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satocidal · 10 months

Text

—RING RING!!

Say hello to our Operator Number One, and A Fan-Favourite:

── .˳⁺⁎˚ This caller seems to be into Humiliation and Generalised Behaviour of a Male Thot

── .˳⁺⁎˚ Geto Suguru — Starring in ⌞Valedicktorian⌝

Synopsis: your favourite academic rival, he wants to respect you, he really does—but he just prefers seeing you cry more.

— Word count: 5.4k

— A/n: I know I know, we all love a cocky lil shit that my man is <3 and tagging @romiyaro @blkkizzat @driaswrld becauseeee I can <3333 (+this was supposed to be way longer but haha)+i know it's supposed to be more smut and kinky than story line but :( I apparently cannot do that

— Warnings: Smut!!MDNI!!AFAB! Fem Reader x Suguru; teasing on both parts; dubious methods of going along a lot of things; Suguru is almost like a soft Dom; hints at spitting; Suguru eats reader out through her panties; reader almost gives Suguru a strip tease or smn like that; Suguru is a cocky bitch; emphasis on academic validation somewhat; smut begins late; reader is a virgin; Oral (fem receiving)

~November Beginning~

[8:03 a.m.]

Your eyes scanned the board fast, alone you stood towards the first corner—aware all too well you’d never even fall below

the first row.

Rank Marks Allotted

Y/n L/n [Valedictorian] 97/100

Suguru Geto [Salutatorian] 91/100

You didn’t bother lowering your eyes any further—a huge grin remained etched on your smile as you rocked back and forth about your Position, waiting for him to drop by.

Eyes flitted simply through the screen of your phone—mindless swipes, mindless likes passed on Instagram as you patiently, a whole wait of 7 minutes, you counted—how so very careless.

You beamed as his silhouette came into view, and his best friend’s right beside—lanky, they both stood, you never cared enough.

“You’re late,” you murmured as he shoved past you—an audible grown let out even though he just knew with the way you stood, that he was beat again.

But this time the difference stood of a worthy 6 points—just 6, how easily that he could’ve had you.

Satoru simply cackled beside him—indulging you with the very complicated handshake he and you had designed in the first year of your college.

“You're both stupid,” he, satoru, grinned, “I barely passed and that's so sick,” you simply chuckled at his words—joy emerging more so at Suguru’s annoyance.

“You’ve got the scholarship from your football team Toru’, unfortunately for us—6 marks make a huge difference,”

“6 marks don't matter,” Suguru grumbled, a frown lay upon his lips — “we’re not kids-”

“-except you will cry like a kid when you go back to your dorm because 6 points was what stopped ya from Rank 1,”

A smirk you bore—he wanted to drill it out of you so bad.

“The only crying that goes off in my dorm are the girls I bring about,” he smirk was his this time, your face twisted in disgust.

“And had you spent that time actually studying maybe you'd have gotten somewhere—and is that a confession that you’re that bad a fuck?”

He was tall, but the certain way he towered over most was amusing–not you though, never you.

Equals, in most senses of the word.

“But then,” you continued, and grinned wide—“don't suppose two minutes could've saved you from anything.”

A brow he raised, “you've been learning insults from middle schoolers—and what would your virgin ass even know?”

Jaw clenched you stared, Suguru Geto had realized your insecurity quick back in the first year—exploiting to all ends possible.

“Maybe you should try learning from them, gonna help you with grades and STDs,” a thin smile you wore, a thin smile he did too.

“At the end of the day, we both get the same grade, same gpa and probably the same job offers,” he paused—staring at your face—you took your chance, “And yet you’ll always remember that I was the one that beat you to the first place.”

A wink you passed, a clenched jaw he stilled.

—.—.—

[1:10 p.m.]

The semester was finally over—Satoru’s parties galore.

A tradition almost, celebration of his, scoring marks enough to pass—an ‘ode’ he deemed it, to you and Suguru for tutoring him together.

More so just an attempt to to spew you both together, failing just as always.

“You’re gonna show up tonight doll?” Satoru asked—eyes staring at your face from beneath—head placed in your lap, feet in Suguru’s lap as you both read books that couldn’t have been more neglected when the tension between the two fell so high. .

A hummed you passed, “Will you let me say no?”

A snort Satoru let out, answer all too obvious.

You sighed, “Tonight, sure but I have some projects to catch up and-”

“-perfect,” Satoru interrupted, all to your annoyance, “hm?”

“Suguru has some remaining too, right?”

Interested piqued slow and with a topic that deepened his natural frown, he—Suguru stared at you.

“I’m in mood for help from her,”

Eyes narrowed, you scowled, “yes well I’m not offering any either ways,”

“Not like you could,”

“Says the- ah!”

A sharp yelp you couldn’t help when Satoru pinched your side in midst of your banter—Something in Suguru found the noise adorable—he hated this little something, “excuse you?”

“You wouldn’t shut up otherwise, right?” A bashful smile he held, and so it happened you just couldn’t hold him guilty, an eye roll and you paused.

“Whatever, I’ll show up tonight but don’t hold me up for the rest of the week ok?”

“As you wish, doll,” a sharp edge Satoru held to his words, invoking a sense of alert in both you and Suguru—neither daring to consult the other.

[7:55 p.m.]

“And who exactly are we wearing this piece for huh?” Shoko’s eyes fell on you hard—“Who’s got you that hooked?”

A roll of your eyes, “Just wanted to feel cute is all,” you muttered under your breath—and that was mostly true.

It’s wasn’t such that you’d found someone, nor were you dressing to impress, but then, it was out of spite in some sense.

His words rang in your head- in wasn’t an insult really, being a virgin was fine, it was ok, but you hated even the littlest ‘advantage,’ that he could hold on you.

And so you trudged it on, the little black skirt that Satoru gifted you, so small you’d initially kept it only as a joke—and oh how the turn tables.

The top wouldn’t stand any better at all, almost sheer it lay—a floral print to keep what little of your modesty you wanted to show.

Pathetic and desperate, you called yourself, for turning about so easily—pathetically desperate however, you wanted Suguru to be.

[8:15 p.m.]

A step into his mansion, a wolf whistle greeted you.

“Shut up Satoru,” you mumbled, a shy smile playing on your lips—almost guilty, “I know it’s not for me, so who’re you dressed to impress?”

A heat caught up slow on your face at Satoru’s words.

Your eyes landed on Suguru who came sauntering just beside him—jaw clenched at just the sight of him, the perfect way his jean jacket clung to him, “And why couldn’t I dress up for you?”

Satoru’s smirk only grew, all too aware of the hostility and the sexual tension that Suguru and you’d fostered—his biggest mystery lying in the way that it was third year of your college degree and you still hadn’t fucked the lights of each other.

A wink, charismatic, most would say, “because you know I prefer you without anything on princess,”

Had you not known Satoru you’d have probably been disgusted, but wonderous what two years of being together did to a person and their adaptations—and you wondered just why you hadn’t adapted to his black haired best friend.

A soft punch on his arm, you shook your head with a smile, “Really though, you look gorgeous—right Suguru?”

Your eyes moved slow, hesitant almost to meet his, “Yeah sure,” he shrugged casually, and just a little your heart hurt too.

Pathetic.

“You don’t look half bad,” you spoke still, adamant to be the bigger person—adamant to have something going.

He eyed you for a second, then another—a scoff, “what’s up with that top? Fix it please- you look like a slut,”

Silence, the music blaring almost stunned out.

Your face burned, heart all the more—a baffled “what?” Escaped your lips—and possibly Satoru’s, you weren’t sure

You weren’t sure if anything there on..

A roll of his eyes caught you off guard further, heart beat racing despite you when he leaned a little towards you, “if you’re going to try dressing like a prostitute, carry it with confidence—do you have any idea how many guys have been staring? Your boobs are practically falling from in there,”

You hated it, hated his words, his demeanor, his proximity—the way you almost found it endearing that he looked away when you tried your best to fix it, the way he almost ‘shielded’ you from anyone looking at you weird.

You hated it all.

“I don’t need you to ‘watch out’ for me,” you spat—Satoru lay forgotten in the moment, maybe he’d slipped moments ago—had he been there at all?

“Not looking out for you doll, just sayin it doesn’t suit ya,” you wanted to thank the dimmed down lighting, your tears were at the brink of falling, you wanted to punch him.

“What would you know what suits me and what doesn’t,” shaky a voice, drowned by the loud music—a smirk Suguru adorned, “think your rival would pay enough attention on you to know what suits you and what doesn’t,” his grinned only ever widened as he stepped back to stand beside you, “but sure, you do look fuckable,”

Jaw clenched, your eyes stared at each other, “whatever,” a shrug you passed, retired.

“Wait,” and wait you did, persistently at his words, “I’m assuming you don’t know most people here, given you’re the pretty nerd-”

“-do you have anything of material to say or should I go?”

The annoyance lay naked, so did the hurt in your voice.

Suguru was perceptive, perfect in the way his eyes trailed down your body, “I’m just saying, tag along with me—don’t want no accidents happening to my nerd,”

“You’re a nerd too,” a scoff, yours, “that’s what you caught from the whole statement?” A chuckle, his.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, a mindless nod as you let him hold your hand, unsure of it entirely but never more certain that it was the right thing.

His nerd.

[8:45 p.m.]

“You drink?” A shake of your head and a sigh, his, “Really are a goody two shoes huh?”

A scoff you passed at his words, “Nothing goody two shoes about it, just that I don’t like the taste and-”

A snort interrupted you, “Pardon, the taste? Alright then, let me order my doll a strawberry milkshake,”

Your scrunched face only ever helped his face concort with laughter further, “I’m not your doll, or nerd or nothing. Don’t call me yours.” yours Words all too defiant, he smirked.

“Eh?” A pause, heavy, “Don't remember hearing objection for when you’re with Satoru,”

You bit the inside of your cheek-how exactly could he make everything so tough?

“Satoru’s a friend,”

“I'm not?”

You grinned, the lighting lay dim—his smile a blur, as was yours — “You're nothing more than competition,”

A grin, his too, “Ouch—after we spend so much time?”

“What, you enjoy it? You're masochistic too huh?”

“If you're the one who's gonna be torturing me doll,” a wink he offered, you bit the inside of your cheek, as insufferable as always.

However before a retort would fall, before your grin would broaden, before his smirks would lighten—“Here’s your milk shake ma’am!”

An internal groan and a condescending little, “be a good girl and finish it all up for me doll,”

A groan- which bartender even agreed to make milkshakes? At parties? At night?

Your eyes scanned the tag he kept attached, Toji F.

[11:44 p.m.]

“Suguru,” your words were frenzied, grip tightening on his arm—eyes moving over the surrounding crowd, “I don’t wanna play,”

Drunk.

The usual it was, late the party started and ended up almost at the next morning, you could hear Satoru Hollering down in the background, eyes narrowed down onto the group of your peers that sat in a circle.

Truth and Dare, the tradition.

Everyone you laid eyes upon, drunk, you were sure Suguru himself stood slightly tipsy, saved for your sake entirely, “Cmon,” his words a drag, “It’s just truth and dare, what’s the worst that can happen?”

And you knew well, that was exactly how all the bad teenage movies began.

“Everything, please, let me go if you wanna continue, that’s alright-”

“-no, can’t let you go,” you smiled slightly at the little pout on his face, adorable he surely was when drunk.

“Yes you can, I can walk back from here you know-”

Sudden, all too sudden he pushed you slight, pinned to the wall.

Words interrupted by his weight shifting onto you, your eyes widened at the closeness- “Won’t let you go alone, too many creeps,” a sincere nod was all you could pass, mouth dry and heart racing—he smirked.

“You like this?”

A shake of your head—another pout from him.

“You lie too much,” he murmured against your form, a hand placed softly on your waist—never moving an inch—“you would do well with a round of truth and dare actually,”

You giggled at his words, heart racing fast still as his hot breath fanned over you, “What if I just choose dare?”

Closer, somehow, he only seemed to move closer.

“You’re too chicken to do that,”

“But what if?”

“Do you?”

“Maybe”

“Ok,” he paused—stepping back, “here’s child’s play for you,” the smile he held now was concerning in ways—you didn’t mind it, “I dare you that if I manage to score better than you in the next semester, you have yo do everything I say for a good one day,”

You couldn’t help the laugh you let out at that.

“You have a thing for losing huh?”

A scoff, an eye roll—why was everything from him gorgeous?

“It’s a dare babe, take it or leave it,”

“Sure thing Suguru,”

“Atta girl,”

—.—.—

The tension was held high, the second semester was to end soon—you weren't all so tensed for that, however something did bother you.

Suguru Geto, for the first time that your eyes had seen, was studying.

Day in and day out, the library was where most people would find you—not Suguru Geto, certified fucker of the batch.

“Pass me the book when you’re done please,” your eyes narrowed at the tone, so damn sweet , “please,” uttered so carefully, you wanted to punch him for no reason.

“Of course,” you smiled back politely, wanting to be anything but so.

your eyes flickered over to Satoru—grinning as he texted the girl he met at the party.

“Why don’t you teach Satoru a lil something too though? He could use your help,” it was a constant, you and your little comments, hell bent on distracting Suguru, hell bent on getting more study time than him—hell bent on winning that particular bet.

He’d been drunk, you were hoping he’d have forgotten—hopes always lay crushed, for in the certain way he grinned when he looked at you, it meant something, surely a promise of winning from him.

Suguru Hummed as he always did—hostility between the two of you hadn’t ebbed exactly but it was bearable—he made it bearable, simply readjustments.

Ever since the party, you weren’t sure if you liked the change or no.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the lies Satoru fed you about him wanting you — or the half truths Your heart screamed, of Suguru wanting to screw you.

However, not being rivals never equated to being friends—obvious in the way not even his begging had softened your heart to lend him your notes.

“Why don’t you? Seem pretty done with the outline of it,”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pertaining a gaze on you softly, he grinned, “Too busy to let a friend fail?”

A defiant ‘yes’ you muttered, eyes stuck on Suguru- adding a little, “we’re not friends,” but pausing as the long fingers moved, long fingers reaching out to give you a note—“what’s that?”

He grinned as he shrugged, but before you could open the little piece of paper, folded all so carefully, “ah ah ah,” he chuckled, “open it outside,”

And you did—walking away with a huf—decided that the library was no longer just your spot, not a glance shared with Satoru, focused all so much at the objective of hogging as much study material as you could for the exam.

A sharp inhale though, annoyance seeping in as you viewed the message on the white piece of paper, decorated with all so many hearts, “Good luck losing, doll-face.”

—.—.—

~Night before the Exam~

“You’re sick for this, you know,” Satoru’s words rang in his head, he scoffed, maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t.

How could it even matter?

The flashlight remained tucked between his arms, working, quick, eyes scanning over the question paper as he stood in the Dean’s Office.

Being a good student, trusted student of course had it perks—the security cameras just somehow malfunctioning could be no coincidence either.

And then again, he wouldn’t cheat a lot, just enough, just to beat you — just enough.

And so the next day, while your confident farce broke just a little to see him ask for more sheets than you, to see him write longer—to see him almost do the exam better than you, something told you that the bet wasn’t made in vain, Suguru Geto was a man of plans.

—.—.—

~1st December~

You were sure you’d left before him, before anyone—as always.

And yet, just the way your stomach twisted when you saw his figure standing by the notice board—his grinning face—that was all it took for you to realize that something wasn’t right.

“The fuck are you grinning for?” The nervousness was obvious—Suguru loved it.

“Mind the language love,” he mused—stepping aside, letting your eyes find their own horror.

Rank Marks Allotted

Suguru Geto [Valedictorian] 95/100

Y/n L/n [Salutatorian] 94/100

And oh how he loved the way your face fell, how he loved the green in your eyes and the red tint of your of your burning ears.

“The test was hard though so you know-” the glint of victory all so evident, “-shut up,” you huffed.

“Shut the fuck up—it’s just-”

“-just one mark? Yeah, no.” He snickered behind you, “and ah? Aren’t you the one supposed to be doing what I say? No more teetering me about, doll,” a wink, a shiver up your spine.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Whatever, what do you want? Laundry done or what? Breakfast-”

Suguru’s head tilted to the side, adorably, as if a puppy’s, “you think that’s bad? Oh jeez y/n,” he grinned, “somebody’s in for a surprise?”

And before the realizations of what something worse had to be, before a retort could befall your lips, Suguru Geto had spoken once more—voice defiant, “To my dorm, now.”

The wind around you was cold, yes but chilly was the sensation you felt down your spine.

The room was organised, books on the right shelf, mangas on the left—his family photo on the right corner of the desk and a poster of his favorite baseball team right in front.

Nothing you would ever find your room as—scrawled up notes lay shoved in every corner—silly gifts from friends and a pile of unwashed coffee cups.

The contrast was thorough.

Your eyes bore into his, his into your figure-“what do you- why are we here?”

Suguru glared for a second, “what did you think would happen when you lost?”

Not this.

