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kaisacobra · 3 months ago

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I Dare You - Tara Carpenter

Summary: When Amber Freeman, Tara's best friend (and secret crush) dares her to win a random person over, she thinks it's gonna be an easy task. What she wasn't expecting, however, was that y/n y/l was far more interesting than she thought.

Warnings: Painter!Fem!Reader, very small mentions of sex and alcohol, non-canon/high school!AU, angst? ish?

W.C: 6.0k

a/n: She's back! This is probably not my best one but i was desperate to write something again and end my awful writers block. Anyways, i do think this will be a small series so stay tuned for that!

Tara’s head was pounding.

The school day had barely started and she couldn't stand being there any longer. Contrary to what many might think, her discomfort didn't come from the noise of lockers banging or the loud chatter and laughter of the students in the hallways. In fact, the reason had a first and last name: Amber Freeman, her best friend and secret crush, who seemed very intent on recounting every detail of her hookup with a girl last night.

“And then she asked me to...”

“That's enough! I definitely don't need to hear about what sex position you used, or anything like that.” Tara held up one hand, grimacing in disgust as Amber laughed beside her, opening her locker without the slightest shame at what she had said.

“Come on, Tara! Don't be so grumpy.” The dark-haired girl gave her a fake pout, purposely trying to annoy her friend. “I needed that! Do you know how long it's been since I've been with anyone? Too long!”

And not only did Tara know how long it had been since Amber had kissed anyone, she also knew exactly why it had happened. Tara had a certain advantage at school for hanging out with Amber, who carried the title of most popular and desired girl for her unattainable energy, memorable parties and, of course, singular beauty.

Hanging out with Amber and basically being her right-hand woman meant that Tara was also popular by proxy. The students knew exactly who she was and, what's more, they knew that if they messed with Tara, they would have to deal with the wrath of the implacable Amber Freeman, which came in handy when Tara needed to “gently” convince multiple people in the school that Amber would never be interested in them behind her back.

Apparently, someone had slipped through her fingers.

Tara didn't bother to offer an answer to her friend, just rolling her eyes and closing her locker without much strength, so as not to make her growing migraine even worse. Unfortunately, Amber had never been the kind of person to wait for an opening to speak her mind. “You know, I bet that bad mood of yours would be cured if you loosened up a little bit. When was the last time you kissed anyone?”

“Who kissed who?”

Tara leaned her shoulder on the locker behind her to watch the arrival of Wes, closely followed by Liv and Chad, who walked hand in hand, followed by the stares of the crowd of teenagers who either wanted to be them or wanted them to be gone. The trio, along with Tara and Amber, were considered the “popular crew” at Woodsboro High School, even though the Carpenter girl hated the term because she considered it extremely cliché and tacky.

Liv and Chad were the typical American high school couple made up of a cheerleader and a soccer player. Tara had known Chad the longest, having him as a childhood friend, and she watched first-hand as he became more and more enamored of his influence through his status as a star quarterback, especially as he gained the attention of his current girlfriend and the entire school. Liv was the typical mean girl cheerleader who was extremely empty and desperate to stay relevant in the social hierarchy. Tara didn't understand what Chad saw in her, but she put up with the girl because Amber wanted her around for some reason.

Wes, on the other hand, was an exception. He used to be a loner until Amber took him under her wing after she discovered his status as the sheriff's son, which the girl used as a pass to get out of trouble more easily. Wes knew that his position in the group was fragile and so he constantly tried to compensate by bringing up gossip that he found out about the whole school.

He was still waiting for an answer when Amber slipped an arm around Tara's shoulders, ruffling her hair. “Tara here is in a bad mood today. I was trying to tell her that the way to solve it is with a good makeout sesh.”

You could help me with that, Tara thought, but other words came out of her mouth, “Shut up. I'm just not in the mood for anything right now, that's all.”

Tara knew that hooking up with Amber, if it ever happened, would be both her blessing and her curse. Amber was the type of girl who would rather die than get into a serious relationship and, if Tara was going to be honest, she knew the girl would be a terrible girlfriend. Too bad her little crush couldn’t think rationally.

Liv smirked in her usual evil little laugh. “Yeah. I bet you're only saying that because you've been left on the shelf.”

Amber and Wes hissed and whistled teasingly, trying to get an even bigger reaction out of Tara. Chad raised his eyebrows in shock, glancing briefly at the shorter girl before focusing down on his phone. Tara felt a wave of pride and piled up anger rise up inside her. She crossed her arms defensively, scoffing as she glared at Liv. “Oh, please. You know very well that I could get with whoever I wanted at this school.”

Okay, maybe the words were a bit exaggerated and presumptuous, but it's not like she was wrong. Popularity aside, Tara knew damn well that she was a pretty girl and she wasn't afraid or ashamed to use her charms to get what she wanted sometimes.

“Whoever you wanted, huh?” Amber smiled mischievously as she heard the phrase and the evil glint in her dark eyes, which usually appeared when she was coming up with her crazy plans, began to show. “Interesting. We should prove that somehow, Carpenter.”

“Whatever.” Tara rolled her eyes, internally wishing that the matter would be closed soon. The more Amber stared at her like that, the redder Tara’s cheeks became and that was going to be impossible to hide in a few minutes.

“Ah, ah! Don't chicken out now, Carpenter.” The raven haired girl raised her index finger, shaking it in a negative. “I've got a great idea! Why don't I just pick a random person and you have to hookup with them, hm? Come on, Tara. I dare you.”

The three other teens let out more roars of approval, patting Amber on the shoulder for her brilliant idea and trying to convince Tara to go through with the challenge, offering half encouraging words and half biased questions along with “Are you scared?” and “Can you handle it?”.

The Carpenter girl felt at a crossroads. On the one hand, she definitely didn't want to do it. Her small (and growing) crush on Amber was already too much sentimental work for her, not to mention the fact that she wasn't at all keen on the idea of kissing some random stranger, especially knowing that Amber would choose the most embarrassing option possible.

On the other hand, a part of her was always tempted to indulge Amber Freeman's desires, eagerly searching for a hint of approval or recognition in those umber eyes that usually carried nothing but sarcasm and boredom.

So Tara didn't even have to consider long before she groaned in displeasure, closing her eyes and leaning her head back until it rested on the locket’s door. “Fine, whatever. But if you pick some weirdo who eats his own snot, I swear...”

Tara's thoughts were interrupted by the loud noise of something hitting the floor, followed by some snickering and murmuring from everyone in the hallways. She lifted her head to see through the crowd, searching for the reason for the commotion while already hearing her friends laughing beside her.

When the crowd finally cleared enough for Tara to be able to see, she was faced with the scene of a girl slowly picking herself up off the ground, peeling off a canvas that still looked wet from her T-shirt, now completely stained with paint. Another football player seemed to be trying to apologize for something, to which the girl only responded with a nod of her still lowered head.

"Holy shit." Amber laughed, holding her stomach as if she were at a comedy show. "What a dumbass. Hey, isn't that one of Mindy's little friends?"

Chad looked up, looking away from his phone when he heard his twin sister's name being mentioned. He let out a sound of confusion at first, but following the gaze of the others, the boy finally nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Y/n Y/l."

Tara watches with furrowed brows as the girl walks further into the corridor, clearly unhappy with her ruined painting and clothes. When she focuses back on her friends, Amber's mischievous gaze is already on her. "I think we've met your challenge, Tara."

The shorter girl's eyes widened comically and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Chad had a similar reaction

Mindy used to be part of the group made up of the childhood friends: Tara, Chad, Mindy and Amber, at least until the beginning of high school, when everything related to her became a forbidden topic and the group underwent a change of members. What happened was that the girl had called Amber a bitch for cheating on Mindy with her girlfriend at the time, causing a rift that was never repaired. Chad had to beg Amber not to do anything drastic against his sister, which she begrudgingly accepted, but also didn't allow any of the others to have contact with her.

"Amber, are you sure?" Tara subtly tried to change Freeman's mind, already anticipating the huge mess that could arise between the former friends. "I mean, she's Mindy's friend and she's kind of quiet. Maybe she hasn't even kissed anyone yet."

A bit harsh, but that's the impression Tara got from the little she knew about you. She had never heard you speak in any of the classes you had together, she always saw you either with Mindy's group or on your own and the most she knew was that you were good enough at painting to paint a mural behind the bleachers at the school's request.

Unfortunately, Amber couldn't care less about any of these set of reasons. In fact, they even seemed to encourage the dark-eyed girl, who just shrugged. "Even better. You'd be doing her a favor and we wouldn't be attacking Mindy directly. Sounds like a win-win to me."

Tara looked at the others, analyzing their reactions to the plan. Wes and Liv had already agreed to it a long time ago and were now trying to pressure the shorter girl into accepting. Chad met Tara's gaze and shrugged, although his wrinkled forehead gave away his distaste for the whole idea.

The Carpenter girl sighed, suddenly feeling crowded despite only having four people around her and an entire hallway available for her to run down if she wanted to.

The problem was that she didn't. Not when Amber's beautiful manic eyes were staring at her with such expectation, making Tara's stomach do somersaults. So Tara just nodded her head in a yes, receiving happy shouting and pats on the shoulder as a reward.

"Y/n Y/l is the target, then."

To say that your day sucked would be an understatement.

First of all, you'd spent the whole week racking your brains, trying to somehow find inspiration to do a painting for art class, but your creativity had gone out the window. The best you could do to produce your teacher's homework request: “Represent a personal happy moment”, was an adaptation of a Polaroid you had taken with your friends a few months ago.

Being a perfectionist who already thought your artwork wasn't good enough, you decided to add a few touches on it a few minutes before arriving at school, trying to convince your inner art critic that the painting wasn't so bad.

Unfortunately, the second problem came at the exact same minute you set foot in the school, or rather, the minute one of the football idiots stepped in your way, causing you to trip and fall right on top of the canvas that wasn't yet dry.

You barely heard the boy's apology, just nodding and struggling to get out of the hall as quickly as possible, wishing the ground would swallow you up soon so you couldn't hear the loud snickering of the other people in the hallways.

Luckily for you (because something in your day had to go right), you had a spare T-shirt in your locker, near the art room. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, having a big Jason vs Michael Myers fan art printed on it, but at least it was better than spending the rest of the day in a shirt that looked like it had been vomited on by a unicorn.

You sighed, placing the canvas, now destroyed, on one of the empty easels in the art room. The once uniform colors now blended into a mess of paint that, until earlier today, had represented your face next to those of your friends, enjoying a summer's day in Woodsboro. The green of Anika's blouse had mixed with the chocolate of Mindy's skin, the white of the sun had stained the brown of Ethan's hair and the faces of the four of you had become a single blur, exactly where you had crashed into earlier.

“I thought you didn't do abstracts.” A familiar voice echoed into the room and you turned just in time to see your favorite teacher, Ms. Crane, entering the room with her typical warm smile. As always, the art teacher was wearing a light dress and her blonde hair was perfectly tied up in a bun, which by this point was her trademark.

“I don't.” You replied simply, pointing disappointingly at the disaster on canvas you had made. “I couldn't think of anything during all week so I tried to finish it this morning, but then the paint wouldn't dry and I ended up falling on it.”

The teacher grimaced, her big blue eyes looking at you with some concern as she left her bag on her desk. “Creativity block? You've never had a problem with that before. Should I be worried that it's happened just when the theme was having a happy moment?”

You quickly nodded, trying to relieve the woman’s nerves. You weren't a sad person at all, although many people thought so because of your withdrawn behavior. You had a good life, you were a good student with a clear talent for the arts, and you had a sincere friendship in Mindy, Anika and Ethan, who had already met all the social needs you might have had.

The real issue with this project was that none of your attempts seemed right, always seeming to be missing some element or another between the memories in your brain and the movements of the brush in your hand. And yes, Ms. Crane was right about this never happening before, which was what made you the most frustrated.

The woman seemed to understand your internal dilemma and her gaze softened. “Why don't I give you another week to finish, hm? You're one of our best artists, y/n. I know you can make masterpieces when you have your head on the right place.”

And that was the reason why the woman was your favorite teacher, far beyond just being the one responsible for the art subject. Laura Crane was extremely human and compassionate towards all of her students, even those who weren't good artists or those who went to class just to admire the young teacher's beauty.

“Thank you, Ms. Crane.” You nod, feeling some of the weight on your chest being lifted. The woman waved her hand dismissively, acting as if she hadn't done anything much, even though you knew she had just done way more than any of the other old vultures who worked at the school.

You spent the rest of the day with that in your head. Your mind twisted and turned trying to find a glimmer of inspiration for your work, desperately trying to think of something that could represent your best moment of personal happiness on a 60 x 100cm canvas. The extra deadline Ms. Crane had given you made your perfectionist side feel even more intense, wanting to make a piece impressive enough to justify your lost time.

Your thoughts clouded your mind so intensely that you mechanically made your way to the history room, sitting down in your usual chair without really paying attention to your surroundings. The room, little by little, was filled up with students and, along with them, came the loud noise of chatter and chairs being dragged around. But even so, your eyes remained focused on a blank sheet of paper in front of you, while the pencil in your hand almost had to cry out for help because of the strength with which you were holding it.

