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bamboozledbird · 6 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 3 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, omc, ofc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to? Chapter Summary: More information about the animal attack comes to light. You can’t decide if you're more scared of the monster or becoming friends with someone new.

A/N: You can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

You were surprised to see your dad’s car in the garage. He wasn’t supposed to be off work for hours, and he certainly never came home early on weekdays. You would be more nervous if there was anyone left in your life to grieve. It was just the two of you now. Your mom hadn’t ever talked about her family; you weren't even sure if she ever had one, and Grandma and Papa Dickinson died before you even had the chance to remember them. You wished, sometimes, that there was someone else in the house. Someone who could fill the cold silence and closed doors. Someone who might chase away the ghosts lingering in the long halls and photographs on the walls. It was a futile dream. You were going to die in this house, and someday a new family would chase your family’s shadows away with laughter.

You felt a bittersweet sense of déjà vu when you walked into the house and saw your dad sitting at the kitchen table. The kitchen was his spot before everything went wrong. He puttered around the island in the mornings with his thermos of coffee and tablet, somehow knowing exactly when to flip the bubbling pancakes on the griddle without glancing up from whatever NPR article he was reading. He only looked up from the screen to kiss your mom on the cheek and give you a side-squeeze until you whined about your inability to breathe.

That was a long time ago, you reminded yourself as your dad looked up from his iPad. It’d been four years, but he still hadn’t quite figured out how to hug you and the kitchen never smelled like pancakes and cinnamon syrup anymore. “How was school?” your dad finally said after a long moment of uneasy eye-contact.

Your brow wrinkled, and your head canted slightly, “You really want to talk about my day?”

“Of course,” your dad paused and rubbed his hands over his face, “but there is something important I wanted to talk to you about.” His stubble had grown out enough that you could see where the brown was starting to gray. He looked so old for a moment, and you weren't quite sure how to feel. You never did around him.

Frowning, you sat down in the chair across from him, “Did someone die?”

“No,” your dad quickly replied, and then he sighed, “well, yes.” He set his iPad to the side and took his thick reading glasses off, “You know about the animal attacks.” It wasn’t a question. You figured that was how this would go; it was easier to pretend you didn’t exist if he monologued to the spot on the wall just over your shoulder. “Sheriff Stilinski and I agree that a curfew is the best course of action, considering the situation we’re in.”

Best course of action. You chewed on what was left of your nails and resisted the sigh budding in your chest. So, this was a council meeting too. You just didn’t get a vote. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Your dad blinked a few times and rubbed at his jaw, like he’d been expecting you to fight him on it. Most of the fight fizzled out in you a long time ago; it was just easier to pretend. You got that from him, you thought. You inherited your dad’s love for mystery novels and his ability to deny reality straight to its face, and that was where the similarity ended. Your face, your skin, your heart—your exhausting curiosity—that was all your mom. It must be why your dad couldn’t keep his gaze on you for long. He ran his fingers through his short crop of dark hair and said, “Anyone under the age of 18 needs to be home by 9:00 every night.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t like you had much of a social life anyway, and the curio shop you worked for closed long before dark. “So,” you fiddled with the edge of a decorative bamboo placemat that hadn’t seen a plate in years, “do the police have any idea what kind of animal’s going all Pac-Man on people?”

Your dad stared at you for a moment, a deep divot developing above the crooked bridge of his nose. You looked down at your hands and mumbled, “The vampire Pomeranian, not the wimpyass circle.”

His mouth tugged a little, and you would’ve sworn he was fighting a smile if everything else in the world didn’t directly contradict the theory. “Not exactly.”

“Which means…” you shook your head a little and tugged your fingers through your unruly hair, grimacing a bit as they snagged on a few knots where your hair had frizzed together, “they’ve ruled out tiny bloodsucking dogs, or they’ve narrowed it down to a few probable options?”

He paused for a long moment, and you pulled your shins to your chest, focusing on the tips of your sneakers hanging off the edge of the wooden seat. You turned your cheek into your kneecaps and waited for your dad to make an excuse and leave. You’d pushed. You always had to push.

“There were wolf fibers on the girl.”

You whipped your head up from your knees, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. You were a little embarrassed that you were more stunned by your dad sharing confidential information with you than a wolf migrating to central California for the first time in over a hundred years. “And the bus driver?”

“He’s still…unresponsive. Stilinski is looking into the possibility that he was attacked by the same animal.”

“Huh,” you said quietly, eyes glazing over as you considered the possibility.

“Regardless, you need to be home before dark until they catch the damn thing,” he leaned back against his chair, tipping his head back with his bottle of Miller High life. The golden liquid sloshed back and forth with the strength of his swallow. It was the first time you’d seen him drink since the funeral, but you knew about the empty bottles he threw away in the trash outside. Over the years, the number varied; you noticed a significant increase around anniversaries, birthdays, and Christmas. You left extra take-out in the fridge during those weeks, always his favorites, and they were gone in the morning. You twisted the pendant on your necklace and made a note to order Little India’s tandoori chicken after your shift.

“I have to work tonight.” You said quietly, nibbling the bed of your thumbnail, “I’m off at 8:00.”

You both dreaded and longed for your boss’s absurd take on the situation—though boss wasn’t quite the right word for Maggie Sinclair. Despite the fact that she owned Curio Killed the Cat and approved your paychecks, Maggie was the least authoritative person you knew. You’d say Mags was like an older sister, but older sisters generally didn’t require so much supervision around open flames and sangria—and anything else sparkling enough to distract her sporadic focus. Your mom used to look out for her before she died; you supposed Maggie was just another thing you inherited from her. Your favorite thing probably, but that was something you’d most likely take to your grave.

Your dad’s face went blank for a moment, as it always did when he was reminded of anything remotely related to your mom. It was easier for him, you thought, to pretend that she never existed. You couldn’t even be bitter about it; you hadn’t even cried at the funeral. You cried much later, of course, but by then the pity well had run dry. Nobody cared how you coped, so long as you coped quickly. You’d wasted those precious first few months of constant consolations with numbness, with monotonous, 'Thank you,’s and, 'It’s sad, but I’m okay,'s and then, eventually, everyone stopped asking if you were okay. Time passed. You didn’t touch any of the casseroles in the fridge. People moved on. You lived in the wake and pushed people away with an acrid bite that would disappoint the resurrection right out of your mother. Your dad was just coping. You both were.

“Right,” he cleared his throat, “come straight home after.”

You shouldered your backpack and stood up, “Always do.”

You still didn’t know how Maggie met your mom, given the 15-year age gap and their vastly different…everything, but Maggie had been in your life for as long as you could remember. You spent so much time in Maggie’s store after your mom died that you figured you might as well get paid for shelving spell books and grimoires while you were there—even if you did think that most of Maggie’s customers were totally off their rocker. Of course, in-person customers were a rare oddity in Curio Killed the Cat.

The store was always slow on weekdays, weekends too actually. Most of Maggie’s business was online; she shipped ‘haunted’ and ‘magical’ artifacts all across the globe to e-goths with bad backs and Wicca wannabes. Truthfully, Maggie didn’t really need your help running the storefront, but she claimed she enjoyed the company—even if said company was bitterly sarcastic and hypercritical of the product she was stocking.

“Hey, Mags,” you called. The bell on the front door tinkled in the background as you shoved it open with your shoulder. You paused to scratch under Maggie’s ancient tabby’s chin until he let out a sawing purr. You weren't exactly sure how old Gizmo was, but he behaved more like the taxidermied animals on the walls than the stray cats that lived in the small alley behind the store.

“Maggie’s head popped up from the circle of book-stack pillars surrounding her. A few of her black curls frizzed out from her bun like a chaotic springy bow and her sweater swallowed her whole despite the relatively warm evening. “Babe,” Maggie placed her hands on your shoulders and grinned at you with a little too much teeth, “thorn in my side, light of my life.”

You lifted the large pair of acrylic glasses from Maggie’s nest of curls and then slipped them over her rounded nose with a reluctant sigh, “What?”

“Glasses. That was next on the agenda.” Maggie blinked owlishly behind her lenses as her eyes adjusted, and then they lit up with whatever it was she’d miraculously remembered, “I am so delighted to see you.”

“It’s Monday.” Gizmo curled around your leg and meowed pathetically until you bent down and lifted him onto you shoulder, “I work Mondays.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, “I’m aware; I made the schedule. The Concerta isn’t completely defective.”

You grinned a little, and Gizmo kneaded your chest in agreement, “So: You’re delighted to see me.”

Nodding rapidly, Maggie picked up a lavishly bound book from one of the stacks of new inventory. It was so tall that it reached her chin, and there were four more just like it in the back. “I need these stocked for realsies,” Maggie said, blowing off the thin layer of dust that had started to gather on the cover. She dropped the book back on top of the pile with a loud thump and carefully avoided knocking anything over on her way to the front of the store, “And I’m currently in the middle of a bidding war.”

“Haunted or historical?” you grabbed the clunky price gun off of the tarot card display.

“A little of both actually,” Maggie hummed, fiercely focused on the computer screen. Her nose was almost smashed against the monitor.

You set Gizmo down on the floor, patting his head tenderly when he let out a disgruntled whine and clawed at your thin knee socks. Eventually, the effort became too much for his poor paws to bear, and he waddled off towards one of his many nesting spots. “For you or for the store?” you pulled the stepladder away from the wall of stone runes and protection charms and plopped yourself down on the top step.

“For you, actually,” Maggie grinned a little and winked, “don’t say I never gave ya’ nothing.”

“Wonderful,” you dropped your chin into your cupped hands, “a poltergeist bonus.”

Maggie huffed and shoved the sleeves of her hand-knitted cardigan up to her elbows, “It’s not actually haunted. Not really. It’s like…a spirit router, basically. Whatever. It’ll make me feel better about you walking around with a rabid Cujo on the loose.”

“Aw,” you smirked good-naturedly and slapped a price tag on a book entitled ‘Heal the Witch Wound Inside’—$35.99, and for what? You were too amused to point out the redundancy of rabid Cujo. “You got me a guardian angel.”

“Trying to,” Maggie corrected her under her breath, “but MagikMike9917 is a persistent little bitch.”

You laughed and slid ‘Witch Wound’ into the self-help section, “Just get me a mini-taser; they come in some real cute cases now.”

“Mhm.” Maggie briefly glanced over in your direction and then abruptly whirled her head back towards the thick book in your hands, “Not that one.”

You narrowed your gaze as you examined the cover of the book more closely. You had to admit, it was beautiful. The leather was a deep burgundy, and the spine was hand stitched together with gold thread—but it was the carving on the front that really caught your attention. There were two wolves etched into the leather. Their howling snouts pointed towards the full moon above their heads, and their tails entwined around the roots of a large tree sprouting into the sky. Ornate symbols framed the borders of the scene, and a few scattered jewels glinted in the light. It must have taken at least a week to finish.

You held up the book, your brow curved into a high arch, “This for me too? ‘Cause I’ve already seen The Witcher; pretty sure I got the gist.”

Rolling her eyes, Maggie reached blindly for her soup mug of passionflower and mugwort tea. The smell of it was truly rank, but you had grown accustomed to the musky bitterness over the years. “That one’s already sold. They should be dropping by to pick it up anytime now.” She raised her cup towards you, “I told you bestiaries are essential reading.”

“For dungeon masters, maybe,” you hummed as you studied the cover again. The red and citrine jewels in the wolves’ eyes seemed to be winking at you when the light hit them at the just right angle.

“Which is an essential contribution to society,” Maggie punctuated her sentence with a loud slurp.

Your lips gave way to a small grin as you set the book to the side. You’d stocked around half the stacks of books when the front door chimed for the first time since your shift started. You looked towards the door and squinted at the increasingly familiar smattering of freckles and moles, “Are you stalking me now? I will tell your dad; I’m not above snitching or stitches.”

Stiles blinked a few times and then shook his head, holding up his hands, “I swear on my jeep this time it’s a coincidence. I ordered something here like a week ago.”

You folded your arms over your chest, “And your jeep is sacred, is it?”

Stiles nodded solemnly and rested his hand over his chest, “The sacredest.”

If the muttered cursing and aggressive sipping was anything to go by, Maggie was too busy with her eBay war to be of any help with inventory. Stocking would have to wait. You stood up and glanced over Stiles’s shoulder, “Where’s your sidekick?”

Stiles squeezed one eye almost completely shut and looked off into the void with the other until realization dawned over his face, “You mean Scott?” He snorted and shot you a grin that was loaded with self-pity, “I’m usually the sidekick reference. Always, actually.”

You nodded and looked down, searching for the culprit of the little head butting into your shin. Gizmo was probably the most ineffective, geriatric guard dog in the entire animal kingdom, but you appreciated the effort. You scooped him up into your arms so that he could better inspect the strange boy who’d invaded his den and nuzzled your nose against the black stripe on top of his head. “They do tend to never shut up.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue—a frequent expression of you were beginning to realize—and then his shoulders slumped in defeat, “Holy shit, I’ve been type-casted.”

“You could do an arthouse film,” you tilted your head, “show people you’ve got range.”

Stiles nodded, considering the idea, “My charming wit and boyish good looks are really holding me back.” He stooped down to scratch behind Gizmo’s ears. Gizmo bristled for a moment, eyeing his hand suspiciously, but he eventually flopped back in your arms after a few curious sniffs. “No one takes me seriously.”

“Uh huh.” You watched Stiles pet Gizmo and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, trying to remember the last man Gizmo hadn’t bit. You couldn’t recall a single one. Warmth enveloped your face when Stiles looked up and met your gaze. He didn’t appear to think much of it, just turned his eyes towards the ground and stroked Gizmo’s little gray toes.

You set Giz down, despite his pathetic protests, and turned towards the stockpile of inventory, fighting the urge to bite your nails to the quick, “So, what’d you order, boy wonder?” You looked over your shoulder when Stiles didn’t answer. He was smiling a little, mostly to himself, with his hands shoved in his pockets. Your brows quirked, “What?”

“Nothing.” He groaned a little when you kept looking at him, your brows still cocked, and then shrugged with his hands still fisted in his jacket pockets, “It’s just not so bad, the sidekick thing. It’s not so pathetic when you say it like that.”

You swallowed, a little startled by his honesty even though you were the one who’d insisted upon it. “Order?”

“Right,” he nodded a few times and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a thickass book, wolves on the front, about yea big,” Stiles held his palms almost six inches apart from each other. “Please don’t make me say the name; I’m pretty sure it’s Latin.”

You grabbed the bestiary you’d set aside earlier and looked at the cover again; there was a small inscription just below the tree roots. “It’s Greek, actually.” You brushed your fingers over the indented letters, “φυσιολόγος.”

Stiles shook his head and took his frustration out on the air with a dramatic jerk of his hands, “In English?”

“The Naturalist,” your lips curled into a shrewd smile, “so sorry we don’t carry it in Japanese.”

Stiles pursed his lips and snatched the book out of your hands. “Hilarious. Truly. I don’t just watch anime, y’know. I also like…” he trailed off and scratched at the nape of his neck, “very cool, normal things.”

“Such as?”

He pulled a face that was distinctly reminiscent of a little kid sticking their tongue out, “Such as shut your face.”

“Wow.” Shaking your head, you returned to your task of shelving books—this one was about the spiritual properties of mushrooms—and made a popping noise with your tongue against the top of your mouth, “You better hope there’s an English translation in there ‘cause consider my mouth officially shut.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Stiles continued quickly, words almost overlapping with the speed of his tongue, before you could take advantage of such low-hanging fruit, “I made sure I could read it before I bought it—being comprehensible is literally the least it can do for 50 bucks plus shipping.” He shook his head and held up the book, “Can you believe the library wouldn’t order it for me?”

“Imagine that,” you chided, “and with all the demand for vintage bestiaries too.”

He dropped his order on top of a rickety writing desk that supposedly belonged to a Beacon Hills’ heretic who died in the 1800s—at least, according to the tag hanging from one of the drawers and Maggie’s generous interpretation of her family history. “D&D is coming back in a big, big way,” Stiles pointed at you and winked with obnoxious flourish, “just you wait.”

You smirked, pointedly ignoring your recurrent childhood obsession with Egyptian and Roman mythology, and smacked the side of the price gun until the sticker tape unjammed, “My instinct is to make fun of you, but I’m afraid the hypocrisy will catch up with me.”

“What?” Stiles glanced around the store and smirked, “Are you one of those new-agey astrology, crystal nerds? How many fingers is my aura holding up right now?”

You gave him a flat look and reached for another book. “We don’t sell crystals, actually. They aren’t that common in ritualistic spell-casting.”

Stiles blinked slowly, “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” You still weren't entirely sure if Maggie actually believed in all this spiritualist-mythical bullshit. She contradicted herself constantly, and often said things just to make your face pinch in disbelief, but at the same time she still insisted that you keep a protection charm bundle under your bed. The smell of the divination tea, at the very least, was great at warding off unwanted chitchat. “Animal blood is the main ingredient in most of ‘em.”

“That’s…repulsive,” Stiles cringed, restless fingers meandering towards the shelves of books next to you. He pulled out a small illuminated grimoire and flipped through the yellowing pages, pulling a face every so often at some of the more unsavory hex materials.

You pried the book from his fingers and slid it back into its correct slot. Maggie didn’t actually ask you to organize them; her exact words were, ‘Slap a sticker on ‘em and stick ‘em on a shelf,’ but the idea of such a chaotic setup haunted you until you finally reshelved them all with a revised, occult-specific Dewey Decimal System. “It’s actually just corn syrup and—”

“100% authentic dove juice,” Maggie interrupted from behind the front counter without removing her face from her monitor.

Stiles jerked his head to the side, evidently just realizing that there was someone else in the room with you, and then swiveled back to you with his face stretched out in a toothy grin, “That dove juice discount must save you, like, so much money.”

You watched Stiles, warily and wearily, reach for a meditation journal from one of the heaps by your legs, “I have to stock that.”

Stiles turned the journal over in his hands, “Lemme help.”

You huffed deeply and gestured to the diligently organized bookshelves, “I have a system.”

