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ethereal-night-fairy · 6 months ago

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Silver Tongues, like Bullets

Chapter 4

Werewolf!141 x Female Reader

Safe to say you aren't adjusting well to being kidnapped. With your anger at a all time high, names are being called and things are being thrown. Patience is running thin with the men, what lengths would they go to to set you straight?

Warnings: MDNI, violation of privacy, gay sex, cock stroking, masturbation, unconsentual nude viewing, dark themes, manipulation, forced proximity, reader comes from a religious household, childhood trauma, abusive parents, talks of self harm, description of self harm, violent behaviour from you, shouting, crying, name calling, mental breakdown, non-con touching, threats of punishment, You get spanked once in this chapter, sorry if I missed any.

Silver Tongues Like Bullets Masterlist

Words: 7k

-28/11/2023

There were vile people in the world. Simon knew that. His pack knew that. You probably knew that. It was an obvious fact many people tended to ignore for their own convenience.

He witnessed that violence first hand as a boy and then again as a soldier. There were people in this world who'd exploit anyone for their own selfish gain. God awful people who'd do it to their own children. People who didn't deserve to have children in the first place. People like your parents.

He's heard you mumbling in your sleep at the cabin and a couple times here when you managed to fall asleep. It was often the same sentences repeated over and over again. ‘Need to get them out’ ‘are they safe?’ ‘my poor babies’. Your ‘babies’ here probably refer to your siblings if Ghost isn't mistaken. He couldn't find any evidence of you having children of your own. But seeing as it was you managing the majority of the childcare at home spoke volumes as to how you're treated by your parents. You had a lot of responsibilities starting from grocery shopping and food management down to school meetings and pickups. God knows what your parents did while you did their job for them. Unfortunately for Ghost he did know.

Ghost didn't consider himself a good person not by a long shot but looking at the information he pulled on your parents had his sanity slipping. He'd have strangled them both if he was given the chance.

But a digital trail of incriminating evidence would have to do. The worst punishment for a narcissist is exposing their lies and damaging their reputation. Digital trails can be quite damning if put in the wrong hands. Good thing they found their way to him. This would scratch his inch for blood. All he had to do was press send and their lives would come crumbling down. And that's exactly what he did. This would definitely help move the investigation about you along. The town already thought you committed suicide because of your parents. This story was a scandal within itself. Especially since your parents were aid workers employed by the church.

He did feel bad about your younger siblings though. Poor souls were sent to live with a relative for the time being. God knows what they're feeling right now being put in this difficult situation.

Your aunt seemed like a decent woman though, strangely enough you resemble her more than you do your mother and father. Gaz using his connections in the police force made sure she was someone that would keep the kids safe. She'd treat your brothers and sister better than your parents ever did. At least something good came out of this whole incident.

Ghost glances at his watch, it was late. He should be in bed with the rest of his pack and the newest addition to this family of his. It was a shame Gaz and Soap had already called dibs on the floor beside you. Not that you wanted them there.

You're much feistier than any of them anticipated. They couldn't really tell at the cabin because of how often they had to drug you. But Ghost quite enjoyed teasing you. Especially when you bit back at his remarks. It stirred a playful attitude in him that he hadn't experienced in a while. Not to say Johnny and Gaz weren't playful, but it was a boyish kind of playfulness with them.

This was different. He knew you were harmless which made it all the more fun when you tried fighting. It was a losing battle from the start yet you continued your struggle. It was endearing in the sort of way when a bunny runs amuck. He’ll enjoy making you all sweet and pliant in his hands. But that was a problem for another day. For now he'd enjoy the little moments he has with you. If you'd let him that is.

-30/11/2023

The situation was escalating. You absolutely wouldn't let anyone near you. Even when they were very sweet and understanding towards your drastic changes in moods. This wasn't what they had envisioned when they took you. That was weighing hard on the boys, especially when you wouldn't eat or drink. They were growing concerned about your wellbeing. Today was no different. Each meal time they tried making something you'd enjoy based on the pictures you posted on your Instagram. But you were adamant with your choice to ignore them.

Food was running low and they needed to go shopping before they left for their deployment. While they were at it they also wanted to buy you winter clothes and essentials for your room. You were probably sick of wearing their sweatpants and t-shirts anyways. They hoped this would warm you up to them even if it was only a little bit. It was decided Gaz and Soap would keep an eye on you until Price and Ghost got back.

Price gave strict instructions to Gaz and Soap before leaving. They were told to keep you calm above anything else and no funny business, that comment was aimed at Soap specifically. Ghost and Price didn't want to leave when you were so unstable but things needed to get done.

It wasn't too hard finding what you needed considering they got their hands on your online purchase history. Excluding all the stuff you regularly bought for your siblings you didn't have much in terms of essential items that you used daily. It was all cheap stuff so the two men decided it would be nice to get you better quality clothing, skincare, shampoo and anything else they thought you'd like. Price had to text Gaz for that though. Gaz knew best out of all of them of what products to buy especially for hair.

The most indulgent thing you bought for yourself was your camera. And even that was bought secondhand. They felt guilty that it was partially their fault that it got ruined in the lake. But they swore to make it up to you. For now they focused on making your living space more comfortable. Maybe that would get you to eat. With all the groceries packed and a pretty bouquet of flowers in Ghost's hand they decided to go home to make a nice dinner for you.

Unfortunately for them in the short time they were gone, Soap had managed to upset you again. Upset you quite badly at that too. When they had gotten back with their hands full of blankets, bedsheets and clothing they were greeted with a messy living room with things thrown everywhere.

And to make it worse you were crying huddled in a corner. They didn't even have time to get the groceries in before Price let out an audible sigh. They were barely gone for two hours this time. What could possibly have happened in such a short amount of time to make you cry like that? Gaz was trying to soothe you but you cried harder when he tried coming closer.

Soap was looking both upset and guilty sitting on the sofa quite a distance away from you. He was covered in new scratch marks, which in itself gave enough of an indication as to what might have happened. That man really couldn't keep his hands to himself even if he tried. But Price couldn't really blame him. Physical touch was his love language. It's the way he showed his affection for everyone. Which could often be mistaken for him being horny. When in reality he just liked the closeness physical touch brought. Though Soap is horny a lot of the time too.

He wanted to fuck Ghost the first week of meeting him and meeting Gaz wasn't much different. He's an insatiable wolf. They all knew that before forming this pack. But you were fairly new to all this so it wasn't fair for him to pounce on you so quickly. You needed time to adjust to the situation. He'll have to have a talk with Soap tonight after dinner.

“What happened?” Price hands over his bags to Simon.

“I was just trying to relax with her,” Soap muttered. Simon, taking the hint, takes a grumbling Soap with him after he's done sulking. They both leave to go get the groceries out and start on dinner.

“Soap wanted to take a bath with her,” Price approached carefully while listening to Gaz explain the situation.

“Want some privacy luv?” you sniffled to yourself as you looked at them extremely annoyed but nodded your head eventually. Seems like you were still holding a grudge. But you'll come around he knows it. Maybe they should let you get your anger out of your system so they can move past this.

“You can take a bath alone luv, just leave the door unlocked ok? We got you new pajamas, cute ones with strawberries on them.” You stare at them for a while before a soft ‘thank you’ leaves your mouth when Price hands you a bag with all your bathroom necessities.

The rest of the day was spent with you sitting in a corner mumbling to yourself and refusing to eat for yet another day even after they gave you the flowers and made you your favourite dinner. Though your lack of appetite was concerning. He knew you snuck sealed packaged food at night. You just wouldn't eat anything cooked by them. He supposes that it's their fault for drugging you. They'll have to build the trust back up slowly.

Price was growing concerned about when they'll have to leave you alone in the house. He was growing afraid you'd do something to hurt yourself. They were due to leave the coming Monday. But it wasn't like he could push back the deployment any further. They had finally got information on the shadow company and Graves. They weren't going to let that rat slip away again.

But they also had a responsibility to keep you safe. Maybe it would be better to take you with them for the time being. You could stay on base while they figure things out. It would also give you a chance to bond with them. Not that you showed any interest to do so.

Price wishes you'd take more of an interest in them. You just accepted their confession on being werewolves, not a single question was asked in that regard. There aren't many people they would share that information with so they were expecting more of a reaction from you. But they didn't get much of one. Apart from you promising to keep their secret if they let you go.

But then again Simon found your old Whittpad? Wattpad? (Was that how you say it?) history. Apparently it was some app to read stories on and you read your fair share of supernatural romances from what Simon had told him. He did reprimand Simon for digging into personal information about you. Price knows you wouldn't be happy if you knew they knew of your reading habits. Not that they'd judge you for it. Everyone has needs. If that was your preferred method of meeting them, it was none of their business. He did wonder if you learned any silly myths about them through those novels.

Overall the day wasn't the worst they experienced with you. You were clean, dressed nicely and got to use some of the stuff they bought you. Things only escalated when Soap tried apologising to you before bed but you didn't want to let him near you. Some not so nice things were said on your part. And you did end up throwing a few cushions at him to get him to leave.

But at least you looked refreshed dressed in your new pajamas and he knew you'd probably try to find something to eat when they'd ‘fall’ asleep. They'd have to enjoy the small victories for now. This was going to be a difficult journey but Price was a patient man. He knows you'll come around eventually. They just needed to give you time to adjust.

-nearing midnight

The laptop screen finally loaded up. It wasn't for the reason Ghost usually used it for. He needed to see those images of you again. You were strung up today especially after that incident with Soap in the afternoon. More things were thrown and some mean things were said. So Price thought it'd be best to let you sleep alone in the living room since all the doors were securely locked anyway, you weren't going to escape even if you tried.

But Ghost thought Price was being too lax with your increasingly violent behavior. They should nip this in the bud before you seriously injure yourself or someone else. But for now he'll follow the orders he's given. Which means no excessive snooping or going near you for any reason other than necessity.

Despite the violent outburst they were all looking forward to showing you your room tomorrow, just the bars on your window needed to be installed. You'd also get your own ensuite which would give you the added privacy you probably needed. Soap was getting a little impatient but so was he. He just wanted you curled up in arms already but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

There was something bothering Ghost though. His suspicion started at the cabin when he had to undress you. Obviously there was so much going on that it was hard to focus solely on his suspicions but he was sure of what he saw. Your calves were littered with faded scars, he's sure the boys must have got at least a small glimpse of them already. No one has brought it up though. They could very much be old self harm scars. It was a very common occurrence with children in abusive households. He has plenty of his own. Thank god yours looked a couple years old. There weren't any new marks on you apart from a couple bruises you sustained in the forest.

As Ghost goes through your pictures again he realises why you wear stockings in all your pictures. You're never smiling either. There's not a single picture of you smiling. Not on your SD card or on your Instagram. He doesn't think he's seen you smile properly at the cabin either but that was a difficult situation and you were also sick. So that was understandable. He does want to make your life easier here, he wants to make you smile, make you feel loved but you were making things much more difficult than they needed to be.

As he goes through the picture lands on his favourite one. It wasn't one of the exposed pictures of you. You were just holding some wild flowers close to your face. You aren't smiling in it per se but there is a serene expression on your face. You looked the happiest he's ever seen you. Though he's only known you a little over a week but he wanted to make you feel safe. He did have a lapse in judgment at the cabin. His lust and anger spoke for him then. But he wanted to be better for you. He wanted to do better by you. He checks the date of when the picture was taken. And goes to check its correlation to your calendar.

(20/11/23 - 9:00-10:00pm waiting for callback from the London agency)

It was the date you received your job offer in London. His heart felt a little heavy, he felt guilty they took that from you but he had ampled doubt that you'd be able to escape your parents hold even if you did move to London. They'd still expect you to send money back home even if it meant you had to live in extreme conditions to survive in London. That was no life, you deserved better than that. They'll figure out a way for you to keep doing photography. But you needed to learn to trust them first and be a little less violent.

Ghost's door opens just as he's about to close his laptop.

“Ah’ve had enough! Ah made her ah sandwich but she didn't even touch it. Just stared at meh angrily until ah left! How am ah supposed tae be swee-” Johnny stops mid rant, his eyes zeroing in on the image on the laptop. Johnny stares at the screen until the realisation hits him that the pictures were of you.

“Ye greedy bastard! Ye could have told us that ye had them! Ah wouldn't have wasted meh time trying to imagine her naked.” Johnny in a huff just deposits himself in Ghost's lap clearly annoyed at the man for keeping your images to himself. Without asking for permission he quickly finds the picture he's looking for. Ghost wasn't surprised the picture he landed on. Soap was a simple minded man most days. He supposes it's time he makes it up to him, for keeping the pictures to himself.

“It's nae fair if yer the only one having fun! I'm telling Price about this in the morning.” Soap huffs pushing down his grey sweatpants and fishing out his hardening cock.

“Let me make it up to you pup. But you shouldn't treat her so roughly, she isn't like us. She needs time to warm up. Be patient with her.” Ghost lets out an apologetic purr as he nuzzles his nose into Johnny's neck, making sure to leave wet kisses behind as his hands take over Soap's movements on his cock.

“Ah'm nae forgiving ye that easily” Soap throws his head back feeling Ghost fist his cock with more vigor while his eyes stay glued to images of your naked flesh. This is the least he could do for him.

The rest of the night it spent with Johnny on his back begging (quite loudly) for more. He was insatiable with his rut probably approaching. Which was dangerous in this situation. You certainly weren't ready to have sex with all of them. When one of them goes into a rut they all follow pretty quickly. Ghost doesn't falter in his movements as he plows into Soap's stretched hole. Waiting for his knot to catch on Soap's spasming muscles. He thought about covering his hand over Soaps mouth but he desperately wanted you to hear what you were missing out on, on what could be yours if you allowed them to take care of you.

If the spanking was anything to go by it seemed you liked a little rough treatment. But you were still inexperienced so they needed to go slow with you. Kinks and safe words could always be figured out later. It's not long after Ghost's keen ears pick up on the moans of Gaz followed by grunts from Price and the slapping of skin. Seemed like everyone was pent up today. You probably wouldn't get any sleep with the noise they were making.

-01/11/2023

It's been four days, four days of you trapped in this hell, four days of you escaping their wandering hands, four days for you refusing to drink or eat in their presence. Last night being the worst of it all. They had finally let you sleep by yourself in the living room. But the whole night was filled with the noise of slapping skin and lewd grunts and wanton moans.

You bet they did it on purpose too. Your face felt hot remembering how slick and uncomfortable your aching pussy felt the whole night, especially when you had no outlet to relieve yourself. With their stupidly keen sense of smell and heightened hearing they'd know for a fact if you had touched yourself to the sounds of them fucking. It felt like you were trapped in a nightmare with no way out. You just wanted to be rescued already. Please God someone must be looking for you…please anyone…you needed to get home…for them if not yourself…

Your head was pounding, on the verse of bursting from the lack of nutrition and sleep. Your nerves are vibrating with fear, keeping you on your toes. You knew a chase was coming. They had just finished whatever they were doing in that spare room of theirs. The insistent clatter of tools and nails had finally ceased but now you were faced with an entirely new dilemma. A dilemma that involved four men cornering you.

‘Come look at your room’ they said, as if you didn't know that was code for ‘get in your cage’. You weren't stupid despite having ended up in this horrible situation. You knew you wouldn't see the light of day if they managed to get you in there.

Your forever prison. If and only if they get you in there. You didn't plan on entering another type of hell just after trying to escape the last.

“Darling! Please listen! Ow! Sto- Darling!” armed with another padded cushion you don't stop to listen to their stupid excuses as you yet again hurl the non lethal object at the person closest to you. That being Gaz.

We aren't trying to hurt you!”, safe to say you don't listen again as you circle the sofa for the umpt time in the last two minutes.

“Don't come near me! I don't want to look at the room!”

You've been tightroping on a knife's edge for the last four days, making sure they don't get their hands on you for any reason! You weren't going to let all your hard work go to waste! If you were honest it felt so much longer than four days. Hours felt like days when you're trapped in a cage, even if it was a golden one. Time goes so slowly when you have nothing to but wait to be rescued. You watch them circle around you like prey while you try to find any sliver of an opening to escape.

“Look, we know this situation isn't ideal but we promise it isn't forever. You can decorate it however you like later,” Were they purposely acting obtuse? You watch Price put his hands up in surrender. Trying his best to look non threatening while Ghost moves to watch everything unfold from the comfort of the far wall. Stupid prick… You hated the bastard. He's the reason you had to endure such a humiliating punishment.

You don't trust their pretty words, you've already made that mistake once. Well more than once but you get the idea. You weren't going to fall for it again. That you promised yourself.

Price stays back while the younger two of the four men decide to close in on you. They look at you with apprehension and pity. A sentiment you didn't appreciate. You wouldn't even be in the situation if it weren't for them. This entire situation was of their own making. They had no right to be angry with you. Not one bit, but it wasn't like that would stop them from trying to ‘punish’ you. Thankfully they've been busy sorting things out to do anything even with you getting increasingly more violent.

Gaz gives Soap a look and you know what's about to happen, you can tell they were about to pounce. You feel your nerves fraying with anxiety so with your weight pressed against your heels you ready yourself to run. They try creeping closer but the second they decide to take a definitive step you bolt.

“Darling that's enough! You need to stop fighting us!”, Price shouts as you swerve at the last second narrowly escaping the two men when they crowd you. You make a break for the kitchen not listening to their shouts as you evade their calloused hands. Thankfully you manage to get to the other side of the breakfast counter before either Gaz or Soap could reach you. Out of reflex you grab the nearest makeshift weapon at your disposal. That being a very expensive looking vase with the flowers they gifted you yesterday. The very first you ever received and you couldn't even appreciate them because they were given to you by your kidnappers. They both stand on the other side looking less than impressed by your choice of weapon.

“Sweetheart we just want to show you your room, that's all,” you hiss and bare your teeth at Gaz earning you an aspirated sigh from him.

“Don't come near! I-I'll hit you!”, your voice breaks which in turn pisses you off more. Strength! Embody Strength! You shout at yourself internally to steel your nerves. You needed more conviction in your tone to inspire fear. Even if it was only a little bit.

It's a stalemate. They looked annoyed, but more exhausted than anything else. Of course they'd be tired. They were getting fucked the whole night while you suffered….

You know you were making things worse for yourself but you didn't want to be locked in that room. Your chances of escaping would plummet. You just needed to hold out a little longer, just a little longer. Someone must be searching for you. Your friends, your family, at least one person would have reported you missing by now. They must have…you needed to get home…

You watch them with laboured breaths, waiting for them to spring at you again. Waiting for an excuse to get violent and get your built up frustrations out. Price pinches his nose in annoyance before giving up and going to sit on the sofa with Ghost following closely behind. It's only Gaz and Soap cornering you now.

“We promise ye’ll like yer room hen, we even got ye ah fluffy blanket and some plushies. Please stop being difficult. We just want tae take care ye.”

“Fuck off, I don't care! You? y-you?” You have to think for a second for an insult that would hurt them, that would make them dislike you. Maybe then they'd let you go.

“ Y-you?… you Dogs!” You instantly regret the words leaving your mouth kinda grateful you didn't end up calling them mutts. Gaz flinches at your raised voice, or more so at the word ‘Dogs’. Guilt floods your heart the second you see their hurt expression, an apology spills out of your mouth before your anger could block out your guilt.

“I'm sorry that was rude of me…but don't come near.” You look at them wearily, you didn't mean to be derogatory towards their biology. Not that you understood it but you didn't need to be rude about it. Their eyes soften at your apology but you still see the flash of hurt cross their eyes.

“I just want to go home, I promise I won't tell anyone about your secret. Please…please won't you let me go? I have people I need to take care of.” You brandish the vase with shaky hands because they were still on the offensive so you keep your guard up.

“We took you for your own good love. You weren't being treated well at home. We'll give you a better life here. You just need to allow us to.” You’re filled with disappointment at Gaz's words. You feel the ever familiar sting of tears tightening your waterline but you stay strong. No, don't cry! Don't show weakness!

“Hah? A better life? A better life? You must fucking kidding if you think I'd believe that!” You scoff at his ridiculous suggestion. You watch Soap try to approach again only for you to step back vase still in hand.

With your tears pushed down your building anger was rearing its ugly head again. It was boiling your blood to the point where you wanted to scald everything surface near you, you wanted to make everyone feel your pain. After years of working hard to appease your parents, trying to get them to see reason, saving money to escape the cage they put you in. You found yourself in yet another cage. The worst part was you only had two weeks until you left. Just two weeks…

Yet you found yourself locked in again, bound to a fixed location at the mercy of four strangers. This time the bars enclosing your freedom were tinted gold, but they were bars nonetheless. You were slowly losing any form of identity you built for yourself. Any form of escape you manifested was crumbling to the ground, much like an like your sanity. Fear was settling in, you felt it in your bones. The rattling was unsettling, this whole situation was. Why you? Why did it have to be you?

And to top it all off they were supernatural beings. You're more shocked how easily you accepted that fact than you are about them actually being werewolves. You attribute that to all the werewolf wattpad stories you read as a teen…. You had so many questions you wanted answered but you didn't want to ask them just in case they take it as your acceptance to being theirs.

“We'll give ye such ah great life here. Ye’ll want for nothing. We'll buy ye whatever ye want, whatever clothes, whatever makeup, whatever food. We'll even buy ye ah new camera. Ye can take as many naughty pictures as ye like.” You freeze at his words, blood running colder than rivers in the arctic. Shock marred your features as you tried to understand what you were hearing. Gaz clocked it first that Soap had just made a huge mistake. And Soap looked at you with guilt the second he saw your distraught face. They fumble with their apologies but you can't seem to hear. Cold blood rushing to your ears blocks out any sound from reaching you.

They saw…They looked through your camera….they saw you naked. They violated your privacy….

Before you were willing to forgive them for what they did at the cabin, namely because you thought they were helping you when you were sick. But they just needed a convenient excuse to get you naked didn't they? Fucking Perverts!

Feeling anger was an understatement, you were feeling down right ravenous for blood, for destruction. How fucking dare they!

“I WANT TO GO HOME! NOW! RIGHT NOW! I DON'T LIKE YOU! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! LET ME GO YOU FUCKING PRICKS!” You scream your built up aggravation out at them. You flinch at your own anger. You've never had the guts to voice your anger out like this. The most you've ever done is slightly raise your voice which often ended up with you being backhanded by your dad. You've learnt to either stay silent or placate him with money. Money always seemed to work to calm him down. Money wasn't going to help you here.

It was different here. The one punishment they inflicted made you feel buzzed and tingling in all the sting places. And they haven't gotten maliciously violent with you yet. No matter how angry you'd get with them, they wouldn't threaten to harm you. Any aggression they faced at your hands was often met with patience and coos to soothe you as if you were a skittish bunny. That didn't excuse them of being perverts though. Especially Soap for that matter. That man had a problem keeping his hands to himself.

If the cooing didn't work they'd just let you tire yourself out. It often felt like you were talking to a brick wall when they'd get like this. If your screaming bothered them they didn't let it show, only looks of pity crossed either of their faces. Which only served to aggravate you even more. Gaz tries to take a step closer but you just take another set back continuing to let your frustrations out as tears prickle your already bloodshot eyes.

