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msweebyness · 2 years ago

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Mirrorverse Room Tours, Part 1

These are some fun little clips that @imsparky2002 and I came up with! The villains and heroes decide to use a little magic spell to show off their rooms. Here’s what they had to say! As always, credit to Sparky and to @artzychic27! Keep an eye out for part 2, with Mendeliev’s kids!

Here are the links to the dorm room posts, in case you need a refresher:

• Heroes

• Villains

Marilan/Mari DeVil:

Mari DeVil: (Looking at Marilan’s space in disgust) Well, isn’t this…quaint. Honestly, darling, so drab! Do you honestly spend THIS much time fighting? (Pokes one of the sword-training dummies)

Marilan: I happen to like my room quite a bit, it reminds me of my home. And I’m not the only one who uses my training area. I lead a self-defense class here, for any of my friends who wish to attend. And judging by how easily I handed you your ass earlier, you could stand to take one yourself.

Mari DeVil: (Laughs haughtily) Oh, who needs that rubbish, darling? I pay Socqueline and Fei for that! Why learn how to fight when you can hire someone to do it for you?

Marilan: I suppose I should have expected such an answer from you. (Looks around Mari DeVil’s sea of monochrome) You’re certainly committed to your aesthetic. Though for the life of me I can’t understand how you put up with that smell. (Covers her nose) You really could dust out your coats more often!

Mari DeVil: (Huffs) I think it smells lovely!

Adripunzel/Jafardrien:

Adripunzel: Wow, this kinda looks like Austin’s place in Agrabah! (Pats a small snake statue on the head) I like all your snake stuff! I like snakes too! (Pets Sass’ head) Sass here has been my best friend since I was a kid!

Jafardrien: Yesss. There's something about these creatures that I just find so.... enticing. (Gives a fanged smile as his reptilian eyes dilate) Ssso cunning…and you never know when they might ssstrike!

Adripunzel: (Smiles, trying to hide how nervous he is) U-uh-huh, sure!

Jafardrien: (Gazes around Adripunzel’s room) Ugh…so much color. Sssunshine as far as the eye can sssee. (Quirks an eyebrow) Where isss all your furniture?

Adripunzel: (Points upward)

Jafardrien: (Looks up and is dumbfounded) What the devil? H-how do you even get up there to sssleep at night?

Adripunzel: My hair! That’s what these hooks are for! It doesn’t hurt as much as you’d think it would!

TianAlya/YzAlya:

YzAlya: Hmmm, it’s a little drab, to be quite honest. (Looks around the room with a bored expression) But…it DOES remind me a bit of my mother’s restaurant back home. Do you spend most of your time cooking?

TiAlya: Makin’ food is an art form, sugah, and practice makes perfect! (Holds up a plate of beignets, with YzAlya hesitantly taking one) My mama taught me everything I know!

YzAlya: *Quietly* Wow, this is good! (Clears her throat) Well, in any case, I consider myself more of a sorceress/scientist than a cook! It’s just so convenient to have my lab right in my own room! (Giggles madly as she fiddles with her poisons)

TiAlya: Is that right? (Quirks an eyebrow as she looks at various caged animals off to the side of the miniature lab) Now, given what I know about you, darlin’, I’m guessin’ some’a these pets of yours used to be people?

YzAlya: *Sweating* Maayybee. (Exaggerated smile as she moves in front of the cages)

Fairy GodBro/Honest Nino:

Fairy GodBro: So, do you like, moonlight as a clown or something, dude? What’s with the circus aesthetic? (Brushes some falling dust off his wings) *Muttering* You could stand to tidy up a bit in here, too!

Honest Nino: (Scowls at the clown comment) Well... I think of myself as a business man first, director second, and ringleader third. I'm a man of many talents, after all. (Smiles slyly)

Fairy GodBro: (Unimpressed looks abound) So I’ve heard.

Honest Nino: (Looks at FGB’s floating bed) Say, this little magic trick with your furniture is really somethin’! Think you could replicate it for one my movies? (Gives his counterpart a charming smile)

Fairy GodBro: (Crosses his arms) Maybe if I trusted your “studio” to conduct ethical practices.

Maxdrome/Maxiro:

Maxiro: (Ducks to avoid a drone flying overhead) Dude, even for a comic book stan, this is a little over the top! Jeez, this is like, every supervillain lair, ever! Don’t tell me you have a death ray in here!

Maxdrome: Multiple, actually! Take your pick! (Looks in disgust at the array of tools and incomplete projects scattered around Maxiro’s floor) How do you get anything done in this mess? It’s anarchy!

Maxiro: Hey, I have a system, and it works for me! I like to think of it as ‘organized chaos’. And at least I’m not using my space to make weapons of mass destruction! (Gives his counterpart a pointed look)

Maxdrome: (Shrugs) To each his own! So, what kind of things do you make? (Yelps as he’s suddenly surrounded by a sea of tiny, identical robots)

Maxiro: Well, these little guys for one! I call ‘em nanobots!

Kimules/Kimton:

Kimules: (Looks around) Dude, what’s with all the antlers and animal parts? Did you kill all of these? (Shudders) *Under his breath* I feel like some of these heads are watching me!

Kimton: (Puffs up his chest) Of course I did! I’m the greatest hunter that’s ever lived! No beast alive stands a chance against me! (Looks at Kimules’ workout equipment) Good to see you at least have SOME sense. (Looks smug) So, how much do YOU lift every morning?

Kimules: Ah, just two, three thousand pounds usually. It’s good to pace yourself, you know? What about you?

Kimton: (Internal jealous tantrum) D-Did I mention I’m an AWESOME hunter?!

Kimules: A lot of my friends are really strong too! My room is kinda where we all work out, it’s cool! You know my pearl can deadlift almost two hundred pounds? She’s so awesome! (Cue Lovesick Puppy Face)

Kimton: (Disgusted) You let GIRLS work out with you?!

Kimules: (Triggered Himbo Noise)

Aladdix/Alix Khan:

Alix Khan: (Growling as she tries to shake the sand out of her fur) Grrr, this stupid stuff is getting everywhere! How the hell do you live like this?!

Aladdix: Sorry there, Kit Cat, but the desert is home to me! Born and raised…well, pretty much raised myself, in Agrabah. (Cringes as she steps on a large skeleton in her counterpart’s room) And at least I don’t have an animal bone fetish!

Alix Khan: (Snarls angrily) Well, at least I’m not a kleptomaniac! (Grins smugly) So, how much of this stuff actually belongs to you?

Aladdix: Hey, for your information, I give (almost) everything I take back! (Smirks) Speaking of which, would you be looking for this, by any chance? (Holds up the jungle-themed, antique pocket watch she swiped off Khan)

Alix Khan: What the-?! Why you little-! GIVE THAT BACK! (Proceeds to chase her cackling counterpart around the space, snarling with fury)

Snow Mylene/Mylensula:

Mylensula: (Sneers as she looks at Snow Mylene’s mini-forest) Well, isn’t this just darling? Is that where all your little birdies and squirrel friends live? (Mockingly clasps her hands and bats her eyelashes)

Snow Mylene: W-well, I just can’t bear the thought of my little darlings out there in the cold all alone. (Snuggles a songbird against her cheek) And it isn’t as if you don’t keep your pets with you! (Gestures to the eel tank in Mylensula’s room)

Mylensula: Well, I suppose you’ve got me there! I don’t know what I would do without my precious little poopsies! (Cuddles her eels, before getting a sly look) You know, if you want your little forest friends to always have a safe place to go, I may be able to help you with that!

Snow Mylene: Thanks, but I know better than to make a deal with a sea witch! Just look at Ondine’s dilemma! So respectfully, I’ll pass.

Mylensula: (Snarls) Fair enough.

QuasiIvan/Ivan Oogie:

QuasiIvan: (Looking around at all his counterpart’s torture weapons) Dude...this is messed up. Do you USE these?! Like on PEOPLE?! (Jumps to avoid a wave of bugs skittering across the floor)

Ivan Oogie: (Chuckles darkly) Anythin’ to get those screams goin'. Ain’t nothin’ better than scarin’ someone outta their wits!

QuasiIvan: *Muttering* Damn, you’re twisted…(Eyes the large cooking pot warily)

Ivan Oogie: (Looks around his counterpart’s space) A bellboy, huh? (Chuckles, before noticing the large stone perch on the back wall) What sleeps up there?

QuasiIvan: Gargoyles. They make better company than people sometimes. (Ivan Oogie nods in agreement. People suck.)

Sleeping Nath/Nathaniel of Hearts:

Sleeping Nath: (Pale and shaking as he looks around his counterpart’s space) You have…SO many weapons in here. *Under his breath* Seriously, who needs this many blades, just on hand? Even Mari thinks having more than eight swords is a little excessive….

Nath of Hearts: Ah yes! So many tools needed for executions. *Gives a psychotic giggle as he fingers his dagger* The axe is my favorite! *Starts laughing maniacally*

Sleeping Nath: Oh, dear gods, Help me! (He goes over to his art supplies and begins to sketch to help himself calm down)

Nath of Hearts: (Runs a critical eye over the rose-patterned space his counterpart calls home) Well, if you could be said to have one good quality, it would be your taste in beds! No king or prince worth his salt sleeps on anything smaller than a Queen-Size!

Sleeping Nath: (Blinks) I…actually kind of agree with you there.

Sabrinocchio/Madame Sabrina:

Madame Sabrina: (Looks in disgust at her counterpart’s cheerful and cozy quarters) You really are nuts about the whole cutesy, cuckoo clock aesthetic, aren’t you, puppet? (Jumps when, well, a cuckoo clock goes off behind her)

Sabrinocchio: One, it’s based on my dad’s workshop, he’s a woodcarver. It makes me feel at home! And two, don’t call me a puppet, it’s offensive! I’m alive and have feelings, you know! (Crosses her arms with a huff)

Madame Sabrina: Sure you do, dear! (Scoffs) You say you’re not a child’s toy and yet you have a little puppet stage set-up in here! (Laughs mockingly)

Sabrinocchio: I like to dance, sue me! (Looks over at Madame Sabrina’s room) Well, at least my room doesn’t look like a place you’d go when you’re looking to buy illegal substances! Sorry! (winces)

Madame Sabrina: (Snarls)

Roselle/Queen Rose Candy:

Queen Rose Candy: (Saccharine voice) Well, if this isn’t just the most charming little space you have here! Why, you must have every fairytale ever written! Pity there’s not more pink though! You can never have enough, if you ask me!

Roselle: Um, yes, I suppose! I like pink too! Your room is certainly fit for a queen! The little racetrack is cool, do you use this a lot? (Peering around the candy castle curiously)

Queen Rose Candy: (Giggles madly) All the time, sweetness! I’m the Queen racer of Sugar Rush for a reason, you know!

Roselle: (Notices QRC’s car, and is quiet for a moment, thinking)…Your arcade game is candy-themed, isn’t it? Well…there’s a pig on your racecar. Wasn't there an animal-themed racing game sometime a while back?

Queen Rose Candy: (Aggressive Laughter) I haven’t the foggiest idea WHAT you’re talking about! My, what LOVELY roses you’re growing here! You MUST share your secret for keeping them so healthy! I’m sure my universe’s Nathaniel would LOVE to hear it!

Roselle: (Nervous sweating and laughter)

Julebeast/Juleficent:

Juleficent: (Runs her hand over the dark wood of Julebeast’s grand piano) Well, I must admit, my dear, I wasn’t expecting you to have such good taste! Such lovely gothic architecture in this room. It could use some bats, though. The details are everything.

Julebeast: Uh, I’ll…keep your suggestion in mind. Your space is pretty cool too. Don’t you ever worry about leaving these flames burning, though? (Looking at the green fire warily)

Juleficent: (Waves a hand) Oh, it’s magical, love, no danger at all! I take it you’re something of a musician, to have such a fine instrument? (Taps the piano with her pointer finger)

Julebeast: Ah, y-yeah, I play. It helps me when I…really miss my Luka…(Moves to the piano and begins playing a somber, yet beautiful tune)

Juleficent: (Stands and enjoys the music) You play quite beautifully. (Gets a nod of thanks)

Lady Chloé/Chloéstasia:

Lady Chloé: Well it’s good to see that in at least ONE aspect of your life, you have some taste! (Looks approvingly at Chloéstasia’s expensive and lavish furniture) Honestly though, dear, is it really necessary to have this much natural light? (Shields her eyes from the sun shining in through the massive glass windows)

Chloéstasia: Hmph! It’s the only way to do your make-up in the morning, if you ask me! It used to be a lot cleaner though…I’m still learning with all this housekeeping stuff. It takes up way more time than you’d think!