He gave a staunch shake of his head and hunched down so that he could read the small stickers on the spines, “I owe you—for covering for me.”

You took the journal from his hands and squatted down to the bottom shelf. You quickly found the guided meditation section and managed to squeeze the bulky notebook between ‘Walking the Pagan Path’ and ‘Warding Your Mind' with some aggressive wiggling. You looked up briefly and met Stiles’s eyeline. He was especially lanky from this angle. Lanky and soft, with his layers of sleeves and rounded features. You tucked a loose curl behind your ear and looked back at the line of jewel-toned spines, “How is he? Scott?”

“Better.” He tapped his fingers against the top of the bookshelf to a rhythmic beat that felt familiar, “Exposure therapy is a real pain in the ass.”

“I thought it was ‘low blood sugar.’”

“That too.” Stiles leaned over your head and grabbed another book, and you shivered the soft cotton hem of his jacket skimmed over your face. “He’s hemophobic and breakfastphobic,” he said as he handed you the book. You hummed softly in appreciation as he continued, “It’s a vicious cycle, actually. Dude would totally fall apart without me.”

“That’s nice.” You tipped your chin up towards him and grinned, “Totally bogus, but still nice.”

“I told you.” His smile was smug, but somehow still dopey enough to be charming, “I’m a nice guy.”

Your thighs started to ache from squatting in the same position for so long, so you dropped onto your knees, shivering as your bare skin pressed against the cold hardwood floor. “I’m still not sharing my sacrificial blood discount with you.”

“Guess I have to get a job here, then,” Stiles shrugged and leaned against the bookcase, jerking back a bit when he turned his head and came face-to-face with a yellow-eyed taxidermied owl. He turned it around until the glass eyes were safely pointed in the opposite direction and said, “That way I can drive you nuts all day long and become a master wizard.”

You clicked your tongue; the cluck rang with saccharinely sweet pity, “Sucks that you’re only qualified for the first part.”

“Yeah? How’d you get the job, then? You clearly don’t respect the craft.” Stiles ran his spindly fingers along a row of spines, and you wondered if he could play the piano. He certainly had the hands for it.

“Mags knew my mom, so…” you chewed on your lip until the metallic tang of copper burst on the tip of your tongue. You abruptly returned your attention to shelving the Wicca section and fiddled with the spines until they were all perfectly in line with each other, “It’s more nepotism than anything else, but I do take the history books home sometimes.”

Stiles looked at you, and the prickling sensation of being seen started slithering through your nervous system again. It took you a few tries to get Greek and Roman Necromancy to slip into the small gap on the shelf in front of you. Stiles crouched down next to you. His mouth was twisted around a sly smile, but you could see the earnestness in his eyes, “Witch training?”

You grinned a little, grateful for the out, “Hardly. I just like the lore.”

“Yeah,” Stiles’ gaze drifted towards the book he ordered; the wolves’ gleaming eyes were almost hypnotic, “me too.”

“I’d hope so, for 50 bucks.” you nudged his knee with your elbow, and he swayed precariously on his perched toes and then shot you a glare that lacked any actual malice. “There are cheaper D&D monster manuals, y’know.”

He snickered and elbowed you in the ribs, gently but his bony limbs were sharp and unforgiving, “I knew you were a nerd.”

You were tempted to rebut the accusation, but he already had far too much evidence to the contrary. At least, he didn’t know about your Data/Geordi fanfiction phase—and no one ever would, you thought darkly. You’d have to kill them, probably, or at the very least flee the country.

“At least I’m not a sucker.” You stood up and brushed off your socks, though there was nothing to be done about the red indentations on your kneecaps from kneeling on oak flooring for so long, “Just how easy would it be to convince you to drop another 50 on a replica Byzantine amulet?”

Stiles held out his hand, shaking it in the air incessantly for far too long. You tilted your head and tried not to smirk at his predicament. The longer you watched him struggle, the more pathetic his pleading became. Eventually, Stiles groaned and pushed himself onto his feet with exaggerated effort, “Obviously not very. Evil spirit didn’t even crack the top 20 on my suspect pool.”

“Got it.” You propped your arm on top of an antique guillotine, bent elbow crooked along the wooden pillory. Stiles stared at the rusted blade and then gawked at your arm. He looked like he was a few seconds away from shoving you out of the way, even though the edge was dull with age and safely secured to the iron frame with thick rope. Rolling your eyes, you stepped away from the antique and trailed your fingers over a less forbidding oddity.

You spun the brass globe a few times and said, “So silver bullets, then? I’m sure there’s some kind of bulk-discount we can work out.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped to your face, “What?”

“You know,” you gestured towards the order he abandoned while buzzing after you like an especially tenacious mosquito, “for all the werewolves running around town. Thought you’d already know that, being a wannabe wizard n’all.”

“Right.” Stiles’s jaw shut with a click as he ran his hand over his head, “Duh.” He rubbed at his bicep and swallowed a few times before clearing his throat, “Didn’t get to that chapter yet. Clearly, I’ve got a lot of studying to do before I graduate from apprentice to master.”

You squinted at him, mulling over if you should call him out on his odd behavior or just chalk it up to his usual weirdness. Maggie materialized behind you before you could do either. She placed her hands on your shoulders, squeezing softly, and then shuffled you to the side so that she could join your little circle, “I’m strictly anti-gun violence; the NRA hates me—but we do carry wolfsbane essence.”

“Don’t say essence,” you grimaced.

“We have some wolfsbane goo in the back.” Maggie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and pivoted back to you, “Happy?”

“Not even remotely.” You turned towards Stiles, finally grateful for his presence. Usually, you were on your own in your never-ending believer versus non-believer disputes, and Maggie was somehow under the impression that she wasn’t massively outnumbered beyond these four spooky walls. Oddly, Stiles looked lost in thought. The one time you needed his dismissive snark, and he just had to actually consider the opposing side.

“Is this like the dove juice thing?” Stiles watched Maggie’s face closely, astute eyes tracking every minute twitch and flicker in her expression. It was easy to make out all the different pieces of Sheriff Stilinski in his face like this. You could see the calculations running behind his eyes, the strings coming together, the chess pieces moving. The effect was startlingly piercing. “Or is this actually the real deal?”

You stared at him, face scrunched in bewilderment, but Maggie was undeterred, “We only sell the real deal in the back, to the honored few.”

Stiles looked towards you, his right brow raised. You sighed, folding your arms over your chest and flicking your hair over your shoulder, “Real useless, but…yeah. The plants are real I guess.”

Maggie winked, “I’ll even give you the friends and family discount.”

You scoffed, “We aren’t friends.”

Stiles frowned, momentarily distracted from his intense investigation of Maggie’s body language, “We aren’t?”

You licked your rapidly drying lips and shook your head slightly, more confused than indignant. Truth be told, you’d expected him to agree with you. You hadn’t known each other for long, and he seemed to be more interested in your connection to Lydia than forming one with you. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that he wanted to talk to you about anything else. It’d been a long time since anyone wanted to, that’s all. The friends who hugged you at the funeral, they stopped coming around a long time ago, and they still avoided you at school—like you were contagious, like you’d leak radiation and your misery would metastasize in their bone marrow. You still woke up crying sometimes, throat claggy with stubborn shadows, choking on the hollow bones of picked-apart memories—too busy shoveling dirt to consider tomorrow.

You scratched at your arm absently and rolled your eyes, slowly, so that everyone could see how utterly unaffected you were, “It’s a couple hundred bucks for a few millimeters of emulsified weeds. If we were friends, I wouldn’t even let you buy something so stupid.”

Stiles’s frown quickly curved into a crooked grin, boyishly charming and vexingly sure, “Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re trying to do.”

Maggie reappeared through the door to the back room, locking it with one of the many keys dangling from her strawberry lanyard. You didn’t have a clue when she’d disappeared to begin with, but the vial clutched in her hand was far more interesting. It was filled with a thick purple liquid, so dark it was almost black. Maggie held it out to Stiles and laughed at his inquisitive stare, “It’s on the house this time, ‘cause you’re such good friends with my darlingest girl.”

Eventually, Stiles took the vial from her hand. “Yeah, darling,” Stiles smirked and rolled the vial between his long fingers, “‘cause we’re such good friends.” The liquid sloshed slowly, a little like a lava lamp, and you kind of wanted to stuff it down his throat.

“Careful with that,” Maggie blinked at you behind her thick lenses. She wasn’t grinning or winking. It was a little eerie to see her so still, like her body had been snatched by a pod person and it was trying to mimic casual human behavior. “It's potent stuff. Shish-kebab a were with that, and they’ll be dead by sunrise—humans too, obviously, so please don’t stick it in your mouth.”

“If you can even get that close,” Stiles muttered to himself as he held the vial up to his pinched gaze.

“To a werewolf,” you deadpanned, looking between the two of them, searching their faces for any indication of irony. Bat-shit. Your grand total of two friends were both certifiably batty.

Stiles was too busy looking at the back of Maggie’s head to absorb your mockery. Your brow furrowed at the intensity of his stare until your attention was diverted to the dusky orange cast over his skin. You glanced out the window; daylight was rapidly fading. Was it really already almost 8:30? “You should probably head home,” you raised your chin towards the door, “if you don’t want to run into the big bad wolf with a purple goo heavy arsenal.”

He let out a little laugh, more like a breath really, and muttered, “You have no idea.” Your forehead crinkled as you parsed over whatever the hell that meant, and Stiles shoved the book he ordered into his already overcrowded backpack. “I’ll see you at school.”

Your chin bobbed as you gave him a little nod. You lifted Gizmo from his bed of tasseled meditation cushions, for your own comfort this time, and nosed into his matted fur. Maybe, Stiles was just…really into larping, or maybe he was just…a really dedicated collector of supernatural keepsakes—because there was absolutely no way that you just naturally attracted delusional conspiracy theorists. You’d already met your quota of one the moment you were born.

“Get home safe.” Stiles’s voice pulled your face from Gizmo’s neck. He lingered against the doorframe, clutching his backpack strap. The corner of his mouth cocked into a tight smile, “No more dead batteries after dark, okay? I’ll kick your ass if you get eaten.”

You took a moment to smile, but once you did, it unfurled over your entire face like sunset coating the store in a golden glow. The corners of your eyes crinkled as you shook your head a little, “I’ll try to restrain myself from killing any more cars.”

“Friends,” Stiles grinned and pointed at you, “we’re totally friends.” He ducked out the door before you had the chance to disagree, but you couldn’t decide if you really wanted to this time.

You almost dropped Gizmo when Maggie bumped you with your hip. “Who the hell was that?”

“Stiles. He’s…” you waved your hand in the air and eventually settled on, “a friend.”

Maggie stroked the gray fluff on Gizmo’s cheek, cooed when he rubbed his face against her palm, and then pursed her lips, “Uh huh.”

You shrugged and buried your nose in Gizmo’s neck again, taking solace in the fact that at least half of your face was hidden by silver fur, “So he’s more like a fungus in my life.”

Maggie’s grin was insufferable. Her cheeks dimpled, and her eyes nearly disappeared into happy little crescent moons, “Uh huh.”

You glowered at a stuffed crow perched on top of a water-logged armoire; there was a shine in its beaded eyes that appeared a lot like laughter. “You are the single most irritating person I have ever met.”

It was an admirable trait, never getting upset, never getting offended—but at the moment you wished that Maggie wasn’t so idealistic. She simply gave you a smile that was annoyingly wrought with meaning and took Gizmo from your arms. “Whoever the hell he is, he’s right. Get your ass home before the Wolf Man bites it.”

Maggie wiggled her fingers in the air, and you shoved them away from your face. “I’m going. I’m going.” You paused at the door, gave the store one last look and Gizmo a little good-bye wave, “Seriously, mini-taser, Mags. Prime shipping’s gotta be faster than the spirit realm.” At the very least, a taser might actually have a chance against whatever carnivore was hell-bent on ruining your sophomore year.

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles stilinski fic #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x you

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cowboyfromh3ll · 1 year ago

Note

ok this might be a lot but it’s a purely self indulgent vision i have: a one shot about reader who’s a young shop owner in town and is sweet on a certain arthur morgan who’s been frequenting her shop more and more lately. she is aware that he’s an outlaw and doesn’t care but unfortunately an odriscoll does notice arthur in her shop talking to her multiple times so one day he comes in demanding to know what business she has with him and where his camp is. she pretends not to know what he’s talking about but it just makes him lock the front door so he can force the answers out of her. noncon but not all the way, just a lot of touching and taunting her about how she must wish it was morgan touching her like that. but of course arthur realizes something is wrong and breaks the front door down and saves her just before the man takes her, go crazy with the beat down since i know you like gore lol. and some comfort in the end please, happy ending and him promising not to let anyone lay a hand on her again 🫶🏻 sorry this is very very specific i’m excited to see what you come up with!

Love/Hate

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

Sorry if I went too far with the gore

Warnings: Graphic depictions of gore, violence, non consensual touching

You were often reminded of all the way he was likely dangerous—you tried to imagine that the scars littered across his hands and scarcely visible on his arms from under his rolled up sleeves were some sort of malicious incantation carved into his skin; if uttered aloud, some sort of evil being would conjure up before you. And you would ignore the morbid implications of the specks of blood dotted on his skin; a few missed spots while he was cleaning himself off you guessed. You supposed that the gun belt that sat loosely on his lips would’ve been enough to cement fear inside you had it been anyone else, but there was something so undeniably charming about this stranger.

After inheriting your late father’s general store, you were left with a loneliness so palpable you saw it in every corner and crevice of your life. The solitary emptiness of your home seemed terribly occupied by feelings of grief and emptiness. Even something meant to signify something so destitute took up space.

You truly believed that your attraction to Arthur wasn’t rooted in your loneliness, though it certainly eased those feelings, but rather, a longing for something new. You had noticed he had been frequenting your shop more and more lately despite claiming he was constantly moving around, so that had to count for something. You sneaked a few free items into whatever he came to buy, insisting he take it with him and to consider it a gift. Transactions would allow for brief conversations about what Arthur had been up to as of late, and slowly over time he’d be much more transparent about what he did. Normally, Arthur would’ve expected some sort of stern warning from shop owners telling him to steer trouble clear of their shops, but he never got that from you. In fact, his returns were subtly encouraged by your welcoming smiles that spoke of a familiarity so tender he couldn’t help but feel at peace in your presence.

Arthur would find himself handing you trinkets from his journeys in return for free items, subtly flirting by telling you they reminded him of you. There was a certain magnetism about your shop, because no matter how far he was from Annesburg, he always returned there just to visit it. He became a regular visitor, and you were not at all put off by his past and the life he was living.

The passing of your father also forced you to grow up much faster in a way, but the idea of boys not ever crossing your mind. There was hardly any time to spend dallying around them when you had to worry about taking care of yourself. So the thing you and Arthur had made you feel like a teen girl again, giggling and tripping over yourself to get one last glance at him as he left your shop, and trying your best not to fiddle in place the closer he got to you. You never imagined a man would have you running home and screaming into your pillow while kicking your feet.

Living in a mining town meant the regular passage of patrons going through your shop. The grimy faces of miners blurred into one, and overtime it seemed as though the interior of your shop adopted a smog from all the filthy visitors that would visit you. There was the occasional kind stranger, and in a town like this, even a small polite smile was a greater show of kindness than you could ever ask for. You guessed that was another reason Arthur stood out so much to you.

You hadn’t been the only one to notice Arthur’s frequent visits, though. The regular passing of patrons meant anyone could easily pass themselves off as a local. And in a town so corrupt, there was the lingering threat of violence that would pounce on you when you least expected it. Even innocent shop owners weren’t safe.

It was a situation you couldn’t have foreseen. One Saturday evening where you had closed particularly late, you were left with only a few more customers until you had to shoo them out. One particularly persistent patron insisted he stay a little longer. You stood behind the counter exasperated, tapping your foot and looking at the clock hung on your wall. You were ten minutes past closing, and your patience had been stretched far too long now.

“I’m sorry sir, you’re going to have to leave. We’re past closing.” You said firmly, you cleared your throat and pursed your lips, feeling an unexplainable sense of dread. The man did not respond, he simply kept pacing past the walls, looking through the shelves as if he were waiting for an item to show itself and conjure up before him. But you knew he wasn’t actually looking for anything; he would’ve found what he was looking for by now if he were truly shopping, or at the very least, he would’ve asked you.

“Sir.” You said a little louder.

“Do you know Arthur Morgan?” He asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. You tried to pretend the sudden stillness didn’t disturb you, trying your best to not appear intimidated as you shuffled behind your counter. If anything, you thought, you’d be able to reach for the gun behind the counter as quickly as you could. The question itself was strange. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, and that he probably dealt with some less than formidable people, but why would he come to you about it.

“Excuse me…?” Your mouth became uncomfortably dry, the words squeaking out.

“Don’t act dense, Miss. You know who the hell I’m talking about.” He raised his voice, making you flinch. He seemed to get a sense of enjoyment out of seeing you so scared, taking a sudden step forward and laughing at the way you moved back as well.

“I see you two, flirting and giggling all the time. You know him very well, I’m sure of that.”

You said nothing in return, only staring back intensely.

“Now I know he tells you stuff about his life,” he locked your front door. “So tell me where his camp is.”

Your stomach squeezed and dropped, flipping painfully as fear hit you like a punch to the gut. A cold sense of panic rattled through your ribs and your body became painfully rigid, all sense of direction and resolve leaving you. In your petrified state, you could not bring yourself to reach for the gun. You had never been in such close proximity to the possibility of violence. You had been cat called occasionally, some people would yell outside your shop, too drunk out of their minds to know what they were even saying, and Annesburg wasn’t the safest, but you never thought that it would actually happen to you. You felt the pressure of tears build in your sinuses as he rapidly approached your counter, his patience far past spent.

“TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK HE STAYS.” He slammed his hands on the counter, leaning over it. Your bottom lip quivered as he yelled at you, your sense of sight and hearing becoming fuzzy as your body gave into panic.

