. “Darling, have you had enough?”

Hero nodded. Villain softened. “Words, doll.”

“Y-yes,” Hero sniffed. Then she jumped a little and shook her head. “But— but I don’t! I don’t want you to hurt Vigilante, please!”

Villain crushed her into his chest again. “Oh I know you don’t. I know you’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you?”

Hero nodded against Villain’s chest. “Words,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I know, darling. So how about we make a deal?”

Hero pulled back a little and stared into the monsters violet eyes. “A- a deal?”

It was a bad idea. Even in her state she knew it was a bad idea, but what else could she do?

“Yes,” Villain said, phantom fingers wiping away Hero’s tears. “A deal. A trade. You for Vigilante.”

All warmth drained from Hero’s body. She didn’t recoil or so much as flinch, she just stared at Villain who sat drinking in every minuscule muscle twitch across her face.

“What?”

“I asked Supervillain already. He said he was fine with the trade, and would put you under my care just like Vigilante is. But I wouldn’t torture you, sweet thing. We would chat, and be like this,” he said, as he tucked a piece of Hero’s hair behind her ear. “Together. In person. You won’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll release Vigilante and you won’t have that guilt plaguing your mind either.”

Hero’s mouth went incredibly dry, like she was inhaling glass. “Will— will you l-let me… will—” Hero fretted, “I- I need to sleep.”

“As soon as you’re in my arms, darling, my real arms I’ll let you sleep, hmm? Would you like that?”

Hero nodded. Her cries turned into a sudden sob she couldn’t catch. “Pl-please… please. I- I would. Ple—”

“Shush, shush, shush. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll do the rest.”

This time, Hero recoiled. “N.. no. You can’t— my team is… my team is here and—”

“Okay,” Villain mused. “Then pick a spot you know, where you can slip away and I’ll come pick you up.”

“And let Vigilante go?” Hero asked, hope colouring every word. Villain shook his head. Hero deflated.

“Once I have you we can talk about Vigilante’s release. I don’t want any nasty surprises in case you try to ambush me with your team.”

God, Hero didn’t even think of that… she was drained. Wholly and completely, her body on autopilot and her mind switched off.

“Okay…” Hero murmured. “Okay… I can meet you by the ruins to the old church in the black valley.”

Villain nodded. “I think I know that area. Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

Hero stiffened. “I- I won’t be able to go until they’re asleep.”

Villain chuckled. A warm, hearty sound. “I know, sweet thing. It will just take me some time to get there so I’ll trust you and leave you to find your way.”

Hero sat out of Villain’s embrace, pulling her sleeve over her hand and wiping her cheeks. “O-okay.”

When Hero arrived at the old church a car was waiting for her. A silhouette of a figure she knew too well was waiting, perched against the passenger side door. Hero froze in place.

Oh god.

What was she doing?

This man had… he had tortured her psychologically over the last two weeks, playing dirty, fighting unfairly, depriving her of sleep just so he could pull something as horrid as this… something she would never have agreed to if she was of sound mind.

And… oh god. She hadn’t gotten used to the cold feel of his fingers and hands on her, everytime he touched her it was like a zap of electricity, or an icy shock to her system that made her gasp but seeing Villain in person now…

He looked very much real.

Strong too. Stronger than he appeared when he projected himself to her mind and even then he could overpower her.

“You know,” his velvet voice called over the short distance between them. It sounded smoother in person, like melted chocolate in her ears. Warm and soothing. Not the voice of a villain. “In your state, I could always catch you if you tried to run.”

Hero couldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t let her step closer. A cold hand settled on the small of her back and pushed her forward. “There you go, that’s a good girl. Do you still have your bow?”

Hero swallowed. Nodded. “Words, darling,” he purred. Hero trembled.

“Y-yes.”

She was so close now. She could make out some of the features on his face, his long hooked nose, his deep set eyes and his dark hair that fell a little over his eyes she could feel more than see were focused only on her.

“Good. I will need to take that off you for now, but if you behave I will give it back so you can train. Keep your skills up. Would you like that?”

Hero didn’t answer.

Five steps.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two.

Her heart screamed at her to run, to flee, pumping adrenaline through her body to get her to escape.

But it was too late. Villain put his hand on her cheek. It was warm. Hero couldn’t suppress the flinch.

“Oh you are just an angel, aren’t you?” He whispered. Hero didn’t answer. His eyes went to the road Hero came from. She had the good sense to go around the church so he wouldn’t know which direction her team was. That wasn’t part of the deal. “And any teammates follow you?”

Hero began to shake her head, but stopped, looked at him. Words. “N-no… it’s just me… no— no one else is coming.”

Villain’s smile cut into his face, exposing his white teeth. “Excellent, Hero.”

He took her quiver and bow from her shoulders and opened the door for her to the passenger seat. Hero climbed in. Villain shut the door and walked to the boot, throwing her weapons into the trunk before he climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Hero bristled. “I… I won’t be any trouble, I swear,” she pleaded. “Please, I just… I just want to sleep.”

Villain smiled sympathetically at her. “I know, Hero. I just need to make sure you don’t get any ideas of escape while we drive back to base. Surely you understand?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled. She bit it to stop from crying and nodded. Her eyelids threatened to drown her if she didn’t close her eyes soon. “Good girl. I’ll just cuff one hand, okay?”

Hero nodded again. Once she was secured and he was sure she couldn’t go anywhere, he nodded and started the engine. When they pulled off, out of the ruins and onto the main road he said: “okay, little Hero. You’ve been so good for me. And good behaviour gets rewarded.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “I can sleep now?”

“Yes darling,” Villain said with a smile in his voice. Hero settled back into her seat, resting her head against the soft, leather headrest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Villain smiled into the darkness. “My pleasure.”

Hero was asleep before she heard the words, for the first time in two weeks, her mind, blissfully, switched off.

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