You couldn’t even draw a sketch. Goddammit, what was wrong with you?!

“Can I borrow a pen?”

You snapped out of your stupor when you heard a soft voice close to your ear. Raising your head a little too quickly, you found yourself facing beautiful brown eyes and dimples on either side of a smile. Honestly, that sight scared you even more because why was Tara Carpenter, resident popular girl, talking to you at that moment?

It's not like you cared about the whole “social pyramid” and “popularity ranking” thing that mattered so much to some people at your school, but you knew that Tara and her friends didn't have the best track record with your best friend, Mindy. You didn't know the full story, but the fact that Mindy always cursed them every time the group passed by you gave you an idea that maybe they weren't such good people.

Tara noticed the confusion on your face, thinking it was due to the sudden question and not due to her presence in general, and decided to humorously complement the question. “I left all of mine at home, can you believe it?”

Not really, you were tempted to answer, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. You spent a few more seconds analyzing the girl, trying to understand why she had asked you for the pen and not the other people in the room she usually sat nearby. Tara was still patiently standing next to you, leaning slightly towards your direction, and she didn't seem to be in any rush, nor did she seem to have any bad intentions.

Overall, the only mean ones in her group of popular people were Amber and Liv, but they usually liked to be offensive directly to the faces of the students they chose as victims. The fact that Tara hung out with them was no green flag, of course, but from what little you knew of her, the girl didn't seem to be the teaser or prankster type.

With that in mind, you pulled one of the pens you used the least out of your bag and raised it towards the girl, offering it without muttering a word, wishing that the awkward (at least for you) conversation would end soon.

Unfortunately, Tara didn't seem to share the same opinion, because she pulled out the chair right next to you to sit down, dropping her black bag carelessly on the side of the table and pointing at your clothes. “Nice shirt. Team Jason or team Michael?”

The question mark in your head seemed to get even bigger with the casualness with which Tara was talking to you. You knew that the girl didn't talk to many people apart from her friends and you knew even better that they generally tried to ignore your existence along with Ethan, Anika and Mindy.

Still, horror movies were your passion and you couldn't pass up the chance to talk about one of your favorite topics with a new person.

“Well, it depends on which parameter we're using. Overall, I like the Halloween franchise better and I prefer Michael Myers’ aesthetic, but I think Jason has a better lore and he would definitely win in a fight.” You tried to keep your yapping contained, not knowing exactly how interested Tara really was in your opinion, but you were surprised to see a twinkle in the girl's eye and a mischievous smile bloom on her face.

“Michael is much faster and smarter than Jason, there's no chance of him losing in a fight.”

“Zombie Jason was literally immortal, Michael and his kitchen knife wouldn't stand a chance against him.”

The two of you continued to talk and go back and forth with each other's comments as if it was something you did every day. Being so intrigued and immersed in the topic of the conversation almost made you forget that you were talking to Tara Carpenter, with whom you had never exchanged more than three words in your life before, but both of you only stopped talking when the teacher called your attention, asking for you to be quiet so that he could start the lesson.

Tara didn't seem as shocked by the interaction as you were and, in fact, she continued to sit next to you even though her usual chair on the other side of the room was empty. She gave you a complicit wink before turning to face forward, a satisfied smile still playing on her face, as if she had been the winner from that debate.

And you? You did your best to pay attention in the rest of the class and not keep reliving the interaction in your head, trying to convince yourself that that conversation had been a glitch in the matrix and would probably never happen again, but it was hard now that you knew how nice Tara could be and after you had noticed the way her freckles seemed to dance across her face when she smiled.

“Earth to y/n?”

The voice of your best friend, Mindy, snapped you back to reality, making your cheeks feel warm. It was lunchtime and you, Mindy, Anika and Ethan were sitting at your usual table, which was a wooden picnic table, conveniently placed under the shade of a huge tree. A few meters away, closer to the cafeteria doors, was the circular table that was always occupied by the popular kids, surrounded by people who intruded on the group's chatter to pretend they were close to them at some level.

Usually you would never look in that direction and would instead be in a conversation with your friends about anything, but you couldn't stop thinking about the randomness of the moment you had with Tara earlier.

Your eyes turned to Mindy on the other side of the table, who frowned as she realized that you were intently watching the table of the people she hated most at school. Anika, next to her, followed your gaze and the edges of her lips fell in concern. “What? Did they do something?”

“Did they do something to you?!” Ethan asked alarmed, his body leaning towards you enough to make you uncomfortable at the invasion of your personal space. It was no secret to anyone that the boy was in love with you, especially because he had confessed it multiple times. However, no matter how many times you said you only saw him as a friend, Ethan didn't seem to move on.

“No. It's not a big deal.” You shook your head, easing your friends' concern. Still, thoughts of your conversation with Tara seemed to beg to be externalized. “Tara spoke to me in class today, out of nowhere. She saw my shirt and started asking me about which of the two was my favorite.”

“Out of the blue?” Mindy asked, still frowning, and you nodded. “Well, I know Tara has always loved horror movies. We all did.”

The meaning was left implicit, but you knew she was referring to her old group of friends before things blew up between her and Amber. Anika ran her hand over her girlfriend's arms, trying to make her feel a little better about the topic through physical contact.

The table sat quietly for a few torturous seconds until you spoke up again, breaking the silence while watching Mindy's reaction cautiously. “It was nice. I mean, she was nice to me and the conversation was interesting.”

“Careful, y/n. Talking like that, it almost sounds like someone's got a little crush.” Anika teased you, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that made you feel even more embarrassed. You looked away to the crowded table on your far right, watching the way Tara seemed to be engrossed in whatever conversation she was having.

It was confusing. You didn't think you had a crush on Tara just because you had a nice moment with her, as much as you admitted that the girl was very pretty, but it was undeniable that something about this situation had intrigued you a lot.

Next to you, Ethan scoffed aggressively, looking irritated by Anika's little joke. “Come on! Y/n would never be interested in a person like her! What does she have to offer? Stupid parties and a basic knowledge of horror movies?”

“I don't think Tara's that bad...” Anika mentioned, looking up at Mindy for some confirmation. Of all of you, Anika was the most positive and social. Sure, she didn't like Amber for obvious reasons and neither did she like Liv because “her vibes were horrible”, but she constantly tried to mediate for the twins when she visited the Meeks-Martin house and you knew she'd spoken to Tara and Wes at least once before.

Mindy, on the other hand, definitely preferred to nurture her rivalry with all of them, but she sighed, knowing that she could never be completely against her own girlfriend. “I'd rather make no comment. Just keep in mind that if Tara is Amber's right-hand woman, it's for a reason.”

As Ethan protested against the small positive words Mindy and Anika had spoken about the popular group, your attention turned back to the table, your mind still processing what had happened earlier. Had it been a one-off thing? Did Tara like the topic so much that she just had to talk to you? Would she have talked to anyone wearing the shirt or would you have been special for some reason?

Your eyes were fixed on the opposite table, but your thoughts were racing, creating a thousand and one possibilities with a creativity you wished you'd had to complete your painting. You were so lost in your own mind that you hardly noticed the rest of the world around you.

Or, at least, that was until Tara caught you staring at her.

“The poor girl is so into you.”

Tara looked away from you to focus on Amber, who was sitting right in front of her with her legs propped up on the table. She had her back turned to where you were at, but somehow her fox-like senses knew exactly that you were looking in that direction.

As time passed, fewer admirers surrounded the table, picking up on the implicit hint that Amber would only give them crumbs of attention for a few seconds until she started to get annoyed by the presence of the crowd of opportunistic losers. The place was now only occupied by their inner circle, but Tara still felt like there were too many people.

“I bet she almost cried when you paid attention to her.” Liv laughed evilly, sitting on Chad's lap in a position that definitely didn't look comfortable for the boy.

Tara shrugged, feeling the gaze of the whole table on her, waiting for updates on her challenge. “It was no big deal, we just talked about movies.”

The truth was that Tara had enjoyed the conversation far more than she could have anticipated. Her initial plan had been to borrow a pen and “forget” to give it back so that she would have a reason to look at your Instagram and send a message after class (which she had actually half done, as your pen was still in her bag), but your t-shirt offered an opening that fit Tara's plans like a glove.

She had missed being able to discuss horror movies outside of the internet. Amber couldn't have a full debate because her patience ran out as soon as people disagreed with her and that made her aggressive. The others in the group didn't care that much about the genre and the most Tara could talk to them about was the basics of “which of these movies is scarier.”

The last time she had actually talked about the topic in a pleasant way had been with Mindy and that had been a long time ago. Tara hadn't even realized how much she had missed it.

“Well, I don't think it'll be long before she falls for you, anyway.” Amber shrugged, looking as bored as she usually was. “Maybe I made it a little too easy for you.”

“I've asked around and I'm pretty sure that y/n has never been with anyone. That makes things more interesting, doesn't it?” Wes said, once again trying to make himself valuable to the group with his information. The platinum-haired boy looked at Amber expectantly, like a puppy eagerly waiting for a treat.

Tara couldn't help but wonder if also looked at Amber like that, even though she didn't realize it.

“Eh. It depends on how she reacts afterwards.” The dark-eyed girl threw her head back, making her chair stand on just two feet. “Can you imagine if she just chooses to ignore Tara? Bo-ring.”

The conversation kept going on that topic but Tara was suddenly distracted by the sound of her phone’s notification ring vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans. She took the device in hand, seeing on the lock screen a new message from Sam, her sister.

Sam: Hey, I'm stuck at work until later. Can’t give you a ride, sorry.

Tara huffed with annoyance, not even bothering to reply and just placing her phone back. “Amber? Can you give me a ride home after class?”

The raven-haired girl hissed and grimaced, almost managing to sound apologetic even though Tara knew she didn't actually give a damn. “Sorry, T. I'm going to buy some stuff for the party on Saturday, so I can't.”

Maybe it was for the best. Tara always felt more attracted to Amber when they drove alone in her car, either because the conversations seemed more sincere or because the Freeman girl could be extremely attractive when she drove with only one hand on the wheel. If Tara was trying to get rid of this little crush on Amber, spending hours in a car alone with her might not be the best idea.

“It’s alright. I need to walk more anyway.” Tara shrugged, pretending not to be annoyed by the situation. Taking the school bus wasn't an option, because it would take twice the time as walking, and hitching a ride with any of her other friends would be either awkward or stressful.

So, after class was over, the younger Carpenter made her way home with her bag on her back and her headphones in her ears. It had been a while since she'd had to walk home, at least since Sam had come back from rehab, but at least it gave her time to catch up on her thoughts.

It took less than 20 minutes for her to get home, throwing her bag on the sofa carelessly and turning on the TV to fill the uncomfortable silence in her house. A rerun of an SNL episode was on and Tara hoped that the sound of the audience's laughter would make her feel a little better about the shitty day she'd had.

But then again, Tara couldn't remember having a completely good day ever since Sam had come back from rehab and had forced their mother into one as well, trying to help the woman with her drinking problem.

The girl went to the kitchen and got herself a glass of water, while in the living room, the audience laughed at some of Bowen Yang's skits. She had hoped that the cold water would relieve her negative feelings but it didn't do any good, because all Tara could feel was irritation.

Yes, she was annoyed that Sam couldn't pick her up. Yes, she was angry that her life had turned upside down ever since her sister had returned. Yes, she was pissed that she wanted to vent to someone, but she knew that her best friend wouldn't give a damn about being a good listener. Yes, she was enraged about having feelings for someone she knew would only break her heart

And GOD, how angry she was with herself for going along with this idiotic plan just to get one iota of Amber's approval. Tara felt ridiculous, even more so now that she knew that you were a nice and kind person, even if you were a bit closed off.

But the girl was wracked by conflicting feelings and she just wanted them to stop. She urgently needed a distraction, be it drinks, or a movie, or...

Or Amber was right and maybe Tara really did need to have a fling with someone to relieve her tension.

She wasn't thinking straight when she reached for her phone in her back pocket again, opening it straight to the Instagram app and finding her feed full of photos of people she followed, but she didn’t waste time on them as she was a woman on a mission. Tara leaned on the kitchen worktop, both elbows propped up as she searched for your name in the search bar.

The girl huffed when she found nothing on her first search and then decided to appeal to Mindy's profile, digging through the accounts she followed to try and find any that might refer to you.

Two minutes later, Tara came across an account called “pinceaudey/n”, which had a painting portrait as the profile picture. That's got to be it, she thought, wasting no time in opening the profile which, fortunately for her, was public. More laughter was heard from the TV, but this time Tara finally felt her mood change to something more positive.

The profile didn't seem to have any photos of you, but it was full of photos of paintings and other things related to art. Tara didn't linger on any of them. The less she connected with you, the easier it would be to have a hookup and leave, which was exactly what she needed. No more complications.

Still holding her phone, Tara crossed the kitchen to walk right back to the living room, looking in her bag for the item she had “accidentally” forgotten to return. She took the opportunity to look through the curtained windows, seeing that night was beginning to fall, darkening the streets and making Tara's heart race. She hated being alone at home and hoped that Sam's shift at the antique store wouldn't take much longer.

Finally she found the pen, just as Megan Thee Stallion began her performance as the show's musical guest. Tara held the object between her fingers and took a quick photo, sending it to your DM with a text. “Hey so i accidentally stole your pen lmao.” and then, ”I promise to give it back tomorrow.”

