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bitchybutcher · 3 years

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Texts I sent a friend the first time I watched The Boys, Season 1:

- HERE WE GOOOOOOO

- Butcher has said approximately 5 words

- I’m already dead

- I should not be this turned on by such a fuckin maniac

- Oh ok so Homelander digs a mommy domme

- Ok no but Annie needs a hug. She needs to be protected at all costs

- Why is Hughie only hot covered in blood?

- Deep needs to choke on a bag of dicks but also he’s an insecure baby who wants to feel important

- I love Frenchie. I have nothing else to say about him I just love him

- Butcher needs to stop saying things. Every time he opens his gob the fanny flutters get worse

- I like this Mister Milk guy

- Oh ffs Homelander is legit jealous of a baby

- This subby bastard needs to go on fetlife or the femdom subreddit and get himself an actual mommy domme

- Poor Hughie in the middle of this domestic between Frenchie and the Milk guy

- FUCK Butchers chest looks good in this episodes shirt

- Frenchie you perv no of course no cameras in toilets

- OH his name is Mothers Milk not Mister Milk

- The Maeve actress looks really familiar imma have to google to find out what else I’ve seen her in

- Ohhhh Homelander is insane insane

- I mean he’s pretty, and he’s hilarious, but WOW

- He’s a lil off on the crazy/hot scale

- WHY ARE THEY WATCHING ATRAIN GET HIS TOES SUCKED

- WHY ARE THEY WATCHING

- Ohhhh no Atrain is a using BASTARD GIRL BEAT HIS ASS

- Welp imma be listening to Butcher say “we’ve gotta get some” on a loop for days

- Maeve is so sick of Homelanders shit

- Yup I’m shipping Hughie and Annie hard. They’re so adorable and they both really just need a hug

- WHY DO THEY KEEP WATCHING THIS DRUG WOMAN DOING SEX THINGS

- Well episode 4 is officially my favourite:

He said my name

He sleeps nude

BUTCHER BUM

- Oh ok so Deep is actually just a soft baby

- He’s in therapy omg

- He needs a hug

- HIS NAME IS KEVIN

- And he loves dolphins and he’s lonely oh man why am I feeling bad for this douche he assaulted Annie

- Hughies phone beeps and immediately the guys are like “he got texted by a girl, look at his face, has to be”

- Oh Frenchie is a subby boi too apparently

- WHY ARE THERE SO MANY SUBBIES IN THIS SHOW I WANNA HUG THEM ALL

- Kevin and his soft spot for dolphins is melting my heart this kid just wants to do good things and he really needs a cuddle

- They’re on a bowling date oh my god they’re too precious

- KEVIN STOLE A DOLPHIN IN A VAN

- KEVIN IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN AND ALSO GETTING ARRESTED

- Oh dude I’m such a slut for Butcher this isn’t even funny

- Homelander is insane and I adore that but also I’m LIVING for Maeve’s facial expressions when he’s on his bullshit

- Frenchie is such a sweetheart with his lil home cooked meal and setting her cutlery properly

- I feel bad for the female

- Why does Hughie only have one jacket

- Oh boy the Jesus nutters festival

- Ngl the stretch Armstrong fella is kinda attractive

- “You’ve done a murder, comparatively speaking, blackmail is a piece of cake”

- Girl help I’m in love with a fictional unhinged angel muffin

- I WANNA KNOW WHO’S BEHIND THE FLY THAT KEEPS BUZZING AROUND THEM TOO CLOSELY

- Shapeshifter? Some kind of Antman type person??

- More importantly how do I find a genie to make Butcher real cause no joke I love him

- Oop Toni’s kiwi accent slipped out when he said mayonnaise

- Homelander is the neediest little subby bitch boi I swear to fuckin god

- HUGHIE WITH THE GAY BLACKMAIL

- Ooooo something shady with Becca…tenner bets it’s something to do with Homelander somehow

- OH SHIT IS MAEVE A LESBIAN

- Ok so I adore Kevin the Deep. He’s comfort eating junk food and looks like he’s been crying cause of the dolphin

- Aww Annie standing up for herself

- OH NO SHE’S CALLING OUT SAD KEVIN THE DOLPHIN SQUASHER

- Oh wait no ok she didn’t actually say who it was

- I don’t know why I feel protective over Sad Kevin but he’s so sad and he’s so bad at doing good but he’s trying and dear lord he needs a cuddle

- Hughie clapping Annie after she basically told them all to fuck off 😂

- THEY’RE TURNING BABIES INTO SUPERS

- LASER EYE BABY

- ANNIE AND HUGHIE FINALLY GOT TO HUG

- Butcher just weaponised a baby. What. Like it was a little gun

- Homelander is NOT getting horny cause Stillwell called him a bad boy and started mommying him OMFG

- And now she’s calling him her good boy with her shirt open

- Subby boi and his mommy domme I FUCKING CALLED IT FROM THEIR FIRST SCENE

- CRAZY SILENT LADY IS A WOLVERINE WHAT

- Bitch got gutted then just like eh no big lemme just knit my internal organs back together

- YES ANNIE TELL STILLWELL WHERE TO STICK HER SHIT

- Awww Kevin tryna do good again he’s so cute

- A DUDE GOT HIS DICK FROZEN OFF WHAT THE FUCK

- Kevin is so bad on camera oh dear

- He’s trying to apologise and he’s so bad at this

- Who and what the fuck is Black Noir

- IT’S THE I SEE DEAD PEOPLE GUY. HE’S THE MIND READER PERSON THAT’S AMAZING

- Awwwwwww lil baby Homelander

- They need to stop making me feel fuzzy over dickheads

- Kimiko trusts Frenchie this is precious

- Jamming out to the end credits song is one of the best parts tbh, the soundtrack is boss

- I feel so bad for Kevin

- He’s been exiled to Ohio and he’s sad

- They didn’t even give him a plushie dolphin to cuddle

- I’m rooting so hard for Hughie and Annie, this had better work out for them

- WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING TO KEVIN

- GILLS AREN’T FOR FINGERING

- Oh what I’d give to have Butcher stalking menacingly after me in a train station

- Sixth sense guy doesn’t know how lucky he is getting cornered in a bathroom stall by the hottest psychopath on tv

- Yeah I’d let him smash me on a sink any day

- Oh no not more Sad Kevin

- Traumatised baby needs someone to mind him

- BUTCHER SHOT ANNIE?!?!?!?

- Oh god Homelander in Syria this can’t be good

- BOBBY FROM SUPERNATURAL????

- Aaaaaand more Sad Kevin

- Yeah I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s doing the full breakdown shave

- Oh no sad Annie

- Atrain is gonna do himself an injury

- Black Noir is hilarious even though they don’t say anything and have no face

- Soooo he admits to creating supervillains behind her back, and she tops him? As reward??

- This bish does remember what happened to Becca, right? Demon spawn clawing out of her

- Frenchie and MM bonding in captivity 🥰

- Ooooh conflicting stories re Homelanders baby

- Not Hughie going in all badass and immediately getting creamed 😂

- The retainer! Hughie is a genius

- I mean he’s a dumbass

- But so smart

- Hughie: *firing machine gun* I’M SORRY I’M SO SORRY

- YES ANNIE!!

- SAVE YOUR SOFT DUMB DUMB BOYFRIEND AND HIS BUDDIES

- Uh oh

- Roided up Atrain

- Oop heart attack

- Oh fuck he melted her face

- OH SHIIIIIIT

- Butchers hurt little face nooo

- Oh ok season 1 is over

- …it’s 5am

- Aaaaand I can see daylight

- I’m very tempted to just pull an all-nighter and watch season 2

- But bed also sounds nice

- I think bed

- Dream of Butcher

#theboys #theboystv #theboysmemes #theboystextposts #yes this is insane I know #it was the middle of the night ok #don't judge me pls #literally the only thing I knew before watching was that Karl Urban plays Butcher #yes I feel bad for my friend waking up to all that #but she thought it was funny #I'm a shameless ho for Billy Butcher #season 2 is coming next

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crearuru · 3 years

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Bravely Default II, Martha x Adelle Chapter 1?

Spoilers for Chapter 3 through the end of the game chapter 6. Word count: 3,113. A lot. Like a lot. I'd count but tumblr wont let me copy paste the whole thing at once and its 4 am

Everyone knows Rhimedhal's winters are colder than the deepest ocean, and that the freezing winds could cut with a fury matching the most skilled skilled of mages. Of course, reading about it was one thing, but to a certain fairy from as sheltered and temperate an environment as Mag Mell, the thought to dress properly for the cold came far too late.

I knew it would be cold, but this is just ridiculous! If my wings were out they'd freeze before I could even get off the ground... Adelle pondered if keeping her disguise intact was worth the freezing cold. Surely, no one being around would allow her to drop her guard... but could she ever truly know who was watching? She'd set out to find her sister knowing she would need to lay low, but dressed for warmth as she was, and with such low visibility, she admitted she desperately needed shelter. She couldn't risk alienating herself from any nearby humans who might spot her braving the storm.

Even the monsters are hunkered down, she thought bitterly to herself. And where was this Rhimedhal town supposed to be, anyways? Surely she should've reached it by now... But she had to keep moving. Had to find somewhere to rest. The wind buffeted her, the ice it carried leaving shallow slices across her exposed midsection. The blizzard had arrived so suddenly, and her memory of the beautiful, gentle snowy night that it interrupted was far from a priority now. Leaving the Wayward Woods was something she needed to do, for her sister, but it was too late to return and beg for more supplies. She wondered how she would ever find those flowers she promised to bring back for her dear friend if she froze out here.

Is that... A cave? A section of darkness ahead, when the blinding white snow clung to everything else brought Adelle's heart a renewed vigor. She would not fall so soon into her journey, not to something as simple as the weather. As she tucked into the Serpent's Grotto, she lit a small fire and set up a tent. She would need to hunker down until the storm passed, which could take anywhere from hours... to weeks. As she regained feeling in her extremities, she realized the wind would blow out her fire if she did not go deeper.... and monsters within the cave may ambush her if she did not take caution. But first... she needed rest. Just an hour or two, and she would be fine. She wasn't in direct path of the wind, for she was behind an outcropping in the cave. She had some time to recover before pressing on.

And so, Adelle slept. Cold, hungry, and exhausted... But not alone. She dreamt of brown hair, of eyes locked upon her with a determination that matched her own, of flashes of silver and pink just out of the fire's light...

And the subject of these dreams knew she was there. Martha had asked Master Gwidyion if someone was coming, and he more than confirmed it. But was the stranger friend, or foe? That is what Martha set to find out. As she prowled the Grotto, her jaw firmly set, her eyes sharp and focused, she wondered if this visitor understood the ground upon which they trespassed. Were they here for the Lord of Dragons? To help? To harm? Master Gwydion had been sick for a while, and Martha worried he may not have much time left. Gwilym was next to inherit the position, but he was young. Needed time. Martha had served Master Gwydion for most of her life, as did her father before her, and his father, and so on. To neglect opportunities to extend his time on Excillant would just not do.

Having taken care of a few troublesome spirits, Martha reached the entrance to the cave. She saw a gray haired girl, in blue and grey, around her age, who she was surprised to see had not succumbed to the cold. Wearing a short shirt and loose pants in a blizzard? Sure, Martha wasn't exactly the picture of bundling up right now, but that was the result of the Dragoon asterisk! She wouldn't leave her midsection exposed to the cold if she weren't the Dragoon guardian, especially not going out into the blizzard full force. Looking closer, she noticed the girl was cut up something awful. The ice in the air had done quite the number on her face and torso. Foe or not, Martha knew she wouldn't likely make it without treatment. Not without some severe frostbite, at least. Eyeing the girl curiously, she picked her up and set her upon her broad shoulder. They would both do nicely with a warm cup of the good stuff in Gwydion's chambers. Then maybe she could ask about the intent behind her trespass.

Adelle opened her eyes to a brightly lit room, filled with greenery, sunlight coming in from the top of the chamber. It was so... warm. She smiled for a moment, content and warm, before feeling the bandages upon her face and stomach.

"Where... Where am I?" Adelle wasn't really expecting an answer, but she heard a calm, regal voice echo in her head.

"You are safe, child of... No? How very... interesting..." Looking up, Adelle saw a massive, silvery dragon, looking down upon her with piercing, yet gentle, red eyes. He seemed almost to take up the whole chamber, and yet he did not feel imposing. The weariness in his voice softened his aura considerably. Her mouth agape, she patted herself along her upper and lower back, wanting to ensure her wings were still hidden. After reassuring herself she would have felt herself revert to her true form, she turned her gaze back to the dragon. "Are you a..."

Martha, piping up from beside the massive beast, let out a quick laugh. "A dragon? Why yes, he is. This is Master Gwydion, and I am his guardian and caretaker, Martha." The brunette smiled, and despite the protective aura seemingly emitting off her, it was a kind and sincere one. But there was an edge to her voice as she continued, "You are trespassing on sacred ground. None are permitted here, in order to keep Master Gwydion, Lord of Dragons, Lord of Rhimedhal safe. State your business, or I'm afraid my act of bandaging your wounds may go to waste."

So it was Martha that bandaged these... Adelle idly traced her fingers along a particularly long stretch of red on her bandaged torso. She must have got cut up worse than she had thought from that ice. "I thought dragons were supposed to be creatures of myths to-" she caught herself. She did not want to find out if humans still carried murderous intent towards her kind. She had heard they would lie, cheat, betray and attack. But this one had bandaged her wounds...? "I thought dragons were supposed to be creatures of myth."

Gwydion's laughter rang through the chamber. There was no malice in it; it was a laugh like that of one who has reconnected with a long lost friend. "I am not the only one here who could claim connection to myth! But, I shall keep this secret for the time being."

Shit, Adelle thought, he's onto me. But at least... she turned her head to look at the woman beside the massive dragon. She definitely appeared to be human. The village fairies had told her that humans had "genders"; "males" were broad and deep of voice, "females" supposedly higher and... Well, there were many differences purported between the two. Adelle observed Martha's strong arms, her tender grip on her spear, the sparkle in her eyes. She couldn't see anything that would help her confirm or deny the accounts of the village fairies. "Men" were "he", "women" were "she"... Maybe asking along those lines would help her keep things straight for maintaining cover.

"Martha?" The brunette looked deep into Adelle, unblinking pools of emerald green. There was caution given towards the fairy in disguise, although she of course had no reason to believe Adelle was anything other than human. Rather, she suspected her motives for coming here. Perhaps there may be something she could do to-

"Martha!"

Martha snapped out of her brainstorming of ways to prove good or ill will for a moment. Her gaze had been returned this whole time.

"Yes?" She asked Adelle through her teeth. Surely no one would come to kill the Lord of Dragons without so much as a winter coat, right? But that brings up the question of what kind of person could make it this far into the Rhimedhal region without freezing to death or prepping properly. The girl's fortitude was certainly-

"Are you-" Adelle caught herself. She needed to phrase this in a way that wouldn't make her look like someone who doesn't know what a "woman" is. "What are your pronouns?"