Or, well.

You’d assumed Suguru would use his chance to embarrass you, thoughts were quick though, infested you sat through seconds and hours, days even—thoughts of Suguru Geto and your “humiliation”.

It wasn’t that you wanted to lose, but you wouldn’t have minded—and so a blind eye was all you had to offer when Satoru dropped the keys to the dean’s office—a deaf ear turned when you heard him bragging of the plan to his girls, a stifled laugh when Suguru smacked his head for talking too much.

But now that the situation lay bared, maybe, just maybe it wasn’t the best situation to be in.

Maybe, the nervousness finally crept into the skin—maybe, you realised, maybe you shouldn’t have.

Fortunately or not though, Suguru was perceptive as he was caring—somewhat, “Don’t be nervous, I’m not gonna- you know,” he grinned, thoughts pertaining to your imagination—you didn’t like where and why it lead to everything it did.

Suguru hummed as he walked about, you stood all so awkward in the middle of his room—a hand patted the space next to him on his bed, “come on up here doll,”

You didn’t want to, but oh how the feet moved before they could stop.

“I don’t want to,” he smiled, soft, “well, you do realize what I want, right?”

A gulp, “I’ve never-”

“-I know,” he paused, “I’m not gonna force you into it, only if you wanna-”

You did want to, hell if there was anyone you wanted to trust, it would forever be Suguru Geto somehow.

“What if I say no?”

“Then feel free to just lounge about, I’d love talking to you,”

Heart pace quickened, you licked your lips—“I thought you- you’d make me…”

“Not a monster doll, not gonna do nothing you don’t want,” and just then you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face too, fuck, you really were into him huh?

A bite of your lips, a giggle his—“I think…I think you’ve won fair and square,”

Another small giggle, and boy was everything he did adorable—“you know I cheated-” you bobbed your head, and oh how he was down bad for you too.

“C’mere,”

15 minutes in, you’d already taken off your rings—the rules of the game Suguru wanted you to play were simple.

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he’d chuckled, “but, s’not gonna help today,” a book lay in his hands— “I ask the questions and you answer, for every wrong answer you strip, take off one piece of clothing,”

A grin you passed, “of course,” you’d snickered—sitting across him.

“What is my favorite color?” A brow you raised, confused still as to why Suguru even bothered opening the book which read, “NEUROROBOTICS” when all he bothered asking were stupid questions with stupider answers.

“It’s…white? Or uh, blue?” Shots in the dark, all wrong—what pained you though were his answers—“nu uh,” he grinned, “take something off again, and better not tease me again,” you giggled.

The last two questions were just trivial as this, about him, and you’d answered them right too—except he just didn’t accept them at all.

You cursed internally, for skipping wearing socks because as of now you you were debating for the crucial options, the jeans or the top.

Suguru grinned, “my favorite color’s that though, you know when you blush,” you groaned at his words—chuckling along with him because frankly, when had you ever ‘blushed’ for him at all.

Your eyes moved fast, the top it was.

His eyes were sharp, stuck onto your form, pulled right over your head—Suguru was loving his day.

“White huh?” he grinned, your face burned at the way he stared at your Lacy white bra, “it is my favorite color after all,”

“Ask the next question” you snapped—hand reaching for a pillow to help yourself.

Suguru’s smile was soft, “ok, how about…how long have you wanted to fuck me?”

It physically made you uncomfortable to how hot the tip of your ears had gotten.

“No point lying, since we're both here to fuck anyways,”

You pursed your lips, it was true but then—“since the beginning of this year,”

Suguru chuckled at that, clicking his tongue—“the pants now?” your face dropped, it was risky—it would be a first, and with the way Suguru sat fully dressed, humiliating.

“I'm not lying-”

“Liar,”

“I'm not-”

“I'll make ya take off two pieces if you keep this up,”

Two- pants and either of your bra perhaps, or panties, neither seemed better than the other.

A retired ‘ok,’ you choked out, scoffing at how he smirked when your fingers moved in to pull the pants down, slow—“what's the correct answer?”

“The day you first saw me,”

You despised the way he was correct.

Pushed down your legs and thrown aside your pants lay—your eyes and Suguru’s, trailed up all the way to your calves.

“Matching set? You wanted this to happen hm?”

And you despised the experience and knowledge he had—his gaze remained stuck on the white Lacy panties you'd decided to wear.

For him.

How scandalous.

“Continue the game,” Suguru grinned—”how long have I wanted to fuck you?”

Your mouth ran dry—oh?

“The beginning of the semester?” you guessed, truthfully, heartbeat fastening when he smirked—”you have no idea how long I've wanted you here, like this,”

He stood close now, very close, his hand itself moving to unclasp your bra—warm breath fanning your face, “how long?” you whispered.

“Forever. Since I saw you,”

A giggle you let out—“you- no way, you simp,”

A giggle, his—“and there, you ruined the moment,”

A giggle, together.

“Let me see?” Suguru murmured, pulling away softly, slowly the pillow off of your form—finally, the bra pulled away too—his hands held your breasts softly.

You were sure though, the nervousness all too evident in your face, “easy, I'll take care of you,”

You passed a nod in response— biting your lips as the way his hands squeezed you, held you—his thumb rolling onto your nipples—half hardened they stood already in the chilly air of his room.

“You're damn gorgeous,” he whispered- lips pressed against yours, fingers massaging your boobs carefully, “fuck I- you've never?”

A swift shake of your head, “mm’ gonna corrupt you tonight ok?”

And just like that, pushed down to your back you lay, “spread your legs doll,”

And you did, pace fastening as he leaned into the spot between your legs, hand lingering on your inner thigh—“are you turned on?” the smirk on his face was telling, of course you were, “got turned on thinking what I would do to you? Aren't you just the cutest?”

You were inexperienced, sure, but you weren't going to let him tease you all so much-“hurry it up I- hah!”

Or maybe you would, you didn't know.

A soft gasp interrupted your words quick, two fingers pressed directly onto your pussy, prodding about, dancing slight as he tramped about your opening.

“You must've touched yourself?” the question itself felt sickening, you shouldn't have to tell him—“yes,” you mumble slowly, “ever thought about me?”

Another ‘yes’ indiscriminately fell off your lips.

Right at your position you saw him smile, dumbfounded when he whispered a ‘me too,’

Suguru’s other hand—fingers ran close circles on your thigh, “I won't go all the way tonight, you're scared and that's fine—” you gulped, reassurance flitting through you, “wanna make you feel good though,” and exactly as his sentence ended, he propped your legs all the way to his shoulders, despite all that he was doing, an almost innocent —“comfy?” he dropped in the name of formality.

“Relax,” he cooed, soft and gentle as he slowly leaned in, “you're in good hands ok?” your breath hitched still as the first lick came about, wetness spreading all the more than it already was—you were sure you’d never found yourself all so wet.

“Suguru- I- c-can't we do this without the-”

Without the panties—you were already wrecked for him.

A Cheshire smirk spread on his features from down below, “no, we'll go step by step, that's how the studious ones go, right?” you held back a moan when his fingers found your clit—rubbing slow circles, panties getting drenched in your own slick.

“Was that a moan doll?” his words suddenly caught up—a sharp slap landed on your pussy, eliciting a small cry, ”I wanna hear everything from you doll, every whimper, every cry and moan—everything,” you could only nod, and gasp slight as he dived in to press a kiss against your clothed folds.

“I'm so glad you're wearing white sweets,” a devilish grin his and an embarrassed squeak yours as he pinched your folds through your panties—drenched in result of his spit and licks and your own slick, completely see through.

And all throughout, Suguru was relentless in the way he spread apart your folds easily, peeking at the hints of your exposed cunt.

Fingers hooked to repeatedly rub your clit, so slow, never the right pressure or pace—snickering at how your mouth hung ajar, eyes drooping with pleasure.

Low pants and shy breaths only encouraged the raved haired boy still, sparing fingers and diving right in with his lips attached to your pussy lips and panties—tongue pushing against so obscenely against your hidden hole.

A sheepish grin he held, “Suguru,” you let out a broken sob, “please,”

The whine had him feeling back, looking up at you—eyes never Fuller, almost as if drunk in your juices, “hm?”

“Want more—pl-please,” it was almost a drag, your words.

Sobbing almost, at the way he chuckled—“nu uh, this is still technically your punishment, you know that right?”

But even so, Suguru knew he wouldn't deny you pleasure, just…maybe, just tease you a lot—drive you over the edge with his words before his tongue would do it, but he would get to it, surely.

And deep down he knew it too, he couldn't have had anything in him to deny you it either, not when you squirmed for him so adorably.

Just as before, Suguru attached his tongue to your see through panties, swirling around your folds and nub—until he playfully nimbled on it—basking in your gasp and sudden clutch of your fingers on his hair.

Suguru wrapping his lips over your clit once again, feverishly suckling on the swollen flesh— tempted to just move your panties to the side and eat you out like a starved man who hadn’t eaten in weeks.

But then, even with, close to none, experience that you had —you were sure that is what carnal desire would be presented as.

The idea was enticing, to just have it all flipped to the side—but he wasn’t one to give up so easily—and then he did want to see you suffer and cry all for him. Even if he’s currently losing his mind to actually get a taste of your pussy.

“S-Suguru—please, s’close!” his tongue danced about your folds, warping and swiveling the mushy flesh until your legs started to shake—as did you.

Your back arched, loud moans leaving your mouth—almost pornographic they sounded, as your hand was still gripping Suguru’s locks tightly.

Fat tears rolled down your cheeks with your jaw slightly hanging open but no words were escaping your lips, your body spasmed, your grip on suguru’s hair loosened as you held onto the sheets underneath you instead—before you came really hard, drenching your panties even more with your cum.

Suguru was kneading the soft flesh of your thighs as he looked up to you, licking his lips, practically tasting your cum on his tongue already. You swallowed thickly, meeting his intense gaze on you and before you could mutter or say anything— Suguru had beat you to it.

“Not done yet doll,” he grinned—fingers hooking in the waist band of your panties—“next question decides if you become the good little student that you are, and I teach you how to please me—or you get punished more when I get it actually gt to play with your pussy,”

A broken giggle escaped you, “oh well, what is it?”

Suguru couldn't help but giggle at you too, so damn cute that he found you, “how many times are you cum for me?”

All of this work is entirely original and my own, please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

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bamfaholic · 25 days

Text

From Eden to Sit at Your Door | Part 2 |

Kurt Wagner x Reader | 2.1k words

A/N: Not my favorite chapter so far, debating on going back and editing. Slightly proof read

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You can also follow this piece and read my other works on my AO3!

You awoke on your beaten down couch in your flat. Your head pounds and swims at the same time. You try to scrape your mind for any fragments of what happened before. This is the worst hangover ever.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, and a tan trench coat slumps down into your lap. The scent of scorched embers assaults your nose, making your neurons fire off. The fuzzy memory of a blue man, quite literally, leaving you on a rooftop comes to mind. His hands rummaging your wallet. How chilly it felt…

You shiver as you throw your legs over, setting the coat down beside you. You begin to slowly get to your feet but notice something in its pocket. You pull it out, running the cool, smooth beads through your fingers. It’s a rosary, and a beautiful one at that. Made of what seems to be genuine mineral rocks and rose beads. The sculpted crucifixion of Christ has gold painting the edges, but it’s clearly worn down through touch.

You chew the inside of your cheek. Things are growing curiouser and curiouser. You place it back down on the coat and shamble off into your kitchen. You bend down, gathering your kettle from the cabinet, but freeze. You hear the soft, airy breathing of someone else. It’s faint, but there.

You grit your teeth, close your eyes as you take a deep breath and rise. You go on with your little task, filling the kettle with water. The breathing is still there, so at least you’re not hallucinating it. The kitchen is dark, and you blink as you read the clock as 2 a.m. What the hell happened to you? You would, normally, flick on the lights to make it much easier to see, but that could tip off whoever is here. Luckily, you could navigate your flat with your eyes closed.

Once the kettle was full, you whip around. In one fluid movement, you throw nearly the entirety of its contents out in front of you.

Out comes a yelp, and you look to see two yellow lights, beaming at you. “Friend!” He huffs, hair drenched. “What was that for?” He jumps off the top of your fridge, approaching you with his palms visible to ease you.

“Kurt?” You cock your head to the side and place the kettle down. “What are you doing here? Why on top of my fridge?” That alarmed you most, instead of, perhaps, the fact he seemingly broke into your home.

Water dribbles and drips down your fridge, creating a puddle on the linoleum. “I was taking care of you, friend.” He sighs, grabbing a small dish towel to try and get the loose water out of his hair and off his clothes. “It is not a wash day.” He grumbles to himself. He shakes out his limbs, like a dog, before offering a toothy smile. “I was worried, friend.”

“Worried?” You wince, the headache ebbing in intensity. You hold your temple. “What for?” Your patience at your own inability to remember is diminishing. “I just… I remember having tea and then…”

“And then?” He repeats, his tail flicking to your table, wrapping around an apple and bringing it forth to his mouth. He takes a bite. “You don’t remember the rooftops? The police?” He asks, chunks of apple in his maw.

You shake your head, laughing even. He must be insane. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But then, you stare. You stare at him, like before, inching closer to truly get his details. You get a sense of Déjà vu, realizing this man is blue and does have a tail. What?!

He rips another bite from the apple’s flesh. “Oh dear, well then I must enlighten you.” He reaches into a pocket, pulling out what looks like a long slender tube that comes to a needle-point. There’s English inscribed on the side. “Do you remember this?”

You narrow your eyes, your gut telling you it’s familiar. “A… A little.”

“It’s a mutant tranquilizer, friend.” He begins, lackadaisically tossing it in the air, like a toy. “It only works on mutants. It feels freezing cold, like… Drenched in water.” His eyes dart to the empty kettle before letting out a hearty chuckle. Your cheeks flush pink. “You were hit, in the liver. I had to leave you at a bell tower, for which I am greatly sorry, but it was necessary.”

His summary is jogging your memory. The events of a few hours prior begin to bleed into your mind. “R-Right.” Adrenaline starts to pump through you again. The panic of the chase, the shot, everything comes crashing into you at once.

“I had to do some digging. I found your address by your ID, but I am no fool. They don’t call me The Great Nightcrawler for nothing.” He offers you a wink and a smile. It eases you a smidge. “I scouted out the area, ensuring you would be safe, and then brought you here. You’ve slept off the drug.”

“Is it completely out of my system?” You lean back, resting your palms on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Absolutely, my friend, I assure you.” He grins wider. “You don’t need to fret, there is no side effects. And even if there is, I have a barrel of antidotes.”

You tumble his words in your head, trying to make sense of it all. “Wait… You said it was mutant tranquilizer. Does it work on humans?”

He shakes his head, “No, it does not. Something in its makeup has it target those with the activated X gene.”

“But… Then that means…” You shake your head, your world, your perception, shattering and crumbling before your very eyes. “I’m not a mutant.” You’re adamant, but an anxious laugh slips out. “I’m just blind, that’s it. That’s it!”

Kurt steps closer, gently taking your hands in his. The warmth is comforting, the touch is alien. Your cheeks burn a little hotter, your breathing hastening. His two fingers are an odd sensation, expecting the normal five, but you hold on nonetheless. “Friend, dear, do you remember sitting at the table with me? You were able to hear the police blocks down from us, and through the chatter of the crowds. That is not… ‘Normal.’”

You nervously rub circles into his one knuckle, chewing your cheek to the point you taste iron. “But, I-“ You scramble to build some defense, some excuse. “I don’t-“ You have to admit it. “I didn’t know it was… Inhuman.” You lower your head, glancing away. You stare at the grout of your kitchen tiles, focusing on the pathways and intersections to calm yourself. “I never… I never noticed it being strange to others. I always chalked it up to the idea of missing one sense heightens the others.”

“Friend, you were able to notice me. You, who lacks sight, noticed me. Even the best of the best struggle to find me in the dark.” His smile is sweet, sweeter than any cup of tea you’ve had. “You are just like me.”

His words dance in your head, your heart flutters. Like him? You are a mutant? As a child you played with the idea, as many did. Due to the delay in expressing the X gene, commonly in puberty or under great duress, children of all ages played with the idea of becoming the next superhero. Even you.

But now that it was staring you dead in the face, you wish you could take it all back.

You swallow, opening your mouth to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. Kurt offers a squeeze. “It’s alright, it’s okay to be scared.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I was too, you know.”

That has you snort. “You? Scared?”

He nods. “Yes, I was. I was scared when the X-Men came to my door, seeking me out. I thank God they came for me.”

Wait. Hold on. The X-Men? “The X-Men? Kurt, you don’t mean to say-“

“Aye.” He puffs out his chest, grinning. “I am not only The Great Nightcrawler but I am an X-Man!” His nose crinkles, smile lines framing his eyes. “In truth, I was here to find a mutant, but it seems another stole my attention.” His tail gently places the half-eaten apple on the table, the spade-shaped tip gently pushing under your chin, having you meet his gaze.