A few seconds had passed and you still hadn't seen it. It was alright, maybe you just had some better things to do other than stare at your phone, but for some reason, Tara couldn't stop herself from biting her nails in anxiety.

Maybe it was because it was late at night and she felt lonely, or maybe it was because she was in a particularly chatty mood that day, but without a second thought, her fingers typed out another message to keep the conversation flowing.

btw who do you think would win between Freddy and Leatherface?

As she waited for a reply with a small smile on her face and music playing from her TV, Tara finally felt less alone at home.

Maybe Amber was right. Maybe she needed a distraction.

#scream #scream vi #scream 2022 #scream x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream x you #scream imagine #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter

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mewtwoandme · 6 months ago

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I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

#im just so done...#i feel bad for the person who creates a mewtwo and gives them a scarf #cause god forbid people will think they're copying TC or some bullshit like that #with that kind of logic nobody is allowed to make mewtwos with vitiligo!#Blu had it first therefore I own the concept of vitiligo! nobody else can use it or else I'll accuse you of stealing!#sorry i don't make the rules #will i regret making this rant later?#...probably #😮‍💨

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verdantwyrm · 9 days ago

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Anya, The Virgin Mary or the Vengeful Bitch

Or, shorthandedly, the Anyalysis.

I'm going to be occasionally stealing some points from my Curly thread over here, which you should absolutely also read. And also some segments from here, my small analysis of Jimmy and him being a monster vs choosing to be.

This analysis will be going over partially some of how she's treated in-game, but also how she's treated outside of the game as a representation of sexual assault and abuse victims, which is to either make her a mournful, bleeding heart virgin Mary, or a vengeful, final girl that's a violent, hysterical she-bitch. Which she is neither.

I think it's perfectly fine to orchestrate fictional characters killing their abusers, there's nothing inherently wrong with just that, it's more how people actually write it.

Just like any other trope, there are ways to go about it that are extremely harmful and ways that are generally inoffensive. As a victim myself, I personally see so many issues in wishing harm against your abuser, and there is nothing wrong with acting that out in characters you feel comfortable and relatable towards, but there are ways to do this that don't end up doing more harm than good— which is where most people fail. It's an objectively hard topic to address, because it requires nuance and understanding, possibly even lived experience to truly understand why someone would want this. Grieving, the absence that comes with being a victim, is not straightforward or black and white, it's an uncomfortable topic thats often on a spectrum of anger, grief or sadness that most people do not want to engage with because they have a very nearsighted opinion on how a victim should react– the perfect victim.

No one actually likes her as a character, they only like her for what she represents.

The Sexism of the Final Girl

I am sick and tired of people making up the realities in their heads where Anya overcomes Jimmy and kills him,

The trope of a "Final Girl" is not the feminist girl boss you want it to be and is incredibly misogynistic. The definition, as told by Wikipedia

"the final girl in many movies shares common characteristics: she is typically sexually unavailable or virginal, and avoids the vices of the victims like illegal drug use. She sometimes has a unisex name such as Avery, Chris, or Sidney."

There are feminist ideals and intentions behind it, but it is not inherently feminist as a concept and is often very misogynistic despite its intentions to display the woman of the group to be strong, better or uphold moral superiority for declining sex, drugs or any of the vices mentioned forehand. It is a sexist trope, and all it does is ridicule women for "falling" for said vices as if that inherently makes them inferior or deserving of murder or assault.

On the surface, the use of the final girl trope may seem like a progressive portrayal of feminist strength and ideology. It can be satisfying to see a strong, independent "girl boss" overcome an otherworldly predator or rapist. However, upon further examination, it is clear that this trope perpetuates prejudice and reinforces societal expectations for women. The final girl is typically portrayed as a straight, white, morally superior woman who abstains from "immoral" activities like drinking, drug usage and sex. She serves as a voice of reason and represents the ideal woman in our society.

Most importantly, she survives while those who deviate from societal norms face violent deaths. This trope is a subtle commentary on the expectations placed on women in our society - good girls will prevail while those who do not conform will suffer a violent and brutal death, usually at the hands of a man. Ultimately, it seeks to shame women for behaving in ways that are not considered "ladylike."

The film industry as a whole has a history of using females as vessels for pain and suffering. Hollywood loves to profit off of female suffering. These male directors may believe they are earning brownie points with audiences by having female survivors in their films, but in reality, they are simply using feminism as a disguise while indulging in the fetishization of female pain.

It is rather exhausting seeing who we are being reduced to one note Virgin Marys with bleeding hearts, scorned mothers or wounded victims of assault who will never recover, never love or never will have sex again. I do think Mouthwashing does an excellent job of telling the story of a rape victim, but how other people treat her beyond that, it's almost impossible to even have a character like Anya or even Angela from Silent Hill 2 without people stripping them and violating what their character is and instead of focusing on what they represent, a victim.

But back to Anya specifically, she does not even exert any interest, desire or want to murder or harm another person. People dehumanise her the same way Jimmy dehumanises her. They strip her of everything she could be, everything she wanted to be and make her out to be a perfect victim, a bleeding heart, a weak and pathetic woman.

How about Anya has a nice day, how about Anya smiles, and she's happy and safe. What about that? Huh? Or do you only like her when she's a victim. People care more about Anya being a victim they can save, a victim they can nurture and heal and rescue than anything else. They care more about her being weak, sad, frail and miserable. Always the mother, always the victim, always the virgin Mary and a sacrifice but never ever a woman and most definitely never a person.

It's even worse when I see people continuously writing and "re-imagining" Anya being Raped just so Curly, Daisuke, Swansea or even a self-insert reader situation to save her. I totally get that you want her to be happy, and to be rescued and for that to never happen but you severely miss the point of the story that there was no one there to save her. And constantly rewriting it to put a man in the favour of the situation comes off as very shallow and misogynistic the way you're all so ready to have someone rescue her like she's some distressed maiden in need of a big strong man, it also takes the point away from her entirely.

The horse that bites

Jimmy's constant dehumanisation of Anya affects how other people perceive her character as well, that she's weak, small or a crybaby in some sense because of how she responds to situations - emotionally, which is then amplified by Jimmy's pre-existing hatred and lack of respect for her.

Jimmy tears her down every chance he gets, makes her feel little and even compares her to Polle in his hallucinations. And Anya knows that he and Curly have a very lengthy history, so her caution and anxiety about even mentioning the incident, let alone saying the word “rape” is borderline impossible for her. It’s a manifestation, it’s a verbal acceptance and confession that it’s even happened. Something she has been trying to avoid coming to terms with.

And when she does eventually tell Swansea what happened, as much as you want to think she told him- she most likely told him to not do anything, to try and keep the peace for as long as possible.

Again, her vagueness is not her fault, nor is it her responsibility. It was Jimmy’s responsibility to not abuse and rape her.

It’s also very present that Jimmy is verbally abusive to her, putting her down at every opportunity by ignoring her very talented medical skills by saying Pony Express only hired her to cut corners in an attempt to reduce costs because she failed Medical School and that she’s not a “real nurse” because of that, and how he constantly questions her skills despite keeping Curly alive for such a long time in such a state.

After being insulted by him multiple times, she fawns to get him to actually do something beneficial because she knows he responds well to praise, and he complies, all while still insulting and belittling her for being "weak" and "sentimental"

Anya shows a clear fear of Jimmy and has consistent fawn responses around Jimmy. She is extremely careful not to make him upset and praises him to keep him amused and compliant to a degree.

Just like Anya says, our worst moments don't make us monsters. It's one thing to fuck up, and immediately suffer the consequences and acknowledge your mistakes— But it's another thing entirely to purposefully make it so you never have to deal with the repercussions and then make yourself out to be the victim. Jimmy takes every opportunity to blame everyone around him. All the time and Anya is no stranger to this.

Curly genuinely saw the good in Jimmy, in the same way, Anya sees the good in others and possibly even tried to see the good in Jimmy despite the pain as one of the key important things about how everything went about is that Anya never directly refers to her rapist as Jimmy, nor does she ever actually insult or talk badly about him, she only expresses her disinterest in talking to him because of his reluctance to cooperate with her. They both believe that our worst moments don't define us, and Curly had his own interpretation all of how we're defined by our past, but not slaves to it.

She is scared, she is terrified at this point and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that nor should we rush to change that. Her being scared is realistic, she is a scared lady in a very scary situation with an even scarier man who constantly switches between dissociation and lashing out depending on what's going on around him. And she is not that person to fight back, to be violent or to hurt him and that is perfectly fine. She doesn't need to be a girl boss feminist and fight back, she can just be a scared and quiet woman stuck in her own terror, and trying to infer that one Is the "better" option downplays victims who freeze in their own terror and makes them out to be weak or a hapless damsel because they're incapable of "standing up for themselves"

She has every single right to be absolutely terrified and that is in no way a bad thing. I actually really, really dislike the interpretation that Anya is angry, resentful or has any revenge towards Curly, or that she has to be this, hysterical mad woman sent out to kill or hurt Jimmy. I don't believe she's either of this. Anya deserves peace, and I think it's extremely important to understand just how similar she is to Curly. And I'm full of the belief that if Anya had actually done something to Jimmy (hurt him, kill him, whatever) she would be demonized and the misogyny she already faces in the fandom would be worse tenfold. Do not lie to yourself.

Not to even mention one of the many, many reasons as to why Anya OD'd in a room with a lock in the first place. It was to make sure Jimmy could never touch her again? Or do something awful to her body, even when it was lifeless and cold? It was to keep the gun safe, to protect Curly, to protect herself, to take control of the situation, to finally not have to worry about him ever touching her again. And Jimmy still violates it, even after she's dead.

He touches her, drags her body, and props her up in that chair. Even after death, she is never free from him. She thought she was going to finally be free of him, his rage, his desires, his touch, and she died thinking this, that he would never ever be touched or hurt by him ever again. She died thinking all was well, that it would all work out in the end, it had to. She died thinking Daisuke and Swansea would somehow make it out of there, tell her story, and make Jimmy face the consequences of his actions, it was the ultimate sacrifice, it was the greatest thing she could ever do.

Jimmy ruined her life, and he ruined her death, her sacrifice. To keep herself safe, to keep Curly safe, to keep the gun away from him, it all meant nothing.

Thinking outside the Ship

Anya is fun, she is enthusiastic, loves to make jokes, draw, play board games with Daisuke, read, and teases Swansea about his love for sweets which he doesn't even bother to object to and Swansea hands her a note so that she could give it to Curly during his psychological evaluation,, implying that they're casual enough for an exchange like that to occur, and even has what seems to be a budding relationship with Curly himself, taking to his comment about being fit to fly in her eyes like it's a common exchange of flirting between the both of them and she even teases him at the birthday party to "hop to it" in terms of the cake. She is at ease around him, her walls have dropped, and she feels safe to talk to him, and even attempts to try and get him to open up more to her.

She reads psychology books, she is extremely determined having applied to Medical school on total of eight different times and obviously has the skills and interest to keep doing it despite failing and only joined Pony Express so she could make money and keep trying to get into medical school.. She also has good taste in music, one that Swansea and Curly enjoy very much. She also seems to get along well with Daisuke and even allows her emotions to show with anger when they play games they seem to have much of the same sense of humour, judging by how Daisuke is genuinely worried about her when she locks herself in the Medical, they seem to have a positive relationship. We don't know much about her relationships with the others beyond what the wiki can provide.

She seems to have the best relationship with Curly, although. And after the crash, she can't bear to give Curly his pills due to him being in visible agony and her own trauma of forcing him to do something he very obviously doesn't want to endure, likely due to memories of her assault being triggered by both the act of forced insertion and the sounds produced by Curly during it.

Anya also spends most of her free time studying. She runs to clear her head. And when she really needs to destress, she binges on the worst reality television and fast food. She is a very free-spirited woman who is eternally doomed to be reduced to nothing but a hapless, miserable victim.

Final Comments and Thoughts

I don't have much to say here unlike my last analysis, but the situation on the Tulpar is not as straightforward as people would like, I understand it's extremely cathartic to think of a situation where Jimmy gets what he deserves but it isn't realistic, and thats what this game is trying to say. Abusive corporations, exhausting capitalism, this environment breeds Abusers like Jimmy and victims like Anya and Curly. There was nothing that could be done. Pony Express is what doomed them all, they're the catalyst.

Anya deserves to be written and viewed as more than just a representation, a victim or a vengeful hysterical bitch. She deserves to be happy!

Thank you for reaching the end of the thread, please don't be scared to share your thoughts in the tags or in my inbox, I'd love to hear them! good job! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing jimmy #mouthwashing curly #just talking #curly mouthwashing #mouthwashing daisuke #mouthwashing swansea #long post #analysis #character analysis #mw #mouthwashing meta

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girllookingoutwindow · 6 months ago

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This is an analysis about Colin's reaction to the annulment moment:

Before of it, Pen and Colin are talking about Violet and the letter Pen sent to her. Even when I really believe Violet is proud of her, and he's impressed because of it. He's proud too and this is where he's going whit his words.

Then, she says she would accept an annulment.