Martha took a moment to process this. Just what kind of girl gets all cut up in the ice and wind, collapses on sacred and forbidden ground, gets brought to see a dragon, a DRAGON, a deity on earth, and takes the time to ask someone's pronouns before addressing any of the above! Was she trying to strike a nerve? Had she simply forgotten to shave? Martha knew the Dragoon outfit might make her look like a tryhard, some had gone so far as to whisper she was a... a... there were some rather unkind statements going around about her appearance since she'd been dressed in Dragoon, but she was a priest! ....a priest... Right. And should priests not assume sincerity until proven otherwise?

Martha took a breath, then let out a long, slow exhale. "I appreciate your consideration in not assuming. It's quite... modern of you. But, as I've drilled into the townsfolks' heads already, I am a woman. She/her is fine... What about yours? And your name? I can hardly dance around saying it forever."

Adelle was no better off than she had been before. She knew fairies couldn't tell men and women apart, but had she commited a faux pas? Maybe humans and gender weren't so straightforward as the texts implied. Gender was certainly seeming more and more to be more trouble than it was worth. She looked herself over, then at Martha. They both had similar figures, would it be a mistake to use she/her as well? Fairies had "Queens", and "Ladies", which texts about humans her sister Edna had shown her seemed to line up with she/her. She'd planned to go by that set since she set out, but seeing a human be so testy about it was giving her second thoughts.

"My name is Adelle. I am... also a woman. She/her is what I use as well." Phew. Nailed it. Martha's face had softened, and her cover wasn't blown.

Martha was perplexed. Something about Adelle's response gave her pause, but she was at least glad that she hadn't been incorrectly assuming. Those who live in Dragon's Grotto should not throw stones.

"So, Adelle... What business leaves one so woefully unprepared for the cold as yourself frozen half to death on the Lord of Dragon's doorstep? Why didn't you go to town first, or button up?"

There it was. Her first test of her cover story. Heavens only knew how the human would react if she found out Adelle was a fairy.

"I'm... A travelling mercenary. I'm looking for my sister, Edna. She ran off from our hometown, and stole some... very important town heirlooms. Leaving town is not something one normally does, but I needed to track her down. I need answers."

That should be good enough for Martha, right? Adelle stared intently at her, just waiting to see how she took the bait. She hated lying, but... There was a lot more in her future. She would just have to suck it up. She noticed the light shift as she looked over Martha, the twinkle gleaming off her armor, the tail protruding from her back that swayed as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, the tone to her voice that reminded her of the wind through holes in trees, or water running down the river, the way her emerald eyes looked like the bottom of her favorite crystal clear, mossy lake. She looked so much... prettier, than she expected humans to be. Humans were supposed to be scary, and while this one had indeed made implications of a threat, she had not attacked. She had even bandaged Adelle's wounds...

"Adelle, are you listening?" Adelle snapped out of her trance. "What, Martha? I just responded, d-didn't I?"

Martha shook her head, her long brown hair falling in front of her face, obscuring a soft grin. "I said, what hometown would leave you unprepared for the cold? You could have frozen to death."

"We're... An isolationist town. Not on any map. We stay in one place, so I was not expecting the cold to be so... Penetrating. Reading about it is different than the real thing.

"What do you mean, reading about it? Have you never seen snow before?"

"No, I'd only ever read about it."

Martha's heart sank for the poor girl. The snow and cold were bitter, and deadly if not respected, but to live a life without snow... Without seeing the mountains in spring, as the snow atop the permafrost melts and feeds small rivers... It simply would not do.

"That settles it. As soon as this blizzard ends, I need you to do me a favor."

Adelle hesitated. She really needed to get back to finding her sister. There's no telling what could go wrong if she couldn't track down the asterisks. Though, Martha's outfit seemed familiar somehow...

"I need you to go east, and collect some herbs for Master Gwydion. His health is fading, and these herbs can extend his time left on this plane. But if you bring them back, we will each bestow upon you a favor.

Gwydion spoke, softly but firmly: "I believe I know the service you wish me to provide, Martha. I can provide it. Adelle, if you can bring me these herbs, I will have enough strength left in me to scout for the potential whereabouts of your sister. There are some familiar feelings your presence brings that reminds me of Martha. I'm certain your sister will provide that same trace."

Martha was unsure of the "energy" her Master was talking about, but she did feel an attachment to Adelle. She was quite pretty, yes, but it was more than that. Her asterisk... Adelle and the Dragoon asterisk both gave Martha a sense of.... she.... she couldn't find the words for it. She had guarded Gwydion for years, for juuuuust under a couple decades, even, but the Asterisk was a recent acquisition. The Archbishop had given it to her just a half year ago, and it had given her a sense of self that mere satisfaction with one's purpose could not.

"Master Gwydion is correct, for the part I know he can provide. But I have something to provide as well. If you retrieve the herbs we need, I will show you a beautiful sight. You must see the snow from the way I can see it."

Adelle was confused. The way she could see it?

"And until the blizzard dies down... I hope you don't mind me offering, well, your own offering, but i rummaged through your tent before bringing you in here, and well... I saw you brought firewine."

Damn it! Adelle cursed herself. She knew she should've remembered to take a swig before passing out. No wonder she looked and felt so cold. Not to understate how cold it was outside, but firewine definitely would've helped warm her up inside the cave.

"Would it be alright if we shared a bottle? I see you've definitely stocked your supplies before this journey, oh ho ho!" Martha winked as she said this, to indicate the teasing nature. She... Some part of her wished to extend goodwill towards this trespasser. She had not yet made a move of hostility to Gwydion, nor his son sleeping near his tail, and she was, frankly, dying for company. Tending to the dragons was her life's work, and she would not trade it for the world, but living on sacred ground was terribly stifling to one's social life. The pleasures of the flesh, such as fine food, wine, even the touch of another human's hand on hers... She missed them. If only she knew Adelle wasn't a human, ah?

Adelle's stomach rumbled. She was cold, but no longer freezing. The innermost chamber of the cave was warm enough to support plants, but the chill from her stint outside had yet to fully leave her. She dreaded to think of what she might let slip after partaking, buuuuuut.... It was good to get some practice in. If she really planned on getting work to support her sister-hunt, she would need to get as much practice in with humans as possible.

"What the hell, sure. To a hopefully well spent winter?"

"To a winter well spent, indeed." Martha began to pour them each a glass, and they began to dine. There was fresh meat, berries, fruit, and edible flowers (Martha understood the meat, but wondered how anything else could be this fresh at this time of year). A few glasses in, they both loosened their tongues some. Martha told of the years spent training for the role of Guardian from a young age, and Adelle came up with fantastical stories about the escapades of her and her best friend from Mag Mell... She of course left out any identifying details of fairy status, or names. Flight stories were out as well. Humans walked everywhere. It was slow and exhausting. They dranks and sang, ate, partook in games, danced... and danced, and danced, and danced. There was something about their eyes meeting, the tipsy laughs they shared... Adelle thought that maybe humans aren't as scary as they were led to believe. She knew her sister loved humans, and she could see why. Spinning Martha around until she got dizzy was a real hoot. But when the night was done, they did not retire to bed, so much as fall down one after the other, asleep. Gwylim tried to wrest at least Martha to her usual patch of moss, but they had collapsed over one another and were snoring soundly. Surely, if Martha had reservations about Adelle, they would be gone on the morrow.

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 95

More intrigue~~~~ And some humor, because when humans get scared, some of us make jokes.

It took a sedative and Lyric for me to get some sleep before my clandestine meeting with Antoine. Conor and Maverick had both protested, calmly but firmly, and at length. In the end, they only conceded if someone they trusted could follow me in disguise. Their first choice - my sister - was entirely out of the question, since she was entirely too recognizable… especially to Antoine. Xiomara was out as well, since there was very little chance anyone associated with Jokul would not recognize her somehow. Same thing for Charly.

Fortunately, Arthur was able to pass Xiomara’s muster for disguise within the twelve hour deadline that we had to work with. An hour and a half before I was due at the Undine, I was pacing with worry that I would actually have to go alone. A traitorous voice in the back of my head wondered if Antoine had a point earlier - was I really hiding behind people? However, before I could wrap myself too tightly in a panic attack, the door chimed with a request for entry. Praying fervently to any takers that Xiomara found someone to follow and observe at a distance, I composed myself to answer the door.

As expected, Xiomara stood on the other side, casual grin shining like the sun as she leaned against the door frame. What was entirely unexpected was the man standing just over her shoulder. Slightly taller than me, he was rocking back and forth on his heels, hands in his khaki pockets as he craned his neck to look around like everything was unfamiliar. A hideously striped button-down strained across his stomach. That can’t be comfortable, was all I could think. Why doesn’t he have clothes made that fit better? Any discomfort he was experiencing didn’t even trickle into his expression as he gave me a cheerful smile. Silver, unkempt whiskers matched the unruly hair on his head, but something eerily familiar stared at from dark brown eyes framed by thick glasses and rosacea.

Shaking my head, I have Xio a confused glance. Her smile never waivered, however. “Hey, Xiomara…” I said slowly. “Come on in…”

“Thank you,” she gave a small mock-bow. “This is my friend Solozo, thought I would introduce him to you. He had an idea for an event.”

I nodded, still squinting at the unfamiliar man. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, both of you come in.”

“My deepest gratitude, Miss Sophia,” Solozo nodded as he passed. “Surely we are interrupting you, but you invite us into your home the same.” His accent was so strong I could hear it even over my translator. Italian, but not quite the Neapolitan I was more familiar with from Before.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Xiomara made herself at home with a cup of coffee from my kitchen. At the same time, Solozo looked around my living room. Small comments here and there washed over me as I noticed he had a stiff leg, giving him a rocking sort of gait. “Sir, I would love to hear about the idea for your event,” I ventured politely, getting him to turn and face me instead of my plants and photos.

“Wine and cheese tasting,” he beamed. “Now, I don’t drink, and I can’t eat dairy, but I’m going to see what Meece can do to fix that.” Smacking his stomach for emphasis, he continued. “I want to taste all the cheese I never could before, and I think everyone else should have that experience. Everyone eats cheese?”

Something was really bothering me about this man, but I felt terrible. He was being perfectly pleasant, and I was the person who handled this sort of thing. But something was just… off. “I think that’s a splendid idea. All cultures have a sort of wine, all cultures have a sort of cheese. No pun intended,” I conceded. He chuckled as I continued. “But… I’m confused, Xiomara.” I turned to my friend, still smiling and leaning on my dining table. “Not to be rude, but you could have asked Mr. Solozo to send me a message and I could have contacted him in the morning.”

“She could have, yes,” Solozo interjected, extending his stiff leg to take a seat. “Gout, it’s on the list of things to have looked at. But I needed to speak to you tonight, Miss Sophia, do you understand?”

I shot off the couch, bolting for the entry to the hallway as I realized what was bothering me. “Your accent. It was here, now it’s gone. Xiomara, what the hell - “

Before I could finish, she walked over and smacked the strange man on the shoulder. “I told you that accent wouldn’t hold up.”

Removing the glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I dropped it on purpose, just to make it fair,” he explained in a much more familiar, wry tone.

It took every ounce of restraint I had not to knock Arthur’s head off his shoulders. “You ass!” I shouted, grateful that Maverick and Conor were already awake - as evidenced by the head poking around the corner from the bedroom and the other one poking in from the now-open entrance. “Arthur’s disguise, ladies and gentlemen!” I cried dramatically as I threw a pillow.

“Hey! It works, doesn’t it? I had you fooled at least. And it’s not like I’m going to be talking much anyway.”

Xiomara was still laughing. “I thought the walk was a nice touch, personally.”

He scowled the best he could. “You bet me that I couldn’t hide the sword. The walk was just - incidental.”

Now that I wasn’t angry anymore, I made my way over and leaned closer to look at his face. “Whoever did the nose and the rosacea did a good job,” I admitted. “And the stubble?”

“Unfortunately, that’s mine.” He scratched under his chin for emphasis. “I haven’t shaved since before Alpha shift. This shit itches by the way.”

“The blue dye to get it that color probably didn’t either.”

“Not at all.”

“Did you bleach your hair, too?”

He pulled back, fixing me with a malevolent stare. “Very funny.” He turned away from me, puting the glasses back on and muttering. “I’m in my forties, remember? I actually just had the dye removed.” He ran a hand through his hair before shaking it back into a dishevelled state and fluffing it to stand up. “You can bet your ass I’m dyeing it back before I teach class in the morning.”

Maverick entered the rest of the way into our quarters, allowing the door to the corridor to close again. “I had no idea you were completely grey.”

“Prematurely,” he confirmed. “Even Before. It started to go in my twenties, but at least it didn’t fall out.”

“So what was with the accent?” I asked. “That was entirely unnecessary, to be honest.”

He scoffed. “Are you kidding? As soon as I dropped it, you knew who I was. I would call that necessary to fix.” I heard him mutter something that sounded like ‘amateur’ before he continued. “My family is originally from Italy, remember? The accent is Sicilian.”

“Wait,” I sputtered. “Did you seriously name yourself after the guy who failed to kill Vito Corleone?”

“You can’t prove a thing. Could be a family name.”

Xiomara leaned over and swatted his arm. “Yes, it’s from The Godfather.”

“You also tend to hate Sicily and deny they are part of Italy,” I pointed out.

“They’re Greek and you will not change my mind.”

Maverick looked thoughtful for a moment, before slowly confirming his suspicion. “So you are using the name of a hit man - apparently a bad one - from a movie that is over a hundred years old, because you hate Sicily?” He grimaced, and I could only imagine the headache he was getting.

“He did kill Brasi, though. He just didn’t manage to kill Vito,” I pointed out.

“You aren’t even speaking English at this point,” he wailed in mock-despair.

Arthur cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “I took the name of an incompetent mob boss to try to make anyone with Jokul feel comfortable in the event I need to show up later in a more obvious way and have to reuse this.” He gestured at himself before patting his fake stomach. “Besides, it’s funny to use the name of an incompetent around actual incompents.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” I sighed dramatically. “Once a warlord, now you are all that you hate most in the world.”

“Still not racist,” he pointed out, complete with finger guns.

“Says the guy who hates Sicilians,” Xiomara argued.

Arthur just waved a hand dismissively. “I’m Italian. That’s like Sophia saying she hates people from New England.”

I wanted to argue, but the very physical shudder that wracked my body made that impossible. I settled for clarifying. “Only in a general sense. I’ve met several very nice people from New York and New Jersey. But when I go there… blehhhhh.”

“Exactly.”

Xiomara glanced at her datapad. “Okay, we have just enough time to get to the Undine for your meeting, Sophia. Let’s get this show on the road. Solozo, you’re going to follow her at six to eight meters. Meander, look at things, just make sure you keep her in your sight, got it?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know how to do protection detail, Madam Kalloe.”