“I-I don’t know!” You sobbed, unable to move even when he rounded the counter. You stiffened your body as one would before receiving a large impact, but it did not come. Instead, he grabbed your shoulders and pulled your body against his. At this point, your fight instincts had kicked in.

“Liar.”

“Wait, stop! What are you doing?!” You put your elbows up between your chests, attempting to push him off in that manner. He caged you in by wrapping his arms around your waist, and as much as you pushed away his face, he remained persistent in keeping close to you. Your body began to thrash wildly, kicking and throwing your limbs every which way to force him off.

“I don’t want this!” Your porcelain voice quivered with cracks. You craned your neck away as far as you could as he began stroking your cheek with a bony finger.

“You’re lying.” He said flatly. “I’m sure you wish it was Arthur doing this to you, right?” He grabbed your ass harshly, so hard that the dig of his rough fingertips squeezing the flesh became unbearable.

“I’ll scream.” You threatened.

“I know. Which is why I’ll fill your mouth before then.”

Those words were the perfect kick in the rear to set you into a full blown fight. If you weren’t thrashing before, you definitely were now. Several more waves of terror swept over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into its mindless depths. He meant it. He meant to violate every part of your being for his own sick enjoyment. It wasn’t about getting answers anymore, it was about satiating some sadistic part of him. You were trapped, and there was no getting out. The only time you remembered feeling remotely this afraid was when your father passed and you realized you would be on your own.

You avoided his leering gaze as you felt his vulgar hands continue to paw at your chest and ass, attempting to snake his hand between your legs as you squeezed them together as hard as you could. He continued to tug at your clothing, successfully untucking your shirt and struggling to undo your buttons. Your thrashing, thankfully, made it too difficult for him to undo them.

The two of you raised your heads as Arthur came crashing through the front door, shards of glass flying from the window, shattered from the sheer impact of Arthur’s full body weight pummeling into the door. What he saw before him was terrifying; your clothes half undone as a stranger groped you mindlessly, struggling and thrashing against his hold while trying to keep your clothes on. Arthur saw all this in the split second it took for him to rush towards your assailant, rounding the counter before the two of you could react, and ripping the man away from you. With a guttural yell, he threw the man over, punching him square in the jugular. The clip to his jaw caused his eyes to flicker up to whites; you saw blood on his lips, his teeth; and you wondered just how powerful Arthur’s singular punch must’ve been.

You weren’t sure if Arthur intended the full damage done to the stranger’s skull—partially the angle of the counter, and partially the momentum of Arthur’s punch. The back left corner of the stranger’s head slammed into the sharp corner of the counter and produced a gash that began bleeding heavily in mere seconds. The life threatening wound didn’t stop Arthur from beating the man further, instead spurring him on to increase the damage; and in the next moment, Arthur’s hands and clothes were covered in so much slick blood he appeared to have just gutted a wild animal.

The stranger cowered on the floor, curled into a fetal position with both hands cradling his skull as he tried to protect himself. You stood there in bewilderment as Arthur deliberately targeted the tender wound on his head, willed by some force other than terror to stand there and watch.

“You son of a bitch.” Arthur spoke through grit teeth, beating the swelling flesh of the stranger’s face. Every few seconds, quick spurts of gore consistently and theatrically sprayed out of the man’s head; it had a strangely mystifying feel to it, as though it were some morbid fountain in some wealthy person’s back yard. He kept trying to stand, only stumbling back down and crawling away a few more inches.

There was something terrifying about the way Arthur took the ankles of the man and dragged him back beneath him, and in the second that it took him to do this, he unsheathed his knife at the same time. With a knife in hand, Arthur was on top of the man like a lover. The stranger still had some fight in him as he attempted to gouge Arthur’s eyes, smearing blood all over his face as Arthur slammed his shoulders to the floor. Arthur twisted his head to avoid the man’s pressing fingers, catching them with his teeth and biting down; if he bit any harder, he might’ve snapped them like carrots. With his left forearm, he forced the man’s head back, splattering more blood onto the floorboards. There was a hideous familiarity in Arthur’s eyes, something that was downright chilling to the stranger.

“I’ll kill you again in hell.” With that, Arthur dug the tip of his knife against the man’s jugular and dragged, a sanguine wound opening immediately in its wake. His neck transformed into a gaping red cavity of muscle and exposed arteries, and once Arthur saw the last inklings of life evaporate from the man’s eyes, he rose.

His chest heaved as he stared down at the body, wiping his forehead on the back of his jacket sleeve before he turned to look at you. Arthur looked down at his hands then at you with all the confusion of a recent amnesiac; as if he were the victim of some unlikely attack.

“(Name). I-”

You shook your head, your bottom lip quivering again as you threw yourself at him. You found his imbrued clothes and skin to be strangely comforting, and he quickly returned the hug. Neither of you cared for the staining of clothes. In the moment, all that mattered was your well being.

“Arthur, he-” You sobbed, unable to finish your own sentence. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He cooed, stroking your hair, which quickly became bloodsoaked. He kissed your temple repeatedly, coming to cup your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. You relaxed your tense body against his, occasionally becoming rigid with sobs and trembles. You buried your head in the junction of his shoulder and neck, staining his clothes with your tears.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Arthur’s own voice began to crack. “I should’ve never let that happen to you. I’m so so sorry. You didn’t deserve that”

You raised your wet face, nodding your head at Arthur. “I’m just glad you got here when you did. And… Thank you. That crazy bastard. Who knows what else he would’ve done…”

“Let’s not think about that sweetheart. Let me take you home. I’ll uh… take care of the mess later.”

You sniffled and nodded, glancing briefly at the body. “Thank you.” You repeated.

“No need to thank me, (Name). I’ll make sure no man ever lays a hand on you again. You understand?”

You nodded again. You understood the violence it took to be this gentle.

Love/Hate - Dystopia

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #writing #red dead fanfiction #van der linde gang x reader #arthur morgan

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afreakingdork · 7 months ago

Text

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Moonshine - Chapter 5

RotTMNT x Reader

@phoebepheebsphibs is back depicting some aftermath in this week's chapter art!

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Michelangelo (TMNT)/Reader, Michelangelo (TMNT)/You, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You

Warnings: POV Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader, Anxious Reader, Introverted Reader, Stuttering, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Romance, Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Unrequited Love, Rejection, Aromantic Asexual Michelangelo (TMNT), Bisexual Donatello (TMNT), Pansexual Leonardo (TMNT), Lesbian Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Demisexual April O'Neil (TMNT), Implied Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit/April O'Neil/Sunita, Endgame Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Romantic Love, Platonic Love, Panic Attacks, Sexuality Crisis, Agoraphobia, Social Anxiety, Happy Ending, Fluff

Synopsis: You’ve lost most of your life to anxiety and fear. Now, in your late 20s, you are desperate to reclaim it and during one such outing you encounter the sun personified. With his and his similarly celestially inspired family, will you finally reach your goal or will you lose yourself along the way?

HUGE shout out to @marwhoa for doing sensitivity reading!

Also available on Ao3

First 💛 Previous

“Mikey.”

“Okay, so we knocked a ton of likely places out: The apartment. All the roads to it. That dumpling house they always order from. The outdoor coffee shop with the cute little plaza-“

“Mikey!”

“Where else? Where else?! We don’t have time!” Mikey launched himself toward the next building.

“We literally only have time!” Leo chased him. “You’re stuck with me. Meaning, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen!”

“Leo! Later! Literally any other time! I’m all ears or whatever Donnie always says we have, but not right now!”

“You weren’t ever going to tell Y/N?”

Mikey tripped over a ledge and somersaulted straight into an air conditioning unit.

Leo’s face appeared, nonplussed by the accident, and peered in through the opening of Mikey’s shell as an omnipresent knowing eye. “Ever?”

Mikey wished he could say no one was home, but he knew the moonlight would give away his gaze. “Leo, we-!“

“The others are all looking too. Take 10, chef.”

Coming up from his favorite nickname, Mikey pouted.

“Talk to me, hermano”

“It’s-!” Mikey opened his mouth to whine, but nothing came out. Hopeless, he sank back into his body, but his chin caught on the top edge of his plastron to keep from a full retreat. “There’s something wrong with me, Lee.”

Leo took a seat. “How’s that?”

“It’s like…” Guilt not only threatened to swallow him whole, but it also took his words.

This was supposed to be his.

He was going to keep these feelings locked away until he had time to deal with them.

It was different, he told himself.

Different than when his brothers tried to forget or compartmentalize.

Mikey knew something was wrong.

He acknowledged it near daily since meeting you.

He also knew that sometimes someone needed the proper tools to deal with emotions.

He needed information and he meant to look it up.

He was planning to do so.

He had forgotten.

He felt like a child.

How many times had he made the distinction that he wasn’t the same as his brothers?

He wasn’t a color to be mixed up.

Feeling small, Mikey was struck with a memory of how Splinter had taught him how to give a formal apology.

Placing his hands to the roof, he assumed a dogeza in hopes the appeal would reach his conscience. “How I feel… doesn’t feel like how you talk about your crushes. Or how Donnie does. Or Raph… Or Dad.. Or Barry! O-or anyone! It’s wrong. I’m wrong. I’m scared, Leo. That’s why I wasn’t going to bring it up! I don’t… It wasn’t supposed to go away! What if Y/N hates me? What will I do then?! What if I never see Y/N again!?”

“Hey, hey…! Woah there, bud…” Leo put his hand on Mikey’s carapace and rubbed; it was a circle Mikey had known since they were tots. “Slow down. How about we tackle one thing at a time? Think you can describe those feelings? Maybe let somebody else be the judge if they’re wrong or not?”

Mikey stared into the pebbled surface of the roof. “I… feel… nothing…? But I know I should. Like Y/N smiles and I feel like I should get this big warmth in my chest. It’s the kind of feeling that you get when there’s fireworks or a flower blooming or… metaphors! But… the feeling comes and I know I like it. It makes me feel good. To see Y/N happy. Oh man, Leo, you should have seen Y/N the first time I did. Y/N was… so scared… And-and I had this urge, like this, this was meant to be. I felt that! I felt that ‘at first sight’ feeling! Like, I can do this! This person needs me and I can be their person and I was! At least, I thought… I was. I eased in! I didn’t push because like, yeah, who am I to decide that? I always gave Y/N an out! Always! But then… that was it! Like I love you guys and I know that in my heart, but this is different, and then I look at Y/N and I feel… not that, a different thing, but it’s not not that. It’s like a step below how I feel for you guys and that’s not right because I know I feel more, or I think I feel more or…? I want… to… feel… more…?” In a warm drip, he felt the safe, non-threatening sort of tears dribble down his cheeks.

He rubbed a few of them away before checking on Leo.

His brother had open concern twisted on his features.

Mikey agreed.

This was a mess.

Now he’d forced his brother into the mix.

His whole family was sure to come next.

How many people were going to be struck by the fall out?

Donnie had a point.

Mikey never fully considered the repercussions of his actions.

He never did.

Wracked with more sobs, Mikey willed for what felt like the thousandth time that this confusion would end.

“Ah! Don’t do that!” Leo rushed to scoop up Mikey’s shell and hold his little brother close. “Shit, Mike, that wasn’t me thinking you were wrong! You’re not broken. You’re not wrong. I’m sorry. That look was for me. I was upset I never noticed. I should have realized something was up. I saw you wigging out about your new sweetheart, but I figured you were excited. I was thinking, ‘boy, look at him, finally got his crush on. You go little bro!’ when I should have seen how you were forcing yourself. I should have…”

Mikey shook his head so violently it smacked Leo’s chin a few times.

The slider leaned away, but kept his hold.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.” Leo returned to stare Mikey down.

“Then why… isn’t my heart working!?”

“Okay, first off.” Leo jammed a finger into Mikey’s pectoral scutes. “It is. You’re literally made of turtles, love, and sunshine. Your ticker is ticking a way in there. I’m no expert, but I don’t think this is a working, not working kinda thing, Mike.”

“How is that possible? There’s only the two options.” A few fat plump tears dripped down Mikey’s face and onto Leo’s shirt.

Leo made a face before digging into his side pouch and producing tissues. “We’ll figure this out. I think April would be a good person to start with, but first-“

“Y/N!” Mikey screeched, scrambled off of Leo, and headed to the roof’s edge where he looked out like a skipper on a boat. “Stupid, stupid! Why do I always forget?!”

Leo sighed. “Quit it with that degradation talk. A certain Dr. Feelings gets pretty pissy when I do it.”

“That’s different.” It really was.

“Yeah, right!” Leo walked over and gently tapped his brother on the back of the head. “I’m here, you know that, right?”

“I know, Leo.” Mikey sent his brother an honest look.

Leo took it with a lopsided smile. “So… that pretty plaza was totally the next thing on the list, eh?”

“No!! We were just there, the next is-!” Mikey growled, knowing full well that Leo had goaded him on purpose.

“Y/N is alright. They’ve been deposited at their apartment.” Donnie’s voice crackled on the communicator.

“I’m going.” Mikey changed direction with a pivot of his foot.

“Uh, you sure?” Leo readied, clearly prepared for either a chase or interception.

“They’re tired Mikey. Let Y/N sleep it off and you two can have your talk on a date of both your choosing.” Donnie’s voice warbled with static.

“And why is it-!?” Mikey roared, spinning around and hating there wasn’t a specific place he could send his anger. “-that you know that?! Why were you with Y/N!? Why did you go to Y/N’s apartment?! What did you do?! Your tests!??!”

Leo loosely grabbed Mikey’s shoulders for a firm grip of solidarity. “Donnie, I can only hold him back so long. You gotta answer at least one of those. Mike’s earned it and you said, point blank, you were going to your lab. So, how is it that you ended up going to where they live? What’s the real haps?”

Donnie sighed. “I’m en route. Can you wait a few more moments?”

“How long?” Mikey was itching to get out of there.

He could see you.

He could fix this.

Tears brought clarity.

It was science Donnie had taught him.

“Now.” Voice cross fading into existence, Donnie flew in and walked into his landing.

He was too casual.

Mikey went through old training, focusing on each of his muscle groups in an attempt to keep from attacking.

Lashing out wasn’t reasonable.

Not yet.

Running into battle with pizzazz and no forethought was the stuff of teenagers.

“I know how this looks.” Donnie raised his hands. “I did lie. I went after Y/N while you all were trying to calm Mikey down.”

Leo threw his hands up both to release Mikey and to do a frustrated lap.

Years had taught the youngest of another route.

Now freed, Mikey let betrayal leak onto his face.

A low blow, he watched it strike Donnie.

The guilt displayed there was the only reason Mikey didn’t pounce. “What did you do?”

Wilting, Donnie lowered his hands along with his head. “I didn’t go after Y/N for… what I imagine you think is the usual reason is. I needed a clarification on something said. I didn’t pursue in peace; I tracked Y/N down for knowledge.”

Taking the information in with waves of warped features, Mikey gave an exhale with what felt like the last of his breath. “Where did you find Y/N?”

“The exit by 19th.”

Indignity flared without mysticism this time.

Mikey had burned up enough energy for one day.

The slight was still palpable.

It tried to trigger a response from his taxed powers.

On reserves, nothing manifested besides the usual toxic emotions.

That was your exit.

That was the first place he looked.

The one this person who supposedly hated you found you first.

Right there.

That meant you were right there.

Right where he’d stormed past thinking of all other places you could go.

Mikey missed it.

He’d missed you.

“I…”

Through the silence, Mikey heard the guilt pile on through Donnie’s hesitation.

It was enough to make him think he’d spare a little mystic fire.

As a treat.

Mikey could almost hear Donnie’s teeth whine around his grimace “You didn’t miss Y/N by accident. We both heard you come through. I… may have hid Y/N away via the camouflage tarp. You know? The one I’d been testing from those mutant chameleon scales we picked up?”

“Why would you-!?” Mikey took a step forward and thought Leo might stop him.

No hands moved.

It was odd enough that it gave Mikey pause to search for his blue brother.

Just off to the side, he found the slider glowering at the ground with a furrowed brow ridge.

Mikey best guess was Leo was berating himself for missing two things in one night.

The lot of them weren’t just off their usual games, they were acting in each other’s roles.

“Did Y/N ask you to?” Mikey found himself needing to be the level headed one with Leo supposedly out of commission.

“Not verbally.”

“Not-!” It was too much, but Mikey pressed. “Why then?”

“I hadn’t gotten my response. I knew the moment you got your hands on Y/N, I would never have the chance. I needed… I needed to know.” Donnie’s eyes closed and he slumped the smallest bit.

Mikey took satisfaction in that.

Any comeuppance was immediately offset by further guilt.

Being mad at Donnie wasn’t going to get him closer to you.

Donnie clearly knew he was in the wrong.

Mikey would interrogate him later.

He’d find out what his purple brother was hiding.

He disliked how you both had information he wasn’t aware of.

The rot of not knowing twisted inside of him.

It merged with the image of your shredded face.

This wasn’t Donnie’s fault.

Or Leo’s.

It was his. “I… broke Y/N’s trust.”

“I… don’t think it’s so simple.” Donnie shuffled, uncomfortable with the whole matter.

“It’s not.” Leo stepped in verbally, but kept his distance.

Donnie perked up, catching the nuisance there. “What are you talking about? Did something else happen?”

“We need to talk to April.” Leo noted with a leader’s authority that said it was time to rendezvous.

Long used to the chain of command, Donnie animated to summon the rest of the team via the comm.

Tapping the waves, the others rallied with minor complaints.

They wanted and deserved explanations which sent Mikey wallowing into a corner.

Casey’s voice cracked the line and demanded to know why her hunt was called off.

It took Leo growling out a stern, “Return to base,” for the others to quiet.

It was the Hamato way to be messy.

They got the job done with individuality.

Mikey heard Donnie approach him.

It was too soon.

Mikey didn’t look as he took off.

He never glanced behind him once.

All the way to the living room.

The space was quiet and the move sat on a pause screen. Mikey walked toward the projector before looking out at the chaos he had wrought. It dotted the space and everything was turned over save his dad’s chair. Sitting in it was Splinter, fast asleep. If this were any other night, Mikey would have approached his dad to ask why he’d been late to movie night.