“DON'T COME NEAR ME! I'll hit you! D-don’t...*sob*..come near..*cries*,” a wave of fatigue washes over you while you raise the vase as a warning. Everything you knew was crumbling around you. You felt sick to your stomach despite not having eaten properly in days.

“Can ye pick ah different vase? Me nan gave meh that…”

You're stunned into silence for a second, your tears also drying up. You’re discombobulated at his words, your mind racing to understand what he just said. Guilt sits heavy on your chest as the words unjumble in your head. Your arms immediately lower as an apology leaves your mouth far too easily for your liking.

“Oh..*sniffle* I'm so sor- wait…why the fuck should I care!?"

Right!? Why should you care? You should be angry, you should be breaking things.

But despite you trying to school yourself on maintaining a front, your grip becomes shaky and you're forced to return the vase to its original place. You glare at the two men angrily having put the vase down despite wanting to smash. No matter how bad you wanted to hurt them, this just seemed excessively cruel.

“Thanks for putting down the vase hen. Come on now mah sweet girl, promise ye’ll love yer room.” You stare at him incredulously, more accurately at his audacity.

Tears blur your vision again as you curse your frustrations out at them for the hundredth time today.

“This is your fault! I'm like this because of you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you…” You close your eyes for a split second to clear the falling tears, unfortunately for you that's when both of them take the opportunity to block your escape from either side. You can't do much other than struggle with your limited energy. You haven't been eating out of spite for the last few days. And running around definitely didn't help your situation. Everyone was on edge and your tantrums weren't helping.

Soap wraps his bulky arms around you as gently as he could while whispering his insincere apologies to you. You shout at him not to touch you, to get his ‘filthy hands’ off you. All you were doing was wasting your breath though. Which just serves to aggravate you more. You're upset, you're angry and down right exhausted. You just wanted to go home. The cage at home was better than here. At least you were close to escaping that one.

Soap hoists you up in his arms carrying you towards the living room while Gaz trails behind looking upset and guilty. It seems everyone was at their wits end today. And the boys were due to be deployed this coming Monday, you heard them say as much. Why couldn't they just leave already. You didn't want to be near these perverts.

Once you come into Price's view he ushers Soap to deposit you in his lap while Ghost fiddles with the TV channels. The fight has left you now, you're just limp in Soap's arms while you silently cry out your muddled emotions. Soap gently deposits you on Price's lap and immediately your face is pushed to his neck where you cry harder.

“Our pretty Bunny, it's ok, just cry it out.” Nothing was ok, you weren't ok! You weren't safe from their touches.

“I know. I know. It's ok baby, let us take care of you.” You huff out in anger trying to escape his hold but you just don't have the energy to fight them anymore. So your face remains pushed to the crook of his neck while you're forced to inhale the smell of his aftershave. The worst part was that the scent was soothing your frayed nerves. You inhale the smell of the forest and something slightly fruity and sweet. Strawberry….When did he eat strawberries? You wanted some… You weren't going to tell him that though. Your stomach grumbling does that for you. Traitor…

“Everything we've done we've done for your betterment. I know you're hurt now but you'll understand eventually. Just let us love you darlin. Promise we'll take such good care of you.” You stay silent not knowing how to respond to their bullshit. You'll just have to figure out a way to escape once they leave.

“What is it luvvie? Why are you so pent up today? Do y’need some help making yourself cum? We can smell y’slick cunt since last night.” Ghost coos at you while trying to find a channel to watch on the TV. Your blood boils at his words, your anger that's been simmering erupted like a volcano.

“As if I'd let you monsters touch me! Delete my pictures you fucking perverts!” The simmering violence in you burst out unexpectedly as you grab the spare remote near you to hurl it at his head, hitting him pretty hard.

“Fuc- Ow!” Ghost clutches his covered head. You feel bad immediately after you realise what you've done. You don't even get a chance to apologise before Price is restraining your arms while everyone tuts at your actions. You watch as Gaz goes to check-in on Ghost, they remove his mask away from your sight. Probably checking for any serious injuries.

You hear Price sigh heavily beside you when everything seems fine with Ghost. So you're assuming he wasn't too badly hurt, probably just a little stunned you actually tried hurting him. Before you can try to escape and run you feel an iron grip on your arms halting you. It was just shy of bruising so when you tried to push away from him you weren't expecting him to growl so inhumanly at you, or with so much anger. He seemed pissed, very pissed. Maybe you should apologise but you were too scared to do anything other than try to escape.

“Ghost was right. We can't have you getting violent like this. I think it's about time we teach you a lesson luv. This behaviour has gone on too long.” His voice was deceptively calm, while you only heard grunts of approval from the other men. Your emotions were all over the place on one hand you felt bad for hitting Ghost on the other you wanted to escape by any means, even if that meant you hurting them. You still can't believe they’ve seen your pictures. The humiliation just doesn't stop, does it?

Price had you bent over his knee before you could realise what was happening. You're made aware of the power imbalance from the get go. There was no way you'd escape his hold. If you weren't going to be able to hurt them physically while you struggle, you think perhaps you could use your words instead. The first flurry of curses leaves your mouth as wrists are captured and pinned to the small of your back.

“I hate you! You stupid assholes! Perverts! You don't care about me! Let me go!” You repeat the same sentences over and over and over again. Until your own ears felt like they were bleeding.

“Don't make things harder for yourself sweetheart. I think we've been too soft on you if you're acting like this.” This whole time you felt Price's large hand caressing your back down to your ass cheeks. Giving the plush of your bottom a mean pinch before landing a hard slap over your pajama bottoms. You bite down a groan as the sting travels down to your already drenched cunt. No doubt they know you've been soaked since last night.

“What do you think Simon? How do you want to punish her?

Ghost comes into view, mask still on. Only his obsidian eyes were on display. They looked eerily devoid of emotions. You expected him to be more angry than he looked but then again looks are often deceiving. Soap moves out of his way as he crouches to be level with your face. His glove covered hands come up to wipe away the tears staining your face. He was surprisingly gentle when caressing you.

“That throw was personal wasn't it luv? I'll be nice and forgive you if you apologise.” You shake your head to the best of your ability only to be rewarded with a chuckle. You just glare at him seeing that he found the situation funny.

“How about this? You have a nice big dinner with us and you don't have to get a spanking. But you have to finish your food. Doesn't that sound nice?” You glare not wanting to give the satisfaction of doing what they say. Or getting potentially drugged again. Even though you were extremely hungry. Your stomach being the treacherous bitch she is decides this is the moment she wants attention on her and growls for everyone to hear. Gaz and Soap just watched you with sympathy and you hated that even more. You didn't need their pity. You didn't want their care or affection. You just wanted to go home.

“Oh you poor thing, you shouldn't be so cruel to yourself. Come on… all you have to do is have some dinner. It's either that or Price here spanks you so hard you'd be unable to walk without wincing in pain.” You hate that he was making a reasonable offer. It just pissed you off more that they got to pick and choose when they wanted to be cooperative with you.

“So what do you say? Y'want to be good for us?” You glare but don't answer straight away knowing you'd probably get yourself into more trouble. You weigh the options out. Your fear and anger waging a war in your head as you do so. In the end your anger wins. You weren't going to submit to their whims; it was the only thing you could control right now. And you needed the sense of control more than you needed food.

“Fuck you! I want my pictures deleted, you asshole!” That sentence sealed your faith for the night.

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sweatervest-obsessed · 11 months ago

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hello !! rn i'm in the mood for some angst with a happy ending so can i request something where reader's got really bad abandonment issues? 🥹 maybe they fight over something which makes r leave ++ spence is confused bc it's so sudden n unlike them but it's all bc theyre scared he'll leave first n then it's just lots n lots of reassurance🥹🥹 thank you!!

Obsessed.

Thank you for the ask!!

So I wrote you this gorgeous 1k fic. I was so fucking proud of it. And then my computer deleted the WHOLE THING (which is why I am so behind on responding to this lmao). But. I rewrote as much of it as possible, and then changed and added a few things. So now it's better than before.

I really enjoy this version ,and I hope you do too!! so please enjoy!!!!!

WC: 1.5k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

TW: Anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts, self-destructive tendencies, swearing, abandonment issues lmao

“What do you mean….”

You couldn’t look at him. How could you? I mean, leaving the love of your life because you know he could never love you back in the way you love him. He’d just leave anyways.

They all do.

You’re just trying to minimize the pain.

But why did it hurt so fucking much.

Which was why you kept your gaze anywhere but him.

“I-I-I—“ You kept your gaze on the ground. “I can’t do t-this anymore Spencer.”

“Can’t do what. Y/n you aren’t making any sense. What’s going on?”

You should you head. “It’s over. Spencer.”

"Y/n what are you..."

Looking at the ground, you began to fidget, something about his gaze on you was making he whole situation worse. Originally you were going to just send him a text and disappear for the rest of your life, but he came home early. He wasn't supposed to be home for another day.

"Spencer I-I." You flexed your hands, trying to find the right words. "It's done Spence. I can't.."

"You can't what?" His voice was a whisper. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, but you wouldn't dare look at him. If you looked at him, you would cave and stay and he would take your heart in his hands and crush it to dust.

But why did this hurt so much?

"What is going on Y/n. Talk to me."

You couldn't understand why he was being so caring. Why was he so fucking perfect. It felt like a sick joke that the universe gave you this perfect man, and then put the sinking feeling in your gut when it got too good. Like something was going to go wrong.

And you wanted to be ahead of it. Start the grieving process now before you got too deep.

It's too late for that anyways.

His voice was soft. He didn't move towards you. He didn't want to 'spook' you---he knew you so well.

You know him so well.

Clearly, whatever tactic you had tried to employ when he came home, wasn't working, so you decided to shift. You shifted to the anger resting in your gut. The hot and heavy coals that burned through your skin and made you seeth with anger.

"Y/n, please, look at me."

You couldn't. And he fucking knew that too. You stormed past him and towards the bedroom.

Spencer was speechless, completely unsure as to what was going on.

When he arrived home you had been shoving things into your suitcase, but then when you saw him you froze up and started to try and break up with him.

"Talk to me. What is going on?"

You ignored him and started to pull clothes out of their respective drawers and onto the bed you two shared. It was hectic, and aggressive. You were slamming things, stomping--anything to hide the slight tremor in your hands, and make you seem bigger than you were.

"Y/n!"

His voice made you jump but it didn't stop you. You took the pang of guilt in your stomach and tried to twist it into the anger you so desperately tried to justify.

Spencer slowly moved over to you and tried to take you hand.

"NO." You threw the small pile of clothes you had just taken from the closet on to the ground and pulled away quickly. "No Spencer god. Wh-what don't you fucking get. We're done. It's over."

Spencer rarely heard you raise your voice, let alone yell, and definitely never at him. But you weren't even looking at him.

You fucking hated it when he profiled you. It made your skin crawl when you felt his eyes roaming over you. "Look at me."

His voice wasn't hateful. It wasn't angry. It was soft, understanding.

God why did he have to make this so fucking hard.

"Y/n..."

"Spencer. Stop."

You felt the moment he realized what was happening in your brain., You weren't the easiest to read, but you weren't exactly a closed book either.

"Look at me."

You looked up and made eye contact with him, hoping that the last part of your will would hold strong, and get you through this.

Spencer's eyes were filled with worry and disbelief. You saw the swarm of emotions as he locked eyes with you. But behind all of the disbelief and concern and love and pain was fear. You could see the pain he was so desperately trying to hide from you.

You know him so well.

Spencer could see the straight fire in yours. They were lit with a facade of anger and pain and hatred. But you could never hate Spencer. Never. And he saw right through it. He could see the panic in your eyes. The pure terror and pain.

You hated that he knew you so well.

"Y/n..."

He took one step forward, not trying to corner you, but trying to get closer to you. You took one step back.

"No." You shook your head.

"Please just talk to me."

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid wonderful voice and his kind eyes and his love and the way he knows exactly how you take your tea in the morning and all of your favorite books and why you love the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice so much and what animals you wanted to have one day and why you hated spiders and the ocean so much and which museums and monuments you had on your bucket list. Fuck this man for loving you so hard, and making you want to spend every single moment of your life with him.

"I-I--" and fuck him for making your voice crack. You took another small step backwards.

"Please." Another step forward.

This time, all you could do was shake your head and break eye contact. You were tensing up the closer he got to you.

"Y/n."

"N-No" You chooked on your own voice. A single tear broke through and slide down your cheek.

"Baby please..." Another step. "Just talk to me. What's going on?"

That was the final straw for you.

The dam broke, and tears poured down your face. You let out the most heartbreaking sob that Spencer could have never imagined.

His arms were quickly around you, catching you and bringing you both down to the floor, where he held you against his chest.

You shook your head and tried to escape from his grasp, but he just held on tighter to you, not letting you go. Spencer could never let you go, he just didn't know how to tell you that.

Through your tears, you started to hyper ventilate. Spencer wouldn't let you leave his arms. It felt like a boa constrictor. You couldn't breathe.

You started to panic, not taking in as much air as you should, causing your head to get dizzy. You tugged on Spencer's arms as he tightened his grip on you, determined to keep you safe in his arms while you got whatever it was out of your system.

You screamed at him to let you go. He didn't respond, only holding you against his chest and you angrily slammed your hands against it.

Why was he so fucking perfect. Why couldn't he just let you leave and walk away.

Fuck.

Once your breathing had started to even out a bit, Spencer adjusted the two of you, still on the ground, so that you were straddling his lap with your arms around his neck.

Surrounding you was all of your clothes thrown about, and your suit case barely filled with anything.

He didn't say anything, just continued to rub his thumb against your hip, letting you come down from whatever sort of panic you just went through.

He held you close to his body, deciding in that moment to never let you go, ever.

You felt the world slow down. Time melted beneath you as the sun rose and set, the moon waxed and waned, The leaves browned and fell of the trees, and the earth stopped spinning at the end of time and all of the stars had died out. The world had stopped but you were still in Spencer's arms.

"I don't know..." He whispered in your ear, and the world started to turn again. "What just happened in your head--"

You tried to speak up but he just shushed you gently. "But we don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

You nodded.

What did you do in this world to deserve this man?

"Why don't we make some tea?" He whispered, and you just nodded again, holding onto Spencer as if the floor was going to give out and cause you to fall through the pits of hell and judgment, away from one another.

Neither of you went to move, finding peace in one another's arms.

While Spencer truly had no idea what just occurred, or why it occurred, he was still sitting here with you. And while you owed Spencer an apology and an explanation, he was still sitting here with his arms wrapped around you, kissing your shoulders.

Spencer Reid was going to stay with you for as long as you'd let him, and he would do anything to get you to see that, even if it meant sitting on the floor of your shared bedroom, holding you until the stars burned out and the world stopped spinning.

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lgbtlunaverse · 9 months ago

Text

One underdiscussed aspect of the bone-deep lack of mutual understanding during the nieyao stairs scene is that Nie Mingjue doesn't know - and can't know - what he's actually asking of Jin Guangyao. Not because he doesn't understand how his father treats him, or how tenuous his position is. But because he has no clue Xue Yang is a demonic cultivator.

Remember: Nie Mingjue is still alive, which means the position of chief cultivator doesn't exist yet and Jin Guangshan is facing heavy pushback for suggesting it. Most of that is coming from a fear that the Jin will try to become the next Wen. So having an outer disciple murder an entire clan and then not even punish him properly? This is a collosally bad move politically! You might as well be waving a red flag around yelling "I want to kill other sects with impunity!" There's a reason that years in the future, the moment Jin Guangyao becomes acting sect leader, he will immediately order Xue Yang's death (He doesn't actually die, either by accident or on purpose on jgy's part. But the point is that as far as the public is concerned he had Xue Yang executed.)

From Nie Mingjue's perspective, Jin Guangshan just shot himself in the foot politically for some random outer disciple. It's morally wrong, but it's also incredibly fucking stupid. In his eyes, he is asking Jin Guangyao to do the glaringly obvious right thing, even when exclusively looking at the Jins' self-interest. The thing that surely everyone else in the Jin also wants Jin Guangshan to do! Jin Guangyao can say that he has no influence on his father all he wants, but it is obvious how much work he does and so, as much as his father may not respect him, he clearly at least trusts Jin Guangyao's competence. Nie Mingjue has already tried shouting directly at Jin Guangshan during the trial and it seemed to work, but then Jin Guangshan went back on his decision like a complete idiot. So now Nie Mingjue is asking the guy who is famous for being good at rhetoric and convincing people to convince his donkey of a father to do the obviously correct thing with minimal downsides because again, to Nie Mingjue, this is all about some random outer disciple. It makes sense to ask this! It's a pretty reasonable request! Jin Guangshan can't possibly care that much.

Except of course he does. Because Xue Yang isn't some random outer disciple. He's the only good shot Jin Guangshan has at recreating the yin tiger tally. And Jin Guangshan reaaaaaally wants the yin tiger tally. So bad that he is fully willing to tank an ungodly amount of political goodwill to get it. Jin Guangyao is fully aware that not only will Jin Guangshan never kill Xue Yang, he isn't planning on keeping him locked up either. In fact, after Nie Mingjue is dead, he'll free Xue Yang and strongarm Chang Ping into denying the guilt of his family's murderer. Jin Guangshan cares a lot about keeping Xue Yang in his employ.

And Jin Guangyao knows this. But he can't tell Nie Mingjue that! Because then he'd have to admit they've been doing demonic cultivation. That the fucking ghost geneal is in their basement. That, oopsie, they actually also killed a whole other entire clan just a while ago after framing their sect leader for an assasination attempt and then used their bodies as fodder to make more fierce corpses. You know, in case one mass murder wasn't enough!

So obviously he's not gonna say that. Which means Nie Mingjue has no idea what he's demanding from Jin Guangyao, and therefore no idea why he absolutely can't fullfill that request.

I get why it's not mentioned very often because there are a lot of other problems which are both more obvious and more fun to talk about. (Who doesn't love a little overcomplicated trolley problem?) But I think it adds just another layer to the chasm between them in this scene. They're not just disagreeing, they're having completely different conversations.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #obviously there are like 50 other issues plus saber disease packed on top of this #which is what makes it go so catastrophically wrong #but this is one aspect of that i don't see mentioned very often #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #meng yao #i call nmj calling for xy's head 'reasonable' here. obviously it only is if you believe in the death penalty which i don't #but everyone in mdzs does so... yeah if xue yang really was just a random disciple this'd be a petty reasonable thing to ask #but he isn't except jgy can't EXPLAIN that so they're stuck

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 1 year ago

Note

idk if you take anon requests but I am in love with Yandere ruthless and bloodthirsty Pirate captain who's obsessed with a princess from a small kingdom and takes her as wife in exchange for not plundering the kingdom and bleeding out their resources. He had planned for their first evening together to be romantic but she looks too tempting when she's frightened

🌹

CW: Extremely rough smut, sadistic behavior, bodily harm, knife play, blood, minor character death, dead dove

Edward listened to two of his crew members gossiping like handmaidens, feeling only mildly annoyed at their squawking. Usually by now he would have threatened to pull out their teeth to keep them quiet, but he secretly could understand their excitement. While pirates were blamed for anything that could go wrong on the open seas, they were actually often employed by nobility to do what their navies could not do legally. Still, it was a surprise to be extended a job offer from a large kingdom, considering Edward's notoriety.

Edward "The Living Death".

There wasn't a crew as fearsome as his. He had never worked for any of the self righteous kings or queens in the past who conscripted pirates for their aid, not because he thought too highly of himself, but because the stories of his wrath scared all the rich bastards away. And the stories were not exaggerations. Edward aimed to make himself the most terrible in the world, because while it was too late to ever be let into heaven, it wasn't too late to become powerful enough to kill Satan himself.

For an entire week the crew would be guests in the sea side kingdom, while The Living Death and two of his men would be welcomed into the castle for negotiations.

It was entertaining, being welcomed onto a king's land, and Edward was curious as to what King was so insane as to ask for his assistance, knowing that Edward was the type of man to torture sailors for sport.

The ship with black sails tied off on the dock of the grey and dull harbor. Although the carriage that awaited Edward was gaudy with its elaborate engravings, the buildings were drab and pitiful. Truly, a thriving kingdom. And the large castle that towered above the impoverished residents was just the icing on the cake. To enter the grounds a large gate had to be slowly opened, physically alienating the royals from their subjects.

The attendant waiting to take Edward and his mates to the study felt his jaw fall agape at the sight of the men. What parts of their bodies were visible were covered in deep scars, the men were large and intimidating, but the leader was almost inhumanly frightening, unnaturally blue eyes that almost looked blind pierced his soul through a mop of shaggy black hair.

Edward met with the king for introductions, however was politely dismissed to the rooms they would be staying in for a bath and meal, promising to begin negotiations the next day.

However, he couldn't expect pirates to do as he asked so blindly, so after his shower and a free change of clothes, Edward decided to wander the gardens, internally arguing with himself over what he is doing in a king's estate. Then he saw her.

A woman in a beautiful, yet simple, dress was being followed by a maid, chatting kindly with one another despite the class difference. From afar her voice touched something in Edward's spirit; a longing he hadn't been able to quench on the ocean.

Marilyn tensed up and fell back behind (Reader) where she was supposed to be, generally. (Reader) looked ahead to see what had frightened her handmaid, and witnessed a man she did not know approaching the both of them.

"Greetings, ladies." His voice was gravelled and exhausted, tugging on (Reader's) heartstrings. From under the stranger's freshly washed hair (Reader) could see a long scar between his eyes, matching the scars that littered the hand he offered to (Reader).

"Good sir." (Reader), without hesitation, responded with an extended hand. Marilyn audibly choked behind her, having to physically bite her tongue to prevent herself from shouting at the man to 'step off!'

Wind burnt lips kissed the back of (Reader's) hand, holding it for an inappropriate amount of time, yet (Reader's) expression of genuine kindness never changed. "You clearly do not know who I am." Although it was said with a smirk his tone was dangerous.

"Just as you clearly do not know of me." (Reader) held herself tall, praying that the man before her was not important enough to feel offended by her ignorance.

Edward's eyes sparkled beautifully as he straightened his back, as to tower over the lovely lady he had just met. The movement shifted his hair, better showcasing not only his eyes but the giant scar stretching from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. "I am here on business."

"What a coincidence." (Reader) smiled coyly. "As am I."

What is this feeling? Edward had many effects on women, fear, disgust, loathing, lust. But the smile on (Reader's) face was honest. Like a child who hasn't yet learned to fear the evils of men, her eyes were clear and unclouded, looking not at his scars, but his eyes; numb to the stench of blood he could never scrub himself clean of, the lamb had no clue she was speaking to a wolf, and he wasn't even in disguise.

"What kind of business does a lady have with a disgusting fool like this king?"

(Reader) gasped, taken back by his words, smiling nervously behind her fan. "Good sir, you just be careful with the way you speak about a king! I will not report you, but others shall not be so kind.." Concern laced her words as she searched the surroundings for eavesdroppers.

"The King knew who I was when he hired me, so he shouldn't be offended by my language."

"Still..." (Reader) sighed. "Well, if you are so curious, I'm here because of a marriage proposition."

"Marriage?" The idea irked Edward, and he had to hold back his hand from almost instinctively lashing out. What a strange reaction, feeling peeved over the possible engagement of a woman he's just met.