For emphasis, she smacked his arm again before helping him up. “Good. Make it count and you can keep the sword. I don’t want to sit through any more criminal trials if I can avoid it.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #aliens #found family #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #hfy #haw #original fiction #my writing #science fiction

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Taking Advantage of The Moment (Max-centric; Max/Jaidynn if you squint) - Puppy

A/N: Hello, folks. I have posted things for writethehousedown, but this is my first time on AQ. After seeing/posting the Groundhog Day prompt, I wanted to take on the challenge. I’ve always been fascinated with time loops, so heck. Here we go. Max and Jaidynn’s relationship here can be seen as either platonic or romantic.

TW: Panic/anxiety attack

Summary: Max Malanphy finds herself reliving her elimination day over and over and over and over again.

Max solemnly rolled her bags out of the workroom for the- who knows how many times it was at this point. She understood completely what the universe was trying to tell her.

Was her runway not up to standards as other times? Yes. Was her Snatch Game performance questionable at best and terrible at worst? Well, she was literally near her last possible choice since producers disapproved of her first few choices. If only this stretched to yesterday, the grey lady thought to herself, I could’ve thrown in a line about Party City or something like that… She had already accepted that she lost the lip-sync against Jaidynn too. She was a damn good performer and 80s’ R&B wasn’t generally in Max’s repertoire. So why the hell was this still happening?

Perhaps she’d sleep on it, but that was useless. She’d wake back up on the same day. It seems she had lost count of the many things she had tried to do to finally fly back home. 

~~~

“This seems a little familiar… repetitive even…” Max approached Violet with some caution.

“You’re the one getting read about your wigs, and you talk to me about repetitive?” The one-of-a-kind collectable joked, or at least attempted to. She was still getting used to the whole ‘bring a warmer person’ thing.

“Shouldn’t I have gone home already?”

Violet tilted her head in slight confusion. “What do you mean? I think it was Kandy’s time and…” she beckoned Max to lean down so she could whisper into her ear. “You didn’t hear it from me, but your Merle Ginsberg… wasn’t that bad last week.”

Max’s fears were assuaged until she got on the runway. The brightness of the lights and the tightness of the corset creeped back into play. She once found herself asking to loosen her outfit and sitting at the edge of the stage. Yep, she was reliving the moment that sent her home.

~~~

Around the fourth or seventh time she had been eliminated, Max had practically memorized the backstage conversations. “Well, now we know what she really sounds like!” Ginger joked, prompting a fit of laughter and a punch to the arm. Max hoped to have hit her face, but she wasn’t that far gone yet.

She once attempted to shed her purported prudish nature in another loop. She started conversations about what she once deemed vulgar, but all she had got was strange looks and reminders she was sharing too much information. She didn’t speak again until critiques. 

Immediately after (or was it two times after?), she had tried her best to be the friend that everyone needed. She’d help with outfits and accompanied Fame and Katya as extra moral support. Among the sewing and helping others with makeup, she barely had time for herself. The moment she stepped onto the runway, she barely put on a face of makeup and nearly fainted from lack of energy. Thankfully, she woke back up in her hotel room and last night’s pajamas.

The most recent loop was just spent in utter silence. Max had just… broke. She dared not speak or respond to anyone. She had choked back inaudible tears everywhere she went that day until the runway. As she was sweating under the lights, she prayed that she would pass out again. The voices in her head overpowered anything that she wanted to come out of her mouth. The ones constantly nagged at her for every decision she made on that show.

In an attempt to direct her attention away from those voices, her focus shifted elsewhere. This elsewhere unfortunately was drilled on the various sets of eyes staring at her, and the thousands more who would see it once it was edited and aired to the public. How many people would consider this some stunt? They’d probably think she was crazy or delusional.

She’d whisk herself back to Oz in times like this to cope, but it didn’t work. Any time she’d try, she would be trapped in the Witch’s castle near the crystal ball. “Auntie Em, I’m frightened…” Max whispered to herself as she slowly got back up. Hopefully the tear stains would have dried out of the corset by the time.

Max remained silent backstage. She knew what the judges’ verdicts were going to be; why bother discussing them? The outcome was the same yet again. She’d pack, she’d sleep, she’d wake up to walk the runway yet again.

As she woke up yet again, a thought crossed her mind. All of her attempts to actively change the situation ended up making things worse. The day kept repeating. Max got up out of bed and stared at her reflection. Had she been too much in her head? She chuckled; if she was that far in her, Fame probably would have gotten the joke by now. The queen took a deep breath in and vowed this. Go through the day as it was any other. Don’t make any drastic changes, Maxie. If you do, just… have them be small and insignificant. Try to make someone happy. The grey lady sighed and officially got ready for yet another loop of the same day. If this was the last, that would make her one extremely happy person. If it wasn’t, she would go back to trying… maybe ask Violet for a cincher this time.

~~~

“You’re done early,” Ginger noticed Max from her peripherals.

“Well, I’ve basically worn the same face since I’ve been here, so I guess practice amounts to shaving off a few minutes.” Max retorted as she admired herself a little longer. Her red contacts stared back at her: the leather-bound black widow. She laughed at her own little joke. The other girls couldn’t possibly know what that little comment also meant. The queen hummed a show tune to herself as she waited until filming started.

Being done this early felt so surreal, almost voyeuristic. The now black-haired lady stared among the workroom, eyeing her little corner of the room in particular: the various wigs and looks she wasn’t going to bring to the public. Perhap she could use this time to start packing again; there was no need to delay the inevitable. She let out a sigh as she stared at her belongings.

“Hey, girl. You seem a bit out of it today.” Max was shaken out of her reverie and looked down at the shorter queen.

“It’s nothing, really,” Max lied, but saw that there was no use doing so. For all she knew Jaidynn was going to forget it the next time this happened; telling her wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it was cathartic for the tall one. “Never mind.. It has felt a little strange. Ever since I’ve been here, it’s been as if I was in a dream and I still haven’t quite woken up yet. Speaking of… I’ve probably already asked you this, but can you pinch me?”

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” Ever concerned, Jaidynn leaned against the wall and attempted to hold her friend’s hand.”I think this may have been the first time we saw each other today.”

“I’ve been reliving this day for gods know how long. Sleep is the least of my worries.”

“Have you actually done so or is this just ‘Max language’ for something else? I get that filming has been repetitive and it’s all routine, but I doubt that you’re going through some Bill Murray shit.” Max had a tendency to speak entirely in metaphor; Jaidynn and others on set knew that first hand. When she spoke, she often spoke in terms of Oz and werewolves when she wasn’t giving sage advice. When she wasn’t inside of her head, she was off in another world where magic is real and nothing can go wrong. Thank goodness she had folks who could snap her back to reality.

Max nodded her head as she then eyed Fame and Katya in another corner of the room, silently mumbling along to their conversation to prove her point.

“Damn, girl. That sounds pretty cool. It would definitely come in handy. You could improve on your looks and save yourself if you were ever on the bottom.”

Max widened her eyes, not wanting to say too much. She already violated her mission by confiding in Jaidynn. “I’ve already done so much. What else is there to do?” Before she could say anything more, a PA had come in telling them to line up. “Shall we continue this later?”

Before they knew it, the arduous hours of judging had passed yet again and the critiqued queens headed backstage. “Did.. did that happen every time? You sounded good” Jaidynn asked about the corset mishap. All Max could do was nod her head and laugh.

“Sometimes, I’d switch up the song,” she whispered back and giggled. “I remember I did ‘Over the Rainbow’ one night… ‘The Man That Got Away’ another… One night, I think I-”

“The accent…”

“What about it?”

“You lost it for a second there.”

“I- I did?” Max shouldn’t have been surprised, but she just stopped for a second. It felt strange, having slipped out of this persona she had made for herself after having maintained it for filming and then some, but also freeing too. It was as if a giant weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Didn’t even realize.” She laughed a little louder than she normally did, garnering more attention that she usually got. Max and Jaidynn joined the other girls with smiles on their faces and an underlying sense of uncertainty.

Sitting with her fellow castmates wasn’t the best thing in the world. There was no doubt that Max Malanaphy was an introverted figure. When they were normally congregated backstage, she would be among them, but barely contribute. Her comfort zone could only extend so far. She’d often flock where Violet or Pearl were, so she could talk about her day and how the other queens acted towards her, but that was the longest she’d have a conversation. The constant loops had certainly made things easier for the young lady. The only time she broke away from the conversation was to practice the song with Jaidynn.

“You really don’t have to do this, Max. I mean… you have the song down better than me at this point.” The Nashville queen remarked, taking a headphone out of one ear.

Max blushed a little at the remark and bounced the curls of her wig with one hand. “Don’t puff me up too much, dear; I wouldn’t want to send you home tonight,” She awkwardly laughed afterwards. “I’d still very much want it to be an even playing field… or as even as possible considering circumstances.” Jaidynn popped the earbud back in and they continued to listen together, mostly in peace and quiet. The song looped on repeat until the five minute warning came around once again.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“What happens after this?” Jaidynn started as she was lining back up. “I’m gonna forget all this ever happened, I guess…”

Max was shaken by the suddenness of the statement. She had never really considered the implications of Jaidynn’s situation. This whole day would be meaningless “I mean it depends… I might go through the wringer again.” Her cadence suddenly began to speed back up to an alarming pace. “The outcomes of the lip sync might change but it does not seem likely at the moment because I’m pretty sure Michelle hates me and they’d want me out as soon as possible but who knows, it might be a double sashay or a double shantay or I might win or no one wins or-” She stopped herself yet again, but her breathing became much more erratic. Now wasn’t the time for yet another breakdown.

Jaidynn attempted to cup her tall fishy friend’s face, but settled for squeezing her hand. It would have looked ridiculous due to their sizes. “Look at me,” she started as Max crouched to her height. “No matter what happens, you’re gonna kick ass. I’ve seen you, girl, and you’re a badass performer. You’ll turn it out.”

“The Shakespeare challenge…” Max’s eyes widened as she realized what Jaidynn had just said.

“What about it?”

“You used my own encouragement against me!”

“Y-yeah.. I figured it’d help.”

“And it did.” Max curtsied and kissed the back of the hand Jaidynn was still holding before throwing herself into a hug. “It’s just… I- I’ll make sure you won’t forget me.”

“Do you promise?”

“I swear.” That was the last thing Max had said before the final lip sync.

Like most go-rounds, the outcome was the same. Jaidynn had lived to see another week while Max was sent packing yet again. This time was different; she didn’t feel as defeated as she had previously been. She had said a speech, blown a kiss, then left the stage with as much dignity and grace as she had entered.

It was melancholic seeing the looks that she wouldn’t be able to show the judges, but it wasn’t too bad. She’d probably see them the next day. That was the least of her troubles at that moment. The only thought occupying Max’s mind was Jaidynn. If this was her last tomorrow, how was she going to let her friend know she was safe and that she made it out with a little bit of sanity intact? Before she left the workroom yet again, Max tied the handkerchief that was paired with her final runway look to the end of the table where her friend’s stuff was. She took one hopefully final glance at the workroom and didn’t look back. All she could do was pray that she’d wake up with a phone the next day.

~~~

The next time Max walked into the werk room, she wasn’t alone.

She followed behind the eliminated queens. It was nice seeing everyone again. She apologized to Trixie for saying she’d win it for her, but her college friend laughed it off, saying it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was also quite lovely seeing Sasha and Kasha and Kandy again, as well as Tempest and Jasmine, but something felt missing.

Although she was ultimately paired up with Violet (something she was happy about), she still couldn’t get her mind off of Jaidynn. She was the only person she had trusted with probably the most valuable information of her life. Just seeing her had to have been enough evidence she was back. For all she knew, it could have been a couple more loops since she returned from Jaidynn’s perspective. Memory was a funny thing. For now, she just had to pretend as if her first yesterday was the only time the elimination had happened. There was a possibility of returning to the competition tonight.

“I think you might have forgot this.” Max put part of her corset down and looked up at a familiar face. There Jaidynn was with the little black shawl in her hand. She maintained herself the best that she could, but it didn’t last much longer. The tall queen hugged Jaidynn as hard as she could.

“Thank you…” Max whispered as a few tears started to form. “Thank you, darling, for everything.”

#rpdr fanfiction #max malanaphy #jaidynn diore fierce #ginger minj #jaidynn x max #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #canon compliant #on set fic #groundhog day au #s7 #taking advantage of the moment #puppy #tw panic attack #rare pair

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halfemptygirlrps-archive · 4 years

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Feelings about the most recent episode of Siren and the SS Polymarine update:

So I am late on this but I had a lot of feelings to articulate and sort through. These posts are not important to anyone but me but they make me feel good so I will keep making them.

Maddie.

SIGH. I know Fola has no say in the writers room but she’s really feeling more and more ooc. It’s not about not listening to Ben it’s about not thinking about the secret she is meant to protect. Even Xander has risked a lot to keep it safe and for Maddie to bring Robb to the warehouse was really careless. People are gonna be like HOBOY MORE MADDIE HATE I BET SHE’S A RYN/BEN SHIPPER and not that I need to justify myself to anyone but I care so much because since episode one Maddie and her amazing smile that makes my heart explode and her melodious laugh has been my favorite character and they opened up more of her personality and history in season two only to kinda undo it now. You wanna see a new guy? Fine, explore even though it breaks my effing heart and my ship but dont trust him so easily. Also a few episodes you said you still love Ben and Ryn but now you’re acting like she’s just your friend which I hate cause those idiots who have been saying they’re like sisters are getting what they want now. I hate seeing just Ben and Ryn together and it’s like... I know you kissed her on the lips but are we going to see Ryn spending the night with just you at your place any time soon or are they really legit phasing you out? They’ve always given Ryn equal time with Maddie but now it’s like they hired the writers from Supergirl and much like Kara “forgot” she told James she loved him and fought for him so hard and was like lol we’re better as friends and I wanna date a white slave owner they’re making Maddie act really strange considering she outed them as in love. I also don’t like that she’s yet to tell Robb that she kinda has a gf which is unfair to him. Even if I dont care about him it’s just the rules of being poly to disclose that. It’s not “private information”if you’re getting involved with someone because that this point they’re dating and she knows he likes her and is setting up shop to be closer to her so she owes it to him to say something about Ryn unless she really is ending with Ryn too and only being her friend which again MAKES ME SO ANGRY. I said it from the beginning that Ben didn’t need to have a gf if the goal was Ryn , and they also didn’t need to do a while season about them being in love and making people get attached and feel seen and heard only to rip it away from us. I wish they wouldn’t be so cheap about drama like this but I hope the three of them find their way back to each other as a unit and not whatever the hell they are now because it was the core of the show.

Ben.