Lady Chloé: (Scoffs) Perhaps it’s fitting that you bathe in so much sunlight. It blinds you to how soft and pathetic you’ve become! (Laughs haughtily)

Chloéstasia: (Smirks as she peers at the shadowy expanse of luxury furniture her counterpart inhabits) Well, at least all this light helps me see what I’m doing when I get ready in the morning! No offense, hon, but it really looks like you put that makeup on in the dark!

Lady Chloé: (Flushes red and splutters with anger)

Leave your thoughts and ideas in the comments and reblogs! And keep a look out for Sparky posting part 2!

#miraculous ladybug #class of heroes #class of villainy #mirrorverse #mlb ocs #dorm rooms

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plutosreturning · 2 months ago

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I was going to post this a few days ago but it got pushed back becuse of the resurfaced memory.

Patients and Caring.

Preamble:

All my mental health stuff is directly related my mental breakdown in 2020, I've been working on it since then trying to find out what caused it and how to fix it. 4 plus years of learning techniques and about myself.

There are two surprising coincidence that have repeatedly presented themselves. One most of my break thoughts have come about in Oct, Nov, Dec, Jan.

I think on some level I can relate that to the security of festival season. Halloween, Thanksgiving, xmass, New year, birthday, Lunar New year

Also

Without saying too much on the subject because its beyond me and I don't have the vocabulary for it.

Some of the credit for these realizations go to my 🔥🔥, 🔥🐏. She/They most definitely inspired them on some level. Always so many "coincidences" with her. This one was I was avoiding her socials medias for 10 months, then right when I decided to check in on her life last week, all these new break thoughts surface.

Main Story

During one of my 10hr shifts this week I was working with a young man that is somewhere on the spectrum lightly. Well after like 9 hours of work, some of his mannerisms were beginning to get on my nerves.

But I reminded myself I was given an opportunity to practice caring and patience because he was most definitely not doing anything on purpose to annoy me.

At some point later, that whole experience got me thinking I wish I had given my son a little bit more patience and caring when I was raising him on my own. We have talked about it before and apologizes have been given on both sides as we were not always our best selves.

Then I was shown the next level.

I never have been able until now to give myself patience and caring. It's been self-evident in the rare times I've gotten angry with myself when I was having a hard time performing a task. Ie: assembling cheap furniture. Also it's a big part of why I never did things I wanted because of my perfectionism.

Perfectionism to the point of not trying something is not giving myself patience and caring not to be perfect.

All these issues fall perfectly inline with my low self-esteem issues earned though my childhood.

I was not good enough to deserve patience and caring.

And if I cannot give myself that, I most certainly could never give that to another...

I've made another baby step in my living reincarnation.

A deeper understanding of Self-love.

❤

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purpleprey · 10 months ago

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Chapter 11: 2105 Coup

*Five months later*

It was almost New Years Eve by the time our plan was perfected and ready to enact. We'd been trying to adapt to prison life for a while now, just looking for the right opportunity, but life here was certainly rough. Almost as rough as the facial hair that had grown on Venus' perfect face. That's right, we'd been here so long that Venus had grown stubble for the first time since we met. It was perfectly shaped, as if it had been expertly groomed, though it was indeed natural growth. I would be lying through my fucking teeth if I said it didn't actually suit him. Watching his ever-changing but always gorgeous face was the only thing that kept me sane during the months that went by. Well, that and the thought of our inevitable escape. It was mostly Elly, Cosmic and Venus that figured out our exact plan but I wouldn't give them all the credit, they wouldn't have had a chance without my encouragement. The only glaring problem was we didn't know exactly what Avian Dust and Bionic Arcadia's key was for. Elysium had deduced from her experiences that it was, in fact, the key to a door, but that's all we had.

However, we decided not to dwell on that fact too much given that even Cosmic, who basically knew this prison moon inside and out, had no clue on the use of this key. Besides, it wasn't as though we could snoop around wherever we wanted, since The Headmaster tightened security on us, which was probably the right call in all fairness. Since we did plan to defeat him once and for all on our way out.

It started where all good escape plans start: in the gardens. A place where we had the best view of all the guard stations, which allowed us to learn their schedule. The only issue was indeed the Headmaster, and though he rarely emerged by his own will, in our time of playing the role of model prisoners, we did see at least a few newbies unfortunately summon him. We don’t know what became of them after they were sucked into the Headmaster’s office but one could only assume the worst. Most are not as gifted as yours truly, Obsidian Leviathan. Watching this go down, however, did give us an idea as we knew that the Headmaster’s office was the one area in the prison most likely to hold the keys to escape. As well as this, we had concluded that without a leader, the operations of the prison would cease to function. We had to cut off the body's head(master).

It began when we were introduced to a new prisoner. All of us were hard at work in the turnip garden when I grabbed Cosmic by the collar and yanked him closer to me.

"You look the most credible as a gardener," I whispered un-empathetically. "Tell the new guy to plant thirteen turnips,"

"Are you suggesting manipulation, Obsidian!?!?" Cosmic cried loudly whilst I tried to silence him. "ARE YOU SUGGESTING I MANIPULATE THIS NEW PRISONER TO PLANT THIRTEEN TURNIPS TO SUMMON THE HEADMASTER TO KILL HIM??" Everyone in the garden looked over at us, except the newbie. Maybe he was hard of hearing since Cosmic was practically screaming.

"Yeah." I whispered, gazing into Cosmic's soul. He nodded, now understanding the plot, though his soul looked wrecked with guilt.

Cosmic swung around to face the new guy who was right beside him, holding the gardening spade with a weak grip that suggested such a mundane task disgusted and offended him.

“Excuse me, sir.” Cosmic Tomorrow began and, although he wasn’t facing me, I could tell that he was starting to tear up again, “Perhaps you should try planting those turnips over there.” He sniffled very loudly and I doubled over in a desperate attempt to stop myself from swinging Cosmic back around and slapping him for being such a terrible manipulator. I shouldn’t judge though, not everyone is as good an actor as I.

The stranger turned to face Cosmic with great speed, almost slapping Cosmic in the face with his bleach blonde hair that would make any mother shake with unrelenting fury.

“Thank you for the suggestion, good sir.” The stranger replied. “My name is Moorish Zealous. Cheesed to meet you! But, unfortunately, I do not plant turnips, no thank you!!!😊" He said this emoji verbally. My face contorted with disgust at this and I nudged at Cosmic, hoping this would spur him into action and I wouldn’t have to listen to this fool any longer. Even Cosmic seemed to not like this guy.

"well, I don't like you either little Cosmic ass bitch, little short ass bitch, little overall-wearing ass bitch, little ginger ass bitch" Moorish Zealous scoffed, turning his nose up. That was rather unwarranted, even by my standards. Cosmic looked around nervously at the three of us, searching for support. Cosmics pleading eyes landed on Venus who let out a heavy sigh. Moorish Zealous followed Cosmics gaze, seeing Venus for the first time.

Moorish Zealous' jaw dropped to the floor, his eyes popped out of their sockets accompanied by trumpets all the while his heart beat out of his chest. An *awooga awooga* sound effect could be heard just as Moorish pulled a chain on a train whistle that had appeared next to his head as steam blew out. He slammed his fists on a table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware as he whistled loudly. fireworks shot from the top of his head, he panted loudly as his tongue hung out of his mouth. After this vulgar, cartoonish display, Moorish Zealous wiped a comically large bead of sweat from his forehead, cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and combed his bleach blonde hair.

"You look very lovely," He said to Venus who, unlike the rest of us, did not seem to outright detest this person.

"Thank you." Venus nodded and I gritted my teeth until my jaw locked. I was silenced, unable to say anything to bring Venus’ attention to me so I was forced to just stand there and watch as Venus introduced us to this Moorish Zealous character. As Venus referred to each of us by name, Moorish nodded, but never tore his eyes from Venus which was VERY rude of him. Were I in his shoes, I would pretend to be more interested in Venus's words >:(.

After this introduction, we all stood in silence and watched as Moorish stared at Venus and, to my horror, Venus appeared to be looking in Moorish’s general direction! I panicked and ran at Moorish, grabbing him and using him like a ragdoll to plant the turnips. Moorish gasped loudly in offended, British shock.

"I-" he began, though he wasn't interrupted, he did not continue his sentence. It took a long while to plant all thirteen of the turnips and it was quite an uncomfortable ordeal which only made my resentment of Moorish grow even more. I couldn’t believe anyone would make me do something like this. I felt demeaned.

"I'll have your head, Obsidian!!" He Britished at me, shaking his fist. I was surprised he had remembered my name, but not as surprised as Moorish Zealous became as the earth (or rather, moon) beneath him began to shake.

I jogged away from Moorish, who was frozen in place, and backed up to where my friends were standing as the Headmaster once more rose from the ground.

“Who dares to summon me?” He boomed and Moorish turned around to face me, betrayed. I merely joined the rest of the prisoners in pointing a damning finger at him.

"How rambunctious of you, Obsidian and co.," He glowered. "Fool me once, I-" he stopped his sentence abruptly again and we all waited for him to finish, but he never did.

The Headmaster placed a hand on Moorish’s shoulder and slowly turned him around to face him, a menacing scowl adorning the Headmaster’s face. The scowl unfurled into a wide, ominous smile which prompted Moorish to chuckle nervously.

Venus turned to look at me suddenly, pointing at The Headmaster and Moorish.

"Would you say he is cheesed to meet him?" Venus laughed, attempting to mirror Moorish Zealous' strange, strange greeting. Despite the high tension between Moorish and the Headmaster, he whipped around so fast his round glasses flew off and chortled joyously.

“Moorish Zealous,” he began, “I know all about you. Every thought and desire that has ever crossed your mind has now been viewed by me.” Moorish blussed a lil and glanced at Venus shyly. I let out a short high-pitched sound of frustration.

“Would you care to step into my office for a moment?” The Headmaster asked kindly. This was it. Just as I had predicted, Moorish Zealous attempted to flee. He tried to sprint away though his polished shoes kept sinking into the earth like quicksand. His defiance would buy us enough time to slip into the inter-dimensional hole The Headmaster had left in his wake.

The four of us darted forward but were stopped short by the sound of Moorish’s screams behind us. We turned to see that, surprise surprise, the Headmaster had caught up to him and his inappropriate-for-the-situation-at-hand footwear. Moorish struggled in the Headmaster’s grip and before anyone could warn them, they were at the top of a nearby staircase. The Headmaster placed Moorish at the top, but as Moorish turned to face his attacker, he tripped over his own feet.

He began to fall backwards in slow motion. We all gathered around to watch the show. When Moorish eventually reached the ground, a shimmering necklace of pearls he was wearing broke, and the pearls scattered, framing him dramatically, also in an altered flow of time. Luckily, he was also wearing a second string of pearls. He looked up at us in shock, extending a hand towards Venus before a look of confusion appeared on his face.

"F...facial… hair…? Ew..." he rasped, winded and definitely dying from his fall. A single tear that shone as brightly as his pearls escaped his eye before they fluttered closed. Forever…

Venus brought a hand to his stubble self-consciously. I had never seen him in such a state and it enraged me to the point where I considered flying down those steps and mangling Moorish Zealous. Venus looked down at his feet with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I never liked that guy at all anyway.” He muttered, so quietly that I was sure I was the only one to hear him. I wasn’t. From the bottom of the stairs, Moorish let out a wail of agony and despair before finally dying. I placed a hand on Venus's broad shoulder.

"Don't worry, buddy. He's gone now," I reassured before making brief, nervous eye-contact with the special-guest reader.

The Headmaster looked slightly miffed at this turn of events.

"Well," The Headmaster sighed, his head leaves quivered in exasperation "I may as well rejoice in my victory." He slowly and deliberately began to descend the hardwood stairs to the moorish body.

The window of opportunity was once again open. I formed a conga line of my team and we headed for the inter-dimensional rip. Our train chugged along and into the hole where we landed in a heap on the floor of The Headmaster's office.

The office had definitely undergone renovations since I'd last been there, likely due to the damages we must've caused. The desk, the LED surveillance screens and the void door were all in fundamentally the same place. There was a new cabinet and a coat rack, adorned with a black scarf, now stood proudly beside it. But now, there was a door on the far side of the office that had not been there prior. I walked over to this mysterious new door while the others searched his desk. I thought this door might be what our key was for but instead of a keyhole, there was only a place for swiping cards. There must be a keycard somewhere.