"Indeed, strange isn't it? I always knew marriage would one day come, but.. it is still quite the adventure." Her grin tightened, but it wasn't a happy smile, the expression felt more like a mother's attempt to console her frightened child.

There was an odd glow to (Reader's) eyes, and Edward was suddenly under the impression that the woman before him was secretly an angel, sent in disguise to test him, to see if Edward truly did long for the throne of hell. Again, his arm tried to move on it's own accord. What if, instead of allowing such an angel to return to heaven with her report on him, he caged her like a little song bird and ripped off her wings?

"I apologize, Miss, but I must cut our conversation short. Any longer and I might gouge out your eyes." Edward spoke with a smile, revealing his sharpened canines. But again, (Reader) surprised him, giggling back at him as though he had just made a light-hearted joke, while her maid behind her was grasping her breast like she was having a heart attack.

"Well, I shall keep a spoon in my pocket in case we need again!" (Reader's) laughter filled the garden.

She curtsied, back still straight and head dipped only as low to be polite. The maid, on the other hand, was practically folded in half and was bent down for so long she had to scurry after her lady.

As the mystery woman left, Edward had a lot of strange, foreign thoughts and feelings causing chaos in his mind and heart. He briefly fantasized about running after her, and taking her for himself behind a bush while her maid screamed for help. He had seen plenty of women's bodies before, but the fantasy of what could be hidden by his mystery lady's bodice was.. tantalizing.

Would she be impressed by his body? Or fearful? What kind of face would she make as he forced her to carry his children? Would she look at him with love and tenderness during the birth of their first born? Would she bite and scream and fight?

Edward discovered that he would have to return to his room prematurely, perplexed as to who that woman was, and why she had such an effect on him, causing an arousal despite not saying, or doing, anything sexually exciting.

Marilyn smacked her princess on the shoulder, red in the face and mouth frozen in horror. "My lady! I can't believe you!"

"What? Did my joke not make sense?" (Reader) asked in earnest. "I said I'd carry a spoon, so he had something to easily scoop my eyes out with."

"Not that, you-you- IMBECILE!" Marilyn cried out, grasping the lady she adored like a sister. "That man was The Living Death!"

"Oh. He didn't look dead to me." Another slap connected with the back of her neck.

"He was a pirate! A pirate!"

"A pirate? What was he doing here?" (Reader) nervously pondered, examining her maid's expression to see if she was pulling her leg.

"I don't know, but you should write a letter to your father immediately. No good man would want his daughter marrying into a family that deals with rotten apples."

After the sun rose into the dreary kingdom, Edward and his mates were finally invited into King Nikolai's study, meeting the rotund bastard who reeked of wine and pulled at his codpiece frequently.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today, gentlemen. You've saved me from an uncomfortable situation. That is, if you agree to my request."

"Well, let's not make this longer than necessary." Edward spat in disgust, feeling as though he would catch syphilis from just speaking with his potential employer.

"My son, my heir, has two marriage candidates. Two worthy marriage candidates. My friend, King Leopold has a, frankly stupid, daughter, Princess Cadence. Leopold and I decided long ago that his daughter should marry my son, and become queen when he surpasses me. Now the issue is King Dretious. His kingdom is.. small, but not unimpressive. It thrives wonderfully. He has only two daughters, pitiful him. The eldest is being trained to be his successor, which is wonderful for him since he was blessed with bright and charismatic daughters, but no man who marries her well become King, so there is no incentive there to send even my sons I dislike. The youngest, is a perfect marriage candidate. Princess (Reader). Intelligent, charming, attractive.." He took a ragged breath, his mind traveling to where it should not. "I desire her land. If she marry my son I'd have access as family to her resources, and in a generation or two my grandchildren could gain control of that little rock. But it isn't worth ruining my relationship with Leopold. That would be.. catastrophic."

Edward numbly wondered if the young woman he met was Princess Cadence, or Princess (Reader). In the short time he spent with her she certainly didn't seem stupid, so he was leaning towards the latter.

"But I want that land. Do you understand me?" King Nikolai's smile was sinister. "You can have whatever is in their castle, whatever can be looted, as long as I receive the deeds to their nation, signed and stamped, and King Dretious and his kin are exterminated."

"And what do we get? If I wanted to plunder a small country, I could do that without needing permission."

"Full, under the table, immunity, as well as enough money for you and your crew to retire in the Caribbean as lords." He was so smug as he pleaded his bargain that Edward considered killing him just to see him choke on his own blood.

Edward stood, walking around the king towards the window, debating whether or not it would be worth it to kill the fat asshole right then and there. But below the window, under a flowered tree, sat the woman he met the day before, watching birds as they flew overhead. "I met a young lady in the garden yesterday. She said she was here for a marriage proposition."

"Hmph, yes.. attractive, isn't she? That would have been Princess (Reader). She is unaware of her competition with Leopold's daughter, so it would have been unwise to have them both here at the same time."

(Reader) had her lips pursed, upset about something. 'How would those lips taste?' Edward thought excitedly.

"We'll do it." Edward spoke loudly, startling his men who were surprised by the boss's response.

His men questioned him on the way back to the ship. Surely he wasn't serious? Of course not... Captain Edward "The Living Death", the man who abandoned his family name, had a plan, one that he had come up with purely for selfish reasons, that did not include sucking up to a disease ridden rat. And he assured them, that after he got what he wanted, the crew would return, and burn King Nikolai's kingdom to the ground.

The wonderfully jolly, soft King Dretious, known for being unlike the cruel kings who ruled throughout the land, plump with age instead of greed, was petrified solid. The elderly father who was seen as a grandfather figure to his small island, blessed by the gods to always have the wisdom to do what was right, was stunned, incapable of coherent thought. Before him was a pirate captain who had demanded an audience, two months after his darling baby girl returned home from another country.

"What did you just say?" He stuttered out.

Edward stood beneath the kindly king sitting on his throne while wearing an ostentatiously decorated black frock coat, shining with it's abundance of gold decorations and precious jewels. His unnaturally bright eyes were fixated on the mortified princess standing behind her father.

"I have been hired to bring ruin to your kingdom. However, if you offer me a better prize than what I was promised by my employer, I'll reconsider my agreement with him." His gaze made (Reader's) skin crawl.

King Dretious swallowed the lump in his throat. "And what would that be? Whoever had the gall to request such a reason clearly had the resources to hire you, so I doubt anything of mine will compare."

"True. However, it isn't your money I'm after.." Edward stepped forward, still fixated on the younger princess will a hungry expression.

The eldest sister recognized the look of a predatory man before her father did, and stepped in front of (Reader) in a protective stance.

"I demand Princess (Reader's) hand in marriage."

"No!" The eldest princess spun around, grabbing onto (Reader) and hiding her within her embrace. "Father, you can't!"

"Please, Captain, isn't there anything else?" The King frantically begged, knowing that his army wasn't enough against The Living Death and his infamous crew of the damned.

Edward sighed, his patience wearing thin. With a snap of his fingers, his men brought forward four captives; the cook, two guards, and Marilyn. "Let's try that again." The demon spawn pulled out a gun and cocked it, aiming it at the older guard.

"Let's be civil-"

The King was cut off by a loud shot, killing the innocent man who had been a loyal employee of the castle for the past thirteen years. (Reader) hollered, frightened by the sudden bang.

Edward moved over to Marilyn, pulling down the hammer slowly. "No!" (Reader) burst free from her sister, running down the steps to fling herself onto her only friend's body, ready to be her shield.

"(Reader)!"

(Reader) cradled her maid, glaring through tears up at the man she foolishly thought was handsome only a couple of months ago. "I'LL DO IT! I'll do it! Just please.. no more."

Marilyn sobbed under (Reader's) weight. "Princess, no! Please - save yourself!"

"Sister, come back here now." The queen to be demanded, shaking and on the brink of tears herself.

Edward smiled wider than before, holstering his weapon. "Wise choice, angel." He turned his attention back to the King. "I hope you don't mind that there will be no wedding. For you see, God has no place in my life, even for happy occasions. I've already procured a marriage contract, so once it is signed that shall be that."

A calloused hand reached out to the princess.

"Shall we?"

The country was in mourning as the news of the princess's sacrifice spread faster than a plague, and nearly the entire country arrived to see her off as she boarded the pirate ship with black sails, stiffly shuffling next to her new husband, the certificate signed and verified only an hour prior. On what should be one's happiest day, the air was filled with sounds of heart breaking agony. (Reader) was numbly dragged onto the ship and into the captain's quarters, no longer a princess, but a wife to a monster.

Edward locked the door behind them, smiling wolfishly. "Welcome, to your new home, darling. Unfortunately, we will have to prolong our honeymoon, as I have a country to conquer."

"What?!" (Reader) collapsed before her new husband, clutching onto his shirt. "But you promised!"

"Ah, apologies, love, but I did not mean your old country." He pulled her onto her feet, kissing her knuckles. "I meant the country that asked me to kill you. Now that you are my wife, I can't stand for such insolence, now can I?"

(Reader) pulled away, eyes wide with disgust. "Was this your plan from the start? If you never truly cared, then why take me? Whatever loot you plunder from whoever it was that employed you will surely be worth more than my father's entire island, so if you had no qualms about taking on a presumably larger nation-state, then why?"

"You are a smart one." Edward chuckled, approaching (Reader) with a look she had never seen before, yet for some reason set her on edge. "I did it because I wanted you."

He lunged, tackling her onto a large bed covered in silk and furs. She struggled, fighting with all her might to push him off of her, but she just wasn't strong enough. (Reader) bit her lip in an effort to not cry again, a pitiful attempt to retain her pride.

"So strange.. I have had whores throw themselves at me many times in the past, but they were nothing but bodies. What is it about you that is so different?"

Nothing but bodies.. (Reader) had learned from Marilyn what happens on a woman's wedding night, but in the chaos of her marriage she had forgotten that that was what this was, her wedding night. Her face fell, tears whelmed up in her puffy red eyes, and her resolve to look brave cracked.

But this expression seemed to only excite the mad man further. His blue eyes grew hazy like he was drunk and his breathing became irregular. "So that's what you would look like.. I wondered."

A large knife was procured from behind his back, causing (Reader) to cry harder. With sadistically slow movements he cut through her dress. She made pathetic attempts to swipe at him, but Edward only responded by effortlessly flipping her onto her belly, slicing through the lace of her corset.

"So many layers to finally see the body I've been dreaming of. That will change, of course. If I want to see your beauty, I will. Even if you must live in the nude."

He ignored her screams as he tore off every article of clothing she wore, leaving (Reader) naked and shivering beneath him.

"Is it me that makes you shudder like this, or is it," he placed the blade against (Reader's) cheek, earning another gasp as her body practically convulsed, "either way, I'll pretend that your shaking is in excitement for me."

With (Reader) now on her back, Edward held the knife to her throat to prevent her from running while he removed his own clothing with one hand. Her sobs only grew louder as more of his scarred skin became visible.

"Please do-don't do this!"

"Don't what? Make love to my newlywed wife? Fine then. I'll fuck you instead."

His pants slipped down, revealing his fully erect manhood. (Reader) closed her eyes in shame, but Edward grabbed her face with enough force to bruise her chin, snapping them back open in shock of the pain.

"Look at what you've done to me. Without grabbing at my pants and begging me like a slut, you've already made my cock like this. Don't you feel special, knowing that you have that effect on your husband." Edward continued squeezing his bride's face painfully, forcing her to nod in agreement.

The tip of the knife drug down her skin without enough pressure to cut, but enough for (Reader) to feel the cold threat tingling and creating goosebumps, traveling teasingly from her breasts and over her quivering stomach, stopping at her exposed cunny. (Reader) felt the metal touch her where she was told never to touch herself, and was consumed by humiliation.

"Unfortunately for you, it seems that your modest body has not prepared itself for me. I would have taken the time to wetten your cunt, but as per your request, I am not to make love to you, but to fuck you."

"What does that-" a searing pain electrocuted her body as (Reader's) dry pussy was stretched over Edward's dick. Her throat was aching from all the screaming, but that didn't stop the sounds of agony from shrieking out.

He held himself inside of her, relishing in the feeling of her twitching hole tightening almost unbearably around him. For a brief moment, Edward's heart swelled with love, and he considered licking his fingers to provide his wife with lubrication, but the look on her face.. just from entering her (Reader) became so red she was almost purple, eyes flickering as though she were to pass out. It was too beautiful for words.

As he pulled out it caused an awful friction that (Reader) swore she could hear, an awful shuk shuk shuk as Edward removed himself, only to slam back in. It felt like she was being torn apart. He continued thrusting into her rapidly swelling sacred place. The tearing sensation morphed into a burning one, as her blood slickened her hole.

His movements only sped up, pounding into his bruised and bloody princess. (Reader) began to adjust to the pain, and started to push against Edward's chest, desperate enough to fight against him despite his knife still being held to her thigh.

Suddenly, (Reader's) legs were raised and folded back, pressing down into her arms to prevent her from moving. She pulled and struggled, disgusted by the wet noise as Edward's hips connected with hers, uncomfortably aware of his pelvis grinding against her sore clit. Edward grabbed her face again, popping her jaw open and sliding his knife into her mouth.

"Don't struggle, or you just might cut out your tongue." The man threatened, his malicious words clashing with the intense lust in his eyes.

(Reader's) nose scrunched up as she tried to glare at Edward, unable to spit out the knife because of his hold on her face.

"Ah, continue looking at me like that!" He sang with praise, his legs twitching with anticipation. "I'm about to cum!"

(Reader) didn't quite know what that meant, but she could feel him throbbing inside of her.

"I was going to wait until you've gotten used to being my wife, but I think I'm going to cum inside you! Fuck, I'm going to put my babies in you! I'm going to knock you up!"

Learning what was about to happen, (Reader) tried to scream without bumping the knife in her teeth.

Suddenly, the knife was thrown across the room, replaced by Edward's lips, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth as he climaxed deep in his wife's raw pussy. (Reader) didn't know if it was because she was aware that he was cumming inside of her, or if it was because of the paper thin cuts along her vaginal wall, but the fluid pumping into her was horrendously hot, burning her abused body.

He collapsed onto her, still kissing her passionately, tasting the lips he had craved since he first met her. When Edward pulled away, admiring the unbroken string of saliva connecting him to his lover, he knew why he had been so enamored with (Reader) since the beginning.

"I'm so excited to drag you down into hell with me, princess." 'There will be no escape from me. You are my gift from Satan, my little angel. You belong to me.'

#yandere #yandere x reader #request #sorry it took so long #i hope you like it #cw noncon #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #intense #not proofread #bad writing

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fiddlefordisms · 2 months ago

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Canon Details and Analysis of Fiddleford McGucket Part 2

See the first part here

Let's flash-forward to what we know about Fiddleford after college. At some point, he got married to Emma May Dixon, and they had a son together (Tate McGucket), they live in Palo Alto, and Fiddleford seems to be self-employed: McGucket's Computermajigs. Now, don't get me wrong I enjoy Fiddauthor quite a lot (and I'll give some in-depth analysis and theorizing and thinking of possibilities about that particular relationship in that context at the very end), but I want to focus on Fiddleford's character and what we do know about his wife and child.

We know from Journal 3 that Fiddleford keeps a picture of his wife and son on his desk because he says it helps keep him "grounded." It's very important to note that this picture includes his wife - if they really wanted to imply that Fiddleford's relationship with his wife was on the rocks, they could've easily made it just a picture of his son. We know that Fiddleford must have had strong feelings for his wife because in the Gobblewonker episode of Gravity Falls, Old Man McGucket claims that when his wife left him, he built a pterodactyl-tron (building giant death robots is something he does when he's upset or wants attention). If he was wanting to leave that relationship, he would not have been upset about her leaving him.

In another page of Journal 3 when Fiddleford quits the portal project, Ford writes about how he should "go back to his doting family." This tells us that while Fiddleford and Emma May did have a fight over him not getting her a Christmas present, Ford still somehow had the impression that his family was "doting." I think it's important to point out that Fiddleford has been erasing his memories since the Gremloblin incident - and the fight scene with his wife happens very shortly before the big portal test. We know the memory-erasing gun has side effects. So, anytime Fiddleford "forgets" something should be looked at as highly suspect and indicative that his memory-erasing gun is affecting him.

We know that Fiddleford must have been a good father before he left to work on the portal for Ford via context clues. In the show, despite Tate's original home being in Palo Alto, Tate chose to pack up his things and live in Gravity Falls where his mentally-addled father now lives. He chose to do that and seeing what became of his father, even though he's the town's biggest embarrassment with a reputation for being a crazy old man - chose to stay. In Shmeb U Unlocked, we're informed that Tate is extremely intelligent and capable of predicting lottery numbers.

He could literally go anywhere he wanted if he wanted. And yet, he stays in Gravity Falls where his father lives. He must have really loved his father despite it being so hard with his father's mental state and the fact that he has every right to be angry that his father left. We know that Fiddleford must have really loved his son because of that picture on his desk, because much later even with all of his memory problems, he still remembers his son, and he's desperate to spend time with him, and in the end, they're able to repair their relationship and spend quality time together.

Now, let's talk about a couple of details that I think a lot of people overlook. During the stargazing scene in Journal 3, Fiddleford mentions offhand that he'd like a place where "the screen door ain't broken." I think this is a VERY interesting detail because it makes it sound like Fiddleford's business hadn't quite taken off yet and that he might have been struggling financially because he can't afford to get his door repaired.

This opens a doorway into a theory of mine that Fiddleford is being paid for his time as Ford's assistant. Now, we're not told this outright in Journal 3, but I think we can gather this from a little thing I like to call context clues. After all, Ford probably thought the exact nature of payment deals for his assistant didn't need to be included in his research and personal journal. There's nothing interesting about it. Additionally from a narrative standpoint, it might have come across as looking like Ford had to bribe Fiddleford to help him, and that's not the vibe they wanted for Fiddleford. They wanted to emphasize that these two are at the very least good friends and that Fiddleford is the type of person who will set aside his own personal projects and self-sacrifice to help a friend at a moment's notice.

We know from the show and Journal 3 that Ford was given grants to study the anomalies of Gravity Falls. Presumably, this money would not only cover the costs of field research equipment and a research base (the shack) but also money for a research assistant if needed.

Fiddleford's wife would have to be the most permissive, most doormat wife in THE HISTORY OF EVER to allow her husband to go up to Oregon to work on a project leaving her to not only take care of her son by herself but also have to pay all the bills and rent/mortgage by herself. We know this is not the case because she (rightly) did NOT let it slide that her husband forgot to get her a Christmas present.

Fiddleford would not have had much time to work on his own business while working on Ford's portal. At this point in his life, he has his mental faculties intact, he's proven time and again to be considerate and sweet (Alex Hirsch even refers to him as a sweet soul). He's big on making thoughtful gifts, he wants to help others (in Journal 3, he is seen fixing up the ferris wheel at the carnival where he meets Ivan, although it was definitely wrong - he had good intentions in wanting to help people with their bad memories, even in the show - Old Man McGucket shows up in the sap-hole with the dinosaurs having fixed a broken lantern - Fiddleford is exactly the type of person who would see a broken-down car on the side of the road and pull over and get out his toolbox and help that person out), and he loves his family very much. He would NOT let them go unsupported and floundering for themselves while in his right mind.

So, this leads me to believe that to help convince his wife to let him help his old college buddy with his project, he'd be getting paid for his help. Ford likely would've found this reasonable and might have suggested it himself if Fiddleford expressed wanting to help but not being able to leave his family without any support. It probably wasn't a lot, but it might have been a bit better than what he was currently drumming up via his own business. This could also be why Ford is so adamant about referring to Fiddleford as his assistant in the journals rather than his friend.

Do I think his wife might have still had some reservations about her husband going to Oregon and could be a fertile field for argument later? Yes. Absolutely. But I think the fact that she let him go in the first place and the fact that Fiddleford is self-employed rather than more conventionally employed generally shows that she was a supportive wife and trusted her husband.

I absolutely DO NOT think, as some have posited, that Fiddleford abandoned his wife and son (especially his son whom he dearly loves) to have a "Brokeback Mountain" situation with Stanford. That is a terrible misreading of Fiddleford's character AND the situation. Again, Fiddleford is the type of person who HELPS people, and how much more so for someone who is likely his best friend? Not only that, but his FIRST EVER friend. A friend who Fiddleford probably knows has been alone in Oregon for years and who also has a hard time making friends, a friend who probably doesn't call him enough because he's "busy" with his research (Ford even says in the journal that he "has no choice but to call Fiddleford"), a friend who is probably stubborn about asking for help who is asking HIM (the guy who helps) for help?

Fiddleford might even already be worried about him.

And this is a "project" - a project has a beginning and an end. Fiddleford was NOT expecting to stay in Gravity Falls. He was going to go there, help Ford, and then go back to his family whom he loves. I'm not saying complicated feelings couldn't have arisen (again, I am a Fiddauthor shipper), but I am saying that Fiddleford didn't go to Oregon because he was running away from marital problems with his wife (on an additional note - people are free to write what they want - But what is WITH bisexual erasure and villifying / ignoring female characters? I mean, just because she wasn't in the show or talked about much doesn't mean we should do female characters a disservice) and intending on cheating on her.

Because again - A) He loves his family (family photo on his desk which doesn't exactly scream "Make sweet love to me Ford") B) His anxiety issues C) His empathy - he doesn't have the narcissistic traits cheaters generally have D) He's likely Catholic and all the religious hang-ups with that - (also adultery being a sin is mentioned waaaaaay more than homosexuality) E) The hostile time period for queer folks.

Also, Stanford "I find romance baffling" (Journal 3 - stargazing scene) is probably one of the biggest indicators that no cheating went on (but I'll throw you "cheating Fiddleford" headcanoners a bone much later on in which I think a possible "cheating" scenario could have realistically occurred - and I'll tell you my reasons for why I personally don't believe that happened either, but I'll begrudgingly accept a "possibility" and let you guys go nuts with the idea.)

More to come in later parts.

#gravity falls meta #Gravity Falls #Fiddleford McGucket #Fiddleford #Ford Pines #Emma May Dixon #Tate McGucket

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solarmorrigan · 10 months ago

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Hands Where I Can See Them, part 8

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Ao3

My unending gratitude to @azure7539arts for talking through this chapter and the next one with me, and helping to untangle all my thoughts!

Eddie spends the next week walking on air. He thinks that if his younger self could see him now, just smiling at random throughout the day, practically mooning over a boy—over Steve Harrington—he’d be horrified, but Eddie absolutely does not give a shit.

He’s happy. He’s hopeful.

He has no idea what the etiquette is for calling someone after a date, if there’s a certain amount of time that you’re supposed to wait so that you don’t seem like a desperate loser, but he figures he wouldn’t adhere to it even if he did know the rule. He calls Steve the very next day and they talk for an hour.

He calls the next day, pushing his luck just a little, but Steve is on his way out the door to work and only has a few minutes of time to spare for Eddie.

A couple of days later, Steve reaches out to him, calling the trailer and this time catching Eddie on the wrong side of a shift. Eddie is tempted to say “fuck it” and just be late to work, but, employing a strength of will he hadn’t even realized he possessed, he recognizes that getting fired wouldn’t help anything. He promises to call Steve back, and he’s at the phone almost as soon as he’s gotten through the door after work that evening.