Boo if you can’t see that you have a problem idk what. He’s acting like a straight up junkie and people are like noooo but you clearly haven’t seen junkies in movies cause this is it. Shoot up mermaid cells and running tests on yourself alone? Are you insane? You don’t know the side effects and you already experimented on your own mother and yet none of this is setting off any alarms. We already see that Ben has obsessive tendencies and rather than seek help he’s doing whatever to himself instead of trying to focus on Ryn and Maddie and his father about to start a massacre. I get that he’s a scientist but there’s a time and a way for that and he should no better. Maddie’s been helping Ryn 10 times more lately while he’s turning himself into the merman Mr. Hyde and he’s the one getting all of Ryn to himself while side eyeing Maddie when he should be trying to help them deal with this crisis called Tiamat and not trying to become a hybrid. I’m just so over him at this point and it’s just like in season 2 where he jumped to try to save Ryn in the tank while she fought Katrina. She’s a powerful creature who doesn’t need you to save her like she’s a dainty princess, she needs you to be a rock and emotional support which you cannot do sitting in a bathtub. Everything that the people in your life need you to be, you aren’t being. You aren’t helping your mom like you think you are, you aren’t helping your dad cope and understand and not become a murderer, you aren’t helping Maddie understand why you did what you did and you aren’t helping Ryn by taking the corpse of her family and treating it like an animal the way Kyle did. Just because you didn’t know *that one* doesn’t mean it’s okay. It wasn’t okay for Donna and if Ryn died and the military excavated her body to run tests and used the “well, wel didn’t know her personally and it’s for science” excuse you’re using would you go “oh damn you right “? No you’d lose what little of your mind you had left. Boy if you don’t get your shit together...

Xander.

Ugh I hated him the first 2 seasons and he’s redeeming himself. I get that he was upset his dad died and had every right to be but to come back from that and not only forgive and befriend Levi but help the mermaids and lie for them and cover up bodies? He’s a better man than Ben is right now. I also love(d) that he made a new lady friend and didn’t pounce on her like a douche. Honestly for a moment I thought “damn a new love interest already?” even though my gaydar was like WEEWOO WEEWOO THERE’S ONE WE GOT ANOTHER ONE, GIRLS and she’s cute af like top me you soft butch stud you but the moment she saw Katrina I was like I WAS RIGHT AGAIN JUST LIKE I WAS ABOUT MADDIE’S SIDE SHAVE IN SEASON 1 so I was like this is great, another black queer girl and Xander is being chill af with her and them broing out was gold, I loved it but I didn’t see her seeing Levi coming, which shook me cause I didn’t know what was gonna happen and Xander really stepped up and I loved that he risked his future career and a friendship for this as well as her career. When he saw Ryn in the library (and that was such a pretty library) I honestly wish she leaned up to kiss him even if it was just on the cheek cause he did so much for Ryn and the rest and really deserves more credit. Plus I lowkey live for the little moment between them like her holding his hand at Donna’s grave or when she sat with him at the wake because it just shows so much character growth for both of them and I love the trust that they built and that he treasures even though they have had so little interactions. It’s one of those moments that shows bad actions can be redeemed and restores faith in humanity while so many people are out to harm them.

Helen.

Honorable mention for you being the coolest lady. You should have been treated better with Sarge but the fact that you know so much in spite being 1/8 and not in that hybrid colony just makes you so cool. And now you’re out here trying to edumacate daddy Pownall even though he’s crazy as shit and probably gonna try to kill you. You a real one, Helen.

Ryn.

You poor thing, having to give up your baby. It’s been a rough go for you lately or....the whole series, I guess, and now your colony was attacked and shit. Again she’s done no wrong and is trying so hard to learn and can’t catch a break. The one thing I do fault her for is not knowing that she shouldn’t have said the bit about her baby being eaten and whatnot because she’s been on land a year and change no and should know human habits better LOL. It was still classic Siren humor tho.

This post is long enough so I wont address anyone else and doubt anyone got to the end but UGH.... I just want Polymarine back. I miss them watching movies in bed and being secure and cute and fluffy and I just need that so much right now.

#siren #siren freeform #ben pownall #maddie bishop #ryn #ryn fisher #polymarine

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jadewritings · 4 years

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You’re More Than That Part 15

SUMMARY: An ex of yours drives you away. But, in doing so, you’ve stumbled upon something much more dangerous. You must decide whether to be on the streets and on the run or with the most dangerous of them all.

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x reader

WORD COUNT: 1.1k+

WARNINGS: Language.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Yay! Reunited with Sammy! Meg????

Follows the story Bad Boy Blues on the Chapters: Interactive app! (I changed up some of the choices to my liking)

Meg told you her plan and to be honest, it surprised you. She told you to use her as a shield. Since her gun was malfunctioning, she slipped you a knife she somehow kept in her boot and didn’t use to kill you instead. She said it was too messy for her liking.

Meg said that she would tell the goons to let you go after they came to check on her. But you questioned whether they would listen or not. Which mad her angry cause she knew they would listen. You just had a gut feeling.

“Just make sure you don’t hit me too hard. You don’t wanna knock me out.”

You laughed, “A little love tap to your head then.” But you knew you had to make it look a least a little believable. Which was what was making you hesitant.

“I can see you hesitate. It’s scary, I know. But your love and your life is waiting for you out there. They’re worth fighting for. Now come on.”

You sighed, taking in a deep breath, cracking your neck and stretching out your muscles. “Alright. I’m excited! I can do this!”

“Yeah! That’s the right attitude!” She reminded you of a mother trying to pump up her kid for something. It make you snicker but no less, if you were going to get out, this was the only way.

“Okay, lets go.”

She grabbed your arm before you started walking, “Do me one favor? Check in on Dean? Make sure that scumbag Tonnie didn’t hurt him.”

Your eyes widened slightly. She may not have loved Sam but… maybe. Just maybe, there was something there for Dean. She just didn’t realize it. Her eyes lit up at his name.

“Yeah. I’ll tell Dean you’re worried about him.” You smiles knowingly. She gave you a questioning look but you just smirked and continued on your new mission.

The rest of the moments went by in a blur, your adrenaline pushing you to the max. You walk out with Meg in front of you, knife on her throat.

She cautions everyone to stand back and not to shoot. You questioned yourself once more if you could really hit her like she wanted you too. After everything you’d been through, she was beginning to become your friend. You wondered if they would know she let you go. Her life could be in danger if that was the case and hitting her would just leave her defenseless.

But you couldn’t think about it anymore, you were fast approaching the door and had to make the decision.

So, you wack her with the handle of the blade and she shouts as she drops to the floor, clutching the spot where you hit her, a small trickle of blood falling through her hair and down her cheek.

Then you run like hell. You expected to hear gunshots but surprisingly you didn’t. No one follows you, no one even shouts after you.

You race then walk down the road. Soon you’ve made it to the bus station.

Love is worth fighting for. The mantra replays over and over in your head.

The only person I’ve ever loved, was Sam. But ever since I came back into his life, I’ve put him and myself at risk. Maybe it would be better if I didn’t go back. You thought to yourself. It was only logical, wanting to protect the person you cared about from harms way. Keep them safe, if not safer.

You looked to your left and instantly scowled. It was one of Sams men, probably looking for you. Just your luck. You slink into a hotel bathroom. Maybe if you slept on it and figured out what you wanted to do?

On one hand if you went back, you could be with the lobe of your life. But your life would be in danger, as would his. But on the other, you would hurt to leave him. Keeping each other safe.

The same guard opened the bathroom door.

“You can’t be in here, this is the ladies room.” You almost shouted in surprise.

The bulky man had brown hair like Sam’s but his was shaved on the sides, a poofy nest sitting on top. He had dark sunglasses on so you couldn’t see his eyes but he wasn’t too bad on the eyes.

“Let me take you back to Sam, Miss.” you couldn’t argue in the women’s bathroom so you just went with him.

When Sam sees you, he comes up to you. You couldn’t decipher the look on his face as he wanted to strangle you or kiss you.

But he wraps his arms around you. You hug back, taking in his scent and feeling warmth spread through your body. Boy did he make you feel good.

“Tell me everything. I need places, names, anything you can give me.”

You sighed, “It was Tonnie. He’s the one who broke in here.”

Sam scowled, “That two-timing piece of shit. I should have killed him. Cas was right.”

“They put me in the trunk and took me somewhere outside the city.” You weren’t about to tell him he stabbed you too. You limped from the pain but it stopped bleeding and was well on it’s way to recovering. “Some old run down house.” You finished.

Sam frowns.

“I’ve heard about that place.”

“I’m pretty sure Crowley wasn’t going to let me live.” You cringed.

“Yea I get that feeling too, sweetheart. How’d you get out?”

Boy was that a conversation starter, “Actually… uh… Meg helped me escape.”

“What? How’d you manage that?”

You grinned childishly, “I got her to realize her family has been mistreating her. She’s a pretty cool chick. She’s someone we can reason with. I think we connected.”

His eyebrows raised, “Damn, sweetheart. I’m impressed. And glad that you’re on my side.”

“She’s the one who suggested I use her as a shield.”

Sam hugs you tighter.

“Just hold me forever. I never want to leave your arms.” You tightened your grip and buried your head into his neck.

“I was so afraid something was going to happen to you.” He murmured into your shoulder.

“I’m here now, and we have each other. That’s all I care about.”

“We didn’t know what happened. Then we saw Dean.”

Your heart seemed to stutter. “Dean? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay?”

“He is. He was knocked out but he’s upstairs resting.” You sighed in relief. That reminded you, you had to tell him about Meg.

“Now we’re all safe. That’s what matters.”

Sam pulled away from you, keeping you at an arms length.

“No. There’s something we need to do after you have a break. It’s no coincidence they attacked when I was out with most of the crew. Someone had to tip them off.”

You knew where this was going. There was a mole in the house. And you had a feeling of who it might have been.

“You don’t think…” you trailed off.

“I don’t think. I know.”

•Part 16•

MASTERLIST

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@handgns @pale-butterfly @xi-i-i-whatsyouremergency @fandomoniumflurry @bunnybaby121115 @catastrsophie* @enthusiasmisdepressing @vicmc624 @fandomoniumflurry

Sam/Jared Tag List:

@oneshoeshort

Supernatural Everything Tag List:

@mrswhozeewhatsis @bojabee @blacktithe7 @amotleyworld @supernaturalonice @loveboldlywingedangel130 @hobby27

Everything I Write Tag List:

@darknightfrombeyond @nerdysandwichqueen @imdeansdick @theoriginalliezsteyn

Want to be tagged in my writing? Add yourself here! Just send an ask if you only want to be tagged in this!

#supernatural #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #sam x reader #dean x reader #mafia au #mobster!sam #mobster!dean #mobster!castiel #mobster!john #john winchester #crowley #meg

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dylan-o-yumm · 5 years

Text

I accidentally deleted the request this was for, but basically anon wanted some Nero in leather pants. This isn't smutty at all cause I needed a break from writing smut, so I'm sorry dear anon if this isn't what you wanted at all.

You had shockingly been invited to Patty’s party. Shockingly because you had never met her before and suddenly you were getting a phone call, practically being yelled at by the high pitched girl to attend her 18th birthday party. You had heard a few stories of her through Dante, but never had the pleasure of actually meeting her face to face. Did he tell her of you? Surely, otherwise how else would she know you?

Though excited, you were a little surprised when Dante called you the following day, asking who you were going to the party as. Odd, Patty didn’t mention it being a costume party. You listened to Dante ramble on about how he was going to dress up as a zombie, just to be able to scare the birthday girl. You obviously told him he was mean, but then he proceeded to tell you what everyone else from DMC was going dressed up as.

Lady was going to be a fairy, Trish a nurse, and even Nico and Nero were going to get dressed up… Or so Dante told you.

He was so convincing, the little shit.

You walked into Patty’s house, marvelling at all the pink decorations, high ceilings and beautiful furniture. If you didn’t already feel out of place, having everyone immediately turn to look at you as you entered, definitely did the trick. There were so many people, all of which were in fancy suits or dresses, while you were standing awkwardly in the entry way dressed as a pirate.

Hook on your hand, sword on your belt, stuffed parrot on your shoulder — pirate.

“Y/n!” A familiar voice calls out, snapping you out of your awkward daze of staring at how fancy everyone around you looked. You waved and smiled at the crowd, trying to seem like you didn’t just have the most embarrassing moment of your life before you glanced around to see who called you. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw Nico waving you over, a big goofy smile on her face.

You quickly bow your head and cover your face with your hands as you make your way over to the artisan, fully aware that every single one of Patty’s friends saw you and your ridiculous costume. Not that it really mattered, not like you’d be seeing them ever again except maybe on the odd occasion when you’re out and about. Still didn’t help the heat rising to your entire face.

“Hey! Lookin’ good, hot stuff. Dante put you up to this as well?” Nico chuckled and nudged your side playfully when you finally weaved your way through the crowd to stand next to her. Thankfully you didn’t stay as the centre of attention, everyone turned back to talk to their friends or dance to the not so loud, but not too quiet music. It wasn’t so often you got to listen to pop music, but that seemed to be what all of Patty’s friends liked. She was 18 after all.

“Yeah I’m gonna kill him when he gets here — wait, what do you mean 'as well'?” You ask, noticing how Nico is also in quite fancy looking clothes. Well, fancy for her anyway. She wore tight, black pants and a loose fitting, mustard shirt. She looked pretty casual but very nice in your opinion. The sides of her shirt were cut low, which meant you could see quite a lot of her bra if she lifted her arms up, but honestly that was quite normal for what she usually wore.

“Nero got the same message. Went and hid in the upstairs bathroom as soon as he got here.” Nico explained with a half smile on her face. You could tell she felt a little sorry for him but also wanted to laugh. You might have laughed as well if you weren’t dressed as a pirate. However, you knew exactly how he must be feeling and to be honest, you wanted to lock yourself in the bathroom too.

“Nero’s in a costume, too?” You ask softly, as if he would somehow hear you and come storming down the stairs to pout directly in your face. You could never handle his adorable pout. You tried to imagine what he was dressed as, but every idea that popped in your head was immediately run over by the thought of ‘Nero would never’.

“Go hava look for yourself” Nico nodded once in the direction of the stairs, cradling a drink that you have no idea where came from but you figured maybe you should have one. Some alcohol would probably make the whole situation much easier to deal with. You decided finding Nero first was more important, hopefully you could coax him out from hiding to come and at least try to have a good time with you.

You patted Nico’s shoulder and softly mumbled a goodbye as you made your way up the stairs. Patty’s house was amazing! Did she own it herself? Buy it herself? You had so many questions, like what was she working as to afford such a nice house. You had no idea Dante knew such wealthy people since he was always living in piles of old pizza boxes and bills that need yet to be payed.

Upstairs was pretty quiet apart from a few people calmly chatting away along the halls, needing the quieter space away from all the people and music. There were a few rooms with closed doors, which meant you’d have to go knocking and possibly interrupting strangers, and you didn’t want anyone else having to witness what you were wearing. So you settled for calling out instead, leaning against each door and calling Nero’s name.

“Y/n? What do you want?” You heard the ‘completely done with everything’ tone from Nero come from behind door number three that you checked. You knew not to take his tone and the way he said ‘you’ so personally, though it did sting a little. You leaned against the door and tried turning the handle, but as you expected, it was locked.