You absolutely burn up, forgetting to breathe for a moment. “What now?” You barely whisper, your words wobbling. You completely give away that you are out of your element.

“Now…” He clicks his tongue, tail whipping behind him. If he wasn’t so… Demon-esque, you’d swear he’d be part dog. “Now I ensure your safety and see if Charles would like to meet you.” He glances back to your living room before resuming his sights on you.

“Charles?” You inquire. “Who is that?”

“The man who saved me.” A fang peeks out from his lips in his smile. “A smart, kind, honest man. But for now, you should rest. You are still recovering.”

Kurt doesn’t allow you much protest, bringing you back to the couch, forcing you to lay down.

“Could I have a blanket, at least?” You meekly ask, you didn’t want to seem rude with rejecting his coat.

“Ah, of course!” His tail flicks more.

You guide him to getting you a quilt, and he gently tucks you in. He gets you everything you could need, being as polite as a saint. He does teleport the few feet, back and forth, which you find amusing. Why not take the few steps?

“Now, you are all set to rest.” He grins, taking his position on a chair across from the couch. He crouches down, resting his weight on the balls of his feet.

“What about you? Aren’t you tired?” You look him up and down, only seeing his silhouette with the darkness and your impaired vision. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“No, no.” You can even hear his smile. “I quite like sitting like this. Besides, I need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” You muse. “Prepared for wha-“

God really has a sense of humor. You were far too focused on the fuzzy man to notice the rumbling of armored trucks, the slams of metal doors outside your apartment building. As if this was scripted, the windows to your flat shatter. In an instant, Kurt is on top of you, reeking of Brimstone. He shields you from the shards with his back.

“For this!” He shouts over the booming noise of boots and shouts of commands. Grapple hooks sink into the lip of your windowsills, a whirring noise following. Men armed to the teeth begin pouring into the tiny apartment.

Kurt whips around, and you see shards of glass lodged in his back, primarily near his shoulder blades. Deep indigo weeps from the wounds and begins to stain his clothes. He pulls out two long swords, thin and nimble. You find it insane you never noticed them before, but it has been dark.

He’s fluid, like a dance, as he cuts down the men. He teleports around the room, using the walls and ceiling as leverage, much to his advantage. Blood seeps into your carpet. With a large chunk of men rendered dead on the floor, and Kurt properly out of breath, he heads for you next.

He hooks an arm around you. You realize now, you were too stunned to do anything. You haven’t even uttered a word. You begin to, but Kurt beats you to it. “Hold on!”

Oh god. Here we go…

Nausea hits you in your gut as you’re hurled through space. Rooftop to rooftop you go, thrown over Kurt’s shoulder. You keep your focus on the glass. It must hurt, you wonder, but know better than to touch or even try to pull out the debris. Yet, Kurt seems unaffected.

You both soar, soaking in the moonlight as the quiet city rests below. Kurt is huffing and puffing, his shoulders heaving, when you arrive at your destination. A church, a very old one at that. You recognize where you are, a rather historic district in Germany. These streets were once the ghettos of the Jews. What once was a temple, now stood a run-down Catholic church.

Kurt takes a few steps toward the front door, knocking with his knuckles. It echoes, with no response. His tail is practically dragging on the floor as he’s still struggling to catch his breath. Yet, he still has that trademark toothy grin as he turns to you.

“Welcome to my home.”

Keep up to date and read my other works here on my AO3.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #x-men #my works #x men #x-men fanfic #xmen #xmen fanfic #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler fanfiction #nightcrawler fanfic #⚔️

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ellieslittlewh0re · 1 year

Text

Stripped - modern!ellie x stripper!reader

wk- 8k-ish (it’s worth it)

additional tags: loser!ellie, reader is slightly described (pale, red/light brown hair, literally picture Lana in tropico bc that’s what I used for reference, oral reader! receiving, fingering reader! receiving, gross ass m*en, mutual pinning, implied homophobia (nothing crazy), childhood friends to lovers??, drug! mention, alcohol! mention,college! ellie mentioned, fluff n smut <3

"Ugh- He's is such a fucking creep."

I mouth frustrations under my breath, taking a seat at the vanity in the back room of the club. I pull crinkled wads of money out of the strap of my thong, smoothing the bills as I counted.

"Who is?" A familiar voice asked me with genuine concern. Camilla, also known as Coco by the customers, was a veteran dancer, a motherly type that all the girls that worked here went to for advice.

"Grabby Gary."

She winced at the mention of his name and shook her head.

"I don't know why they keep letting him in here. He's a fuckin' perv."

I nod in agreement, taking a deep breath before looking in the mirror. My eyes were red, and my body ached from the early hours of the morning. I applied for this job not because I wanted to, but because I figured it would be a good way to make money fast. My mother, being an alcoholic and her deadbeat boyfriend was a violent drunk.

"You got any plans this weekend, baby?"

I felt a boost of energy at her mention, perking my head up with a smile on my face.

"My best friend is coming tomorrow. She left for college a few months ago and I haven't seen her since. We talk everyday, but it's jus' not the same."

I lower my head, pain in my voice as I remember how fucking empty my life felt when she left me behind. I never told my friend this, not wanting to make her feel bad.. I was happy for her. She was smart and passionate, I mean, who was I to get in the way of her education?

"Does she know you dance?"

I suck air behind my teeth, scrunching up my face.

"...no."

I didn't want her to worry about me and I definitely didn't need her shit for it, but it still worried me.

"You work tomorrow, right? Bring her by, and we can feed her free drinks. It will be fine, now get your ass home and get some sleep. You did good today." Coco reassured me, patting the back of my shoulder before going back out to the stage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stir in my bed, the afternoon sun flooding my room, making it unbelievably warm due to the Texas summer heat. I fumble with the sheets, kicking them off my sticky skin. I skim my hand along the bed searching for my phone, peeking at the screen through tired eyes.

12:32 p.m.

I mentally groan before squinting at the missed text's notifications, rubbing my eyes to focus my blurry vision.

Ellie<3: Hey- I'm leaving now I'll be there around 1 Delivered 9:56 a.m.

"Shit."

I throw my body forward, scrambling to the bathroom and turning on the shower.

I search my drawers, pulling out whatever is clean. I trip over my feet as I tug on a pair of denim shorts when the vibration of my phone alerted me.

Ellie<3: I'm pulling in now

My heart started to race, excited, but also incredibly nervous. I quickly finish dressing my self, half-running half-speed walking to the front door.

"Okay-" I take a shaky breath, composing myself before turning the door handle.

"Took you long enough." Ellie said sarcastically, flashing me a smile. I could have cried right then, not realizing how much I've missed seeing her face that I lunged at her, wrapping my arms around her in an embrace.

"Damn- you missed me that much?" Ellie laughed, patting my back hesitantly.

I rest my head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her woodsy scent. I felt immediate comfort wash over me, a sense of safety and nostalgia.

I quickly pull back, realizing I definitely held the hug longer than we both anticipated.

I clear my throat, adverting her eyes.

"Uh- how was the drive?"

I encourage her inside and shut the door behind her.

"S' Fine. Nothing note-worthy-" she pauses in the hallway, glancing down at the battered couch.

"He's still here?"

She points to the man sleeping on the couch, stained white tank that was pushed up to his chest, exposing a bloated stomach.

I ignore the obvious disapproval in her voice, grabbing her wrist as I pulled her through the house to my room.

"How's your classes? Do you like them?" I ask her as I shut the door, making sure to lock it.

Dale, my mom's boyfriend was a real prick. Ellie and him have had their fair share of issues. One ending with Ellie punching him in the jaw after he called her a slur.

"Uh- yeah, yeah. They're good. Except for this one class- the teacher is a dick, but other than that, it's good."

She slid her backpack off her shoulder, tossing it to the floor before taking a seat on my bed.

I sit next to her, now feeling suddenly a lot more anxious in the quietness of my room.

"How are things here?" She lowers her head to me, concern raising in her voice.

"Oh- uh.. you know." I fake a laugh, looking down to my hands.

Ellie remained silent for a second, probably catching on that things here where in fact, not great.

"What's up with those?" She grabbed my hand, turning it over and observing the obnoxious set of acrylic nails.

I let out a more genuine laugh, her bewilderment written all over her face as she traced the edges of the nails.

"It's fr' my job. It's kinda a big thing there."

Her eyes break from my hands and look to my face.

"Waitressing requires talons?" Her eyebrows go up, child-like confusion on her features like if you tell a kid anything, they'd believe you.

"No! Oh my god- I quit the restaurant after you left."

She paused and leaned back, waiting for an explanation. I bit my lip before taking a deep breath, pausing before opening my mouth.

"I work at a club.. like a night club kinda place."

I held my breath as I examined her face, her eyes darting between mine.

"Doing what?"

Ellie's eyes narrowed, her mouth tightening into a straight line.

"It's not a big deal. I actually have a shift tonight and was hoping you'd come. You can drink for free."

My voice strained, desperate to get her on board for the sake of me needing her to understand my position.

Ellie nostrils flared through rapid breaths, stone facing me before looking away.

"So you're a stripper?" Ellie sighed deeply as she rubbed between her eyebrows.

"... yeah."

Ellie leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, looking around the room before taking a deep breath.

"A stripper? You're barely 19!"

Her voice grows louder out of anger, clearly not approving of my choices.

"I know, I know... but I need to move out. I can't stand living here, Ellie! After you left shit just got more fucked."

I flail my hands before tucking them back into my lap. I needed her to understand. I needed her to realize how desperate I was and that I didn't take this job just for the experience.

Ellie remind silent for a minute, taking in my explanation.

"I'm sorry- it's just.. I hate the idea of you dancing around naked."

"It's not like that... I mean I'm not completely naked."

I laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood. Ellie cracked a smile, but it didn't seem sincere.

"Will you come tonight? It would help knowing you were there." I ask her, dipping my head down.

Ellie pauses before answering, mentally analyzing how it would play out.

"Yeah I'll go.. but only to beat guys up if they look at you for too long." She said smugly, nudging her shoulder into mine.

"That's literally what I got hired for."

I roll my eyes, trying to down play the heat rising in my cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I see you still drive that sad excuse for a car."

My eyes remained glued to the screen, taunting Ellie as we played an out-dated version of call of duty zombies on my PlayStation, killing time before I have to get ready.

"It's not sad! It's a Mustang." Her voice pitched, defending her prized possession.

"Yeah... a 2005 Mustang that almost killed you and drained your bank account." I roll my eyes, spamming buttons on the controller.

Amongst our bickering, we lose our concentration causing a horde of zombies to down us both.

The colors on the tv screen loses saturation and text on the screen read: game over you survived 12 rounds

"Aw man. This is totally your fault."

I open my mouth to argue Ellies claim when the door handle rattles, and aggressive banging followed.

"Why the hell is your door lock?! Who's in there with you?" A loud male voice creeped through the hinges.

I stood up and walk towards the door, turning back to give Ellie a look of "please be cool" before slowly opening the door.

"The hell is all that noise fr?" Dale grumbled, looking rougher than usual. His eyes look behind me into my room, eyes going wide as he saw Ellie, who gave him a wave and a shit eating smile which definitely did not help the situation.

"What the fuck is she doin' here?"

I take a deep breath, putting myself in front of him to crate a barrier in case shit goes south.

"She's jus' staying for the weekend, okay? That's it."

His eyes bulged out of his head, veins becoming more prominent against his now red face.

"Bull fuckin' shit she is! This is MY house."

Dale yells, pouting a finger in no particular direction.

"The only thing you own is a spot on the sex offender registry." Ellie rebuttals. I'd admit it's a good burn, but holy fuck, this was the opposite of being chill.

"The fuck did she jus' say t' me?!"

Dale pushes himself past the door, shoving me out of the way as he v-lined for Ellie.

I grab Dale by the arm, using my body weight to hold him from getting closer to Ellie, who didn't seem affected, if anything, she looked amused.

"Dale- Dale please calm down... she didn't mean it, okay? Just please stop." I spoke calmly to him like I've done so many times in the past when he got this way.

Dale silenced his yelling, looking to me as he breathed heavily, blood shot eyes and a slight twitch in his eyebrow.

I put on a brave face, having done this repeatedly over the last 3 years that he and my mom have been dating.

"She will be gone tomorrow, okay? I'm sorry I should've told you... I can talk to Chris at the club and see what he has, okay?" I spoke sweetly to him even though it made me feel physically sick.

He didn't respond, eyes darting between me and Ellie, then back to be before he stomped out of the room.

"The hell did you say that for?" I huffed, rubbing my eye, and walked over to Ellie, plopping down next to her on the bed.

"Because I hate him." Ellie responded sternly, looking at me like I was dumb for asking such a question.

"No shit, but the least you can do is be in your best behavior, for my sake. I'm the one who has to live with him."

My words came out rushed, annoyed that she wasn't understanding how uncomfortable living in this house truly was.

The way my mom was black out drunk for days on end, how Dale would sneak around outside my room in an attempt to catch me undressing, not to mention the smashing bottles on the wall or the never ending psychological abuse Dale carried out.

"You're right. M' sorry. That was a dick move. I promise I'll be good."

Ellie held her hands up, one over her chest and the other in the air, signaling a sarcastic attempt to keep her promise.

I roll my eyes and bit my inner cheek to hide a smile. I missed her goofy self, the smug way she would tease to cheer me up.

"Okay, fine...you're forgiven'."

I flash a smile, looking at my phone to cheek the time.

"Shit- I gotta start gettin' ready. Do you have to get ready?" I stand, waking to my closest.

"Uh- I don't know, do I?" Ellie asked, sounding concerned that she had no idea how to dress for a strip club.

I look back at her, observing her outfit more closely. A checkered blue and white flannel with a simple white t-shirt underneath, dark washed denim jeans that hung tight to her legs paired with her signature high top converse that she couldn't live without. She looked good.. like really good. No matter what she wore, I always found myself admiring her, even when we were young. She was effortlessly cool to the point it was annoying to me.

"I-I think you're good. I mean, you're a customer. You can wear whatever, I guess."

I turn back around, shuffling through the designated spot in my closet that I lovingly refer to as "skin rash central". Sequins and feathers and other skimpy clothes that look like discarded scrapes from a Victoria secret factory.

"Ugh- don't call me that."

Ellie winces at the choice of words. Customer. She didn't want to be a customer at a strip club where her childhood best friend worked. It felt wrong like she was crossing an invisible line. Only ever dreaming about the possibility if that line were to break, disappear completely, and the term friends would be replaced with something else.

"Don't worry, you don't have to throw money at me... although I wouldn't be opposed to it-"

Ellie shifts uncomfortable in her seat, clearing her throat to hide the fact her cheeks began to burn hot from my comment.

"Im gonna' get ready... uh- make yourself comfortable." I said, motioning my arms in a way that was meant to be funny, but I realized how stupid I must have looked.

Ellie laughs anyway, nodding and shooing me out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay... lookin' good."

I turn around, observing myself in the spectacle mirror. A red lingerie set that I've worn a few times before, bows and ribbon that dangled across bare skin. Makeup is simple. Classic. Flawless skin with a wing liner, and big eyelashes that complimented the shape of my eyes. A few carefully placed fake beauty marks along my jaw and below my eye. I decided to keep my hair down, letting the length fall to the lower part of my back, loose, big curls that shaped my face and shoulders.

I take a few deep breaths, leaning my hands against the sink.

"You got this. It's just like very other night." I tell myself quietly in the mirror.

I throw on a jacket and sweatpants, not wanting to reveal myself to Ellie quite yet in case she loses her shit.

"Hey- sorry. I know I took forever. You ready?" I return to the room, glancing to my phone to check the time.

9:47 pm

When she didn't respond right away, I looked up to see why she wasn't responding. To my surprise she was already looking at me, more specifically my face.

"Ellie?" I snap my fingers at her, breaking her trance.

Ellie flinches, blinking her eyes a few times.

"Huh? Oh- yeah. I'm ready." Ellie clears her throat, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.

Her behavior confused me, she was nervous when I came back into the room. I figured it was because she was not use to seeing me all glammed up, considering she knew me when I was a little girl, playing in the mud, catching bugs and reptiles in the creek behind the house.

"Can we take your car? Dale is gon' kill me if I take his truck again." I asked her, focusing on putting an extra pair of shoes in my duffel bag.

"Yeah, that's cool... uh where is the club located?"

I rushed to my vanity, spraying ungodly amounts of sweet smelling perfume along my body and clothes. Panic was starting to kick in. Anxious that this was defiantly not like every other shift. My best friend was going to be there, to watch me dance half-naked for other people's pleasure.

"Further into the city. Don't worry I'll tell you directions. Traffic might be kinda bad though so we need to leave." I finish putting on deodorant, slugging my bad over my shoulder, dragging Ellie along by her hand out of the house and down the driveway to her car.

"Do you want to play music?" Ellie asked, holding the aux cord.