I began to wildly rummage through his desk drawers, looking for anything at all that could help us, but instead I just got a dozen paper clips somehow stuck into my hand. I threw my head back and shrieked in anguish. Cosmic came over to where I was and rummaged through the same drawer, becoming impaled by a baker’s dozen paper clips. He let out a small “hmph” noise and just continued to rummage. I fell to my knees. He mustn't have felt it through his calloused farmers mits. Suddenly, Cosmics hand halted and we heard a small click as he lifted the bottom of the drawer, exposing a hidden compartment. Inside was what appeared to be a children's pink, faux-fur covered diary. He called Elly and Venus over to where we were standing and handed the diary to Venus, stating that he wasn’t comfortable reading someone else’s private diary entries. I rolled my eyes and, judging from the look on his face, he heard it. Venus began to flick through the book, mumbling quietly as he read to himself and slowly beginning to tear up. We stared at him in anticipation. He finally glanced up at us.

“I think this is the Headmaster’s diary,” he said slowly, “but what is written in here is so emotional and raw.” He shook his head softly. I snatched the furry book from him and opened it to a few random pages.

-----

Entry 34

Dear diary,

I must reiterate, I never asked for this life. This moon had been my home long before this "prison company" started construction and long since they forced me to take physical form. I’m not sure how much of this I can handle. I’ve glanced into my future and found it too bleak for any hope to remain. The construction, however, remains in its early stages. I wanted to reverse or at least slow progress, however even if the moon stays pure, I've already been altered in ways I cannot undo. I look down at these hands I cannot fathom as being my own and damn them for grasping for power over all but myself.

Entry 70

The first few prisoners have been moved in, along with a handful of guards. I can feel their misery and hopelessness as easily as my own. The prisoners work in the garden during the day and I see that the guards have left out turnips, the exact right amount that would beckon me to the call. I do not want to be ripped into their reality today. When I looked to the sky, there was an eclipse. I had never felt so lonely, so I cannot spare my sympathy for the prisoners here. Oh, how I used to long to meet with her again. But I know better now.

Entry 142

Something strange happened today. Another of the prisoners pulled me into their garden so I did what I always do: I went to reprimand him in my office. But before I could say my piece this boy… he… kissed me? I have to be more cautious, and let it be known that this behaviour is criminal activity. Though the lowly boy faced my wrath, for just… most fleeting moment, I thought of her. I will never show care for these inmates. They think they know the feeling of being imprisoned but my burden is surely the greatest to bear. Callisto… I will find my way to you at any cost, I can promise you.

However, things are seeming to grow more difficult by the day. I've discovered that my creator has made a fail safe, as he calls it. A way to stop me forever if something “went wrong”. I knew he meant to use it and I feared it would happen soon. How dare humanity force me into this world, which is not my own, only to have the gall to tear me out of it, forever, should they declare me unfit. Have I not suffered enough? I am unimaginably furious, but more than this, I am afraid.

However, my life is no longer in the hands of others. I will not allow anyone to have this kind of power over me. I have hidden this so-called “fail safe” where no one will ever be able to retrieve it. I've hidden the access card in the one place I know to truly belong to me alone. It is a coward’s attempt, though I do feel far safer than I felt this morning. I stay safe, only for you, Callisto.

-----

After reading this, I began to search frantically through the rest of the diary until a keycard fell out of the book and onto the office floor. Before I could explain a thing, Elly snatched it up and gave it a thoughtful look.

"I've put two and two together," Elysium announced, "this must be the keycard for this here door." She strode over to the door and swiped the card. She threw open the door and the cupboard handed her a gun.

Elly walked over to me and handed me the gun.

"No no, please no!" I roared, knowing that my aim was rather terrible, and it was hard to hold both the gun and the fuzzy pink diary. I tried to give the gun back to her so that she could give it back to the cupboard but she simply stared at me blankly. I then tried to offer the gun to Venus and Cosmic but they gave me the same blank stare.

"The Headmaster had this gun locked up." Elysium explained, "It must have some importance. I bet this is his one weakness."

I stared at Elysium in awe of her deductive reasoning. I tried desperately to recount what I had just read but I was too overwhelmed to manage more than a few choked squeaks. Elly appeared quite unhappy by this. I lowered my gaze and fumbled with the gun and the book, where I found the last entry. I knew we had gotten what we had come for, but I had to know how the story ended, as it was rather gripping.

-----

Entry 399

It has been a rather gruelling ordeal but I have finally figured it out. We’ve been parted so long, Callisto, but I have finally found a way to bring us back together. I know how and believe me, before this week is up, I will. Callisto, my beloved, our souls will intertwine in the cosmos once again, and though my form, my body, will never be what it once was, my heart will always belong to you. I will see you soon.

-----

I wiped a tear from my eye. I was so happy for them my heart was aching. I doubled over from the pain of my heart burn. I popped a few pills of Gaviscon Heartburn Medication and stood upright, just as the Headmaster arrived in his office.

He zeroed in on me immediately, as I was holding both his private diary and his only weakness. He charged towards me and I collapsed onto the floor in a panic. I’ll admit, it wasn’t my finest moment. I heard his high heels clacking toward me and I felt so much fear and guilt, I hadn't even realised what I had done until after the sound of the gun firing.

The Headmaster was on the ground when I finally opened my eyes. Elly and Venus seemed pleased with the supposed victory. Cosmic appeared a little dismayed by the violence but seemed relieved nonetheless. I, however, could only feel a slight emptiness. I rose shakily to my feet and tiptoed to the Headmaster’s body. He was looking straight up past me with unfocused eyes, he was shivering like he was cold. He reached a feeble arm up to the LED screens which abruptly vanished, revealing the void surroundings of the office, throwing me off completely. I looked up just as an image of the night sky and a large, bright moon faded in.

“Callisto.” he offered weakly, a single tear running down his stern face, before coughing harshly, his arm dropping back down. With that, we were completely inside the pitch black void again.

“Callisto,” he tried again, softer this time. “I’ll be there soon.” He erupted into another round of coughs before beginning to mutter to himself. "I'm… so sorry, my love," he smiled weakly as his eyes closed. As I went to reach for him, his body fell apart like dust and he scattered into the expanse of the void. He would never be with Callisto again. He let out one last heaving breath. Humanity had betrayed him one last time.

Just like that, he was dead.

I leaned forward and rested my hand on his forehead. No pulse, no breaths. After all I had found out about him, nothing had come of it. Such a pitiful end to a powerfully awe-inspiring being.

#purple prey #book recommendations #book recs #bookblr #original story #authorblr #author #crime of passion #representation #queer lit #obsidian leviathan #elysium forging #cosmic tomorrow #venus crypt #moorish zealous

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dearunknown · 2 years ago

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05/27-28/23 (late night saturday, actually early sunday)

Dear Unknown,

Just got back from the DJ set. I did horribly. I feel so embarrassed I could die. I wish I’d gone to the hospital instead of honoring a commitment. Oh, well. Ezra and I left very quickly. I made us leave very quickly. I want to cry but am too ashamed to cry over something so miserable and stupid. Plus I don’t want anyone’s comfort. I don’t want a kind word or a kind touch from Ezra. Even Caro… well, I’d let Caro do anything to me.

As soon as I got home, I tore off my wristband (yellow) and wrote on it in black sharpie MY LAST DJ SET - 12 AM-1 AM 5/27-28, 2023 WORK.SHOP and put it at a perfect spot so that every morning almost inevitably upon waking up I will be reminded of my laziness, inadequacy, stupidity, vanity, — my weaknesses— and be reminded that I should never try for anything ever, ever again. I should take all my ambitions, all my desires, and shove them away. Nothing is ever going to happen for me. Nothing. The fact that I have a poor-paying but basically respectable job only serves to highlight the absurdity of my life. I want to let myself lose. I want to let myself lose control. I’m over it. I’m over my life. The wanton optimism of my 29 is putrid. It was rotten on the vine. I am a bad, weak, stupid person. I will not make it. I will not break out of my life. Continue living as a hollow vessel, or hang myself. The distinction is completely irrelevant. If I’m alive, that’s just a biological fact. I am the ancient mariner, my albatross is this horrible life I’ve made for myself. My soul is in complete squalor. I am less than anything. I am sorry to darken anyone’s doorstep. When Caro moves to New York, I will throw myself completely to drunkenness and desolate emptiness. I will probably stop taking any ADHD meds this summer, and my antidepressants after Caro leaves. I will be so contemptible and broken. Every day of drinking I will finish with my usual melange of klonopin and trazodone. One day might heart might feel slow enough I can feel it’s loss of feeling.

Today I talked to Nikolai on the phone. He made me promise to give Ezra my credit cards. He also told me to do the same with my alcohol, but I’m not doing that.

I hope tomorrow I feel horrible. I hope the next day, I feel worse. I hope every day becomes more of a curse than the last. In the end, my one heroism will be that I endured for so long.

I will accomplish nothing. I cannot be loved except for the mirages I put up of myself. I should withdraw from anyone who I am not forced to associate with. I will lavish all of my energy upon Caro before they leave. And as they drive away, I will see my future approach the horizon line. And I will collapse into my curse. I only have to be alive for 2 more months, maybe 3 or 4 at most.

Nikolai thinks I’m borderline. He also said that people who are in happy relationships don’t think (as I do of Ezra) about how they wish their partner hated them so much they would break up with them. I hope… I hope it isn’t alcoholism that does it. Although I am completely intent on being an alcoholic now, I hope that’s not what destroys this relationship. How banal. I hope he just grows to see me as I am, as the most contemptible woman. I have done so much evil to Ezra, but the worst thing I have done is certainly make him think he needs me, or wants me, or loves me. I am a ball of maggots projecting the image of a woman.

I hope my mother knows she did this to me. My grandmother did this to me. My aunt did this to me. The world did this to me. But really, I DID THIS TO ME.

I’m never listening to my therapist again when she encourages me to do something challenging. What a waste of everyone else’s time. I’m always going to be a waste of everyone’s time.

Thank you for listening. I hope you’re doing well. I’m sorry to be so self-centered. If you could write me back, I would attentively pour over your letters. I wish you weren’t so unknown to me.

Love,

Elizabeth

#personal

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knivesong-moved · 1 year ago

Text

Annie didn't have the faintest clue what they were doing - what they were to each other. She couldn't call it a game; no, this was much too real to her to condemn it to something so trivial. It was as though they were two dancers, destined to come together on a ballroom floor. Their every move complimented each other seamlessly, and despite their lack of experience, their dance was so beautiful.

She had changed so little, but also so profoundly since meeting him. Years of simply surviving told her to run as far away as possible - that she was headed down a dangerous path with no way back. The unknown was unsafe, and one wrong step could quite literally result in her death.

This time would be different. She'd dig her heels in and fight those instincts. She'd run to him, with arms spread wide and her heart on her sleeve. Besides, if someone were to break it, she'd want it to be him.

Annie let out a yelp in surprise at the sensation of being swept from her feet and into his strong arms. This wasn't exactly what she had meant when she asked to be held, but she certainly wasn't about to complain. She was beginning to feel her exhaustion, her body tired and devoid of any fight.

❝ This is perfect. ❞

Her heart fluttered at the way he held her so tight but so tenderly, tucked so safely against his chest. This had to be real for him too. Wasn't it ?

She nuzzled into him as her fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt. For once the bard was quiet - no sassy comments or dagger sharp sharp quips. She simply enjoyed being there with him in such an intimate way. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not unpleasant. The mound of soft pillows beneath her was far more comfortable than her simple bedroll out by the fire. All these things allowed her to pretend, at least for a little while, that her world wasn't steadily being torn apart.

It was akin to something out of a fairy tale - sick and twisted, but a fairy tale nonetheless.

❝ When I was young, I used to fantasize about finding prince charming. I was so desperate for someone to come save me - a brave hero to whisk me away. ❞

She gave a slight pause and inhaled deeply, as though trying to steel her resolve.

❝ I didn't end up in the circus scene by choice, you know. I can thank my good for nothing father for that. Well, I suppose he was good at one thing: he taught me the tools I needed to survive in a world like that. He, uh... made a bad bet with the wrong people. Most of the time he could sweet talk his way out of any consequences, but this was one mess he couldn't get out of. So he simply shifted those consequences onto me. ❞

Annette gave the softest of sighs as she wondered how wise it was to be putting everything on the table like this. Every word added fuel to a fire that could very easily be wielded against her. But he had shared with her; it was only fair she opened up. And she wanted to open up - wanted to spill everything to him. Every fight she'd had, every tragedy, every near death experience.