People asked me about his reaction many times, and I do understand. Because his face reacts, more than his words. Actually, his words are answering what she says after. The part of hurting his family. In part, because he doesn't understand why she's going with it, better saying he doesn't want to. He's like No, this is not going to happen. Don't say another word about this.

If you look at his eyes, it's very obvious that the idea pains him. The simple idea about it crush his soul. He doesn't want that. Specially because he married her knowing the truth and he didn't care. He was hurt and angry, but not marrying her was never an option. It wasn't like he figured out after the marriage either.

Even then , it wouldn't mean anything. He would choose a life with her whatever that life would be. When she asked him about how this marriage would be?... before the weeding he didn't want to think about it. Because whatever would be, it would be better that a life without her. He's not able to think about it. He didn't wanted to do it before, he doesn't want to do it, now.

Truth is he chose her before his family. She's his family, really.

He was married to her in the moment he went to the dance and followed her carriage. That's what he wanted to do. That was his way of thinking after: 'our Bridgerton name', He knew the risks and he took them anyway. The queen's accepting is the only one thing he cared about. Because he was scared for her, for the life they could have, and he felt guilty to be with her, even he couldn't do otherwise, even that could be the ruin of his family. The queen's acceptance was their freedom. The key to have a happy life, to not have secrets and from shame.

But now, how his family or her are going to be hurt, if the queen has accepted her? He's saying that's not a legal reason to an annulment. But in truth he's saying that's not a reason to want one either. He's giving her an excuse to be together. Like he did before. But he's saying we can be happy now. We're free to be together without the anxiety, the fears, and the sorrows.

And then she says this. The 'many who will not soon forget '. And yes, she's talking about possible risks and vengeance after the truth coming out for her. But, we know the queen will always protect her. But she's not talking about others, she's talking about him. He's who is not forgetting her. Whistledown is still between them. She's making them apart because he can't forget.

And he sees it there. So, then he opens himself to explain he doesn't care anymore. That he know she's Whistledown and that her wasn't never there to make them apart. She was there to make them close, stronger, not only to herself to be brave, to make the bond between them being more deep, and know each other better. The truth self, like in a mirror.

#this is no so deep #and that's the reason why i didn't want to do it before #i hope it helps #colin bridgerton #polin #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton #bridgerton polin #bridgerton spoilers #nicola coughlan #luke newton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #colin my wife bridgerton

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arc-misadventures · 7 months ago

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Lady of the Sea of Dunes

Idea!

The Schnee's are from, Vaccuo, instead of. Atlas.

The Schnee's are faunas's.

And, Weiss is a white haired, tanned skin, fox faunas.

\\\

Jaune: My thanks for rescuing me... I got lost from my party during a Grimm attack... Those dessert crawlers are absolute bastards.Dragged me for miles before I killed the dammed thing.

SDC Guard: No problem my good man. We are happy to help anyone in their time of need. The desert is a treacherous place after all. We either stand together as one, or fall to the sands alone.

Jaune: Wise words. It’s a shame only a few follow such words with their hearts, and not their lips.

SDC G: A true shame indeed.

Jaune: Hmm? Your uniform; are you a part of the Schnee Dynasty Corp?

SDC G: Yes. I am a proud member of the Schnee Dynasty Corp. Proud defender of her, Royal Highness people, and all of her holdings.

Jaune: So, is that akin to a like a police force, a military, or a royal guard?

SDC G2: Something like that, they are all under the same umbrella, but they are separate organizations.

Jaune: It’s only like that because you couldn’t come up with a catchy name for the rest, eh?

SDC G: Ha!

SDC G2: They tried.

Jaune: Ha. Hey, do you guys have a CCTS system I can hook up to? I need to catch up with my teammates, I need to let them know that I’m not dead.

SDC G2: That can be arranged.

SDC G: Yes, we wouldn’t want you friends to think you’re dead.

Jaune: Oh thanks! I greatly apricate that.

SDC G: Of course, but before we do that, one of the Ladies of the Desert wishes to see you.

Jaune: Ladies of the Desert? What’s that?

SDC G2: The Ladies of the Schnee family, are often called the, Ladies of the Desert. One of them wishes to meet the, Huntsmen that came here. That's not a problem now is it?

Jaune: A problem? No, no not at all. It would be rude if I don't thank my benefactor for saving me personally.

SDC G2: That's good! Ah. we're here! The royal palace.

Jaune: (Whistles~!) I like what you've done with the place.

SDC G: Thank you.

Jaune: So, who am I seeing? I like to be prepared so I don’t make an ass of myself in front of someone important. Again…

SDC G2: You will be meeting her majesty the Lady of the Dune Seas.

Jaune: The Lady of the what?

SDC G3: Now presenting! The Lady of the Dune Sea: Weiss Schnee!

Weiss: Hello, noble Huntsmen! I welcome you to my humble abode. I am, Princess Weiss Schnee, the Lady of the Dune Seas. What is your name?

Jaune: ...

Weiss: ...?

SDC G3: Your name sir huntsmen?

Jaune: Huw, what?! Oh yeah! My name is, Jaune Schnee... Arc! Jaune Arc! N-Nice to meet you..

Weiss: Jaune.. Schnee? Oh my~! How bold of you~!

Jaune: Yes... Bold, and stupid...

Weiss: Fufufu~! I like you~! I think I’ll make you mine~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Yay!

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #jaune x weiss #weiss x jaune #rwby whiteknight

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gotstabbedbyapen · 2 months ago

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I have very complicated feelings for the Vengeance Saga (after the first listen)

Disclaimer: I will only criticize Epic the Vengeance Saga as a work on its own, not for its inaccuracy or deviation from mythology and The Odyssey. There are more knowledgable people who can point out and analyze the changes in Epic the Musical, but that is not what I'll be tackling here.

To put it bluntly, I'm not being angsty about it as I should. The whole saga just... didn't feel right with me.

Now, first off all, I'm a big fan of Epic and had been following it since the Cyclops saga (first version). I've been in love with many songs and hyperfixed it for months on end. But when the Vengeance saga came along, I didn't feel that same bubbling love rise in me.

Even as a fan, this isn't my first time having peeves with Epic. I didn't jam with the re-release sagas for a while, I'm underwhelmed with the Circe VS Odysseus fight and other issues, very unpopular opinion but "Monster" wasn't too impactful to me, and also the God Games (especially Zeus' attack).

The Vengeance Saga though? Well, they say we gotta do the Bun-Meat-Bun (or whatever the hell its name really is) technique when giving criticism, so I'll start with the good parts.

I love that Odysseus looked so done with Calypso in "Not Sorry For Loving You". They're basically this meme:

Like sorry you're a sad but you're still an abuser 😒

Then Odysseus starts singing the reprise for "Full Speed Ahead" but there's no one to back him up. That one hits me hard. To whoever on Tumblr said that after the Thunder Saga we will never hear the crew's back-up again and Odysseus' singing will be answered with silence, Apollo really blessed you with the red ball.

Hermes and the Winions' part was really cool too! I really like them being mischievous helper! The warning about the wind bag and the changing scene of Odysseus fighting off sea monsters while Hermes just vibing with the beats is 👌👌👌

But after that the hype started to sizzle out for me. You might want to skip this part if you're not comfortable with harsh criticism because I WON'T hold back.

It's really backward but I like the Odysseus VS Charybdis draft more than the final production. Charybdis' roars and music are somehow less intimidating, which is a shame because I thought this would be one of the biggest struggles Odysseus will face. Even with awesome illustrative animatics, the scene wasn't as thrilling as I've expected.

The other songs got massive improvement from its draft version (on top of my mind I can think of "Thunder Bringer", "There Are Other Ways", "Little Wolf"), but I don't get why "Charybdis" didn't get up-graded as much like them. It's like a cake that was throughly baked but half decorated and it just didn't taste as good as I've hoped.

Then we have the Odysseus VS Poseidon part in "Get In The Water" and "Six Hundred Strikes". The first thought I had for GITW is this song sounds like all the draft snippets were mashed together without a smooth transition/connection between them. Jorge and Steven's performance is great, but there's not enough tension for me to dread for Odysseus. When Poseidon first met Odysseus in "Ruthlessness", the whole opening was terrifyingly good! And we didn't even have any illustration animatic back then! (that's not to say the GITW animatics were bad, they just can't salvage much when the song itself was already weak)

I wasn't impressed with Poseidon's Shatter The Ocean move either. It's supposed to be the Strongest AttackTM but it's less scary than when he and the Laestrygonians destroyed Odysseus' eleven ships with probably 1% of their power. It didn't even help when Poseidon looked like he's having a seizure with lights pouring out of his eyes and mouth during the transformation.

Odysseus being literally on the brink of death with the souls of his loved ones pulling him into the abyss is a gem in the rough, but because we've seen Odysseus almost drowning before in the end of the Thunder Saga, it's not as shocking as it should be. Furthermore, Poseidon could have instant-killed Odysseus right then and there but didn't really annoyed me. But I guess he just wanted Odysseus to slowly suffer while dying.

Right when I thought the progress will get better, it... gets down. I can go with Odysseus using wind to escape the water, but him wearing it like a jetpack is so comical it ruined the drastic of the situation. And I'm officially let down when Odysseus FUCKING ATTACKED Poseidon in "Six Hundred Strike".

What? Just... why with that choice?

Look, I'm not gonna fault Epic for making creative liberties from the source material (as said in the disclaimer), but I will criticize if that change contradict itself in the transformative work. And this is one of them.

Poseidon and the gods have been proven time and time again in the musical just how powerful they are. Their ominous and grandiose entrances, them striking fear and inferiority in our hearts just by singing. Even Circe, a low-level goddess, poses a constant threat to the crew and Odysseus had to get help from Hermes just to get a chance to corner her (and Hermes even joked that he can still die!)

Poseidon easily destroyed almost all of Odysseus' fleet. Odysseus was very avoidant of him, opting to go to the literal Underworld to find instruction on how to dodge him and sailing through Scylla's lair + willing to sacrifice six men for safe passage. And when Poseidon said he can drown all of Ithaca, it's not just bluffing, he would and could have done that. Yeah, the King of the Sea is THAT BIG of a threat.

So no, Odysseus isn't cool to attack Poseidon, he's being stupid. I'm not even cheering for him the whole time he fight, just groaning at how ridiculous the whole thing is. If Epic is more believable and sticks to WHAT IT HAD ESTABLISHED BEFORE, having a sudden burst of anger and choosing ruthlessness won't save Odysseus from one swipe of Poseidon's trident. Odysseus stood no chance against one of the most powerful deity, even if he's the protagonist and love his family.

Not only that, Poseidon didn't even defend himself and was wounded by a mere human! And he just sat there and took all the blows and insults from Odysseus??? And he actually begged Odysseus to stop and agree to quell the storm to let him get home??? I'm not buy that bullshit. I'm more upset that a literal Olympian god was nerfed down than Odysseus having a Gary Stu moment. Give me a break, that try-hard moment to be cool and edgy just show how badly written the scene is.

What's the fucking point of hyping up how dangerous the gods are if a human can take one down? Tell me this isn't some Wattpad-y Greek myth retelling fanfic where the teenage Y/N sass her way to defeat an entire pantheon. Epic really traded its opportunity to be better for some cheap and out-of-the-blue dramas in this saga, dare I say it's even worse than Zeus' OOC attack on Athena. I'm very disappointed with that decision.

On an end note, the saga did have one saving point with the "After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?" - "Next to my wife" lines. Odysseus knew he could be the most horrendous man ever and Penelope would still choose his side, that just show how powerful their love and faith in each other are.

But not enough to excuse all the terrible cinematic choices.

#epic the musical #epic the vengeance saga #jorge rivera herrans #song analysis #song review #my reviews #my ramblings #Spotify #Youtube #The Pen explodes with ink #after being let down with Zeus and Poseidon's OOC thing #i now have lower hopes for the Ithaca Saga #i guess at least there aren't any more “evil gods” to be ruined #let's just see how it goes #but seriously what's happening to Epic??? it was so good until Love in Paradise #and i feel like the musical is now on a downward slope #am i expecting too much?!

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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 months ago

Note

also had a joe goldberg x reader x love quinn idea where reader accidentally murders somebody and has to call both of them to help clean up the body? like you probably know that they’re murderers anyway so you really need their help to get rid of any evidence.

I love this idea so much! I hope you like what I did with it <3

Safe Haven (poly Joe Goldberg x fem reader x Love Quinn)

Warnings: there's a creepy guy/brief implied attempted assault (nothing actually happens don't worry), murder/violence/gore, some hurt/comfort

Goddamn it. This wasn't supposed to happen, was what immediately popped into your head as you watched the blood trickle down from the cracked skull onto the pristine marble flooring.

You'd been at the bakery, getting things all closed up for the evening. Usually Love did it, but you offered to do it for her since you knew how hard she'd been working lately. The woman needed a break.

She thanked you with a kiss and a hug, telling you to not take too long before leaving you to lock up. You'd been wiping down the counters when you heard the bell over the door start to go off, signaling that someone had come in.

That's odd, you thought, a frown pulling at your lips. Most people in town knew what the bakery's schedule was, so why would they come in right before closing?