He’d be up soon enough.

The others clambered in and the head Hamato was immediately roused. Leo helped field their dad who was frustrated that he was left out of the loop. Arguments ensued and Mikey was thankful as it gave him additional time to process. He needed the moment and knew he wouldn’t have long before he’d be the one under scrutiny. Whether it was from the many explanations everyone was due or this supposed lecture he was supposed to get from expert April, Mikey needed to make sure he would be able to accept all that was about to occur.

He might have had more time if Donnie wasn’t poking holes in his thoughts with his gaze alone.

A minute was all he needed.

Something that no one in this family seemed to want to give.

When April arrived, it was with a commotion that alone made her worthy of the Hamato crest. Even while restraining a foaming at the mouth Casey, April had the wherewithal to take in the room’s quieter occupants. Only slightly less of a tactician’s mind than Leo, April screamed for Sunita. The slime yokai wasn’t far off and bounced up, sticky fingers ready. Casey sensed she was about to be carted away and prepared to fight the decision until April released her. Confused by the freedom, Casey spun around only for April to fold her arms and say that she was proud. Suspicious to a fault, Casey warily took the bait as to why and April continued on praising Casey for how excited she was to discuss feelings as they were about to.

With a deadpan, Casey searched the room and, with one glance at Mikey’s crestfallen face, she knew.

Throwing her head back as if she hadn’t just been in a screeching headlock, she asked Sunita to hang out somewhere away from where the weaklings would cry together.

With a whisper to April, Sunita agreed and Mikey saw Casey throw up a concerned a call me hand sign to April before the pair exited.

The momentary lap in silence revealed Leo whispering in a hushed conversation with his dad.

The others looked on expectantly and Splinter rose under the attention. “I will return for the recap!”

He hopped out of his chair and headed for the kitchen.

Now four brothers and one honorary sister, April address the group. “So… How about that crush, huh Mikey?”

“That’s…!” Raph jumped at the chance to dispel the heavy air. “That’s good! Right, big man?” He turned to Mikey, twitchy. “I mean it’s not… good, good considering… that Y/N sort of… Uhhhh…”

“April, I’m broken.” Mikey cut through and decided he was as ready as he’d ever be.

“Mikey, you’re not-“ Leo rolled his head with minor irritation.

Donnie blinked between parties trying to piece together what he had missed.

“Broken? Whatcya mean?” April steered toward the youngest.

“Something’s wrong. I told Leo. Something’s not right. Do you think my mystic energy could be getting in the way? Drax was telling me that my channels are unbalanced or something, but he always says that to get me back on my training. I know he’s worried, he just-“

April placed her hands on both his shoulders and gave him one single shake. “How about we focus on one thing at a time? Like how I don’t even know what you think is wrong?”

“Right!” Mikey chirped, always glad for her straight to the point attitude.

He’d modeled himself after her in that way.

“What’s wrong?” She patted him, but held firm. “Something with your crush?”

“Yeah!” That was another thing he liked, she always understood. That was probably why she’d been able to get so close to Donnie. “It’s not right. I know I have feelings for Y/N, but my channels are all gummed up… Oh!!! The emotions aren’t flowing right! That’s it! Yup! It’s just like my ninpo! That’s gotta be it! I think I figured it out! What do you think, Leo?!”

Mikey turned to find Leo giving the twice the grimace he had earlier.

Instead of apologizing, Leo turned away with a sweaty laugh.

“That’s… one option.” April gave her own nervous nod. “Mind if I hear Leo’s interpretation too?”

“Uh… sure…” Mikey was sure he cracked it.

Leo had a particular gift when it came to hunches though.

“Let’s hear it.” April released Mikey to fold her arms in a neutral way.

“You’re getting the second telling of the night.” Leo wiped his brow and flicked back his mask. “The first time Mikey explained it was something like he feels like the feelings should be there, but they aren’t.”

“They aren’t…?” April’s eyes shot up to consider the details given before she returned to Mikey. “You also said you were broken.”

Mikey nodded.

“He compared his crush to ours. What he’s seen all of us do. Even Barry which is like, ew right? How do you even know about that?!” Leo stuck his tongue out.

The two silent brothers twitched at their footnotes.

Another flicker of her pupil, April clicked her tongue. “Damn, would that make this your first one…? Wait, is that right??”

Mikey was caught.

He’d gotten away with not having to deal with this conversation for years.

The rest of his family was painfully dramatic when it came to their relationship statuses and he was often relegated as the calm one of the bunch.

His annoying youngest label had also been a benefit as he seemingly wasn’t considered old enough.

He supposed that was one of the few perks.

“First we’ve known.” Raph offered.

For April, that wasn’t good enough. “Mikey?”

“The… first… yeah…” Mikey drew out, feeling painfully self conscious.

He hadn’t meant to get to 28 without a crush.

He’d tried.

More than once.

There was that cute yokai girl at this favorite ink stand in the hidden city.

The barista who always drew him the cutest doodles on his disposable cups.

That Brooklyn boy who moonlighted as a vigilante of his own.

That psych major with the dimples.

There were even more than that.

Fleeting instances where he swore feelings would catch.

The wick in his chest was only waiting to be lit.

He could manifest fire with barely a thought, but it was the one place he couldn’t make it occur.

It was a hollow feeling, but he didn’t feel empty.

The candle was there.

Stationary and not making him feel less.

And yet it refused to serve its purpose.

What was the point?

“Mikey…” April patted his head like she used to do when he was a kid.

It was the third time tonight he was taken back to his past.

How long was he going to keep being a kid about everything?

Something warm and wet hit his hand and when he went to look, he found tears falling again.

Only salt and water, he wiped his cheeks to find more of them.

How long would he keep crying about this?

“I’m sorry…” She murmured and he pushed into her hand so she’d pet him harder. “You’re okay. You’re not broken.”

“How do you know? I know you got your bat and you’ve picked up spells, but can you see my mystic energy channels!?” Mikey huffed through his fractured emotions.

“I can’t. What I can see is how upset this is making you and I want to help, but I’m gonna need to know more.”

“Like what?! What else is there?! I told you! I’m wrong! Like the ooze skipped a step in making me! My emotions are messed up!”

“Shh…” She pulled him into a hug and continued to stroke his head. “What’s wrong with the way you feel? You care about Y/N right?”

He nodded furiously, knowing he was rubbing snot into her shirt.

She didn’t care. “How is that wrong?”

“It’s not enough. When-” He hiccupped. “When Leo first met that bunny, it was palpable. The affection radiated off of him in waves. When Donnie first saw Atomic Lass, he was so young! His eyes lit up like he was looking at one of his inventions! When that waitress hit on Raph, he became a blubbering mess, but you could tell she was all he thought about for weeks after! I’m not… I’m not like any of them.”

“Because you’re you.” April pushed him to a comfortable arm’s length away so she could view him. “What’s that thing you said about replicas?”

Mikey couldn’t help but smile.

He loved how April remembered that.

“That there is no true replica for a moment.”

It was a fact he’d learned in practice.

There was no way to recapture an instant.

It didn’t matter the medium used.

You could only create an ode to it.

It was only possible to inspire the feeling.

Cooking was an art.

Painting was an art.

They were called Mystic Arts.

Martial Arts.

They were creative expressions and the experience of life itself.

“No two people feel romance the same, they also don’t have to feel it at all.” She explained.

Mikey felt every muscle in his body drop.

Thankful for April’s strength and the hours she’d put in at the gym solely to beat Casey at arm wrestling, she was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Romance…?” He quacked, the sound splitting him.

April only gave the barest nod, encouraging whatever was happening.

Was it an epiphany?

He wasn’t so sure.

It was more like he finally saw the candle for what it was.

The wick was real for sure.

Only the entire thing was electric.

It never needed to be lit.

It held a light all his own.

“Different types of love…” Mikey mumbled. “Family, friends…” He gave a half laugh. “Romance?” He checked in with April.

She watched on, patiently.

Leo snorted.

April preemptively shushed him.

Leo wrapped a hand around his mouth and shook his head.

This was Leo’s hunch then.

“This seems… kinda obvious?” Raph asked openly.

Donnie backhanded his older brother’s plastron and gave him a look that said ‘don’t.’

Donnie knew then too.

At least someone was on his side.

That was why Raphie was his favorite.

Raph was also still different from him.

That burning flame in his big brother’s chest had to be a torch.

It had guided them all for so long.

It would go on to be nurtured by someone else.

Heat.

“Oh… Oh no…” Mikey made a disgusted face. “Does that mean…?”

He had to spin around.

To see all their faces and the different understandings.

Romance was always equated with sex.

He wasn’t sure if he was repulsed by it, but it had been such a thing.

Donnie had been the first of them to find his urges on that front.

Mikey thought he was too young, but it apparently varied.

Splinter had completely whiffed the birds and bees talk and made it into a family ordeal much to everyone’s horror.

Except Mikey.

He watched the others squirm and couldn’t figure out why.

Sure, the content was gross, but it was just a talk.

It had felt like he was removed.

Donnie, meanwhile, was mortified.

The others were ready to pounce on him for instigating the topic.

He had tried to dig down and bury himself during which had spurned on further conversation about holes.

The talk which was repeated three separate times for each awakening was never one that resonated with Mikey.

All the shame and worry that the others had didn’t struck Mikey in the same way.

When he’d asked dad, as soon as the others ran away to their respective rooms, Splinter had simply said it was because he wasn’t ready.

He was too young.

Someday soon though, it would come.

But only age did.

Outside of crushes, puberty hit a house with four teen boys in it.

Changing bodies and hormone horrors.

More shame, more hiding, more and different talks, but still.

Mikey didn’t understand.

There were rushes.

Things he’d wake up too.

His body would do things, but he’d shake it off.

A quick shower and the tide would calm.

He tested, of course.

He’d heard his brothers complain about the aftermath in whispers.

How it was worth it, but at what cost.

The price of admission wasn't worth it, let alone an exit fee.

It hadn’t felt like anything in particular.

A sort of empty pleasure that seemed like a waste.

He didn’t bother and eventually his body evened out.

He waited for the others to join him in passivity.

They only needed to let it pass and, in a way, it did.

It also never left them.

From then on, they’d talk about it and when they did, he wanted to roll his eyes.

So much effort.

So messy.

Throwing other people into the mix.

For what?

You got the same if not more pleasure from eating a perfectly balanced dish.

You might as well cook.

Or better yet, you could feel the sense of accomplishment that came with seeing the work of art you’d been painting for months come to fruition.

Oftentimes it never matched your mind's image, but instead became something better.

That was priceless.

Every second was worth it.

You worked towards something.

Something that could be similarly intangible, but who could argue with those results?

That was what irritated him.

It was so easy for him to live without sex being a thing.

The others were boring.

How could you have a one track mind about something like that?

Blinking wide, Mikey turned to April.

“Don’t… don’t tell me they’re connected?”

Why hadn’t he realized?

In that department, he never thought he was broken.

He’d simply thought the others were addled.

Their sex drives were choked up to their emotional constipations.

He had refused to be Doctor Sex-Ed.

“They’re not.” April offered, quiet as if still not wanting to intrude.

“What?” Mikey needed her to say it.

“Sex and romance.” April responded quick and to the point.

Raph let out a drawled syllable and this time both Leo and Donnie punched the larger turtle’s chest.

“They’re… but I don’t…?”

“There’s labels…” She pulled out her phone.

“We’re not into labels.” Mikey responded automatically as he stared at her fingers tacking over the screen.

Human hands fascinated him.

They were his favorite to draw.

So delicate in comparison to theirs.

Sleek.

Functional.

April held out her phone for him to see and on the screen were horizontal bars in turtle colors and monochromatics.

Resisting reading it aloud, he took the device and flipped through the entry.

This was the flagged representation of aromanticism.

Romanticism was just as much a spectrum as sexuality.

There was more.

There were enormous blocks of text and details.

He didn’t have time.

Or at least, that’s what the latent rush of his mind said.

He had meant to run to you.

It now seemed like his time would be of better use elsewhere.

“You don’t have to use a label, but sometimes they help. Like for research.” She shrugged.

“You…” Mikey looked around the faces in the room. “You guys can go. I need to… think about this…”

Donnie nodded first, walking off before Leo patted Raph’s carapace strategically. “Come on Big Red, how about I clear this up for you?”

“Yeah, please.” Raph glanced over to Mikey and hesitated. “You sure? You don’t seem good…”

“I can’t go through the explanation again… And I really don’t want to hear it from Leo.” Mikey gave a deadened stare before flicking his gaze to his blue brother. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Leo tipped his head with a grin. “I already said I wasn’t the expert, that’s why I brought her in.” He snapped toward April and she returned the finger gun before Leo led Raph out.

Now alone with his sister, Mikey held her phone out while simultaneously searching for his own. “Why does Leo keep saying you’ll know?”

“When Leo realized he wasn’t all that straight, he sort of had a crisis.”

Mikey blinked wide.

As far as he knew, Leo had owned his sexuality.

All he could remember was Leo’s extravagant coming out which had included a very exact number of unicorns. “Wait, wha-?”

“He was kinda worried about what you guys would think, but mostly he was worried about Splints. Splints doesn’t… come from the best culture for that kind of thing and Leo needed to get out of the lair to talk about it, just in case.”

“I…” Mikey’s gaze dropped, halfway through typing out ‘aromantic’ into his search bar. “I didn’t know he was struggling back then… I- I wasn’t there I-“

“Nope, none of that.” April clapped his arm. “One, it’s in the past and two, it’s like that sometimes. No matter how much your family loves and understands, sometimes you gotta go outside the unit. It’s like being in your own head. You gotta get out.”

“You are family.” Mikey reminded her, knowing full well April had doubted her place through the years.

“You know what I mean.” She flicked his forehead.

He fell back dramatically for the sake of it.

She smirked above him before offering a hand and hoisting him up.

She really could have knocked him off his feet with a finger if she wanted.

“Anyway, back then we had a long talk about it. We had a sleepover, another talk, lunch, another talk. Leo’s pretty damn stubborn. He talked himself in so many circles it was like, boy how did you not know you already weren’t straight?!” She laughed big and loud.

Mikey smiled.

“Anyway, unlike you who needs to come to these conclusions on his own, Leo is the kind of guy that needs to be validated. So I told him about how I realized I was demi.”

“Wait, what do you mean conclusions?” Mikey pouted.

April tilted her head and arched a brow that said it was obvious. “Mikey, seriously? You’re stubborn as hell. If anyone told you how you feel about something, you would purposefully stop just because you were told.”

Mikey pursed his lips until it puckered his whole mouth. “Do not!”

“You’re literally doing it right now.” She pointed with an ace in the hole.

Like his mind was blown, his jaw dropped before he grumbled it away. “Okay maybe…” he had to bite down to keep from saying that he still wasn’t totally sure, but that in and of itself cinched the truth for him. “What’s demi then?”

“I… I mighta thought I was aro for a bit.” She gestured to his phone and he finished up that typing in the search. “You already know I couldn’t connect with my peers. I was always more interested in a scoop or busting baddies than kissing. I felt… like I’d never be part of anything…”

Mikey inhaled sharply, ready to tackle this self consciousness, but April held her hand out to stop him.

“My past, I’m good now.”

Mikey nodded and lowered his guard.

“But then I got to know Casey. Seeing how she was the same. How she also couldn’t fit in with her peers, crappy or not.” She sent Mikey a brow wiggle.

Mikey chuckled.

“We were both outsiders and total enemies to lovers.” April mused wistfully. “I remember the first time I felt it. It was years after she’d turned over her new leaf. We were out camping, the proper one that Splints finally got going.”

Mikey knew the one.

“All those stars and I thought ‘damn someone put them in her eyes.’” April softened at the memory. “I kissed her right then and the sparks…” She shook her head.

“Then… can’t… I be like that? I just need to know Y/N longer and...!”

“Well…” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You might not. Just because it happened for me, doesn’t mean it’ll happen for you. Remember, we’re all different here. Everyone is. There’s no right way. There’s no wrong one either.”

Mikey slumped and stared as that flag that was populating his search.

If it wasn’t green he thought maybe he could hate it.

That was a lie, all colors had their place.

Blinking at that thought, he walked over and headbutted April’s arm. “Thank you April… This… I needed this.”

“Yeah, you take some time. Whatever you need. You need to talk more, you call me, kay?” She bumped him right back.

“Is there anyone I’m not in debt too?” He mused dryly before heading towards his room. It was there he curled up with his phone and mentally willed himself to engage. It took several re-readings, but eventually the text started to take. Soon, Mikey was exploring every internet resource possible until the glowing starry stick-ons that he covered his ceiling with stared back at his bloodshot eyes. “Aroace, huh?”

💛 NEXT 💛

Beta bus round up for my everlasting gratitude toward @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#sunshinemoonshinefic #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt Michelangelo #rise Michelangelo #Michelangelo hamato #rottmnt mikey #rise mikey #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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kyuhu · 1 month ago

Note

AAA NEW LIETPOL COMIC! And it made me so happy, giggling and kicking my feet! No matter how many Lithuania, Poland, Baltics or Lietpol or anything within whatever this category is, I WILL NEVER GET TIRED OF IT! the hit of dopamine I get when I see a new art from you just makes me feel overjoyed. As an (not professional teen) artist I love the way you color your characters, I’m always mesmerized by it and I don’t think I’ll get tired of your art anytime soon at all. As soon as I saw it I was like “OMG! OMG!” And the energy I felt, I feel like your depiction of them always is so interesting to me however you depict them and the latest art is so so so cute, I love cute stuff too. I now got the motivation to draw but oh god I wish I could draw comics cause I’m still at the level where I’m not sure how to…

Wow thank you!! What a nice thing to say. It makes me very happy you like the characterization tbh, because everytime I draw them I have like 6 moments where I'm like is that OOC? Are they too silly? So that's reassuring to hear haha. It's so cool you found motivation to draw after seeing the comic?! Like I'm inspired by so many artists and a piece I drew beeing partly an inspiration to somebody else is the specialest thing to me ;v; thanks for that! I really hope you'll have the best time with whatever you decide to draw.