I happily obliged, shuffling through playlists I made specifically for her. I find one that felt just right, clicking it and waiting for her recognize the beat.

"Oh shit! So it's that kinda night, huh?"

Ellie cranked the volume up, tapping the steering wheel with her hand and started to sing along.

I watch her with a warmness building in my heart. Seeing how happy she was listening to a song we have both heard hundreds of times.

It felt like we were teenagers again, driving around in this same car, having no destination in mind as we blasted borderline obnoxious tunes. Ellie was always older, not just physically but mentally.

I realized my feelings for her when I was 15, and she was 17 going on 18. I could never tell her it would just put her in an awkward situation and possibly ruin our friendship, and I definitely didn't want that.

"Turn left at this light and the club will be on the right side. You can't miss it, it has a bright ass pink neon sign out front."

I bit my lip, feeling insecure about the location of this place, not realizing before how fucking sketchy this part of town was.

Ellie turns the car into a parking spot, killing the engine and took a deep breath.

"You forgot to mention it was in east side."

"...sorry. It's not that bad, I promise."

I look down to my phone, checking the time.

"Oh good! We're kinda early. You can get a drink before I go on." I say a little too excitedly, my thought process being she can get shit faced while I worked, in case I make an ass of myself.

I exit the car, tossing my bag over my shoulder and start heading towards the doors. I stopped, realizing Ellie wasn't right behind me, I turn around.

"What's wrong?" I ask her with a puzzled look.

Ellie's face lit up a pink hue from the sign, her eyes fixated on the building.

"Wha- nothing... nothing. I'm comin'." Ellie words faltered, her head hanging low as she made her way to where I was.

I push open the blurred glass door and examine the crowd. It was fairly busy, considering it wasn't even midnight yet, which is when people started to flood in.

"Hey doll- you're early." Coco greeted me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I greeted her with a smile, genuinely happy to see her face.

"Yeah, I thought traffic would be bad-" a awkward silence formed between the three of us, Ellie looking at me and then down to the floor.

Coco sensed Ellie's lack of experience in a strip club, looking at her and holding a well manicured hand out.

"You must be the best friend. I'm Camilla. It's good to finally meet you. She talks about you all the time."

Ellie shook her hand, focusing heavy on her face to avoid looking at what little clothing she was wearing.

"Oh does she?" She let out a nervous laugh, breaking the hand shake and wedging herself behind me. I was humored by how Ellie was acting. Nervous and in full gay panic, being surrounded by a bunch of girls that were half-clothed.

"I'll leave you to it. Have a good night-" Coco kisses my cheek and then points to Ellie, who straightened her stance immediately like she was meeting the president.

"And you, take care of her tonight. She's good at what she does, but she's a magnet for trouble." Coco turns and disappears into the club, leaving the two of us standing awkwardly by the entrance.

I shake my head, covering my face with my hands out of embarrassment.

"Magnet for trouble?" Ellie repeats her words, a smug tone hinted in her voice as she teased me.

"Don't- just... don't. Now, c'mon let's go get a drink." I grab her wrist, pulling her though the club towards the bar.

"2 shots of tequila please."

I leaned over the bar, kicking my feet like a kid in a candy shop.

Fez, the bartender gave me a stern look, rolling his eyes.

"You can't drink yet, doll. We've been over this." He shook his finger at me, trying to sound serious, but he was a gentle giant, sweet and very easily manipulated.

"C'monnnn please. It's a special occasion."

I blink wide eyed at him, pouting my bottom lip.

Fez shook his head, taking a deep breath and pretended to think hard about it.

"Fine... but I swear this is the last time. No more." He turned, slapping two shot glasses down on the bar and filled them to the brim, letting some spill over onto the counter.

I scootch the glasses closer, holding one up for Ellie, which she takes hesitantly. Her one eyebrow raise, and a smirk on her face as she brings the shot to her lips, throwing her head back as she downs the liquor. I copy her motions, swallowing the liquid, feeling it burn my throat as it made it way down.

"Awh- ohmygod... that's foul." I choke out, scrunching my face and pushing the shit glass away.

Ellie was unfazed by the taste, not flinching in the slightest.

"You're such a baby." She giggles, shaking me by my shoulder.

"Sorry I'm not a frat boy like you." I snark back, feeling pretty pleased with my remark.

Ellie rolls her eyes playfully to make me feel like I won that conversation.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, letting the screen light up.

"Shit- uh I need to get ready for my set. You can stay here and keep drinking- or if you get hungry, I can ask the guys in the back to make you something?" I ramble, covering all my bases to make Ellie as comfortable as possible.

"I'm fine! Just go do your thing." Ellie let's out a laugh, shooing me away. I give her one last worried look before turning away and walking through the club, maneuvering around people and squeezing between chairs and tables.

I get rid of my jacket and sweatpants, switching out my vans for platform heels. Red to match my outfit, straps that accentuate the top of my foot and up my ankle. I button the straps, flexing my foot to make sure it wasn't pinching the thin skin.

I sat at the vanity, the bright bulbs around the mirror gave me a headache. My nerves were spiraling.

I planned my dances tonight with Ellie in mind as a way to welcome her, to still embarrass her even if the two of us were the only ones who knew. "White mustang" by Lana del Rey was my first song, a little inside joke for both of us, that leaked into "summer bummer" purely because that song made me want to dance, not think too hard. Just dance.

"Fuck. Okay, you got this. Jus' go out there and dance. You've done it dozens of times. No biggie." I voice words of encouragement to myself, wiping smudged lipstick from the corner of my mouth.

I coax myself with deep breaths, going through the motions of trying to calm the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

"Doll, you're on."

I look at my co-worker, meeting her eyes through the reflection of the mirror. One last deep breath and I walk through the door, leaving the safety of the break/ hair and makeup room.

I walked slowly, carefully as possible to the stairs of the stage, scared I'd break an ankle in my uneasy footsteps. I kept my head low, scanning the crowd to look for Ellie. Lights strobing shades of pink and red, a haze building from the cigars that were being smoked.

My heels clunked the wood stage floor as I take position on the pole, holding it with one hand as I casually swung around it, waiting for my song to start. Yelling and whistling from the handful of men that gathered closest to the stage. I smile at them, waving playfully while still peeking looks in hopes I'd find my friend.

The first cords of the song started to play. I switch to my professional personality, becoming more serious and seductive. I parade myself around the pole, letting my legs fall wide as I leaned against. Dollar bills started to float onto the stage, hooting and hollering as I caressed my body. I engage with the men, bending over in front of them to show them something worth their time.

From the outside, I looked like I was doing my job and doing it well, but internally I was panicking. I couldn't find the one person I wanted to see, but at the same time, if she was watching and I couldn't see her, it was a new nightmare. Curious to know what her face looked like as she saw her once, innocent, childhood best friend.

Ellie waited as patiently as she could, finding a dark corner of the club where less people were. She sipped on a whiskey she ordered, leaned up against a wall.

A sudden burst of cheers and hollering caused Ellie to jerk her head in the direction where it was coming from. A women was walking into the stage, playfully hanging off the pole. The lights made it hard to make out at first, but upon seeing the light brown, almost copper tinted hair, Ellie's eyes widened, almost choking on her drink.

This was a side to her best friend she has never seen before, skin that Ellie's eyes have never been graced by before, at least not to this extent.

Sure, when they were younger they'd change in front of one another, but Ellie always turned away, scared that her friend would notice the changing hues of her cheeks.

Arms stretched outward towards her like a painting depicting a religious experience, and to be honest it felt like one to Ellie. These men begged for the touch of her hand, the words on her lips, but Ellie was the only one who knows what it was like.

The way she smiles so brightly, laughs so fully like she wanted the whole world to hear. How clumsy she truly was even though she danced so gracefully on the stage.

I prance in my heels all over the stage, trying not to make it obvious was trying to avoid the shining lights in my face to look for Ellie. I squint towards the back of the bar. Her familiar frame came into focus, leaning against a wall like she worked here as a bodyguard.

I wave at her, excited to finally have found her. Ellie does a double take before pointing to herself . I nod, not caring that this wasn't part of the routine as I usher her closer to the stage.

Ellie carefully comes closer, stopping a couple of feet behind the handful of men that surrounded the stage. I felt a burst of energy seeing her, knowing that she was still here.

I lower myself to my hands and knees, crawling forward to the men that clasped bills in their fingers. I lay in front of them, arching my back against the scuffed floor, letting money drape over my face.

Ellie held her breath as she watched, never looking away, hell not even blinking, scared she'd miss even a second of the show.

I get back into my knees, hovering above the paying customers as they place the bills in the straps of my thong and bra, letting it snap back only to be repeated. I diverted my attention away from my patrons to meet Ellie, her eyes heavily glued to me. I raise a finger, pointing it at her and curling it, signaling that I wanted her to come closer.

To my surprise she takes a few more steps forward, shimming between the men who gave her dirty glares in return, but she didn't care. Out of everyone here tonight, Ellie was the one who had all of your attention.

Ellie positions herself front and center of the stage. I crawl closer, leaving only a few inches between our faces.

🎶 the day I saw your white mustang-🎶

Ellie's realization of the song made her crack a smile. Even under the colored lights, I could tell she was blushing, cheeks red making her freckles more prominent. I felt my own cheeks cramp, a wide grin on my lips that I definitely couldn't hide.

I watch Ellie's hand disappear into her back pocket, pulling out crisp bills, and slowly, her hand moves to my chest, using her other hand to open the top of my bra as she inserts it gently, smoothing her finger over my cleavage before she retracts her touch.

"You suck-" I mouth to her, rolling my eyes playfully. My body jittery and my heart thumped loudly against my chest. Without much thought, I leaned down from the stage, planting a kiss to her cheek, which left a very prominent lipstick stain to her pale complexion.

My ears perk up to the changing of the song, feeling much more upbeat after our interaction, I jump up and blow Ellie a kiss, which she pretends to grab before she took a few steps back.

I carry on through my set, shaking my ass more energetically to match the vibe of the music. Dollar bills of various worths littered the stage.

Ellie watched from further away, her eyes loom in my direction as she babied her drink, not wanting to risk forgetting this night.

Ellie didn't try to hide how she bit down on her lip, eyes studying the movements of my hips or how I extended my neck to the side, leaving the exposed skin on display for her imagining how she wanted to mark it.

"So... whaddya think?" I ask out of breath from rushing off of the stage as soon as the song ended.

Ellie opens her mouth and closes it again as her face contorted, trying to figure out what to say that was both respectful, and didn't come off pervy.

"I see why that lady said you attract trouble."

I give her a confused look, tilting my head to the side.

"Huh?"

Ellie purses her lips before making a tsk tsk sound with her mouth.

"You were- unreal... it kinda scares me how incredible you were up there." Ellie looks away, rubbing her thumb over the back of her hand that held her drink.

I feel my face heat up, a giddy sensation building inside me.

"I mean I wouldn't go that far, but thank you Els. It means a lot comin' from you." I said sweetly, interlocking my fingers behind me as I rocked back in forth on my toes. I felt like I was in school all over again... like when you have a crush on someone that's way out of your league, but they talk to you anyways.

"Hey doll, Gerald wants a private dance." Camellia interrupts us, sounding slightly apologetic.

"Ugh- fine." I groan, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere!" I yell back to ellie as I walked towards the champagne room.

Ellie didn't love the idea of you giving someone a lap dance. She wanted to hold you back, prevent you from walking away, but she didn't because after all, this was your job.... The idea of some old man grabbing you and fantasizing about how he would touch you made Ellie sick.

Ellie waited for your return as patiently as she could. Uneasiness was sinking in, causing her to sip from her glass at a faster pace. She felt a new sensation kicking in as she waited. Maybe it was a sense that she needed to protect you, keep you safe, but no, that wasn't it. It was jealousy. A possessive urge to keep you at arms length. It was a feeling that Ellie desperately tried detaching herself from for a number of years.

"Sorry! That took longer than it should've." I say to Ellie, stumbling back to her slightly out of breath.

"It's fine. When does your shift end?" Ellie's tone shifted. She sounded annoyed, frustrated even.

"Uh... soon." I answer weakly, uncertain why Ellie was acting different towards me.

Ellie didn't seem thrilled with my answer, looking down at her now empty glass and avoiding my face.

"If you want, I can see if I can leave early? It's slowin' down now. I don't think it should be a problem."

Ellie lifted her head, looking at me with wide eyes. Her face lit up at my suggestion, but quickly dwindled.

"You don't have to-"

"Hush. I want to. Plus, I want to spend as much time with as possible... jus' the two of us." I cut her off mid sentence. It was the truth. I didn't want to waste our only time together, not knowing when I'd see her again.

Ellie smiled, her eyes burn into mine causing me to want to lean into her, but she clears her throat when she realized how our gaze lingered.

"Let me go ask." I tell Ellie, resting a hand on her bicep before I turn to leave her again.

"Please! I'm literally beggin' you. Just this once- I won't ask again." I pleaded, holding my hands to my chest, interlocking my fingers in a prayer.

Warren. Aka boss man, looked me up and down, and took a deep breath before rubbing the meaty part between his eyebrows.

"Look- doll. You haven't been working here long enough to be making such requests."

"-and it won't happen again. I swear." I bat my eyelashes a few times in hopes he'd show me some mercy.

There was a few seconds of silence, Warren looked at me and then down to the papers strewn about his desk.

"Fine, but I expect good things from you from here on out. No more slacking."

"Thank you! I promise I will." I rushed over, planting a kiss on his cheek before running out of them room.

I strut over to Ellie, not giving her any time to react as I take her hand in mine and march us out of the building towards her car.

"I guess that's a yes?" Ellie asked, a smug tone hinted on her lips.

"Let's get the fuck out of here." I smile at her as I open the car door.

Ellie does the same, picking a song before she reverses out of the parking spot.

The neon glow of the club's sign was fading behind us as we drove away, windows rolled down to let the cooler breeze of the night swirl around us. This felt like everything I could ever need, ever want. I was happy with just this. The only person who ever looked out for me, who ever cared about me is by my side. I felt safe and loved by her, not really caring if she loved me the same way I loved her.

"I'm sorry I left you." Ellie breaks the silence, turning down the volume of the music so she wouldn't have to yell.

"What? No, don't be sorry. You grew up and so did I. There's nothin' to be sorry about." My voice grew weak as I spoke. It hurt to be reminded that she wasn't a permanent person in my life anymore.

Ellie didn't know what to say to that. She felt the hurt in your voice as you spoke and of how you shifted in your seat. Ellie glanced at you from time to time in her peripheral, taking note how you were still in your 'work' clothes. She quickly reframed herself from starring too hard from how little was being covered.

You turned away from Ellie in the car as you looked out the window, feeling a sense of dread that the night was coming to a close and Ellie would have to leave in the morning.

I felt the engine turn off, an ear piercing silence followed as we both made no effort to get out of the car.

"You ready?" Ellie asked, her voice quiet and gentle.

I nodded, opening the car door and walking up the driveway with Ellie close behind.

Reaching the door, I took out my keys, holding them up to the lock as I took a deep breath, praying that the house was quiet and everyone was asleep or simply just gone.

I creep open the door, listening for any movement and when it felt safe I motioned the coast was clear to Ellie. I shut the door behind us, taking off my heels to prevent the clunking sound on the tile floor.

"Thank-fucking-god." I sigh, falling back into bed, looking up at the plastered ceiling of my room.

"I can't wait to leave and never see this stupid ceiling again."

Ellie lowers herself onto the mattress beside me and looks up to where my eyes fixated before looking down at me.

"Me too." Ellie said absentmindedly, eyes lingering over the skin on your lower stomach and chest.

"Can you bring me with you? I can sleep in your closet or something... people have pets that they hide in there dorms, right?"

I laugh to make it sound like a joke, but it wasn't.

"Trust me. I wish I could." Ellie bit her lip. She couldn't hide how seeing you so close like this and so exposed made her feel. How your breasts pooled over your bra, how the skin between your legs looked so soft and malleable.

I sat up and looked to Ellie when I noticed how her demeanor had changed. Her eyes, usually a bright green where now much darker, more intimidating. My eyes drift to her lips, slightly swollen and glistened from her spit.

Fuck.

I divert my eyes from her face, feeling slightly uncomfortable by how much my body was reacting to her. My thighs squeezed together, my heart pounding and I couldn't stop thinking how much much I wanted to kiss her.

That's when I look at her arms.

Her fucking arms.

The sleeves of the flannel she wore were rolled up to below her elbows, exposing the tattoo on her forearm. The veins in her hand were prominent, trailing upward to her long fingers.

"Fuck-" My inner dialogue slipped, coming out as a whisper.

"I mean-" I try to cover my ass, praying my horny fucking brain to come up with anything, but it was too late.

Ellie leaned forward, putting her arms on either side of me, forcing me to lay back on the bed.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" She asked, tilting her head to the side as a smirk grew on her lips. Her voice sounded different. Low and sensual, unlike I've ever heard from her before.