“So,” Eddie drawls into the phone between hasty bites of a peanut butter sandwich he’d slapped together before calling, trying not to chew in Steve’s ear, “not that playing phone tag with you isn’t fun, but do you think I could see you again?”

“You mean like a date?” Steve teases.

“Exactly like a date,” Eddie replies, not even bothering to quash his smile.

He thinks he can hear Steve’s own smile when he answers, “I’d like that. And I’m actually free this Friday, if you wanted to take advantage of that.”

“Perfect. Why don’t we meet here, at my place?” Eddie offers, and Steve gives a little laugh.

“What happened to waiting until the third date?” he asks. “Trying to seduce me into your bed already?”

“While you are very much worthy of seducing, I’m afraid I have different plans for the evening,” Eddie says. “So, meet me here? About six?”

“Sure, Eddie,” Steve agrees, voice still warm with mirth. “I’ll be there.”

And so, Friday evening finds Eddie on the front steps of his trailer, eagerly bouncing on the balls of his feet and watching as Steve pulls up in front. He doesn’t even wait for Steve to fully exit his car before he’s crossing the distance with a few long strides; the moment Steve has straightened up and shut the door, Eddie is right there, leaning into his space the way he hasn’t been able to in what feels like too long.

He’d like to drape himself over Steve’s back, wrap his arms around his waist, casual and easy like it had been before, but, apart from being in public, Eddie doesn’t want to push Steve too far. He keeps a small cushion of air between them instead, and leans up to murmur in Steve’s ear, “Goooood evening, sweetheart.”

Steve laughs, nudging Eddie back with his elbow, but the fond look on his face says it’s not because he wants Eddie away from him so much as he just wants a little room to move. “You’re excited tonight,” he says, still smiling as he turns around.

“Any night I get to see you is a very exciting night, indeed,” Eddie declares, just a little theatrical about it, grinning as Steve cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” He’s trying to sound unimpressed, but Eddie clocks the pleased, pink flush starting to gather at the tops of his cheeks.

“Nope.” Eddie shakes his head. “It’s true and I’ll say it. Now c’mon.”

Eddie waves for Steve to follow as he sets off walking towards the entrance to Forest Hills, and Steve glances, confused, between Eddie and the trailer.

“We’re not staying here?”

“Nope,” Eddie says again. He keeps walking and, as expected, Steve heaves a sigh and jogs to catch up.

“Then why did you tell me to meet you here?” he asks, falling in step with Eddie.

“Because, I wanted it to be a–”

“–surprise,” Steve finishes in tandem with him, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, you liked the last one, didn’t you?” Eddie asks, leaning in to bump his shoulder against Steve’s.

Biting his lip around a smile, Steve glances over at Eddie. “Yeah,” he admits, bumping Eddie’s shoulder back. “Yeah, I did.”

“Then hold onto a little of that faith,” Eddie says.

“I’d have a little more faith if you’d told me we’d be outside again,” Steve grumbles, mostly for show. “I would’ve brought a heavier jacket, it’s almost November.”

“Steve, you run like a furnace,” Eddie deadpans. “Besides, it’s actually nice out. We should enjoy the last of it before winter descends and we spend the next four months freezing our asses off.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve got on two jackets,” Steve says, nodding towards the battle jacket Eddie has pulled on over his leather one.

“Are you actually cold, or do you just feel like complaining?” Eddie asks.

Steve shoots him a look. “You’ll know when I’m cold.”

Smirking, Eddie shakes his head. “I’m sure I will,” he says. “But we’re not going to be out here long enough for you to freeze your precious bits off, anyway – we’re just about there.”

“We are?” Steve glances around, confused, and Eddie doesn’t blame him; there really isn’t much in this direction until you hit town, which is a longer walk than just ten minutes.

In fact, the only thing around is just coming into view as the trees fall away and a stretch of cleared land begins at the roadside.

“Here we are!” Eddie declares, taking a turn and ambling into the cracked and pitted parking lot of the diner.

“You… brought us here,” Steve doesn’t quite ask. “To the diner?”

“Yeah, c’mon.” Eddie reaches out and takes Steve by the hand, tugging him along until they get close enough to the building that he has to drop it again.

Truthfully, Eddie hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the diner since Steve brought it up last weekend – specifically, that night at the diner.

The more he dwells on it, the more he feels cheated, in a way; like he’d robbed himself of the opportunity to experience his time with Steve the way Steve himself had seen it. And the way Steve had described that night, so full of warmth and potential – Eddie wants that. He wants to see it that way, too.

“I figured we haven’t been here since– well, we haven’t been here in a while. At least, I haven’t. I don’t know if you…?” Eddie glances at Steve for confirmation as they walk through the door, and Steve just shakes his head, brows furrowed. “And I also thought, y’know, it might be nice. If we could both look at a time here as special.”

The frown on Steve’s face doesn’t clear up at that, much to Eddie’s disappointment. He doesn’t look displeased, exactly, but he also sure as hell isn’t giving Eddie that same smile he’d given him last weekend.

Steve’s just opened his mouth to say something when a voice cuts across the noise of the diner, sharp and pleased.

“Boys!” Both Eddie and Steve look up to see Dottie heading towards them with a smile.

If they have anything like a regular waitress at the diner, it’s Dottie – a woman at least in her late fifties with curly hair dyed a violent ginger-red, bejeweled cat’s eye glasses, and heavy, colorful eyeshadow that never seems to dare smudge past her lids. She loves nothing more than trying to feed the both of them until they pop, as far as Eddie can tell, and she always snaps them up when they visit on her shift.

“I thought you’d forgotten all about me. Maybe found some fancier establishment to take your business to,” she says as she reaches the front.

“Are you kidding, Dottie?” Steve asks, suddenly all charm and earnest smiles, his previous mood apparently forgotten. “We wouldn’t go anywhere else. You can’t beat the service here.”

Dottie rolls her eyes, but gives Steve a pleased smile and a pat on the cheek. She grabs two menus and leads them back to a corner booth, past handfuls of regulars, families out for dinner with their kids, and groups of teenagers milking a single order of fries for as long as it will get them a table.

“So where did you two go?” She drops the menus on the table and moves to the side as Eddie and Steve settle in. “Seems like you dropped off the face of the Earth for weeks.”

“Uh… we were just taking a bit of a break,” Eddie says, at the same time Steve tells her, “We were busy.”

Glancing between the two of them, Dottie gives a slow nod. “Uh huh. Well, it’s nice to see you back from your busy break. Two Cokes?”

“You know us so well, Dottie,” Eddie sighs, batting his eyelashes up at her, which earns him an eyeroll and a pat on the cheek, too, before Dottie walks off the get their drinks.

When Eddie looks back over, Steve is looking down, studying the menu even though they both have their favorites memorized by now.

“Is… everything okay?” Eddie asks, sliding his own menu over just for something to do with his hands.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” Steve says, and he almost sounds convincing – Eddie might really have believed him if he’d actually looked up at Eddie when he said it.

Eddie sighs, glancing over the laminated plastic pictures of burgers and pancakes, trying to decide what he’s in the mood for.

“Look, I just thought since we haven’t been here in a while, it’d be nice,” he says finally, voice pitched low, so it doesn’t carry past their table. “I know it’s not a candlelit dinner in the park, or whatever–”

“That’s not it,” Steve cuts in. “It’s nothing, Eddie, just– it’s fine.”

Anything Eddie might have come up with to say to that is cut off by Dottie’s reappearance with their drinks.

“You boys ready to order?” she asks, pulling her order pad out and holding her pen at the ready.

“Yeah?” Steve half-asks, glancing up and meeting Eddie’s eyes, and Eddie can’t see anything there but the question of whether or not he’s ready, so he nods, and Steve looks back to Dottie. “Yeah. Can I get a patty melt, please? And fries.”

“You got it,” Dottie scribbles his order down and looks to Eddie, who teeters on the edge of getting a waffle before deciding on the club sandwich and his own order of fries (he’s not entirely sure how well Steve will tolerate his being stolen tonight). “Alright, I’ll get those in for you. Wave me down if you need anything, alright?”

They thank her and she sashays off again, leaving Steve and Eddie to themselves.

The quiet that falls over them isn’t comfortable. It isn’t like the contentment of simply sitting in one another’s company that they used to have, nor even a natural pause in conversation like they’d had at dinner last week; it’s simply an awkward lack of knowing what to say, how to keep things rolling.

Something is off with Steve, but he refuses to say what, and Eddie is desperate to distract from it. He reaches for the first thing he can think of.

“So I didn’t know you and Jeff were, like… friends,” he ventures, thinking back to the way they’d acted familiarly around one another on Eddie’s last visit to the video store.

Steve looks up at him, face scrunched a bit in confusion, and Eddie rushes to clarify.

“I mean, not that I thought you disliked each other, I just didn’t know you were hanging out.”

Wait, no, now it sounds like Eddie is jealous, like he’s trying to keep tabs on Steve, who is still staring at him like he’s not sure what Eddie’s talking about.

“Not that you can’t hang out! That’s fine, I just – thought maybe that was a recent development.” Eddie bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying very hard to shut up.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve finally says. “I ran into him at Melvald’s one night a couple of weeks ago and he invited me to come over to watch a game sometime, since we weren’t really seeing each other at… the usual places anymore.”

“Ah. Right. Right.” Eddie nods. “You know, you… could come to the usual places, if you wanted to. You’re always welcome. In fact, I think your presence as a spectator at Hellfire meetings has been sorely missed.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Steve nods, but he sounds distant about it at best.

“Did you wanna know what you’ve missed so far? I know we were kind of in the middle of the adventure when we, uh–” Eddie shrugs. “You always say you like hearing the story.”

“Henderson’s been telling me,” Steve says shortly. He grabs his soda to take a sip, but now he actively seems irritated.

Eddie does his best to tamp down his frustration. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong; he has no idea where the night went south, but he’s hopeful he can salvage it.

They sit for a little while longer in mostly awkward silence. Steve folds his paper straw wrapper over and over on itself until it’s a tight little square, then drops it on the table and watches it expand in a little puddle of condensation from his glass. He asks how Wayne is doing. Eddie tries to return the favor, before realizing that the only people in Steve’s life that he doesn’t regularly see are his parents (off-limits if he wants Steve in a better mood) and Robin (who may or may not still want to kill Eddie). He glances around the diner instead, and perks up when his attention lights on the back wall.

“Hey, you got any dimes?” he asks Steve, who sits up a little at the unexpected question.

“Maybe?” he says, shifting in his seat so he can reach into his pocket. “Why?”

Eddie jams his own hand down into his pocket and emerges victorious with a small handful of change. “Never mind, I’ve got some. Be right back.”

He hops out of the booth and heads towards the back, where the behemoth of a jukebox squats, waiting to be fed coins and spit out songs that no one even remembers.

Steve had been right when he’d said most of the music sucks; there isn’t anything more recent than mid-70s, and almost nothing in there had ever been what you would call a chart-topper. Sometimes Eddie and Steve waste their spare change having a contest over who can find the worst song to play, until the waitresses start glaring at them and they slink guiltily back to their table.

This time, though, Eddie flips through for one of the few good songs he knows is in there. He clicks to make his selection and grins as the quick-paced strum of a guitar pours out of the speakers, followed by the crooning of none other than Elvis Presley.

You can always count on The King to pick things up.

“There we go,” Eddie says as he returns to the booth. “Had to set the mood.”

Or maybe you can’t always count on The King, because Steve actually looks kind of pissed.

“What is it?” Eddie asks, any confidence the music had given him draining away.

Steve stares at him for a moment longer, unnervingly intense, before he blinks and looks away. “Nothing. It’s– never mind.”

“No, what’s–”

“Here we are,” Dottie announces, appearing at the side of their table with plates in hand. “Patty melt for Steve, club for Eddie, ketchup for your fries. How’s that look?”

“It looks great, thanks,” Steve says, smiling up at Dottie as though he hadn’t just been glaring offended daggers at Eddie; he’s always been good at that in a way Eddie hates – putting on that shallow, easy-going mask at the drop of a hat.

“Anything else I can bring for you?” Dottie asks.

Eddie is about to say no when he scans the table and realizes the one thing he’d forgotten. “Oh, actually – could I order a vanilla shake, too?”

And that is apparently the wrong thing to say.

Steve’s smile falls away, and he’s giving Eddie a look that sits somewhere between angry and hurt that Eddie doesn’t fucking understand.

“Actually,” Steve says sharply, “I just realized that I have to go. I’m – there’s somewhere else I’m supposed to be, sorry.”

He slides out of the booth around a shocked Dottie and pulls enough money from his wallet to cover his meal and a tip, pressing it into her hand before turning to leave.

“Honey, did you want a box for all this?” Dottie asks, helplessly gesturing towards his untouched meal.

“No, I – sorry, I just have to go,” Steve says, already halfway to the door.

“Shit,” Eddie swears lowly, shimmying out of the booth to give chase.

“Eddie!” Dottie calls out sharply, gesturing to his untouched meal when he turns back to look at her.

“I’m not – I’m not leaving, I swear, I’ll be right back, I just have to–” He glances up frantically when he hears the bell over the door jingle, signifying that Steve is slipping away. “I just have to– Steve. I need to– I will be right back.”

Dottie sighs and nods, and Eddie is off like a shot. He catches up to Steve at the end of the parking lot, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s shoulder when he doesn’t respond to Eddie’s calls.

“Let me go,” Steve snaps, jerking out from under Eddie’s touch, but Eddie isn’t deterred this time, grabbing Steve around the arm and halting him in his tracks.

“No. Not until you tell me what the fuck I did to piss you off!” Eddie says.

Steve wheels around, shooting an incredulous look at him. “Seriously? I have to tell you?” he demands. “How could you think that any of that was okay?”

“I don’t– You like the diner! Or you did!” Eddie exclaims. “How was I supposed to know you suddenly hate it there?”

“It’s not the diner,” Steve huffs, and Eddie finally lets him go, if only to throw his hands up in the air, trying to toss some of his frustration off.

“Then what? I’m not psychic, Steve! How am I supposed to fix my mistakes if you won’t even tell me when I’m upsetting you?”

“You can’t just rewrite the past, Eddie!” The look on Steve’s face is thunderous, until it slides away like he’s too tired to keep it up, exhaustion following in its wake. “You can’t just – you can’t.”

The chill Eddie feels has absolutely nothing to do with crisp October night that had descended while they were inside. “What? No, Steve, that’s not what I was trying to do. Why would I–”

“So what, then? I tell you about the night I thought of as our first date and you decide to just throw it back in my face? Show me what it could have been if you’d just fucking looked at me?” Steve asks.

And suddenly it clicks – everything Eddie had done tonight, almost beat for beat, entirely unintentionally, had damned him.

Maybe if he’d waited a while between Steve’s confession and his decision to take them to the diner, it might have been okay, but for a musician, Eddie’s timing had sucked.

“No, that’s not what this was,” Eddie insists. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then we’re back to you just trying to– to fucking recreate something we already did, so you can try to make it better!” Steve says.

In his floundering, a little of Eddie’s frustration boils over. “Well you’re the one who said you wanted to just go back to doing what we were doing!”

“I also said I wanted to go forward with more awareness! Not go back and do the same shit over again!” Steve snaps. “I’ve spent the last few weeks just– going over and over everything we did together, looking at everywhere I fucked up, everywhere I misinterpreted you, realizing that everything I was looking at as us wasn’t– it wasn’t the same for you. And I was getting used to that, I was… making my peace, or whatever, thinking we’d just move on, and then you go and– and do this.”

“I–” Any of Eddie’s frustration, any anger, it all dries up, leaving behind a cold, rasping desperation. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve opens his mouth, but the sound of the bell over the diner’s door sounds off again, and another man’s stern voice cuts into the silence.

“Young man, you need to come pay your bill.”

“Oh, Herb, he’s a regular, he’s not going to just run out!” Dottie’s voice comes on the heels of the man’s, equally stern. “Just give them a minute.”

“I gave them a minute, Dorothy,” the man—Herb, Eddie guesses—snaps. “I won’t have delinquents doing any kind of dine and dash nonsense.”

“Well, he didn’t even dine, so get back inside. And he isn’t a delinquent. Honestly,” Dottie is practically scolding, but Herb won’t be deterred.

“You’d better go take care of that.” Steve nods back towards the diner, before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and turning to walk off.

“Wait,” Eddie calls out. “Just wait a minute, please don’t–”

“Young man,” Herb barks out again, and Eddie hisses out a string of swears.

He jerks back around towards the diner, yanking out his wallet and trying to count bills as he walks.

“I’m sorry, Eddie, I tried to tell him,” Dottie says, genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine, it’s– fine.” He offers her a weak smile. “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Herb—the manager, if Eddie had to guess by his ugly, front-creased slacks and lack of apron—is unmoved.

“Come with me to the register,” he says, opening the door and gesturing for Eddie to go in.

“Dude, I know how much I owe you, can’t I just give you the money here?” Eddie asks, trying not to squirm with the antsy need to go running after Steve.

“And how much do you owe me?” Herb asks, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s, like, ten dollars for the meal, and then tip. Here.” Eddie holds out a handful of bills, but Herb refuses to take them.

“Like ten dollars isn’t an exact amount. Inside,” Herb demands.

Eddie is half tempted to just throw the bills at him and run, but even as Dottie squawks at the man that he’s being unreasonable, Eddie knows she won’t be enough to sway the guy from trying to ban him—or worse—so he follows Herb in and begrudgingly pays his bill at the register. He makes sure to hand the tip directly to Dottie, making spiteful eye contact with Herb as he does, and then he’s back out the door.

He doesn’t see Steve out on the road. He doesn’t see Steve at the entrance to the trailer park. He doesn’t see Steve’s car in front of his place when he finally gets back, winded from running at least halfway there.

Bastard probably took a shortcut through the woods.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Eddie hauls off and kicks one of the tires on his van, the nearest available object, which does nothing but hurt his foot and make him a little more miserable.

When the jittering swell of anger and disappointment has receded a bit, no longer clogging his throat and giving him room to think a little more clearly, he considers his options.

Like last time, he could give Steve room to cool off. To lick his wounds in peace and then maybe come back to Eddie, ready to talk again.

Or.

Or he could get in his van, go find Steve, and show him that he’s willing to face his mistakes and make them better, whatever that takes. That he wants Steve to tell him what’s really wrong, so they can address it and move forward. That he’s willing to fight for Steve.

He’s already pulling out of his parking space before he even realizes he’s made his decision.

Part 9

Tag List (Currently full! Drop me a line if you want off the ride): @bushbees @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @gleek4twd @hellfireone @westifer-dead @anne-bennett-cosplayer @starman-jpg @mugloversonly @swimmingbirdrunningrock @alycatavatar @y4r3luv @rhapsodyinalto @vinteraltus @lilpomelito @tillystealeaves @noctxrn-e @pearynice @giverobinagfbrigade @novacorpsrecruit @hotluncheddie @strangersteddierthings @alongcomesaspider @theheadlessphilosopher @jettestar @rajumat @garden-of-gay @jamieweasley13 @dam28lh @oldwitcheshat @lololol-1234 @perfectlysensiblenonsense @salty-h0e @r0binscript @mavernanche @back2beesness @a-lovely-craziness @paintsplatteredandimperfect @redbullgivescaswings @emmabubbles @heartstarstar-blog @thesuninyaface @thatonebisexualman @fruitandbubbles @erinharvelle @m-owo-n @theystoodandplayedwithsilence @surroundedbyconfusion @luthienstormblessed @3ldr1tchang3l @pansexuality-activated

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiesteve #OKAY BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING JUST REMEMBER #I have promised you a happy ending #solar wrote

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lovelyiida · 1 year ago

Text

THE RACE TO WEDDING BELLS ❤︎︎

CHAPTER 2: MY MISTAKE

"three strikes, you're in."

❥ SYNOPSIS: as the years passed, Bakugo realized he was the last among his class to tie the knot. As the days grew colder, and the nights became lonelier. Bakugo finds the desire to get married, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. At least he has his trustee secretary!

implied fem reader, aged-up! Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, suggestive wording, and content.

❥ CHAPTERS

❥ MASTERLIST

❥ JOIN TAG LIST!

WORDS: 7.4K

It's enough to say that you should have done your research before applying to become Dynamight's secretary—hard, thorough, strategic research, indeed.

Nothing could have prepared you for the hell that awaited you.

You've been employed at the pro-hero's agency for precisely 2 months and 20 days, almost 3 months. And throughout every month, every week, every day, hour, minute, and second, you've experienced utter torture and disrespect.

Yet, against all odds, there's an odd contentment within you. You've come to accept the harsh realities of the job. Despite the hardship, you find a strange satisfaction in the chaos. Maybe it's the unpredictable nature of the work or the resilience it builds within you. Whatever it is, you're strangely okay with it all.

Because you knew that the day you clocked in, the specific day marking the third month of your employment, you'd march into Dynamight's office and tell him to kiss your wonderful ass for doubting you in the beginning.

But for now, you're content.

As you walk through the white halls of the 21st floor, your gaze fixates on Dynamight's office door. You notice that your coworkers still give you lingering looks, but now it's not a look of pity, but rather admiration.

Turning into the break room with heavy files in hand, you slam them down on the small circular coffee table, startling your coworkers in the process.

"Jeez, how do you do it, L/n?" one of your female coworkers asks, her face turned upwards, radiating disgust as she looks at the thick stack of papers. Your other male coworker turns around, coffee in hand, and takes a slow sip. "You must be some kind of masochist-sadist or whatever to endure that," he says, waving his hand towards the pile. You roll your eyes and walk towards the coffee machine.

"It's not hard once you know the routine," you shyly smile. "Routine? Is that what you're conditioned to say?" Your male friend asks. This makes you laugh. "No…it's the truth," you respond. Grabbing a cup from the cupboard, you take the hot jug of coffee and pour some into your signature coffee mug.

"You know what? From the beginning, I knew what you were!" your female friend exclaims. Raising an eyebrow at her words, you sit down with the steamy cup of coffee, placing it on the ground by your feet, not even allowing yourself the fantasy of spilling it on the papers. Your friend crosses her arms with a smug smile. "You have to be some industry plant!" she continues with a wide smile.

"I wish," you snort.

"I mean, there must have been a nationwide distress call from all the pro-heroes in Japan complaining that they needed better secretaries. So they planted you and a whole bunch of others to frolic around and show people how it's done. Because, quite frankly…who here is really doing any work besides Red Riot, Dynamight, and you."

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head as you take another sip of your warm coffee. You watch your two coworkers make a beeline for the exit, their duties calling them back to their desks. As you sit in the comfortable silence of the small breakroom, you begin to reflect on the words they said.

They weren't necessarily wrong, or right.

In no way, shape, or form do you work as hard as your boss… But you'd consider yourself a damn close second. You've been there by their side from sunrise to sunset, through prideful moments and instances where they scream at you, making you doubt your own self-worth.

You're not a pro-hero, but sometimes you feel like one. You're always on the sidelines, observing rather than stepping onto the battlefield. Yet, you know every detail, from the way they attack to the way villains cower at their touch. Your eyes have become well-trained in the past three months of working in this field, that's for sure.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you quickly gather your things and make a beeline for your boss's office. Leaving your sad cup of spilled coffee on the breakroom floor, you knock hurriedly three times before letting yourself in, the sound of your shoes thumping against the carpeted floor echoing through the silent office.