Comics are as so many other things a matter of practice imo. There was a time where I went I can never do that, like my comic tag is still called comic attempts which is kinda telling about how much faith I had in my work back then.

Very much unasked for, but I'm going to ramble a bit a lot about what I think is helpful when starting a comic (imo) under the cut haha.

The essential part to get started can be broken down to three things, which are, at least to me, Idea, panel set up and then obviously drawing the action.

Writing a comic just for the sake of writing a comic never works for me. I need to have at least a rough idea to get going. This can vary from a specific punchline, to just a single image or action I consider fun to draw. It's helpful to write/sketch your ideas down, which is probably the most art teacher advice ever, but what can I say, it works imo. Be it a piece of dialogue that you came up with or just a single expression, just safe it somewhere and you have a base to work with! It doesn't even have to look fancy at all.

See that little Lud (like you can't even recognize it as Lud) stick figure on the bottom left there? This was my starting point for the lipstick comic together with some random bits of dialogue which are barely readable I guess so I typed them in the image description :D

As soon as you notice one image isn't enough to show what you want to show it's time to consider making a comic (like even two panels can be a comic for starters I think).

One of the essential parts is that usually a comic manages to show the passage of time and therefor depicts an action. So before you plan any further it's good to figure out which action(s) you want your comic to show, based the ideas you wrote/sketched down. Try to put it into words if that helps, like 'Character A reacts positively to Characters B's new hairslyle', or 'Character A hugs Character B and they are flustered about it' (maybe start with something simple even if it seems uneventful at first :D)

After you roughly know what your comic is about you can go on to the panel set up. For me it's always best to figure out how the comic starts and how it ends at very first because I tend to get lost otherwise. If you've got a panel or expression you desperately want to incorporate keep it in mind so it adds up with your start and end point. As the author you decide what the comic emphasizes on and where you want to direct the readers vision, which is the fun part imo :D

sketch down a few panels and try to adjust them. You can always change and discard them again, no need to make it pretty, just do stick figures if you like. Here is an example from the Liet and Lat dad comic. This particular sketch emphasizes on expressions, because their expressions where the most important silly part about it to me. Try to keep in mind what you'd like to show or what type of joke you want to make while doing your panel set up drafts.

Even with everything in mind this can be difficult though. So what always helps me is to imagine some type of grid to keep the pages balanced. Like if I do a comic with several panels on a canvas, I go by the rule of only deviding the canvas (say A4) into three parts at maximum horizontally as well as vertically. (Of course how you do it is completely up to you, there are great examples with more panels and crazier panel set ups, but especially at first I figured one tends to enthusiastically throw in panel after panel and then ends up with something hard to work with.)

I hope the idea comes across a little, like you can adjust the sizes or shapes of the panels (square, rectanglular, trapezoid etc.) as you wish, do only one or two panels in a row but try to keep it at 3 at maximum if you want something easy and clear to start with c:

It's also completely fine to not do the set up from scratch and maybe use a guide or references if that makes it easier for you! Here are some free to use examples. Looking at other comic pages and focusing on the panel set up of those can also help to come up with your own variations imo :D

The shape and size of the panels should at best be directed by the action. Like I said you guide the readers vision and present what's important. You could for example choose a big canvas to get an overview over the room the action takes place in, or devide movement into several panels to focus on what a character does. To get the hang of this is once again a matter of practice though. The more often you do it and the more examples you look at, the easier it gets imo :) start with something you deem super easy (maybe two or three panels or a single reaction to something only) and go a little more crazy with each comic idea.

keep in mind that the reader should at best get what's going on though (I struggled with that several times already and nothing is as sad than to post something and get a bunch of confused comments/tags afterwards no offense though, that's not the readers fault 99% of the time 😅). To prevent this it sometimes helps to look at your comic while hiding the dialogue imo. Like dialogue (if you choose to have it) of course is a set part of your comic as well, but if you only even roughly get what happens, or are able to set a specific mood without it you're on a safe side. You can also show your comic to a friend and let them explain it to you afterwards to see if your point came across. :D Kudos to my sister here.

Don't forget to put down the rough dialogue at the panel set up part already though! It's frustrating if you have to puzzle the speechbubbles in at the end and block half of your comic composition :c Plus speechbubbles also help to adjust the reading flow a little and can hide parts that are hard to draw but shhh.

Incorporate things you're looking foward to draw to keep you motivated. (That's a very me problem tbh) and take breaks and reread the thing to see if the pacing is too fast or slow.

Haha yep, that's it.

#answer #nh #rambling is an understatement

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magnoliabloomfield · 2 years ago

Text

The new label “Pick Me Girl” and the return of Y2K fashion made me realize something. If you were a teen in the 2000’s, no matter what kind of girl you were, you were a pick me girl.

But! It wasn’t your fault. During your most developmental sponge like years they drowned you in Pick Me Propaganda.

We had music:

“I’d rather be anything but ordinary please.”- Avril

“Never wore cover up, always beat the boys up.”-Avril

“She’s like so whatever, you could do so much better, I think we should get together now.”-Avril

“Paper, or plastic, don’t matter, she’ll have it. Vacations and shopping sprees, these are a few of her favorite things. She’ll get what she wants if she’s willing to please, his type of girl ways comes with a fee. Hey now there’s nothing for free. Girls don’t like boys girls like cars and money. Boys will laugh at girls when they’re not funny.”-Good Charlotte

“Christina wouldn’t wanna meet her, she hates you Brittany so you better run for cover. My girl, is a hot girl, a riot girl and she’s taking on the world. Emergency call 911 she’s pissed off at everyone.”-Good Charlotte

“Never win first place, don’t support the team, can’t take direction and my socks are never clean… LA told me you’ll be a pop star, all you have to change is everything you are. Tired of being compared to damn Brittany Spears, she’s so pretty, that just ain’t me.”-P!nk

“The waiter just took my table, gave it to Jessica Simps.”-P!nk

“She doesn’t get your humor like I do… I’m listening to the kind of music she doesn’t like and she’ll never know your story like I do. But she wears short skirts I wear T-shirts, she’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers…. She wears high heels I wear sneakers…”-Taylor Swift

“Im not a supermodel, I still eat McDonalds… who says I can’t wear my converse with my dress, well baby that’s just me.”-Demi Lovato

“Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me”-Pussycat Dolls

“I’m the kind of girl that hangs with the guys, like a fly on the wall with my secret eyes. Taking it in try to be feminine with my makeup bag watching all the sin. Misfit, I sit, lit up, wicked. Everybody else surrounded by the girls with the tank tops and flirty words.”-No Doubt

“I’m no queen, I’m no machine, I still go to Taco Bell, raw as hell, I don’t care, I’m still real.”-Fergie

“Everybody’s looking at me now, like who’s that chick that’s rockin kicks, she gotta be from out of town. It’s so hard with my girls not around me, it’s definitely not a Nashville party. Cause all I see are stilettos, guess I never got the memo.”-Miley

And we had movies like

Cinderella Story and how she’s different because she eats burgers instead of salad and worked hard.

10 Things I Hate About You where Kat still tried too hard and wasn’t herself, she was so I to the idea that you have to be what others want you to be that she consciously chose to be the exact opposite instead of doing what she liked because she liked it.

Mean Girls where you’re different if you’re secure and confident in your own body and not an insecure catty girl.

What a Girl Wants where your cultural difference makes you better and also walking on the beach and having a steady hand with nail polish is superior to getting a pedicure.

And how many of them depicted a nerdy “ugly” girl taking off her glasses, practicing basic hygiene, adding some lip gloss and oh now her crush can see she exists and falls in love with her. Or girls are rivals over some guy who isn’t even worth it.

So, no matter if you were preppy or punk, you were putting in the same amount of effort to not be something else, which is where the return of Y2K fashion comes into play.

Whatever you were trying so hard not to be in the 2000’s or your teens in general, do it now. I bet there was something you secretly wanted from the other side and wouldn’t indulge in because you had your superiority to uphold.

I Wanna see a retired grunge skater girl in a juicy tracksuit with oversized purse and sunglasses. I wanna see a former Paris Hilton minion learn to skateboard in some unnecessarily puffy skate shoes and a neck tie over their tank top.

Also anyone who was too poor or repressed by their strict parents to finally get the things you most wanted at that age but never had.

Now we can retrospectively look back and pick and choose the good stuff from that era, like my ass crack is way too long now for low rise jeans, I’ll never wear them below my hip bones ever again, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is we need to take this opportunity to heal our Y2K selves, have a redo, “I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger” whole thing. So many of us have shed our pick me girl ways and whole heartedly embraced Women Supporting Women, so let’s redo the amazing fashion time that was the 2000’s with that mentality.

“Most girls are smart and strong and beautiful. Most girls work hard go far we are unstoppable. Most girls, our fight to make everyday, no two are the same. I wanna be like I wanna be like Most Girls.”

#Y2K #pick me girl #most girls #feminism #women supporting women #women empowering women

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unearthedheart · 2 years ago

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So a while ago I headcanoned that Hayato had a crush on Ray. And in the future had a boyfriend very similar to him. But then I learned Hayato and Jin are literally two years old. Like obviously they are artificially aged, but... do I treat them as teens or toddlers??? Zazie is easy because he's pretty mentally young, but they seem to be mentally teens? What's your opinion?

holy shit??? i fully thought you were fucking w me until i found multiple sources on this- i Never woulda known💀

it's definitely hard because this is where we enter that Mental Maturity gray area that would have a lot of bad implications irl. like the first thing i can easily see that being compared to is pedos and the like arguing that the kids are "mentally old/mature enough" to be in relationships w adults- which is obviously a fuck no situation. but at the same time, this is a good ole Mental and Physical Experimentation Results situation so. fuck man. i def agree that they seem to be, in every sense except literal age, teenagers. they speak, think, and look like teens. they have the physical abilities of super heroes so i mean, hell i dont think it would be overly weird to still have those kinds of ships and such. disregarding entirely that all is fair in love and fiction, i'd say there's more than enough gray area for you to treat them as you would Ray/Emma/teenage characters because of the experimentation as well as their physical bodies and mental capacities

#my opinion flat out: it is fiction and not real and therefore impossible for you to have a ''morally wrong'' opinion on their status as kids #or teens or whatever else you wish to depict them as #tpn #asks!!!#anon #hayato #jin #ray #ash is mentally ill

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frosted-night · 4 years ago

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Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one. This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

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I’d Drop it All for You

Pictures of you and Pete are spread all over the internet, causing a whirlwind of hate to enter your social media.

Request: “Pete content please! anything !!! smut fluff whatever”

Pete x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, depictions of depression and anxiety

A/N: *Insert normal spiel about respecting A.G. and only using her for plot purposes. No harm intended.* Also I wrote most of this after a meeting with my therapist so... enjoy :) (He’s so cute in this gif I wanna kiss his face)

Word Count: 1820

You weren’t one of those people who loved being the center of attention. You knew that being in the spotlight also meant constantly living under a microscope, and you decided a long time ago that that was not for you.

But you were lucky enough to work as an assistant art director at just 24. You were hoping that The King of Staten Island, your newest project, would help get your name out into the professional world. But that wasn’t the only thing to come out of the film.

It happened unexpectedly, you showed up on set the first day, ready to do whatever the art director required of you. You couldn’t help but be slightly distracted by the lead actor and writer, Pete Davidson. He was so kind and funny, and he wasn’t uptight like everyone else.

After a few hours of filming, he came up to you, introducing himself. He said he “wanted to get to know everyone working on the project,” but you didn’t see him introducing himself to anyone else. You two started talking during breaks. Then he started sitting with you at lunch. Then he was asking for your number.

In a matter of weeks he was asking you out to dinner, taking you to a cozy restaurant that you absolutely adored. He walked you home, his hand grazing yours until you intertwined your fingers.

It was all very romantic, so when Pete asked if he could take you on another, you obviously said yes. Flash forward two weeks and he finally got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, even though you were both exclusively seeing each other already.

After filming ended 2 months later, you were still working on the film in post, which meant you had an excuse to stay in Staten Island with Pete. After about 2 weeks in post, you spent more nights in his bed than your hotel’s.

Nearly 6 months later and you were happier than ever. You were splitting your time between your small apartment in the Bronx and Pete’s basement apartment. Pete introduced you to most of his friends, and you introduced him to yours.

But other than your small circles of friends, you kept your relationship fairly quiet. Pete doesn’t have social media and yours is strictly professional, so there are no pictures of you two together. You weren’t hiding each other, you loved each other, you just had no reason to tell tabloids. And you were perfectly happy with that.

Which made it so much worse when various news sites had pictures of you two holding hands. Had they been anyone else you would’ve thought they were cute, walking along the South Beach oceanside at night.

Pete had been in the SNL studio all day when the pictures were released, while you were in his apartment, trying your best to focus on the photoset in front of you. The production team wanted the film to scream “teen romance,” which basically entails subtle pink undertones and a higher saturation. But you couldn’t quite get the coloring right, probably because you weren’t actually focusing on the colors.

You sighed, looking at the time and realizing that Pete won’t be back until sometime after 2am, which was a whole 5 hours away. You let out a huff, pushing away from the desk and making your way to Pete’s closet and searching for one of his hoodies. They always smelled like him (and weed), so it was a comfort to you.

You crashed onto the bed, finding the phone that you had tossed there a few hours earlier. Turning it on you were surprised by the number of notifications you were getting. You knew the photos had surfaced but you weren’t expecting this.

Your Instagram was blowing up with new follows, likes, and comments. It was kind of exciting at first until you started reading some of the comments.

I mean, we knew he would downgrade from Ari, but this is like… really far down.

This girl really thinks she’s special just bc Pete’s dating her. Hun he could do so much better

Who is she?!? Literally no one.

Someone needs to show her how to dress

That hairstyle is not it honey

Pete Davidson is dating YOU??? He could do sooo much better

Ari was prettier sorry not sorry

The entire comment section on your last post, a picture of you on the set of your latest film, was pretty much the same. There were some nice comments, but a lot of mean ones.

And you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop looking at them. It felt so cliché, but it was like all of your deepest insecurities about being with Pete were thrown out on the table.

You knew that Pete had a fairly large following, and that a lot of people had really strong feelings about him. You had expected that if and when your relationship went public you would have a lot of people watching you, scrutinizing you. But you didn’t care because Pete was worth it.

Now you weren’t so sure. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle people talking bad about you, because you definitely could, even if it hurt. You just weren’t expecting the amount of people comparing you to Ariana or saying that Pete could do so much better.

And it only bothered you so much because you felt it too. Your inner demons loved to remind you that Pete had dated Ariana fucking Grande and now he’s dating you. Anyone could see an obvious downgrade.

You turned your phone off and threw it on the opposite side of the bed, trying to think positive thoughts. “I am in control of my own thoughts and emotions. I am catching my negative thoughts and fixing them.” You murmured your therapist’s mantra to yourself, but it was too late. The thoughts had already taken hold of your mind.

Your eyes started to water as you could feel the heavy feeling in your chest set in. You pulled the hood over your head, pulling the straps to hide as much of your face as possible, and pulling your knees to your chest. You laid like that for a while, tears falling as doubts ran through your head. Once you had effectively exhausted your thoughts, you went numb. Your tears had stopped, but you couldn’t move. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it sure wasn’t pleasurable.

There was a sort of buzzing throughout your body, almost like the feeling when your foot falls asleep, but everywhere. It seemed to block out your sound, as you didn’t hear the basement door open. You only knew that Pete was home when he sat beside you on the bed, pulling the hood off your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” He smiled at you. You tried your best to fake one back, but you honestly couldn’t find the energy. Pete pulled you so you were sitting up, back pressed against his front. His arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “What’s goin on?” He murmured against your skin.

“Did you see them?” You asked, your voice quiet and hoarse.

Pete let out a sigh, “Yeah, I saw them.” He paused, his hold on you getting tighter, like he was making sure you couldn’t leave. “I’m sorry baby. I know you didn’t want it to be a whole big thing.”

You turned your head to face him, “It’s not that. I really don’t mind that people know. We weren’t trying to hide anything.”

He smiled, “Yeah, I know I just- it was nice having this to ourselves.”

He wanted to hide you. He’s embarrassed of you.

Your inner dialogue never seemed to shut up.

You turned away from Pete, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah.” You whispered.

“What’s wrong, you’re still upset.” He rocked you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. You shrugged in response, not trusting yourself to talk. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

You nodded, leaning further into Pete’s chest. “People found my Instagram.” You murmured, looking down and tracing the arrow tattoo on his hand.

“Whaddya mean? I thought it was public?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

You sighed, wishing you hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, it is. But after all the articles people started following me and shit.”

“I would ask how that’s a problem but I deleted my Instagram so I can’t really talk.” You could tell he was trying to make you feel better, but you couldn’t seem to get out of your haze.

You shook your head, deciding to drop the matter. “It’s not, I’m just being overdramatic.” You sighed, putting on a fake smile and facing him fully. “Wanna watch a movie?” You asked, trying to change the topic.

He gave you the I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me look, which made you look down. “Something’s bothering you, Y/N. And you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t because you think your feelings aren’t valid, but they are.” He tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes that were still trained on the bedsheets below you.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You chuckled half-heartedly.

“Rehab part 2” he smiled, hand coming to your jaw to tilt your head up. “C’mon, talk to me. I wanna help.”

You huffed, moving towards the opposite side of the bed where your phone laid. You opened it, finding your Instagram, and showing him the comments. His eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through the comments. When he decided he’d had enough he put your phone down, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto his lap so you were essentially straddling him.

He leaned his forehead against your own, your noses touching. “That’s all bullshit, you know that, right?”

You looked down, biting your lip. “Y/N you’re the most amazing, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, okay? I’m in love with you, not anyone else.” Pete’s eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

“I know.” You sighed, “It’s just hard to be with you and not compare myself to her. And then all these people started to do it too, and they kept saying that you could do so much better and you can. So, I dunno I guess I just kind of spiraled.”

