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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Others: Jamil and Sebek

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x you #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona

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maximoff-pan · 1 year ago

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the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”

“How will you get it to her?” He questions.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.

“I never do.” Is your instant reply.

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.

“What am I going to do?”

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.

We need to talk.

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x female reader

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melancholy-thots · 2 years ago

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Moving Problems

So I've been thinking about moving, and one of my friends wants me to move in with them. Their roommate is moving out, so it's good timing for them. Plus they own their place instead of rent, so the costs will be less for me. So what's the problem? Why am I putting this on my venting blog?

There is nowhere for me to live there. Honestly, I don't know how the current roommate functions. This person keeps their place a pigsty. There's junk all over the floor, and when I tried clearing a path to help me not step on some of the multiple thousands of dollars worth of stuff they keep lying on the floor, my friend actually made fun of me for how stupid it was. Just don't step on the extremely expensive objects that you don't know where they are in the pile, loser.

And when we were at a dinner the other day, my friend was like "yeah, I don't see how all you bougie Americans live in such big houses, where I live right now is perfectly sized." And I just can't stop thinking about it whenever I consider moving in. Like yeah. Of course you don't want more space. But there's literally no space to bring in a single other person, let alone most homes are meant for families. Honestly there's not even enough space for this one person if they didn't pile all their belongings up on the floor. Any level of organization with that many belongings would require a larger space

#personal #I don't know why this has been bothering me so much #I think it's just how condescending this friend is #without having a single ounce of self reflection #like buddy please just look critically upon yourself for once #maybe twice

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dykecubes · 3 days ago

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honestly I think a major part of dreams problem is every time there’s so much as an ounce of criticism towards him he feels the need to go back in time and address literally every situation he has ever been in because he thinks if he addresses it this time then everyone will finally forgive him, instead it just reminds everyone of all the shit he’s done in the past without ever addressing the shit he’s done recently and makes him look worse

#does this make sense?#posting without rereading I’m at work #fae.txt #dream situation

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ajortga · 9 months ago

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competition

pairing: slytherin!toxic!jenna ortega x ravenclaw!fem reader

summary: jenna loves to joke around, you both know it. as she gets braver and braver with her jokes, it comes with a price, eventually hurting you and taking away something you loved most.

warnings: slight angst, teasing remarks, heavy makeout scene, rushed ending, enemies to lovers

word count: 5.2k+

based off request!

Jenna criticizes literally everything about R's performance (J's an ass here 😓), while R is actually starting to get really pressured, J would always have something to say, thennn R gets tired of J's bs and begins focusing on themselves more, which would lead to R ignoring J for atleast a month or two, obviously J's pride is awfully. THEN J CONFESSES TO HER FRIEND, (how inlove she is w R and how she misses R sm) WITHOUT KNOWING THAT R IS NEARBY, OVERHEARING EVERYTHING. 😍😍 A DAY AFTER... R JUST TAKES J IN A PRIVATE ROOM AND KISSING TF OUTTA HER.

Slytherin Jenna! x Ravenclaw R!

Your test paper gets put on your desk, your teacher murmuring a small, “I expected better, Y/N.”

There was a 65% circled in red and it made you sick to your stomach, you had never gotten a low score before, especially in potions. You knew your concoctions and effects, you swear you had mixed everything perfectly. You groan in frustration, cursing to yourself.

Your hand scrunches, breathing in deeply as you ruffle your hair, now hearing the voice of the person you would rather befriend a frog with and use them first as a sacrifice for a blood sucking demon.

“How can someone fail a potions exam? You managed to get first place for being the biggest dweeb, messing up the easiest class.” Jenna slightly smirks, teasingly as she approaches you and whispers sharply in your ear, your eyes glaring at her. “It’s impressive you didn’t notice a small switch of potions. All I did was switch the labels of the potions which had the same color and you didn’t even notice.”

Of course she switched up the potions to set you up for failing, “You know how important this is to me.”

“Aw.. I’m so sorry Y/N,” she mocks, “What a pity.” She pouts, “I don’t care.”

You want to smack her in the face, maybe throw that explosive potion you made to melt off her face, but you don’t. At this point you’re thinking of something to get her back, packing your spell books.

“I swear she won’t get off my shoulders, I haven’t done a single damn thing to Ortega.”

Emma laughs, nudging you, “Maybe she just likes teasing someone sweet like you.”

An annoyed exhale leaves your lips, not knowing what she meant by that, “Well she better stop it,” you grab your broom stick.

Your friend thinks a little, “Just put a small spell on her broomstick! Nothing, you know, to make her hurt, just maybe throw her off balance.”

That interests you, you're trying to think of a sparkle you could just add onto hers. You notice she hasn’t gone to class yet and clearly you can see the large stick hidden between her name. As you approach, your fingers touch the stick, feeling the way your body immediately focuses, then you pull your finger away to go back to Emma. You feel like you shouldn’t, but you don’t feel a single ounce of guilt as a smirk forms when you reach her.

“Come on,” you urge, taking Emma’s hand as you make your way outside with your broom sticks.

You use your right hand, grabbing it forward as Mrs. Hooch stays on the side, watching. You’ve all gotten the hang of it either way, it’s rare for some people to fall.