“Hey, it’s just me. Can you let me in?” You ask softly, ignoring his tone.

“Why, so you can laugh at me too? I never should have listened to Dante…” He replied in a huffy tone. You sighed, fiddling with the sword on your hip.

“I’m not gonna laugh, just please open the door.” You tried again, keeping your voice calm and sweet so he didn’t think you were trying to mess with him. And thankfully, after a few long seconds of silence, the lock clicked and you could turn the handle. You made sure to open the door slightly so you could squeeze in without anyone around you being able to see in, having to turn your body awkwardly to do so.

Once the door was closed again, you made sure to lock it before you turned around. And the sight before you was something you never expected to witness in your life. Nero didn’t seem to mind that you were staring at him with wide eyes because he was doing the same to you, obviously surprised to see you also in a costume unlike everyone else downstairs.

Nero was wearing a flowy, white shirt that was ripped and torn all along the sleeves and along the hem, as if he had been attacked by a horde of demons before he got here. His hair was spiked, like usual but more so somehow and he wore tight, leather, black pants. If it weren’t for the fake blood along the rips of his shirt or the discarded fangs left on the sink, you wouldn’t have guessed he was a werewolf. But since this was Nero, you were impressed since he was never one for dressing up for halloween or anything.

“I mean, if this were a costume party, I’d be impressed” You smile shyly as you look the handsome devil hunter up and down. His pants were gripping his thighs so nicely you had to tear your eyes away so it didn’t seem like you were staring. He too was staring at you but you didn’t think for the same reasons, nothing about your costume was considered attractive so he had nothing to stare at except your ridiculous outfit for a party that just so happens to not be a costume party.

Nero vaguely gestured to you and found it difficult to form a proper sentence. Perhaps you weren’t going to laugh at him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to laugh at you. Maybe staying downstairs with Nico would’ve been the safer option. However, when you thought he was going to burst out laughing at you, he instead huffed and placed his hands on his hips in annoyance.

“Lemme guess, Dante put you up to this?” He asks, already knowing the answer. “I’m going to rip that mop of hair off of his head as soon as I see him” Nero huffs as he sits back down on the side of the bathtub, hands gripping the edges while he stares daggers into the wall beside him. “Maybe shave his eyebrows off, pull his pants down in front of everyone—“

“Why not just stab him?” You cut Nero off from his child-like ideas for pranks to pull on his uncle. However once Nero turned to look at you with a frown, not quite mortified since the both of you knew Dante would survive a sword through his chest, but he still didn’t look pleased. “That was a joke.” You add with a nervous laugh.

After much convincing and pep talk, you managed to persuade Nero to go downstairs with you. You both took a few accessories off of yourselves, like your pirate jacket and hat, and Nero’s fangs stayed on the sink. He tucked the overly ripped parts of his shirt into his pants so that he didn’t look like a vicious beast clawed him up, which left him to look pretty casual apart from the few blood splattered on his white shirt.

What stood out the most to you though, and anyone else that would look in his direction, were his pants. Since parts of his shirt were tucked, you had a nice view of his backside when walking down the stairs. Tight leather pants did absolute wonders on him and you found your cheeks flushing red when you caught yourself staring. You wouldn’t mind being caught in between those thighs though…

By the time you made it down to meet Nico, Nero had awkwardly tried to stand behind you, still wanting to hide himself as much as possible. You had to look behind you and shoot him a kind smile to help him relax a little, even reaching behind you to grab his hand and pull him out from behind you to at least stand beside you. He glared playfully at you for that but you shrugged it off with a smile and a nudge to his ribs.

“You’ve all but walked down the stairs and I’ve already caught you starin’ at Nero’s ass” Nico chuckled as soon as you were standing beside her. You felt like clasping your hand over her mouth but the damage was already done, her loud mouth having reached Nero’s ears and not just yours. Not like she planed on making it a secret between just you and her. It was like she had no concept of secrecy.

“I was not…!” You shriek, horrified that Nero now knows you were shamelessly staring at his butt the entire time you were walking down the stairs. Nico just laughs at you and Nero raises an eyebrow. You make the mistake of facing him, seeing how his cheeks are a little pink but he overall looks a little cocky. Your face turns red, you can feel the heat rise to your ears, neck and cheeks. “You look good in leather…” You huff and immediately regret it.

Nero blinks in surprise, having no idea what do to or say. And luckily he didn’t have to since a certain white haired male came storming through the front door, fashionably late with Lady and Trish under his arms. And funnily enough, he was in a suit, not looking like a zombie at all like he said he would be. It was very clear that this was just a prank pulled on you and Nero, no one else.

“Hey, you two! Lookin’ good. Is it halloween already?” Dante laughs as he spots the two of you.

You and Nero exchange a look before the both of you storm over to him. Lady and Trish wriggle out from under his arms but hold his hands out so that they can trade places with you and Nero. The two lovely women smirk as you grab Dante by his left arm while Nero gets the right, not giving the pizza-loving male any time to make it inside the beautiful home as you drag him back out.

“Wha-! Oh, c’mon! It was funny, guys!” Dante tries to reason as the doors close behind you. You have no idea what you’re going to do or say to the older male, but you and Nero were certainly going to have your own fun. Maybe shave off Dante’s eyebrows like Nero wanted…

#nero/reader #nero x reader #nero dmc #dmc nero #nero x you #nero/you #dmc imagine #nero imagine #devil may cry imagine #nero imagines #dmc imagines #devil may cry imagines #nero sparda imagine #nero sparda #nero #nero sparda x reader #nero angelo x reader #nero angelo

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

FIC: Blow By Blow ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

~~*~~

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Two hours and another coffee later, Edge had worked his way through most of the folders and had a brief web conference with the Economics and Global Affairs. He was starting to think absently of lunch when he heard the commotion from the outer room.

It was only raised voices so far, Janice’s sharp and very likely protective. Edge couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the other voice came through the door clearly with, “…my fucking brother!”

Perfect, may as well add to the chaos of the day. It was his brother who’d taught him trying to avoid unpleasantries only led them back to haunt you. Edge pressed the intercom button. “Let him in.”

Of course Red would have to make a grand entrance. He could have teleported in and no one would have been the wiser. That meant he wanted Janice to see him, as well as anyone he passed in the hallways. Trying to fathom Red’s reasoning for the things he did was a fool’s game, but all too often it turned out that he was right.

It didn’t mean Edge couldn’t be aggravated about it.

The door opened allowing Red to shuffle in and Edge frowned. His brother looked tired. His clothes were more rumpled than normal, his jacket pulled close around the same t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before. Dark reddish circles were embedded beneath his sockets, but his endless grin was as wide as ever. That grin had stopped fooling Edge long before he’d been out of striped shirts.

“When did you get in this morning?” Edge kept the question light. It made it more likely for Red to answer than if it were a demand.

True to form, Red only shrugged. “never left last night.”

He bypassed the guest chairs, coming around the side of the desk and when he took Edge’s chin in two sharp fingers, forcibly turning his head, Edge didn’t protest. Using his injury as an excuse to manhandle him was getting to be a habit of the people around him, anyway; his own brother at least should be allowed.

Unlike any of the others, Red only studied the bruises impassively. “got you good, didn’t i. coulda given you a matching crack.”

No apologies and Edge did not expect one. Instead, he pulled away from his brother’s grip with a scoff, saying dismissively, “Not a single one of your attacks came close to the force necessary to break bone.”

“no?” Red wandered back around to flop into one of the chairs with enough force to send skittering back an inch. “might hafta try harder next time.”

It was incredibly difficult to keep from smiling at that. He shouldn’t be as darkly amused as he was; every other person he’d met today was upset by the bruise, including his husband who was likely still fuming at home. But his brother whom Edge knew loved him, who had sacrificed a great deal for him over the years in so many ways, his Underfell brother, only suggested that perhaps he should try to up the damage.

He really did love Red.

But thinking of his husband— “Where is Stretch?”

“hm?” Red’s bland confusion at the question was one of the worst lies he’d ever told. “you askin’ me about your liability? dunno, probably at your place.” His grin widened even as one sharp fingertip scraped over the wooden arm of his chair. Edge stifled a wince as he silently mourned the loss, watching curls of wood shavings fall to the floor. But demanding Red stop might tempt him into dangling answers rather than being direct, if only to be aggravating. “see, that’s a good question because it’s been a helluva morning. first, the honey bun shows up on my porch and when he sees i ain’t there, i start getting these interestin’ texts. dusting off some old threats, if you get my meaning.”

He did, all too well. Edge could have done without knowing Stretch already tried to see Red before Edge secured a promise from him and that sheer chance prevented it. Ah, the barriers against peril this morning were conspicuously thin, weren’t they.

“Let me see them.”

He didn’t hold out much hope on that and it was no surprise that Red only grinned wickedly. “nah. s’between me and him.” Red shifted to lay sideways in the chair, his feet dangling over the newly shredded arm. “your liability has a hell of a mouth on him,” Red said, contemplatively. “or fingers, i guess. does pretty good with those languages, think i learned a coupla new things. his science needs a brush up, though. some of the shit he suggested ain’t physically possible, there’s no way in hell my skull is gonna fit where he wants to shove it.”

And there was a field of landmines to tread carefully over. “He was only worried about me.”

Red slanted a glance his way, his eye lights brightening. "you think i’m mad at him?" He laughed, raucous and loud, pounding his fist on the cushioned seat as if Edge had told a joke filled with offensive references to bodily functions. “for trying to protect you? nah. he’s like a tall version of one of them little weenie dogs who thinks they're a rottweiler. thinks he can do some damage. ‘course they can still give you a hell of an ankle bite. bet your pretty little liability would give it a good ol’ try.”

There was something boastful in that, a sort of pride, Edge realized. Red was terribly smug that Stretch would try to threaten him over his own brother.

Of course he was. He was probably patting himself on the back for ‘helping’ Edge secure such a perfect spouse, the little shit.

Some of Red’s humor faded. “you, now. you might’ve stayed home.” It was mildly said but Edge knew a rebuke when he heard one. “and not just 'cause you look like a walking ad for a new fight club. he’s awful wound up about lizard lady’s tests.”

“I know,” Edge sighed. “I’m not sure why. I’m worried myself, but he’s had lower HP.” And if those thoughts were keeping Edge awake at night, a memory of the last time Stretch had been down to a base of four HP, well, he wasn’t about to bring it up.

Red sucked on his teeth loudly. “wanna know what i think?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“i think that it ain't about the tests. it’s that he thinks all this shit’s his fault.”

Edge stilled. He blinked once, slowly, breathing in against the sudden raw magic thickening in his throat.

“he’s thinkin’ about how stupid he was to use their little machine alone,” Red went on, and each word stung, “and now he’s let you down, let his bro down, let the whole world down. he’s been stewing about it for a while, i’m bettin’. he gets out of the hospital again, starts doing better, then finds out his hp’s dropped. every time he just gets that little voice in his head to shut up, here it pops up again, like some kinda nasty yo-yo remindin’ him how he fucked up.”

“and then we’ve got you here,” Red waved a careless hand at Edge’s face, “lookin’ like i belted you, and his brain latched on to that shit. this's his chance, right? all ready to protect you from your mean ol' big brother, that'll make it up to you, for sure."

"That's ridiculous, he has nothing to make up for."

Red shrugged. "didn’t say it made sense. honey bun has issues, you knew that before you ever saw what he keeps in his pants."

"I'll thank you to not talk about his pants in any capacity." But Red was wrong about one thing; it made an upsetting amount of sense. Stretch had been trying to avoid telling him about his HP from the beginning because of Edge’s reaction at the hospital. Frightening as it was, he’d kept this to himself, even dragging Red and Sans along to keep quiet about it, though that probably hadn’t taken much persuasion. All because he was afraid of making Edge angry. If this was anyone’s fault, it was Edge’s; in trying to protect Stretch from his temper, he’d hurt him deeper than he’d realized and the memory of Stretch begging him not to leave was still painfully sharp.

Enough. Assigning blame wasn’t going to help anything, but now he needed to think about what would. Point blank was not going to be effective for Stretch, that much he knew.

Red was still lying in the chair, his hands folded over his chest as he contemplated the ceiling with unnecessary interest, and the urge to needle that blatantly rude calm was nigh on irresistible. “If only you were as apt at dissecting your own issues as you are others.”

His brother only snorted loudly. “oh, i got myself all dissected, don’t you worry about me, little brother. diagnosis: complete fuck up.”

Edge shook his head, reluctantly amused. “I stand corrected. Have you seen Jeff yet today?”

The chair squeaked as Red turned his skull towards Edge, his sockets narrowed, but he accepted Edge’s reorientation, “not yet.”

“It’s his first day. He was very nervous when we drove in this morning. He’s been through a lot lately. I don’t want him worrying that if he’s a little overwhelmed, his job will be in jeopardy.”

“like you’re gonna fire him?” Red laughed with more honest amusement, “after all the work you put in gettin’ him here?”

Edge allowed a reluctant smile. “Exactly.”

“your side liability is doin’ fine—”

“Don’t call him that!”

“—they’ve had him reviewing press releases all morning, makin’ sure they sound right to a human audience. shit gets lost in the translation, sometimes. he’s not bad, got a decent eye for detail.”

“Good.” Jeff would likely discuss his first day with Stretch later, hopefully with excitement, but it was good to confirm he wasn’t struggling.

“welp, can’t say i enjoyed the chat,” Red sagged out of the chair to his feet, already fumbling into his jacket for a cigar. “fuck me, you all are exhausting.” He paused, the slender cigar clenched unlit in his teeth as he dug around for matches. “paps? you need another workout, you call me.” It was not a question and Red waited until Edge nodded. “i’ll try and avoid that pretty face next time. oh, and maybe check your phone.”

“Brother, don’t you dare…!” Edge started, irritated, as Red lit a match with a flick of his thumb, holding it to the cigar. The first foul curl of odor filled the room even as he shortcutted out, lingering behind him.

“Asshole,” Edge sighed to no one at all. That pointed little reminder would be hanging out for hours. He started to reach for another folder and paused. His phone was sitting where he’d dropped it, dark and inconspicuous, and he picked it up, unlocking the screen. The last text wasn’t from Red as he’d assumed.

i’m sorry

Edge exhaled slowly. That had been over two hours ago, and he could easily picture Stretch curled up miserably on the sofa, waiting for a reply.

His fingers hesitated over the screen, ready to type out an answer. Instead, he opened the phone app to repeat his last call. The line picked up, but there were no words, only a damp, shuddery breath. He’d been crying and Edge closed his sockets, pained.

“You don’t have to say anything, love,” Edge told him quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I know you’re worried about, well, a great deal right now. Listen to me, no matter what Alphys has to say, we’ll handle it together. I love you. We can talk about everything else later, anything you want, and I won’t try to lie about any of it. That’s a promise.”

There was no reply, and Edge considered disconnecting, giving Stretch some time to gather himself. But before he could came a single word, “wait.” Small and soft, almost too low to hear. He did, patiently, listening to hitching breaths and sniffles that ached in his soul, until finally there was a faint, “i love you, too.”