My breath hitched just from her voice alone, the heat building in my core as she hovered over me.

"Wha- what do you mean?" I stutter, confused and at the same time feeling the effects of the atmosphere change in the room.

Ellie leaned closer, dipping her head so she was inches from my face.

"Still wearing this." Ellie raised her hand, bring her fingers to the strap of my bra and tugging on it.

"Maybe I am." I said barely above a whisper, grabbing her wrist and guided her hand to my stomach before moving it upwards to my chest, encouraging her to touch me.

Ellie's face changed from lust to genuine confusion, eyebrows furrowed and she studied my face.

"This isn't funny."

I shake my head weakly, squeezing her hand that was cupped around my breast.

"I'm not joking, Els. I want you to. Always have."

I bring her hand up and kiss the back of it, making deep eye contact as I leave wet, and sloppy kisses to her skin.

Ellie held her breath as she watched you underneath her, so beautiful and so eager for her touch. Ellie couldn't hold back anymore, all these years of repressing her feelings for you were coming to the surface.

I look up at Ellie, making slow circular motions with my hips as I imagined how Ellie's fingers would feel inside and that was her breaking point. Ellie pulled her hand away, forcing mine above my head as she leaned down and closed the empty space between us.

I moan into her mouth, feeling her lips on mine finally after all these years of only ever dreaming about this moment.

Ellie's lips move sloppily against mine, her tongue grazing over my teeth and exploring the spongy walls inside my mouth.

Ellie breaks away and looks at me, panting slightly from the passionate kiss.

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes were wide, and her brows turned upward. A puppy dog-like expression on Ellie's face caused me to smile, seeing how hard she was holding back just to make sure I was okay.

I simply nodded, reaching up and holding her face to bring her back down to reconnect our lips.

Her hands roamed by body, squeezing my breasts tenderly, but firmly. I did the same to the little amount of skin I could. Lacing my fingers around her forearm, sinking my nails into the flesh.

"Can you take this off? I wanna touch you." I pull away from her lips out of breath, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

Ellie wasted no time, sitting up on her knees and pulling the flannel off her arms, tossing it to the floor.

I gawk at the sight of her as she pulls her shirt over her head, discarding it to the side in one swift motion.

Ellie's stomach was flat and toned, defined ridges that outline her subtle abs that led downwards into a 'v' above the waistband of her jeans.

I bit my lip as I watched, taking in the sight of her.

I bring my hand up and grip the loop in her jeans, pulling her down to taste her again.

I let my fingers slip into her waistband, touching the uncharted territory. Ellie pulls away before I could feel her further, a hungry look in her eyes as her impatience grew.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was low and raspy like pop rocks, igniting your mouth with its rigid edges and leaving a sweet coating on your tongue.

"I wanna feel you." I whine, reaching up to palm her breasts over her sports bra. Ellie let out a muffled whine from the contact, shutting her eyes as she felt me drag a nail over her harden peak.

"You're drivin' me crazy. You know that?-" Ellie says, letting out a low chuckle before weighing out her options.

"Only if I can feel you." Ellie says, negotiating with me as her hand hovered down my stomach, giving me goosebumps as her fingers trickled down the skin.

I nod enthusiastically, gripping the sheets beside my head tighter as I felt her hand palm my pussy, rolling the heel of her hand against my clit.

"Fuu- you're this wet already? I bet I can slip right in.." Her hand continued to grind against the thin fabric.

My back arches under her, swirling my hips against her hand.

"Mm- El... please." I moan, looking up at her with a pained expression.

"Please, what? Use your words, baby." Ellie said smugly, toying with me as she removed her hand, causing me to cry out from the lack of friction.

"T-touch me. I wan' you in-inside." I stutter over my words, my body wringing beneath her.

"Atta girl."

Ellie lowered herself once again, kissing me deeply, sucking my bottom lip before biting it between her teeth.

I feel Ellie's hand roam my body, tugging and gripping at various parts before she sipped her hand underneath my underwear. Her fingers skimmed along my folds, my slick coating her fingers before she circled around my clit.

My nails dig into the back of her shoulders, breaking the skin but not enough to make her bleed as she picked up the pace on my clit.

My lower stomach clenched and tensed, the heat pilling between my legs and I craved more.

"Ellie- empty.. I need you to fill-"

I was cut off by Ellie's fingers plunging into me over and over again as her fingers curled against my cervix with each thrust. Ellie paused, but only partially as she yanked down my underwear before fucking into me once more.

"FUuu mm-" I cry out, but it was muffled by Ellie's free hand covering my mouth, her fingers digging into my cheeks.

"Shh baby... you have to be quiet." Ellie growled into my ear before kissing the corner of my eye. Tears began to spill down my face from the force of her hand slamming against my cunt.

I nod as she removed her hand from my mouth, letting it fall to my throat as she gently squeezed it.

I bit the back of my hand, sinking my teeth into the skin as I held back my moans.

"Good girl... such a good girl-" Ellie cooed, placing the occasional sweet and delicate kisses on my face, which didn't line up with what she was doing to my aching core.

Wet sloshes filled the room along with my muted whines from behind Ellie's lips.

I felt a bubbling sensation rising inside me, my mind becoming fuzzy and blank. I felt like I had no control over my body, my limbs becoming stiff as my eyes roll to the back of my head.

"Els- I'm gonna-" I barely mutter, breaking away from her kiss as my head falls back, pressing deep into the mattress beneath me.

"Cum fr' me, baby girl." Ellie encouraged, her fingers slipping deeper into my cunt with each blow.

I squeeze her bicep, sinking my nails into the freckled skin. Occasional moans that I try hold back escape my lips, no thanks to Ellie. My jaw hung open as I lift my head to watch her fingers disappear then reappear inside me. I couldn't take it anymore, my head rolls back, my eyes shoot to the back of my brain as my stomach tenses, my hips rising with her fingers that continue to fuck into me as she rode out my climax.

I lay on the bed as my cunt continued to throb, taking deep and uneven breaths to try to calm the tingling sensation I felt all throughout my body.

The springs of the mattress creak as Ellie lays down next to me.

"You okay?" Ellie asked, sounding scared like a little kid that got caught stealing candy.

I roll my head over to look at her, her eyes wide and bright that how I always remembered them.

"Yes. I'm more than okay."

I turn my body to face hers, brining my fingers up to tuck a stand of hair behind her ear.

We lay there in silence for what feels like an eternity and I would I've been okay with that. Our hands danced over the skin of our faces, memorizing every curve and line.

"I don't want you to go." I said weakly, almost crying just thinking about her departure.

Ellie cupped my hand that rested on her cheek with her own, rubbing small circles with her thumb to the back of it.

"I know-"

I felt my eyes begin to well and I quickly try to blink them away, but it just made it worse. Tears fall down my cheek and my nose as I softly sobbed.

"Hey- shh.. shhh. It's okay." Ellie soothed me, pulling me into her. I bury my face into her chest as she held me. Her hand soothed over my head, patting it softly as she raked through my hair with her fingers.

I sniffle, pulling away to look at her again.

"I'll be okay. It's just- hard without you here."

Ellie's heart was breaking as she watched you crumble beside her. Your usual carefree and happy self was just a mask that you wore, a mask to make everything seem good and normal when that was the opposite of your life.

Ellie didn't want to leave you just as much as you didn't want her to leave. She couldn't stand the thought of not being able to take care of you, see you everyday and to have you within reach at all times.

Ellie took a shaky breath, unsure if what she was about to say was out of bounds.

"I've been looking at apartments off campus-"

My eyes lit up at Ellie words, confused at first, but equally as excited to know where this was going.

"And if... you want to come live with me in Houston-"

I pounce on top of Ellie, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence.

"Yes! Of fuckin' course I want to live with you!"

My voice became loud and high pitched from my excitement, planting kisses over her forehead and cheeks before I bring my lips to hers, kissing her harder and longer than I intended.

"Okay, okay.. easy there." Ellie laughed, pushing me away to catch her breath.

"I promise I'll get a job and I'll cook and clean-"

Ellie brought her finger to my lips, silencing my rambles.

"Don't worry about that shit, okay? I'm gonna take care of you." Her hand cupped my face, soothing her thumb over my temple.

I fall into her chest, holding her tight, and she did the same. Tears fell from my eyes, not out of sadness from her leaving, but from the happiness that every bad thing that I've ever gone through was going to be that of the past, and now I have something good to look forward to.

"Shit!" I throw my head up, leaving her chest.

Ellie tilted her head, eyebrows raised in confusion from my sudden movements.

"I didn't get to touch you."

Ellie laughed from the genuine disappointment in my voice, pulling me back down to kiss me.

"Don't worry. There will be plenty of time for that."

428 notes · View notes

stararch4ngelqueen · 11 months

Note

Hi!!! Huge fan and I hope you had a good day in your part of the world💗💗💗

I was just reading ur period comfort fic with jay and was absolutely inspired with this idea for an (unequivocally self-indulgent) new fic:

what if reader has intense pain on their period (like can’t stand, can barely move, everything hurts/aches etc.) and goes nonverbal when the pain gets too much BUTT reader and jay had an argument before he went on patrol and so reader feels like they can’t call him because he’s still mad at them so reader just sticks it out miserably by themselves. only until jay asks oracle to check on your vitals (because he’s a cute little worry wart and still cares a lot🥰) and sees that you’re heart rate and breath rates are wildly irregular and he rushes home (fuck batman he can finish the job himself HIS BABY IS #1) and sees you bundled up in the covers curled in a ball crying. comfort, apologies, and making up and caretaking ensues!!!

i’m so sorry if this makes no sense or it isn’t something you’re comfortable with (your comfort is #1 bestie)!!!! Also, feel free to modify in any way!!!

SENDING KISSES AND LOVE💅🏾❤️

It makes good sense!! I have no problem writing this ✨

I hope yours is going good as well! It’s a very under weather day for me, so I apologize if this isn’t what you were expecting! ❤️

—

Time written - 1:27 a.m

Tags: Period. Slightly broody Jason. Special guest star menstruation crustacean.

Part 1 in reference

—

Being miserable chased you around like a damn disease today, doing lots of more harm than good.

The kind of pain that left you breathless. An agony so severe you find yourself apologizing to any God that listened, mentally screaming at your body to give you a damn break. It was a miracle how you managed to make it from the kitchen towards your bed, forgetting to get your charging phone from the couch.

Sure, you had your watch. Yes, you had a device nestled in your end table drawer used for emergency calls. Wayne-Tech, Batman related stuff.

You didn’t use it. Either you didn’t have the strength, or too hot-headed, you didn’t reach for a button.

You believed it wasn’t going to be as bad. The cramps you’d get about a week prior before you start weren’t as painful this time. This morning had such high hopes, such high promises for a good day.

It was too early to think too highly about it.

Your body believed it would be funny to fool you, forcing you into this pathetic, crippling state shortly around ten. Rarely would you start at night.

You would’ve thought the blame belonged to someone else, anyone else other than what you experienced now. It felt like your insides were being torn apart by devilish hands, nearly making you ponder the urge to scratch against your own abdomen.

The room was normally cool, but your body was terribly hot. A peculiar shiver brushing down your spine, your susceptible body curled up in a pitiful ball along the mattress.

The house was quiet and empty, save for your choked gasps as you son through this horrible pain. You craved comfort, more comfort than any warm blanket could provide.

The biggest comfort you quietly desired more than ever wasn’t here. It was a miracle that the front door still clung to it’s screwed up hinges after being recklessly slammed shut.

You two argued over cereal, over which take out to get from what restaurant, over celebrity crushes. His side eyes were as dangerous as his criminal bloodlust, but they were always done out of amusing intent.

This time was different. You couldn’t remember when it started, recalling when it ended was now a painfully dulled blur in the back of your head. The argument was nearly verbally severe, with enough yelling to rouse the worry of your neighbors. If they even cared.

No one really does in Gotham these days.

You lay in your pitiful slump in bed for what felt like hours. In your distress, you weren’t aware of your charging phone going off in the living room. Your screen bombarded with texts and still ringing phone calls.

One of Jason’s few reliefs he had was through a distasteful crook on patrols, as violence was a great distraction. On such a slow start, Red Hood was left stalking with his own thoughts, dealing with his temper all alone in the night’s silence.

Just because he was stubborn now, doesn’t mean that he didn’t have his moments of clarity once he caught a break. He sent you a reluctant, one worded sent text at first before rushing on. He couldn’t help but shake off this suspenseful feeling though, like a tense dissatisfaction on his tongue. Was it guilt? Was it shame?

Did he feel sorry for what he basically caused? Did he at least wanna attempt to own up to it?

After ten minutes, he sent another text. Again, he sends another after seven minutes, then another around three. You weren’t answering them at all, which was a little surprising. You believed you held a distasteful quirk about answering texts too fast, which was what Jason adored about you, responding to him in under five minutes. Or ten at most if you were busy.

It always let him know you were never bored of him.

This only made that suspenseful ball in his gut grow a little heavier, so he started to call.

After about three calls, still you didn’t answer. Now that hall grew hotter and hotter.

It makes the most obvious sense that you were still angry at him, but the least you could’ve done was pick up the phone and cussed him out before abruptly hanging up. Or at the very least send his calls to voicemail after a ring or two, but that wasn’t the case,

The longer he stared at his rumbling phone screen, the worse his anxiety began to grow. Soon enough, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The Bats had an auspicious way of knowing if him or anyone else didn’t keep up their patrol routine. Jason put off this thought many times, giving less of a fuck now as he rushed home.

“Where the hell is your phone??” Came his booming question once he enters the bedroom, noticeably breathing a bit heavy from his rushed pace.

Upon your failure to answer in your trembling state, cowering under your blankets, you hear his heavy boots quickly approach the side of the bed. Opening your teary eyes, you see two milky mask sockets staring you down, still clutching his own phone in hand.

Jason would’ve questioned you over how many times he’s had to call, over how many texts he sent. He could’ve, but he didn’t.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice changed from roughly arrogant to gentle softness while pulling off his mask, relieving you of that annoying heavy breathing behind the barrier.

Because everything fucking hurts, asshole.

If you were still angry at him, it would’ve been a shouting match all over again. No, all that’s left now is physical and mental pain.

Without another word, he rummages through both your drawers looking for something. Cursing when he couldn’t find it, he turns towards the closet, reaching up ahead on the top shelves until he found what he was looking for.

He leaves the room, making your sensitive mind wonder if he had the gall to up and leave again. Especially knowing the debilitating state you were in.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The faint chime of the microwave echoed from the kitchen.

You wondered wrong.

Jason returns, pulling the blanket back just enough to expose your torso. Pulling up your shirt just enough, he proceeds to apply a warm, heavenly weighted plush stuffy along your tummy.

A chorus of euphoria washes of your tense body, your unknowingly clenched jaw finally relaxing. You whimper out in temporary relief at this beautiful sensation, the application of warmth promising a slow, eventual comfort that would easy your agonizing pain.

“When did you start?” He asks, but you don’t answer. More like you can’t, really.

“Can’t talk, huh?” His forehead slowly settles along your temple, exhaling through his nose. Pure blooded guilt mixed with cold hard sympathy in his system, making his heart beat heavily as he fully considers your pain.

“God, don’t pull an idiot move babe,” he murmurs against your cheek, his forehead settling along your head.

“That’s my job. You were right about that.”

You were stubborn, but not that hurtful towards the man you love. Unless he did something where it was really necessary.

Jason remained by your side until you were comfortable enough to sit up, never minding having to warm up the heating pad one more time. He doesn’t say much after his last words as he brings you a calorie rich snack and some pain medication, sitting idly by while opening a water bottle for you.

He gets you to a hot shower after the painkillers slowly prove they’re kicking in.

Fresh clothes were piled on the bathroom counter for you after the seething hot shower, consisting of one of his shirts and a pair of your old shorts you didn’t care much for.

Dinner, or an incredibly early breakfast, was one of your favorite cup noodles. Quick, hot and easy, so you could take a strong sleep medication and rest this horrible night away.

Jason by now was unbearably silent, too silent. Occasionally, he asked if you were okay or if the cup was too hot to hold while you slurped your noodles. Red Hood became a quiet, doting dog, keeping behind you as you shuffle to bed, still dressed in his gear.

It was only after you were settled back into bed in your much better state did Jason decide to finally relax, comfortable enough to take off his gear.

You were left watching as he turned around, pulling off his taunt, black shirt he wore under all that armor nearly every night. A faint hiss pushes through his nose as the fabric tugs on his freshly bandaged gash, just shy from his right shoulder blade.

“I didn’t mean it,” you exhale, tears dribbling over the bridge of your nose. “You’re not stupid, Jason. I didn’t mean it.”

He still keeps quiet, his head slightly turning as he acknowledges the pain you were still in. He doesn’t blame you for your anger, it just makes him feel more stupid for being mad at you.

He kept getting hurt, and you always took care of him. Sometimes, he kept getting hurt too much. You couldn’t help getting more and more worried for his safety while he chooses to shrug off the pain.