“Up!” Emma and you say in unison, seeing your sticks fly up as you smile at each other and hop on, ready for a flight.

You giggle, feeling yourself ascend.

“Y/L/N,” You hear Jenna’s voice behind you, making your figure turn to face her. You see her stiffen.

Emma gives you a look, cunning.

“Ortega,” you greet, not so politely, but not rude nonetheless.

“I’d challenge you to a racing match, but I do know that your ass is scared that I’ll beat and outrun you in seconds.”

You give out a snarky laugh, “I highly doubt you could even reach me by the time I ascend. I’m better at you than flying, we both know that.”

Jenna does know that, sort of. And she doesn’t want you to prove it, not during flight class while everyone is watching.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to challenge me, niñita,” you respond again, seeing the way Jenna was thinking.

“Then I challenge you,”

“And I accept.”

Emma nudges you, you hear her whisper in your ear, “Well, she’d probably complain, you did sort of spell her broom and she’d notice as soon as she’d get on.”

A grin forms on your lips, tearing your eyes from the tiny Jenna, “Well, I spelled it so that if Jenna were to try anything, cause that’s the bitch she is, the spell would take effect. I’m not entirely making myself win at all. I know for a fact she’d try to make me loose, she doesn’t want to lose at all, well at least to me. I know her long enough to know she’d put a spell to make me lose balance, Em.”

You see Hooch in the corner of your eye, “Plus, Hooch is watching everything, and because I spelled her broom before hand, nothing will happen until she aims some spell at me. Hooch will see that, or at least a little sparkle and chant of words. But she won’t see mine, since I spelled it before, and she’ll just think Jenna lost her balance trying to spell me.”

Emma looks at you, not knowing if you should go on.

“Em! Seriously, Jenna has been making me miserable this year, and I haven’t done anything. This is just a playful harmless thing. It’s the least I can do. I could’ve spawned a rat in her dorm that follows her everywhere!”

“Go, I sort of want to see her fall.”

The grin that disappeared forms again, winking at her as you hop back on your broom.

Then you two are off.

You rush through the field, feeling the wind blow through your hair. You loved feeling that cool breeze, it’s unreal, flying is your favorite thing to do.

Jennas not far behind, but far enough to know that you’ll win.

She groans to herself, watching your pretty, she meant nasty figure speed ahead.

The brunette’s eyes narrow, she wasn’t going to let you win without a fight, she focuses on your broom, she’s close enough to do something.

The wind is making your hair go crazy, but in a good way. Everyone is waiting their turn from below, watching you race through the course. Fast enough to feel their hair blow from your swiftness.

An exhale pasts her lips, you can see her trying to come closer, or almost urging you to slow down. But you don’t, of course you won’t. You speed faster, dodging an incoming tree and turning a corner.

Jenna feels blood rushing through her ears, murmuring something under her breath as she gets ready to swish through you and laugh.

She begins the spell, feeling her fingertips slightly tingle. But as soon as she’s about to shoot a spark, her hands let go and she sees the blue flying spark stumble towards you. Instead of it hitting your broom and making it shake, your hair flies through the wind and it shoots back at her.

Jenna yelps, feeling the way her broom starts to shake.

Emma giggles from the sidelines, as soon as you pass the blonde’s figure, you send her a thumbs up and a knowing wink.

God finally.

The brunette loses her balance, feeling the broom shake left and right, she’s clinging onto it tightly, smacks her head on loose branches. She feels herself slow down to regain a steady pace, but as she speeds up again, you’re already gone, swerving a corner.

The tiny brunette grumbles from the benches, watching you smile and jump up and down.

“Impressive play out there, Y/N. You just might be our best flier out there, keep your swift performance and you’ll be on for Quidditch.”

You already knew you’d win, even if Jenna hit your broom with her spell. You’ve won every time racing against the class.

You approach her, giving her a half-hearted smile, you’d take it as a smirk.

“Well, someone tried to cheat.”

You hear her huff, and it makes you giggle, you brush off the stick that is stuck in her hair.

“I regret doing that, Em, that tiny tiny 3 foot 1 foot cockroach is making me fall into her traps,” you murmur, stomping your foot.

“At least you got a taste of revenge, Y/N.”

“I guess so,” you say, sinking into your seat, you feel yourself begin to find her playful and harmless banters to be stressful by every joke and scandal that girl plays.

As Quidditch season approaches, Jenna swipes her hair to the side, tying it up as you watch her with narrow eyes. It’s just a regular racing match this time. No ball. Just two talented people against each other.

Well, one more talented than the other, you think to yourself

Hooch brings you two together, in which you stare each other down, your gaze not faltering on each other.

“Goodluck, I wish you two a fair match.”

You two shake hands, though you both won’t admit it was a genuine one. You give Jenna a final glare before gazing back at the field, focusing.

“Ready?” Hooch says, you don’t respond, just a subtle nod.

“And.. Up!”

You and Jenna shout at your brooms.

“Up!” you command, seeing your favorite item fly up, you jump on it.

Then you both swing off.

Again, not long after, does Hooch see the way your practicing and after school matches with friends are working well. You’re much farther than Jenna is, and again, it’s like no other match. But this time Jenna isn’t going to let you win again.