And then you saw the guy, and your heart dropped, sinking to the bottom of your stomach like a stone in a lake. You didn't know his name or anything like that, but he'd been showing up every day for the past week trying to hit on you, even after you'd politely declined his advances.

Why would you need him, after all, when you already had Joe and Love in your life?

"Hey, pretty thing," he greeted with an overly charming smile that made you want to hurl. Pretty thing. He didn't get to call you that.

The only people who had the privilege of calling you pretty were Joe and Love. "Good job, pretty girl," they'd coo when you completed a task or behaved good for them, the way you were supposed to.

Your hand instinctively went to clutch at the rolling pin Love always kept behind the counter. It wasn't unusual, as she did work at a bakery, but you knew full well the real reason it was kept back there: for times like these.

"What, not even a hello?" He joked, though you could tell just from the look in his eyes he was offended by your lack of a greeting.

"We're closed," you tried to state firmly in the most even tone you could muster despite how your heart was racing in your chest. You weren't stupid, that much was sure. You knew what men could be like, and you didn't trust this guy as far as you could throw him.

"The door was unlocked," he said with a casual shrug, as if that made any difference. Oh, how you wish your partners were here right now. Love would have no shame in getting all up in his face and telling him off, and while Joe might not be as assertive as she was he wouldn't hesitate to protect you either.

"We're still closed. You'll have to come back in tomorrow." Even if your voice did waver slightly, you knew you were brave for standing up for yourself.

The guy, however, merely scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. "C'mon, don't tell me you're still playing hard to get."

"I'm not playing hard to get," you snapped back in turn, your anger starting to take control over your fear. I mean, just who did this guy think he was? "I'm married, thank you very much."

Okay, maybe that part was a bit of a lie. You and your partners hadn't officially tied the knot yet, but that was only because you weren't sure that marriage with a throuple was technically legal. They had, however, given you a small ring to symbolize how they hoped to marry you someday, which you kept on a chain around your neck so people wouldn't question it as much as if it were on your finger.

Still, the guy seemed to buy it, even if the information didn't faze him much. "So what? I'm married, but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun every now and then."

If you didn't like him before, you certainly hated him now. It was hard to hide the look of disgust on your face as you replied. "No, thank you. I'm repulsed by your offer."

That certainly got his attention. "The fuck did you just say to me?" He spat out in response to your words as he approached the side of the counter.

"Y- You're not allowed back here," you protested weakly, unable to do anything but watch as he slowly stalked closer.

"You think you're better than me, huh? You think you're better than me just because you're faithful and I'm not?"

So desperately did you want to retort with a snarky yes, but now really wasn't the time. "Stay back," you warned while picking up the rolling pin and holding it up defensively in front of you, your entire body seeming to be made of rubber as you cowered in fear. "Or I'll- I'll-"

He let out mocking laughter as he moved even closer, now standing less than a foot away. "Or you'll what? What are you going to d-"

You didn't even let him finish the sentence before you tightened your grip on the rolling pin and swung it hard, smacking him upside the head. There was a loud thud, and you saw the blood on your makeshift weapon before you saw it on him.

Not daring to take the chance that he was only mildly wounded, you kept at it, hitting him again and again and again, over and over until his body laid crumpled on the floor beneath you, no longer moving. Your hands were shaking as you dropped the rolling pin, instantly reaching into the pocket of your apron so you could pull out your phone. You'd need help getting rid of the body, and you knew exactly who to call.

Love was most likely busy making dinner, despite all of your protests and insistence that she needed to take a break and let someone else handle it for once. Your assumption was soon confirmed when Joe ended up being the one who picked up the phone.

"J- Joe," you choked out his name, tears already beginning to well up in your eyes as you sunk down onto the floor. "S- Something happened. Something bad. I- I need you and Love to come help me, please."

That was all you had to say for his casual demeanor to drop as he instantly went into protective mode. "Of course, baby. Where are you at? Are you still at the bakery?"

You nodded your head before realizing he couldn't see you. "Y- Yeah. There was this guy, and- and I did something bad to him."

He was quiet for a moment when you heard talking in the background, Love asking what was wrong and him responding accordingly before he spoke to you again. "Okay, just stay where you are, alright? Take a few deep breaths and try to remain calm. We'll be there soon."

It was hard for you to even imagine staying calm right now when you were so freaked out, but you knew you had to try anyway. "O- Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too." With that, he hung up, and you filled the silence of the room with a long, agonizing wail of disbelief at what had just happened.

You killed a man. Like, actually killed him. And now he was laying there, dead, in the middle of the floor at your partners' bakery.

It didn't take very long for them to arrive. Love immediately rushed over to where you were still curled up on the floor while Joe checked to make sure the guy was really dead.

"Hey, baby, hey," Love murmured in a low and soothing tone as soon as she saw you were crying. "Don't cry, don't cry, baby, it's alright. Me and Joe are here now, and we've got you, alright? We're not going to let anything happen to you."

You sniffled and nodded your head, allowing her to pull you in for a warm hug. She smelled like a mix of spices and baby powder. She smelled like safety, like home.

"What happened?" Joe asked a moment or so later, once you'd calmed down enough to give them a coherent reply.

"He- he came it right before I was about to close up," you began in a shaky voice, your hands trembling. Love gently grabbed them in hopes of helping to calm you, giving them a reassuring squeeze that said it was okay for you to continue. "And- and he was, like, flirting with me, I guess. But in a really weird, 'I don't care what your boundaries are' sort of way."

Love's grip on your hands tightened, her eyes flashing with a look of quiet rage. "Oh, really? Is that so?"

Joe knelt down next to you and shot his wife a look that said not now, signaling that her anger would only make you more upset. "What else happened, hm?" He questioned in a soft tone, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder in an act of quiet comfort. He was just as upset as Love was, but unlike her, he was much better at hiding his emotions.

"He- he tried to ask me out, and I said no thank you, that I was already married-" If you'd been less shaken up, perhaps you might've noticed the look of possessive affection that flickered across both of their eyes when you spoke. "-but he didn't- didn't care, and I told him the offer alone repulsed me when he said that it didn't matter because he was married himself, and-"

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to blink back the fresh tears that were welling up in your eyes. They spilled down onto your cheeks regardless, and Love reached a hand out, gently wiping them away. "Go on," she muttered quietly while Joe's hand moved from your shoulder down to your back, rubbing it in circular motions to help keep you calm.

"He got really mad when I said that, so he started to come behind the counter, even though I told him that he couldn't, and I was- I was really worried that he was going to try to- to do something to me, so I-" You shut your eyes, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as you recalled the events that previously happened. "I hit him with the rolling pin that's kept back here until he stopped."

"Oh, honey..." Love cooed sympathetically as she pulled you back in for another hug, Joe's hand still resting somewhat protectively on your back as she did. "You know, I'm so proud of you for standing up for yourself. We both are."

"Yeah, this wasn't your fault, sweetie. If you hadn't of stopped him, who knows what would've happened?" Joe chimed in, both of them doing their best to make sure you didn't feel too bad about the situation. "Tell you what, we'll get this all cleaned up for you, and afterwards we can go home and cuddle while we watch one of your favorite movies."

"And I can make your favorite snack for you," Love added while pulling away enough for her to look into your eyes. "How does that sound?"

"S- Sounds good." Your voice was quiet and the smile you gave them was weak, but at least you weren't hysterical like earlier.

"We just need to get rid of the body first," Love said while standing, Joe still crouched down on the floor next to you. "Okay, you get started on that while I make them something hot to drink." She instructed to her husband, who immediately got up to do as she said.

They never worked better together than when you were in some kind of trouble. It was one of the rare times they could boss each other around and it wouldn't lead to some kind of argument between the two.

You simply watched from your spot where you were huddled up on the floor, trying not to become nauseous at the thought of how exactly they planned on getting rid of him. You hadn't even looked directly at the guy's body the whole time since it happened, too afraid to, as if you were worried at any second now he might spring back to life.

"Here, sweetie, don't look over there at what he's doing." Love's gentle voice cut through your thoughts, making you focus on her instead. She knelt down next to you as she spoke, turning you away from the body as she wrapped a blanket around your shoulders before handing you a steaming mug full of your favorite warm drink. "Careful, it's hot." The loving smile she had on her face made it difficult for you to think about anything else. "You stay here for now, okay? Don't go anywhere. We'll come get you once we're done."

"Okay," you said simply at her orders. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your face before getting back up and going to help Joe. You blew on the hot drink before taking a tiny sip. The temperature was so hot, it was almost scalding, but you found that the burning sensation it left behind on your tongue only helped to make you feel better.

You weren't sure how long it took them to get the mess cleaned up, but by the time they were finally done your mug was empty and you were starting to fall asleep. "Hey," the quiet voice of Joe spoke, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "We're done now, baby. Let's go home, okay?"

It was hard to tell if you were so tired because of how late it was or because of the excitement of what happened, or if maybe Love had slipped something into your drink to help you calm down some. You wouldn't put it past her. Regardless of the reason, it was difficult for you to stand because of your sudden drowsiness, which he gladly helped you with.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur to you. All you could remember was falling asleep in the car ride home, and one of them carrying you inside before laying you down in bed. The next morning when you woke up, you were being cradled between the two of them, their arms wrapped around you in an embrace that was both warm and safe.

Although you were certain of the events that had happened the night before, it was all beginning to feel like nothing but a bad dream, one you hoped wouldn't plague you ever again. Part of you knew just how unlikely it was that either Love or Joe would ever leave you alone again after that, but you couldn't find it in you to be bothered much by it or to even care. You were much safer around them, anyway.

End notes: I really loved writing this 💕💕

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azrielsshadows42 · 21 days ago

Text

Hollowed out

Azriel x Eris

This is the fic I made for my giftee; @gravitysthrall! I'm so excited and happy I got to participate in this and a big thanks to all the amazing people who organised it. Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Word Count: 6039

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, some suggestiveness, brief panic attack/breakdown

The halls are quiet. It is to be expected, given the late hour, most are in bed by now, yet here I walk, up and down halls, waiting. For what? Eris, the High Lord of Autumn, to finally come out of his hobbit hole of an office and take a break. My pace slows as I cross that door, the royal bed chambers. Neither Eris nor I have used them since Berons' death. It bears too many bad memories, haunts the residents of the forest house.

My gaze lingers on the ancient wood arch, the intricate pictures carved meticulously by skilled hands. It must have taken hours, such a shame that the details get overlooked by everyone because of a reputation left by someone else.

My footsteps continue on silently as I make my way to my mate, guided by that golden thread. He has blocked his side of the bond. Again.

I try not to let the hurt creep in, I understand he's a High Lord now, his duties and responsibilities have grown exponentially since the war, he can only split his time between so many things. The logical part of my brain tries to convince me of this, but my heart cries out for help. Lately, the bond is blocked more often than not and between paperwork and my missions, physical contact hasn't been available either.

I stop in front of his door. If it weren't for the wards, I'm sure I'd hear the furious scratching of a quill on paper.

Pushing aside the barrier, I walk in, making my steps audible for his benefit. Eris doesn't lift his head, or hum, or acknowledge me in any way shape or form and my heart cracks a little more. It's been like this, cold and unfeeling, for far too long, I don't know how much more of it I can take.

"Eris?"

Nothing.

My jaw tightens.

"High Lord" I grit out between clenched teeth. Is this really what I've been reduced to? Just another fae begging for the favor of his Lord instead of the love of his life, his mate, his husband.

"Yes, Azriel?" I swallow down my rising anger, I didn't come here to argue, and the sound of my name on his tongue almost drowns my temper anyway. The soft care in my voice comes naturally.

"Eris, don't you think it's time to take a break? You've been in here for hours, you haven't eaten or had something to drink since this morning, come, have dinner with me" The time for dinner has long since passed, but I'd do anything to make him walk out of this room, where he has unknowingly imprisoned himself.

"Please" The desperation in my tone isn't subtle, and I can't bring myself to be embarrassed about it because that's what I am. Desperate. A child begging for scraps of attention.

He stays silent for what feels like an eternity longer, the clock ticking, time running through my fingers, unable to grab hold, just swept along with the tide like dust under the carpet.

The scribbling of his quill pauses, he sighs, looks into my eyes, and for just a moment, I see the affection he once had for me. For a moment, hope squeezes my heart and I don't want it to end.

Eris's amber orbs study me, then wander back to the paper, however the reluctance to do so is the thread I grasp to tug him back to me.

"I promise the paper's will still be there when you get back, an hour is all I ask" I wanted to ask for two, but I feel I'm already asking for too much. At this point, I'd cherish ten minutes.

He sighs again and rubs his eyes, the bags beneath them a stark contrast to his sallow skin. Even his freckles seem to have lost their vibrancy.

"Alright, I'll have dinner with you, right after I finish this document, I'll come down to our room" In any other situation, I would have bristled at how he made spending time with me sound like a chore, but I was too happy with his acquiescence.

I walked calmly out the room, giving my mate a smile, which he returned in a grimace like fashion. Once I crossed the threshold and was out of Eris's line of sight, my shadows hurtled themselves toward the kitchens. I invited Eris to dinner, but I didn't actually have anything prepared, and none of the staff would be awake, it's almost one in the morning.