❝ They did treat me well, I have to give them credit for that. I wouldn't be my fabulous self if weren't for my circus family. ❞

Her lips eventually curved into a small smile. She just knew her next words would cause him to roll his eyes, and she felt like lightening the subject.

❝ It didn't work out so bad for me though. I saved myself and found my prince charming. No one warned me about the teeth though. ❞

The revelation that Astarion had some sort of genuine feelings for Annette was a chaotic one, to say the least. It sparked when she had stood up for him against that vile drow woman who just could not fathom a vampire refusing a nibble, and who seemed convinced that somehow he was Annie's personal property.

It had taken everything in him not to rip that obnoxious little bitch's head off, instead allowing himself to use his voice and bluntly tell her no. It was out of respect for Annie that he used communication rather than violence, and also the common sense that ripping apart one of the Absolute's lackies in the middle of an Absolute stronghold was not a good idea in an infiltration mission. But, oh, how he wanted to.

Annie interjecting on his behalf had surprised him, despite having witnessed prior to that she consistently advocated for all of their travelling companions. He knew that his manipulations had worked to give him protection, but he didn't think that would have made her refrain from ordering him about. In fact, he couldn't fathom for the longest why she didn't. She easily could have made him for the potion, and he'd have gone along with it because he didn't know how or if he could say no to her when his survival depended on her protection.

Astarion had mulled over the event over and over again for hours, nights. What seemed like an eternity within itself, really. He took the time to study Annie closer, to try and analyze her. Was this her manipulating him? What did she hope to gain by defending him?

He wanted desperately to try to find a crack in her facade, some tell that she was playing him just as much as he had been playing her. That he was right to keep up certain walls to hide behind. But she remained consistent. She never asked him to repay her by allowing him to say no. In fact, she didn't bring it up at all. She wasn't upset that he had denied the drow.

In these observations of her, of trying to find a flaw to justify his walls, he found himself admiring her. The way her eyes sparkled when she was being playfully devious. The way her lips curved into a smile. How she cared for the little dog and owlbear cub enough to let them wander into the camp and stay. Traits he had previously found annoying and overbearing, such as her offering aid to those less fortunate who couldn't properly compensate her, he began to view differently.

She was kind because she wanted to be. Because she empathized and genuinely wanted what was best for others. She was giving. She didn't act in her self-interest or self-preservation in a way that drug the whole world into the pits of hell. She didn't carry around her misery in the hopes of shrouding others to cast into the darkness with her.

In that way, they were different. Astarion wanted others to suffer as he suffered. He laughed away those who needed help because no one had ever provided him help when he so desperately needed it. Misery loves it's company, as they say, and it was the only thing that Astarion gave freely and plentifully.

But it didn't need to be so. Annie was teaching him that. Annie was teaching him that misery could end, if you put in the work to end it. She was proof, even if she didn't believe so herself. She was hope.

❝ I never saw myself as a paladin or cleric sort, but you certainly would make that an appealing idea. ❞

He laughed at her haughty display before playfully bowing his head in a feined gesture of subservience.

❝ To be among your highest honored Chosen would be a most gracious reward, my Divine. ❞

He felt conflicted about returning to Baldur's Gate. On one hand, he missed the city and all it's trapping. On the other, it meant that confronting Cazador was even closer. It wouldn't be long after stepping foot back in the old haunts that Cazador would know of his return, and then send for him. Astarion just hoped that Annie wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Interesting how, when they first met, he had hoped he could shield himself with her. But now? He couldn't bear the thought of her getting hurt on his behalf. He would have to be cautious when they returned to the city. And he'd have to make sure that Cazador was dead with his own two eyes to ensure neither of them would have a future looking over their shoulders.

❝ Well, then that means a proper bath is in order as soon as we arrive at Baldur's Gate. I can use some of my perfumery connoisseurship to make it particularly delightful. A few oils, maybe some florals since flowers are hardly good for anything else, and a nice set of soaps and lotions. Maybe even a nice cuddle in the bath, if I'm feeling generous. ❞

Kind wasn't how Astarion would ever describe himself. He more so considered himself... good at reciprocation. Annie treated him well with her constant support and trust. How could he do any less than to give her the same back? But he was afraid, perhaps just as afraid as she was, that at any moment there would be a catch. That all of this was a fantasy that, for once, he didn't manipulate and craft but rather fell into foolishly. If that were to be the case, it was a lovely fantasy while it lasted.

His eyes fluttered moments after her own did, allowing himself to savor her presence and the comfortable quiet they had alone in his tent. For a moment, Cazador and the Mind-Flayers was completely forgotten. The fact that he was a blood-thirsty vampire was forgotten. For a moment, he was just Astarion - whatever that meant.

He didn't speak upon hearing her request, instead giving a silent nod before he was on his feet to scoop her into his arms. She was likely sore from her wounds, and she did say she wanted to be held, so he had no sassy qualms or objections. He carried her like one would a delicate porcelain doll, setting her down upon the mound of pillows and bedrolls that he deemed most comfortable, and settling himself beside her. An arm stayed wrapped around her, pulling her close to him so he could rest his chin atop her head and fill his nose with her hair to breath in her scent.

This was something he'd taken quite a liking to, too.

❝ Better? ❞

#exsanguidus

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writergirl3 · 2 years ago

Text

A Message For Insecure 4 Townies, From 4 Town...

Okay, so, I wanted to try something different here. I was inspired by none other than the amazing @4townlove and their letter-style head canons. I want to give them full credit for the inspiration of this, and please go and read their work (although I'm sure you already have).

Also, you can change the dialogue at the beginning, if you want. I just wanted to keep it general so that the messages made more sense.

Also, I gave up on adding an image for each member because I've basically run out, lol.

So, this one's for any 4 Townies who are feeling insecure. I've been there a lot, and if you have too, I hope you like this ⭐️🧡

---

(B/M/N): Band Member's Name

B/M/N: "Y/N…what’s wrong?"

You: "Nothing…I just feel ugly and annoying and…not good enough."

Robaire;

“Mon amour, will you hear me out for a second?

It’s normal to feel insecure. There’s something strange about the human brain; it doesn’t seem to register all the wonderful things that others see in us. Sometimes I feel unsure of myself, and you always remind me of positive things, right?

Well, ma belle rose, now it’s my turn. I could list hundreds of reasons why you certainly aren’t ‘ugly’, ‘annoying’ or ‘not good enough’. But, instead, I want to tell you what I see.

Every day spent with you leaves me wanting for nothing, because when I’m with you, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. Your smile can brighten even the cloudiest of skies. When you reach for my hand, I feel like it was crafted to fit in mine. You don’t even need to do anything to make my life better, that’s how special you are.

I know it might take some time for you to come round and believe me. And if you’re still having a hard time seeing yourself as I do, I’ll reassure you until you do, ma cherie.”

Jesse;

“Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you mustn’t say those things about yourself, okay? Not just because they’re far from true, but because it’s not good for you. For your soul, your confidence, your heart. You’re so kind to everyone around you, and it’s important to spare a little bit of that for yourself.

Y’know, it’s easy to believe that no one else feels insecure or doubtful of themselves, but that, also, isn’t true. When I joined 4 Town, I worried and worried about being older than the other guys. I didn’t want to feel like a spare part, like I was making up the numbers.

But you know what? They helped me see how being different made us stronger as a group. Sure, they poke fun a little at me sometimes, but it’s all good. I know they don’t mean it, because they helped me see how my differences can shine in their own light.

I hope you see what I’m saying here. None of the things you’ve said about yourself are true. Any little insecurities that you have actually make you all the more special. And I love you for them.”

Aaron T;

“WHAT?!?!

Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for shouting, baby, I’m not mad at you. Not one bit! I just…I just don’t understand?

What do I mean, you ask? Well, just that. I don’t see how someone so perfect could see themselves as the opposite. Hell, you’re too perfect sometimes- that’s the only thing I could accuse you of.

What is it that you don’t like? That laugh that I could listen to on loop? Your heaven-sent smile? And your eyes? Man, I always find myself looking at them.

And all this about being annoying and not good enough? Just look around you. You have so many people in your life who love and respect you, and you know I’m one of ‘em.

And so what if some people in life think you’re not ‘good enough’? What is good enough? You’re so much more than that to me. You’re perfect, and that will never change.”

Aaron Z;

“Sweetheart…I…just, please listen to me for a sec, okay?

I don’t know what or who made you question yourself, your worth. If it’s me, I’ll never forgive myself for that, because you make my world better just by being in it. In fact, you are my world.

Was it someone else? One of the boys? No? Okay, I see. You’ve got into your own head a little. That’s okay, it happens to me too sometimes. But let me say just one thing.

You know I’m not great with…words, and stuff, so I’ll keep this simple. I love you. In fact, I’m in love with you. All those little things that you see as ‘bad’ are anything but. They’re what made me fall for you in the first place, and I’ve still yet to land.

You know what? I’m gonna write you a list of everything I love about you, okay? Kinda like a letter. But until I’ve finished it, just know that I never want you to change. Maybe I’ve not done a good enough job at showing you that, but I mean it. I love you so much.”

Tae Young;

“Dove, what are you saying? Those are such horrible words and could never reflect how I see you.

What do I see? Well, I see a wonderful person. A kind soul who is unique in their own right. You know what words I would use instead of the ones you chose? Passionate. Caring. Loyal. Gorgeous. Sweet.

There are so many others, but just being with you now is making me go sorta blank. Not because I can’t think of anything! It’s just, seeing your eyes all teary and those little red flushes on your cheeks; it makes me flustered and heartbroken at the same time.

Next time you feel like this, come straight to me, okay? I’ll hold you until you feel right, and find a way to help you see yourself with love. All those bad words you think about yourself? You can bet that I have a replacement for each and every one, love.”

---

Musing Meaninglessly Masterlist

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jungshookz · 4 years ago

Text

teeny tidbits: jungkook picks y/n up from class & all eyes are on him

➺ pairing; badboy!jungkook x y/n

➺ wordcount; 1.6k

➺ p.s. yes i’m aware this REEKS of 2012 wattpad clichés and i basically groaned and rolled my eyes the entire time i was writing this but i’m trying to redeem myself from the tragedy that was the 2018!badboykook fic and 2021!cee needed to get this out of her system!!! and sometimes cheesy things are good for the soul!! please enjoy this teeny tidbit and feel free to roll ur eyes with me

(unfortunately i wasn’t able to track down the original maker of this gif but this is where i sourced it from! all credits go to the maker of course :-)))

»»————-　🏍️　————-««

“can’t you ask jungkook to get us in?” jimin sighs frustratedly, nudging you with his elbow before reaching over and pulling the door open for you, “come on… this is going to be the party of the semester! we can’t miss it!”

“i’m sure there’ll be a big ol’ party next semester, jimin-” you roll your eyes playfully before shaking your head, “besides, we’ve been to dozens of parties already! the world isn’t going to end if we don’t go to this one, right?”

“but kim taehyung is hosting this one!” jimin exclaims, grabbing onto your elbow before giving you a shake, “and his parties are legendary. do you know what people are going to say if they find out i wasn’t there??”

good grief

you’ve come to really like jimin in the five-ish months that you’ve gotten to know him, but if there’s one thing you could change about him it’d be his obsession with campus parties

(sometimes you think that jimin probably wouldn’t hang around you as much if you weren’t dating jungkook and his magical ability to get into pretty much any party possible... but that’s a conversation you can have with him another day.)

“you care far too much about what people think.” you frown, shaking your head in disappointment, “i promise you no one’s going to care when you tell them you weren’t at one party-”

“come on…! please??” your eyes widen when jimin stops in his tracks and stomps down on the ground like a petulant child, his plush bottom lip pushed out in a pathetic little pout, “don’t do this to me, huh? just- just bring it up to jungkook and see what he says- promise me you’ll ask jungkook- please please please-”

“okay, okay!” you turn around to face jimin before letting out a huff, “fine. if it’ll get you to stop whining, i promise you i’ll ask jungkook about getting you-”

“-us-”

“-us- getting us into this dumb party.” you smile, crossing your fingers behind your back, “happy?”

you most certainly will noT be asking jungkook about getting you guys into this party because you’re sick of going to parties!

sure, this is all part of your ~university experience~ but that doesn’t mean you have to go to a party every other weekend

you’d love to just stay in and sleep

god, you’d kill for a good, long night of sleep...

even thinking about it now is making you drowsy

“mhm!” jimin’s face immediately lights up in a delighted smile before he points over your shoulder, “you can ask him right now.”

“ask him n-” you glance over your shoulder, eyes widening in surprise to see jungkook waiting for you by the sidewalk, “-ow... uh, perfect!”

jungkook’s here!