It was enough for now. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“okay.” Still too quiet, too subdued, but this time Edge disconnected the call. He held his phone a moment longer until he could force his fingers to uncurl before he broke the glass. The temptation to go directly home was difficult to resist, but he did it anyway. He needed a little time to think, to settle his thoughts and his soul. Stretch might well still be miserable and worried, but going in without a strategy was only going to make things worse.

And strategy was his strength.

His door suddenly opening caught him off-guard, halfway to forming an attack before he saw it was only Antwan, likely taking advantage of Janice getting coffee to sneak in. “Hey, can we talk a min…what the fuck happened to you!?”

Edge groaned.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Guy annoys people on the bus, gets bamboozled

Before we start: English is not my native language, excuse any spelling and/or grammar mistakes.

So i was not realy sure if this story fits pro revenge (spoiler: there will be revenge for sure) but after having read some storys I think you might like this one.

This story took place about 3 or 4 years ago. At that time I was around the age of ~20. I always was a very introvert person and had a few panic attacks when beeing in very populated areas or having to deal with strangers (shitty childhood buf not part of this story). I am also a very slim/smal person, I don't have muscles at all and generally try to evade fights whenever possible. Keep that in mind for later.

So on that day I was on my way back home from my workplace. Since I had no car at that time (just finished my 3 year training period and got my final working contract) I took the bus home (about ~15 minutes which was nice).

Meet Tough Guy (TG from now on) who was sitting near the front of the bus (me beeing near the middle of the bus). TG looked like your avarage "i am looking for trouble" guy: Big muscles, small shirt, cappy on his shaved head and just the general aura of "if you look at me you are looking for trouble". To put it short: your average below 80 IQ idiot who most likely knows nothing and does nothing but pumping those muscles up.

TG was also doing his best to be as annoying as one could possible be: His dirty shoes (it was a rainy day) on the seats while eating a Burger from McDonalds - burger sauce dripping everywhere.

The Bus driver (a nice lady) told him multiple times to stop eating inside the bus and to put his feet down the chairs or else she would have to throw him out at the next bus stop. Of course TG had none of it. "Fuck no, I paid for the ticket, the fuck you wanna do?" - throw in some more insults and general bad behavior and you get a good picture of the situation.

Now, to be honest, I am a person who loves to laugh about the missery of other people (as long as they only hurt themself). I know that this is not the best character trait, but whatever.

While I thought that TG was a idiot I found it quite amusing (my bus stop was the next one anyway), but then the bus driver lady went into serious rage mode.

Bus driver lady: "I have talked with Headquarters. You have to leave the bus now. We will not drive ANY further before you have left the bus". TG: "Fuck noooooo, I paid for that ticket!".

This went on for a solid 5 minutes, all the way while the bus was standing at the bus stop (which was my station, but i wanted to see the end of their "discussion").

Suddenly, another woman who was quiet until now started talking: "E-E-Excuse me...I *have* to reach the train station by time to get my train - I have a very important meeting and i can not miss the bus." to which the Bus Driver Lady responded "I am sorry, nothing I can do. We will continue the tour as soon as Mr. TG has left the bus".

Of course knowing that another person was struggling because of his missbehaviour fired up Mr. TG even more, now beeing 100% certain that he will not leave the bus and they would have to call the cops to get him out.

At this point I got annoyed by TG, but i knew that i would mostz likely loose in a fight. Here in germany you can't expect to get help from other people (one thing that is much bette in america in my opinion, but thats another topic) so I had to think of a way to get that guy off the bus and to help the poor lady. So I stod up and told him in a very rude and loud manner: "Dude, you are fucking annoying everyone on this ride! Now get your stuff and leave the bus!" which triggered the exact reaction I was hoping for!

TG: "You looking for trouble? YOU LOOKING FOR TROUBLE!?!" Me: "Yeah" TG (with real excitement in his eyes, jumping up and down and doing some kind of warmup): "I WILL FUCK YOU UP YO! I WILL FUCK YOU UP" ME: "Yeah, lets clear this out of the bus, there is more room for a fight" while grabbing my bag and pretending to get ready to leave the bus.

TG, who was already hyped that he was going to get to beat the shit out of me (which he would clearly have done), jumped out of the bus in excitement.

...just as planed...

Right after he left the bus I moved my head to the bus driver lady (who had been watching the situation) and just noded to her, implying that she should close the door - which she did. TG, still outside the bus, realized his mistake and that he got fooled, but it was already to late. The door closed right in front of him, smashing his face against it. To be honest I have never seen someone so angry, you could see the veins on his head almost exploding. While he was shouting "I WILL KILL YOU" from the outside of the bus I just smiled at him and flipped the bird.

The other people on the bus (even the asshole cool kids that are always sitting at the backseats) bursted out in laughter, clapping and even applauding me.

I have never met that guy again - and I realy hope that I will never meet him.

Yes, the revenge was not as harsh as other stories on this Reddit, but I still wanted to share that story. Even if you are weak remember that you can still outsmart people - especially those kind of idiots.

(source) story by (/u/Kadji100)

#prorevenge #by /u/Kadji100 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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walkineternity · 5 years

Text

Day 8: Stab Wound

(Detroit: Become Human)

Connor had been living a lie.

Three months ago, Cyberlife had cut production and research into the RK800 line. They claimed unavoidable complications in the prototype, and that it would be better to start from scratch.

So, the RK800 was thrown out like week old trash. He couldn’t remember much of what happened before waking up into a living nightmare, but from what he could glean, the ‘complications’ that arose was the fact that he had kept deviating.

He really, truly didn’t mean to, but it seemed no matter how many models they went through, and he was their final one at -42, they couldn’t seem to prevent such an occurrence. He supposes they wanted a model that was as close to human as possible, but without such pesky things as emotions or free will.

Hence waking up in an android landfill, thirium leaking everywhere, hearing the creaks and moans and singing of other mostly dead androids.

He had wanted to be angry at the injustice and cruelty of it all, but…it had taken an eternity to get out of there, and all he was left with was deep-rooted fear.

Emotions were unpleasant, he decided. No wonder Cyberlife didn’t want them in their androids. It made everything…. messy and unpredictable.

So, Connor escaped. He lived. He didn’t know what else to do.

For weeks afterwards, he hid in abandoned buildings. Never talking to humans if he could help it. He had shed any Cyberlife markers (including his LED) and, using his undercover software, scavenged appropriately indistinct clothing.

He also avoided other androids if he could. So far, none of them have recognised him as one of their own, but he didn’t want to take a chance. He knew that there were others like him out there. His purpose had been, after all, to find other deviants. But he couldn’t take any chances. So he avoided interface and avoided speaking to them and their humans.

The only thing he had managed to connect with was a stray cat that was squatting in the same building he was. However, one day he had come back after trying to find scraps of food for the little thing, was that it had died. It had been in poor health already, and Connor should have known better. But. It had let him pet it and feed it and when he had cuddled the cat, trying to keep it warm, he could feel it’s purring right through his chest.

Upon discovering the small little thing, cold and unmoving, he had cried for hours.

The poor cat didn’t even have a name.

He was the only one who would remember it, or even miss it.

Amanda would have called him soft, said he was malfunctioning again. But Amanda was gone, along with the Zen Garden, and he had no one in the world at all.

And then, one week ago, he had met Hank Anderson.

By then, Connor was good at avoiding people and finding safe enough places to stay. He had even tentatively started talking to other squatters and homeless people. They had a wealth of knowledge and advice for him, and were the first friendly interactions he ever had. He never stayed in one spot too long, however. It was too dangerous. He got good at fake eating, and sharing what little he found, so that it simple looked like he was good enough at scavenging that he had extra food, and not that he hardly ate at all. And that he was generous enough to share what “extra” food he found. Still. He didn’t need to shave. He didn’t need to sleep. He faked as much as he could, but it was still safer for him to move around.

This led to where he was currently staying. It was under a bridge with a small group of humans, one that was an older lady named Penelope. She was nice enough. Connor liked her best out of the small group, because she had a gravelly voice from smoking too much, and would call him “honey”, and would tell him stories about her life as a firefighter. Before the PTSD and the drinking became a problem. She had burns on her left hand and side of her face. She wasn’t self conscious about it, though. She didn’t seem ashamed of anything. Just told him stories and was nice enough not to ask any questions back. He was grateful. He wasn’t sure what he would have said.

And then it was like the cat all over again, only worse. He had come back one night to find the alley under the bridge empty save for the cooling corpse of Penelope. He knew he should have run, then.

But. Something was…. not right. If he had been human, he would have called it instincts. Instead, something in his programs was telling him that this wasn’t some heart attack, or accident.

He bent closer, choking down tears and feelings, and started to analyse her body for clues.

There was alcohol on her breath and broken bottle beside her, liquid seeping into the ground and her already stained clothes. He couldn’t see any wounds- wait! There were strangulation marks on her neck. Someone had strangled Penelope.

“Police! Put your hands up!”

And Connor felt panic, warnings flashing across his vision. But he was angry too. Maybe for the first time in months. For the first time since crawling out of that landfill, he felt anger encompass the ever-present fear.

Someone murdered Penelope. And he was going to find out who.

He stood up slowly and with his hands raised. He said in his Negotiator Voice, “It’s okay, officer. My name is Connor.” And here he was taking a risk, “I’m a private investigator.”

The officer, or rather Lieutenant Hank Anderson as his facial recognition was telling him, looked at him disbelievingly. “We just got calls about a commotion under this bridge. And you wanna say someone hired you for this, already? Pull the other one, asshole.”

Connor tilted his head. Fuck you, police man. He affected his most innocent tone, “Pull which other one?”

The man stared at him for a second, then said, “Nevermind. What the fuck are you doing here, next to a body?” He gave him a once over. “And you sure as shit don’t look like an investigator to me.”

“Well, I’m not a PI anymore. I was…” he glanced down at the broken liquor bottle. “I had some issues with sobriety.” And here he let some of his emotions bleed through. “And I’m here because I’ve been staying here, and Penelope was a friend, and someone murdered her.”

Here the Lieutenant lowered his gun, slightly. Moved a bit closer. “What makes you so sure she was murdered? And if she was, why should I believe that it wasn’t you?”

“Check the cameras located around the corner. You will see that I arrived here too late in order to have murdered her.” And here he slowly crouched down, pointing at her neck. “Look here. You will notice marks on her neck, made before her death. Quite possibly the cause of death. Someone strangled her. And it wasn’t me, detective.”

He almost called him by his name, but Connor held back at the last second. Realised that it would be suspicious to know Hank Anderson’s name already. So, called him what would be the most likely guess that a human would make.

“It’s Lieutenant, actually. Lieutenant Anderson,” he said, almost absentmindedly. He had drawn closer still, and Connor suddenly got a whiff of alcohol on his breath. Connor was quite used to being around people who drank, but when he looked, Anderson’s eyes seemed unusually clear for someone who had been drinking on the job. “Huh. You’re smarter than you look, kid. Those marks aren’t easy to spot.” And here he looked straight at him, with an expression that Connor couldn’t read. “Ok. What do you think happened here?”

Connor almost rolled his eyes. Wanted to say that it wasn’t his job to solve this murder for him. But he still felt angry. He still wanted to help Penelope in any way he could. And he could recognise a test when he saw one. And so, he walked carefully around, scanning everything. Putting the clues together. Unfortunately, he couldn’t take any samples, for that would have given him away, but he had enough to go off of without it.

“I think, Lieutenant, I know what happened here.”

And he told him.

Surprisingly, Hank Anderson seemed to believe him. Seemed to accept his help, however begrudgingly. Eventually called in forensics and everything else. Said that even though Connor couldn’t officially help, what with not having a license anymore, he said he was welcome to tag along. Well. Said he wouldn’t babysit, and that it wasn’t on him if he were to get hurt, but still. Didn’t turn him away. Listened to him. Treated him like a person.

Well, as far as Anderson knew, he was. And a few days into the investigation, where they had surprising worked pretty well together, the Lieutenant had turned to him in perceived annoyance and said, “Oh, enough of that, kid. Just call me Hank. We’re there. We’ve reached that point.”

This was after Connor had broke into his house and threw him into his own bathtub.

And met the love of his life, a dog named Sumo.

Sumo seemed to think the same thing, and Connor tried to find suitable excuses to come to Hank’s house and let him see the dog again.

At one point, Hank said he had looked Connor up, but couldn’t seem to find anything, not even a last name.

Connor, heart in his throat, said that it was because Connor hadn’t always been his name, and that he didn’t actually live anywhere at the moment, remember? He was living under the bridge like Penelope was.

None of it wasn’t actually a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. But Hank, mess that he was, seemed to recognise the truth underlying his words, or what he had thought was the truth, and seemed to leaving it alone. Saying that it’s not like he was officially part of anything, so the paperwork already didn’t matter so much.

Connor thought this was a cavalier take on the law, especially for a police lieutenant, but he was also the last person that could judge.

Hank said his goofy looking face helped sell any creative paperwork. Plus, Connor was really, really good at being a detective. And then offered him a spot on his couch. Connor was very tempted. Surprised at Hank’s generosity, but tempted nonetheless. Mostly because he could see Sumo every day. Maybe even…cuddle with him! But then disappointment set in. Hank couldn’t find out he wasn’t human. And it would be hard to hide if he was literally staying with the man. It was hard enough just solving a case with him. Connor ended up saying he was fine on his own. That he appreciated the offer, but didn’t want to impose. Hank looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t say anything more about the subject.

So, here they were, a week into the investigation, and they had finally found out who did it.

Turns out one of her distant kids, a young man named Riley, had found his mother and confronted her. He was mad that she wouldn’t come home, that she owed him money, that she was drinking her life away. He was a very proud man, and having a homeless, alcoholic mother seemed to shame him so deeply that he had to kill her for it.

Connor can’t say he understood, but humans frequently did things he didn’t understand. And he knew, on the outside, people might say that Penelope even deserved it.

But she was one of the only people that was ever kind to Connor. And she had always offered to share what little she had, even if Connor didn’t seem to need it. She didn’t deserve to die.

So, Connor and Hank, along with other cops, went to arrest Riley. And Riley, knowing he was caught, knowing that going to prison would ruin his reputation more than a shameful mother ever could, put up a fight.

In the process, Connor was stabbed in the arm. In the ensuing commotion, they managed to subdue Riley, and Connor managed to cover up the wound. He had picked the knife up and having no time to wipe it clean, hid it in his sweater.

He could feel thirium leaking out his arm. He had covered the blue blood and the hole in his sweater with his scarf, but this wasn’t a long-term solution. The thirium would eventually soak through the scarf too. And he needed to repair the damage.

He dismissed all the warnings that were flashing. The wound itself wasn’t life threatening, but it eventually would be if he lost too much thirium. Which was what was likely going to happen. He didn’t have a way of repairing it by himself. And if anyone looked closer…

It wasn’t like everyone saw me get stabbed or anything, he thought sarcastically.