She growls, casting spells onto your broom and immediately, you feel your broom slow down.

“What the hell.” You mutter to yourself, you dive down. But it seems like your broom isn’t listening.

It’s swishing up and down, left to right, and you steady yourself, but you’re shaking.

You're swinging back and forth and you're losing control, you can’t make your broom stop. It’s not like just a shake of your broom and you lose balance before catching yourself, this time it’s worse. Your broom isn’t listening.

You scream to yourself, not too loud. But Mrs. Hooch can see the way Jenna is catching up, she knows Jenna did something, but it’s not looking good. Sure playful banters were okay.

But instead of dodging a tree, you smack your head straight into the leafiness, feeling the thorns of the leaves sink and cut beneath your eye. Jenna swishes through you, not looking back. The pain immediately comes through, harsh stings roaring through your skin. You cry out, completely losing balance on your broom, crashing into the tree harshly and feeling your head bang into the wood.

Jenna still hasn’t noticed the damage she’s caused.

You feel yourself fall.

Farther and farther.

Till your body crashes down on the grassy field, your bones from the fall aren’t helping. You hear the way they crack. And then you feel warm blood trickling down your forehead and down from the cut on your eye. You whimper.

Black spots invade your vision and you feel carsick. But you know you’re not in a car.

Your eyes flutter, making a soft groan as Emma approaches you. You can barely see her worried face but you know she’s scared.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” She says, it’s muffled. You don’t respond, her figure is blurry, you can barely see her blue eyes.

Before you can even think of a response, your eyes shut.

And as Jenna reaches the finish line, she just turns around, to notice you at least tens of feet below from her, collapsed on the ground and curled up. She can’t help but feel a gasp fall from her lips, diving down and getting off her broom stick.

She didn’t mean for it to get this chaotic, she was just hoping you’d crash into a branch and get all angry and fussy. Not get hurt. As she approaches closer, she sees blood trickling down your face as your chest heaves up and down. Emma looks at you, worriedly as everyone surrounds you two.

Jenna feels something that she doesn’t want to admit, she feels guilty for hurting you. You had barely done anything to her, but she’s messed with you countless times, you’ve gotten in trouble for it.

And you never ratted her out. The one time you decide to get her back, she’s taken things too far.

“God,” she murmurs, her voice betraying her as she pushes through the crowds of people, “Is she okay?”

The way her friend turns to her, your best friend looks like she’s about to explode, “Does she look okay? DOES SHE LOOK OKAY JENNA? What the hell were you thinking?” the blonde says the last part half aloud, where only Ortega can hear.

“I didn’t think she’d get hurt!” Jenna retorts, kneeling down and putting her hesitant hand over your chest, feeling the way it was beating quickly, chest going up and down, up down.

Immediately nurses come and drag you out, Emma following you as they take you to the infirmary.

Jenna feels herself following too, until Hooch catches up with her.

“Ortega!” Her voice is loud, screeching as she pulls Jenna off to the side, “what on earth do you think you were doing? You’ve gotten Y/N seriously hurt because of a stupid practice match! Don’t think I didn’t catch the lame spell you’ve cast.” her eyes are wild, angry, “You know we don’t allow spells on the battlefield, I know some of Hogwarts students have broken it, but it’s never been so severe, you’ve hurt her tremendously. She’s bleeding, and I think she’ll suffer some sprains.”

Jenna nods, she understands. Sort of. She wants to understand, she knows what she did was bad. Hooch takes a deep breath, “I’m disappointed with you.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know if Y/N will heal in three months, she’s been our best and fastest player, with quick decisions and speedy moves. She might have to sit out on Quidditch, I was looking forward to taking the trophy this season. And I would disqualify you, send you to detention after school everyday till she properly heals,” Hooch takes a deep breath, “But you have to be one of our players because you have the ability to. That doesn’t mean that you won’t get detention. I’ll even ask Dumbledore to exclude you from house games.

God, Jenna didn’t mean to make you be kicked out this season. She knew how much you wanted it. She can’t help but feel guilty.

Hooch’s voice once again speaks up, “And I expect you to apologize and pay her a visit. You two have never gotten along, but I know you both care about each other. Even if it’s slight.”

A soft nod leaves her, her eyes lingering on your small figure that is now being taken to surgery. Maybe she’ll slow down with the pranks.

As soon as visitors are allowed in, Jenna begins to stand up and approach your door.

“Ortega, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t open that door,” it’s Emma's voice, but this time she sounds much more angry. Unlike the voice the brunette is used to hearing.

The way Jenna stands there, Emma narrows her eyes, “You’ve already hurt her, what more can you need? Unplug the oxygen tank and start laughing your stubborn ass up? I don’t think so.”

She was taken by surprise, the fact that both you and Emma have gotten used to her tricks, she feels herself biting her lip.

“N-no.. No, not anything like that. I just wanted to apologize. I know my tricks have gone a bit farther than expected.”

Emma approaches her, pressing her finger to Jenna’s chest, “You’ve hurt her more than enough, and I can see it. She’s done nothing to you! Nothing!” your best friend growls, and Jenna backs up.

“You just don’t understand how much you’ve pressured her! Because you’re too busy standing there like the spoiled person you are on your banters.”