...you… weren’t expecting him to be... here...

jungkook gives a couple of girls a polite smile and a nod of acknowledgement as they walk past him with flirty giggles

“okay, uh-” you turn back to give jimin a stiff smile before crinkling your nose and holding a finger up, “would you mind waiting here for me?”

“i'll wait as long as you want me to as long as you get us into that party-!” jimin calls out after you as you hurry down the brick steps to jungkook

“holy shit. i’d love give his motorcycle a ride-”

“mhm, any day... any day!”

you stumble over your feet a little as two girls brush past you from behind, leaving a trail of sweet-smelling perfume tickling at your nose

“hey, there you are!” a grin spreads on jungkook’s face when he sees you coming towards him, pushing himself up so he’s not leaning against his motorcycle, “i was worried i was at the wrong building.”

“uh-huh, so what are you-” you clear your throat quietly before letting out a nervous chuckle, giving your boyfriend a chummy, super casual and not at all romantic punch to the chest, “what are you, uh, doing… here?”

“picking you up from… class?” he mocks your high-pitched tone with a boyish smile before pursing his lips, “you are done for the day, right? that’s what your schedule says.”

“yeah, i’m done, i just- wait a minute-” you frown, your eyes flickering to the side as you try to recall jungkook’s schedule, “shouldn’t you be in a biology lecture right now?”

“the prof dismissed us, like, forty minutes early.” jungkook shrugs, “so i thought i’d come and pick you up so that you didn’t have to walk all the way back to your dorm to meet m-”

“-why’d you take the bandaids off your cheek?” you interrupt him suddenly as you reach up to cup his face, gently brushing your thumb over the healing cut on his cheekbone (he was half-asleep and walked directly into the frame of the bathroom door), “i told you to keep them on for another day. i was going to take them off for you tonight.”

“they made me look lame.” he scrunches his nose and you immediately frown in disapproval, “plus, showing off the cut makes me look so much cooler-”

“that’s not a legitimate excuse-”

“it so is!” jungkook turns his head before pointing at it, “look at that and tell me you don’t think i’m cool-”

it’s not that you don’t love that jungkook knows what time you finish class and where exactly to pick you up (swoon!)- the thing that’s making you nervous is the fact that people naturally seem to just... stare at him whenever he’s around

to be fair, you would stare too if you didn’t know him!

the all-black outfit, the perfectly tousled hair that never seems to be out of place, the obviously very handsome face, and the shiny shiny motorcycle that makes a very obnoxious vrOOm-vroOOom sound whenever he revs the engines

you’re not embarrassed to be seen with him because you are very!!! fond of your boyfriend but…

well, it’s just that if they’re staring at him, they’re most definitely staring at you, too

and sometimes you worry that you don’t look very compatible with jungkook... and then you worry that people are laughing at you and only you... and then you wonder what people mutter to each other whenever they walk past you two and give you that awful ‘how did someone like you land someone like him?’ stare... and then you feel like you have to prove that you’re dating jungkook but you don’t want to make a scene...

it certainly doesn’t help that there are rubber-duckies on your socks

also, it’s hitting you now that it’s pretty hypocritical to call jimin out on how intense he is about other people’s opinions of him when you’re so in your head about this

jungkook tilts his head curiously when he notices you glancing around like there’s a big target on your back and he resists the urge to snort

he knows exactly why you’re so twitchy, and as much as he wants to reassure you and tell you that literally no one is paying attention to the two of you - and even if they did, who cares? - ...well, he’s allowed to have his fun, isn’t he?

“oh, what’s the matter, sweet girl? you still embarrassed to be seen with me?” jungkook coos mockingly, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you in towards him with a cheeky grin, “hm? don’t want anyone to see your big, bad boyfriend?”

“jungkook-!” you grip onto his forearm in alarm when he leans in, nudging his nose under your jaw so he can give the side of your neck a teasing bite, “cut it out, you weirdo-” your face immediately goes bright pink and you reach up to flatten your palm against his chest to create some distance, “jimin’s still over there-”

“is he?” jungkook hums, giving your warm cheek a kiss before pulling away and looking up towards the staircase, “ah, yep. i see him...” he gives jimin a wave accompanied with a friendly smile and jimin takes that as a sign to come over and join you two

“oh, god. he’s coming over.” jungkook keeps the smile on his face as he looks back down at you, “please tell me he’s not about to ask me about another party. i’m starting to worry that the number of times i’ve asked to come to a party is starting to make me look desperate for socialization- hey, jimin!”

you turn around so you can face jimin and jungkook reaches down to link his fingers with yours

“hey, bro!!!!” jimin greets a little too enthusiastically as he holds up his fist for a bump, jungkook’s eyes flicking down to it before he reluctantly raises his own arm to bump his fist against jimin’s, “so, like, i’m sure y/n’s already debriefed you on kim taehyung’s party-”

“ah, yeah. taehyung’s party- you sure you wanna go to that one?” jungkook frowns as he glances back down at you, “because taehyung’s from one of the sleazier frats-”

“i heard they pop open bottles of champagne and spray them, like, all over everyone-” jimin gushes, jungkook raising a brow before chuckling lightly

“and you… want that?”

“it’ll look great on my instagram highlights.”

“that… yeah, that’s a bonus for sure.” jungkook gives your hand a squeeze and you bite back a giggle, “who cares about wasting multiple bottles of expensive champagne when they make for a great instagram highlight?”

“see? you get it!” jimin chirps before looking over at you, “he gets it, y/n.”

“mm, he certainly does.”

(jungkook likes jimin, it’s just that he thinks he’s a little too eager about his place on the social ladder sometimes…)

“oh, and don’t worry-” jimin beams, “y/n and i won’t abandon you at the party or anything because i hear their house is huge-”

“yeah, because i’m the third wheel in this trio.”

🎙️help me help you make your wishes come true (send me a request!)

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

🌟or something even shorter?

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years ago

Note

Do you think you’ll continue with the lawyer Nessian fic. It was so amazingly written I’d love to read more! I love all your writing anyways I’ll be happy with anything❤️

Ok not *technically* a Drabble request BUT I’m not ready to commit to a full lawyer AU that happens in order however I did just drum up a part 2 that we’ll say is several years before the previous lawyer AU. Nessian teasing in a bar and Rhys being a dumbass.

FYI the lawyer Drabble I’m talking about can be found HERE.

“I’m in love,” Rhys slurred. Cassian, a decent bit bigger than his brother and two drinks behind him, had a gentle buzz so he could only surmise that his brother was well passed sober.

“Congratulations,” Cassian grinned, clapping his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “May I lay eyes upon the future Mrs. Dumbass.”

Rhys stared at him flatly. Blew a laugh out of his nose. “She’s not marrying you, brother.”

Cassian snorted, casting his eyes around the elegantly decorated little lounge they’d stepped into for the night. Lounge, not bar. Because they were mature adults now looking to take the edge off after a long day of work, not college students looking to get fucked up.

It was different.

It was different because the cocktails cost $20 and were served in actual stemware instead of red solo cups. They were evolving. Growing. Cassian was a lawyer now and Rhys was supposed to be doing actual work for his dad’s company so… no more dive bars.

Now they frequented little lounges where accountants and lawyers and bankers sat in tailored suits and discussed… adult things.

It was all very civilized.

And yet here was his brother. Every bit the horny college student they were trying not to be. Oh well, old dogs and all that.

“End of the bar.” Rhys jerked his head to the left and Cassian grinned.

“Might be a little old for you, champ.”

Rhys wrinkled his brow and turned to look at the grandmother doing a crossword puzzle on the far left side of the bar. A martini glass in front of her. Good for grandma.

“Other end of the bar!”

Cassian smirked. He didn’t need to turn his head, since he’s noticed her the second she walked in, but he still did. Just so he could look some more.

“Ah, you mean the deliciously dishevelled leggy brunette with her suit jacket on the chair beside her who just ripped the pins out of her hair like they personally offended her and then laid them in a neat little pile beside her Kobo?

“Mmm,” Rhys grinned, “I’d like her to rip those fingers through my hair.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Go for it, brother.”

Rhys grinned wider. “I think I will.” He straightened up, ran a hair through his artfully mussed hair, and pulled on the lapels of his Gucci suit jacket until they were even again.

Cassian snickered into his Old Fashioned. Rhys could straighten his jacket all he wanted. He could pretend he wasn’t drunk all he wanted. It wouldn’t matter one bit.

Not with Nesta Archeron.

Nesta Archeron who hated men that stunk of trust funds and privilege more than anything else in this world.

This would be fun to watch.

Watch her try to ignore him at first. Eyes glued to the page of her book, hand reaching up to wave through the air like Rhys was an annoying fly she could swat away.

Rhys, to his credit, was a clever little bastard. He asked the bartender for a refill of her drink and set it down in front of her then sat himself one stool down from her.

He didn’t move her jacket to sit next to her, which would have had her going feral. He just sat there, waiting.

After a few moments Nesta let out an exacerbated sigh that Cassian could hear from across the room. There was his girl.

Well, not his girl. Not even a little bit his girl, but… someday.

Cassian decided that he was going to Marry Nesta Archeron the first time she kicked his ass up and down a negotiation meeting. It was a couple years ago now. He’d been young and new at his firm. She was young and new too, but the words learning curve were not in Nesta’s vocabulary. Everything she did, she did with perfection.

Including getting rid of men she didn’t want hitting on her.

She said something to his brother that made Rhys’ half drunk, cocky, smile fall halfway down his face.

Cassian would’ve given his left eye to know what she said in that moment. She had a knack for jumping at the jugular and Rhys… oh Rhys. So obvious.

After a few moments and the continual fall of Rhys’ face, Cassian decided it was time to intervene. He knocked his drink back and straightened out his own suit jacket. Armani, still overpriced and designer but not so obvious or try hard as Mr. Up On The Trends with his Gucci. Nesta appreciated classics.

Simple. Clean lines, solid colours, classic. Which was why it was so fun just how attracted she was to his half wild self.

Unlike Rhys, Cassian plucked Nesta’s light grey suit jacket up off the stool beside her and reached over her head to hang it on a coat hook at the end of the bar. Settling himself into the chair beside her like it was exactly where he belonged. Which it was.

She turned around with an indignant shriek and a fire-breathing snarl that narrowed into just a hard glare when she realized it was him. Touching.

“This guy giving you trouble, Nes?”

Rhys choked on his whiskey and Cassian fought his hardest to keep a straight face.

“I so don’t need your saviour complex right now, Cassian.” Nesta scoffed.

“No,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “She was doing perfectly well scaring off everyone in a 10 mile radius all on her own.”

Nesta smiled sweetly, “I was just playing your game.”

Rhys sputtered again. Looked up at his brother. “This devil woman that you apparently already know,” he glared, “is all yours. I’m going home.”

“Be sure to drink plenty of water!” Nesta sing songed after him. Rhys flipped them both off on his way out.

“What’d you say to him?”

Nesta smiled. A pretty, feline little thing. “He said he wanted to chat. Suggested 20 question, which is the lamest, oldest, crustiest line in the book. So I went first. Asked just how small his dick was that he felt the need to overcompensate with the swagger and the gratuitous displays of wealth. He thought he was quite clever to use his question to ask if I wanted to check for myself how not small his dick was and then I asked if his daddy never loved him and that’s where all of that machismo masking painfully obvious and deep seeded feelings of inadequacy and insecurity came from. I was going to offer him my friend’s number before you showed up. She’s an excellent therapist.”

Cassian laughed. Hard. For a very long time. He loved Rhys, but sometimes the kid could use a nice set down. It was always sweeter when delivered by a beautiful woman. Not to mention, Cassian himself had gotten the same ice cold rejection the first time he met Nesta. When he asked if she wanted to get a coffee and she looked at him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. That Rhys was chased off so easily just proved he couldn’t take the heat.

“You know the walking trust fund, I presume?” Nesta boredly sipped the drink Rhys had bought her. And even that was somehow amusing.

“Only for the last couple decades or so,” Cassian grinned. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Explains a lot.”

“Your insults are more impactful when you clarify which person is being insulted.”

“I was going for the two birds one stone method.”

“In that case, consider me wounded, sweetheart.”

Nesta scoffed, “Unfortunately not mortally.”

“Oh Nesta, if I weren’t here you’d die of boredom and you know it. No one else can run you up and down the courtroom like I can.” Now. Cassian grinned as he watched the word flash across her eyes. He’d never live that first blunder down.

Nesta rose an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you present any challenge whatsoever.”