Now here he stood, with a wounded shoulder, wounded pride and a trembling girl needing his support now more than ever.

“Wouldn’t blame you if you did, sweetheart.” Jason sighs after crawling into bed beside you, making sure you remained ownership of all thick blankets.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, peering down at you with sympathetic eyes. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

Your heart nearly melts then and there, a lingering stress vanishing from your mind for now. That’s all you asked for out of the entire argument from earlier. You knew his job was dangerous, but all you asked out of him was to be more cautious about his surroundings, to not be as reckless.

You could only help bandage and kiss his wounds so much. You never minded, but him coming home with at least three harsh gashes from possibly infectious blades put a toll on your hormonal stability.

“That’s all I wanted,” you gently say in return, accompanied with a soft sniffle.

Jason smiles before scooting just a little closer, proceeding to hold you with his good arm. A content cloud of warmth invaded your area, keeping you feeling calm and satisfied as your tired eyes mindlessly trail along his silvery autopsy scar.

“You can forgive me later,” He muffles against your cheek, lacing your skin with various gentle kisses. “Get some sleep, Hood’s gotcha now.”

You close your eyes, hiding the dramatic roll that proceeded shortly after.

“Also,” he piques in his murmur, a hint of cheekiness invading his tone of voice. “Kinda know of other ways to help with the pain.”

“Jason.” You groan with a light grimace.

He smirks a bit, only growing from the faint crinkle in your eyes and refrained smile. Just the reaction he wanted.

—

Had to throw this in 🦀

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #dc jason todd #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd dc #if your mans don’t get you one of these #tf you doin with him

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floralcyanide · 1 year

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hiii love

dad’s best friend!cillian catching you throwing a party while you’re parents are away and he’s disappointed but can’t help himself when you make him a drink and ask him to stay

Cillian Murphy Headcanons

Dad's Best Friend!Cillian Murphy x Reader

masterlist

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

✺ you were absolutely not, under any circumstances, to have anyone over at your house while your family was gone. but of course, you got bored and invited your best friend over, who suggested having a small gathering. and this small gathering ended up not being so small in the end. you can't really say it's your fault, but then again, no one was supposed to be over to begin with.

✺ the party is in full swing by 11 p.m., and you're trying your best to keep the music down at a reasonable volume. but one of your friends, who's been drinking a little more than you, keeps turning it back up. you roll your eyes at him, and he just grins at you innocently.

✺ you're outside on your back patio by yourself, sitting on your wooden porch swing with a mixed drink in your hand. everyone else is inside, and you decide you need to get away from the loud and stuffy party. you're startled when your neighbor and your dad's best friend, Cillian, peeks his head over the privacy fence, "nice party you got goin' on." "shit, cill. you scared me!" you seethe, a hand over your chest. "you know you're not supposed to have anyone over, sweet girl." you roll your eyes at the nickname, even though your heart flutters a little, "I know. I invited my friend over, and it got... out of control."

✺ you offered Cillian the rest of your drink, which was a little stout, but that's how you made them sometimes. he doesn't even wince when he takes a sip, his tolerance fairly high naturally. "not bad," he says, "needs more vodka, though." "there's enough in there to knock out a horse," you snort. "you know you're in trouble right now, right?" you sigh at the older man, "yeah, I do. how does another drink sound? maybe you can stick around with me out here for a while? I don't wanna go back inside."

✺ Cillian reluctantly agrees, still scolding you for not listening to your family, especially your dad. you quickly go inside and pour a cup of Tito's before anyone notices you. slipping back outside, you hand the cup to Cillian and idle by the fence. "better," he smiles after taking a sip. "gonna stick around?" you ask. "maybe," Cillian chuckles. the two of you converse outside until after midnight. everyone has trickled out of your house, including your friends. you're relieved. "wanna come inside? I need company while I clean up." "sure. it can be your punishment to clean by yourself." you groan, "whatever, cill."

✺ after cleaning, it's nearing 1 a.m., and you're still nursing some alcohol in your hand. your family is still away for a few more days, and it's summer, so you have no responsibilities. so, why not? Cillian is next to you on the couch as you both watch a cheesy horror movie that's on tv, his arm on the couch behind you. you're sitting pretty close to him, and you inch closer as the alcohol warms your body. soon enough, you're nestled into his side and his arm is around you.

✺ Cillian looks at you, admiring your side profile as the tv flashes across your face. he reaches a hesitant hand up to your jawline, tracing it with his thumb. you turn your head to look at him, his line of sight right at yours. you nearly bump noses from the close proximity. Cillian glances at your lips and back up to your eyes, his hand that's behind you slipping into your hair. he lures you in, and you don't resist, having found your dad's best friend attractive since you could make sense of the word. you're old enough now to act on your desires, so you do. when Cillian's lips connect with yours, it's like magic. your hands rest upon his cheeks, keeping him engaged with your kiss.

✺ Cillian pulls away, "not telling your dad about this either, correct?" "absolutely not," you shake your head, and Cillian laughs before pulling you back in for another heated kiss.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy one shot #cillian murphy imagine #headcanon #headcanons #dad's best friend #dad's best friend!cillian murphy #dad's best friend!cillian #dbf!cillian #dbf!cillian murphy #dbf #dilf cillian #dilf cillian murphy #floralcyanide writes

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anonameisadditions · 2 months

Text

So You Want To Write #1 : The Amazing Digital Circus

In my work with the ever-impressionable and quick learning @mikiib, We often end up working with a particular dynamic on her creative projects, ranging from fanfiction to self-started fiction like our ongoing comic series, PARANOiD. She's a great artist, mind you- I wouldn't work with her if she wasn't- But our lives were spent very differently before we met; She chose a life of drawing, I chose a life of reading.

In this, I'm frequently put into the position of helping her make writing "sing" in the tune of what genre or media property she's drawing from. One of my many talents is my ability to quickly deconstruct and recognize the various influences a writer has taken from in a body of work, and The Amazing Digital Circus is one that I find a lot of people seem to misunderstand it's roots, and the kind of stories it's drawing from. To this, much-despised reader, I come to help, to scream from my digital soapbox the advice I would have needed a decade ago to write something properly.

THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS: Mr. Elison needs to stop watching PBS

Most casual fans of the Amazing Digital Circus would know that the Harlan Ellison short story "I Have No Mouth And Must Scream" is the conceptual well that ADC draws from. It's one hell of a starting point- for those unfamiliar, a brief recap- The last 5 humans on Earth are tortured and controlled by the A.I Singularity known as A.M, the maniacal, suicidally minded A.I. who, in realization of the inherent trappings of the microchip in his existence, chose to exert his frustrations on the global earth as a whole, leaving only these 5 to torment for the rest of existence as punishment for the sins of mankind.

... Quite a different story on the surface than ADC, no? But to engage with Mouth a surface-level retelling of events deprives the story of it's wit and candor. Harlan, as a writer, is a reader's antagonist- and his contempt for the people who read his stories is palpable.

youtube

Harlan professes, in this interview, an anger towards the concept of self-reverence- the idea that he, himself, is any more significant on this unholy thing we call "earth" than another person. Thus, he reacts to fans by despising them when they reject his jocular, irreverent sense of self as some kind of personal attack. This shows in his writing, if you consider how he views his typical set of characters. In "Big Sam Was My Best Friend", the titular Big Sam, a likable, if reserved teleporter in the far future of space travel is revealed to be a lout, a creep- A man who, when gifted the ability to teleport vast distances unbounded by energy or time, chose to spend his existence chasing a woman who hated him. In "Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes", we have Koster and Maggie: One a down-on-his-luck, pathetic idiot representing the average Vegas coin slot jockey, and the other, Maggie, a rage-filled prostitute who regularly John's for a sleazy mafia boss.

The marking of the Elison school of writing is to defy the status quo expectation of morality winning. Here, the characters are tragic figures driven by their own incompetence and lack of self-awareness- They continuously battle themselves, refusing the luxury and peace of the ordinary to try to shape reality to their will, and every time, reality bites back.

But what does this have to do with The Amazing Digital Circus?

HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE

In the pilot of Amazing Digital Circus, we get to know our selection of trapped souls with a unique lens of understanding that Pomni does not get- For her, these characters of the "Show" of the Amazing Digital Circus (I mean this in a meta sense- More on this later.) are strangers, who's cascading complexities will surely open up with time. But for us, the viewer, we exist beyond the 4th wall- We know we are watching a virtual play, in a sense, where we can expect that there is no dramatic spiritual transition in store for anyone- that whatever we discover will be building on the foundation of each archetype.

But what's unique to both Digital Circus and No Mouth is the reality that these characters know each other quite well- Too well, in fact. They have been trapped together for an unknowable amount of time- and with this knowledge, Pomni is played as the foolish interloper for expecting any more or better from each character.

In a "normal" show, Jax should learn a lesson from the Candy Castle plotline in the first real episode of the show. But in the Digital Circus, Jax CAN'T learn a lesson- because he's done this stupid song and dance a million times, and his reputation precedes him in the eyes of the rest of the circus. He is trapped, figuratively and literally, in his character- He is the cunty rabbit, in and out, because frankly, his own identity might be the only thing keeping him sane.

This is not to say Jax's character cannot change and develop in the space of the canon of the show, or in your own fanfiction writings- far from it- but you need to approach these characters with an understanding that they have been this way for a long, long time- much in the same way that the various psychotic behaviors of the trapped survivors in A.M. have been the same way for a long time, too. To maintain this status quo- this character's "stickiness" as a coping mechanism - is how the soul of Elison sticks through the Digital Circus.

Wait, a stuck Status Quo, with weekly adventures that, at this point, largely don't seem to affect the behavior on a weekly basis for most of the characters, in a bright and shiny animated environment? This sounds kind of like...

A Saturday morning kid's show.

No, Really: Hell IS other people.

This is the missing component people seem to miss about the Amazing Digital Circus- Its aesthetic, its connecting theme, its horror- it's all based on the simple, ironclad premise of a children's show.

Think about it. "People get stuck in a virtual world to solve problems each week meant to help teach them social and practical life skills" is a motif used in a variety of 2000's era CGI animated shows that would air on PBS and (Canadian Broadcast Cartoons). This is "ReBoot". This is "Jay Jay The Jet Plane". This is "Jane and The Dragon". The soft, pliable, safe consequenceless world of the Children's Cartoon is the A.M. Digital World that Caine has his "players" trapped in, much to their chagrin.

At first, this doesn't seem too bad- It's safe, for one. It's remarkably easy to exist in, for another- Food isn't an issue, beyond a simplistic pleasure behavior. There's no bathrooms, no need to sleep- nothing. But in this, the true hell arrives. Week after week, month after month, you continue to participate in "Games" meant to serve the same moral lessons you've heard a million times at this point, as the only break to the skull-fucking monotony of an existence trapped in a consequenceless space where nothing you say or do changes the reality around you. You are stuck in a padded room- where you cannot touch yourself, or others, or the world around you in a meaningful way. It is a gilded cage, that seeks to patronize you and break down your mentality to the point of acting like a monocentric character archetype for the education and entertainment of a captive audience of 12-year-olds with nothing better to do.

You can see how this changes a person's priorities, fast. In this, our Circus members choose to find relief in the only ways they can- with one another, in the only thing that CAN change- their feelings towards one another.

JAX becomes the cunty rabbit he is, because vexing his fellow players is at least some form of change and control for him that makes him feel empowered. Zooble refuses to participate, as their ennui and rejection of the concept of the show enables them to, at the very least, take a stance against Caine, their captor. Ragatha tries to remain optimistic and make the best of the bad situation, as maintaining a positive attitude lets her at least pretend she's making a difference. Kinger's cracked behavior of madness is him attempting to find meaning and test the boundaries of his own existence, as the oldest member of the Circus, in a attempt to break the tedium for himself. And Gangle is reacting with a massive victim complex- She makes herself out to be a pathetic, weak, spineless creature because she can't conceive of this reality being one she has to exist actively in, for she finds the whole effort futile.

Where does this place Pomni? Well, it's a search for her own meaning in the space of the Circus. She is still an "open character", meant to play the role of the Audience's fool- And the drama comes from us wondering whether she'll sink, or swim.

SO YOU WANT TO WRITE THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

This is the soul of the show, distilled to a fine, thin gruel- If you want to make your fiction "Sound" Like The Amazing Digital Circus, you need to marry two concepts together- The horrific behaviors of Harlan Elison's characters in their efforts to deal with the ways life has personally screwed them, and the soul-sucking mundanity of the weekly format of the children's television serial. You present the cast with an adventure each week, one that is definitely below their intended age level, and let them react to it with their individualized efforts to escape the mundanity of the circumstances, in their own way- Jax tries to make everything worse, Ragatha tries to play along, and Pomni is still freshly experiencing everything for the first time.

This is not to say you can't do MORE with these characters and the base premise- @hootbon does an excellent job recontextualizing the idea of weekly "shows" with the circumstances of the abusive ringleader of a 1950s-styled circus. But they seem to understand the narrative underpinnings of the TADC in this rewritten examination; The cast is chained to the premise, and can only act within the dimensions of said premise- and what they do with those circumstances defines them as a person.

If you liked this blogpost, Give it a reblog and a like, and don't forget to follow me for more media analysis and creative endeavors. Below, you can vote on the focus of my next entry in "So You Want To Write" series.

~ Yours Fallaciously, AN0N

#essay #creative writing #writing advice #i have no mouth and i must scream #amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc zooble #fanfiction #media analysis #on writing #write better #ANON #What should I write next #Youtube

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lvlyghost · 2 years

Text

Remember

Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You and the team go out for a drink. At the end of the night is just you and Simon.

Word Count: 800

Tw: fluff, kyle and soap get drunk, dad!price, that’s all I think(?🥴✨

A/N: idk what this is, i was bored and finished it almost at 1:00 a.m, maybe this is my poor attempt to make a story with ghost bc god i love that man, consider this a second part of i see you although it can be read as an independent one-shot. Please remember english isn’t my first language, corrections are appreciated ✨🤍🌟💕

Part 1✨

You smiled at the camera, closing your eyes and tongue sticking out, Kyle feigned seriousness and snapped the picture. The two of you bursting into laughter as he uploaded the story to his social media. On the other side of the booth Ghost remained stoic.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He muttered to himself, rolling his eyes at the sight of the two of you. You and Gaz were the youngest ones of the team and that meant hearing you talking about things he couldn’t quite understand or watching you do things on your phones that made no sense whatsoever.

Why did he even agree to come to the pub in the first place?

“I’ll go grab another round!” Kyle announced, not waiting for an answer.

“You should’ve stopped him Lt.” you spoke. “He’s had way too many of those.”

Simon didn’t even turn to look at the sargeant.

“He’s not my bloody problem.”

But deep down you knew he’d look after any of you even off-duty.

“Hmm. Last time I checked you stopped me from grabbing us those shots of tequila back in Mexico, remember?”

He does. But apparently you didn’t remember what happened that night.

And he’d keep it that way.

“You would’ve ended up choking on your own vomit, lightweight.”

You bring and hand to your chest, mouth hanging open. You can’t help it, you laugh. He’s just…

“Wow, thank you Simon. Anyway, Kyle could be the one choking on his own vomit if we don’t stop him n… where’s Johnny?”

Simon nods his head to the other side of the pub, Price is trying to get him out of the pub, completely drunk. Kyle comes back empty handed and offended.

“Apparently, the barman says I’ve had too much. Why don’t you grab some for us Lt.? You look just fine…”

“Alright that’s it muppet, you too.” Price is now grabbing Kyle by the arm and leading him to the exit before he can even say anything. It’s getting late and you know the Captain wouldn’t come back to get you nor Simon.

“And then there were two.” You smile. “Wanna get out of here?”

He inhales deeply and nods, standing up and offering you a big calloused hand to help you out of the booth.

You had always wondered why he was so kind to you. Ghost was known as this tall, broody and mysterious man that no one wanted to cross paths with. Dangerous and feared. He was easily a good foot taller than you and could break you in an instant if he ever wanted to. Yet here he was.

Offering his hand to you, looking down straight to your big doe eyes. You always thought he had a staring problem. When he was looking at you –especially now– like that, you couldn’t help but wonder if he at least felt the way you did, just a little part of him…

You absolutely adored how safe he made you feel. Recalling that day when he had followed you all the way to the armory after your failed attempt to dating this one guy.

“You alright there kid?” He asks, leading both of you out in the hot summer air.

“Mhm.” That’s all you offer, you wish you could say more. Wish you could say all the things you wanted to him. You felt silly. A silly girl with a crush with her superior. You had convinced yourself it’ll go away. Simon Riley wasn’t one to have romantic feelings he had told you before.

“That’s just not for me.” He had stated, firmly after a rather hard mission. Things had gone sideways too soon.

“How long have we known each other, sir?” You suddenly ask, walking down the street and to the barracks.

“Over a year. I don’t know, why are you asking?”