Jenna smacks her hands off, raising both of her hands to show she’s ‘surrendering,’ “I know, I know Em! Just let me apologize.”

“Not when she’s just about to wake up, you wouldn’t want the least expected person who hurt you to show up as soon as you wake up. Give her time,” the blonde grumbles, shushing her back to her seat as she enters your room. Jenna stands up again, noticing you're still unconscious.

Emma can feel her presence, and decides not to turn back as she sits on the chair next to you. Your face lost its color. None of the pink shade that tinted your cheeks when Jenna teased you. The pink shade that she wanted to see was gone, replaced by a pale, tired face, sound asleep.

There were cuts all over you, she saw some bruises and there was a big bandage wrapped around your right cheek. She also saw a deep cut that was gauzed up in your arm. She winced. A few broken bones maybe.

She didn’t know it was this bad. The only noise was Emma’s sniffles, and the small beep of your heartbeat’s monitor. Jenna sighs, scooting closer and hesitantly bringing her hand close to your face. She felt like if she were to touch you, you would turn into dust.

Her hand gently traces your fast, your nose slightly twitches, but she knows you’re too weak to move or wake up. Then she brushes through your hair, it’s weird beginning to see all the times she’s treated you wrongly as something she shouldn’t have done. Each trick got worse than the other, more risky of being harmed. And now look at you, all broken and bruised.

I didn’t mean it, Jenna thinks, looking down at your tiny figure.

I really didn’t mean it.

Your eyes flutter closed, and immediately you close them again, groaning from the whitest most lightest light you’ve ever encountered, covering yourself with a blanket. As soon as you move, you moan softly in pain, feeling pain roar through your body.

“Stay still,” you hear a familiar voice say, you can’t lend your finger on it. It sounds pretty, and before you can process it your brain switches that thought off. It’s your annoying rival that casted a spell that got you here in the first place. Jenna stupid Ortega.

You grunt, looking up at her, you feel bandages around you, avoiding contact with the brunette.

“Emma should be back soon, she was getting some flowers for you.”

“Good, then you can leave.”

Harsh.

You hear the way Jenna sighs, and you shake it off, turning slightly so you can face the entertaining wall instead of her.

“Look Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“Please, can’t you see I’m apologizing?”

“No, Jenna. You knew I didn’t like these things you did to me before. And you decide to apologize now? Do you think it’s going to make me forgive you just like that?” You say, turning back at her, a storm brews behind your eyes.

“I can’t participate in the one thing I was looking forward to this season! Just because you put this spell that you knew could harm me badly! You knew I wanted to be in Quidditch!” Jenna winces at your increasing voice.

“You could’ve been on the team too! It’s not just one of us! But you got your actions in the way before you could even think! And now you want to apologize?” It's loud, your voice begins to falter a little. Your shoulders untense, and Jenna can hear the monitor of your heart increase by four times, she shushes you, pulling you onto your back.

“Stop,” she says, her voice is too soft for your liking, you can’t think. Too much is going on in your mind, “Please.”

“Get out Jenna.”

“W-what? You don’t understand.. I’m trying to-”

“Jenna, get the hell out!” You snap, your eyes filled to the max with unshed tears.

You stay silent, before cracking out a tiny, “Please.”

And like that, Jenna walks out of the room, murmuring an “I’m sorry.”

Just this time, she really wanted you to know that she meant it.

It’s been a month, and by now your arm was barely healing, and there was a stupid ugly mark of a cut on your face. The pain was harsh, if your arm didn’t heal by the time Quidditch began, all your practice and effort would flush down the drain. It scared you.

As bad as the pain got, your mark would probably never fade, there would always be a purple cut marked under your eye. Even once it’s completely healed, ones that meet you will notice your cut, in a lighter shade than your actual skin tone. It made you cry every night, silently.

It was stupid to cry over, your deep bruises weren’t even close to healing. Every time you would accidentally press into it, you’d shriek in pain. You felt insecure of yourself. It didn’t feel good, every time you’d look at yourself in the mirror there would be your healing cuts scarred over your body.

“It looks s-so ugly..” You hiccup, looking at yourself in the mirror, Emma by your side as she shakes her head, “Nonsense, it’s okay.”

“It might never go away.”

“And that’s okay, when you're older, you’ll find it silly, I promise. It’s a reminder of being here, and to remind you that competition is less superior when it comes to safety.”

You can’t help but feel yourself shrink, watching the scar on your face haunt you.

Jenna sees you in the hallways, you're in half her classes. But every single time she looks at you, you’re never looking her way. Not like before. Not when exam scores are passed out during Snape or McGonagall when you usually turn around and she waves her high score in the air, but you always wave yours back, grinning happily when you got one percent higher than her. She found you annoying, but now she feels like she’s taken you for granted. You were the one who taught her how to properly care for her plant in Herbology, although most of the time she’s retained information from the random songs and joking nerdy remarks.

Jenna hated sitting next to you in that class, she loved teasing you and making you explode from frustration. She hated the way you looked at her and had the ability to somehow use some Hogwarts nonsense to make her think back at your smile.

It was something you did to her, it couldn’t have been herself, she’d never be thinking of your smile or you in general. You must’ve casted a spell on her.

Yet she remembers that she’s thinking about you right now.