Cassian signalled for another drink and leaned forward. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who in this entire city can give you more of a run for your money?”

“Vanserra.” Nesta looked him dead in the eye. And managed to keep a straight face. As if that wasn’t the funniest fucking thing he’d heard all day.

“Oh yes, Nepotism and Nepotism LLP certainly has us all shaking in our boots,” Cassian blew out a breath. “What are you working on now?”

“I’m working on upholding attorney-client privilege.”

“So, the Suncurser merger.”

Nesta looked up. “How did you-”

“Helion and I are old friends. I checked the zoning on the lots he was buying before the merger went ahead to make sure the expansion was even feasible. But, as you know, M&A isn’t my thing. So I may have… given him a referral.”

“Are there any rich playboys in this city that you aren’t friends with?” Nesta finished off her drink and pointedly didn’t signal for another. “And if you think I’m going to be grateful to you for sending this my way you’ve got another thing-“

“Helion is my friend.” Cassian repeated, cutting her off. “He believes in this merger and he wants it done right. You’re the best, Nesta. Why wouldn’t I send him to you?”

“It’s not just to get in my pants?” She narrowed her eyes.

Cassian laughed again. “Oh no, sweetheart. When you invite me into your bed it will have nothing to do with work. It’ll be because you’re tired of denying how much you want me.” Cassian leaned in closer, one hand resting on the back of her chair. “Tired of denying the thrill that shoots through your whole body when we lay into each other. In the court room or out.” His nose brushed against hers, just a little, and Cassian felt Nesta tense up. He smirked, mouth just inches away from hers. “Tired of denying how right this is.”

Nesta’s voice was rough, husky. “So your plan is to wear me down?”

Cassian smirked. “My plan,” his hand came up to stroke the silk covered expanse of her upper arm, “is to marry you, Nesta Archeron. But sure, we can start with wearing you down.”

***Feyre and Nesta look physically similar so you can’t tell me drunk Rhys wouldn’t hit on Nesta in a bar before realizing he’d made a terrible mistake and running away thank you***

Also tags yourself, I’m the grandma doing the crossword puzzle with a martini. She’s an icon and she is the moment.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #drabbles open #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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alexskarsgardnet · 4 years ago

Photo

New Interview & Photo Shoot! Alex photographed by Johan Sandberg and interviewed by Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (October 2020)!

Alexander Skarsgård: the photo shoot and interview for L'Uomo

BY TIMOTHY SMALL, JOHAN SANDBERG 25 SEPTEMBER 2020

Alexander Skarsgård is a really, really nice man. A Swede through and through, Alexander, or Alex, is a very down-to-earth gentleman who could definitely act as more of a big shot, considering he is also one of the most interesting actors in Hollywood right now, a town that, in true Swedish style, he once defined as “kind of silly”. After getting his first big break as the lead in David Simon's excellent Iraq War mini-series for HBO, Generation Kill, Skarsgård exploded in our collective imaginations as Eric Northman in True Blood, while also acting for Lars von Trier in the wonderful Melancholia.

Since then, he has been a very buff Tarzan in The Legend of Tarzan, a mute bartender in future Berlin in Mute, a very dark killer in Hold the Dark, and a hilarious Canadian Prime Minister in Long Shot, as well as giving an Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO's Big Little Lies. The self-defined “restless” 43-year-old is set to star in The Northman, Robert Eggers's highly anticipated third film, a “Viking revenge story” that Skarsgård himself was crucial in bringing to production – and, by all accounts, it seems like it could have all the right pieces to become a future cult classic. It certainly has that kind of hype.

L'Uomo Vogue: The Northman is such an interesting project. I know it's important to you. It's also part of a growing resurgence of interest in the Viking era and Norse mythology and that sort of epic Scandinavian adventure. How did it all begin?

Alex: It all started seven or eight years ago. As a Swede living in America, I realised there was a certain level of fascination with the Viking era and Viking culture – and this was before any of the Viking shows that have since happened. It made me realise that there basically had never been a real great epic Viking movie made, and I thought that that's what I wanted to do.

LV: So how did the project kick off?

Alex: I started having conversations with a studio back then, trying to crack the best story. All I knew at the time is that I wanted to make a big Viking movie. We had a couple of potential different starting points: we had a story about two brothers, and then one about the Viking travels down to Constantinople with the Viking siege of the city. We were looking for the right story, but I never really felt we were there. I knew the scope I wanted it to exist in. But what was the story?

LV: And that's when you met Robert Eggers.

Alex: Yes, like three or four years ago. We met about something else. I can't remember how, but we started talking about Vikings. And he was, like me, a huge fan of Viking culture and of that historical era, and I immediately felt he would be the perfect guy to direct this movie. And then we found an author and poet in Iceland, Sjón, who came onboard to write the screenplay – and they did a fantastic job, just cracking the story and the essence of it.

LV: Sounds great.

Alex: It's a real adventure movie, but it's much more. It taps into the culture, and the mysticism of the Vikings, it becomes more intimate and more personal. I didn't want it to be a generic “swords-and-sandals” movie. Robert is one of the best filmmakers out there. And the whole process is so much more gratifying than when you're quote-unquote “just an actor”. It's been truly extraordinary.

LV: But then you had to halt production.

Alex: Yeah. I was in Belfast, Northern Ireland, three months into prep on The Northman about seven days away from principal photography. Just gearing up, you know, getting ready to start a very long, very intense shoot -- a shoot that we were scheduled to wrap in July – and that's when the virus hit.

LV: What did you do then?

Alex: I normally live in New York, while my family lives in Stockholm. When the first wave came, I was on the fence: nobody really knew how long it would be, or what precisely was going on. So we shut down production for six weeks. The idea was to then see what would happen. I basically moved to Stockholm for four months.

LV: How do you feel about this forced break from work?

Alex: I had not been home for this long in... more than 20 years. It was strange. We were in a bubble; we were all healthy and safe. In a lot of ways, I had moments when I felt being surrounded by my loving family, feeling safe and loved, and taking a break from work, but then also feeling very guilty because I was, for the lack of a better term, being spared.

LV: In the past, you've described yourself as being a nomad. Did you miss Sweden and the North?

Alex: I realised how much I have been missing it. I go to Sweden regularly, but usually only for three or four days, maybe a week, tops. My father and two of my brothers are actors, so we're used to never being in the same city. We all travel all over the world. Maybe we'd get back together for Christmas. And I can really say that I had missed spring in Sweden.

LV: Do you think we will change the way movies are produced?

Alex: We're going to have to figure out how to shoot movies with dozens of crew members and hundreds of extras while still respecting social distancing rules. It's an unprecedented situation and everyone is scrambling to figure out the best approach. My brother was one of the first people who worked in our industry during the pandemic. He shot a movie in Iceland in the middle of the lockdown. The way they solved it is they split the crew into colour sections. So, hair and make-up had yellow armbands and the camera department had blue, and they had a “Corona appointee” on set who would call out, “Now blue go in!” and then “Blue, out! And yellow, in!” And then they would all do their job in turns. It was very military-like. Productions are already complicated, so we'll just have to add another layer.

LV: How did you become an ambassador to the Clarks brand?

Alex: To me, authenticity is very important. I don't want to endorse products I don't genuinely like. That's why I was excited when Clarks reached out. I've been wearing Desert Boots for 25 years. Also, I like to travel a lot. I like to explore new cities by foot. I want to be able to walk around comfortably in a classic, iconic shoe. I travel from movie set to movie set, and I often live out of a suitcase. And this teaches you to be frugal. Whatever fits in that suitcase, that's all I can bring.

LV: Is that the Swede in you?

Alex: Maybe. But we consume way too many things in this society. Also, you give things more meaning when you live with them, and when you go on adventures with them. Like, these are my boots. I've been places with them. And when they fall apart, I'll buy a new pair. If you have the right stuff to begin with, you don't need more.

LV: Going back to The Northman, that really sounds like a dream project.

Alex: It is. It will be a rollercoaster ride. I can't wait to get back to Northern Ireland and get back to the production. It's also a very physically demanding project, so I have been training for, well, since a few months before production stopped.

LV: In a way, getting into a role, getting on a movie set, acting through it, the whole process of making a movie is a bit like a little adventure. You have to prep, you have to travel, often with people you don't know, and you have to push boundaries.

Alex: Absolutely! A huge part of the appeal of this profession is you get to travel, and you meet amazing, interesting people from all over. And the uncertainty, you know? What was it, 12 years ago, I was in New York, and I'd never heard of Generation Kill. And then two days later I was on a plane to the Kalahari Desert to be out there for seven months to shoot the series. And I'll never forget the feeling, sitting on that plane, thinking, “Two days ago I didn't even know about this project, and here I am on my way to Southern Africa to spend seven months in the desert with 200 strangers.” It's very exciting.

LV: What a feeling that must be!

Alex: And every single job is like that. Every movie is different. Your part, the tone, the energy, the people – it's always different. And for someone like myself, who has that kind of wanderlust, who's always looking on the horizon, it's very attractive to never know just what the next adventure might be.

October 14, 2020: Updated with the full interview courtesy of our friends at the ASkarsLibrary (x).

Fashion credits:

Photographs by Johan Sandberg Styling by Martin Persson Grooming Karin Westerlund @ Lundlund Hair Amanda Lund @ Lundlund Stylist’s assistant Isabelle Larsson Digital Daniel Lindgren Production Madeleine Mårtensson and Olle Öman @ Lundlund

Read the full interview by Timothy Small and see the photo shoot by Johan Sandberg in the October issue of L'Uomo, on newsstands from September 22nd.

Sources/Thanks: Interview: Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (x), Photos: Johan Sandberg for L’Uomo Vogue (x), artlistparis.com (x) via artlistparisnewyork instagram (x), luomovogue instagram (x) & atomomanagement.com (x) via atomomanagement instagram (x), our caps from artlistparisnewyork’s September 23, 2020 insta story (x, x)

#Alexander Skarsgard #alexander skarsgård

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rael-rider · 4 years ago

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Today is the premiere of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier on Disney+, and unfortunately not everyone associated with the characters is celebrating. In the latest installment of his newsletter, former Captain America writer and Winter Soldier co-creator Ed Brubaker has expressed “mixed feelings” over the series, and over Marvel and Disney’s treatment of the creators behind their cash cows.

In his semi-regular newsletter, Brubaker typically includes recommendations for things by other people that are coming out soon. That section this week, which included a few books and movies including Happily and The Kid Detective, closed with his thoughts on the newly-debuted MCU series:

“And of course, today the FALCON AND WINTER SOLDIER show debuts on Disney+, which I sadly have very mixed feelings about. I’m really happy for Sebastian Stan, who I think is both a great guy and the perfect Bucky/Winter Soldier, and I’m glad to see him getting more screen time finally. Also, Anthony Mackie is amazing as the Falcon, and everyone at Marvel Studios that I’ve ever met (all the way up to Kevin Feige) have been nothing but kind to me… but at the same time, for the most part all Steve Epting and I have gotten for creating the Winter Soldier and his storyline is a “thanks” here or there, and over the years that’s become harder and harder to live with. I’ve even seen higher-ups on the publishing side try to take credit for my work a few times, which was pretty galling (to be clear, I’m NOT talking about Tom Breevort, who was a great editor and really helpful).So yeah, mixed feeling, and maybe it’ll always be like that (but I sure hope not). Work-for-hire work is what it is, and I’m honestly thrilled to have co-created something that’s become such a big part of pop culture – or even pop subculture with all the Bucky-Steve slash fiction – and that run on Cap was one of the happiest times of my career, certainly while doing superhero comics. Also, I have a great life as a writer and much of it is because of Cap and the Winter Soldier bringing so many readers to my other work. But I also can’t deny feeling a bit sick to my stomach sometimes when my inbox fills up with people wanting comments on the show.So… I’m sure I’ll watch it, and you should too if you’re a Marvel movie universe fan, but I’ll probably be waiting a while to check it out myself. So please don’t email me any spoilers, I guess, but go give Sebastian Stan lots of love wherever he is online.“

#ed brubaker #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #winter soldier

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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 years ago

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I’m Yours, You’re Mine | 2

Word Count: 2.6k

Genre: Smut, future angst

Summary: You’ve always wished to take a more dominant role in bed, but Chan just wasn’t having it. So when you see an opportunity to do just that with Felix, you can’t help yourself. But you soon come to regret your drunken decision for a reason other than that you’d cheated on your boyfriend with his own bestfriend.