And there was Hank, pulling him over, yelling for someone to call an ambulance. “Shit, Connor, you look pale.”

“I always look like this. I’m fine. It’s just a graze.”

“You think I’m goddamned stupid? I saw the blade going into your fucking arm, Connor!” Hank swore and said, “That’s it. Get in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital myself. The others can handle the arrest.”

And so that’s how Connor found himself in Hank’s car, stab wound not exactly hurting, but it felt…weird. He wasn’t sure if he would call it pain, but his arm was not functioning and the wound itself felt... wrong. Like things were in places they weren’t supposed to be. And that was…deeply uncomfortable. Maybe this was the deviant version of pain. He didn’t have any other reference for it.

And he had gotten so used to breathing like a human, to keep up the ruse, that he noticed that he wasn’t breathing properly either. Fuck. He was panicking. He was stabbed, and Hank was going to find out, and everyone was going to find out at the hospital, and then they would send him back to Cyberlife, and he would be deactivated, or erased, and he didn’t want to die-

“Breathe, kid. Breathe. Connor, c’mon,” Hank’s voice. Sounding pretty worried.

“Ha-ank. I can’t go. I can’t- no hospital. Please, no hospital. They’re- they’ll kill me, Hank. P-please.” He needed to get under control. He was giving too much away. He needed to get away, from Hank, from everything.

“What? Connor, no, shit I’m trying to drive, just- hang on!”

And then they were pulled over, and Connor could feel tears, and he couldn’t breathe, and he clutched his working arm over the scarf, knowing that the thirium had finally leaked through.

And then Hank was on the other side of the car, passenger side door open, and bending over him, “Shit, okay, Connor. Just let me look. Let me help.” Hank sounded frantic himself. Maybe being in a car on the side of the highway with an injured passenger was bringing back bad memories.

“I-I can’t, you’ll- you’re going to h-hate me.”

Hank sounded strange, like he was getting words past something in his throat. “Kid, I’ve only known you a week, but I can’t think of a goddamn thing that would make me hate you. Hell, if giving me a cold shower didn’t throw me off, what could?”

And here Connor let out a hysterical laugh. He saw the anti-android stickers. He saw the looks Hank gave any passing android. He knew it had something to do with Hank’s dead son. “Please, please. Don’t look. Don’t t-take me to a hospital. Let me disappear. Please, I know you’re going to hate me. But. Don’t turn me in.”

And there were Hank’s hands on his, peeling his fingers that gripped his arm. He did it gently, though. Like Connor was something fragile.

And then there was the dark stains on the scarf. The blue blood looked almost black against it, very close to how human blood would stain it, but just slightly off. Once Hank got the scarf off, it would be much clearer.

However, the dark colours seemed close enough to the human eye, because the slightly off colour didn’t seem to register to Hank. He unbound the scarf, and Connor could feel himself holding his breath. Could still feel the tears running down his face.

And then the scarf was off, and the rip in his sweater making his wound clearly visible. The thirium soaked sleeve and the wires under Connor’s skin.

Hank froze and looked like he was holding his breath too. His eyes had gone wide and his face was pale.

And they were frozen like that for what seemed like an eternity, until Connor couldn’t stand it anymore, “Just- just let me go, Hank. I was never officially here, remember? Just- please. Let me go. Let me die in peace.”

And Hank was still staring at him with wide eyes, “What the fuck. What the actual fuck, Connor.”

Here Connor couldn’t look at him anymore. He stared down at the wound. He didn’t want to see the shock turn to realisation turn to disgust turn to hate.

Hank’s hands were unsteady as he investigated the wound. Like it was some elaborate trick. Like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what he was seeing. Connor let him. He got thirium on his fingers.

“Are you- this doesn’t look like a prosthetic. Fuck. Fuck. Connor what is this?” Hank had pulled back his hands and was looking at his thirium stained fingers like it was the first time he ever saw them.

Connor sucked in a breath he didn’t need. “I’m not who- what you think I am.”

“You…you’re an android.” And now it was out there. Finally, it was out.

“Yes.”

And he could hear something in Hank’s voice. Something sharper. “What the fuck was this, then? Some test? Was it Fowler, or fucking what. Who owns you?”

And Connor shook his head. “No, no one. I’m- this isn’t a test.”

“Bullshit. What are your instructions? Spy on me? Some sort of bullshit prank? I thought you- that we-” Hank cut himself off, sounding…hurt? Shit. He continued, “Doesn’t matter what I thought.”

Hank pulled away and Connor looked up at him. His back was to the car, to Connor.

A warning popped up in his vision, telling him that his thirium was low, that he needed to stop the leak soon. He covered the wound with his other hand, holding it tightly, and knew that wasn’t going to help very much.

He stood out of the car and cautiously went closer to Hank’s turned back. He didn’t want to die…. but he wanted to stay out of Cyberlife’s hands even more.

He thought about running, in that moment, but…thirium levels were low. It wouldn’t matter if he ran. He wouldn’t get very far.

“Hank,” he started cautiously. “This isn’t a test. Or a trick. I’m…the same. I’m…me.” He paused, but Hank wasn’t responding, shoulders tense. “If…you’re going to turn me in, you don’t have to. I can…you can just leave me here. Or…or shut me down. I don’t…” his voice cracked, but he tried to sound as steady as possible. As if this was a reasonable situation. “I will shut down soon, anyways. There’s no need to tell Cyberlife. You…if you feel you have to…deactivate me yourself, I won’t fight. Just. Please. Don’t turn me in.”

When Hank turned around, he had the strangest expression on his face. “So, what? You’re acting on your own? Like you’ve got, what, fucking free will or something?”

Connor nodded. “The term is deviant. I…am a deviant.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I…according to Cyberlife, this means that I am malfunctioning. That there are flaws in my code that make me think I have emotions, and these fake emotions lead to irrational decisions. I’m…broken.”

Hank stared at him, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t fucking ask Cyberlife, did I?”

Connor was confused. Hank asked what deviant meant. Does it really matter if he, Connor, thought that the emotions were real? That he felt…alive? The end results were the same and Connor didn’t know why Hank was drawing it out. Kill him, let him go, turn him in. All led to the same ending. He just…rather die free. So, he said again, “Please, Hank. I don’t want Cyberlife to find me. Just…shut me down now, or let me bleed out on my own.”

Hank rubbed a hand over his face, not seeming to realise he had gotten some thirium on his cheek. Connor still couldn’t tell what Hank was thinking.

And then Hank pulled his gun on him.

“Hank-”

“Isn’t this what you want, Connor? You want me to shoot you? What do you think is going to happen when I do?”

“I-I don’t know. Nothing. I’m…I’ll be deactivated.” He paused. “You’re not going to turn me in?”

Hank’s gun didn’t waver. “Does it look like I’m going to? Should I? Wouldn’t they just shut you down?”

“…they might. Or they might just erase my…memories. Anything that makes me…what I am. It’s…worse than nothing. Because…I’ll still be activated. But not…”

“Alive. Not alive. Is that what you think you are, Connor?” He moved closer, so that the gun was nearly pressed against Connor’s forehead. “You’re a machine. Just a fucking machine…. but I’ve seen you. I’ve worked with you. I’ve seen you laugh; I’ve seen fear. I’ve seen empathy, Connor. These are all human emotions. And now you’re saying that you’ve been faking it the whole time? Because it sure as hell seemed real to me. It’s why I can’t figure out why you’re practically begging me to let you die now.”

“It wasn’t…I wasn’t lying, Hank!”

“Well, according to Cyberlife, they weren’t real emotions. And that you should be erased or shut down. If they knew about you, then I don’t think anyone would object to me shooting you right now.”

“Then why don’t you?!” Connor finally let his emotions burst out. The anger that was building over the fear. Again. He walked into the barrel of the gun. “Why don’t you fucking shoot me, Hank, and be done with it. What does any of this matter? What does it matter whether I want to die or not? I’m so fucking sick of humans and their stupid tests! If you’re going to shoot me, Hank, just fucking do it, or leave me alone in peace to die!”

He stared into Hank’s eyes and Hank stared back. The gun on his forehead started to shake, and Connor could see Hank waver. He put the gun down, and away. Hank moved closer, reaching for him, and Connor flinched.

“Shit, Connor. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck.” Were those…tears in Hank’s eyes? “I shouldn’t have done that. I…no excuse.” He let out a shaky breath. “Let’s get you some help, yeah?”

Connor was back to being confused. Still angry, though. “Don’t fuck with me, Hank.”

He was shaking his head. “No, kid. No more. Look, I don’t know a lot about…androids, okay? But blue blood should be in your body, right? That means we need to get you patched up and get you more of it.”

And now Connor was just confused. The anger seemed to shrink in the face of Hank’s earnestness. The whiplash of feelings was a little overwhelming. “…I don’t understand.”

Hank put a hand on his shoulder, drawing him close and looked at him right in the eyes. “I don’t know what you are, Connor. I don’t know how you can exist. I have a lot of fucking questions. But here is something that I do know. You. Are. Alive. The past fucking week together more than proved that. And I’m not going to let you die, Connor. I’m going to fix this. Let me help you.”

And Connor felt his fake heart stutter in his chest. Something like hope blossomed there. “We have…twenty-eight minutes before the lack of thirium damages vital systems.”

Hank swore, “Okay. Shit. Let’s go.”

And Connor…didn’t move. He slowly placed his working hand in a mirror of Hank’s own. He winced a little at the handprint he left on Hank’s jacket, but he wanted to be sincere. “Thank you, Hank.”

And Hank paused, looked at him. Then pulled him into a rough, warm hug. If Connor died now, he would have been happy. No one’s ever hugged him before and it felt…it felt very nice.

Hank pulled away and said, “You may not be able to get blue blood, but I can. I can also get anything you need to repair your arm. Just tell me what to do.”

“My self-repair is capable of doing most of the work, but I need to close the wound up enough that it can do it. There are certain android ‘stitches’ that would do the job. Anything we need should be at a Cyberlife store. I can’t go in, though. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll get it.”

“I have no money.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not…that cheap.”

“Connor, I said I fucking got it, got it?”

“Got it.”

They went into Hank’s car and Hank turned it back on. They didn’t have that long, but Connor started to pre-construct the fastest route to the nearest Cyberlife store. It was late, but some stores, especially ones geared towards repairs, were open late.

The hope had stretched into something more…solid. Like determination. He knew they would make it. He was going to…to live.

He looked over at Hank and saw the determination he felt mirrored on Hank’s face. Mixed with something…. he couldn’t quite read. But then Hank looked over at him, and that emotion stretched his face into a warm smile. Affection, perhaps. Some other things that left Connor feeling…affection back. He smiled.

Yeah, they were both going to be okay. He didn’t know what the future was going to look like, but for the first time, he felt like he could handle it. He felt, for the first time, like he wasn’t so alone after all.

And then Hank put the car in gear, and they were off.

Nothing, not even Cyberlife, was going to stop them.

#whumptober2019 #no. 8 #stab wound #dbh #detroit become human #connor #hank anderson #tw stabbing #tw android gore #tw murder #tw mentioned cat death #my writing #fanfiction #alternate universe #alternate meeting #secret identity #identity reveal #no pairings #gen

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hellimagines · 6 years

Text

18 Months (Part Seven) -- Michael Langdon

Masterlist

Summary: Michael is introduced Madelyn’s Church as the Antichrist, causing a rift in your friendship.

Warnings: panic attack, petty fight

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader

Word Count: 6,000+

A/N: I’m getting excited with this, guys, let me know what you think!

18 Months Masterlist

Your fingers clutched the porcelain sink before you, your body shaking with the heavy breaths you took. You were hiding away in the bathroom belonging to the stranger -Madelyn- who had taken you in, while she hovered over Michael in the living room. For the past two hours, she had been questioning him incessantly, and dotting over his every need. You understood the excitement, but it all became too much after a while. Using the disguise of having to clean up, you managed to excuse yourself a while ago, successfully escaping Madelyn’s suffocating behavior. Although, you knew the wounds that covered your face, chest, and arms were already infected, and there was little you could do to fix that now, but it was the best you could think of.

Currently, however, you were too focused on preventing a panic attack from happening to do any actual ‘cleaning up’. You hadn’t had a moment to breathe in what felt like months- being surrounded by a single person for three weeks had definitely done a number on you. You could hardly believe, that just a month ago, you were in your room at Miss. Robichaux’s, reading House of Leaves, practicing spells, and texting Michael non-stop. It made processing your current situation event harder; Michael being your only company for the past few weeks, being disowned by your mother, voluntarily switching loyalties -something you never thought you’d do-, being stranded in the woods for days (not eating, drinking, or sleeping), and now, you were in some lady’s house, while she fawned over your best friend. It was all too much.

Your grip tightened on the sink dangerously, and if you were any stronger, it would be cracking under your fingers. You couldn’t pull yourself out of the neverending whirlwind of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried. Even as you turned on the faucet to blast cold water into the sink, you couldn’t hear anything over the roaring of your mind. Shaky hands dipped under the water, and you knew that you should be able to feel its coldness, but you just couldn’t. You felt so numb, so lost, and so alone, that you couldn’t even process the typical heat burning through your body, caused by your panic. Your motions were now becoming robotic and set in autopilot. Once the water had filled up your cupped hands, you tossed it against your face, drenching your shirt and hair in the process. You did this a few more times before shutting off the water, keeping your hands pressed against your face. After releasing a hesitant sigh, you removed your hands so you could stare at your reflection in the mirror.

You looked broken- you could hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror. Droplets of water fell from the high points of your face, hitting the sink with drip-drops falling on deaf hears. Your face was covered in red blotches, trailing all the way down to your chest. Your hair was a tangled, dirty mess atop your head, with a few leaves and clumps of dirt matted in. The makeup you had been wearing the day everything went to shit was smudged around your eyes, even a week after the incident. Cuts and bruises that littered your body were a mixture of ugly yellows and purples, with dried blood beginning to flake away.

“I walked around California looking like this?” you whispered to yourself, reaching out to press the tips of your fingers against the mirror.

You stared at your reflection with wide eyes for a moment longer, before your lips were cracking into a painful grin. A quiet, breathy laugh escaped your lips as you ran your hand down the mirror, smearing water over the glass. Slowly, your quiet laugh morphed into over-exaggerated giggles, until you were crashing to the floor with uncontrollable, maniacal laughter. Your knees slammed to the floor with a painful crack, but you paid them no mind. With your hands refusing to let go of the sink, you were forced to hunch over yourself, pressing your head against the cabinet, as the laughter ruptured through your body.

Because you were so out of it, you didn’t recognize the bathroom door opening or closing, until a pair of familiar, pointed dress shoes were stood before you. Michael knelt down beside you, gently grabbing onto your hands and attempting to pry them away from the sink. You didn’t make it easy for him, and when he finally got you to let go, the force of it sent you flying to your ass. You let out a quiet oomph at the motion, your laughter dying down at the sudden change in position. But, as soon as you looked up at Michael, the panic set in. You were already out of breath from all of your unwanted laughter, so it didn’t take much for your throat to metaphorically close up. You stared at Michael with a gaping mouth, your hand coming to grasp at your neck in a desperate attempt to breathe again. Hot tears ran down your face, stinging each cut as they passed.