With a huff, you slam the papers down and look at Dynamight. His face remains straight and unreadable. "Anything else you need, Dynamight?" you say, slightly staggered breath escaping your lips. The blonde hero blinks a couple of times, tilting his head as he looks at the stack of papers.

Extending his finger to lift one of the papers, he looks back up at you. "And might I know what the fuck is on my desk, L/n?" he says, his polite tone dripping with condescension. Clenching your jaw, you manage a half-smile. "Apologies, Dynamight! These are your schedules for the next three months. I've strategically organized each event to your liking, be it fundraisers, press conferences, speeches, or office schedules-"

"Even the shitty high school reunions?" he interrupts with a sly smirk. You chuckle at his response. "Yes, I made sure to make those an optional choice for you," you say with a smirk.

Dynamight scans through the papers, his face focused. Suddenly, he slams a particular paper down and points to a specific line of text. "October 16th, that's a Wednesday. Why is there a press conference scheduled on that day?" he questions.

Raising your eyebrows, you lean over to look at the indicated line. "I scheduled a press conference on that day because you'll be accompanying Red Riot to the Golden Hall to celebrate his birthday. When there are many people with similar expertise and professions gathered, it's considered a press conference," you explain with a smile. "Plus, your officials emphasized the need for you to attend more conferences, so… I bent the rules a little," you mumble.

A long pause hangs in the office, Dynamight's eyes fixed on you. "And why should I keep these papers? Couldn't you have just emailed me this as a damn form?" he growls.

"Because you only use your phone on workdays, and even then, you're barely on it. So I figured a printed form would suit you best," you reply calmly. "And what if I lose it? What then?" he retorts with an irritated tone, seemingly upset that you have an answer to all his questions.

If he paid close attention, he might notice your eye twitch.

Letting out a sigh, you place your hands behind your back. "You walk into this office with nothing, so I assume you leave with nothing as well… These papers will be waiting for you safely in a nice drawer upon your return, Dynamight," your tone edges on the brink of scolding. Your boss says nothing, tearing his gaze away from you as he settles back in his chair, focusing on his computer.

"Get out."

Blinking, you slowly bow before making your escape from the seventh ring of hell—Dynamight's office. "Wait!" he yells out, causing you to stop in your tracks. "Yes, Dynamight?" you say wearily. Your boss notices the tiredness in your tone, raising his head slightly.

"Don't come to work tomorrow. Takin' a week off," he says.

"Yes, Dynamight" you say, making another attempt to leave before you were once interrupted. "L/n!" Dynamight calls out for you once more, "Yes?" you say, on the brink of breaking right then and there.

"Rest."

Your eyes widen for a moment, that might be the nicest thing he's ever said you since you started working here. "Yes, thank you...you as well!" You exclaim, quickly bowing you make a speed walk run for it.

As you scurry to gather your belongings, you make your way to the door and leave the office, heading back home. Upon reaching home, you kick off your shoes at the entrance and set your bag down. Weary and longing for comfort, you tread towards your bedroom. The sight of your bed beckons you, and without hesitation, you sprint towards it with all your might. Jumping into the bed, you land with a resounding thump, letting out a deep groan of relief as you sink into the covers you've yearned for since the moment you woke up this morning.

Letting out a sigh, you turn to face the ceiling and begin to ponder…

If Dynamight isn't at the office for a week, that means you don't have to work… which means you can do whatever you want!

"Whatever I want, huh?" you ask aloud, sitting up on the bed as you delve deeper into your thoughts. When was the last time you had free time like this? Let alone a whole week to yourself?

There are so many things you can do! You could indulge in drawing, try out those dishes you've been meaning to cook, do some yoga, or maybe explore the town like you used to. The only difference now is that you won't be frantically rushing around the city, searching for jobs.

Or perhaps you could simply embrace stillness and do absolutely nothing. Yeah, that sounds like a plan…

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!

Letting out an irritated groan, you reach out for your phone and answer the call. "Yes, Dynamight?" you say in a sweet tone that masks your true feelings. "This isn't Dynamight," a female voice responds from the other end. Your eyebrows raise as you glance at the screen to check the contact name. "Oh! F/n! Sorry… force of habit," you awkwardly chuckle. "So, is the prophecy really true? Are we off for a whole week?" she asks.

"Yes, the prophecy has come to pass," you respond, impersonating an old wizard. This elicits laughter from both of you. "I was just lying down, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do," you share with your friend.

"Well, that's exactly why I called you, Ms. L/n."

"Me and a couple of girls are gonna go out tonight. We're all gonna try speed dating!" your friend says excitedly over the phone, her voice brimming with anticipation. You let out a sigh and lean back against the couch, contemplating her proposition.

"Um, how about no?" you respond, your tone laced with hesitation. Your friend groans loudly on the other line, causing you to wince at the sudden outburst. You quickly move the phone away from your ear to protect your eardrums.

"What do you mean no? You're fucking hot!" she argues, her voice filled with conviction. You smack your lips together, feeling a mix of flattery and skepticism. "You're just saying that so I can come with you," you mumble, not fully convinced of her sincerity.

"No, I'm saying it because you're a babe and you need a life outside of work. I bet if Dynamight asked you to go on a speed date, you'd do it without any hesitation!" she spits back, her words filled with both exasperation and a hint of teasing.

You clench your jaw, slightly irritated by her comment. "Bullshit, I would not! I have more dignity than that, don't I?" you retort, feeling a pang of defensiveness rise within you.

"It's hard to fucking tell with you these days! Just please think about it. What if you find the guy of your dreams? What if he's the sexiest man alive and you decide to miss out because of your stupid pride!" she says, her words rushing out in a torrent of persuasive arguments.

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of her words pressing upon you. "Okay, okay! Let me think about it!" you finally scream, your patience wearing thin as you struggle to come up with a definitive answer.

"Perfect! I knew you'd come around. Bye~" your friend sings before abruptly hanging up, leaving you with a mix of annoyance and contemplation. You stare at the caller ID as it fades away on your phone screen before tossing the device aside in frustration.

"Fuck," you sigh, your thoughts swirling with indecision. If there's one thing you have consistently had bad luck in, it's dating. From the age of 18 until now, your romantic endeavors have never quite yielded the desired results. Sure, there have been a few nice relationships you can look back on with a hint of nostalgia, but they were far outweighed by the embarrassing stories and short-lived connections.

You sink deeper into the couch, closing your eyes as you reflect on your dating history. The awkward blind dates, the cringe-worthy encounters, and the countless disappointments have left you hesitant to venture into the dating scene once again. But maybe, just maybe, your friend's words hold a glimmer of truth.

Like the time you met your first love, you thought things were going so well for both of you. You had been dating for about a year, and it was your first-year anniversary. Your partner had planned an extravagant evening at a fancy restaurant, complete with steak, wine, and a beautiful orchestra playing in the background. You were dressed to the nines, feeling absolutely beautiful. It seemed like one of the best days of your life.

As you gazed into your partner's eyes, brimming with love and adoration, you felt as if time stood still. It was a moment when nothing in the world could hinder your happiness. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone storming toward your table with a baby on their hip.

Time seemed to slow down as you watched the woman approach, her face red with anger. Your partner turned around, following your gaze, and his face went pale. The woman, consumed by rage, reached your table and swiftly grabbed the glass of wine, splashing it across his face.

"How could you!" she screamed, her voice piercing through the hushed ambiance of the restaurant. All eyes turned toward your table, curious and shocked. As the woman's accusatory words rang out, your partner's guilt became apparent. The truth unravelled before your eyes.

"So you like to sleep around with married men with children?" the woman yelled, directing her anger at you. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you looked around at the scrutinizing crowd. "No, I would never sleep with a married man!" you yelled back, desperately defending your innocence. "I swear I didn't know he was married!" You stared at your supposed lover, the shock and betrayal etched across your face.

In an unexpected turn of events, the woman's expression softened, and she gave you a pitiful look. Hastily, she handed you her baby, the innocent child caught in the midst of this chaotic situation. As you held the squishy bundle in your arms, you couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and heartbreak. Everything you thought you knew was shattered in an instant.

The woman continued her tirade, hurling foul words from the depths of her anger. Your heart shattered further with each word, and you realized that the foundation of your relationship had been built on lies. Overwhelmed by the weight of the situation, you made the decision to leave the restaurant, following the woman and the child she had reclaimed as her own.

It was a night filled with shattered dreams and broken trust. The pain of that experience lingered, leaving a lasting impact on your views on love and relationships. It became a painful reminder of the importance of honesty and transparency in any romantic connection.

After going through the painful breakup, you mustered up the courage to jump back into the dating scene, hoping to find love once again. But it felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. Your well-meaning parents, eager to see you settle down, thought they could help by setting you up on blind dates with their friends' sons.

Let me tell you, it was a total nightmare. From the snobby misandrist who looked down on you and belittled your ambitions to the lazy and clueless guy who had zero motivation in life, you encountered the whole spectrum. It was crystal clear that these potential matches were nowhere near a good fit for you. The whole process felt like a never-ending parade of disappointment and frustration.

Feeling exhausted and disheartened, you made the decision to take a break from dating altogether. You realized that finding the right person required more than just blindly going on dates. It called for patience, self-discovery, and a genuine connection. So, for the past couple of years, you've focused on yourself and found contentment in your life.

During this time, you've embraced the opportunity to prioritize your own happiness and personal growth. You've invested in your career, chasing new opportunities and pushing yourself to reach greater heights. You've nurtured meaningful friendships and surrounded yourself with positive influences. You've explored new hobbies, interests, and passions, unearthing aspects of yourself that got neglected during the chaos of relationships.

As the months turned into years, you realized that you genuinely enjoy the life you've built for yourself. You revel in the freedom to make choices solely for your own benefit, without having to consider a partner's impact. Your independence has become a source of strength, and you've come to embrace the idea of being whole and complete on your own.

But every now and then, you feel a twinge of loneliness. You start to wonder if it's time to dip your toes back into the dating pool. Maybe it's worth exploring the possibility of meeting someone who truly understands and appreciates you—a partner who adds to your life rather than completes it.

With a cautious yet open heart, you entertain the idea of going on a date or two. You set clear intentions and boundaries, determined not to settle for anything less than what you deserve. Whether it's through online platforms, social events, or mutual connections, you're open to the possibilities that lie ahead.

You know the dating journey can be a rollercoaster, but you face it with resilience and a newfound sense of self-assurance. Equipped with the lessons learned from past experiences, you navigate the dating world with a discerning eye and a willingness to embrace vulnerability.

And who knows? Maybe this time around, the stars will align, and you'll find that genuine connection and love you've been longing for. In the meantime, you're content with the life you've created, knowing that your own happiness and fulfillment are in your hands.

"This better be good, F/n."

Stepping into the enchanting ambiance of this charming restaurant, where elegance and warmth seamlessly blend together. The moment you enter, you're greeted by an inviting atmosphere that instantly puts you at ease. Soft, warm lighting casts a gentle glow throughout the space, creating an intimate and cozy setting.

The centerpiece of the restaurant is an elegant bar that exudes sophistication. It stretches along one side of the room, adorned with polished wood and shimmering glasses. Talented bartenders skillfully craft a variety of enticing cocktails, their movements fluid and precise, as they engage in friendly banter with patrons seated at the bar.

As you take in the surroundings, your eyes are drawn to the vibrant red seats that punctuate the space. Their plush upholstery adds a touch of luxurious comfort, beckoning you to settle in and relax. The rich hue of the seats creates a captivating contrast against the warm, neutral tones of the walls and floor.

The air is filled with a lively buzz of conversation and laughter, enveloping the restaurant with an infectious high-spirited energy. It's the kind of place where people come to celebrate, unwind, and indulge in culinary delights. The sound of clinking glasses and the soft hum of background music contribute to the lively atmosphere, creating a backdrop that resonates with joy and excitement.

The friendly staff, dressed casually but stylishly, move effortlessly among the tables. They greet you with warm smiles, making you feel like a cherished part of the restaurant family. Their genuine enthusiasm and professionalism add to the laid-back yet attentive vibe, ensuring you have a memorable dining experience.

As you settle into your seat, you can't help but feel embraced by the restaurant's inviting aura. The combination of the elegant bar, the vibrant red seats, and the high-spirited atmosphere create an irresistible charm that envelops you, making you feel at home in this haven of culinary delights.

As you settle into your seat, you pull out the menu, scanning the options while squinting at the prices. With a quiet curse, you mutter to yourself, "new job new price bracket I guess."

Glancing over to the other side of the restaurant, you spot your friend engaged in a lively conversation with a guy. They share laughter, their connection evident. Catching your gaze, your friend gives you a playful smile and waves.

You offer a half-hearted wave in return, recalling the lighthearted advice she gave you in the car on the way here: "Remember, Y/n, suck it in and smile!"

Rolling your eyes at the cliché advice, you sit back in your seat, swirling the complimentary glass of wine in your hand. Letting out a sigh, you survey the room filled with eligible bachelors. There are a variety of choices—tall, short, slender, and wide. All you have to do is approach them and say hello.

Despite the numerous options, none of the men in the room seem to catch your interest. None of them seem to measure up to the one you're seeking. But then, a voice interrupts your thoughts, asking if the seat next to you is taken. Startled, you snap out of your reverie and look up, locking eyes with an attractive man.

"N-no, it's not taken," you stutter nervously, feeling your heart race. The handsome stranger takes a seat in front of you. He's tall, fit, and his well-groomed brown hair falls gracefully just above his shoulders. His light brown eyes meet yours, reflecting a golden brown glow as they catch the light.

"I couldn't help but notice you sitting all alone, so I had to make sure I swept you up before anyone else did," he chuckles, flashing a charming smile. You respond with a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you settle more comfortably in your seat. Taking a sip from your glass, you set it down with a warm smile, intrigued by this unexpected encounter.

"Don't worry, you're the first to come by" you smiled at the man. Throughout the night you shared conversations with the man. Likes and dislikes, hobbies, and interests in goals. He seemed to be the perfect man for you. And he also had the looks to top it all off!

After the blind date, you decided to spend some more time with him throughout the few days off you were granted. And you felt as if you were on cloud 9.

He was smart, he was charming, he had a great since of humor. He was someone who you could see yourself in the future with, and you were excited to start a more romantic chapter in your life.

It seemed that more time you spent with him, the stronger your feelings for him grew. It seemed as if everything fell into place effortlessly. From shared interests to compatible personalities, you couldn't help but envision a future together.

You explored the city together, trying new restaurants, visiting art galleries, and enjoying long walks in the park. Each moment spent with him felt like a magical adventure, filled with laughter and meaningful conversations. You discovered common values and goals, and it only deepened your connection.

It seemed that now you were back at work all you could do was think about your blind date, he was in your every thought. He made you swoon over a single text and you smile in the worst of situations. And it seemed that every one around the office seems to notice it.

Even your boss

"L/n."

"Yes, Dynamight?" You ask, currently occupied sneaking a good morning text to your date. It was currently the beginning of the new week back from your much needed break and you were in your boss's office attending to his regular needs.

"Strike two," he says with a cold tone.

Eyes snapping up from your phone your face is puzzled, you find your boss holding a piece of paper. Looking closer you grow warm in embarrassment. It was a random loose leaf paper of writing—words consisting you having your dates last name and next date ideas scattered all over it.

"It's a strict policy we have here...keep your romantic endeavors outside of work, you of all people should know that." He says, voice stern and strong he stands from his chair and walks close towards you.

Looking up towards him, you can't help but feel small in comparison to his towering stature. Your eyes are caught like a deer in headlights, and your words stumble out in a nervous jumble. "I'm sorry, Dynamight… it won't happen again," you say softly, feeling a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. Dynamight takes the paper, crumpling it up and shoving it into your palm with a dismissive gesture. "Right," he says coyly, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. Without another word, he turns and walks away, and you instinctively follow suit.

You both make your way down to the basement of the building, where a private parking lot reserved for top employees and heroes awaits. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished gravel reverberates in the air as you quickly catch up to Dynamight's wide strides. As you look ahead, you notice a chauffeur stepping out of the driver's seat of a sleek, black luxury SUV. The chauffeur promptly walks over to open the door, extending a hand to assist you and the pro-hero.

With a graceful movement, Dynamight steps into the car, his air of confidence barely contained. You roll your eyes discreetly at his cocky demeanor, feeling the need to apologize for his behavior. You offer two bows, a gesture of remorse on his behalf, before you enter the vehicle and take a seat next to the hero. An awkward silence settles in, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine.

Pursing your lips, you reach into your bag and retrieve your laptop, determined to focus on your work despite the tension in the air. As you power up your computer, the glow of the screen illuminates your face, casting a faint light on the dim interior of the car. The atmosphere becomes charged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, both of you immersed in your own thoughts.

The vehicle glides smoothly through the city streets, the passing lights painting fleeting patterns on the windows. The occasional honk or distant siren breaks the silence, but the air between you remains heavy with unspoken words. You steal quick glances at Dynamight, observing his strong profile and the focused expression on his face. The hero's presence, despite the strained circumstances, evokes a sense of awe and admiration within you.

As you settle into your work, the rhythmic tapping of your fingers on the keyboard provides a comforting backdrop to the journey. The clacking sound mixes with the muffled sounds of the bustling city, creating a symphony of movement and activity outside the vehicle.

Minutes turn into a hushed passage of time, and although the silence may be uncomfortable, it also holds a sense of intrigue. The shared experience of this car ride becomes a silent connection, a shared space where unspoken thoughts and unexpressed emotions linger. Each passing moment brings you closer to your destination, both physically and emotionally, and the anticipation of what lies ahead intertwines with the subtle electricity in the air.

Lost in your own thoughts, you glance up from your work, meeting Dynamight's gaze in a brief moment of eye contact. A flicker of understanding passes between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension and the complexities of your relationship. In that shared glance, you find a glimmer of hope, a glimpse of the possibility for a deeper connection beyond the surface-level interactions.

With renewed determination, you return your focus to your work, hoping that this car ride, filled with its awkward silence and unspoken words, may lead to a turning point, a chance for both of you to bridge the gaps that exist between you.

"So… who's the guy?" Dynamight breaks the thick tension in the air, causing you to pause from your typing and look at him with a rather shocked expression. "I'm not permitted to tell you that information, Dynamight," you say, maintaining a professional tone. The pro hero rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with your response.

"Fuck the rules, I'm your boss," he retorts, contradicting himself with a hint of frustration. You swallow nervously and shift your gaze to the window, observing the bustling city of Japan at such an early hour.

"I met him during my week off. He's a good guy, and we're attracted to each other–"

"That's it?" Dynamight interjects with a snort, and you blink, trying to restrain yourself from showing your irritated state. "Well… I'm not exactly comfortable discussing my personal life in detail," you respond politely, hoping to defuse the tension. However, as you glance over, you notice Dynamight giving you an unamused look. He soon adjusts in his seat and leans his head back, signaling his disinterest in further conversation.

"Whatever," he says dismissively. Another ten minutes of silence ensues, during which you become engrossed in your work, typing away on your computer. However, before you can enter another character, a sudden bump in the road causes the car to shake roughly. Holding onto your computer tightly, you look over to see Dynamight sound asleep.

Sitting up and adjusting in your seat, you continue to gaze at him, noticing how peaceful he looks when he's asleep. Almost like a porcelain statue, he remains still, without a flaw on his face. Every scar, bump, and bruise seems to be placed perfectly on his skin.

Feeling a warm sensation, you avert your gaze, closing your laptop. Unfortunately, you have to wake the hero. Reaching over, you gently shake him. With a groan, he swats away your hand rather harshly, inadvertently displaying his strength. "We're nearing your destination, Dynamight," you say coldly.

He looks at you with a tired nod, adjusting himself in his seat as he glances out the window. "What do you have for me, maid?" he asks, his tone flat. Pressing your lips into a line, you let out a sigh before reaching into your bag to retrieve a collection of papers. Handing them to the pro-hero, you say, "It's the congratulations ceremony for young aspiring heroes, mostly middle school age. I provided their names and ages. I gave you these papers a week before we left, hoping you had memorized their faces as well."

"Alright… what else?" he replies, sounding slightly more engaged.

"Give them a handshake, a hug or two, and don't forget to smile," you inform him, reciting the instructions word for word.

As the car continues its journey, the atmosphere remains filled with a mix of tension and professionalism with maybe a hint of an attempt at small talk. The cityscape rushes by, the hum of the engine creating a steady rhythm. In this moment, you prepare yourself mentally for the upcoming event, hoping to navigate the complexities of your relationship with Dynamight while fulfilling your duties as his secretary.

Looking out the window, you watch as the large crowd grows sporadic at the sight of your vehicle pulling into the event driveway. A mixture of fans of every age and shape, gleefully cheering for the hero's appearance. Letting out a tired sigh, you look over and see your boss not excited at all.

The both of you lock eyes, as you both share a moment of fondness. Sharing the same feelings, absolute dread. Signaling your hand towards your mouth, you mouth the word "smile!" gleefully before shutting back to your regular relaxed frown.

Before you know it, the chauffeur hurriedly opens your door, and the cheers of citizens grow ten times louder than before. Showing a small smile towards the crowd, you step out and give a bow to the awaiting audience. Stepping away from the vehicle, you observe as the groggy asshole you call your boss transforms into a complete character. A confident yet cocky smile paints over his face as he raises his fists in the air and flexes his muscles. You can't help but feel a slight sense of awe as you watch him.

Shielding your face from the flash of paparazzi cameras, you make your way into the building, guided by an assistant. They lead you to a VIP powder room where, like a flip of a switch, the corporate smile fades effortlessly. Dynamight wearily trudges his feet to the open pink couch and collapses onto it with a loud thud.

Grabbing a water bottle, you hand it to him and take a seat beside him. With a slight curve in your back, you exhale, feeling the weight of the day so far. Staring deadpan into the void, you listen to the loud gulps as Dynamight quenches his thirst. A burp follows suit, and he casually tosses the empty water bottle into the trash.

Soon, you hand him the piece of paper with the children's names on it. Your boss glances over it, reading each name. However, he quickly loses interest and looks at you with a puzzled expression.

"What's he like?" he asks, attempting to revisit the unsuccessful conversation from the car. "That's none of your business, I'm sorry," you respond professionally. This prompts the pro hero to groan aloud. "Drop the act and just tell me!" he demands.

You don't know what's in the air, but today of all days, you've reached your breaking point.

"I said no, goddamn it!" you yell at him, frustration boiling over. Dynamight's expression shifts from irritated to irate, but before he can get a word in, an assistant from the event venue barges in.

"We're ready for you in 3 minutes!" they announce joyfully. Both of you turn abruptly towards the voice, and just as quickly, they disappear, slamming the door behind them. Dynamight slowly rises from his seat, rolling up the papers you provided into a scroll.

Walking away from you without uttering another word, he leaves you sitting there, throwing your hand to your face. Cursing to yourself, you sink deeper into your seat, reflecting on the intense exchange and the upcoming event that demands your attention.

As you stand in the crowd, you watch the pro-hero speak to his audience. Programmed to say whatever needed for the sake of his image, you wondered if anyone knew how much of an asshole he really was compared to just word of mouth.