He knew exactly how long you’ve known each other he just had to act like he didn’t.

Shrugging you stare right ahead.

“I know I’ve asked before but uh, you ever think of settling down? Like finding a partner and having someone to go home to?”

“No.” His answer is blunt, and for some reason it makes your chest tighten. “Things like that don’t work for people like us.”

“Why?” You inquire so fast, turning your head to see him. “How do you know that? You’ve never…”

“I just do.” He grunts in response.

Maybe you’re imagining things now but you could’ve sworn he took a quick glance at your lips before looking elsewhere.

Still you playfully nudge his side after a few seconds of silence. If it were someone else Simon would’ve been furious.

“Never say never, sir.”

Somehow you find yourself smiling and Ghost knew, he knew that would be a problem.

If only you could remember what happened that night in Las Almas…

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recurring-polynya · 1 year

Text

So, a thing that is happening at my house right now is that the youngest Polynya decided she wanted to start watching Bleach. That's too much to unpack right now, the upshot is, I am rewatching Bleach. Yesterday, we got to the parakeet episodes, and I was enchanted by this little exchange here, as Chad is getting ready to throw Rukia at Shrieker:

As I'm sure you all know, I adore the peculiarities of Soul Society speech, particularly early in the series. The first place my brain went was @littleeyesofpallas 's post about how the four gates of the Seireitei correspond to the Four Auspicious Beasts. In this case, "the direction of the tiger" would be west, which is...not left, although I suppose if you were being a little dumb about it, you could say from the POV of the view, north is up, west is to the left? Feels like a stretch.

After a little googling, I found out that the "direction of the tiger" could mean a number of things. In kung fu, tigers are associated with forward movement. While I could certainly see the shinigami combat styles including that kind of terminology (not that we've seen any evidence of it), it does not seem like a particularly good way of telling someone how to aim. (Also, all the websites I found on this topic were mildly shady western kung fu schools, so please take that with the appropriate grain of salt)

I also saw a few astrology references, which at first didn't seem right, but what meant was using the animals of the Chinese zodiac as clock directions. This system was used in Edo era timekeeping, and I half-joking posited before that they use this system in Soul Society. In this case, the hour of the tiger is 3:00-5:00 a.m.. Keep in mind that this system segments the day into 24 segments, not 12, so 3-5am is roughly where 8 o'clock would be on a western clock (there's a diagram in that time-keeping post), which could reasonably be interpreted as "left", I think, if you consider "noon" to be "forward", although it seems like it would be a lot further left than the animation indicates. (Edit: I guess this is still west, if you were to line it up with a compass, which obviously makes sense, but I think it's more common to use clock directions for relative direction where as compass directions are by definitely absolute directions)

I didn't mention it, but the first thing I actually did after watching the episode was to dig out the manga panel.

It doesn't mention the direction of the tiger thing at all, so I assumed that there was some localization going on in one or the translations, although I have no way of knowing which. It does use clock directions, though (although 1 o'clock is neither 3-5am, nor is it left).

Anyway, my best working theory at the moment is that Rukia is giving directions in zodiac animal-based clock time, which the anime subs and Viz have chosen to localize in slightly different ways.

The reason I put that clip in as a video instead of a gif is so the audio would be included. I would love it if anyone who speaks Japanese, or anyone who has the manga raws wanted to weigh in further.

#bleach meta #bleach worldbuilding #i really hope it does turn out to be hour-of-the-tiger related #esoteric time-keeping headcanons my beloved

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according2thelore · 9 months

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2023 top five!

@preseriesdean thought it would be fun for artists/authors/creators to post their favorite five creations this year, and i agree! it can be anything: your favorite posts, fics, art, edits, fanvids, anything!

i saw some folks turning this into a tag game, so here are some tags! @deanwinchesterpregnant @dyed-red @mercette @crucifysam @weirdbrothers @togethertogethersoulmates @pookeenpie

if you end up doing it, pls tag me! i'd love to see y'all's works! :)

-lizzy

so in no particular order, here are the five fics i liked the best/am the most proud of!

considering that everything i’ve written on this account (240k words of it good lord) was published since february 23rd, i’ve got a lot to work with!

i was in the fandom back in 2012-2013 until 2016-2017, and when i rewatched it recently with some friends, i realized just how many words and feelings had been broiling since. i wrote a LOT for spn back in the day (not published, just for the pure joie de vivre), but everything on the ao3 is completely new since feb!

1. tell me, why are you still so afraid?

or, the "what do you want, sam?" fic. this one might be a surprise! it did moderately well, but i'm really happy with it! i love writing weechesters/pre-series, and i hope this fic did them justice! it hit a lot of points i liked, and i had so much fun writing it!! i'm proud of it! :)

2. you're pretty when you don't speak

or, sam's wife pov. i was shocked!!! aghast!!! frankly agog!!! at how much folks loved this one! i had the idea in the shower of all places, lmao, just the idea that wait, being sam's wife must be so lonely. it was not the usual fare (and written in second-person pov), so i was expecting it to gently and quietly flop. but no! i wrote this fic in two sittings at one a.m. the night before a paleopathology exam, so i'm shocked any of it was coherent in the morning. thank you, dear reader, if you interacted w it at all! :)

3. romans 3:10-11

ahh, romans. to other folks that write, this was one of those fics that scratched in my bones until i sat down and wrote it all out. does that sound pretentious? it was stifling; it was all i could think about. even now, i look back on it and feel like there are things that are missing, extended scenes and extra themes that i wished i had teased out. the response was overwhelming and positive and i'm so glad you lot liked it! if you ever want more...idk...lemme know...

4. we didn't get it right, but love we did our best

or, the Heaven fic! this one took awhile to make, and a lot out of me to do! it's the longest fic i've made this year, by a lot! the planning process was a lot of fun (even though charlotte was mostly asleep), and i even colour-coded themes and turning points i wanted to include. the sense of accomplishment when it was done was a great part of this year!

5. there's no such thing as a clean break, when your heart starts bleeding out

or, the stanford!era fic where dean bleeds out on the highway and decides to not tell sam about it. one of my favorite things to write is a character getting more and more out of it as they lose control (or blood), and this one was a fun challenge! i love stanford!era dean, because he's so mangled and angry and sad. i feel like that one tweet that william shatner posted where he said ELECTROCUTE HIM!!! this also feels the most like the things i wrote back in 2014, so it brings nostalgia :,)

this was WAY harder than i thought! i loved and was so proud of so much of my work this year! a top ten would be easier, but i'm happy with this list!

thank YOU for reading! :)

we are holding hands now and there's nothing you can do to stop it. y'all keep this up and we might even have to stare lovingly into each other's eyes.

#spn fanfic #spn fic #sam and dean #samdean #wincest fanfiction #wincest #wincest wednesday #2023 top five list #tag game

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thestupidhelmet · 2 years

Text

That ‘90s Show Ponderings

The fact Fez calls Eric his best friend on That ‘90s Show is another example of how little T9S’s creators (two of whom were two of That ‘70s Show’s creators and one of whom was a T7S writer) care about the source material (i.e. That ‘70s Show) and the meager amount of effort they put in to refamiliarize themselves with it.

While Fez definitely demonstrates an attachment to and affection for Eric on That ‘70s Show, they barely have any scenes or episodes where they truly connect. Their friendship is woefully underdeveloped. The two characters Fez has the closest bond with are Hyde and Kelso.

Until season 5, Fez considers Hyde his best friend. They have many storylines (often B stories) and interactions in episodes together during seasons 1-4 that establish their connection and develop their friendship

A flashback in “Class Picture” (4x20) shows us how Hyde, Kelso, and Eric meet Fez, and Hyde is immediately protective of Fez and offers him on-going protection, which inspires Fez to declare that Hyde is his best friend.

Once Hyde is paired romantically with Jackie in season 5, most of his significant storylines invovle her. Fez and Kelso are developed as true friends because of this new status quo, whereas before season 5, they are generally antagonistic to each other. By the end of the season, they’re clearly established as best friends.

While Fez and Hyde’s friendship is never forgotten in the later seasons, it’s no longer Fez’s primary platonic relationship for the rest of the series.

Never, though, are Fez and Eric depicted as best friends. They are friends because Fez is there (in the basement). He and Eric interact without much significance, except on rare occasion. We hear in “Trampled Underfoot” (5x21) about a phone call Fez makes to Eric at three a.m. to ask if they’re still friends, but this is a punchline adding to a theme of the episode about Fez’s neediness

“I’m Free” (6x05) is the only episode where Fez and Eric’s friendship is featured, but no growth in their bond occurs. It’s mostly jokes and a confirmation that Eric truly does care about Fez.

That Fez doesn’t mention Kelso at all in any of his That ‘90s Show episodes, or Jay -- Kelso’s son -- makes no sense. Fez would’ve very likely been Jay’s godfather. Once Fez’s romantic interest in Jackie dies in “Ice Shack” (T7S 3x10), they eventually become true friends in the later seasons (particularly season 7). Kelso, Jackie, Jay, and Fez all live in Point Place -- seemingly continuously (with maybe a few breaks) the last fifteen years (Point Place Time™).

The above paragraph again, begs the question as to why Red and Kitty have no idea who Jay Kelso is until the events of That ‘90s Show and act like they haven’t seen Kelso or Jackie for years. The series establishes that Fez has been Kitty’s hair stylist since he became one, and true to Fez’s nature he would’ve talked about Kelso, Jackie, and Jay -- since character-logic dictates he would’ve been involved in their lives (even if he weren’t Jay’s godfather).

All of this is to reiterate the point of That ‘90s Show being a canon-divergent AU continuation of That ‘70s Show. It couldn’t be anything else since its creators seem to have the barest of memories of That ‘70s Show and didn’t do the research necessary to refresh their knowledge.

The one exception is Red and Kitty’s relationship, and that’s thanks to Debra Jo Rupp and Kurtwood Smith knowing and caring about their characters (and Kurtwood making sure he and Debra Jo became executive producers of T9S so they’d have the clout to keep their characters [mostly] on-model).

Red and Kitty’s relationship is returned to canon in That ‘90s Show after That ‘70s Show introduced a boatload of character drift into their relationship in season 6 (catalyzed by Kitty’s menopause / self-medicating with alcohol storyline in season 5) -- to the point where their relationship in season 7 is almost not recognizable as the one from seasons 1-4.

#That 70s Show #That '90s Show #That '70s Show #Red x Kitty #Eric Forman #My Meta #My Essay #Meta #Essay #Fez #Michael Kelso #Steven Hyde #Jackie Burkhart

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cute-vomit · 11 months

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A small rant/question I have for the Yandere Visual Novel Fandom (?): Does Tate Frost really count as a Yandere?

Before you guys say anything about what happened to my headcanon thing, It kinda died out of me and I also fell out of the LMK series and I'm back into the Yandere Visual Novel Fandom (I don't know if it has an official name yet or not but I'm trying over here) and I honestly just forgot I had this blog. Also, this is longer than my lifespan so I hope you like reading nonsense.

Now on to what I was going to be speaking about, as a large fan of Scopophobia Studios myself and loving all the characters they've created in current/upcoming projects, I have noticed something. That would be the character Tate Frost, more specifically from his own game "Frost bite". I know the demo of the game had only come out or so, but I wanted to speak about it and see others' opinions.

I've played the game myself and really enjoyed it but from what we've seen of Tate Frost is that he doesn't really have any main attributes that could possibly make him a "Yandere" in a sense. I assume people just call him a yandere because he was made by Scopop or was just a horror visual novel, but when you really look into it, he doesn't seem to have a lot of romantic attraction in the game.

Firstly, Tate is seen as being a huge flirt, but the game itself says that he would call anyone "Sha" or any other small nickname, Secondly, being that he hasn't done much that could be seen as yandere behavior. He hasn't shown any romantic attraction towards Y/N and hasn't had any obsessive behaviors that could lead to it. The only scenario I could think of that might get a start of it would be when Tate (almost) killed Vic (per say for maybe talking with them?), and then proceeded to kidnap Y/N in the meatfreezer. I also don't know myself if this is canon or not due to the game "Purple" (another game by Scopop featuring Tate) and his own game that he is canonically Aromantic.

Then again, this is just another random rant I made up at 2:00 A.M. with some analyzing. I could be wrong due to only 1/4 or more of the game being out currently and who knows, Tate could slowly gain feelings for Y/N and get more "Yandere" or such. Though, from "Purple" being set 1 year into the future than Frostbite and seeing no sign of Y/N or Tate speaking of them, I personally think the game might just end in

Y/N escaping with/without Vic

Y/N being murdered/ possibly cannibalized by Tate

maybe they just die in the freezer man

#frostbite #scopophobia studios #tate frost #Vic Porter #yandere #horror visual novel #a rant i guess #i havent been on tumblr so idk how tags work man #purple directors cut #PURPLE #randall purpura #john doe #send help please

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dear-scheherazade · 1 year

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the threads that intertwine us

spike spiegel/faye valentine || introspection, slow burn, mutual pining, fluff

slow-approaching orbits and late-night revelations -- camaraderie is a slow flame you must learn to tend to. (or: spike and faye's observations about each other, and learning to let the other in.)

ao3: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3

——————————————————————————

“Do you know what camaraderie means?” “Vaguely.” “It’s like…a sense of connection between people who’re together often.” “Do we have camaraderie?” “...we live together, Spike.” “So there's something there, when you're not trying to kill me.” “This goes both ways, you know!”

CHAPTER 1: the strings pulled taut

Despite a mindless attempt to brush it away, Spike has developed a fixation with Faye’s hands.

If someone asked him when it all began, he’d argue there was no timestamp, then snarkily ask if you were a cop. Then, he’d turn his gaze to the worn-and-weathered sofa before him and watch the creases in the leather, considering what Faye would say about the whitened scars of his own fingers. In this feign of ignorance lies the truth: he may not know when the fixation took root, but he knows when he first laid his hands on the burgeoning stems.

It is two weeks prior, at a restless 2 A.M.. A wave of insomnia permeates the Bebop, and a semi-alert Faye stands at the stove, steam swirling from the pans to the exhaust hood and intertwining itself in her hair. Spike is leaning on the adjacent counter, idly stretching his arms every few minutes and contemplating offering his help. Much to both of their silent chagrin, they both keep their silence. Spike figures Faye’s focus has no interest in having her space intercepted. Faye figures Spike is too fatigued to lend her a hand.

Despite this, Faye will occasionally call his attention to fetch her an ingredient, and the fabric of his sleeves brush against the nylon of her jacket. Their orbits briefly collide in an unspoken tension, then retract with no delay.

Each time she asks, he shifts a little closer on the counter, peering over the gently-bubbling pot – she makes no visible objection. She hums a nameless tune that grows louder and more melodic as she stirs – he makes no audible objection.

(Blame any heat rising to their cheeks from the haze clouding the kitchen.)

He watches her pour coarsely-chopped vegetables into the steel pot and watches the deftness of her hands as she arranges a makeshift meal of amalgamation stew. Though it's the early hours of the morning and the moon is beginning to wean, she’s alert and fixed on her target – she’d claim it’s simply out of her own hunger, but the sound of Ed mumbling about something to eat half an hour ago proves her motives lie outside herself.

(Actions before words was how the ship kept itself running.)

They’re trapped in a never-ending cycle of living paycheck-to-paycheck, much to the chagrin of the crew who would love to eat something other than steamed broth and half-boiled noodles. But Faye knows how to take what she has and make it work – it’s that persistence that shines through her constant comments to chip away at the impermeable layers he’s wrapped his soul in.

(He keeps the door slammed shut, locks lining the perimeters – but there’s rust on the spindles wearing them down. He never quite knows if he has it in him to open them on his own accord.)

As his eyes linger on her dexterity, he wonders what the palms of her hands feel like. He’s felt wisps of them when she hands him a towel in the morning or spare bullets on a bounty (why does she own bullets for the Jericho to begin with?), but hasn’t made much sentimental contact with them. Not as much as he’d like anyways, as much as he tries to suppress the thought under a veil of irritation.

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

(He recalls what Jet said, once while he set his records to play as he read a novel, and Spike sat beside him in a half-awake slump.

"It's not what you're given, Spike – it's what you make of it. All of us have been hurt – I can’t deny that. But if there’s one thing we’ve all seen after you and Ed returned, it’s that the Bebop gives us a place to come back to. A place to feel safe.

This is so sickeningly sentimental that Spike aimlessly turns his attention to the geometry of the metal ceiling, but is reeled back in by Jet chiding him.

"If we don’t give each other some peace of mind, who will?"

Spike hums in vague agreement. “Right. What are you getting at?”

"You and Faye. Can't you give it a rest for one day?"

"What else am I supposed to say to her? She's always snapping at me."

"I know damn well that for every time you two have some cat fight, there's five times that she's fixing up your wounds, or you're buying her something for the road, or you two are laughing yourselves dry about something stupid."

Spike leaned his head against the wall, pensive.

Jet recognizes the silence, and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Give it a chance. Reign yourself in – you’re good at that.”)