The shadows were giddy, skittering along the walls and floor, some of them climbing the ceiling. Their voices all flooded me at once, fighting for space in my head, they were yelling about what to make. One of them suggested a three course meal and they were all too happy to jump on that idea.

We don't have time to make a feast, and Eris certainly won't have time to eat all of it. Think simple, we'll prepare a charcuterie board, gather some crackers, bread and cold meat, then we'll return to the room.

They grumbled their dissatisfaction, but complied anyway. They scoured the kitchen, slicing sourdough, whole grain, flat bread, and gathering different crackers, as well as an insanely wide assortment of cheeses. They had ham and pulled pork and salami, plating it as if it were to be presented at a banquet. They had always loved doing these sorts of things for Eris, and after being deprived of it for so long, they were going to turn simple into gourmet.

They helped me carry it all to our room, the bed was still made, telling me that Eris hadn't slept at all last night. Servants weren't allowed in our room, I was on a mission, and Eris never made the bed, he didn't see the need if you were just going to mess it up again the next night. I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me.

"You don't make your bed in the morning?" Eris rolled his eyes.

"No. Not anymore at least, not since I was the general" He picked up the pillow I had just placed putting it askew again and I huffed.

"Why not? You're a neat freak with everything else, but your bed is the only exception?"

"I see no point in making our bed when we mess it up so frequently" He pulled me toward him by the arm, wrapping his around my neck when our bodies collided. He guided the both of us backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed frame, Eris spun us around mid-fall so I was pinned under him. He leaned in so close we shared each breath and his eyes darkened, flitting between mine and my lips. I surged up, closing the distance, and threaded my fingers in his red locks.

The bed was indeed, messed again.

I set down all the plates, leaving enough room for Eris and I to sit against the pillows, the shadows fussed over every detail while we waited for my mate.

Ten minutes passed.

Then thirty.

Then an hour. Still no sign of my husband. I couldn't even feel the exhaustion, the anger was too great, but still I stayed.

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon when I finally decided to leave. The shadows drooped like wilted plants, my wings dragged slightly. I tried to figure out what I was feeling.

I had every reason to be angry, to be furious, but I wasn't. Was I worried? Did some part of my subconscious think something had happened to Eris? It didn't feel like it. My mind raced through all the options, as I trudged to one of the spare rooms. I didn't want to sleep in our bed, so I lay awake in another, but it wasn't till the first bell rang, signalling five am that I found the word I was searching for.

Hollow.

That's how I felt. Hollow.

It sent a pang through my heart and I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but I had no tears left. Day after day, night after night, Eris and I had become strangers and it hurt. It fucking hurt.

My eyes wandered over the mahogany ceiling aimlessly, my mind swimming in doubt and shattered expectations. Expectations. I scoffed at myself in my head. More like childish wishes.

The pain seeped back into me, and I made my decision.

I have to leave.

Leave Autumn, leave Eris, leave this entire mess of a life. Just for a bit. Just for some space to think and gather myself, to figure out my next move because if this is to be my life with him, my mate. Even in my own thoughts, my voice cracked.

Then I'll have to- I couldn't complete the thought. Rejecting the bond, ending what Eris and I had spent years building... I don't think I could survive it. I don't think I'd want to.

I packed a bag. It didn't contain much, just some clothes. I still had a few pairs back at the cabin, but I preferred these, they were more comfortable.

And they smell like Autumn! The shadows pitched in, I ignored that comment however. I didn't want to admit that even while angry at him, I still sought out Eris for comfort. I did not need to be reminded right now that I need him much more than he needs me.

Usually when I wanted to clear my head, I'd fly, but the weight in my chest was so heavy, I feared I'd plummet like a rock.

The shadows swarmed around me, pulling me from my empty bedroom, to the empty cabin. The second I had fully materialised, Rhysand was in my head.

Azriel? What are you doing here? Are you alright? Did something happen?

It had taken time for the inner circle to accept my mating with Eris; they had eventually come around, but none of them really trusted him, especially not Rhys. He was always just waiting for something to happen, waiting for Eris to do something so that he could take me back to the Night Court.

I knew it was because he cared, and that the worry in his tone was genuine, but I was too tired to explain to him what was going on.

I'm fine, everything's fine.

I could feel him lift his eyebrow, could picture the 'Do you think I'm a blind idiot' look on his face.

I just need a break from... From what? Eris? I couldn't say that, not because it wasn't true, because technically, it was, but because it would hurt to admit it.

I decided to forgo the rest of my sentence. Is it ok if I stay here? Just for a few days.

A pause ensued, then in a much softer tone, an understanding one, he said; Of course Azriel, you will always be welcome here.

And I felt in my bones that it was true, I just didn't want to think about what that might mean for me.

Eris's Pov

I was going to break that infernal clock, tick tick ticking in the back of my head like the pressure of how little time I had wasn't enough already.

I had just finished the paper I was working on, but one more couldn't hurt, it would just mean less work for tomorrow, maybe then I could spend some time with my mate. Liar, there is always more work to do the next day.

I pushed the voice down, trying fruitlessly to smother it. Azriel was right, I needed a break. And right after this paper, I'd get one. Azriel and I would have dinner, and maybe, just maybe, we could fall asleep in each other's arms again. What I wouldn't give for that?

I finished putting the last signature on the bottom of the page to approve the project. It was for some agriculture thing, I didn't have enough head space to really go into too much detail, just enough to know it would help.

I got up from the desk, stretching, but my eyes got caught on another document. That one is quick to fill out, it will take me five minutes at most, Azriel will understand, he always does.

I haven't thanked my mate enough for the patience he's had with me, I haven't had the time to, but I will. Once all the things from my father's reign have been sorted, I'll be able to show him how much I appreciated his love and support.

The clock continues its ticking, and I'm only vaguely aware of the time passing, pulled once again into the onslaught of paperwork that buries my desk. One report turned into two, then to five, then a stack.

I'm pulled out once again when a thud is heard to my right. My head snaps up, eyes locking with the target. It's one of the early rising servants, dropping off another stack of papers and documents for me to sign. I whip around to look at the clock to see it is indeed eight o’clock in the morning.

I look back at her and she smiles sheepishly, then leaves. They may be light footed, but I should have heard her open the door. Had she been an assassin, I'd be dead. The lack of sleep really is getting to me.

I run my hands over my face and pick up the quill again, resigned to another day filled with endless words on paper and that bloody clock.

Sliding over the next thing, I can't help but pause at this nagging feeling that I've forgotten something. It claws at my insides, churning my gut, but I have to focus on what's important, I have to-

Azriel

Shit!

I completely forgot. I drop my quill, and shove the doors aside. I'm walking so fast that it could be considered a run but I need to see Azriel, my mate. I need to apologise, to explain, to-

The room is empty save for the spread of meat and cheeses with an assortment of bread and crackers now plagued with flies. My head pivots, searching for any hint of Azriel, the only sign he'd been here was his lingering scent.

I took a moment to breathe it in. Night chilled mist and cedar. Cauldrons I loved his scent, and his wings, and his smile. I just loved him.

His wingspan could sometimes be a pain in my ass (literally) but cauldron boil and fry me, it felt heavenly.

I opened my side of the bond reaching out, but all I was met with was solid walls. My heart stopped. Have I finally pushed him too far?

I tug harder, but am met with no response, dread settles in my stomach. What have I done?

I get the creeping feeling of being watched, and a few of my mate's shadows twirl into view. Usually the sight of them would reassure me, but something about their presence now was foreboding.

"Where is Azriel?" My voice is a mere whisper, but it seemed to echo in the room. They just sat there, dancing on the spot, never still, never motionless. It was unnerving. The slow fluidity of this dark entity, nothing in nature moved like that.

They finally left that spot on the floor, racing down the hall. "Wait" They did not.

I chased after them, barely keeping the swirls of black in view, every time they turned a corner, I thought I'd lose them. They slithered under one of the guest bedrooms, and without question, I flung the doors to the side.

Nothing.

No Azriel.

I looked to the shadows in question. "Why have you brought me here?" Obviously they gave no verbal response, they couldn't, but they just... disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a note in Az's handwriting. I just looked at it, thinking of all the effort he'd put in to be able to write in fancy script.

I picked up the note, reading it quietly to myself. Then reading it again, and again until it stuck.

Dear Eris,

If you're reading this, you've finally come out of your office. You do not need to worry about me, I'm safe in the Night Court, Rhysand knows I'm here.

Don't come get me. When I'm ready, I'll come back, but for now, I just need some time to think.

Sincerely, Your Shadow Azriel

In so few, simple words, I felt my heart crumble. I desperately clawed at the wall blocking me from my mate, but it held strong.

I could feel the panic rise within me, my breath coming in short gasps. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. I can't- I can't do this without him. I can't. I need him, I need my mate I-

My knees gave out from beneath me, and I hit the floor hard, the sudden bite of pain becoming a small drop in what was quickly gathering to be an ocean.

Azriel left. My mate left.

The words clanged through me with such clarity, I couldn't have stopped the tears if I tried. I broke down for the first time in centuries. Azriel was gone and it was all my fault, I drove him away, I neglected him.

Just like my father did to my mother.

That was the last straw. Loud ugly sobs fell from my lips, my body caved in on itself. How could I let this happen, how could I do this to him?

I stayed there for hours, until I had no more tears, until my throat was raw and no sound could come out. I crawled up onto the bed, curling my body around the pillow he'd used on his last night here. He said not to go after him, that he needed space. I could give him that. I will give him that. Even if it hurts.

3rd person Pov

Eris got up the morning after, feeling more tired than he had all month, his bones felt like they were made of granite but as frail as sandstone.

Days passed by painfully slow. He tried to focus, to tackle those papers that had driven him from his mate, but everything felt overwhelming. The sun was too bright, the stacks too high, his bed too warm, nothing felt right. Eris couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, he couldn't breathe. He felt like he was suffocating, choking on his own actions and he just wanted his mate back in his arms. He was prepared to do anything to bring Azriel home.

But alas, no word from the shadow singer had reached his ears. It had been twelve days, neither Az nor anyone else from the Night Court had told him anything. It was driving him mad. Had something happened? Or was this really the end?

Another tear slipped out. His eyes burned from all the crying, all the sleepless nights filled with worry and anxiety. There was this perpetual feeling of nausea that he couldn't seem to shake, no tonic or pill worked.

He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to know. Eris winnowed into the town house. He knew Rhysand didn't live there, but it would get his attention.

He didn't have to wait long before the High Lord and Lady of Night as well as the general stood before him, all with scowls on their faces.

"Eris" Rhysand said tersely, his jaw clenched. Eris's eyes were bloodshot, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"How is he? Is he alright?" The High Lord's voice came out soft but clear.

"Azriel will speak to you when he is ready" Feyre spoke this time, eyes narrowed.

"I know, I'm not here to force him to see me, I just- I need to know he's ok" The waver in his voice was slight, but there. They all picked up on it, however, had no intention of faltering.

Cassian was about to add his two cents when Azriel appeared in the shadows.

His face was unreadable, but the knotted black curls and massive eye bags were a testament to how much he had been struggling despite being the one to have initiated the space.

Eris swallowed but didn't speak. Just stared at his lover with desperation.

Everyone stared at Azriel, waiting for him to say something.

"Thank you for defending my privacy, but I would like to speak to Eris alone" It was not lost on the red headed fae that Azriel had called him by his name, instead of saying 'my mate' like he usually would have.

Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian slowly left, they didn't winnow away, just vacated the room, and Rhysand put up wards to give them privacy, staying close in case Eris tried anything.

For a long time, they stood in silence, neither knowing what to say until Eris cleared his throat. "Are you sure you're ready to talk to me? I did not come here with the intention of forcing an interaction between us." The words hurt him, he didn't want to leave without his mate, but if that's what Azriel wanted, he would give him that.

"If you need more- more space then-"

"No"

"...No?"

"I'm done with space. We need to figure this out. Now or never."

Eris nodded, but he was unsure if he should say something, or wait for Azriel to speak first.

Azriel sighed, and sat down at the table, motioning for Eris to do the same. Somehow, this felt worse than standing, but he complied nonetheless.

Azriel rested both arms on the table, fingers interlocked. He raised his hazel eyes to look into Eris's amber ones.

"I'm going to ask you a question, Eris, and I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?" He nods.

"Do you still want this bond, or would you rather have us reject it?”

How could he say that? Eris was appalled, he knew he'd been neglectful, but Azriel couldn't actually believe he regretted this, regretted them, could he? No, it was unthinkable, Eris refused to believe it.

"Azriel, you don't mean that, you can't." He shook his head, his heart felt like it was being squeezed to the point it might explode.

"Answer the question." Azriel's voice was devoid of emotion. Eris grit his teeth, not liking the tone his mate was using on him. That voice was for prisoner's, not him.

"No, Azriel, I don't want to reject the bond" There was a little bite to his voice before a realisation hit him. His words came out small, and meek.

"Do you?"

Eris prayed that wasn't the case, he would beg on his hands and knees if he had to, he would burn those papers, and close off his office if that's what he wanted. Eris was prepared to give up his throne if it would make Azriel reconsider.

"No, I don't, I never have" The relief flooded Eris, the grip on his heart loosened just a bit, just enough for him to breathe again.