You wondered if anyone truly knew him like you did, you wondered if anyone truly knew what it felt like to be in your shoes for one day. To see how much you suffered by sumply co-exhisting with a man like him.

"Looking a little low on battery there, Y/n?" a voice says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look over at the voice and gasp in shock. It's your blind date. "Holy shit, what are you doing here?" you exclaim with excitement oozing from your tone. Reaching out, you hug him tightly, and he returns the embrace.

As you release from his grip, you lock eyes with each other. "I'm reporting for a story, you know, heroes giving back to the public and all that crap. What about you?" he asks.

"Oh, same," you quickly reply, deciding to keep your true situation a secret.

Around 30 minutes or so pass as the both of you try to catch up on the lost time. The sounds of crowd laughter fill the air, but amidst the noise, his voice is the only one that seems to filter through to you.

"Hey, I was thinking… if you're free after this, we could grab a coffee and a bite to eat and talk some more?" he shyly suggests. A sparkle twinkles in your eyes at the offer. "Of course, I would love to! I'm totally free after this—"

"Yeah, she's gonna be really fucking free after this!"

Dynamight's voice cuts through your conversation like sharp ice. Your eyes snap towards him, your brows furrowed in confusion. Before you can react, you feel a strong grip on your arm as Dynamight forcefully drags you away with an ungodly strength.

Protesting and yelling, you try to resist his hold, but Dynamight remains relentless. He leads you back into the VIP room and slams the door shut behind you. Throwing you onto the couch, he stands towering before you, his expression filled with anger and frustration. Exhausted from the ordeal, you look at him with a mix of distraught and defiance, huffing your breath in an attempt to regain composure.

"What is wrong with you?" you spit out, your voice tinged with anger. His eyes widen in disbelief. "What's wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you!" he yells, his voice echoing in the small room. You plead with him, aware of the presence of other people nearby. "Dynamight, please, there are people around! Let's talk calmly."

"You think I give a shit? After you fucking embarrassed me while being too busy being dickmatized?" He screams, his frustration reaching its peak. Unable to control his anger, he grabs the papers from the table and hurls them at you. Flinching at his violent outburst, you shield yourself from the incoming papers.

The room falls into an uneasy silence as you both catch your breath. The tension hangs heavily in the air, leaving you feeling emotionally drained and disheartened. You had never expected things to escalate like this. The weight of whatever mistake and the consequences of your actions begin to weigh heavily on you.

"Look through those fucking papers and tell me what the hell the issue is," he says coldly, his voice laced with frustration. Grabbing the paper harshly from his hand, you meticulously examine each page, your gaze fixed on the words. The weight of his expectation hangs heavily in the air.

As you pour over the papers, your eyes scan every line, every word, searching for any trace of error. The room is filled with tense silence, broken only by the sound of rustling paper. You can feel his eyes boring into you, his impatience growing with each passing second.

Looking up, you finally meet his gaze, your expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "What is supposed to be wrong here?" you spit out, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. The knot of tension in your stomach tightens.

His voice drips with anger as he snaps, "The fucking kids' names are mixed up, L/n! The goddamn names! The whole fucking crowd was laughing at me, and one of the kids cried because I said the wrong name!" His face reddens, veins pulsating with anger.

Your heart sinks as the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. The gravity of your mistake hangs heavy in the room. Swallowing hard, you feel a lump form in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

"I… I'm so sorry, Dynamight," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Rising from the couch, you stand before him, your body tense with remorse. In a gesture of humility, you bow deeply, a desperate plea for forgiveness.

The pro-hero's initial anger subsides slightly, replaced by a hint of smug satisfaction. He snorts in response to your apology, relishing in your discomfort. "Don't worry," he taunts, a smug grin playing on his lips. "You'll have all the free time in the world to feel fucking sorry."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, intensifying the heaviness of the situation. It feels as if the ground beneath you has given way, leaving you in a void of disappointment and self-doubt. This wasn't just a simple mistake; it was a strike against your credibility, your competence.

"Strike three," he declares, his voice low and menacing.

"You're out."

"What the hell do you mean you're leaving?" he exclaims, his voice filled with disbelief and a tinge of desperation.

"I'm saying I'm fired, F/n," you reply, your voice heavy with sorrow and resignation. With each item you drop into the cardboard box, the weight of your dismissal grows heavier.

Back at the office, surrounded by the remnants of your professional life, you find yourself immersed in a bittersweet wave of memories. As you gather your belongings, you can't help but reflect on the time you spent as a pro hero secretary. It feels like only yesterday when you embarked on this journey, eager to contribute to the world of heroes.

The mistake you made still lingers in your mind, and you can't shake off the disbelief that accompanies it. You had taken every precaution, painstakingly triple-checking the papers from beginning to end. How could such a crucial error slip through? Doubt and self-blame claw at the edges of your thoughts.

As you pack away your belongings, each item serves as a reminder of the connections you forged during your time here. The laughter shared with colleagues, the triumphs celebrated together, and the bond formed within the walls of this office. It's a painful reminder of what you're leaving behind.

"Strike three, you're out."

His words echo in your mind, amplifying the weight of your failure. The realization that you've lost his trust and respect settles over you like a suffocating cloak. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but you know you must face the consequences of your actions.

In the silence that follows, you gather your thoughts, determined to learn from this experience and regain what you've lost. The road to redemption won't be easy, but you're resolved to prove yourself once again, to earn back the trust you've squandered.

Looking at your empty desk, you notice one more thing left on the table. Grabbing it you frown, a golden plate with your name and occupation. frowning you toss it in your box, but then your friend grabs it back out.

"You can't keep this—" they say with a frown. "You have to return it back to Dynamight so that you don't sell it and stuff. It's what all employees have to do," he explains, his voice soft; tinged with a sense of obligation. Slamming your belongings down with frustration, you snatch the golden plate from his hands and march towards Dynamight's office.

Standing in front of his office door, your face contorts with a frown, your thoughts racing. There are so many things you want to say to this man, but deep down, you know he has heard them all before. Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door, the sound echoing through the silence. Footsteps approach from the other side, and soon the door swings open, revealing the towering figure of the pro hero.

As you look up at him, his stern expression doesn't waver. He lets out a weary sigh and gestures for you to come in, motioning to close the door behind you. Obeying his silent command, you step into the room, feeling the weight of the atmosphere envelop you. The ticking of a time clock fills the room, accompanied by the gentle hum of a fan providing a cool breeze that adds to the white noise surrounding you.

Extending your hand, you present the golden plate to Dynamight, the emblem of your job, its significance not lost on either of you. He pushes himself off his desk and walks toward you, his hand reaching to take the plate from your grasp. However, you refuse to let go, tears welling in your eyes and streaming down your face, splashing onto the golden surface.

Your body trembles with uncontrollable emotions as you collapse to your knees, bowing on the floor, your face pressed against the cool surface beneath you. Desperation seeps into your voice as you plead, "Please, I'll do anything… anything."

Moments pass in heavy silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Unexpectedly, Dynamight drops to one knee, bringing himself to your level. His strong grip pulls you up, forcing you to face him, his gaze meeting your tear-stained eyes. Something in his expression softens as he witnesses your vulnerability and brokenness, a side of you he has never seen before.

"There's one thing you can do," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes widen, your heart pounding in your chest, as you sit up straight, eagerly awaiting his next words. "Yes, Dynamight?"

"Marry me."

AHHHHH SHIT I FINALLY FINISHED!!! I literally have no excuse i've just been living life and avoiding this shit like the PLAGUE honey...

ALSO TYSM FOR 700+ FOLLOWERS!

❥: @r-ans, @xo-evangeline, @superkittywonderland, @inlovewithteo217, @im-better-than-your-newborn, @nar00, @king-dynamight, @bollzinurmouth, @gold24fish, @xasilex, @urdescentartist, @the-queen-of-sorrows, @itgetzweird08, @yoyosocks165, @zyxys1, @your-mom83, @pebblepoop, @lovra974, @suchagoodgirixoxo, @bakugospartner, @gaby-11, @smokers-sweetheart, @akqsa-xxi, @StableCreator93, @alhina, @din-O-bi-wan, @jolynegf, @sad0ni0n, @wore-for-anime, @a1hina, @goldenglow149, @aliruuiz, @zany17, @zukowantshishonourback, @uvula6927, @ilovedenk-i, @LavaLampFullOfSoup

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just-a-space-nugget · 3 months ago

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Half-Life: The Employer AU

@sepko1 ‘s Gordon Geeman (or Freeman Immortal) has inspired me to revisit my own “Gman Gordon.” Funny enough, I made my Gman Gordon around the same time Sepko’s came about so I’ve had to change a lot to my own cause well.. mine was REAL SIMILAR to their’s lmao! But I feel like mine is more than just a “Gman” if you feel me? Mine is more like “the employer” in my eyes.

I may make a small “Au” or something around him. It would involve Sepko’s Geeman and even a few other people’s “Gman” type characters. Just because well the nature of the characters is based around the idea of multiple “Gmen” type people, being the employees. Each Universe has its own “Gman” that maintains the universe and each individual timeline they contain.

But the Employer. Who is the Employer? The Employer is the one who oversees all Universes, all timelines, all employees. Wouldn’t it be interesting.. if the Employer turned out to be a Gordon Freeman? Possibly even the very first instance of Gordon to exist in the Half-Life Universe. The Gordon from the very first timeline. The one who set the president for all. That would be my “Gman Gordon”

I’ve posted this before but here is the og Drawing. I may do a new one.

More info below if you are interested in my thoughts and ideas.

He would wear an edgy version of Gordon’s Black Mesa Uniform. His glasses would be tinted to conceal his eyes. He also has an HEV suit he sometimes wears that is also in more dark edgy colors rather than orange to keep him hidden. He can be seen holding a black mesa brief case (like Gman) but is more commonly seen holding a Black Mesa clipboard with what feels like infinite paper but only appears to have two or three sheets on it at all times.

Depending on what he wants to look at or what he needs the second or next page of the clipboard changes. The first page is always the cover of the Black Mesa employee handbook.

He barely retains any of his original self. He purposefully suppresses his human side to keep himself focused on his job. He still has his own Universe. He no longer maintains it, instead he has left it in the hands of the og Gman who he employed long ago to keep it safe. He occasionally visits it. It serves as a place where he can go to think and feel “at home.” Deep inside he mourns his Universe. Mourns a time when he was still human. Now he knows that all instances of himself and the people he cares for despise him. Even though no one knows he is the “Employer” (except those he has employed) everyone always thinks the ideals of the many Gmen and their employer are working against them since they seem to have done nothing but harm their ways of life, emotions, and morals. Gordon The Employer has to face the fact that everyone he cared for now want him and his plans dead. When all he wishes to do is keep all timelines and Universes flowing. He wants to do what is best for each instance of everyone including himself.

After all if he had never made the choice to pull The Freeman into stasis for 20 years, who would stop the Combine? How would things have played out? Yes the choice to force Alyx into employment is morally wrong, but those are human morals. When it comes to the greater good of the universe and its timelines, human morals do not apply.

Time is not a concept that applies to The Employer. He is everywhere, anywhere, yet no where all at once. He is a singular entity but is sometimes referred to in the plural as “The Employers”

Alternative Universes and timelines of each are constantly appearing, constantly changing, evolving. The Employer must be able to handle the task of assigning each new universe with its own set of boundaries, key events each iteration of the first timeline must follow, and its very own Gman that must abide by these rules and maintain the new Universe accordingly. It is not an easy job, but he has done it since the beginning of time and deep at his core he is still a scientist, and scientists thrive in challenges such as these. And with each Universe came new challenges, new threats to his plans and to the plot each timeline should follow. As time goes on he realizes a pattern all instances of himself, Eli, Alyx, and in some cases Vortiguants have begun to rebel against his employees. A Little deviation from the core plot is not is not a big deal, things can be nudged to fix such things, but too much is seen as a threat and must be dealt with accordingly.

Each “Employee” or “Gman” must stem from somewhere. The Employer originally kept to a strict pattern of using different variations of the same “Gman” across universes. But eventually he saw the potential for employing those he cared for, especially ones from timelines where he saw they had potential. Slowly The Employer began to replace original “Gmen” with the newly trained and employed Employees. All was well, he even spoke with them individually, assisting (as best he could) with their transition from being human to a “Gman” including the emotional and mental strain that can cause. (However with his own emotionless habits it proved to be less than effective or comforting for the others.)

All was well. Until he decided to try and employ.. himself. And thats where Sepko’s Geeman comes in.

At first he does nothing but watch from a far. When the gman set to maintain and train the new Employee turns up missing, and his other Employees’ ties to the Universe are served, he has no choice but to personally intervene. For the first time since the beginning of time he has to step out of the shadows and introduce himself to the rest of the Half-Life Universe. Having no choice but to collaborate with the Alyx and Vortiguants of this Universe in order to come up with a solution. At first it does not go as planned. Everyone in the universe rejects him and attacks him. Never giving him a chance to introduce himself or speak. Simply mistaking him for the rouge employee.. or The Freeman Immortal. Having to actually interact with those he cared about for the first time in… a while.. is challenging. Not just for the obvious reasons but because it touched the side of him he had long since suppressed. The Gordon Freeman part of him.

#sepko #half life #nugget rambles #gordon freeman #gordon geeman #gordon the employer #< that one is mine :3 #half life au #inhuman gordon freeman #gman #ideas #half life: the employer #the employer au #someone else #freeman immortal

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amywritesthings · 1 year ago

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silver underground. / chapter 16.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: flashback six - also known as the day of the heist

Warnings: this chapter heavily explores and discusses themes of peril, thoughts of self harm and self destruction, hopelessness, death, violence, and torture. if you are triggered by these topics, i would suggest skipping this chapter.

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 16 - FLASHBACK: SIX

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

The silence of the Underground City spoke volumes.

At this rate, you’ve gone over the plan — and the potential ways it can go horribly wrong — at least a dozen times.

Only so many distress signals can be sent from three people outrunning an entire Military Police unit, so you've employed all of them.

First, there’s the stolen flares.

They’re sparingly used, if ever, when it’s the four of you on a job. Two teams of two has easily been your best formation tactic.

A slight change to a single team of three should not cause much difficulty, especially when it involves veterans like Church, Ackerman, and Magnolia.

(You've already waited a half hour. No flare ever ignites.)

Next, if someone loses their grip on a flare canister, then the pursued team resorts to high-altitude flying.

At the height you’re perched upon — the rooftop of a dilapidated apartment complex overlooking the northern half of the Underground — you’d be able to see at least one person flipping and weaving through even the tallest buildings.

(Another half hour passes. No one ever breaches the skyline.)

The last option, should any ODM gear jam and fail, is more human: eyesight.

With the B-team units ordered to be stationed around the Underground City, your three friends should be covered. If it looks like the Military Police have the upper hand, then you can quickly get the rest of the gang to safety.

You told Levi you wouldn't run after him, that you would keep your promise and stick to the plan, but now that it's been over an hour of radio silence?

You're not so sure.

Because there are no clouds in the Underground, your sightline is clear. Idly your ODM gear sits on either hips, hands occupied by the mechanism's handles that will boost you at a moment’s notice. Below you on the street stand your appointed security, both gang veterans, looking for any stray MPs roaming the area.

Every second waiting for Levi, Isabel, and Furlan to return from their heist route spans to eternity.

Over and over your eyes scan, checking between rooftops — nothing.

Your attention drops to the streets — nothing.

Silence creeps to a ninety-minute drag.

No flares sound.

No bodies fly.

“C’mon, Ackerman,” you mumble under your breath, flexing your left hand to give your body something to do — to avoid pulling the trigger too fast on a rescue operation.

He was explicit about not coming for him.

He was explicit and he was stupid to think you’d never come for him.

He was stupid to think—

“James!”

A panicked, shrill voice, however, sounds from the street.

You whip your attention to the east, taking your eyes off of the skyline for a belated beat.

The rogue voice screeches with urgency a second time.

“James!”

It's young and feminine and terrified.

You shift a boot towards the sound, squeezing the metal handles in your palms with your index fingers at the ready.

“Hey! Where is she? Please, tell me James is here.”

She seems out of breath, like she ran a great distance to get here.

You draw a line with your sight from where her footsteps originated: she came from the south.

Most of your units are pushed towards the north, where Levi stated the job would take place.

One of the seasoned lackeys, a younger man, grunts to her in response. “Who’s askin’?”

“I need to speak with James,” she urges, ignoring his question with a wavering tone. “Please—”

“She’s busy, kid,” the second man replies. “Spit it out if somethin’—”

“They caught Levi!”

Her shriek almost makes your foot slip, causing a roof shingle to dislodge.

Time ceases to exist.

Levi.

Below you hear the young men argue with her and the exchange of pleas that follow, but there is no distinction of sound to you. Their words are muddied as if your head has been dunked underwater.

You can't run to her. Anxiety grabs you by the scruff of your neck to hold you in place.

What's wrong with Levi?

Move.

Did something happen to Levi?

Move.

Without thinking, your hand ignites the ODM switch in your left hand to propel a spear into the stone wall from across the street.

You swiftly swing down from your perch, finally catching a glimpse of the girl in question:

The girl — you remember her first name being Lucy — is as pale as a ghost. Her entire body trembles like a decaying leaf, as though she’s witnessed something horrific that she can’t scrub from her line of sight.

(What the hell did she see?)

Her shoulders relax once she spies your face, but not enough to quell your concern when tears well into her eyes.

“James! Oh my god, you’re here,” Lucy breathes, taking a step forward like you’re willing to console her with a comforting arm. "I tried to get here as fast as I—"

“Repeat what you just said about Ackerman,” you demand without solace. “Now.”

You take one pace back, ignoring the spike in your heart rate as the scenario snowballs in your mind’s eye.

From your peripheral vision, you see several others from the gang join the fray.

The two other lookouts on Lucy’s team run down the tiny guarded street, equally out of breath and panicked.

“We saw it happen in the southeast corner!” one of the running girls exclaim.

You — and the rest of the gang — turn in that direction. You can feel your throat seize.

He said the job was going to be in the northern half of the city.

How the fuck did they end up in the south quadrant?

"We followed them when the job changed course," Lucy explains as if she can read your mind. "Levi ordered Furlan and Isabel to cut south. Too many MPs were waiting in the north."

"But the job was in the north," you numbly reason.

“It might have been a trap, we don't know!" she desperately chirps. "A bunch of MPs went after them on ODM gear so we followed by foot. They were chasing Furlan through the streets. A few of them fell back and we thought maybe they gave up, but then a bunch of new people came out of nowhere and they all had green cloaks with wings—”

“Wings?” you snap, unable to stop your eyes from widening.

You whip your attention back to the young girl. Lucy cowers at your unyielding gaze.

“...yeah,” she answers, meek and uncertain. “They didn’t have the same jackets as the MPs. They had wings on their backs, on the cloaks and the jackets.”

A cloud of fearful whispers spreads like wildfire through the small crowd, infecting the minds of the reconnaissance team under your command.

It isn’t uncommon anymore for the Military Police patrolling the Underground to show up with ODM gear. It used to be a rarity, but now? They know better than to show up empty-handed.

Years of embarrassment have taught the thick-headed MPs a valuable lesson.

But green cloaks — and wings?

You can’t be mistaken by their meaning:

The Scout Regiment.

The military branch where suckers with death wishes band together to expire. They seek to explore the unknown, taking off on brainless expeditions past the city walls and into whatever Hell awaits on the other side.

(Why the fuck would they send the goddamn suicide squad to the Underground?)

You don’t need to live on the surface to know the stories: a third of Scout recruits barely make it past their first mission. And by the end of their first service year, the death toll rises to half.

The only dumbasses left standing with the Wings of Freedom on their back are those who desperately want to die but can never find the right titan to eat them.

And, according to the stories, their missions beyond Wall Maria always come up empty-handed.

A thought passes through your mind like a papercut, stinging your blood cells with the very real possibility that they’ve turned their efforts inward — whether at the demand of the king or the disappointment of the people paying their salaries is unclear.

(Is the Underground City their new playground?)

If so, then Levi — this gang — could very well be their first dedicated target.

“Where?”

The word spills out of your mouth, starting in your mind as a demand but dissolving to a murmur.

Going, running, to wherever the Military Police — or God forbid, the Scout Regiment — have your friends is the only plan of action you can think of.

You’re supposed to make sure the people here are fine.

The need to run — go, go, go — far outweighs your logic.

“I…” The girl falters.

You hate how your voice erupts in the wake of your fear. “Where, Lucy?!”

“I don’t know! I lost track of them!” she yelps, squeezing her amber eyes shut. The hands at her sides are balled into tight, painful fists. “Isabel and Furlan got taken down by some MPs, but Levi kept going on ODM gear. He outran most of the MPs, but there was a man, a tall blonde guy, who—”

“Was he a Scout?” you press on, gritting your teeth. “Did you see the Wings of Freedom?”

“The fucking Scouts are here?” someone yelps behind you. “Oh, shit, dude. Oh, man…”

“What the hell are they doing down here?” another asks next to him. “They don’t fuck with the Underground!”

“Did the Wall missions fail?” an older girl asks under her breath. “Are they coming to wipe all of the Underground City out now?”

“Quiet,” you order, holding up a hand. It takes tensing your arm to keep the limb from shaking. “Lucy: where did you last see Levi?”

“The blonde man chased him out of the sky and into the streets. No one knows. We couldn’t see where they went, but it… I’m so sorry, James.”

Lucy’s voice is so small that you barely hear her.

All you can focus on is his voice ringing in your head, a whisper against the thin line of white noise filling your body.

Protect them.

You’re ready.

You’re so ready to fire up your ODM gear to chase after him, to fight off every single bastard who thinks about laying a finger on your friends.

We won’t get arrested. We’re too fast on ODM gear.

“What do we do, James?”

The MPs won’t stand a chance.

“Can she hear us? Is she freaking out?”

You want me to be the last person standing.

“James!”

Lucy shrieks in your face, breaking your delusion.

You blink back into your body to see a dozen faces staring back at you in various stages of grief.

Fear.

You focus on the way a tear streams down Lucy’s youthful face. It brings you back to when you picked her up off the streets. A kid, just like you, looking for food scraps and shelter — her mother had passed away at a young age, leaving her to fend for herself.

You knew what that was like, so you promised protection. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.

A chance at life.

Just like he once gave to you.

Now you’re the only leader left standing. The other three are either arrested — or worse.

You’re all that stands between dragging her back to the streets or pushing her to the gallows.

(You’re all anyone in this gang has.)

I need you to be safe.

Levi’s voice tickles the outer shell of your ear, whispering past despite the dead wind.

You want to hate him. You really do.

But you promised.

Lucy’s lower lip trembles as she takes a step forward.

This time you stay put, too frozen from the numbness in your body.

“James… please, tell us: what do we do?”

You don’t know.

You wish you did, but you don’t know.

You want to tell them to run, to run as fast as they can and never look back.

You want to tell them that you don’t know how to do this without Isabel or Furlan.

You want to tell them you’d rather die than know a life without Levi.

But you promised.

I’ll keep them safe.

I know you will. Echoing in your mind like an omen. I trust you.

“If they’re arrested, then the MPs will be storming the apartment at any minute.”

You finally answer without an ounce of emotion. You can’t stomach thinking past protocol.