Pete captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss. “Y/N. There is literally no better than you. I can’t do better because you are the best woman I have ever loved. “

You pulled Pete in for another kiss. “Thank you, Pete. I love you.”

“I love you too. If this happens again, I want you to call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, I’d drop it all for you.” You smiled, sitting in the arms of the guy you loved. The thoughts didn’t just magically go away, but for a brief moment in time, you were happy.

#pete davidson #pete davidson imagine #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson angst #pete davidson fluff

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dodo-begone · 4 years ago

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Wanna be Friends?

Pairing: Yandere!Purpled x Reader

Request: YOOO I SAW YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN THATS AWESOME. OK SO YOU DID SOME REALLY GREAT YANDERE TEENS HEADCANNONS RIGHT? HOW ABOUT A SORT OF CONTINUATION OF THAT BUT FOR PURPLED? CAUSE I FEEL LIKE HES OFTEN COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN OR OVERLOOKED SO TO HAVE Y/N AKNOWLEDGE HIM WOULD BE LIKE A DRUG TO HIM. OBVIOUSLY PLATONIC AND ALL BUT I FEEL LIKE THERES SO MUCH POTENTIAL WITH HIS CHARACTER. OK HAVE A GREAT DAY

Word count: 960 (just call it 1k)

Warning: yandere thinking

A/n: this wasn't as yan as i was hoping it'd be but,,, I just wanted to do it like this

Tommy had been yapping about this “new friend” of his. It was annoying. Well, Tommy could be annoying, but him repeatedly talking about this mystery person wasn’t helping his case. He talked about them so much that the others started to speculate who the person was.

Were they kind? Funny? Mean? Bossy? Were they super tall or short? A hybrid? Where were they from? How’d they meet Tommy of all people? And so many others. The questions just kept circling around and the answers warped whatever image the person was depicted as originally. Purpled wished that they hadn’t gotten so invested without actually knowing the person. Slowly the description became outlandishly horrific. Just the biggest monstrosity one could think of.

Weeks went by and the talk hadn’t slowed one bit. It was a staple conversation topic at this point. A very annoying and overused one, at that. Politely, he listened and gave some input on this person. All in a joking manner, of course. He hoped the others were doing the same, but he was disappointed when it seemed the opposite at times. But it was easy to ignore.

Then the fabled day came; Tommy’s new friend was coming to the smp. Everyone was on edge, excited to meet the newcomer. The talk about the new resident? Yeah that grew exponentially. That was the only topic that day. It was like nothing else existed.

Purpled could care less, though. He had things to do. Well “things”. Yes he wanted to meet this new person, but there was so much hype over them. It’d be rude to aid the others in overwhelming them. So he’d just sit on the sidelines, waiting for a chance to properly talk to them. They must be so tired after such a long journey.

He didn’t have to wait long to meet this person. Right beside Tommy was one of the sweetest-looking people he ever had the fortune of viewing. They were happy chatting, laughing loudly at some jokes (he thought they must’ve been jokes). All he could do was stare in awe, they looked so much better than what descriptions the others had made up. You looked over in his direction and gave him a sparkly smile and a wave. He must’ve been staring for too long, but he waved back nonetheless. His embarrassment had to be covered somehow.

Unfortunately for Purpled, it wouldn’t be so easy to hide his embarrassment. When he waved back, you broke off from Tommy’s side and made your way over to him. Internally he was sweating and screaming. He must’ve fucked up. You’re gonna think he’s such a creep for staring at you- shit you’re almost here.

“Hey there,” you smile wider, eyes sparkling from excitement. “Your purple jacket looks really nice. Who are you? You look super cool.”

Honestly he was not expecting an introduction like that. Starting off about his hoodie was a polite conversation starter, but it just felt odd. Yet you look so excited about talking to him. “My name’s Purpled,” he replied. “What’s your name?”

“My name,” they parrot, pointing to themselves. Purpled nods, and they had the audacity to look shocked. It was cute, and the action made him laugh. They laughed along with them. “Well my name is-”

“What’re you doing?!” Low and behold, here comes the party-pooper, Tomminnit himself. Tommy somehow managed to combine stomping and sprinting together, rushing his way back to your side. His loud voice startled you, making you jump and turn toward the sudden intrusion. Moments later Tommy stops by your side, giving a glare to Purpled before addressing you. “I thought you wanted a tour of them smp?”

“I do,” you give him a nervous smile. Why would you be nervous of Tommy if you two were friends? That didn’t sit right with him. “I just saw this guy, Purpled, and I kinda got distracted. I just wanted to talk to him-”

“Oh come on” Tommy was exasperated by your inattentiveness. “You said that you wouldn’t get distracted again!”

“I didn’t mean to,” you tried to defend yourself, yet your defense was covered by Tommy’s fucking voice.

“You also said that last time. You couldn’t live a day without me, I swear. Don’t worry, the great Tommy will watch out for you. Now come on, let’s continue the grand tour!” Tommy didn’t even finish his sentence before he was dragging you away by the wrist.

Stumbling over your feet trying to keep up with the tall brit, you look back towards Purpled. You give an apologetic smile along with a wave goodbye. Once you were pulled away from sight, specifically around a corner, Purpled started to ponder about the short interaction you shared.

Your actions were so endearing; you got so excited and invested in something so quickly that you just had to investigate. Yes that could lead you into danger here, but that could be easily taken care of. He could just protect you. Not only were you so curious and accepting, but you smiled the entire time. It was a small action, an insignificant one at that, but it made him feel loved. All of your attention was focused on him the entire time. If it wasn’t, then it was for a short time before being solely focused on him again.

Looking back at the corner you disappeared behind, he let his thoughts wander further. You were such a nice person, a rarity on the smp. But only time would tell if your actions were a facade. He wished they weren’t but that’s the reality of the situation. Yet he was so excited for what the future held for you two.

He could just sense it; you two were going to be best friends.

#tw: yandere #c: purpled #dodo writing #mcyt shipping #dsmp shipping #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #purpled x reader #dsmp!purpled #x reader #yandere #yandere purpled #yandere purpled x reader #c: tommy

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lifblogs · 3 years ago

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To the King

@chaos-company's Angstpril 2022: Day 18 - Alt. Prompt 1 - Roughed Up

Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: N/A Word Count: 1440 Summary: Dean is captured by demons and is taken to face his brother for the first time since he became the King of Hell. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Dean saw the blow coming before it landed, and he prepared himself. Prepared himself for the numbing pressure, which would then be followed with throbbing pain. The demon’s fist his his face, knuckles smacking right against his lip, lip catching teeth. Bleeding. Blood welled into his mouth, and he grunted. He struggled, wanting to fight back, but he was already down. Two demons held him.

Another punch, this one to his head. It left him dazed, and then he was getting searched. A bit too roughly, with probably too much enthusiasm. But there was nothing he could do as the demons divested him of his weapons. Of his gun, and cuffs, and demon-killing knife.

God, it would’ve been a really good time to have Cas with him.

Too bad I told him to fuck off.

No, can’t think about that now.

The demons tied his wrists and ankles, and dragged him to the trunk of a car. They threw him in, Dean landing badly on his shoulder and against his face, the stained gray carpet layering the back scraping his ear raw.

The trunk was closed, and Dean was all alone. He felt the engine start, and a lurch as the car pulled out onto the road. It was so dark and cramped that he could only think of a coffin.

Maybe I am headed to my death.

Then he reasoned, If Sammy wanted you dead he would’ve killed you by now.

Dean was being taken to his brother for something else, and he didn’t want to find out what. He had once thought he’d known him so well, but whatever was in his head now was as mysterious as God’s will. Ha, if that even existed.

The ride was long, and he wondered which way they were heading. There were signs that Sam was set up someone in New York, so maybe there.

His shoulders were probably close to being out of place by now with the way his hands were tied behind his back, and how he was getting bumped around. He’d tried getting out of his bindings, but he couldn’t reach the knot. His wrists were rubbed raw, bleeding, burning.

What was worse was his bladder was getting a bit too full, and being jostled about didn’t help. Hopefully the demons would have the decency to let him relieve himself before he saw Sam. They’d better untie his hands because he sure as hell didn’t want anyone else handling his dick.

Finally, the car stopped, and Dean wished he could breathe a sigh of relief. But he knew this was the easy part.

It was night time when the demons opened the trunk and let him out. They did let him relieve himself, and then they were walking him to a large building snug against the foothills of a rising mountain. Dean could slightly make out its shape thanks to light coming from some of its windows. It was angular, all rectangles. And he thought maybe he saw the shine of metal.

Dean was shoved along over a corrugated steel bridge with an ominous, dark drop into a ravine beneath it, and into the building. He was in a dark hallway, concrete floor covered with a red runner. It made him think a little too much of blood at the moment.

“So, where’s Sammy?” Dean asked, trying to be his usual self.

Instead, the demons were ignoring him, but he was definitely the topic of conversation.

“Why didn’t you bring him in the front?” a tall demon with dark hair and dark eyes asked one of the demon-possessed-ex-soldiers holding him.

“I thought he’d get ripped apart. It’s Dean Winchester. Just let the king know we have him.”

“Right away.”

Dean was made to wait as the other demon went to announce him to Sam. God, this was all too fancy for him. Sam had really let his love of fantasy get to him.

At least he was being made to wait in the dark hall and not being shoved in a cell somewhere. He was sure this place had them.

“Does Sammy have a crown too?” Dean asked. “You know, like the real deal?”

That earned him a punch in the face, and then a piece of his shirt was being ripped off. His head was held, Dean grunting and snarling, as they used that piece of his shirt as a gag. They got in another punch for good measure.

Okay, so don’t ask questions.

The other demon came back, and Dean, fresh blood running from cuts on his face, was led down the hall, and through an office. Then more halls, and he was before a metal door, windows set in the wall high above it. Based on the guards outside Dean figured he knew where he was about to be led.

The throne room.

Dean didn’t want to look at Sam when he was brought in, but his eyes were drawn to him instantly, ignoring the gold floor, the red tapestries, the still-cold demeanor of the whole place.

There was Sam, in his throne, dressed all in black leather, a dark metal crown inlaid with jewels set on his fine head of hair. His eyes were their regular hazel, but there was nothing of his brother in them. And there, against his chest, glowing faintly, was the amulet of the Deathless One. Sam’s amulet.

The Deathless One’s power, demon blood. He really was the King of Hell.

Dean was shoved to his knees before the dais, and Sam was smiling. It met those cold eyes, and Dean had never felt so lost before. A chill ran down his spine, and stayed, seeped into his bones. Cold claws gripped him, and curled around his stomach.

“Dean,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “So good to finally see you again.”

There was something wrong with his voice. It was as cold as the room, and Dean didn’t want to hear it anymore.

He motioned the guards back, and they released Dean. Sam went to take the gag out of his mouth. Dean couldn’t look up, or even say anything, once his mouth was finally free.

“I hope you didn’t get roughed up too badly.”

“Yeah, like you care,” Dean spat.

“Stand.”

Dean’s gaze went as high as the amulet at Sam’s chest, and, slowly, he got to his feet. He remembered the powers Sam held. The ice, the stone, the blood. This was it. His life was going to end here, or he was for some reason going to face unimaginable torture.

To Dean’s surprise, Sam hugged him, his right arm a little awkward with it as if it was stiff and painful.

Had the demon blood not fixed the stone in his arm?

Dean filed the weakness away.

His brother felt like his brother. He remembered holding him through nightmares, after a rough hunt, feeling for a pulse just to make sure he was alive. Now his pulse was fed with demon blood, his heart pumping that poison all throughout his body.

Dean would not forget those black eyes that had stared at him at Kenesaw.

Before he could do anything, Sam pulled back, and Dean was punched full in the face. The blow sent him flying backwards, landing on his hands and wrists that were still tied behind his back. Something popped, and pain shot up his arms. The air was knocked out of him, and he was gasping breathlessly, trying to roll onto his side.

Sam stalked over to him, Dean trying to scrabble backwards. But it was no use. His brother held up his hand, and soon Dean was floating in the air before him. Sam curled his fingers and there was a crushing grip around his neck. Breathing was like suddenly trying to sip air through a straw.

Sam tilted his head as he observed him.

“So,” he asked, voice low, “where’s Castiel?”

Dean set his jaw, and glared at his former brother.

With a dark want in his tone, the King of Hell promised, “Don’t worry. We’ll make you talk.”

Dean was dropped, and Sam ordered, “Take him to the cages.”

Demons came and grabbed Dean, and Dean managed to look up at Sam, hoping to see who he once was. There was nothing of that there.

“Sammy…”

Sam stared, as if he was trying to find someone he knew inside of Dean. Eventually, he turned away, neither of them finding what they were hoping for.

Roughed up, helpless, Dean was dragged away. The last detail he really noted of the throne room was that he’d gotten blood on the floor.

#angstpril2022 #fic #day 18 #alt. prompt 1 #roughed up #graphic depictions of violence #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #king of hell!Sam Winchester #angst #whump #fanfiction #writing #my writing #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction

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twiceasfrustrating · 3 years ago

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Absolutely Nothing

I said I wouldn't post my new fic until after SWBQ is done, but I want to begin posting it before S4 drops. It won't update consistently atm, but it's there... I will only be posting the first two chapters to Tumblr. Everything else is going on AO3 because Tumblr is not longfic friendly.

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Main Character, Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor, Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, Solomon, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Original Angel Character(s)

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War, Trauma, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canon is like a vampire, it can't enter this house unless I let it, Emotional Baggage, Lies, Manipulation, Ships not intended but I'm not stopping you

Summary: War is not unknown to the three realms, but that does not make them any less a tragedy of strategy. Though relations between the three have never been favorable, they have never truly gone to battle with each other. At least, not until now. The heavens have been planning for a long time and have finally decided to execute their machinations. Now it is time to see how every piece will play out this bloody battle.

A/N: These tags are for the overarching fic, not the first two chapters. Only Lucifer, Simeon, Micheal, and Gabriel show up in the first two chapters.

Chapter 1: I Will Not Go With You

“We’re heading for a war,” Lucifer warned, “and I want you to come with me.”

Simeon solemnly blinked a few times before closing his eyes. The weight of the choices laid before him pricked at the edges of his mind. He’d known this was coming. He’d known for a long time that this question would eventually be asked of him and for just as long he’d known what his answer would be, “I must decline.”

“Why?” Lucifer spat out, “Simeon, you have to know what’s about to happen. If we don’t fight then Lilith-”

“I am not stopping you from this rebellion.” He opened his eyes and looked to the pages stacked neatly in the corner of his desk, carefully flipping through the avalanche of writings he’d collected over the years. Somewhere, buried deep in the pile, he vaguely recalled his moment; where his brother would ask him to do the impossible. He’d hidden it away from prying eyes, afraid that others would find it and interpret it as he had. Though, even if they had read it and understood what the contents were, it was nigh impossible to change the events that were foretold.

He pulled the page from the pile, taking care so the others above it would not collapse onto the delicately inlaid wood of his desk, and perused the contents held within. The paper was so old that it had begun to grow fragile to the touch and discolor at the edges. Simeon desperately wished that time had chosen not to show its touch on this particular relic he would rather have forgotten about. It was frightening how long he’d known about this day and he would rather pretend he was shocked when Lucifer had come to him. Sometimes, having a glimpse into what would eventually be was a cruel reality.

That brother, who would come in need of his fellow, will find no quarter. So shall he return with hands left empty, but convictions emboldened by the forge of his stature. He shall take with him those who share his resolve and lead them to where metal sings and cries. Blood shall be shed but on one side, though the cost of the blood spilled shall

It was an old, short paragraph he wished he could forget. Though he could never truly put it out of his mind, because he knew it was left unfinished and his mind and pen longed to see the end of the story. However, his heart and will would prefer not to know every detail of this particular future. For so long, he’d clung to that final shall and hoped that not knowing the entirety of the story would somehow keep it from unfolding. However, his pen only put the stories to page. He was not responsible for the events that inspired him to write.

“You will have to make do with those who are already on your side. No one else will turn their back on Father for your cause.” It was the only warning he could give. In those words he hid the message that Lucifer should tell no one else. If war was approaching, then it was better he have the element of surprise.

Lucifer could only stare at him in disbelief, “Is that your answer?”

“It always was.” He placed the paper face down atop the pile, “I cannot aid you in this, Lucifer.”

“Then you would fight against me? You would condemn Lilith in the same way as our Father?” His voice shook, the rage building inside of him clearly beginning to boil over even as he tried to contain it.

“I will not betray my family.” Simeon’s face remained unchanged as he pushed his chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. Despite the malicious aura that began to circle around his fellow Seraphim, he approached with an unguarded stance until they were only an arm’s reach away from one another. No matter how upset Lucifer may become, Simeon would not fear him. Though, he did fear *for* him, “You and she are still of my kind and that means I will not meet you on the battlefield.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened at the declaration. This time, it was his turn to fear for the other, “You can’t stay out of this. You know they won’t allow you.” If he did try to remain on the sidelines, Simeon would still be seen as a traitor. Not in the same vein as him and his siblings, but a traitor nonetheless, “I won’t ask you to fight if you really refuse to lift your blade, but you can’t stay here.”

“As much as you and Lilith are my family, so are Micheal, Raphael, Uriel, and Gabriel. I cannot leave them.”

“Simeon…”

Simeon’s lips pulled back into a smile and he let out the shortest of laughs, “You worry far too much, Lucy. You are aware that I am still a Seraphim, are you not? Even if I do not step onto the battlefield, I do not believe I am in nearly as much danger as you are putting yourself in.” He wanted to reach out and touch his brother one last time as the fear of the unknown overtook him, but he kept his hand within his own space. He did not know what would happen at the end of all of this, but he knew it would not be the same and reaching out to hold onto what they had would only pain them both.

Lucifer looked over the other angel’s shoulder, toward the pile of papers where Simeon had placed one face down. Countless writings that revealed the future to their author and Lucifer did not envy that gift. Others often wished to know what would be, but he had seen far too many times the burden placed on Simeon for having such a skill; the amount of times he had been made to see both grace and tragedy was carved on his face, just behind that smile. That is why, despite knowing that whatever was on that page was related to this very discussion and his ultimate goal, he would not pry. It was not as if knowing the future allowed it to be changed anyway.