"But things cannot go on the way they have. I am tired of not being your first priority, of not even being your tenth!" The spymaster raised his voice for the first time that night. "There is always something that needs to happen. There's always paperwork; documents, complaints, reports, there is always some tradition in one of the villages that people barely remember because Beron forbade it that suddenly wants you to attend."

His breathing was growing heavier with each point, and it was clear he'd been keeping this bottled inside for a long time. "Then finally we find a time in which our free times could align through no small effort, and out of nowhere, the Lords call for an emergency meeting, to discuss their decreased cash flow."

Everything he was saying was true, Eris couldn't defend himself, not that he had any ground to stand on in the first place, so he just listened to Azriel lament.

"And I know, believe me, I know that being a new High Lord is a lot of pressure. I don't pretend to understand what you have gone through nor what you are currently going through, and I've tried to be patient but-"

Azriel's voice cracked mid sentence. He took a deep breath, and Eris had to strain his ears to hear him now.

"I can't. I can't live like this. Barely seeing you for weeks on end just to be brushed off I-" He was visibly shaking now, the tremor in his words reflected his state and his eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes had taken on a glassy sheen.

"Eris, it should pain you to be away from me-"

"It does" He promised, staring at Azriel's face, committing every detail to memory like he was going to slip out of his grasp.

"Not like it hurts me" Az was shaking his head, his heart on his sleeve.

Eris scoffed. "What are you talking about? I hate the distance just as much as you do, more, even. This week especially has been so painful-"

"Clearly not painful enough!"

"What do you mean 'Not painful enough'? It has been excruciating for me! How would you even know? You haven't been around-"

"Because you're not the one falling apart!"

"Of course I'm falling apart Azriel! You left! How was I supposed to feel about that?!"

"Nothing. You were supposed to feel absolutely nothing"

"What the fuck are you trying to say?" Eris was seething now. How dare he insinuate that this hadn't been hard on him too?

"That you. Don't. Care, until there are consequences"

Eris opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted before he could. "I was gone for three hours. Three hours, Eris, before you even noticed I'd left. Three hours before you came out of your office like you'd said you would. 'My word to you will always be true, this I promise' that was one of our vows to each other, and I cannot count the amount of times you've broken it."

He was stunned into silence, the weight of it all crashing down on him hard. "You had been blissfully unaware while I second guessed our mating"

Tears were streaming down both their faces, wild and unrestrained. Their breathing was ragged, and despite the cacophony of emotions, they both just wanted to comfort the other. But too many feelings left unresolved prevented them from doing so, instead, they stewed in the silence, the only sounds being the occasional sniffle or sharp exhale.

"Azriel I- I'm so sorry. I didn't realise what all this was doing to you. I should have known, should have seen the signs. As your husband, as your mate I should have- Cauldrons Azriel, I can't express how sorry I am, words don't do it justice, but I will find a way to make it up to you. I will. I don't know how, yet, but that, I can promise you."

The shadow singer nods. Eris wants to ask what happens now, does he return, or will he stay in the sanctuary of the Night Court? He waits for him to say something, but is left empty handed. He is the one to nod this time, winnowing back to his court.

Eris lies awake, thinking of ways to make it up to Azriel. If it were anyone else, he'd formulate a plan to execute some grand gesture, but this was Azriel. Azriel does not do grand gestures. It should make it easier but instead, it leaves Eris walking circles in his head, tormenting himself with wanting to do more, but knowing his lover wouldn't like it, and everything else just feeling like it would fall short.

It wasn't until well into the night that Eris felt Azriel return to the forest house. He held his breath, both wishing for him to take the corridor to the bedroom he occupied (It didn't feel right to sleep in their shared bed without Az there) and praying he didn't. What could he say? He was nowhere near ready to talk to Azriel, yet that was all he wanted to do.

Azriel went to a different bedroom, one just a few passageways to the left. His heart sank, however he scolded himself saying it was for the best, and that he hadn't earned being in the same bed yet.

Although when a small little shadow crept up, twining itself in between Eris's long fingers, he couldn't help but bring the little creature closer to his face, and smile.

Time skip

Over the next two weeks, Eris tried his best to earn Azriel back, he had started by showing up at his door and asking him out on a date. He half thought that Azriel would decline and slam the door in his face but by some miracle, the shadowsinger found it in him to take Eris's olive branch.

That first date seemed to open the flood gates. Every other day they'd be out, in the forest, a village, they'd even gone out of Autumn once or twice. The Lords made sure to make their displeasure known and the piles of paperwork were stacking up again faster than Eris could make them go down, but he ignored it in favor of his mate.

He obviously couldn't neglect his High Lord duties completely, he still held audiences when requested, and he did what paperwork he could, but he'd finally taken a leap, and removed many of the lords from the board.

He still hadn't found replacements for all of them, but it was some much needed progress. Having people he could trust to surround him and try to guide his rule instead of the power hungry toads admittedly made it quite a bit easier. Eris felt like he was in control of his responsibilities for the first time in years, since he started his reign, actually.

But it wasn't until recently, that Azriel truly forgave him.

Eris had walked up to Azriel's door, just like he had numerous times in the past fortnight. He waited nervously for him to answer, running his fingers through his hair and smoothing out his clothes. He loved Azriel, truly, but he absolutely hated how he was reduced to a twenty year old with no experience every time he asked him out.

The door opened, and there stood the love of his life donning Autumn finery. They had gotten into many teasing arguments about the garments over the years, Azriel always claiming it was over the top and Eris countering that he was technically a High Lord now too, even if he didn't bare the title (Because Azriel had refused, not because Eris hadn't offered) so the clothes were befitting someone of his station.

Azriel had laughed uproariously at that.

"Hello," Azriel said from inside the door frame. "I don't believe we had a date scheduled, unless I'm mistaken?"

"You're not, mistaken, that is. I wanted to surprise you, if that's alright?" Azriel wasn't overly fond of surprises. To be frank, neither was Eris, but he'd think this might be an exception.

Azriel raised both eyebrows. "Consider me surprised"

Eris blushed. Fucking. Blushed. What in the name of the mother did this male do to him?

"Would you- ahem- Would you please come with me into the dining hall?" Eris said, clearing his voice when it came out a bit too timid.

Azriel nodded slowly. "Sure, just let me change into something else"

"No one else will be there, so just that is fine." He insisted, because if he waits any longer, he might get cold feet and back out.

Once again surprise spreads across the Illyrians face, usually it is Eris who is so adamant on being 'properly adorned' for such occasions, even in the comfort of their own home.

"Alright" He says, closing the door behind him. "Lead the way, High Lord"

Oh, Azriel was trying to kill him, wasn't he? He never calls him High Lord unless he's angry, or wants Eris's attention on him for... other reasons. Much more pleasurable ones. He really hopes it's the second option and gulps as he steps in front of his mate to lead.

He holds the door as his beloved shadow steps in, taking in the spread laid out before them.

"Apologies if it's not on par with the usual cuisine served, I'm not the best cook, even with specific, and detailed instructions."

The male whips around staring at him. "You made all this?"

Eris nods "I did. Figured I had to make up for the dinner I'd missed. And, you know, all the ones before that." He breathes in deeply, preparing himself for his next words. "Look, I know that what I did was wrong, even if I never meant to hurt you, I did. And I'm not afraid to admit that I still don't quite know how to fully bring you back to me, but I-"

The air is knocked out of him by a body colliding with his, preventing the rest of his speech from leaving his lips.

"You just did" The words are mumbled into the junction of his neck, but he hears them just fine. The stress, and tension melts away as he wraps his arms around Azriel for the first time in way too long.

Tears of joy appear in the corners of his eyes but they are wiped away by his mate's thumbs as his scarred hands cup Eris's face. The words he so desperately needed falling effortlessly from the spymaster's lips.

"I love you, and I forgive you." Their emotions flood the bond and they fall to the floor together, holding one another in a tight embrace.

"Thank you, I promise, I will never treat you like that again. Never."

A few days later

Sunlight fell through the curtains onto their faces, gently waking up the two lovers. They were having a slow morning, it was ten and they still hadn't even gotten up for breakfast. They chose to instead lay in each other's embrace, enjoying the tranquility of it.

Tranquility that was broken by a knock. Eris sighed, running his hands over his face. He stretched and quickly threw on some pants along with a robe to at least cover himself a little.

He opened the door, shocking the servant on the other side who hastily lowered her gaze upon realising her High Lord was shirtless, choosing instead to speak to the floor rather than look him in the eyes.

"High Lord, I'm greatly sorry to disturb you, but the Lords are requesting a meeting on an improved payment plan for the agricultural contributors of Autumn, as well as some trade routes."

He nods, thanking her. When he walks back, Azriel is still in bed, eyes closed, the covers only concealing half of him. Eris smiled and dreaded leaving him.

"The lords want to hold a meeting about a few comings and goings of Autumn." He was sure Azriel had heard, especially with the little shadows constantly whispering information to him.

His mate only hummed, the picture of relaxation. "It's alright, you can go" Damn Azriel and his uncanny ability to read him, of course he knew that was the real reason why he'd repeated the information to him.

"Are you sure?" He asked, he never wanted to feel that again, never wanted to drive his mate away, so he just had to ask one more time.

"Yes, I'm sure." Eris accepted this. If Az really wasn't ok with it, he would say something.

Eris busied himself with getting ready, he took a quick shower, combed his hair and got dressed. It wasn't until he had just finished primping and was almost out the door that Azriel spoke up, calling Eris's name.

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm going to organise lunch for us, so I'll be waiting for you in the dining hall, go there once you're done." Eris stayed in the doorway, sensing there was more. "And afterwards... would you like to mess the bed with me?" A mischievous grin painted his face.

"Always"

A/n: That's the end! I hope you enjoyed, it was a bit longer than I thought it'd be but I'm just glad it's done on time. This was the first fic I've ever written proper angst for, hope it wasn't horrible.

Have a very Merry Christmas

From: @azrielsshadows42

To: @gravitysthrall

Thank you @acotargiftexchange

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drdemonprince · 4 months ago

Note

i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.

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taintandviolent · 11 months ago

Text

The Dork Theory ; Max Cooperman x reader

summary: Against better judgement, you decide to go to a college party. You run into a familiar face there, and you decide to test a long running theory to do with dorks and big 🍆 . Shameless smut ensues.

warnings: smut without plot, pnv, car sex, unprotected sex, handjobs, oral sex, degradation/shaming, recording.

a/n: max deserves it. he really does. not beta-read. this was just a whim kinda fic, so I hope it's not total garbage. enjoy! thanks for reading if you did.

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

It was a party, so you were forcing yourself to do party things. Or so you kept telling yourself. Really, it was a live streaming event for some stupid college fight, which was an event that you wouldn’t be caught dead at – under any circumstances. It wasn’t your scene, you couldn’t care less about fighting – outside of the carnal, hormonal fact that you got to see rippling muscles and displays of strength. At times, even you were simple. Whatever fight had already happened and judging by the sudden uptick in shouts and cheers, you assumed the preferred candidate won. The party was now in full swing with people mingling and drinking excessively. Ah, college.

Admittedly, you weren’t one for college parties either. It was a place to drink, screw, and in most cases, as a byproduct of the previous two mixing, fight. Of those three things, you only really enjoyed one of them and hadn’t done it in a while – long enough for you to crave it. Maybe that’s why you came to the party to begin with; to get some tail. Albeit hypocritically, you were also drinking. You weren’t drunk, but definitely heading there; your head felt fuzzy as you stared into your half-empty red Solo cup. Whoever had mixed the drinks had erred on the side of too strong.

“Well… hey there.”

You looked up from said cup, one brow quirked. In front of you, stood a guy who looked oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place him. Eyes narrowed, you scanned him from his shoes to his lush, curly brown locks. He wore jeans and a Something Corporate t-shirt. Really? You realized you’d seen him earlier, schmoozing with girls, explaining something very passionately. They hung on his arms, but seemed distant – but no, that still wasn’t where you recognized him from.

He was scanning you up and down, lingering on all the right parts of your body; your hips, your breasts, your face. Finally, he spoke. "My name's Max, what's yer--"

"Wait, hold on." You pressed a single finger against his lips, which pressed back into your finger, almost like he was kissing it.

"Max?"

He nodded, still compressed against your fingertip. He didn't need to confirm it, really, because just like that, it all came rushing back; it had been years but you knew exactly who he was and you were about to make sure he remembered, too. You withdrew your hand with a breathy chuckle.

"Like... Max.... Cooperman? The chubby kid who was always recording fights in the schoolyard?"

Ouch. Max cringed, knotting his mouth up to one side. Starting off strong with this one. “Yep, that – was me. And for the record, I was a part of those fights from time to time. And I trained -”

"Ohhhh my god," you breathed, cutting him off as you covered your mouth with your hand. "You were such a dork, you know that, don't you? Like, such a dork.”

“Okay, alright.” he said, looking behind him for a brief moment. “I came over ‘cause I have a policy that no cute girls are allowed to stand alone, especially at one of my parties. Are you just gonna’ stand here and bust my balls all night?”

So he thought you were cute. Your cunt clenched — you’d take that thought to the bank. You grinned inwardly, rocking back and forth on your heels. “I can, if you want me to.”