“We don’t have time to get our stuff. Organize yourselves into teams of three. Find the safe houses and don't come out until you hear from me. Take a single runner out to Roxy’s. They owe me a few favors, so they should give you table scraps until this blows over.”

“Are you getting Ackerman?” An older girl holding onto her brother’s small shoulders pipes up from your right.

“And Church?” Another person asks. “Magnolia?”

Refusing to think further than the present crisis, you shake your head.

“They all knew the risks of this heist. Right now, my priority is keeping everyone here safe. So go — and avoid detection the best you can. Leave the rest to me, alright?"

You pause, making eye contact with those staring at you. In front of you is a gradient of nerves.

(Everyone knows the risks of running with a gang in the Underground, no matter the price.)

"I said go, goddamnit!”

At your shouted order, most don’t hesitate to run.

The crowd forms into smaller clusters of refugees as they run towards the emergency routes you’ve mapped a hundred times before.

You don’t have time to panic.

You don’t have time to mourn about what could have been.

(A house gleaming in the sunlight with its windows open. The scent of a fresh meal being cooked. The soft meow overlapping over pleasant conversation about nothing at all.)

After all, you made a promise —

And if three of the Underground’s most notorious gang leaders have been caught, then it’s only a matter of time until the manhunt ends with you.

Week after week, your numbers dwindle.

Day in and day out, houses are raided for anyone associated with Ackerman, Church, and Magnolia.

Bars, brothels, and drug dens are scoured for that missing puzzle piece.

Military Police, emboldened by their victory, are adamant to find anyone involved in their gang.

Most found are arrested.

Some offer information for a chance at immunity.

By the fourth week, the gang dissolves into half of its original number.

However, the rampant pursuit slows after the sixth week, and by the seventh, the Military Police stop searching.

The city becomes boisterous again for an entirely different reason, falling back to its routes of debauchery and strife.

Panic of those still in hiding twists into remorse, remorse into doubt, and soon the doubt creeps into what was once an impenetrable fortress.

And somewhere you failed.

Maybe it was because you kept your promise and never went after Levi, Isabel, and Furlan the day they disappeared.

Maybe it was because no one ever saw them again, creating a shroud of mystery in their disappearances. Most people assumed they were arrested and tortured for information. Others hoped they were able to at least die in a merciful way.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you gave up.

The longer you fought without your three friends, the longer you ran around the Underground City hiding from authority, the harder it became to remember why you were trying so hard to be the last person standing.

Hiding with nothing to go back to — that was what waited for you at the end of all of this.

To make new headquarters on mere piles of rubble, alone.

People continue to get caught.

People continue to lose their lives.

You were ready—

Ready to give up.

Ready to join the fate of so many others.

Ready to lose.

(All things considered, you had a good run.)

Eight weeks.

It takes eight whole weeks for someone to finally rat you out.

In exchange for immunity, a scared newcomer snitched to the Military Police about the location of your hideout — and you can’t blame them.

The Underground City has always been a dog-eat-dog pit.

That, however, doesn’t mean you don’t still run.

The crisp, metallic zip of the pulley cuts the air every time you push through the alleyways, leaving the Military Police unit in the dust. Wind frays your hair, whipping pieces of it into your face as you run along brick walls and push for the a momentous swing.

It has been weeks of these chases, all evaded in the dust, but something feels different about this pursuit.

The officers feel confident this time.

Ready.

Another unit of MPs pursue on foot, shouting and taunting for your surrender, but they're no match for your swift escape.

The two officers following with ODM gear cannot match the sharpness of your turns.

You don’t know why you keep running.

Why can’t you just stop running?

In your lingering rage you almost want to turn back, take a knife, and attack.

To earn the heaviness of a murder charge on your shoulders.

You want to lash out—

To make someone hurt—

But you just keep running.

In your time of solitude, you've wondered how the end of all things went that day. Did those pigs take turns kicking Furlan with his hands tied behind his back? Did they drag Isabel through the street? Did they cut out Levi's tongue for back talk?

You hope they gave the MPs hell.

The imaginative injustices — the cruelty — fuels your fantasy of revenge.

Through another alleyway and into the streets, you latch onto another building and swing to your left to continue through the streets of—

Wait.

Skirting around a corner, you see something briefly whip around a corner in a cloud of exhaust.

(Was that emerald?)

Your attention turns to the distinct color that entered your line of sight before it disappears.

Your eyes widen with recognition, but it's too late.

You failed again.

One look to your side is all it takes for a solid, heavy object to slam straight into you from the opposite direction, knocking a spear clean out of the neighboring wall.

The ODM gear jolts, causing you to jerk and drop abruptly to the dirt beneath. Your forearms shield your face from the dirt and debris as your body skids across the dirt path.

Before you even realize what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet. Metal clangs from the jostled handles in your palms as you push yourself up.

Your right arm reels back, fist clenched, and flies in an attempt to connect — and it does.

The punch lands directly in someone's face. The bone crunches under you knuckles.

A person yells in pain and grabs their nose, giving you ample opportunity to attack further. Your leg swings, kicking your boot square into their abdomen. You recognize the way their breath squelches: the wind rips right out of their lungs.

You want them to feel pain, just as you’ve felt pain.

You want them to suffer, just as you've suffered.

It doesn't matter who they are.

When the attacker is incapacitated, you make a choice: you turn the opposite direction, taking off into a sprint.

And you run, if only for a few seconds.

Because that very same emerald flash appears in your peripheral vision.

In just one breath, your feet get tangled up and send you flying to the ground you'd just found yourself lying upon.

A pair of hands suddenly tug at the back of your shirt, pushing you further into the muddied street. A forceful forearm presses down harder, pinning you to the ground. A pebble digs into your cheekbone, its jagged edge slicing into your skin.

Trapped.

You grit your teeth, fighting the painful hold with everything you have. You shout and yell like a woman possessed, kicking your boots deeper into the Earth to propel forward, but you can't move.

(Give up — why can’t you just give up?)

Then a deep baritone voice pulls you from your erratic defenses, smooth like honey.

“James.”

Your last name on a stranger's tongue makes your stomach churn.

You continue fighting, digging the toe of your boot further for purchase.

Suddenly pain explodes in your scalp. Something pulls your chin high from the crown on your head, forcing your attention to the sky. What greets you is a tall, built figure above.

From the street lamp, you see it’s a man — early thirties, broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and neatly-combed blonde hair.

This mysterious man stares down at you, standing at full height. He doesn't acknowledge the person holding you down, knotting your hair in their balled fist.

One after the other, two more emerald cloaks drop down from the sky, their faces obscured by their hoods.

Blinking away from his face, you see it: his tan, cropped jacket, with white and blue wings outstretched against one another, pointing high with dignity.

The Wings of Freedom.

It's the Survey Corps, in the flesh.

“Four whole Scouts for little old me?” you chide.

The person holding you down rips your torso up higher, causing an immense strain in your spine.

You wince at the sensation of nearly being broken in half but refuse to make noise.

They don't get that satisfaction, not yet.

(You've felt worse.)

The blonde man above you does not react. He continues to stare, however, when he addresses another in his squadron.

“Get her up on her knees, Miche.”

The man behind you — presumably Miche — yanks you from the dirt to settle you on your calves. Without your arms to support you, you’re left floundering at his will.

“What?” you ask through clenched teeth. "Are the Scouts so bored of getting eaten alive that they've come to the Underground on a field trip?”

The man makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His crystal blue eyes slide slowly from the crown of your head, past your face, then rest at your chest.

“Surface made?” he comments in a languid, baritone voice.

When you jostle against Miche's grip on your back, a feather-esque sensation brushes across your sternum.

Then you realize:

He’s staring at your necklace.

“Stolen?” the blonde man asks again, and venom poisons your tongue at his slander. Somehow you manage to hold a response.

You sneer instead, turning your attention to the side of a building.

A painful beat passes.

You hear the man’s boots near, crunching under packed dirt.

“My name is Commander Erwin Smith, of the Survey Corps," he introduces, not fazed by your lack of cooperation. "I was informed that you’re not only the muscle of this operation, but one of its four founding leaders. Is this true?”

He’s met with another stretch of silence.

“Handling operations for seven weeks without the help of your comrades is impressive.”

Another step.

“Or has it been closer to eight?”

“What do you want, surface scum?” you finally murmur, eyes locked on a particular patch of moss growing at the foundation of the building.

He exhales through his nose, contemplating. You continue to look away.

“Your protection is gone, James," Erwin begins. "Your gang, eradicated. Your people have fled — abandoned you, to save themselves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him.

Erwin evades your feigned ignorance. “A bounty has been on your head for two months. You’ve done all you can to avoid detection, but from where I stand, I see someone out of options.”

Your nostrils flare, unwilling to betray yourself in the face of the truth.

He isn’t wrong — it’s been the end of the line for weeks now.

You’ve run on borrowed time and a promise you barely believe in anymore.

You’re so tired.

“The Military Police would be glad to round out their gallows with someone responsible for embarrassing them so thoroughly.”

Is that where Levi ended up, in the gallows next to Isabel and Furlan?

(Are they no longer alive, just as everyone suspected?)

When you continue to stare at the adjacent wall, the man behind you tugs at your mangled hair and rips your focus back to the man in front of you.

The toe of the Commander’s boot is in line with your muddied knee.

From this angle, he's practically on top of you.

“However, I believe the finality of a noose is a great waste of potential talent.”

His eyes bore into yours when he slowly, carefully, drops to your height. His ivory-white knee plants gently into the dirt.

You blink up to his face, unable to suppress your confusion.

“Potential talent?” you hiss back, ignoring the searing pain in your scalp. “What is this, a pitch?”

The Commander hums. “I don’t pretend to know how extensive your crimes are, James. What I do know, however, is that you have an out.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “And what’s that, O' Golden One?”

Erwin’s eyes drop to the ground, so you follow suit without moving your head. From the edge of your vision you see it — the ODM gear still hooked around your hips.

“How long did it take you to properly handle ODM gear?” he asks with a genuine intrigue.

“Barely took me a week,” you lie under your breath.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he agrees. “Most of our recruits take months, sometimes even years, to masterfully scale the way you can.”

“Sounds shitty to me.”

“In a way.” A beat passes. Commander Erwin’s jaw sets. “Which is why I’m asking you to join the Scout Regiment under my command.”

You can’t help it — the anger disappears in a bark of a laugh.

It’s a request you never see coming, not a million years or a thousand lifetimes.

You’ve avoided the Military Police for weeks, only for a Scout to offer you… what? A twisted version of salvation in his army?

The words blurt out of your mouth faster than you can help it.

“Join the Scouts?” He nods once to your yelp of a question. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Are you?” Erwin challenges. “Both options lead to your death. The only difference is choosing to make your death matter.”

“A noose or being eaten alive,” you snidely respond. “Gosh, Commander, which sounds less painful?”

“What do you think your friends would have selected, if given a choice?”

The swiftly-timed question is a punch straight to your gut.

Unable to stop your eyes from widening, you hate how your blood chills with panic.

How you can see that glint in the commander’s eyes when he’s finally, finally, caught your weak spot.

Seeing the visceral reaction, he continues. "Before they expired, would they have chosen to die here? Or would they have chosen a new life."

Was he saying…?

Was he saying they were already dead?

Isabel. Furlan.

Le…

Your lower lip trembles as you hold back from thinking about that final name.

You barely recognize your own voice when you speak, low and dangerous.

“How dare you…”

Erwin’s gaze is unwavering. “I’m asking you—”

“Don’t talk about them.”

“—what would they have chosen.”

“I said don’t talk about them!” you shout in his face, losing your cool.

His chin tilts a fraction of an inch, expression stoic.

“Then what about your fellow comrades, the people who laid down their lives for your safety — would they have wanted a chance?”

Despite yourself, you push with your boot to propel towards the blonde. “You disgusting piece of sh— fuck!”

Miche rips your head back impossibly further, exposing your neck to the Commander. Erwin stands tall, pulling out a long sword from its metal sheath. The cool, sharp end of the blade rests against your throat.

If he wanted to, he could end your life right here in the streets.

If he wanted to, he could make this so much easier on you.

But he won’t.

This isn’t about ease.

It’s about power, control — total submission.

A part of you wants to push against the blade to make it easier.

No noose. No titans.

Just here.

But you promised.

Last one standing.

“...what happened to them?” you ask, unable to stop the crack in your voice.

If this is it, then you might as well know.

Commander Erwin keeps his blade held towards you. “I don’t know.”

“But it was you that day, wasn’t it?” You ease down to your knees again. Miche loosens his hold on your body. “You're the one that went after them two months ago. When there was a heist, it wasn’t just MPs chasing them. There were Scouts—”

“I don’t have all day, James.”

He interrupts the beginning of your emotional spiral with cutthroat apathy. His arm lowers when you do not retaliate.

“Your hand-to-hand combat expertise is needed within our regiment. Combine that with your unique ODM handling, and I see a formidable redemption in your future—”

He continues to speak, detailing your servitude should you accept his terms.

You can feel the fight, the fire, ebbing to dying ember.

You’re so tired.

You’re so done with running.

(I’m so sorry, Levi.)

“—and you would presume a title under my command, the rank of a Lieutenant—”

“Wait.”

He pauses when you speak up, catching the oddity of his words. Your lifeless vision connects with his.

“Lieutenants don’t exist in your shitty Scout Corps.”

Erwin nods. “That’s correct. Lieutenants do not."

"Then why..."

"A title will deter animosity. Those who look down at you cannot question your authority."

"Because I'm not from the surface," you reason.

"Yes," he says.

"You're willing to give me an edge on the rest of your people. Why?" You watch him, trying to figure him out before he tells you for himself. “Why not just make me regular front-line titan fodder?”

Erwin seems to consider this, if only for a beat.

Then he speaks with an unshakable certainty:

“Because you know what it means to survive. That, in itself, is vital.”

Your shoulders slump as your body shuts down from the eternal fight.

So this is a choice, but it’s no choice at all.

Your life will not matter in the Scouts. The commander is right: you will die, perhaps not today, but at least choosing the Scouts guarantees the sunrise one single time.

Just like you once promised you'd see with the three of your friends.

And in the moment you mourn — the loss of your friends, the loss of your life, what could have been if that job really had worked out.

(What does it matter when you die, so long as it's soon?)

You grip onto a sense of hopelessness like a vice.

Grief.

Then—

Rage.

As swift as a sudden earthquake, you feel it tremble from your shins to your knees, up your torso and through your heart, filling every red hot blood cell in your body.

It was him.

You’re so sure of it.

Commander Erwin would have been the one responsible for turning Levi, Furlan, and Isabel into the Military Police. He was the one who would have sent your friends to their deaths — or did he kill them himself?

And if he was the one to kill them, then why would he offer you a choice to escape?

(Was this the same choice he gave the others?)

Levi would have never agreed to the Scouts. Furlan, Isabel — they would have followed whatever he chose.

They must have died the very day the heist went wrong eight weeks ago.

It’s why Erwin won’t confirm or deny their fates.

Sickness floods your body, but you hold onto the one thing that will keep their spark with you.

That rage.

They really think you’ll comply.

They really think you won’t burn and take the Scout Regiment down with you.

You’ll kill him.

You’ll kill Commander Erwin Smith, then Miche, then every single Scout that steps into your path until someone’s smart enough to take you down themselves.

“Fine, then.”

You speak, knowing your word is as doomed as the fire in your veins.

“I’ll do it."

You meet Erwin's intense gaze, signing your fate with blood on the dotted line.

"I’ll join the Scouts.”

author's note: I'm glad we collectively giggled and screamed and kicked our feet in the last few chapters. It was a marvelous time. Now I'm out here ruining everything.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore

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allwormdiet · 1 month ago

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Extermination 8.1

Jesus Christ. Okay. Let's get this going.

Y'know, I wonder if Taylor might be cynical about human nature or something, weird

Hey Dragon, very cool to meet you in the chrome.

Aww, she's starstruck

Hey Weld, cool to meet you, wish it was under less dire circumstances

See, the nice thing about the Empire showing up to an Endbringer fight is that the Endbringer can then massacre a bunch of fucking Nazis. Totally victimless deaths, and no hand-wringing about whether it's right or wrong to take them down.

If I was giving performance notes to Leviathan for this showing I would have to criticize that he didn't kill more of them, frankly

Hey kids, sorry some of you are about to get slaughtered in a fight you're way underqualified for

Hey Panacea, I'll see you later when you decide to exacerbate Skitter's paranoia in revenge for the bank job and make this arc go from bad to worse for her

So I know Legend is publicly gay from fandom osmosis, but what I don't know in this moment is whether Wildbow had decided on that beforehand and Taylor is currently ogling a gay dude, or if he decided on it after writing this. I guess it doesn't strictly matter, but it leaves me curious how much of this was laid out in advance, especially with some other writing decisions that are gonna come up this arc

So Myrddin straight up has a wizard gimmick and that's kind of wild, but not nearly as wild as the fact that a Protectorate cape apparently flew off the handle sufficiently far enough to yell a racial slur multiple times in public. Like holy shit that is some radioactive PR.

Also, while you do not in fact have to hand it to the Empire Eighty-Eight, it is very funny of Kaiser to taunt Bastion like this

So that's the Triumvirate rounded out, and... how to put this. There's something that's almost sweet about Taylor's thoughts diverting to think about the "who would win" discussions about heroes. Like, I dunno, it's a cute insight into the world. Maybe she used to have those conversations with Emma back when they were younger.

Y'know, I'm constantly wary of government-employed superheroes as a concept, but frankly i think a corporate superhero team is even more hair-raising. The Christian superheroes could break in either direction, either they're genuinely good people who take their faith seriously or they're just self-righteous pukes. Knowing the general tone of this story, I'd be surprised if it was the first one.

Hey Parian, hey Flechette, looking forward to your later contributions

What the hell is Bambina's deal, even. Does she have some kinda thing going on like Babydoll from BTAS, or what. I don't know if I've heard the name come up before.

Grue, Regent, c'mon now

Also yeah Taylor, I think you sufficiently scared the absolute bejeezus out of Sundancer when you made this story really earn a content warning for eye horror.

Okay so I did not realize that Narwhal was gonna have a goddamn exhibitionist thing going on here, what the hell. Can you just get away with whatever as long as you're not showing your nipples or genitals? Did it truly never come up that she could maybe wear pants to cover up a little bit?

So I knew previously that Legend is a notoriously poor public speaker, but the fact that he just straight up says "best case scenario twenty-five percent of you are dead before sunset" is ridiculous. Kristen Applebees could give a more inspiring speech than this.

Everyone in that room must be questioning their life choices tbh

Current Thoughts

I know they all volunteered, and I know that there's a protectiveness that comes with fighting for your hometown, but Jesus Christ there should be an age limit for fighting Endbringers. Signing up the teenagers to fight Nazis is already a bit rough, but the kaiju who is going to kill a bunch of them feels like someone should have pulled them back. It might technically have been the wrong decision given how critical kids like Flechette and Skitter end up being, but at least then I'd feel less judgmental of the people running this show.

Anyhow. God Taylor just keeps ending up being lonely, huh? Can't escape it, poor girl.

#parahumans #worm liveblogging #wormblr #liveblog #worm extermination

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plscallmeeren · 1 year ago

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W H E R E ?

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Request: yes @JulzLovDraco4Eva

Summary: it's year 7 (so everyone's of age remember that) and muggle-born (y/n) is caught at Malfoy Manor and given to Draco so that he can get answers out of her concerning Harry's whereabouts....... Yeah well guess how he gets them huh

Warnings: !!Rape!! while (y/n) does enjoy the experience there is no given consent - do not read if this could make you uncomfortable; breeding fetish; unprotected piv; bondage; spanking; anal; toys; biting; swearing; not proof-read at ALL (fun fact I've never had so many warnings before)

Word Count: 1.6K+

Lucius Malfoy gave his son a hard look, patting him on the shoulder briskly. "I expect you'll employ every method necessary to find Potter's whereabouts?"

"Yes, father." Draco wasn't looking at him, but instead at the fierce-looking girl bound by her wrists, discarded at the foot of his door.

"Any methods, understand?"

"Yes," the boy replied sharply, finally turning to meet his father's glare. "Go on. I'm sure you have better things to do. I'll get the information."

Lucius nodded curtly, striding off down the dark corridors of his manor.

Draco looked back at you, taking notice of the loose black dress that fell in waves around your body. Your waist was outlined by a modern corset with the lace at the front. You snarled at him, terrified, but he had hurt your pride by making torturing you sound so easy.

He gripped you by the nape of your neck, practically throwing you inside his room and closing the door behind him. He cast Muffliato, Silencio and every other spell he could think of before focusing his undivided attention on you. The other Death Eaters delighted in hearing victims' screams half the time, but he refused to give them the satisfaction. Your screams belonged to him, and him only.

"We've come a long way, haven't we, Malfoy? I remember Potions with you. You were a damn good partner, but I should have tipped one of those acidic draughts on you when I had the fucking chance-"

He delivered a harsh slap across your face, silencing you. It didn't hurt that much, but it was a fair warning of how helpless you were in this situation.

"I remember those classes, too. I remember imagining you in my bed and me fucking you until you cried. But don't worry," his lips twisted in a wicked smirk, "I have much more interesting fantasies now."

He edged closer, and you watched with wide eyes as he hoisted you up and laid you down on his king-sized bed. A luxurious bed. A luxury that might teach you pain.

"Fuck me, (y/n). Take my cock. Or are you scared?" He sounded mocking, but you wouldn't have it.

"No, honey, I just have a decent amount of self-respect," you chided, craning your neck to look him in the eye from where you lay on those velvety covers.

"Take me. I won't take no for an answer," he growled. You shook your head. "I want you. I need you. And I need you to tell me where Potter is."

"No," you spat, encompassing all of his apparent needs. You didn't care. You couldn't. He was horrible. Why would you? Right?

"Tough luck," he grimaced, and in one swift motion he had ripped the thin fabric of your dress, tugging it off your body on either side of your corset.

You bit your tongue trying to keep quiet as he dragged you to the edge of the bed, undoing the knot at the top of the corset and yanking on the strings brutally. You felt like you couldn't breathe. You were almost entirely bare and there wasn't enough oxygen in your brain and you felt slightly dizzy and something must have been very wrong because suddenly in this light he looked beautiful...

"There, that's better. You're thinking too much," he purred, tying a new knot so that it remained unbearably tight around your tummy. "Now... you still going to put up a fight?"

You didn't reply.

"Answer me, slut," he snapped, lightly slapping your pussy through the fabric of your panties. You became painfully aware that he could pull those off, too - that you would have to succumb to whatever he wanted.

"Malfoy...," you murmured, and apparently that was enough.

He dragged your black panties down your legs, followed by the bra cupping your weight. You were entirely naked apart from the corset. Your wrists were tied by spell and your wand couldn't reach you here. His handsome image swum before your eyes.

Draco flipped you over, pulling your ass up towards the ceiling. Your elbows dug into the covers as his hands man-handled your buttocks roughly, coming down in a merciless spank once. You flinched, but he didn't seem to care.

"You won't be talking back to me from now on, I expect?" he threatened casually, throwing in another spark on your ass.

"No," you whimpered, subconsciously leaning into his touch.

"Good. And you won't be complaining or resisting?"

Just as you were about to answer, he slid halfway into your ass with only his own pre-cum as lubricant. You moaned accidentally at the pleasurable pain.