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

There was a part of Spike, now undeniable by the time of Jet’s advice, that wanted to get closer to her. Physically, mentally, somehow, it was only further affirmed by his musings. It was golden and burgeoning and warmed his hands like a gentle flame, and he felt it pound in his chest like a steady drum as he watched her at the chopping board.

Spike and Faye had an undeniable sense of camaraderie that had developed (in her words), and so Jet's observations were nothing but the truth: the frequency of what Ed once aptly described as "two rain-soaked cats at each other's throats" faded into obscurity if either of them even briefly mentioned some kind of discomfort, let alone pain. They had grown accustomed to each other's frequent-flyer behavior for certain areas of the Bebop, adjusted to tastes and preferences they unconsciously noted, and found a shared taste for sardonic and ever-so-slightly raunchy humor (though they usually ended up the target of the other's jokes).

However, any indication of wanting something more tangible was shared in flitting glances and almost-flirtations that fizzled out as soon as the match was barely lit; this sparked both a frustration and a motivation.

He was so used to the thrill of the chase, the burning blaze of adrenaline stirred by love that this tender beckoning almost spurred a shock in him.

"Let me help you," he spoke, but the noise died in his throat.

I want you to feel safe enough to let me in. I don’t know how to get to you, but tell me how and I'll do it, I promise.

I'll try.

But that would require a mutual destruction of the chains and locks that lined his soul like the satin and lace lining her evening dresses, a part you couldn't remove without the ensemble falling apart.

(With a needle and thread and a stitch remover, he mused, perhaps he had a chance.)

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

None of them are tailors by nature – it's an acquired skill. When you believe yourself to have no future and then unbandage your eyes to be confronted with one, stitching up bonds becomes a pastime you catch onto quickly, one you enjoy more than you want to admit.

He wanted to bridge that boundary between the two of them with every loose string in his pocket.

With a clement two fingers – he imagines vividly – she would hold a stitch remover and hold the fabric close, eyeing each stitch with an air of skepticism but a willingness regardless. Pulling them out with eyes wide open, she’d catch extra thread on the remover and let out a string of curses. Regardless, she’d smooth it out and push forward – it’s that persistence that shines through, he notes, and it feels like he’s been here before.

Eventually she continues with a hesitancy, a fear that if she moves too impulsively, the dress would fall to shreds and perhaps she had no use as a tailor at all – what she picked up in the hope of creation could very well prove she had no use in forming bonds at all.

He wishes he could offer to remove the stitches, guide her with a gentleness and watch her hands rapid-fire like a machine. Fingers hovering above her own, he’d remind her to stop the string from tangling and take her time. Whether she was untangling her own fears or his, he couldn’t tell.

After all was said and done, he’d squeeze those unremitting hands and assure her that if anyone could break the chains of their past, it was her. The ever-tightening locks around his soul would collapse at last – through helping her open her heart, she would make her way into his.

(In another world, he could intertwine their hands, run his thumbs over her smooth acrylic nails, take in the curve of every callus and the angles of her palms splayed against his; and touch alone could convey the sentiment caught in the back of his throat –

– but that's just wishful thinking.)

----------------------------------- ♡ ♡ ♡ -----------------------------------

#cowboy bebop #faye valentine #spike spiegel #spike x faye #cowboy bebop fanfiction #viviafiction

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mere-christianity · 11 days

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Mere Christianity Podcast: Episode 3

Book 1 – The Law of Human Nature;

Chapter 4. What Lies Behind the Law

Let us sum up what we have reached so far. In the case of stones and trees and things of that sort, what we call the Laws of Nature may not be anything except a way of speaking.

When you say that nature is governed by certain laws, this may only mean that nature does, in fact, behave in a certain way. The so-called laws may not be anything real, anything above and beyond the actual facts which we observe. But in the case of Man, we saw that this will not do. The Law of Human Nature, or of Right and Wrong, must be something above and beyond the actual facts of human behaviour.

In this case, besides the actual facts, you have something else, a real law which we did not invent and which we know we ought to obey.

I now want to consider what this tells us about the universe we live in. Ever since men were able to think, they have been wondering what this universe really is and how it came to be there. And, very roughly, two views have been held. First, there is what is called the materialist view. People who take that view think that matter and space just happen to exist, and always have existed, nobody knows why; and that the matter, behaving in certain fixed ways, has just happened, by a sort of fluke, to produce creatures like ourselves who are able to think. By one chance in a thousand something hit our sun and made it produce the planets; and by another thousandth chance the chemicals necessary for life, and the right temperature, occurred on one of these planets, and so some of the matter on this earth came alive; and then, by a very long series of chances, the living creatures developed into things like us. The other view is the religious view. According to it, what is behind the universe is more like a mind than it is like anything else we know.

That is to say, it is conscious, and has purposes, and prefers one thing to another. And on this view it made the universe, partly for purposes we do not know, but partly, at any rate, in order to produce creatures like itself, I mean, like itself to the extent of having minds. Please do not think that one of these views was held a long time ago and that the other has gradually taken its place. Wherever there have been thinking men both views turn up. And note this too. You cannot find out which view is the right one by science in the ordinary sense. Science works by experiments. It watches how things behave. Every scientific statement in the long run, however complicated it looks, really means something like, "I pointed the telescope to such and such a part of the sky at 2:20 A.M. on January 15th and saw so-and-so," or, "I put some of this stuff in a pot and heated it to such-and-such a temperature and it did so-and-so." Do not think I am saying anything against science: I am only saying what its job is. And the more scientific a man is, the more (I believe) he would agree with me that this is the job of science- and a very useful and necessary job it is too. But why anything comes to be there at all, and whether there is anything behind the things science observes-something of a different kind-this is not a scientific question. If there is "Something Behind," then either it will have to remain altogether unknown to men or else make itself known in some different way. The statement that there is any such thing, and the statement that there is no such thing, are neither of them statements that science can make. And real scientists do not usually make them. It is usually the journalists and popular novelists who have picked up a few odds and ends of half-baked science from textbooks who go in for them. After all, it is really a matter of common sense. Supposing science ever became complete so that it knew every single thing in the whole universe. Is it not plain that the questions, "Why is there a universe?" "Why does it go on as it does?" "Has it any meaning?" would remain just as they were?

Now the position would be quite hopeless but for this. There is one thing, and only one, in the whole universe which we know more about than we could learn from external observation. That one thing is Man. We do not merely observe men, we are men. In this case we have, so to speak, inside information; we are in the know. And because of that, we know that men find themselves under a moral law, which they did not make, and cannot quite forget even when they try, and which they know they ought to obey. Notice the following point. Anyone studying Man from the outside as we study electricity or cabbages, not knowing our language and consequently not able to get any inside knowledge from us, but merely observing what we did, would never get the slightest evidence that we had this moral law. How could he? for his observations would only show what we did, and the moral law is about what we ought to do. In the same way, if there were anything above or behind the observed facts in the case of stones or the weather, we, by studying them from outside, could never hope to discover it.

The position of the question, then, is like this. We want to know whether the universe simply happens to be what it is for no reason or whether there is a power behind it that makes it what it is. Since that power, if it exists, would be not one of the observed facts but a reality which makes them, no mere observation of the facts can find it. There is only one case in which we can know whether there is anything more, namely our own case. And in that one case we find there is. Or put it the other way round. If there was a controlling power outside the universe, it could not show itself to us as one of the facts inside the universe- no more than the architect of a house could actually be a wall or staircase or fireplace in that house. The only way in which we could expect it to show itself would be inside ourselves as an influence or a command trying to get us to behave in a certain way. And that is just what we do find inside ourselves. Surely this ought to arouse our suspicions? In the only case where you can expect to get an answer, the answer turns out to be Yes; and in the other cases, where you do not get an answer, you see why you do not. Suppose someone asked me, when I see a man in a blue uniform going down the street leaving little paper packets at each house, why I suppose that they contain letters? I should reply, "Because whenever he leaves a similar little packet for me I find it does contain a letter." And if he then objected, "But you've never seen all these letters which you think the other people are getting," I should say, "Of course not, and I shouldn't expect to, because they're not addressed to me. I'm explaining the packets I'm not allowed to open by the ones I am allowed to open." It is the same about this question. The only packet I am allowed to open is Man. When I do, especially when I open that particular man called Myself, I find that I do not exist on my own, that I am under a law; that somebody or something wants me to behave in a certain way. I do not, of course, think that if I could get inside a stone or a tree I should find exactly the same thing, just as I do not think all the other people in the street get the same letters as I do. I should expect, for instance, to find that the stone had to obey the law of gravity-that whereas the sender of the letters merely tells me to obey the law of my human nature, He compels the stone to obey the laws of its stony nature. But I should expect to find that there was, so to speak, a sender of letters in both cases, a Power behind the facts, a Director, a Guide.

Do not think I am going faster than I really am. I am not yet within a hundred miles of the God of Christian theology. All I have got to is a Something which is directing the universe, and which appears in me as a law urging me to do right and making me feel responsible and uncomfortable when I do wrong. I think we have to assume it is more like a mind than it is like anything else we know-because after all the only other thing we know is matter and you can hardly imagine a bit of matter giving instructions. But, of course, it need not be very like a mind, still less like a person. In the next chapter we shall see if we can find out anything more about it. But one word of warning. There has been a great deal of soft soap talked about God for the last hundred years. That is not what I am offering. You can cut all that out.

Note -In order to keep this section short enough when it was given on the air, I mentioned only the Materialist view and the Religious view. But to be complete I ought to mention the In between view called Life-Force philosophy, or Creative Evolution, or Emergent Evolution. The wittiest expositions of it come in the works of Bernard Shaw, but the most profound ones in those of Bergson. People who hold this view say that the small variations by which life on this planet "evolved" from the lowest forms to Man were not due to chance but to the "striving" or "purposiveness" of a Life-Force. When people say this we must ask them whether by Life-Force they mean something with a mind or not. If they do, then "a mind bringing life into existence and leading it to perfection" is really a God, and their view is thus identical with the Religious. If they do not, then what is the sense in saying that something without a mind "strives" or has "purposes"? This seems to me fatal to their view. One reason why many people find Creative Evolution so attractive is that it gives one much of the emotional comfort of believing in God and none of the less pleasant consequences. When you are feeling fit and the sun is shining and you do not want to believe that the whole universe is a mere mechanical dance of atoms, it is nice to be able to think of this great mysterious Force rolling on through the centuries and carrying you on its crest. If, on the other hand, you want to do something rather shabby, the Life-Force, being only a blind force, with no morals and no mind, will never interfere with you like that troublesome God we learned about when we were children. The Life-Force is a sort of tame God. You can switch it on when you want, but it will not bother you. All the thrills of religion and none of the cost. Is the Life-Force the greatest achievement of wishful thinking the world has yet seen?

Chapter 5. We Have Cause to Be Uneasy

I ended my last chapter with the idea that in the Moral Law somebody or something from beyond the material universe was actually getting at us. And I expect when I reached that point some of you felt a certain annoyance. You may even have thought that I had played a trick on you-that I had been carefully wrapping up to look like philosophy what turns out to be one more "religious jaw." You may have felt you were ready to listen to me as long as you thought I had anything new to say; but if it turns out to be only religion, well, the world has tried that and you cannot put the clock back. If anyone is feeling that way I should like to say three things to him.

First, as to putting the clock back. Would you think I was joking if I said that you can put a clock back, and that if the clock is wrong it is often a very sensible thing to do? But I would rather get away from that whole idea of clocks. We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning, then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an about turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man. We have all seen this when doing arithmetic. When I have started a sum the wrong way, the sooner I admit this and go back and start over again, the faster I shall get on. There is nothing progressive about being pigheaded and refusing to admit a mistake. And I think if you look at the present state of the world, it is pretty plain that humanity has been making some big mistake. We are on the wrong road. And if that is so, we must go back. Going back is the quickest way on.

Then, secondly, this has not yet turned exactly into a "religious jaw." We have not yet got as far as the God of any actual religion, still less the God of that particular religion called Christianity. We have only got as far as a Somebody or Something behind the Moral Law. We are not taking anything from the Bible or the Churches, we are trying to see what we can find out about this Somebody on our own steam. And I want to make it quite clear that what we find out on our own steam is something that gives us a shock. We have two bits of evidence about the Somebody. One is the universe He has made. If we used that as our only clue, then I think we should have to conclude that He was a great artist (for the universe is a very beautiful place), but also that He is quite merciless and no friend to man (for the universe is a very dangerous and terrifying place). The other bit of evidence is that Moral Law which He has put into our minds. And this is a better bit of evidence than the other, because it is inside information. You find out more about God from the Moral Law than from the universe in general just as you find out more about a man by listening to his conversation than by looking at a house he has built. Now, from this second bit of evidence we conclude that the Being behind the universe is intensely interested in right conduct -in fair play, unselfishness, courage, good faith, honesty and truthfulness. In that sense we should agree with the account given by Christianity and some other religions, that God is "good." But do not let us go too fast here.

The Moral Law does not give us any grounds for thinking that God is "good" in the sense of being indulgent, or soft, or sympathetic. There is nothing indulgent about the Moral Law. It is as hard as nails. It tells you to do the straight thing and it does not seem to care how painful, or dangerous, or difficult it is to do. If God is like the Moral Law, then He is not soft. It is no use, at this stage, saying that what you mean by a "good" God is a God who can forgive. You are going too quickly. Only a Person can forgive. And we have not yet got as far as a personal God-only as far as a power, behind the Moral Law, and more like a mind than it is like anything else. But it may still be very unlike a Person. If it is pure impersonal mind, there may be no sense in asking it to make allowances for you or let you off, just as there is no sense in asking the multiplication table to let you off when you do your sums wrong. You are bound to get the wrong answer. And it is no use either saying that if there is a God of that sort-an impersonal absolute goodness-then you do not like Him and are not going to bother about Him. For the trouble is that one part of you is on His side and really agrees with His disapproval of human greed and trickery and exploitation. You may want Him to make an exception in your own case, to let you off this one time; but you know at bottom that unless the power behind the world really and unalterably detests that sort of behaviour, then He cannot be good. On the other hand, we know that if there does exist an absolute goodness it must hate most of what we do. That is the terrible fix we are in.

If the universe is not governed by an absolute goodness, then all our efforts are in the long run hopeless. But if it is, then we are making ourselves enemies to that goodness every day, and are not in the least likely to do any better tomorrow, and so our case is hopeless again. We cannot do without it. and we cannot do with it. God is the only comfort, He is also the supreme terror: the thing we most need and the thing we most want to hide from. He is our only possible-ally, and we have made ourselves His enemies. Some people talk as if meeting the gaze of absolute goodness would be fun. They need to think again. They are still only playing with religion. Goodness is either the great safety or the great danger-according to the way you react to it. And we have reacted the wrong way.

Now my third point. When I chose to get to my real subject in this roundabout way, I was not trying to play any kind of trick on you. I had a different reason. My reason was that Christianity simply does not make sense until you have faced the sort of facts I have been describing. Christianity tells people to repent and promises them forgiveness. It therefore has nothing (as far as I know) to say to people who do not know they have done anything to repent of and who do not feel that they need any forgiveness. It is after you have realised that there is a real Moral Law, and a Power behind the law, and that you have broken that law and put yourself wrong with that Power-it is after all this, and not a moment sooner, that Christianity begins to talk.

When you know you are sick, you will listen to the doctor. When you have realised that our position is nearly desperate you will begin to understand what the Christians are talking about. They offer an explanation of how we got into our present state of both hating goodness and loving it. They offer an explanation of how God can be this impersonal mind at the back of the Moral Law and yet also a Person. They tell you how the demands of this law, which you and I cannot meet, have been met on our behalf, how God Himself becomes a man to save man from the disapproval of God. It is an old story and if you want to go into it you will no doubt consult people who have more authority to talk about it than I have. All I am doing is to ask people to face the facts-to understand the questions which Christianity claims to answer. And they are very terrifying facts. I wish it was possible to say something more agreeable. But I must say what I think true.

Of course, I quite agree that the Christian religion is, in the long run, a thing of unspeakable comfort. But it does not begin in comfort; it begins in the dismay I have been describing, and it is no use at all trying to go on to that comfort without first going through that dismay. In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one thing you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth- only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with and, in the end, despair. Most of us have got over the prewar wishful thinking about international politics. It is time we did the same about religion.

To be continued in episode 4, based on the works of CS Lewis.

A Christian apologetical book by the British author C. S. Lewis. The book consists of four parts: the first presents Lewis's arguments for the existence of God; the second contains his defence of Christian theology, including his notable "Liar, lunatic, or Lord" trilemma; the third has him exploring Christian ethics, among which are cardinal and theological virtues; in the final, he writes on the Christian conception of God.

#Mere Christianity #Christian #Christ #Jesus #Christianity #podcast #CS Lewis #doctrine #God #book #devotional #catechism #ecumenical #non-denominational #non-sectarian

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