He cocked his head like a dog, unsure how to take that. “What, are we gonna’ play fight?”

“Something like that.”

You reached forward, teasingly slapping his cheek. With an intrigued expression, Max caught your hand and yanked you towards him, looking at your lips. You mirrored his gaze, wondering what they tasted like, and if they were as soft as they looked.

You couldn’t deny the facts; he wasn’t the dorky kid that you passively paid attention to. He stood taller and had trimmed down, a result of likely more physical activity and maybe better eating habits. The attraction that bubbled up in your core wasn’t new, it had just been dormant for many years. You ran your tongue along your bottom lip, wetting it and Max’s dark brown eyes followed your tongue as it travelled, a smirk stretching across his lips.

"You still have that Mustang?"

"Pffft, of course I do."

“You wanna’ um…”

Wide-eyed and eager, Max nodded. “Uh, YEAH?”

The two of you made your way outside, with Max quickly navigating you to where his car was parked. The cool night air bit at your skin, goose flesh erupting over anything that was exposed – mostly your legs. Now in front of the car, your eyes swept over the Mustang, admiring it. You weren’t a car girl, by any means, but you knew when to appreciate them. This was decidedly one of those times. He took care of his car, that much was apparent.

With a deep breath, you turned back to Max, an expectant smirk on your lips. “So, is this the part where you tell me you’ve had a crush on me since high school?”

Max laughed as he leaned against the door of the car, shaking his head. You were cute, but this wasn’t a teenage romcom. “Actually, no, I don’t know you. I mean… I wanna’ know you.”

He reached for you, snaking his hands around your hips to pull you closer.

“Ohhoh shit, someone gained some confidence when they lost that baby fat, huh?”

“Damn, okay.” He looked away, almost annoyed, but the lust that was now coursing through his system trumped any fleeting anger. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

You paused, taken aback as you stared at him. You did. Because while he didn’t remember you, you remembered him. You’d always had an affinity for dorks and paid attention to them, despite cringing at their cornball behaviour – because if you knew one thing, it was that the weird, shy guys were always hung – and there was one particular day where you’d made your opinions about Max Cooperman.

It was May, somewhere in the middle of the month. You were in a hurry to get to 4th period when you heard a bunch of guys shouting and jeering at each other. The natural instinct to watch a fight took over and you slowed your steps.

You’d only paused for a second, not wanting to be late to class. He was fighting behind the bleachers, bright, red blood running down his top lip, fists up in front of his face, shouting at some guy: “I got this, bro! I got this!”

You blinked. Back to reality.

“Maybe I knew you. Maybe I thought you were cute,” you confessed, letting the alcohol take over your nerves. “Maybe I have a theory that dorky dudes have big cocks.”

“Butterball Cooperman? Cute? What am I now then, huh?”

You chewed your lip, not saying anything. Max caught your glance, looking at you with a hunger in his eyes that promised it would lead somewhere — it was the kind of look that said, Hey. My dick just woke up and it’s because of you. You crushed your lips against his, tangling both of your hands in his warm curls. A whisper of fucking hot echoed in your mind. Max didn’t need to hear it, he felt the heat coming off your body, rolling towards him in waves. With his groin throbbing, he connected your bodies again, pulling you tight at the waist. His free hand stretched behind him, fumbling for the door handle.

“Wanna’ find out?” He asked, breaking the kiss.

You nodded.

Max threw the door open, and pulled the driver’s seat up, allowing you some space to crawl in first. You leaned in — making sure your ass was on full display in the short, denim skirt you’d chosen earlier that night — and moved quickly to the passenger side. With your knees pressing into the black, leather interior of his backseat, you sat upright, making room for him as he joined you.

He faced you, leaning his back against the window and angled his hips towards you, knees to his chest. You stretched forward, tapped one side of his closed knees. “Lemme in, Cooperman.”

Immediately, they fell open, exposing the bulge in his jeans. There was a dirty, devilish little smirk on his face; he knew you were looking, sizing him up. Not such a dork now, huh?

“Theory proven?”

“Maybe. I’ve gotta’ see.”

You palmed his half-hard cock outside of his jeans, the tips of your fingers tracing the faint outline, until they came to the tip. Applying pressure, the pad of your pointer finger swept back and forth into the squishy flesh until your finger was met with a wet spot. You’d given a fair number of handjobs in your life, enough to be confident in your skills.

“Shit,” Max hissed above you. “Shit.”

Underneath the fabric, you felt his dick shift in his jeans. With a pleased smirk, giving him what he so clearly wanted, you unbuttoned and unzipped, allowing his hard-on some room to breathe. The bulge pitched forward slightly as you reached for the ruched edge of his boxers, and pulled them down over his balls. His cock now free, it flopped heavily against his stomach, searing hot on his abdomen. It was about as long as you’d expected, but much thicker. With a wanton gaze, you took hold of the shaft and began stroking, feeling the veins swell with each pass. Every so often, you paid special attention to the underside, gliding your fingers over the thickest veins. Eventually, his cock stood at attention, the tip reddened and leaking profusely. You bit your lip.

“Ooooooh, Max Cooperman has a big thick cock.” You tittered in a teasing lilt, still fondling it. He whimpered loud, a high pitched desperate sound that filled the car. You hadn’t expected him to be so whiny, but somehow you weren’t surprised — it seemed appropriate for that nerd in the schoolyard. Whiny then, whiny now. Every obscene word was punctuated with a whine, like a teenager getting his first handjob. He rutted his hips helplessly against your fingers, grinding his stiffness into your grip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just like that - fuck.”

Almost to shut him up, you craned forward to kiss him again, your mouths crushing together in violent desperation. After a few seconds, Max sloppily broke the kiss to look down at your hand, saliva stringing from his bottom lip to yours.

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” he breathed, watching your fingers as they stroked his swollen cock, paying special attention to the scarlet, almost purple head. His cock twitched again in your grip, expelling more precum. “Oh my fuckin’ god, holy shit, holy shit…”

You were delighted by the position of power you were in, and even more than that, delighted by the way that Max was literally coming undone in front of you. All his acquired cockiness had melted away, replaced by the desperate dork you remembered.

“I knew he was in there,” you whispered under your breath before giving his cock a firm grip, milking another whine from his lips. Max was too far gone to even respond logically to anything, you weren’t sure he’d even heard you over his ragged, uneven pants.

Feeling adventurous (and perhaps cruel), you extended your tongue, flattening it against the underside of his cock. The salty pre-cum oozed onto it. Max gasped, lifting his hips upright, which forced his dick further into your mouth. You pulled back, shaking your head softly. For a moment, he did nothing but stare at his own cock, watching it as your hand drug up and down over it, working it inches from your lips. You thought he was going to lose it, but with a heavy breath, he lowered his hips again and went back to breathing unevenly.

“Please,” he begged incessantly, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. “Please lemme’ fuck you…”

“Uh-uh.”

Max whimpered again, bumping his head against the window repeatedly like a kid throwing a tantrum.

“You can’t, Max. There isn’t enough room here.”

“Yeaaah, baby, yeah there is. We’ll make it work.”

You paused for a moment, surveying your surroundings. Even with the seats pushed forward, the backseat left little room for moving around, and the oddly placed hump in the center was undeniably impeding any laying down. Max’s hips were already jutted up oddly, you couldn’t picture laying down atop of it… unless….

“You wanna’ fuck me, Max? How bad you wanna’ fuck me?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Slack-jawed, he nodded, his curls bouncing. The collar of his shirt was a shade darker with sweat. “So bad. So fuckin’ bad, you have no idea. You can’t even fathom.”

You thought about it. And thought about it some more, until finally, you said: “Move over.”

Obediently, Max scooted his hips up, his dick bobbing before he shifted himself onto the floor, allowing you to crawl forward, using the curve of the backseat like a sex pillow, your ass tilted up towards the now very fogged up back window. Your cunt was already warm and aching from giving him head, and with a deep breath, you imagined the wet slit that would greet him as soon as he got up behind you.

Curious, you reached up between your legs, pressing them into the satin fabric – just as you thought. Soaked. Finding the hem of your underwear, you yanked them to the side, exposing her. Your middle finger then slipped inside, dragging some of the slick down to your clit, which you tapped, bringing the sensitivity higher.

“Oh shit,” he gasped, seeing this erotic display that sent spikes of arousal straight to his already engorged and aching cock. Still on the floor, but now behind the passenger’s seat, Max leaned forward. Still awkwardly positioned – you silently applauded the desperation in which he did it – Max went for your cunt, bending his head at angle so that his tongue could flick out against your wet folds, getting a taste of your sweet, leaking juices. You couldn’t help but moan into the leather, clenching and shaking as he lingered there for a moment, just lapping at it, swallowing and mouth breathing heavily onto her.

“Fuck–” He straightened up, and used the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. “You taste so good, baby.”

You wiggled your ass in response, smiling against the seat. After a little bit of strained and clumsy maneuvering, Max was finally behind you, dick in hand. He shuffled closer, his jean-clad thighs pressing into the backs of your bare ones. Using his free hand, he glided over the curve of your ass and down your spine, as far as the jean skirt would let him. You felt the warm head bumping into her over and over again with a haphazard rhythm, strings of precum dripping down onto the seat below you – he was jerking off into your cunt.

“I thought you were going to fuck me.”

“I am,” he panted. “I am… this is just too good. Fuck! I wish I had my camera.”

After using the tip to play with your wetness for a bit longer, Max finally lined up and sunk his cock inside of you, using your hips to pull himself deeper. He bottomed out – the stretching heat burned, filling you from wall to wall as his hips began bucking instinctively, finding a carnal rhythm – you let out a low moan. You begged, wanting him to press himself as deep into you as he could.

“Record it,” you suddenly ordered.

“Wha-?” he choked, out of breath and still pumping himself into you.

“Record it. You have your phone, don’t you?” You arched your back, pushing up into him.

“You serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. It’d be hot.”

Still in awe of your lustful demand, Max reached in his back pocket and pulled his phone out. He quickly navigated to the camera app, tapped the red button, and held the phone above you, getting a wider angle. The flash was on; he pulled his thick, glistening cock out of you slowly, while his dark eyes darted back and forth between watching you and watching it on the screen. Knowing he was going to have this to later jerk it to… shit – his breath hitched in his throat. He bumped his hips into you a few times, popping the head into your cunt.

“Yeah, you like that?”

At first, Max breathily answered, but remembering he was recording, cleared his throat and answered in a lower tone. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh stop,” you laughed, wiggling your hips on his cock. “Afraid to let your dorky voice out again?”

“Shut up, I’m not a dork.”

“Yeaaaah, yeah you are. A big dork with a big cock.”

Much to his own dismay, Max whined, picking up speed as he hammered into you, his little desperate bunny humps rutting against your pussy, sending shockwaves through your core. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, paired with your broken moans and Max’s pathetic, horny whines filled the car. He’d never really been one for degradation, but the way you teased him, throwing your verbal right hooks every chance you got, had him in pieces. Every time you did it, his dick twinged painfully, stiffening past the point of comfort. He took hold of it, jerking it a few times into your pussy. Making sure the camera was capturing it, Max went back to thrusting, sinking his aching cock halfway in before bottoming out again. The video would never see the light of day, you knew it. He’d have to mute it to save his ego, and what was the point of muting porn? Max was way too whiny to show his macho friends, every other thrust was accompanied by a desperate little whimper.

“Shit, I’m gonna’ - I’m gonna’ baby, oh my god, I’m sorry I’m gonna’ – auuggh!”

With a final whimper, Max yanked his cock from your pussy, allowing his orgasm to burst out over your exposed cunt; hot, milky strings decorating your folds and ass cheeks.

Immediately after pumping the rest of his cum onto your ass, like a gentleman, Max sunk two fingers in your pussy, curling them up to masterfully find the sensitive, spongy flesh inside. So, he’d had practice, too. You took fistfuls of the seat, digging your nails into the soft, polished leather. Thankfully for him, you were close, so the way he pumped his fingers in and out of you brought you over the edge within a matter of seconds.

With a final: “Ffffuck!!”, you clenched around his fingers, pleasure rupturing your entire core. You squeezed your eyes shut, riding out the orgasm and backing up into his fingers to increase the pressure. You heard Max hiss in a breath through his teeth as he watched you, enjoyed you, and recorded you in your most intimate moments. The thought drove your orgasm forward even further.

As the pulses subsided, you flopped down heavily, out of breath and drenched in sweat. You pivoted your body, rolling back over onto your back. Max was still recording, absentmindedly playing with your still weeping cunt. You watched him with a smile, entertained and enamoured that he was so invested with you. With a little dinging sound, the recording finally ended, and he tucked the phone back into his pocket.

You two sat in silence, breathing heavily until, in a moment of post-nut clarity, Max said: “Shit, I was supposed to spar with Matt.”

“Who?” You couldn’t care less.

“Uh, my friend.”

“Mm, well… Matt is just gonna’ have to take a rain check. That’s too bad.”

He laughed, leaning his head against the window again. After a few moments, he spoke again, his voice soft and low.

“So, your theory is true, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s true. Took me years to prove it, but… it’s definitely true.” You leaned up and ran your pointer finger along the inseam of his jeans, smirking to yourself. “Definitely true.”

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