“We’ll still be on opposing sides, you know?” No matter how much Simeon proclaimed not to betray his family, that was an unavoidable truth.

He nodded, “I am aware.”

“And you refuse to go against your family?”

This time his confirmation was wordless.

Lucifer took in a deep breath, “Then once the battle begins, I believe we can hardly be considered family anymore.”

Large blue eyes shot up to look at his pale face. It seemed that Lucifer had said something Simeon hadn’t expected, “What?”

“You will not betray your family, but you know they will not allow you to remain neutral in this. As soon as the drums of war beat, it is fine to stop thinking of me as your brother.”

There was a long moment of silence before Simeon could reply, “You cannot ask me that.”

“I am not asking. I am stating a truth,” one that would hopefully allow Simeon a way to follow his morals and gain some leniency if he continued to insist on this path, “I refuse to be your brother from that moment on.”

“Please... you cannot ask that of me.”

“I am not asking anything of you. I am simply stating where we will stand.” And now he needed to leave before the hurt welling in Simeon’s eyes tugged at his heart anymore and shattered his resolve.

He dipped his head in a polite bow, “Thank you for your time, Simeon. I do hope we may speak like this again.” He turned on his heels, refusing to truly look at the other angel again. His only goal was the door, where he opened it wide and stepped through the threshold.

“Lucifer! Wait!”

It took far more will than Lucifer would ever care to admit as he shut the door behind him without saying another word, and even more to walk away.

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

Chapter 2: Traitor

“How long have you known?” Micheal nearly growled as he stared down Simeon where he kneeled. His pale blue eyes ran wild with rage and it was clear he was just barely holding himself together. That was to be expected after everything he had just been through. Lucifer was unapologetically his favorite brother so it was unimaginable the distress he was in right now as he came to terms with having lost a member of his family. They had been like two halves of a whole, and now they were fractured.

“How long have I known what?” Simeon asked, feigning ignorance.

“That Lucifer would lead a rebellion against Father!” Micheal’s voice raised so loud that the room literally shook around him.

“Calm yourself, Micheal,” a melodious voice shushed him and lithe hands rested on his shoulders to hold him steady, “We’ve lost enough of our siblings today. There is no reason to lose yourself and risk losing another.”

“You would call him our brother after that disgraceful scene, Gabriel?” The disgust in his voice was clear and overwhelming, “He knew this would happen and refused to warn us or lift a finger. Everything we lost today is because of him.” Simeon had to know about today. He was blessed with the gift of prophecy and spent his time writing what was to come. If he had simply shared whatever he knew about today, Micheal knows they could have prevented the rebellion. He knows that he could have convinced Lucifer to stay somehow. Instead, he was left to face his own brother on the battlefield. He could still recall the cold eyes Lucifer had looked at him with as if they barely knew one another. That sight would never leave the darkest parts of his mind.

“You are blinded by your pain, Micheal.” She removed her hand from his shoulders and moved to stand over Simeon, “He is clearly as much our brother as ever. If he were against us he would have joined Lucifer, but Father has deemed that he is still worthy of his halo. Is that not enough for you?”

Micheal chuckled darkly before answering, “Uriel nearly lost an arm and he’s one of the lucky ones.” Even with so few numbers on their side, the rebellion had a gifted Dominion that made the most of their small force.

“And everyone harmed will heal, but we gain nothing in dividing ourselves further, and our brother has already been punished for his transgressions.” She took a knee before Simeon, reaching out her hand and running her fingers through his silken hair, “Will you not put our brother’s worries at ease, Simeon?”

Simeon knew the threat in those words. As kind as Gabriel pretended to be, she was someone he feared far more than Micheal. Not because she was stronger, but because she knew exactly how to most hurt those who upset her. As such, he had no interest in declining her wish, even if what she was asking for was for him to show his shame.

He took a deep breath before unfurling his wings behind him. They shimmered golden in the neverending light of the Celestial Realm, a blessing bestowed upon him by their Father that reflected his very essence. Every angel had such a blessing; different colors, shapes, a range of sizes, and lays of their feathers all differed from angel to angel all dependent on their Father’s grace. That included how high in their Father’s favor they were, and it was obvious at a glance just how out of favor Simeon had fallen. His six beautiful wings, the blessing afforded to all Seraphim, had been reduced to a simple two.

Gabriel’s eyes filled with pity for him but Micheal’s face twisted in glee and disdain, “Is that all? You betray us and all Father does is reduce your rank.” The laugh that left his throat was so dry that it sounded like it hurt, “You must really be beloved to get off with such a light sentence.” If it was up to Micheal himself, Simeon would face the same punishment as Lilith.

“Still your anger, Micheal. As you can see, Father has spoken.” She raised to her feet once more, her nails pulling painfully at Simeon’s hair as she stepped away from him, “Simeon is still of our kind and as one of our subordinates it is our duty to shepherd him.”

A wicked smile crossed Micheal’s face as he continued to look down on Simeon and his now unsightly form that marked his betrayal, “You may be correct, Gabriel. It is only right that we guide lost sheep, especially those of our own flock.”

#obey me #Absolutely Nothing #mine #obey me simeon #obey me lucifer #hosted on AO3 #obey me michael #obey me raphael #original character

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csilis · 2 years ago

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Here I am once again promoting my fanfic! This time I can offer review exchanges too as I ran out of fics and can't find anything nowadays. So if you're interested just give me a pm!

Road to redemption

Chapters: 21/?

Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Megatron (Transformers)/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Megatron, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee

Additional Tags: no beta we die like cliffjumper, i wanted a redemption fanfic so i wrote one, did i mention i suck at english grammar?, Xenophilia, if im not mistaken, Slow Burn, i guess?, stuck in a different body, Human Megatron - Freeform, Alien/Human Relationships, Redemption, Robot/Human Relationships, anger issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Episode: s03e13 Deadlock (Transformers Prime), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Human/Transformer Relationships (Transformers), Megatron talks about his feelings, Reconciliation, Ice Skating, Megatron & Elisabeth & their sexual tension, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love

Summonary:

Megatron thought his fate was to rule over Cybertron as he meant to be from the beginning.

Now he is ripped from everything he used to know (thanks to a certain scout) as he's stuck in a human body that belonged to someone else. Starting again from the bottom, he is determined to reverse whatever happened, no matter the price.

But Primus may have even more surprises in store. Starting with the stubborn human female, Elisabeth Osborne, who makes him question everything he believed in.

Snippet (just to be really fancy):

“It was. I still miss him these days and think about how I failed him. I should have warned him instead of arguing and ignoring his feelings.” Because that’s what he really felt. Failure followed him like a shadow; always there to remind him what they said to them in the mines.

“You will never be bigger than the shadow you cast.” And since in the dark they didn’t have shadows, it only fitted them. They will never be bigger than nobody’s. But he wished to be, fought to be bigger.

“I know what you feel as I failed Merlin. I should have never left him” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But you cannot change some things. You can only accept the consequences.”

“After he died, no one asked me how I felt. How much it pained me to lose him” he said looking away, into the distance, while a knot formed in his throat. “You are the first one to be ever interested in me, not the ideals I hold.”

“I think it’s because you let me see more than your ideals. You let me see the person behind the façade.”

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #megatron #fanfic #decepticons #redemption

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foilfreak · 4 years ago

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Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 7 (aka the ‘big boobie vampire mommy’ and ’mutant servant girl that is very horny for her’ chapter)

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 link below:)

“Good evening, sir. Is there something I can assist you with, tonight? It’s quite late, and my mistress has already retired for the evening due to the strenuous nature of today’s events, so while I’m sure the good Lady Dimitrescu won’t be too terribly displeased if you’ve come with urgent news that requires her immediate attention, I’m afraid anything outside the realm of absolute importance will have to wait until morning, when my mistress will be better rested and therefore better able to address whatever concern you’ve brought” The low and smooth voice of an older teenage girl said, staring slightly downward at Salvatore with a level of such blank indifference that he would have wondered if the girl hadn’t seen him had she not outright greeted him upon opening the door.

With piercing red eyes, dark skin and long, black curls tied up neatly and carefully into two thick buns on either side of the top of her head, and dressed in a pretty, but still practical dress, the older teen looked every bit as much the role of a dignified estate’s head servant as she acted, right down to the pencil straight stiffness of her body. Despite how uncomfortable the stiff position looked to Salvatore, the subtly bold way she carried herself did give the older teen an air of confidence and reliability, however what it didn’t do was answer the multitude of questions flying around in Salvatore’s head about who she was, and more importantly, where she came from.

And then it hit him.

“Y-you’re… Alcina’s g-gift… aren’t y-you?” Salvatore asks aloud, though seemingly more to himself than the girl standing in front of him. Said girl furrows her brows in confusion for a moment before huffing in, what appeared to be, mild offense. Though what on earth Salvatore could have done to offend the young teen, he had absolutely no idea.

“I have no idea what you mean when talking about these so called “gifts”, however I think it's important for you to know that I am a very busy woman with a great many things to do, so if this is all some kind of sick game you’re playing to waste my time then I’m going to have to politely ask that you take your rotten whale behind and go throw yourself into the nearest body of-”

“Anastasia?” a low, feminine voice booms from somewhere behind the older teen standing before him. The girl immediately stiffens, her skin around her nose and cheeks darkening even further, her eyes growing wide and her breath catching in her throat as she turns around. Immediately abandoning Salvatore at the still open front door, the young servant clumsily made her way further into the room before disappearing out of the narrow view the hooded man had been given of the castle through the crack in the door.

Taking a step forward and opening the door enough to slip inside, making sure to close it securely behind him, Salvatore lingered along the walls of the room, merely observing the events before him unfold as the young girl, Anastasia, quickly moved to stand in the center of the circular design on the floor of the entrance hall. Waiting for her on the landing at the top of the stairs was none other than the lady of the house herself, Alcina Dimitrescu, standing as tall, proud, and intimidating as Salvatore last remembers, though it would appear that the disfigured man’s fear of the much larger woman was not shared amongst everyone in the room.

“Y-yes Lady Dimitrescu! Is there something I can do for you this evening, my Lady?” Anastasia asks, hands clasped together in front of her and eyes blown wide at the gargantuan woman leering from above, like a lovesick puppy dog waiting for a command from its beloved owner. Eager to perform. Eager to please.

“Why yes, my sweet, I was just wondering what on earth all that racket was and if it could wait until morning to be finished? The girls and I have had quite the taxing day and I do so wish to retire to the sound of peace and quiet” Alcina coos warmly, causing Salvatore to pause in confusion.

“Oh goodness, I apologize, mistress. It’s just that there was a visitor at the door and despite my repeated attempts to convince him to come back when you were rested, he insisted upon making a nuisance of himself. Please forgive me if my attempts to preserve your restful evening were for naught” the girl said sadly, bowing deeply in apology as she continued to speak.

Alcina practically purrs in delight at the teen’s polite, but genuine behavior. “Fear not, my dear, I had only just taken off my earrings when I heard the commotion. I came out here merely to see if things were getting out of control, but it would appear as though you’ve handled things perfectly.”

The girlish blush on Anastasia’s face only darkens in color as the young teen casts her adoring gaze to the floor, joyous glee from having been praised by her mistress evident all over the younger girl’s body.

Not wanting to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary, especially if this is what he’d have to witness the whole time, Salvatore gathers all of his strength and uses it to clear his throat and take a step forward, revealing himself to both women as he gingerly comes out into the light.

“YOU!” Anastasia yells, immediately turning on her heel and making a beeline toward the increasingly anxious Salvatore. “So not only have you made enough of a nuisance of yourself to disturb the lovely Lady Dimitrescu just as she’s about to retire and rest from a very long and taxing day, but now you’ve decided that you’re so above everyone else that you can just waltz right into someone else’s home without even the slightest hint of respect or admiration for the incredible woman living in it, how dare you be so crash and selfish you overcooked blowfish, exit this castle immediately, or I’ll shove my boot so far up your rear end you’ll be fishing around for it for weeks you-”

“Anastasia, calm yourself, dear” the loud, but calming sound of Alcina’s voice said, causing the young teen to pause in her angry scolding of Salvatore.

“My Lady?” The young teen asks, dutifully awaiting orders.

“Let the wretched man inside, he’s the furthest thing from a threat to us, even if he is an annoying little manthing. Although, I’d be lying if I said a visit from you at this hour of night is something I’ve come to expect of you, dearest elder brother.”

The disfigured man swallowed thickly as he stepped past Anastasia to fully face his other younger sister, who looked all the more intimidating from her looming perch upon the upper story.

“I-I know this is s-sudden…” Salvatore begins, hoping he’d at least be able to explain himself before Alcina tossed him back outside on his ass.

“I’ll certainly say” Anastasia bursts in angrily, but she’s quickly silenced and sent away to tend to her other duties by Alcina, who motions for Salvatore to ascend the large set of stairs leading up to the rest of the castle and join her on the landing for a moment.

“Spunky little thing, isn’t she?” Alcina says when Salvatore finally makes it to the top of the stairs, panting slightly as he follows the much taller mutant’s gaze to the door that Anastasia had just exited the room from.

“Th-that’s certainly… one way… o-of putting it” Salvatore stutters, not wanting to offend Alcina by calling her servant rude, but clearly not seeing what’s so great about someone who just yells at you a lot the second you walk through the door.

“Yes! She apparently received a strain of cadou that was quite similar to mine, however her need to consume blood to maintain herself is far more similar to that of leeches. Rather than having to consume it regularly in smaller doses, like myself, she’ll only require one feeding every few weeks or so, which I thought was quite interesting. The only issues Mother Miranda brought up was the fact that her hunger, if it gets bad enough, can trigger both her transformation, as well as some sort of feral and animalistic meltdown that only ends once she’s finally had her fill. Apparently more than a few villagers were lost in the process of learning this information” Alcina comments casually, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Mother only brought her over earlier today, just before dinner, and yet she’s already managed to carve quite the little space for herself here. I hadn’t realized how dirty this place was without any girls left to take from the village until she went through and washed all the walls in the west wing spotless. It was like night and day, I could hardly believe how open and bright the halls looked” Alcina stated.

“W-wow… so th-then… d-do you think y-you’ll keep her a-around… long term?” Salvatore asks curiously, craning his neck so he could get a better look at his sister’s face.

“Perhaps. I’m certainly thinking about it. Not only is she an incredibly hard and fast worker, but she’s also got such a lovely spark of energy and excitement to her, and she’s always very polite and respectful, if a bit obvious in her “admiration” of those she looks up to… not that that’s a bad thing, necessarily. It’s quite sweet, actually!”

“S-she did look… q-quite taken… by y-you” Salvatore comments, having noticed the girl’s far-too-eager-to-be-innocent disposition when Alcina was in the room, vs. when it was just him. Not that it was a terribly surprising turn of events. Alcina, for all her monstrous height and sheer mutant bulk, was still a very beautiful, and very desirable woman at the end of the day, meanwhile Salvatore was only about 2 rolls of the genetic dice away from sharing a more recent common ancestor with the blobfish than he did humans.

“I know, isn’t she adorable? She came exactly like this, too. Mother Miranda has no idea if this is a result of the mutation process or if it's merely her former personality finally returning now that she’s awake and out of containment, but I suppose the logistics of things aren’t really important in the end. I'm so glad I chose her over the other two, I don’t know what I would have done had such a promising and delectable little morsel like her go to waste on the rest of you imbeciles” Alcina coos in amusement. “Regardless of what Mother Miranda said however, I was almost certain this whole “gift” situation was going to be nothing more than a pile of useless drivel that I’d be left to clean up all on my own once the novelty wore off, however after having Anastasia here for these past few hours, and seeing all that she’s willing and capable of doing, I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d been too hasty in my final decision.”

“Funny… K-Karl thought m-much the… th-the same thing i-initially… w-when I t-talked to him… th-the other day… th-though… knowing him… I doubt h-he’s having q-quite as much… of a ch-change of heart… as you a-are” Salvatore said suddenly, more than anything due to the incredible shock that was the concept of Alcina and Karl sharing a similar opinion, at the same time, while both occupying the same dimension of reality.

Alcina’s face immediately turns sour at the mention of Karl. “Oh, did he now? That’s an unfortunate thing to learn,” she says in annoyance, clearly displeased by the notion of agreeing with Karl on anything.

“Y-yes… he… he th-thinks that maybe… M-Mother might b-be using the g-gifts… to d-distract us w-while she’s g-gone away… o-on her mission… b-but that maybe… sh-she also wants… s-something else out of a-all this… something… th-that she isn’t t-telling us… f-for some reason” Salvatore explains, unsure if he should be revealing all this information to Alcina, notorious and open critic of Karl and quite literally everything the younger man has ever done and said, is doing and saying, and will do and say sometime in the span of his chaotic lifespan.

Contrary to what Salvatore assumed, however, instead of looking bored and uninterested in what Karl thought about this whole situation, Alcina looked just the slightest bit… intrigued, if still clearly wary. “Really? And what, pray tell, does our dear sweet little brother Heisenberg believe will come of this whole situation then? Did he say?”

“H-he… he never m-mentioned anything s-specific… but he th-thinks that the g-gifts… might p-play a l-larger role… in all th-this… than M-Mother has been l-leading us to believe.”

“I see,” Alcina says, remaining silent for a moment as she thinks, looking almost concerned by what she’s heard. “And what do you think of this whole mess, Salvatore?”

“U-um… well… I-I think it’s nice… th-that Mother trusts us e-enough… to g-give us her p-previous experiments… and u-use them however w-we want… b-but I’d be l-lying if I s-said… that I d-didn’t think Karl… was o-onto something… I-I don’t know w-what I believe to be t-true a-at the moment… but I d-do know… th-that I’d like t-to give… g-give a gift of m-my own… to Nadine… and that… and that y-you might be… s-someone else who c-could help me… w-with that” the hooded man explains nervously, hoping that Alcina was in a good enough mood to feel like humoring him and his sudden request.