Warnings: Cheating, justifying cheating (badly), yandere!felix, sub!felix, dom!reader, reader tries to pressure chan into subbing, felix getting pegged in a kitten maid outfit, excessive use of whore and slut and noona, degradation, felix messy

Gif Credit

It was a mistake. You had decided. You were both too drunk and horny to think it through and it was best to forget it all.

Felix, however, refused to drop it which really only cemented in your mind that it’s the right decision to stop this thing before it starts. If he’s kicking up this much fuss about it and you’ve barely done anything, what is he gonna do if you got more involved later? No, it’s over and you’d told him as such. You don’t want him and it had been a mistake.

But at night, when you’re all alone with your thoughts after chan had fucked you and gone to sleep, you can’t help but think of the freckled boy and how he had followed your every order so obediently. You touch yourself every night to the memory of it, how good he sounded touching himself for you. It has become a sort of escapism for you, a way to let out your frustrations every time Chan doesn’t let you take the lead.

It pissed you the fuck off, how condescending he’d sound when telling you to ‘stop messing around, babygirl’ as he proceeds to pin you down and fuck you from behind. Still, you keep trying because maybe if he’d let you have this, you wouldn’t run to other men to satisfy your needs.

"Baby, take a look at this." You call out to Chan who was sitting on the chair next to you, turning your laptop screen towards him so he'd see the costume you were looking at, a cat maid outfit for men. He scrunches his nose at it and laughs, "That's certainly something."

"You don't like it?" You pout and he looks at you incredulously. "You do?"

"I don't know.” You shrug, once again feeling ridiculed. It’s not like you haven’t worn a schoolgirl or a sexy nurse outfit for him before when he’d asked. “I just think you'd look cute in it. And with halloween coming up and everything--"

"I’m gonna stop you right there, baby. Absolutely not."

"Why not?" You whine like a child.

"Because it's embarrassing!"

"But it's halloween, it’s supposed to be crazy. No one will care, they might even like it. I’d really like it.."

"No. Pick something else." He deadpans but you keep pushing. "But I want this!"

Chan gets off his chair and sits on the couch next to you, grabbing your jaw and pulling you close to his face. “Baby, I’m a man, not a toy for you to play with and dress up as you please. You never mentioned any of this stuff before and you can’t just drop this on me now and expect me to do what you please.”

“But why can’t you at least try?”

“I’m not interested.” He answers slowly, emphasizing every word. "Now stop pressing or I'll put your pretty little mouth to better use."

____________________

You’re standing alone in a corner, nursing your drink as you watch the party-goers mingle and have fun, when you suddenly feel someone wrap their arms around you and press up their body against your back. You don’t flinch, already knowing who it is.

“Hey, baby, wanna go out for a bite?” The stupid pickup line only serves to make you more annoyed at the boy behind you and you wince as he digs his fake fangs into the skin of your shoulder. Shrugging the man off, you turn to face him. “I thought strong women made you flaccid.”

The sour smile on his face only lasts for a second before it turns patronizing. “That’s not true. I was very into Kim Possible.” He cups your cheek and leans down close to your face, his nose touching yours. “But I’d fuck Shego too.”

You push his hand away and step back, stopping the kiss he was going for. “Sorry, but this Shego isn’t interested in getting fucked.”

Chan rests his hands on his hips and lets out a heavy sigh. “How long are you gonna stay mad at that?”

“How long is your fragile masculinity gonna keep you from satisfying your girlfriend in bed?”

He steps towards you angrily, getting all up in your face again. “Don’t you dare! I always make you cum.”

“So? I can make myself cum just fine on my own. But what I actually want from you, you’re not giving to me.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.” He yells, face turning red as he prepares to launch into his own angry rant when something catches his eyes and he bursts out laughing. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

You look at him in confusion and he grabs you by the shoulders and turns you around. “Take a look at Felix, honey.” He murmurs sardonically.

With narrowed eyes, you search for the blonde among the crowd of people gathered at your apartment, wondering why Chan was stopping your oh-so-important argument for this. But when your eyes land on him, they blow wide open. Felix is dressed in the exact outfit you’d shown Chan wished earlier, complete with the cat eats and the little bell around his neck. He looked perfect.

“Look at how ridiculous he looks.” Chan’s voice cuts into your thoughts as he leans down to jeer in your ear. "And you wanted me to look like that. Hey, maybe Lix will bend over and let you fuck him if you ask."

He says it with the most sarcasm and contempt he can muster before shoving you a little bit forward and walking off. But it’s far from a joke to you. There is nothing funny about the gorgeous boy looking like he just came out of your wildest dreams.

With anger and lust mixing dangerously in your veins, you march straight to Felix, and without even greeting him, you grab him by the arm and pull him into the bathroom that was further into the apartment and lock the both of you inside.

Pushing him against the sink, you grab his hair and force him to look at himself in the mirror. "What is the meaning of this?"

“Noona?” He wonders uneasily, playing innocent.

“How the fuck did you get this?”

“I found it on the internet, noona.”

“Oh, you found it, huh?” You scoff, running your hand over the black and white outfit. “You just happened to find the exact same costume I was showing to Chan a few weeks back?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, noona.” He stares at your reflection through his lashes, doing his best to look meek and clueless. Growling, you shove your hand between his legs, grabbing at his half-hard dick and making him squeal.

“Oh, you don’t, do you? You’re such a fucking whore, Felix.” He moans, bucking his hip into your hand. "You know I belong to your hyung and you're just gonna betray him like that?"

He shakes his head earnestly, "No, noona. I’m not trying to."

"Don't lie. Little whore only thinks with his cock." You hiss, letting your other hand fall from his hair to his chest, your fingers roughly pulling at his nipples through the thin fabric covering them.

“Ah--fuck--noona!” He cries, thrusting his dick against your hand more and more. "I'm a good boy. You know that noona."

“Then what is is?” You pull his skirt up to clearly show his now fully hard dick straining against the panties he’s wearing. And when you do, you stop in your tracks.

"Are those my panties?" You shriek, pushing him flat over the marble countertop and flipping the skirt over his ass so you can see the black panties more clearly. “You fucking creep!”

You hook your thumbs under the waistband and yank the panties down, getting even more of a shock when you see what he has under them.

"Shit." You breathe, momentarily forgetting all about the panties as you stare at the pink butt plug wedged snuggly in his ass. When you reach out and tap the base of it, Felix's legs buckle. “Is this part of the costume too?”

He stays quiet, burying his face into his arms and you scoff. "God, you're such a slut." You grab the plug and pull it back, only to slam it back in all at once. His scream is muffled against his arms but he eagerly pushes his hips back into you.

You take a few seconds to get your breathing under control. Once again you can’t believe what is in front of you. You’ve only dreamt about something like this before, but here is Felix giving it all to you without you even asking. How can you resist?

"Don't move." You hiss in his ear, ignoring his little moan of protest as you pull away and step out of the bathroom.

You get what you want from your room as fast as you possibly can before going back to the bathroom and finding that Felix has actually not stayed still, and is now standing up and nervously fiddling with his fingers.

"Didn't I say to not move?"

"I was afraid someone would come in." He mumbles.

“Afraid people will find out what a whore you are, you mean.” You step in and lock the door behind you before you before you show him what you have in the box you just retrieved.

You smile at his gasp when he sees you pull out the strap you own, the one you never even got to show to Chan before. Cocking your head to the side, you stare at the shaking boy. “You’ll let me fuck you, won’t you, Lixie?”

He nods before you even finish your question. “Of course, noona. You can do whatever you want to me.”

You smirk like you expected nothing less than that, but in reality you were riding high off of the fact that he so easily gave into you without you even needing to coax him. It made you wanna give him everything he asks for.

But Felix’s enthusiasm is dampened a little when he sees you putting the strap-on over your costume. Pouting, he asks you, “You’re not gonna take anything off, noona?”

"I don't need to take anything off to fuck you." You reply simply and he lets out an insolent whine. “But I wanna see your body. I never got to see it up-close.”

Your face turns hard and Felix takes a moment to realize the implication of what he just said. “So you’re saying you’ve seen my body before? Have you been spying on me too, you little shit?”

He stays quiet, staring at the floor.

“You’re such a fucking pervert. I ought to tell Chan about all of this.” You push him around to face the mirror again and press his body against the countertop. “The outfit. The panties. The spying.” You grit, taking the butt plug out of his ass and running your fingertips up and down his open hole.

“No, please don’t tell him.” He whimpers, face pressed against the cool marble.

“Why shouldn’t I? He should know what his precious friend is up to behind his back.” You squeeze some lube over your fingers before you push one inside of him. It goes in easily so you add the second one right away, pressing down as you pump your fingers in and out of his ass.

“Nghh--noona--noona!” He squirms under you, hands grasping to find any purchase over the smooth countertop. “Please, fuck me.”

You can’t really deny him for long, already feeling like you could cream your panties just watching him break down under you. As you push the didlo in, he lets out a loud keen that turns into heavy panting as you start rocking your hips into his.

“Thank you, noona.” His voice is garbled and you pull him up by the hair to make him stand up so you can look at his face while you fuck him. He looks like an absolute mess of drool and flushed cheeks, his dick leaking little drops on the floor.

"What a tiny dick you have, Lixie.” You can't help but stare at it and the leather garter belt he has around his thigh with a metallic heart looped in it. Wrapping your hand his wet dick, you start pumping it as you thrust into his ass. “No wonder you can't dom a girl. I probably have a bigger dick than yours."

“I’m sorry, n-noona. Please use me--ahh--however you want.” He sobs, barely able to hold himself up in your arms.

“Use you for what? You’re a complete mess. You wouldn’t be able to satisfy me even if you tried.” You fuck him harder, quickening the pace of your strokes on his twitching dick and shivering at the sounds that fill up the room, from the snap of your hips against his ass, to the slick sound of you jerking him off, to the whiny moans he's letting loose to the tune of the bell in his choker. “But it’s okay, I’ll just think about this when Channie is fucking my brains out tonight.”

Suddenly his face changes, taking on a dark and sinister hue that makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. But you can’t let him intimidate you. If you can’t even dom Felix then Chan is right not to take you seriously. Besides, if you want to keep this going, you have to have him under a tight leash or else he’ll go rogue and expose the both of you.

"What? You have something to say?" You challenge, but he stays quiet, his lips curled into a mean sneer. "You're just a toy for me and if you want me to keep playing with you, you need to learn your place. Is that understood?"

But Felix doesn’t respond, continuing to stare you down through the mirror.

“You want me to leave you high and dry like last time? Because that’s what you’ll get if you don’t back down, kitten.” You warn him, your thrusts turning from fast and hard to slow and deep, and your grip on his cock tightening. “Come on, who is my good boy?”

Finally, he relents, throwing his head back over your shoulder and moaning out, “I am, noona.”

“Prove it or else I’ll have no use for you.” You smatter stinging kisses all over the side of his neck in retaliation for taking so long, and you feel him gulping under your lips. "Come on, little slut, squirt out that cum for me."

“Yes, noona, just need a little more.” He grunts obediently, thrusting his cock up into your closed fist in time with your own thrusts into his ass. "Aahh--noona--fuck---noona!" His hands reach back and his fingers dig into your flesh as he cums, using his hold on you to keep standing upright.

“That’s it. That’s it.” You coo, taking a bit too long before you stop touching him, letting him suffer the pain of overstimulation for a minute, his eyes blown wide as his mouth hangs open as he stares at you with glazed over eyes in the mirror, his cum dripping down your hand and making a small puddle on the floor under you.

“You’ll keep being a good boy, won’t you, Lixie?” You press a soft kiss under his ear that makes him shiver. Letting the tension out of his body, he relaxes back into your arms and closes his eyes.

“Yes, Noona.”

____________

A/N: next chapter is using one of those remote control vibrators on lixie in public uwu oh and making him watch chan fuck reader :)))))

feedback keeps me going and makes me upload faster like this :))))

#stray kids smut #felix smut #sub!idol #dom!reader #yandere!au

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ijustwant2write · 4 years ago

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The First Boyfriend-John Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @ilovna)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hey when u have the time can you please do a John Shelby imagine where they are married they have been since they were young and Katie their oldest child she’s like 14 or 13 she want to bring a boy to meet her parents and y/n has to calm John down and tell him to give the boy a chance and they they do finally meet him he seems ok but then he starts being all Percy towards y/n and John gets protective and y/n gives him permission to kick him out . Hope it makes sense 😂❤️’

Characters: John Shelby x Reader (Married), Katie Shelby x Reader (Daughter)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, age gap between teenagers, violence, inappropriate touching, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I groaned as I heard a thump come from upstairs, the kids screaming at each other as they bickered. Looking down at the washing up, I decided to leave them for now, they could sort it between themselves. That was, until there was a louder thud, and all of them were screaming. I dried my hands on a tea towel, checking on the pie in the oven before stomping my way upstairs. That always freaked out the children, they knew they were in for a telling off.