Anyways, she hated the way you smirked at her and kept kicking your feet to hers, then growing some mushroom on her damn shoe.

“What the fuck Y/N? Why is there a green toadstool on my fucking foot?” She says, angrily as you laugh and fall out of your seat. She tries shaking off the small mushroom with her foot, but then it makes it grow even bigger.

And by the end of the day there is a 20 foot mushroom on her shoe, shading her as she walks home, heading straight for the knife to cut it off.

The thought made her smile a bit. She didn’t want to admit it, she didn’t know how you did it. Or maybe when she kept tapping her pen to purposely annoy you, then when you snapped, light blue sparkles flew out of your mouth and made your voice sound wonky.

Now, you barely looked at her. For the entirety of when you were gone, you had to catch up. She felt a little relieved, you could finally talk to her by asking for notes. Didn’t want to admit the pit in her chest when you asked the person behind you.

I’m sorry, Jenna thinks, she wants to scream at you and apologize until you forgive her.

You ignored her, and she knew she deserved it. She treated you so wrongly. Sure she knew you never mind those moments she looked back to, but she knew that she grew more and more brave with her pranks, growing less and less cautious of even thinking of your safety and feelings.

She hates seeing that look in your eyes as everyone in Hooch’s class shouts, “Up!” with excitement, and you sit there, alone on the bleachers as you watch.

As you watch your whole class fly off, Emma giving you a small, concerned look, and a tight-lipped, forceful smile forms on your lips, assuring you were fine.

She hates the way she can remember the smile leaving your lips as Emma leaves off for the race, then looking down with melancholy traced in your features.

I’m sorry.

The shorter brunette can’t stand the way you look at everyone fly off, knowing that someone that you know won’t be you will probably take your place in Quidditch. She can see it in your eyes, kicking the dirt, hoping that somehow you can kick the pain and broken limbs away.

This time, she can’t tear your eyes away from your tiny figure.

Yet she knows that you won’t even look at her, never noticing the sympathetic stares she gives you, replaced with the ones once filled with competition.

Emma’s voice is dull, almost like she doesn’t want to talk to Jenna after the incident.

“You’re seriously asking me to have Y/N talk to you?” she questions, looking at her with suspicion.

“Please, Em! It’s been a month, and I’ve been trying to apologize.”

The blonde crosses her arms, trying to defend you, “Well what if she doesn’t want to talk to you or apologize?”

“I don’t care!” Jenna throws her arms in the air, “I know what I did was wrong and if I’m being honest, class is getting boring without having her competition and silly remarks behind my back.”

Jenna freezes, what she says kind of sounds weird.

Emma hums, then she turns to Jenna, “So, what are you saying Jenna?”

“I care about her!” She groans, rubbing her cheeks, “I’m starting to think that I’ve cared about her since I met her but didn’t know till my actions got her hurt. I was going to apologize but now I’m shitting desperate. She won’t get out of my mind and.. I don’t know!”

Jenna groans, trying to think of what this was, “I just keep thinking about the things she doesn’t do anymore, and it’s sad not having her by my side. I feel guilty. And I need to apologize even more so she can get out of my head! Em, please, I can’t get that stupid silly cute smile out of my head. And I can’t damn focus knowing that the girl that sits next to me in McGonagall is full on avoiding me!”

She doesn’t realize the way she’s been rambling, she looks at Emma, whose face expression has changed. In some way, she’s slightly having a grin on her face, “You’re in love with her.”

“What? I don’t know! Maybe, I just-I feel bad, and I want to apologize and make it okay again. It’s just so dull and I’ll.. I don’t even fucking know. I just miss her and the way it used to be.”

“You should’ve told me that,” your soft voice sing-songs from behind her, making her tense up and turn around.

“Y/N,” Jenna stutters.

“Jenna,” you mumble, voice slightly breathy.

“I didn’t think you were-” she squeals in surprise as you drag her by the arm, panting softly as you drag her into a room, god who knows what Hogwarts classroom this is.

“Look Y/N, I’m sorry, but why are we in someones-mmph.” You seal her lips with a random spell under your lips and you place your finger to her mouth.

You slightly smirk, god she missed it, she looks down at your lips, she rolls her eyes, “Apologize to me and I’ll let you do what you’ve wanted to do.” You undo your spell, taking off your finger from her mouth as she begins to speak.

“Wha?-”

“Go on.”

You were teasing her, and she breathed, “Okay, I’m sorry. For hurting you, I know I went too far,” she was rambling as she speaks a little faster, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just felt more brave as much as I teased you and I know I went too far this time. And I promise I didn’t try to hurt you, I know how much Quidditch meant to you..” she gulps again, taking a breath. “What I did led to a lot of things, and I’ve noticed the way I grew upset when I knew you began to avoid me, and I’ll admit I miss you.” Jenna says the last part hesitantly.

The brunette looked up at you and you were looking at her, hesitant eyes, but almost filled with need? She now noticed the more visible cut on your eye, and you look away, seeing her gaze on the mark you were most insecure on, you cover your face.

“Stop that,” Jenna smacks your hands away and it feels like her hesitation swept away, she slowly reached up to cup your cheeks, in which your uncertainty melted. She looks at the mark, it was better than when she saw you unconscious on the floor. That’s all that matters. She wants to roll her eyes but now she feels weird when she does that.