“Nadine?” The tall, pale woman asks in confusion, before suddenly nodding in understanding. “Ah, your gift…”

Salvatore nods. “D-Donna… is f-fashioning a n-new dress… for her… a-and even gave me… this b-beautiful nightgown… to hold h-her over until… until the real one is c-complete. I th-think she w-will… e-enjoy the nightgown b-but… but I’d like to… l-like to get her something else t-too… like a… like a necklace… a-a gold one… o-one that w-would… c-complement her skin tone… j-just right.”

Alcina briefly stares at Salvatore with a blank expression, momentarily making the hooded man worry that he’d overstepped his boundaries and said something to offend the much larger woman. His nerves are thankfully calmed when Alcina turns and orders Salvatore to follow after her, which the disfigured man happily does if it means what he thinks it means.

The two siblings arrive at Alcina’s personal chambers just as Anastasia is exiting them, her arms filled by a large basket of blood soaked towels and clothes, some collected from Alcina’s room, the others likely from either Bela, Cassandra, or Daniela’s rooms.

“Good evening, Lady Dimitrescu! Are you finally retiring for the evening?” Anastasia asks, bowing cheerfully as she finally notices her mistress approaching her. “I’ve already gone ahead and prepared your bed for you, as well as collected all the soiled laundry from today’s harvest. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“Thank you, my dear, but not quite, I have one more matter to attend to before I fully turn in. Since you were so kind to offer however, I would greatly appreciate it if, once Lord Moreau and I are finished with our affairs, you would be so kind as to escort him to the front door and bid him a good night, for me. You are free to retire to your own chambers for the evening once he’s left” Alcina orders softly, which the young girl obediently nods her head to.

“Of course, mistress, thank you very much! And I’d be happy to see Lord Moreau out for you, so please don’t hesitate to call me once you’re finished with your meeting” Anastasia says, bowing lowly to both Alcina and Salvatore before wordlessly skittering off to do… whatever it was she planned on doing to those dirty garments.

“Now, about that gift you were talking about” Alcina says upon entering her personal bedroom, immediately striding over to her vanity and beginning to sift through several boxes worth of jewelry, “you said you wanted gold, correct? And a necklace specifically?”

“Y-yes! I-if you have anything y-you’re willing to… g-give away… of course… I’d feel t-terrible taking something i-if it meant a g-great deal to you” Salvatore answers, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he waits for Alcina to return to him with whatever she finds.

Of all 3 of his siblings, Alcina was the one Salvatore was easily the least close to, despite having been the only two around for a considerable amount of time before the eventual arrivals of both Donna and then Karl. It wasn’t that Salvatore was displeased when Mother Miranda first informed him that he’d be getting a “sibling” all those years ago, but Alcina’s natural personality, coupled with her terrifying size and strength from the mutations, had made the very meek and timid Salvatore hesitant to reach out and form any kind of sibling bond with the younger woman, like he had with Karl.

Karl was a royal pain in the ass to deal with on even his best days, but at the end of it all, there’s still only so much a 6 year old can do to you, anger issues and mutant metal bending powers or not. Alcina was both a royal pain in the ass to deal with more often than not, but also a fully grown adult when she first joined the family, so needless to say the 2 oldest siblings hadn’t been given very many appropriately opportune moments to bond or get along.

That being said however, the simple but elegant golden locket that Alcina procures from one of her many boxes of jewelry has Salvatore wondering if maybe he had misjudged Alcina, having never expected her to show him something as luxurious and real-looking as this, especially when the understanding was that she’d be giving it away whatever item of jewelry Salvatore took a liking to.

“This is an old locket I received for my 3rd birthday from a relative who died long before I was old enough to care about who they were, though all those diamond star details on the front do make me think they could have been close with us at one point, or perhaps they just had that much money to throw around? It’s an old and well-loved piece of my collection, but Duke has been bringing back such wonderful treasures from his travels that I just have to start getting rid of some of these old sentimental trinkets so I can make room for all the new additions I plan on purchasing once he finally returns” Alcina explains, gingerly handing the necklace over to Salvatore, who could do nothing but gawk at how extravagant and, to be perfectly honest, expensive the necklace looked.

With 4 small diamonds, likely real knowing Alcina, embedded into the surface of the locket’s front cover, surrounded by small engravings that give the glimmering stones the appearance of stars in the night sky, the necklace looked like it belonged upon the neck of a fair and noble princess, into which the radiant beauty could then place the photo of the man who’d stollen her innocent heart. Nadine wasn’t actually a princess and Salvatore all but gagged at the idea of a picture of his face, mutated or not, being put somewhere for anyone to see, however the necklace was far too perfect for the hooded man to possibly turn it down.

“So what do you think? Will something like this do?” The taller woman asks, curiously. “I could continue looking if that isn’t quite what you’re after, however if that is the case, then I would like to politely request that you come back and look at them tomorrow. It's already so late and I’d have to have the rest of my collection fetched from the vault downstairs.”

“N-no no… th-that’s alright… this i-is perfect… thank y-you… Alcina… this w-was very k-kind of you to do… f-for me” Salvatore says, carefully tucking the glittering necklace into the bag Donna had placed the nightgown in.

“Don’t fret about it too much, I only did it because I had a bit of time to spare prior to going to bed, and you happened to catch me in a good mood. That’s it” Alcina states firmly, though something in the back of Salvatore’s head can’t help but take the taller woman’s words with a grain of salt, feeling as though there was more to Alcina’s sudden generosity than just pure coincidence. “Besides, who knows what gaudy thing you’d have shown up with had you not made the surprisingly wise decision to invoke Donna’s and my vastly superior knowledge of the feminine experience. I don’t even want to think of what tacky little trinket you’d have tried to gift her. Why the thought of that alone is enough to make me want to run for the hills, how on earth do you think your poor little gift would have felt? I’d have had to murder you on the spot if I found out you tried to pass some disgusting pile of garbage off as an appropriate gift. In fact, if I didn’t know that Donna was working on a more fitting dress for her already, I’d have half a mind to skin you alive for only having a flimsy nightgown to take back with you, but I doubt any of the dresses I have, that would be appropriate to wear with that kind of necklace anyways, would come close to fitting her, and I really do want to start making room for some newer, more exciting pieces. So, with all that in mind, count your blessings that the stars have aligned in your favor tonight, dear brother, because I won’t be doing this for you again… unless, you’d be willing to do me a few favors in exchange for some of the other pieces of my collection, that is.”

Aaaaaaaaaaand there’s the Alcina that Salvatore knows and secretly likes. In vehement denial that she feels anything positive for her 3 siblings and also actively trying to get someone else to do her dirty work for her. It's certainly not how the hooded man prefers to operate, but he supposes that if Alcina can somehow convince everyone around her to do all of her work for her, why wouldn’t she take advantage of that as much as possible?

“I-I think that’s e-enough… for t-tonight actually… maybe i-if I decide I’d l-like to get her s-something else… I’ll c-consider that offer y-you brought up” Salvatore says, bowing politely to his sister as he makes his desire to leave obvious.

Thankfully, Alcina seems more than happy to send her older brother on his way, calling Anastasia to come lead Salvatore back to the front door so he could finally begin making his way home.

“Th-thank you again… Alcina… I really a-appreciate this… an-and I'm sure Nadine w-will love the gift t-too” Salvatore says just as he’s about to bid Alcina goodnight and begin following the young servant girl.

“Yes, yes, you’re very grateful of my wondrous kindness to you, I know, you’ve made that fact more than clear already, brother” the taller woman says with an only mildly annoyed roll of her eyes as she stands just outside the door to her chambers. “Just make sure you don’t waste the opportunity my graciousness has afforded you, do you understand?”

Salvatore stiffens nervously as Alcina shoots him a pointed look that screams ‘don’t fuck this up or I’ll fuck you up’, a threat which the hooded man knows she’ll make good on, should Salvatore make it necessary for her to do so. Salvatore wasn’t sure how Alcina had picked up on the nature of his budding affections for Nadine so quickly, or how she seemed to instinctively know what he was planning despite having never asked directly, but clearly she’d noticed something and was now in the process of making the matter of whether Salvatore successfully courted his gift her business.

Heavens above have mercy upon whomever is unlucky enough to have their problematic situation noticed and meddled with by Alcina Dimitrescu.

“Y-yes… I u-understand… an-and I’ll be s-sure not to w-waste... waste the g-golden opportunity you’ve g-given me… OH! An-and Donna w-wants her mannequins b-back... too… sh-she wanted m-me to tell y-you” Salvatore replies, his anxiety only mildly calmed when Alcina makes a face at the mention of Donna’s yet-to-be-returned-still mannequins.

“Oh for goodness sakes, I always forgot about those stupid things. Anastasia?”

“Yes, Mistress?” The young servant dutifully answers.

“Please make a note to remind me to have Heisenberg come by so he can collect and return the manequins Donna leant me while I was commissioning some dresses from her earlier this month. That foul-mouthed mutt owes me a favor, and so if all goes the way I’d like I’ll be making this his problem in the morning” Alcina says devilishly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course, Lady Dimitrescu, I’ll be sure to remind you of that first thing tomorrow morning” Anastasia replies warmly, though her amicable grin is quickly replaced by a flush and a girlish giggle when Alcina waves and turns on her heel, swaying her hips in an obvious fashion before bending down to enter through the door of her chambers.

Salvatore passed exceptionally confused glances back and forth between his sister and the young servant standing in front of him, totally clueless as to what just unfolded a moment ago as a feeling of disgust, the kind you get when you see something you wish you hadn’t, began to curl in the pit of his stomach. Whatever it was that was going on in the Dimitrescu house, and more importantly with their new servant girl, it was clearly none of Salvatore’s business. Not that he’d wanted it to be in the first place.

Salvatore had enough problems to deal with regarding his own gift, he didn’t have time to worry about whether or not Alcina was already making moves on hers.

“Have a safe journey home, and do make sure to stop by with Nadine if things turn out well between the two of you. Based on how today played out, it would seem as though things are about to get a lot more interesting around here… and a lot more fun too. Goodnight, Dear Brother” is all Alcina says before gently closing the door to her chambers, effectively ending their conversation without so much as a single word from Salvatore, not that he minded being handed the chance to finally get out of here, especially after… whatever the hell that exchange between Alcina and Anastasia was.

Best not to think too hard about it, probably, especially when there was another woman back at the reservoir who was much more deserving of Salvatore’s lustful and impure musings.

“Uuum… the front door is this way… Lord Moreau,” Anastasia says suddenly, her face still dark from embarrassment, though whether it was from her earlier treatment of him before she learned he was another Lord and not just some random man from the village, or from… that thing he just saw that he doesn’t feel like thinking about anymore, the hooded man couldn’t tell.

Nor did he particularly care to find out.

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wolfstar-in-color · 4 years ago

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July Creator Spotlight: Desicosplay

Hello, lovely people, and welcome to our second creator spotlight!

Each month, we will highlight a different creator in our lovely fandom who features diverse characterizations of Sirius and/or Remus. We will invite you to get to know them better through questions and answers, Fandom Discourse(tm), and a featured prompt created by our guest.

For our second spotlight, we are absolutely honoured to having the presence of @desicosplay, an incredible cosplayer and writer that if you don’t follow, you should do right away. They’ve gifted us with many, many amazing gifsets, a lot of them about Sirius. Below you’ll see a little snippet of the interview and Mastani’s prompt. Under the cut you’ll be able to read the full interview. Don’t forget to share and interact with this post, and if you have anyone you’d like to recommend for a spotlight, shoot us an ask!

“Diversity means celebration. So in fan spaces, that means actively seeking out creators that you might otherwise miss. It means trying out new perspectives, or listening to new perspectives on your favorite characters. It means standing with your peers, being loud in your love and support of them. I’m not saying you have to reblog or comment on everything. Diversity is not just visual, it’s also mental. Diversity needs to be intentional and active, even if that takes place just in your head.”

Mastani’s prompt: Muggle AU! Sirius and Remus at Harry’s sporting event!

Hi! I’m Mastani, she/they/he pronouns, I’m a 1.5/2nd Generation Indian-American, and I cosplay and write fanfiction!

Q: How did you start creating in the fandom? What did you wish to bring into the fandom?

A: Almost five years ago, Laina @ohtheclevernessofme1972 convinced me to join the HPRP community. She and everyone else were so supportive of my desire to bring my culture and background to the Harry Potter characters. Eventually, I also started writing fanfiction again!

Q: What things about s/r as characters or in their relationship inspire you to create around them?

A: I think that they are very complex characters that really demonstrate how external factors affect your life, whether you like it or not. Their relationship, whether platonic, romantic, or anything in-between or outside, is also so fascinating in its potential to evolve. Wolfstar is constantly changing, and all its interpretations are totally feasible to imagine.

Q: What things would you like to highlight about the Wolfstar fandom and your experience in it?

A: My main dips into the fandom are when I cosplay Sirius, and every time, I feel so much love. The fandom is so open to any interpretations of Sirius, and it does wonders to make someone feel accepted.

Q: What type of content do you wish you saw more in the fandom?

A: This is entirely self-indulgent, but Godfather/Uncle!Sirius just make me feel so warm inside. There’s a love inside Sirius that only gets touched upon inside the books. AUs where he gets to interact with Harry as a child or teen outside the pressure of a war are just so calming and warming.

Q: What is your favourite wolfstar fancontent (fic/fanart/gifset/etc) and how does it inspire you?

A: Y’all, I have so many Wolfstar fics saved that are just stunning and several that are comfort fics. I think the biggest takeaway from all of them is the comfort the boys find in each other. All of them are AUs, and I’m inspired to depict my Wolfstar as something kind, gentle, and communicative.

Q: Which of your own identities inform your creative processes? How has that process been for you?

A: All of them! But more specifically, my racial background informs most of my process. My process is… Sporadic, to say the least. However, when I do get struck with an idea, I have to create it almost instantly. One example, Wolfstar-related, is that my Sirius cosplay has long hair, half-up in a bun. I feel like desi!Sirius would celebrate his heritage by growing his hair long, which also is a nice, “screw you,” to societal and familial constraints.

Q: What advice do you have for other content creators with diverse backgrounds in the fandom? What would you say to people that might feel they don’t have the “right” history/experience/characteristics to participate in the creation of content related to Wolfstar?

A: think the best advice for participation I have comes from the iconic Jay @siriussly-serious, Rest in Power. “Go. Get in. Dive in. Fucking head first. Fuck that, cannonball your butt right in there and make a damn splash…” There is no, “right,” history/experience/background. These characters are fictional, but they can reflect our world. Our world is not homogenous. So why should fictional worlds and characters be that way? These stories are ours, and we shape them to be whatever we want them to be. If you want to create, that’s all the prerequisite you need.

Q: How could we build a more diverse fandom?

A: This blog is a great example of how to build a diverse fandom. Celebrating creators with diverse backgrounds and being loudly supportive of them makes us want to stay. Finding communities that celebrate, not just accept, can make a world of difference. So, raise your voice and love on your favorite creators.

Q: What’s your favourite thing to modify in Sirius’s or Remus’s characterizations to bring new perspectives to them?

A: I’m a huge communicator, so improving character communication is something I love to do. I like to create fluff, and this change lets me focus on the gentler parts of Sirius and Remus, or the parts that need some love, e.g. mental health. It also lets me flesh out their senses of humor more, like their dislike of cats (in my headcanons).

Q: What does diversity mean to you? What does that encompass in fanish spaces?

A: Diversity means celebration. So in fan spaces, that means actively seeking out creators that you might otherwise miss. It means trying out new perspectives, or listening to new perspectives on your favorite characters. It means standing with your peers, being loud in your love and support of them. I’m not saying you have to reblog or comment on everything. Diversity is not just visual, it’s also mental. Diversity needs to be intentional and active, even if that takes place just in your head.

Q: What are your ideas about the notions of culture and ethnicity? How do you relate to those notions?

A: I find culture and ethnicity to overlap in many ways, as they both pertain to group characteristics. I’m not an anthropologist, so I don’t know the detailed differences between the two. However, in my quick searches, it feels, to me, that culture is a bit broader and ethnicity is more geographic. So, I’m culturally Indian-American and ethnically Gujarati Indian (Gujarat is the state in India). I find these notions to be helpful when defining and describing my experiences. For example, among desis (and other brown folks), saying I’m generation 1.5/2 tells them that I straddle American/Western and Indian culture. If I tell another Indian that I’m Gujarati, they instantly know the kind of foods I grew up with and the language my parents speak. It’s a streamlined way of explaining my experiences, and as a science brained person, it makes life easier for me.

Q: Is there a page/organization/institution you would recommend for fans to search/read when it comes to learning about diversity?

A: With the tool that is social media, there are so many activists and creators that are willing and able to teach about diversity. On my page, I keep a page titled, “Resources for Justice.” This page has a wide variety of social justice resources on it. Google is great, but you also want to cross-check your sources. However, I feel like the best way to learn is to ask questions. Do so respectfully and ensure the person you’re asking has the energy/time/compensation to answer. Especially if you’ve done some research ahead of time, I find that many folks are willing to have a discussion - but again, check with the person first. Trust is paramount in these conversations.

Q: Is there a project/organization that you want to hype?

A: Oh, I could name so many. However, the ones I want to shout out here are Chrysalis - Gender Identity Matters and Raze Collective. As many of you know, Jay @siriussly-serious passed away recently, and in his name, we’re promoting/donating to these charities. Chrysalis - GIM offers online and in-person mental health support for trans and nonbinary people in his area and Raze Collective supports LGBTQIA+ performers. Ami @ami-acts and a few others (I apologize for not remembering exactly who - I’ll message the mods if I remember/please add on if you know) organized this. Links are below.

Donate to Chrysalis - GIM here.

Donate to Raze Collective here.

Q: Leave us with a quote or work of art that always inspires you

A: Is it too cheesy to say all of our fandom? To be totally honest, that’s who/what inspires me most of all. It’s a work of art, all the people in it make our fandom a work of art!

#creator spotlight #desicosplay #cosplayer #writer #hp fandom #HPRP

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