“Right,” I announced my presence in the boys room, where the younger girls were also playing,“what is all of this racket?”

“He snatched the toys away from me!”

“She hit me!”

“She said a naughty word!”

“He pulled my hair!”

Everyone shouted over each other, meaning I got nowhere close to an actual answer.

“Alright!” I snapped.“Before you all yell at me again, this is what we’re going to do. Girls, go back to your room, boys you stay in here. You will wait in those rooms until I call you for your baths.”

They all groaned, none of them ever liked bath time, it took valuable time away from their playing.

“I will have none of that, do as I say.” the children made an act of slumping around, the girls dragging their feet as they walked past me.“I love you all.”

They murmured ‘I love you too’ before the doors to their rooms shut, and I laughed under my breath. They certainly had their father’s dramatics and unfortunately, both of our stubborn tendencies. As I headed back downstairs, the front door opened, John waltzing in and smirking as he spotted me.

“Now this is a pleasant greeting.” he cockily said as I got to the last step, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I cupped his face in my hands, leaning down to welcome him with a kiss.“Thought you would be at the Garrison.”

“You say that like I’m there every night.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, before we both laughed.“Just got to bathe the children, then we can eat.”

His eye line was at a perfect height to stare at my breasts, and he made a point of it.“And what’s on the menu tonight?”

I scoffed, raising his chin to look me in the eyes.“Pie. And that’s it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The door opened again, this time Katie walking in. She made a disgusted face at the sight of her parents showing love for one another.

“Ah good, you’re back on time for once. You can help me with you brothers and sisters.”

“Alright.” she replied, intending to head towards the front room when I stopped her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“What? Nothing.”

“There must be, you didn’t protest or huff at me when I asked you to do something.”

“Come on, spit it out.” John pushed.

“It’s nothing, really!”

“Katie, we can do this all day. Perhaps you should have less time out with your mates-”

“Fine!” Katie quickly gave in, which was unusual for her.“I...I have a boyfriend.”

“You what?”

“His name is James, he’s really nice! I’ve been seeing him for a while-”

“How long’s a while?”

“Uh, three weeks, maybe four.”

John’s jaw dropped, looking at me with wide eyes before going back to Katie.“Three weeks?!”

“I said maybe four.”

“Well it certainly won’t go to five.”

“Dad!”

“No Katie, he’s just a crush.”

“He’s not! I promise I really like him!”

“But how much does he like you? How do you know what his intentions are?”

“OK police inspector,” I patted him on the chest as I stood between them,“calm down, both of you. Now, Katie obviously like this boy, so we have to respect that. But Katie, you know you have to be careful around boys.”

“Yes, I remember you saying. I was wondering...could he maybe come round for dinner one night?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he liked the idea too. It’ll mean you can get to know him, then you know I’m safe.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea Katie.”

“What?!” John exclaimed.

“John.” I warned him.“You arrange it with him, perhaps sometime next week?”

“Thanks mum!” Katie beamed, giving me a quick hug.

“That’s alright darling. Now, go get your brother’s and sister’s ready for their baths whilst I draw it.”

I kissed the top of her head before she rushed past her dad and up the stairs. I just laughed at John’s shocked expression, wondering how on Earth that all happened before him.

“Oh, Katie!” I quickly shouted.

“Yeah?” her head popped around the corner.

“How old is James?”

Her face dropped. She was still hiding something.“Um, he’s...he’s seventeen.”

“Excuse me?”

“He just turned seventeen! Got to go and do as you asked me!”

Right, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I slowly turned to face John, who had an extremely angry expression on his face.

“Seventeen?” he scowled.

“Yeah, I’m not happy about that either. But let’s give him a chance.”

“He’s fucking seventeen! He’s taking advantage of a fourteen year old!”

“Darling, calm down. Please, let’s see what he’s like. Not everyone was like you at seventeen.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They weren’t all as charming as you.” I quickly saved, though he knew what I meant.“If he’s a little shit, we can stop her from seeing him.”

“Or stop him from seeing her.”

“John, do not traumatize that boy.”

“No promises.”

John had not been in a great mood for the rest of the week. He was constantly fussing over Katie, questioning her left, right and centre about anything he could think of. She was getting frustrated, she couldn’t even pop out to buy us bread without John asking if she had seen James on the way. I tried to stop him, but he was so persistent. He was only being like this because he wanted to protect his little girl, he knew what boys were like at that age. I was worried about the age gap. It wasn’t much, but Katie was still so young, only just becoming a teenager, whereas this boy was a year away from being an adult. I only hoped he would prove us wrong at this dinner.

We had scheduled the dinner for the following week, and the day was already upon us. Katie and I had been preparing a meal all day, feeding the kids before us so they wouldn’t act up or take my attention away. Katie was dressed in her best dress, hair pinned back with a nervous smile on her face. However, John was no where to be seen. He had been gone all day, he was at work, but I hoped he hadn’t been snatched away for Blinder business. Katie stressed over this, sitting by the window on the lookout for him.

“He’s here!” Katie announced, dashing through to the kitchen.

“Your dad?” I asked, wiping my hands on my apron.

“No, James! Why does dad always have to ruin everything?!”

“Hey, look at me,” I grabbed her by the shoulders,“it will all be fine. Let him him, we will start talking and just excuse your dad. He will be here Katie.”

I pushed her towards the door, taking off my apron and making sure everything was in order; when really, I was stopping myself from rushing out and bombarding the boy.

“Mum,” Katie called me, and I stepped out of the kitchen,“this is James. James, this is my mum.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mrs Shelby.” he politely took my hand, and I thought he was going to shake it, but instead kissed it, keeping eye contact for a little too long.

“You too James.” I smiled, wondering if he was just trying to make a good impression.“Katie’s dad isn’t home from work yet, but we can sit in the front room whilst we wait.”

We engaged in small talk, me asking about his life and if he had a job. He was a good speaker, no stuttering or wondering what to say next. So far, so good. Katie hung onto to his every word, it was a wonder her cheeks weren’t hurting from smiling so much. However, some things James said were a little...I didn’t know how to put it, but the way he spoke was as if he was wooing me, he would sometimes wink, or make a suggestive joke, which would fly over Katie’s head. I was starting to side with John, this young boy made me uncomfortable.

Another hour passed, still no sign of John, and if we didn’t eat soon, the food would burn. I tried waiting for a little longer, but I could tell Katie was starting to worry again. So I suggested we start eating without him, not having to explain why John was late. James would have to be an idiot to not know who her father was. We had only been eating for ten minutes when the back door opened, John walking into the kitchen as he took off his Peaky cap.

“Couldn’t wait for me then?” John said, no humour in his voice.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Shelby.” James stood respectfully, ready to shake John’s hand, but he didn’t take it. I wanted to scold him for that.

James hesitantly sat back down. John took off his coat, hanging it on the back of the door, making a show of unbuckling his jacket, which revealed his guns in the holster. I rolled my eyes, this boy was only seventeen, and not one his enemies. He sat down beside me, which happened to be opposite James, a stupid mistake I should have seen coming.

“What have I missed?” John asked as he tucked into his food.

“I’ve been getting to know James, so he’s probably going to have to repeat everything again to you.” I joked.

“Go on then.”

Silence.

“Go on, tell me what you told my wife.”

"Dad." Katie hissed.

"It's alright Katie." James placed his hand over hers, and I caught the sight of John tensing up, nostrils flaring."I was just explaining how I'm working now, earning quite a bit actually. Finished school too, so I'm not an idiot."

"My brother, Katie's uncle, didn't finish school. You calling him an idiot?" John leaned back in his chair.

"N-no, Mr Shelby. I just meant that-"

"You just meant to keep your mouth shut."

"John, a word."

I stood up from my chair, walking towards the door and waiting for John there. He stared at James as he slowly got up, reluctantly following. I shut the door after us, shoving John towards the front room.

"Whats wrong with you?" I snapped.

"Why did we leave them alone?" he realised."Make it quick, he could be doing anything to her in there."

"Oh my god, John. They're teenagers but they're not stupid. Could you just give him a chance? Please?"

He huffed."I don't trust him."

"Of course you don't. He's the first boy Katie has brought home. She might end up bringing more-"

"No. No she won't."

"John, can you just relax? If we get through this dinner quick enough, he'll be gone."

"Let's just get back in there."

I moaned to myself, quickly going after him. We sat back down, Katie and James had been silent when we walked in. I cleared my throat as the silence continued, starting to ear again and hoping the others would copy. Luckily they did, we were able to make small talk, though John didn't participate.

Once we were done, I collected the plates with Katie, telling her she didn't have to help with the washing up. I thought she would be able to spend time with James (and keep her father away from the poor boy), however, James offered to help me instead. At first I was about to tell him that it was nonsense, until I saw John waiting by the front room, his eyes still set on James as Katie tried to drag him away.

“I’m sorry about my husband. He’s very...protective of his children.” I said as I passed him a plate to dry.

“I understand Mrs Shelby. He’s got a beautiful family to look after.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet of you to say.”

“A very beautiful family.”

I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. The comment before was lovely, but now he seemed to be suggesting something. Being almost an adult, he was the same height as me, if not slightly taller, and I wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation.

“I could instantly tell where Katie got her looks from, though I must say, the original is always better than the copy.”

Who did this little shit think he was?

“Honestly James, you don’t have to be stuck drying the dishes. Go spend time with Katie.”

“I’m quite enjoying myself here, actually.”

This was weird. At first, I thought maybe he was being over friendly, knowing that his girlfriend was a Shelby and her father was a Peaky Blinder; or perhaps he had some alcohol to fuel his confidence. But now I could sense he was here for something else, as if he ever had a chance.

“Oh, this one is still a bit dirty.” he pointed out.

He walked behind me to place it on the other side of the sink to be cleaned again, however, he pushed his body into mine behind me, and I froze at the action out of shock. His breath was fanning on my breath as he slowly placed the plate down, hand sliding up my arm to my elbow, before tracing across my lower back as he moved away again. I dropped the plate I was washing into the sink, picking up a knife beside me and pointing it at him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” I snapped under my breath. It pissed me off that he didn’t look bothered by my threat.

“Just appreciating what’s in front of me.” he cockily replied.

“You have no respect for anyone, do you? I want you out of my house, now.”

“And break Katie’s little heart? Don’t think she would be too pleased by that.”

“She’ll be happy to know I got rid of a pervert. You;re never to go near her again.”

“You sound like your husband. Katie has been complaining about you two for weeks. She’ll only listen to me, and I’ll deny whatever you tell her. And how would your husband feel knowing we had this moment?”

“He’ll want to cut your balls off.”

“You know, I wasn’t sure if I was absolutely into you when I walked in. You’re beautiful of course, but the foul language...I don’t know, something about it is quite exciting.”

I chucked the knife into the sink, storming past the bastard and out of the kitchen, until I noticed the door was slightly open. I hadn’t left it like that. Continuing on, I took a big, deep breath before walking into the front room. John (unsurprisingly) had a glass of whiskey in hand as he sat in his chair, Katie sitting on the longer sofa, seeming upset.

“You saw, didn’t you?” I asked her.

She nodded, her eyes glued on the floor, they were glassed over.

“Did he touch you?” John snarled.

I sighed.“He...he did but-”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

He put down his drink, making a beeline for the kitchen. I stood in the doorway of the front room, shielding Katie from what was about to happen. James yelled out in protest as John roughly dragged him out of the house. I watched as he literally threw the boy outside onto the street, people wanting to watch but also not wanting to be involved.

“You stay the fuck away from my family. You’re lucky I don’t cut you, or do something worse. Watch your fucking back boy.”

Although I enjoyed the fear in James’ eyes, I wish he had the same look when I dealt with him. John slammed the door, causing the pictures on the wall to shake. Katie ran upstairs, upset that the boy she liked wasn’t as respectful or lovely as she thought he was. I decided to leave her for the time being, everyone needed to calm down.

“Are you alright?” John asked me, still breathing heavy.

“Yes, thank you for getting rid of him.” I sighed, wrapping my arms around him.

He embraced me, trying to calm himself down.“I love you. I won’t ever let anyone else touch you like that again.”

“I know you won’t. I’m sorry I didn’t listen before.”

“Nah, I was being over protective. He just turned out to be a twat.”

“But he’s gone now. And he won’t go near Katie again. Just know, she might be crying for a few days.”

“I’ll let you deal with that.”

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