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Just a little.”

"I'm sorry about Quidditch."

"I'm still angry about that, my arm should heal soon though, before it starts."

.. An awkward silence passes, then you look down at her pink lips.

Jenna hums, then you tug her closer, making a small whine.

“Please kiss me.”

Jenna’s eyes widen, taking her hands away from your cheeks.

“What?”

“Please,” you plead, your eyes filled with want.

Her eyes flicker from your lips as she cups your cheeks again and brings you to her mouth. As they meet, you’re all small and soft moans, kissing her with need. Hunger. It’s different. Teasing you doesn’t come with words, she’s teasing you with her mouth, feeling the way you grip onto her.

More more more, don’t stop.

You taste exactly how Jenna thought you would, but just so much better. So addicting, it makes her mind spin with you. Coca cola and addictive vanilla. It mixes well with the taste of hers, you let her capture your tongue. It’s feverish, tongue and want combined. She indulges in the way you make a tiny moan as she nibbles your tongue. Your wanting lips push harder to hers, your body pressing against her as you slightly find something to grind against.

It’s heated and different. She tugs you closer, finding it adorable as you pull away for a tiny breath, then continue, like you don’t want to stop feeling her lips on yours. Her hands. Your fingers tugging against her hair.

Long moments after you pull away, you both are panting, your head buried deep into her chest. She rubs your hair.

“I didn’t think you were that experienced,” you whisper.

She rolls her eyes, pressing her lips to your forehead, “I didn’t think you’d pull me into a room and start begging me to kiss you and make out with you.”

“Mm..”

“Well, did my kisses grant your forgiveness for me?

“Maybe.”

“What if I give you another round?”

She smirks, seeing the way you lean back into her.

“Deal.”

She presses her lips that just left yours once again, feeling your hands tangle back into her hair.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x y/n #harry potter au

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 3 days ago

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One user asked me if the reason for the “push back” against Robert Eggers intention in his 2024 “Nosferatu” adaptation (especially Ellen Hutter relationship with Count Orlok) is because 1922 Ellen Hutter is meant to be a pure-hearted and virtuous woman, like her book counterpart Mina Harker from “Dracula” (a model of purity and modesty of the Victorian woman), and I decided to write a post about this.

I think many are missing Eggers intention with this film for several reasons:

1) Going Mainstream

First, this film is being a success at the box office, and while that’s amazing because I want more films like this getting made, this also means many who aren’t the “target audience” are seeing it, and completely missing the mark because they aren’t familiar with the Gothic Horror or Gothic Romance genre. Nor with Robert Eggers work.

Not liking this film is completely valid, not every piece of media and art is meant for us. Great, move on.

And there’s nothing wrong with folks not being familiar with the Gothic genre if they are interested in learning and understanding it. The problem is when people are hellbent in misunderstanding it and stuck on their own narrow views to the point they sound brainwashed, without an ounce of critical thinking and behave like a hivemind: “if many are saying this is probably true” type of thinking. And we are in the “social media era” where everyone thinks their own opinions are valid, so there’s that too.

Also I would add many are probably used to the “Marvel formula” of “over exposition”: having the entire story spelled out on screen instead of classic storytelling with an actual build-up and narrative devices (foreshadowing, red herrings, Chekhov's Gun, etc.). This causes misunderstanding, as well, because folks used to this type of storytelling won’t understand what they are seeing because they are used to be fed everything (“exposition”) and taking everything literally. This is also a film that requires analysis; this is clearly for the “film buffs” because Eggers wants to become a “cult director” too.

Eggers probably knew this was going to happen and he probably doesn’t care either. As Von Franz so interestingly says in the film: “Neque mittatis margaritas vestra ante porcos!” And ancient Latin saying which means “Nor cast your pearls before swine!”

Directors with strict artistic views (like Eggers) rarely care if the audience understands it or not. “The VVitch” was a feminist success when it was released in 2015, apparently now some are saying it’s problematic, because “oh my God, the Devil is a deceiver! Who knew???”. “The VVitch” and this version of “Nosferatu” are also pretty much the same story with a different framing.

2) Lack of Knowledge concerning the story and the time period

Many don’t seem to know that “Nosferatu” and “Dracula” are the same thing. Count Orlok is Count Dracula.

This story takes places in the Victorian era, and Eggers transports his audience to the time period his films are set in. Which means, we can’t look at this story through contemporary lenses, nor with our current sensibilities because that’s missing the point of Eggers work.

This movie deals with female sexuality, especially its repression and containment, which was the case in the Victorian era. Women weren’t supposed to be sexual, at all. If women displayed sexuality they were considered “hysterics” and could be institutionalized by their fathers and husbands (which is what happened to 2024 Ellen, as she tells Von Franz). Really, women could be institutionalized just by talking back to her husbands in this time period. And even within marriage, female sexuality should be modest and restrained, women weren’t suppose to know sexual pleasure, and it’s the husband who took the lead, always.

Men could sleep with whoever they wanted and even go to brothels every night, but this wasn’t the case for “decent Christian women”, at all. Sex for women in the Victorian era was supposed to be a painful task they had to go through to have children. There was even the famous saying “think of England” when wives were having sex with their husbands (“think of England” as in “think of something nice” other than what’s happening).