"Not answering me again? What good is that? Where's Potter? Where?" He spanked you again.

"N-No, I'll behave, but I won't tell you, I can't-"

He pushed himself further in, the pain now overwhelming the enjoyable quality. Nevertheless, he waited a moment, not torturing you beyond repair, giving you time to adjust. Maybe he wasn't entirely cruel? No, what were you thinking? He was fucking you against your will, not taking no for an answer, looking at you with some sort or adoration...

You forgot what your train of thoughts had been up until that point, simply staring as best you could considering your body faced away from him.

"C'mon, slut. Tell me," he ordered, pinching your clit with two fine fingers. You gasped, but didn't answer his question.

You didn't know if he forgot to ask, or if he gave up, or if he simply didn't care, but he wouldn't ask again.

Suddenly he was pushing two fingers into your virgin cunt like a chanting prayer - in and out and curling and winding. It felt so good. Tight and claustrophobic, but impossibly good.

Just as you were beginning to fully appreciate the way his digits pressed against the same wall that met his cock on the other side, he pulled out - all of it - and walked away. He left you whining and thrashing on his duvet, reluctantly wishing he would return. Somehow, you managed to roll over.

You couldn't believe it. You wanted him to fuck you. You needed him to fuck you. Hell, it hurt, but every part of you was screaming for him to consume, to ravage, to... to...

He did return.

He returned holding three common pegs, as if they had been picked straight off of the washing line or handed to him by house-elves.

Draco silently attached one to both of your nipples, grinning wickedly as you groaned in immediate pain. It hurt. You felt fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but you knew it hurt.

Finally he clamped one onto your clit, making you writhe. He didn't take it off. Instead, he leaned over you, whispering in your ear. It made you feel warm and funny inside. "(Y/n), I'm going to mark you, and it will be much worse than my Dark Mark or a scar reading 'muggle' or anything else... because not only will it be permanent, but it will bring shame upon you, and everyone will know you enjoyed a Death Eater fucking you."

The words didn't make sense, but in your shape, you could hardly tell.

He bit into the flesh of your shoulder harshly, fuelled by your ongoing moans as he moved from your breasts to your throat and back again. You looked a mess - tears streaming, leftover rips of fabric, the colourful marks and bites of a wild man.

It felt so good.

Before you knew it his entire fist was in your pulsating cunt, thrusting from within and hurting and hurting more but feeling incredibly good and full.

Still, you wanted him.

"Push my fist out of your pussy, darling," he whispered. So you did. You pushed with all the muscles of your abdomen until his hand dislodged from your cunt, along with a burst of ecstasy by the name of orgasm.

"Good girl," he reassured you, watching the mix of blood and cum on his bed. "Good girl. Now it's my turn."

He quickly undid his belt, discarding it somewhere in the room before pulling down his pants. His cock was bigger than you had expected - but then again, you didn't have much experience in these sorts of things and you weren't thinking right.

Just as he slipped into you - no coverage - he pulled off the two pegs on your nipples, causing an explosion of agony to rip through your body as he began pounding into you.

"D-Draco," you managed, watching his bare cock slam into your ripe cunt.

"Yes, (y/n)?"

You changed you mind, or rather, you forgot what you were going to say. Instead, you told him: "I want you."

Unlike what you had expected, he reacted with gentleness, slowing his pace, moving in curved, cleaner motions. "I want you, too. I'm glad you see it now."

"Draco?" you prompted, regaining your breath as you enjoyed less sore but still ecstatic sensations.

"Mhm?"

"Harry, Ron and Hermione were at Grimmauld place last I heard."

He bummed again, but didn't reply. He hadn't been craving that information. That wasn't why he did this. "I'm coming," he grunted, then stayed in your pussy until his own juices were leaking from your folds.

You panted, shifting your body above your magical bounds to get more comfortable.

You didn't want anything but him, either. But what a crazed way to find out.

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sout999 · 4 months ago

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adhd talk

the third truly unsung project alongside my film and dissertation was the weird amount of targeted effort i had to put into Completing Anything Big As A Neurodivergent Person Whose Brain Is A Crazy Off The Rails Train Staffed and Patronised Entirely By Multiple Exact Copies Of The Squirrel From Ice Age

which is a description like 99/100 people reading this can relate to, but i think a sentiment i see less often and therefore feel kind of stupid and stubborn and lonesome about is "adhd is innate but is also exasperated by hectic lifestyle/modern instant gratification machines so if i fix my habits around those i can cure myself forever". which is silly and wrong but also i feel abit disconnected from adhd social media culture and cant cope just relating to it (which is all it seems to be sometimes) but learning to harness or tame it to do the things that are really important to me

i felt really cringe tbh having to look up youtube videos of HARVARD STUDENT REVEALS PRO STUDY TRICK and then narrowing it down to specifically adhd-focused study videos and keeping a planner and setting aside specific time to study studying and practising anti-academic meltdown journaling techniques and reading fucking atomic habits but i really didn't want to contribute to my abhorrent academic record following me all through undergrad. in fact i wish i had done this sooner but i was not self aware enough to consider the fact

probably the best change i made was severely cutting down or being mindful of social media time, i don't backread my tl anymore and have more moments of awareness when i find myself dumbly scrolling and realize i dont want to be doing this, and then wondering what i actually Do want to be doing. i keep a book nearby to read, and have also swapped a lot of social media time to sketching-off-pinterest time. reading about the psychology behind social media apps is also super interesting, although i always feel like a paranoid wacko conspiracy theorist talking about it. stuff like how negativity and judgemental behaviour is good for engagement (and therefore ad revenue), and how if all posts on your tl were interesting you wouldn't be as addicted to social media as you are, therefore microblogging employs a slot machine/gacha system where you "roll" for posts by logging on and hope to get a good one. it's a little full on but the more i think of it as a revolting and evil machine the more incentive i have to do something else with my time ^q^

a harder thing to do was, in the late stages of the project, the real crunch time month, avoid everything that could become a huge hyperfixation, and then eventually even minor distractions or fixations. because i know if i got super obsessed with something i'd just be up posting about it or drawing fanart. i had to bar myself from persona 3 remake and elden ring dlc and all these other shiny new releases, and the mobile games i was playing... i look forward to catching up on them now. i took up reading books a lot more because unfortunately thats just not as exciting. in the last month of film work i stopped listening to music on my computer so i wouldnt get drawing or animation ideas to distract me from film work. as of writing this i havent listened to music in like 40 days guys 😱 at the same time i am the kind of person who needs background noise to work, so i have:

watched novum's four hour hereditary video essay three times

watched novum's seven hour midsomar video essay three times

watched that one five hour bojack horseman retrospective twice

listened to audiobooks of the Britney Spears biography, Jennette McCurdy biography, three Playboy Bunny biographies (i was on some sort of lady bopgraphy kick i guess), and a few fiction books

rewatched all of bojack horseman

started on House MD and got a few seasons in before i finished the project, amazingly the perfect show to look away from bc of all the medical stuff, how many lumbar punctures do you need to show like seriously

honorable mention to the learned skill of communication and being honest and picking your battles and killing your darlings which is a larger part of managing mental illness than i cared to admit but one of the hardest ones because it involved confronting things and making big painful drastic changes and then having to tell the faculty about them. sometimes i'd be stuck on a piece of animation work for weeks/months, then go back and change the underlying idea to one i'm actually passionate about, and do the animation work in one day using newly found magical hyperfocus passion power. it's crazy! but being able to be confident about taking those steps rather than keeping on with what you're "supposed" to do went a long way.

i very much look forward to listening to a music and playing some video games properly now and being pulverized like a small victorian child from the sheer amount of fun i'm having. i'd say it was all worth it and a fun experiment in channeling the magical humours of passion and boredom and i hope it will help me with future projects too. i Am super burnt out though x__ x thanks for reading and for all your support up until now!

#pppepep

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laduenadelswing · 9 months ago

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Love Game Vox fan fiction

Chapter 4

“Let’s do more trust exercises.” Charlie exclaimed, shockingly, no one was excited about that. “Can't we do something fun?” Angle asked. “You want to become a better person or not?” Vaggie spat back. Her eyes glancing at Angle before fixating on you. Something is wrong with her, Isabel thought. So they obeyed Charlies demand and did some trust exercises. After that Angle went back to his “workplace” Whatever that is, Isabel was too afraid to ask.

Husked kept an eye on Nifti who was cleaning the hotel. Pentious and you didn’t have any work to do and decided to help Alastor. Even though Alastor could probably do all the work better if they left him alone, she still enjoyed the company. “Vaggie wants to share the TV Spot we made a couple of weeks ago.” He kept on smiling. “Sounds like a plan.” Isabel replied, thinking about last night, did he really want to kiss her or was she just projecting her desires? “What a show. Now that’s entertainment.” Alastor laughed. “How do you want to get it into TV?” Angle asked. Isabel could ask Vox, but that’s no option right now. “Vox ain't an option.” Angle's accent underlined their precarious situation. Sir Pentious shivered, “Oh no, don't. No Vox, please.” He exclaimed with a dramatic undertone. Angle rolled his eyes, his spider like arms held Pentious. “The almighty V’s will kill me next time.” Pentious couldn’t stop shivering, even his egg boys hid behind him. “Who?” Isabel asked confused.

“The V’s, Vox, Valentino, and Velvet. Together they rule of media, technology, and communication. Valentino employed every whore around town and has a temper. Velvet a producer and social media expert is a young overlord but with her knowledge and the internet she managed to join them, she is a handful. Vox is the working force behind it, controlling the media, he is a businessman like no one has ever seen. Together, they almost bet Alastor seven years ago.” In this second radio noises appeared and Alastor glitched “Vox could never beat me.” He explained with a dark undertone, his stature changed and became increasingly more intimidating, his eyes tinted red. “Also… Vox told Pentious to kill himself when he couldn’t manage to be an undercover spy.” Isabel couldn’t believe what Husk told her. Was Vox really so bad? I mean, he is in hell after all, Isabel thought. “So, you say that Vox is the worst of them?” She asked. “No definitely Valentino, his boy toy, Vox cares too much about his public image. Business is business, after all.” Isabel nodded, “I can understand that, once you're in the public eye no one cares that you're normal. They want absolute perfection or drama. There is no place for normality.” She explained. The demons gave a confused look. “Sorry, my life was very public until I came here. It's refreshing to be relatively unknown.” “Don’t tell me you're also a porn star.” Angle asked sassy as always. Alastor looked at her amused. “No, no. I was a bit of everything but mostly a singer.” A porn star? That’s hilarious, Isabel thought. “Pentious, I am very sorry. That guy probably just jabbered. Your great.” Isabel winked at the snake like demon. His slimy arms wrapped around her body. “Thank you.” He whispered, as guilt began to crawl up inside her. The hours continued, and the guilt grew bigger every second. At night, she left the hotel. Maybe they're wrong, she should talk to Vox.

As soon as she put some distance between her and the hotel, Vox appeared. “Isabel, nice to see you.” He smiled as she looked to the floor. Vox noticed that something was off. Possibly he shouldn’t let her back to the hotel. They went into his flat. Vox was incredibly nervous in her present, afraid of losing his shot. She was really quite all the time, not her usual self. “I really don't know what's going on with you today. You look sad.” He asked her, they sat on a huge couch, she stared at the popcorn in front of her. “Is Valentino your boy toy? Did you tell Pentious to kill himself?” She whispered and couldn't look at the screen. He raised a brow. “Do you really care about stuff like that, HAHA!” He put on his best PR smile. She looked back, the sadness in her eyes was visible. “ Val and I have the same goals and a very tumultuous past. I admit that I am attracted to demons of any Gender. But Val's obsession with Angle dust ruins any chance to have a relationship.” Isabel still wasn’t convinced. “You have seen him. I really can't handle his erratic behavior in a serious relationship.” She raised a brow. “ I don't see what you see in Valentino, he seems like a lot. But the things you said to Pentious are worse.” Vox was confused. “ You really care about those demons? They are scum, trash on the street.” Vox's voice glitched and deepened.

“Oh really? They seem really nice and hardworking! They let me stay without any hesitation. Yes, they are a handful, but they have good hearts. ” A hint of anger tinted her voice. “ That’s all you found out?” He asked, on the one hand he was a little annoyed that his plan wasn’t working out as he expected, on the other hand he wanted to keep her around. She was his latest obsession, his everything. “That’s all. Maybe I stop spying on them. There is nothing going on.” She was boiling, still quite but boiling. If Vox was more like Valentino, he would have killed her for her rebellion. Vox couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. “Maybe I should go.” She whispered, looked back. “Don’t please. I know, hearing that is shitty, and I want to tell you that I am not like that. But I said it and can't take it back.” Isabel sighted. "I know Vox. So sad to hear. They are great. I know you hate Alastor, but this has nothing to do with the rest of them.” She explained.

“Oh really? They are demons, they are here for a reason.” Vox explained calmly. Confusion crawled over her face. “You’re here too, actually, you don’t seem bad after all.” She gave him a small smile which made his heart jump. It's so refreshing to see someone believe in him. “The real Vox behind the public mask isn’t so bad, he is a pretty likeable guy, just like Pentious.” She poked him with her shoulder. “Wouldn’t hurt apologizing. Or do something nice for them.” She mumbled. “I think I need some time and sleep.” Vox took her to the hotel defeated, planning how he could make things right.

Making things right for a human? A small little toy? Vox, you're pathetic, Vox thought.

When the hotel door closed she expected to see someone but no one was there. She went to her room, all the emotions overwhelmed her until she was crying. A knocking on the door helped her get back into reality, “Dear. Please, what's going on?” It was Alastor. She opened the door. His smile lid up the room for a second. “What makes you so sad?” He asked. Today must have been the day of plot twist. Isabel never expected Alastor to be compassionate. “Had a hard day, and you? A friend treated some other friends poorly, I miss home and do not know what to do?” She sopped and turned her face away. “Oh dear, let's go outside, I give you a tour, and you will feel better afterward.” He smiled and confused her even more. She followed him, they went through the city, and you couldn’t help feeling watched. She felt secure in his presence. Some demons performed on the street. They watched them amused. “Are you a singer?” Alastor asked her directly. “I used to sing a lot.” Isabel confessed. Demons kept dancing in the street, as Alastor took her arm and spun her around, she began laughing. “Sing for us.” Alastor asked as his voice deepened, and he watched her with a dark, predatory hint in his facial expression. “Promise me that no one except those souls will see it? “Alastor nodded and gave her his microphone. Vox couldn't believe the images he saw on the screens, he was very angry until he heard her singing. He had never heard something as beautiful. She was greater than god, you could question god but questioning her talent was impossible.

It was the most beautiful thing he ever heard in his mortal and immortal life. He threw one of his mugs into the screen. Vox wanted to resist the temptation but spawned close by the scene. Alastor who couldn't hide his excitement for this entertainment also couldn’t ignore the presence of his old pal.

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you liked it. I feel very bad lately, this keeps me happy/ busy.

#hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #vox x reader #smut #vox #hazbin hotel vox #vizziepop

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oldguardleatherdog · 2 days ago

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"How now shall we live?"

First steps towards an effective resistance.

What was good and true and right the day before the election remains good and true and right today, and no mass delusion or wrong choice by a misguided and ill-informed majority changes that truth.

A revival of the Resistance movement is starting to stir online and in the real world; resolve is beginning to coalesce among people of goodwill. I would favor an approach designed to prevent the POS from taking office at all, but since Kamala's come out in favor of a boring old peaceful transition (dang it!), a different strategy is called for.

The best ideas I've seen are variations on finding ways to thwart the POS and his gang of idiots at every turn using every tool we have available to us, and I think that’s going to be our way forward.

But for us to have a chance at effective resistance at scale, resolve and energy and a united effort on the LGBTQ+ side and other parts of our “coalition of the good” will be required in abundance to sustain long-term resistance and disruption of the plans and actions of this Administration that are clearly designed to injure and harm us in a multitude of ways; many of us have been put on notice that we’re targets, and the level of fear and uncertainty of our safety is off the charts – something America has not had to contend with in hundreds of years.

What could an effective, robust, muscular resistance look like in our current moment? Well, I have thoughts. Stay with me here, I have specifics to lay out for you, but there are some words to climb - beautiful words, all the best words, strong men with tears in their eyes come to me and say - (continued after the jump)

It begins with individual resolve, and continues by engaging with others. This is not the time to isolate, to stay solo: we need to connect. No self-lockdowns or heads in the sand or hiding under the covers!

It's not important to have a fully fleshed-out game plan at this point. It's important that we view things as they are and discern the next right thing to do. We need to make sure that we walk in the light, that we stay aligned with what we know is right. If we allow darkness or corrupt motives into what we do, we will fail. (This is getting slightly on the woo-woo side of things, but I view it as fundamental to our success.)

Light is a funny thing: it dispels darkness, it provides safety, it guides us through rough waters and difficult pathways, but in concentrated form it can be a laser that slices someone's arm off, and it can give you skin cancer if you're outdoors without sunscreen.

Lucifer, after all, is the Angel of Light, as his name in Latin will tell you - and this activist and spiritual warrior of four decades will tell you that each step we take needs to be effective, morally justifiable, and targeted so that collateral damage is minimized. MAGAs bludgeon with indiscriminate blunderbusses and misshapen cudgels; we wield stilettos, trip wires, keenly aimed photon grenades into unprotected garbage vents.

I am convinced that we will endure, survive, even thrive, and in the end prevail.

This will be the most difficult effort of our lives to date, individually and collectively, and the stakes could not be higher.

We do not yet know the shape and form of the perils in store. What is already apparent, though, is the wanton cruelty and brazen sadism of our enemies now unfurled at full mast, as the vile stench of the devious, depraved methods they’re devising to inflict maximum misery wafts towards us.

They have not been shy or coy in communicating their plans and intentions, and they’ve been gleefully bragging about the methods, implements, tools, and techniques they intend to employ to bring their dark and nihilistic vision into reality.

They are, almost literally, and with the full-throated exhortations of their Christian Nationalist religious auxiliaries and avatars and “prophets,” bringing Armageddon from the fever dreams of St. John out of antiquity and into our real world. For the first time since September 11th, humanity will encounter pure unadulterated evil in ways we can see, hear, feel, taste, smell, made corporeal, physical, inescapable, and we will have to contend with it face to face.

Right now, I'm not advocating leaving the country, but our trans friends in particular will need to have resources and safe pathways to move to sanctuary cities and states. We need to throw our support behind organizations that can effectively and responsibly move people out of danger, and if those orgs don't exist, we need to create them.

I'd intended to retire from activism post-election, but I've changed my plans. I'm here for the long haul.

We are not fools. We know what we see. We know the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, what destroys and what uplifts.

And when we behave accordingly, with smarts and courage and clarity of intent and spirit, we can from time to time do some real good in this world.

Of course, progress comes in fits and starts, and this is a scary time no matter how grown-up we are, but we've got to be brave enough to live and to fight for what’s right, even when all we can see is darkness.

Remember, you are not alone, and we are finding ways to support you when you reach out.

~~~

All these words, Animal, I hear you saying. All these lofty thoughts, all this cheerleading, and you haven’t given us one damn thing to do about this. Do you actually have a plan? Or even a concept of a plan?

Well…the first thing to do is engage.

Staying solo won't help. Human contact is key right now, for the cause, and for our own spirits. Do not isolate.

There are already gatherings and organizations ramping up and calls for zoom meetups and in-person actions. Monitor your socials, keep your eyes and ears open, and you will find a place or places where your help will be uniquely well fitted.

Look at your communities, the people and places that make up the fabric of your daily life and walk, and you will find many dynamic and determined people from all backgrounds and age groups who are ready to do something now.

You may want to consider starting something yourself, first as a mutual encouragement effort among friends, and then as the weeks go by and you see what's coming down the pike, develop counter-actions with the group you've got. Feel free to reach out to me for ideas and advice and encouragement and shoulder to cry on and everything and anything you can imagine. I'm not going anywhere.

~~~

I’ve been thinking about a time many years ago, when I was a young hotheaded activist in local politics here in San Francisco, and a friend said something that rewrote my world:

I was pissed off after our election for Mayor went the wrong way - the former police chief beat the progressive incumbent after running on an anti-gay platform during the height of AIDS.

I was riding with a friend of mine, older than me and definitely wiser, who was a longtime student at the San Francisco Zen Center (perhaps an aspirant or acolyte? He lived there and was more than a novice for sure).

As I growled and seethed in the passenger seat, my friend said to me, quietly and calmly,

“Ram Dass had an expression for moments like these: ‘How now shall we live?’”

I was dumbstruck. Just like that, the scales fell and I got it.

To answer the challenge of “How now shall we live?” is to open our eyes with maximum clarity, in the light of day, and see with truth and courage the reality we see around us in this moment, unvarnished, unobstructed, uncompromising, to take a comprehensive and authentic look at and accounting of our world as it is -

and based on the truth of what we see, do the next right thing – it could be a small act or a large task, affecting just one person or situation or many, to make contact with someone or to repair a broken hinge or to run for office, it will have a million variations but as you think on this and give it focus your next right task will present itself to you, unique to you.

And when that task is done, that thing accomplished, repeat the process and do the next right thing, and the next one, and the next right thing after that, until it becomes second nature, it becomes part of your daily walk through life.

I have seen the positive effects of this approach in my own life and in the lives of others, and I’m not here to lie to you. It’s simple, it’s clear, it’s grounded in our true nature, and it yields positive results that make a tangible difference soon enough that you can begin to trust the process and build on your results.

I intend to make this approach my primary tool for effective resistance and sustained activism against this rotten, misbegotten Administration, and I hope that others will take all or part of this approach and integrate it into their own work as individuals and in their group efforts as well. It’s effective, it’s not complicated, and it gets results.

In this way, we can begin to make things right, and I am convinced that by doing the next right thing, consistently, with focus and intention, with care and clear intent, with enough of us using this approach and taking it to heart, we will drive back, disrupt, thwart, spoil, deflect, defang and defeat the plans and intentions of The Liar Donald Trump and his pack of slavering billionaires, enablers, enforcers, worshippers, and followers.

This fight is worth fighting. They do not have the right to disrupt our lives and our families and our freedom to live as we see fit, and there is nothing about supporting a victorious politician that grants them that power or the license to come waltzing in, order us around, and haul us off to some internment camp built by their construction cronies for kickbacks. ~~~ How now shall we live?

We shall live in ways and acts that reflect our true nature, which rise from the best in each of us.

We shall live in ways and acts that bring positive effects to our lives and the lives of others, that protect the vulnerable, the sick and the disabled,

that rebuke and repel the presence and actions of those who want to injure us, imprison us, strip us of our rights and dignity and humanity,

that renew and restore the basic decency and goodness of heart that has been missing from too many of us for too long.

We shall live with our heads held high, with strength and purpose and focus, with clear intent and forward motion and love for ourselves and for each other and for our world,

We shall live with joy in the present and real hope for the future.

And here, and now, we shall not lose heart.

We are brave enough and strong enough to fight for what we treasure in this world.

We know what matters. We know what to do.

We will fight, and we will win.

Don’t forget to breathe!

#information gladly given #it's a fucking battle cry #animal j. smith #election 2024 #we are alive #effective resistance #wall o' text #long post

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