Ellen having astral sex with Orlok and getting pleasure from it was highly scandalous for this time period. Of course this a freaking horror movie and he’s a demon, but if they were actual people, doing this, unmarried, in the Victorian era, this would be a scandal and she would be ruined socially. Which is kind of what happens, and why the whole thing causes her great shame and guilt. It has nothing to do with “abuse” or “grooming” or whatever.

And, I don’t know why many are saying this happened during Ellen’s childhood? Because what she had since childhood are her supernatural abilities, as she tells Von Franz: she knew what her Christmas presents were before opening them and had a premonition of her mother’s death. She wasn’t talking about getting that demonic D, that was during her teenage years as a metaphor for her sexual awakening/puberty. Obviously.

3) Confirmation Bias

While seeing this movie without any previous knowledge (like “Nosferatu” = “Dracula”; or the historical context where this story takes place) the opposite is also true.

I think this is more true for fans of the previous adaptations of “Nosferatu”. They are misunderstanding the story Eggers is telling in his own adaptation because their perception is shaped by the 1922 film (mostly) and the 1979. And so, they will interpret what they are seeing as a “rehash” of the previous story (which isn’t the case here, this is an entirely different story).

And so, they see 2024 Ellen as the pure-hearted and virginal 1922 Ellen who selflessly sacrifices herself to save everyone, even though that’s not the story Eggers is telling and the script contradicts this. Eggers added plots that aren’t a a part of previous adaptations (Orlok and Ellen psychosexual connection; their covenant; occult meaning) and Ellen character being completely different from the 1922 and 1979 films (she’s a antithesis to them).

And how on earth someone sees these three adaptations (1922, 1979 and 2024) and thinks they are equal and this “sacrifice” has the same meaning is beyond me, honestly.

4) The “Sexy Vampire” Trope

Last but not least, we have to talk about the “Twilight”, “Vampire Diaries”, “True Blood”, etc. generation. Some probably heard “vampire” and “Bill Skarsgård” alongside with “obsession” and a female character involved, and were probably expecting something like this:

(That’s 2024 Count Orlok beneath the prosthetics, when he played another vampire)

Eggers truly catfished his audience into watching this film by not revealing how is his Orlok truly looked like. They did warn us Bill was covered in prosthetics and completely unrecognizable, but that flew over some people’s heads?

Personally, I loved the historical and folklore accurate Orlok Eggers created, but, indeed, many didn’t felt the same. I’m still hearing folks complaining about the freaking mustache when Gary Oldman as Dracula, in “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” (1992) also had one, but yeah, he was hot when he was with Mina (not his usual monstrous self, we also see in that movie) so the problem isn’t the mustache is it?

Of course not, it’s because he’s a freaking rotten corpse and he won’t make the list of the “sexiest vampires ever” in cinematic history. Because that’s not what Eggers was going for. We are suppose to see Orlok was handsome in life, but he’s still a walking corpse, because, shocker, that’s what vampires are.

And Eggers is forcing the audience to confront their own bias with all the necrophilia going on in this film: “you like vampire love stories? This is what you actually like.” Many didn’t like to be confronted with that. Which probably has Eggers laughing diabolically because that was his intention, which is why he brings “Twilight” in his interviews.

And then we have the magnificent love triangle “Twilight” style, too; Ellen is Bella, Thomas is Jacob and Orlok is freaking Edward Cullen. Someone said Eggers has balls of steel, and he truly does. And it’s actually amazing he didn’t cast Robert Pattinson in Count Orlok role (they already worked together in “The Lighthouse“, 2019). But Bill Skarsgård’s imposing height and previous cinematic experience (Pennywise in “It”) was probably more in line with what he wanted, and he absolutely nailed this role.

Although we could still see Bill’s face as Pennywise in “It” (beneath all that make-up), which isn’t the case as his Count Orlok, as he’s in full prosthetics.

This also means many will latch on to the “hot guy” in this demonic love triangle: Thomas, played masterfully by Nicholas Hoult.

Many didn’t see any love story between Ellen and Orlok because they were also expecting a Disney fairytale in a freaking horror film about demons and walking corpses, but I would argue that’s not Eggers fault nor an execution flaw. Ellen and Orlok are a demonic love story, they aren’t suppose to be rainbows and unicorns. Duh? Although, yeah, if the audience could actually see Bill Skarsgård, I have no doubt more would recognize this wicked/evil love story going between these two characters.

#Nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #Robert Eggers #count Orlok #Ellen hutter #thomas hutter #bill skargard #lily rose depp #nicholas hoult #ellen x orlok #orlok x ellen

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k4vehrtz · 1 year ago

Text

STARBOY

-> Pairing: shōta aizawa / sub! (trans) male reader

-> Request: yes / no

-> Word Count: 1K (roughly)

➷...Summary: shō offers a helping hand (more like mouth) when you're in need.

-> Notes: not the fic that was meant to be posted this week but seeing as that one is yet to be completed i thought i would post this request in the meantime!

➷...Content Warnings: vaginal descriptions, use of the word cunt, mentions of testosterone, exhibition, age gap (though not specified, both are adults), coach/athlete trope(?), oral (reader receiving), squirting, being caught masturbating, biting, at some point it is implied that shō may have a negative reaction to the reader being trans but he does not. if i miss anything let me know.

“You've got to be��holy shit, this can’t be real.” He grunts, his voice a gravelly whisper amongst the sound of sneakers frantically shuffling across the court. Jesus. His free hand immediately goes to his mess of black hair, strumming his calloused fingers through the stray strands clinging to his sweaty forehead.

It’s a lost cause — it’s all a fucking lost cause. This team is the last nail in the coffin that was Shōta Aizawa’s career as an athlete.

The corners of his lips can’t help but curl upwards at that thought. An athlete? Maybe some ridiculously delusional part of himself still had a shred of his youthful shamelessness. He is, and has been, a disgrace for quite some time now.

His days of being a household name are long gone. You’ve taken his place now, haven’t you? You’re a good player, a team player, and not too hard on the eyes either.

Shō’s had his eyes on you for a while now. You’ve come a long way since he first saw you handing out water bottles to the members of your team. Now you’re destroying his team on the court. It takes every ounce of self-control in him to not laugh. Funny how the world works, right?

Shōta Aizawa prides himself on how mature he is. He’s not going to pick a fight with you. You’re half his age for crying out loud. He’s above that because he’s incredibly mature; As most people his age would be.

So, it’s purely coincidental that he’s in the same locker room as you. He just happened to take a wrong turn when attempting to find his team. As their coach, it’s his duty to comfort them after such a…horrific loss. But accidents happen and he couldn’t just waltz in here without conversing with you. What if you misunderstood and painted him out to be some kind of pervert? It’s only right that he makes small talk.

But the words that were at the tip of his tongue disappeared in an instant. Perhaps his critical thinking skills have gone along with it. Well, this is quite the turn of events, isn’t it?

“…In all my years of playing this damn game,” He cocks his head sideways, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I’ve never found it remotely arousing.” He says pointedly, clicking his tongue. Your skin warms.

You open and close your mouth once, twice, and then a third time but no words slide past those ridiculously beautiful lips of yours. Shō doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring. “Each to their own,” He shrugs and you want nothing more than the floor to swallow you whole.

“I…” You start, scrambling to find the right words to say. But in a situation like this, what could you say? The coach of the opposing team just walked in on you with your hands down your pants. Not a good look.

“Wh–What are you even doing in here, first of all?” You counter, fighting a heated blush as you not-so-discreetly pull your hand out of your shorts. Fingers coated in your arousal fluid.

Silence, then a moment later he deadpans, “Got lost, and then walked in on you…doing whatever it is that you were doing.” And before you can stop yourself, “It’s the testosterone, I can’t help it, alright?” you dig yourself into a deeper hole.

Shō blinks at you, once, twice, and then a third time. It’s like you’re taking turns leaving one another speechless. Before his mouth forms something of an ‘O’ shape. You grimace, bracing yourself for this embarrassing situation to take an even worse turn. But it doesn’t.

“Jesus,” He curses, more so to himself, and then takes a deep breath. “I can leave so you can finish—” He stops himself, sounding embarrassed, “…or I can help you with that problem of yours.”

“Go—You can go ahead,” you say, swallowing hard. Everyone has their needs, you remind yourself.

Shō’s gaze meets yours momentarily, silently requesting your approval once more. You nod, turning your head to the side as you lay on one of the benches, your legs spread. Dripping cunt on full display.

He lowers his face in between your legs without hesitation, warm breath tickling your sensitive thighs. As his teeth gently graze the fat of your thighs. He takes his time, gently nipping at your thighs before trailing light kisses up either one. Stopping just short of your drooling hole.

It’s torture, really. The way he alternates between light kisses, gentle nips, and then full-on sucking hickeys onto your inner thighs. Always stopping short of your cunt.

The rough pads of his fingers dig into the skin of your hips as he holds you in place. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. His tongue lapped at your thighs covered in arousal fluid. It’s like he’s never tasted anything sweeter and you squirm, utterly embarrassed. Embarrassed by how wet it makes you; Embarrassed by the sounds you’re both making.

After what felt like hours—You don’t know, you’ve lost track of time. His mouth moves from your thighs to your glistening labia. He presses a kiss to your outer lips, taking his time to spread them, before licking a fat stripe over your labia. You feel yourself tremble, biting down on your lower lip to stifle your moans. There are still people outside. But you’d be lying if you said that didn’t make it all the more exciting.

And then it happens without warning — his tongue breaches your entrance. Your eyes flutter closed, and you knit your brows together when you feel him squeezing your clit in between the rough pads of his fingers. It’s all so perfect. He’s dragged this out for far too long.

He’s so good to you. Your legs are shaking but he holds you in place with one hand as he laps at your sopping-wet cunt like it’s his last meal. You can feel your orgasm creep up on you and oh when it does, you’re squirting. Spraying your juices all over his face, and he doesn’t protest in the slightest. He pulls away, lips quirking, and licks what’s left on his face contently.

#x bottom male reader #x sub male reader #mha x male reader #aizawa x male reader #x male reader smut #aizawa smut #x ftm reader #bnha smut #aizawa x you #aizawa shouta x you

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