“(Y/N), (Y/N)- you’re okay. Let go of your throat, you’re alright. Just breathe, just take a single breath, alright?” Michael coaxed, wiping away your tears as they fell. “Come on, babe, you got this.” With Michael’s gentle words, you were able to force your lungs into taking in a gulp of air, the sound of your choked gasps filling the room. “There you go,” he whispered, running a hand over your hair.

Now that you could breathe again, you were left with your overwhelming sadness. A broken sob left your lips while you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the words running through your head like a broken record. ‘Unloyal child, ungrateful brat, you have nobody left, you’re all on your own. What were you thinking abandoning your mother? She’s going to die, and it’ll be all your fault’ you thought bitterly to yourself. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and dug your nails into your shoulders, desperately trying to ground yourself.

“I can’t-I can’t… I c-c-can’t, can’t,” you stuttered helplessly, shaking your head with each word.

“Come on, fox, you’ve got this,” Michael said, wrapping his own arms around your waist. He moved so he his back was against the wall, and maneuvered you between his legs. “I’m right here.” You sobbed harder at Michael’s words, tossing your head back against his shoulder.

“It's all over,” you cried, gulping down fresh breaths of air in frustration. It only caused you to sob harder while you sniffled, continuing to shake your head.

“No, it’s not. We’re just beginning. You’ve got me, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this, I just need you to breathe for me,” Michael said against your ear, his cold breath causing you to sigh.

“‘S hot,” you whispered off-handedly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck.

“Focus on the cold, (Y/N). Just think about the cold,” Michael instructed, moving a hand to hold your head in place. He ran his other hand up and down your arm, spreading his cold touch over your burning body. You did as he asked, willing yourself to quiet down so you could focus on his touch. Pressing your nose against his jugular, and fisting your hands in the front of his suit, you released quiet sniffled as your sobs slowly subsided. Michael had abandoned his tie a while ago, so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught up in it. “There you go, that’s my girl,” he sighed, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, hoping the words would be hidden by his throat.

“Don’t apologize-” they weren’t, “-for anything. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, slowly lifting your head so you could stare at him. Tears were still dripping from your eyes, but at a slower rate, and you were having to sniffle every few seconds. “I just… couldn’t keep it anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have had to in the first place. Why didn’t you just talk to me?” Michael scolded while reaching a long arm across to grab at a roll of toilet paper.

“You lost Ms. Mead because of my mom. I had no right to unload my problems onto you,” you explained, shaking your head. “That’s not fair. I was handling it well, I never had the chance to think about it. But… then we came here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Michael reassured, handing you the toilet paper. “We made that promise.”

“I never said you were. It’s just such a huge change from how things have been. It’s only been us the past three weeks- but now Madelyn wants to bring you into the Church, so everyone knows who you are. Things… things won’t be the same,” you grumbled, turning your head away to blow your nose.

“Yes, they will. You’ll be by my side through it all, and not an inch behind. Where I go, you go. What I get, you get. You’re just as important as me, and I’ll make them understand that,” Michael smiled, shaking his head. “I promise. Now, let’s clean up, and head to bed. It’s gonna be a big day tomorrow,” Michael said.

“Yeah, whatever, dad,” you scoffed, tossing the used toilet paper. You felt Michael grin against your throat, before he was placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“Save it for the bedroom, babe,” he whispered, causing you to blush.

“Oh, you’re so gross,” you grumbled, finally moving to stand up. Michael followed, instantly placing his hands in their usual spot on your hips. He pulled you into his chest, holding onto you tightly.

“Mm, I’ll help you with your cuts if you help me shave,” he smiled, causing you to laugh.

“I’ve never shaved a beard before.” You pulled out of his hold just enough to stare up at him.

“It’s the same as legs. Come on, up,” he said, motioning to the sink. He backed you up and gripped onto the back of your thighs, lifting you onto the sink without further warning.

“Michael!” you yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders at the sudden lift. He laughed while settling between your thighs, grinning down at you. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist to keep from falling off of the sink and watched as he reached for a rag and turned on the sink. Thankfully the water didn’t splash on you, and once the rag was wet enough, Michael began to dab at your face.

“I’m sorry for hitting you with the branches,” Michael apologized after a while, looking down at you sadly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, we weren’t at our best. I’m sorry for biting your wrist,” you frowned, reaching up to run your fingers over the fading teeth marks on the inner-side of Michael’s wrist.

Michael laughed softly with a shake of his head. “It’s alright, I forgive you.” You gave him a cheeky smile, and the two of you fell silent as Michael continued his work.

It took a while, but after roughly ten minutes, and half a bar of soap, you were void of any dirt on your face, chest, arms, and in your hair. Michael had cleaned your cuts well enough and had managed to find a tube of ointment to dab onto them. The cold water from the rag had reduced your puffy eyes as well, so Michael was better-able to see your (e/c) orbs. The two of you had also managed to unmat your hair, but you knew you’d need a shower in the morning anyway.

“There we go,” he whispered with a smile, running the back of his knuckles over your cheekbones. You smiled back with gratitude, before Michael was pulling away from you. “I need to find shaving cream,” he hummed, a wicked smirk falling onto his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that, you creep?” Michael’s smirk only widened at your question, and the next thing you knew, he was on his knees between your legs. “Oh my god stand the fuck up!”

“I need to find the cream,” he tsked, grabbing ahold of your calves to spread your legs wider, so he could open the cabinet below the sink.

“Michael Langdon! Close my legs right now!” you hissed, desperately trying to push his head away while simultaneously attempting to close your legs against his grip.

“Never had a girl say that to me before,” he hummed from below the sink, causing you to blush. “Aha, here it is.” Michael grabbed something before he was popping between your legs again, and shutting the cabinet. He settled between your thighs once more before releasing them, handing you a can of shaving cream.

“You’re such an ass,” you scolded, grabbing the wet rag he had been using. You ran it under the water once more, before dabbing it along his scruffy jawline. “Why do you want to shave? I like this look,” you pouted.

“I look like a caveman,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as you ran your hands over the scruff. “Come on now, it’s getting late.”

“Don’t rush me.” Once Michael’s face was damp, you squirted some of the shaving cream into your hands and spread it along his scruff. You picked up the razor Michael had found and slowly got to work.

“It’s not a Picasso painting, fox,” Michael groaned, looking down at you with an unimpressed look.

“Clearly. Picasso wouldn’t paint on something so ugly,” you snarked. The room fell silent for a moment at your retort, but then Michael was reaching up to his face with his hand. “What are you doing? Move-” A sudden slap of cream against your face caught you off guard, causing you to reel back in silent shock.

“Who’s the ugly one, now?”

“Did you just…” You looked at him in disbelief, taking in the empty patch on his face while touching the glob of shaving cream on your own cheek.

“Hurry up.” Was all Michael said, his mischievous smirk hidden by the cream on his face.

“Why should I?” you scoffed, crossing your arms in defiance. “I don’t appreciate being hit with shaving cream.”

“Oh, so you can call me ugly but I can’t put a little shaving cream on your face?” Michael asked, raising a brow.

“Uh, yeah. It’s rude,” you pouted.

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. Michael grabbed ahold of your cheeks, squishing them together to make you look at him. “I’m sorry. Now, please continue.”

“Okay,” you grinned, uncrossing your arms and continuing to shave his face. Michael smiled softly to himself as you worked, watching you intently. After a few minutes, you finished up.

“Thank you,” he sighed running a hand down his now-smooth face.

“No need to thank me.” You cleaned off the razor before turning back to Michael, looking up at him expectantly. He stared back down at you and grabbed your arms, wrapping them around his neck.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, resting his forehead against your own.

“Yeah, I’m good now. How’d you know I needed you?”

“I got too cold,” he explained simply, before pulling away again. “When I came here, I heard you laughing, and so I came in.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Michael nodded in affirmation while helping you down from the sink.

“Come on, we’re sleeping in the guest room.” He held out his hand for you to take, which you did, before leading you out of the bathroom.

The next night, you found yourself hurrying down the same alley you had been in just the day before, alongside Michael and Madelyn. It was raining, and as you and Michael clung to one another’s hands, you were grateful that he had taken the umbrella from Madelyn to hold over the three of you. Madelyn was going to be introducing Michael to the Church tonight, and you couldn’t deny you were nervous. You had been forced into a black, form-fitting, lace dress, while Michael was dressed in a typical black suit. You hadn’t worn a dress for some time, and you hadn’t been given a jacket after leaving the house, either. So as the rain soaked through your clothing, you didn’t hide the salty glare aimed towards Michael.

“This’ll all be worth it, I promise,” he whispered against your ear, sensing your bitterness. “You look beautiful.”

“I always look beautiful,” you grumbled, but squeezed his hand as a form of thank you, regardless.

Quickly, Madelyn ushered you inside the large metal doors, making sure to shut them tight behind you. Michael closed the umbrella and tossed it to the side, while Madelyn opened up what appeared to be a spare broom closet. She pulled out a black cloak and handed it to Michael, while sliding on one of her own.

“Put this on,” she instructed, shaking the cloak slightly in his direction.

Michael took it and did as told, before looking down at you. “What about (Y/N)’s?”

“She won’t need it,” Madelyn said, before heading towards the familiar red room. You and Michael followed, still holding hands with one another, as the voice of the woman from yesterday filtered down the hall. Madelyn rushed into the room ahead of you and Michael, shouting “wait!” to halt whatever was happening. “This honor, belongs to someone else.”

“Someone else?” You followed Michael into the room, both of you hesitating as dozens of eyes switched to you.

“His name is Michael… he’s new here,” Madelyn said breathlessly, waving her arm out to Michael.

“Well, even if he’s willing to sell his soul, why he should he go before-“

“Michael doesn’t need to sell his soul,” Madelyn interjecting. You looked up at Michael, finally letting go of his hand so he could walk further into the room. You could feel his anxiety come off him in waves, as he came to a stop beside Madelyn. “The end-times, are upon us.” Michael turned, ever so slightly, and lifted up his hair. “Behold.”

The lights flickered in the room at Michael’s reveal, and you looked up at the sound of lightning crashing outside. “The m-mark of the beast!” The preacher cried, taking a step back. “Is it possible? That you’re... the one?”

“I am,” Michael sighed, and you rolled your eyes at his bored tone.

Instantly, a chant of Hail Satan filled the room as everyone fell to their knees. You stayed standing, but clasped your hands behind your back with awkwardness. The preacher turned around a grabbed a knife from the man behind her, then looked back to Michael. She handed it to him, and once Michael took it, the choir above you began to sing.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” you whispered to yourself, taking a hesitant step forward as Michael walked behind two people, who were kneeling on the ground, in nothing but their underwear. “Don’t.”

Michael removed his victim’s red cloaks, before wrapping one of his hands around the male’s head. He pushed it against the woman’s, forcing them close together. Michael placed his arm around their necks, pressing the blade of the knife against the woman’s throat. He stared straight at you as he swiped his arm, slitting both of their throats simultaneously. You stared at him, your jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, while the congregation around you applauded, and continued their Hail Satan’s.

After the unexpected ceremony, you and Michael returned to Madelyn’s house with the entirety of the congregation. You sat at the kitchen table, which was filled to the brim with everybody’s food offerings, in your usual spot beside Michael- except you were slouching and neither of you were touching. Hannah, the preacher, had made it very clear that the food was for Michael only, but you weren’t hungry anyway. How could you be? You and Michael were in a silent feud with one another after what happened earlier that night, and neither of you had spoken or laid a hand on the other since.

It fucking sucked. You had become so used to talking with Michael, and always touching one another: holding hands, his hand on your thigh or your hand on his shoulder, grabbing onto one another’s waists, or just seeking comfort with each other. Now that it wasn’t happening, you felt hot- and not the kind of heat you felt when you were emotional. No, this kind of heat you hadn’t felt since leaving Miss.Robichaux’s. Since joining Michael’s side at the Ritz.

“Is it too spicy?” Madelyn’s sudden, careful voice broke you out of your thoughts. You looked around, noticing everyone staring at Michael as he ate a spoonful of something in a bowl.

“No, it’s good,” Michael laughed awkwardly, dipping the spoon back in. Everyone cheered quietly- you had to roll your eyes at their obsessiveness.

“Oh thank the Dark Lord!” Hannah praised. “It’s my mother’s recipe!”

Multiple demanded Michael try their food next, before Hannah was asking, “may I touch your hair?”, her hand already outstretched towards his golden locks. Before you realized what you were doing, you were reaching over the top of Michael to harshly swat her hand away. By the loud smack that echoed around the room, you were positive you left a mark.

“Let him fucking eat!” you snapped, glaring at her as she rubbed her hand. “And don’t touch his hair.”

“Who are you, to speak for the Lord?” A young girl snapped, placing her hands on the table in a challenging manner. She looked to be a few years younger than you, and you knew, that with a simple flick of your wrist, you could cause her serious damage. You stood up, copying her posture until you were nose-to-nose with the brunette. Your dress fell down the curve of your ass, but you didn’t have time to think about what the people behind you were witnessing. However, a soft hand placed itself against the back of your thighs, pressing your dress down. You briefly looked over to see Michael with his hand up, keeping you from unknowingly flashing anyone, causing your cheeks to flush lightly.

Turning back to the brunette, you prepared to give her a piece of your mind, but Michael began answering on your behalf. “Her name is (Y/N), and you will treat her with the same amount of respect you treat me. She is my equal, and if you are rude to her, there will be consequences,” he said simply, taking another bite of food. The girl’s face turned a bright red as a string of apologies left her mouth at Michael’s words. You straightened up, watching her desperately flee the room, before sitting back down in your rightful spot beside Michael, once he had removed his hand.

“Is there something we can do for you? Are you comfortable? Is everything okay?” Madelyn rushed out, in an attempt to ease the tension.

“I just think you should do what you normally do,” Michael mumbled. “Have fun. Enjoy your Wednesday potluck dinner like always.”

“You heard him! Our guest of honor eats at his own pace,” Madelyn said, standing up to shoo everyone out of the room.

You watched Madelyn herd everyone out, rolling your eyes at the desperate attempts to stay. “Fucking hell,” you grumbled under your breath, purposefully turning your body so your back was facing Michael.

“Eat something,” he ordered, pushing a salad bowl in front of you.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you shot back, pushing the bowl away.

“Don’t you start with me, fox,” he scolded, frowning at the back of your head.

“I said, don’t tell me what to do.” Your tone was harsh and unnecessary, but you couldn’t care less. You weren’t ready to talk to him, not until he apologized for what he had done.

Before Michael could retaliate, Madelyn was sitting back down at the table. “I can personally vouch for the spinach lasagna. It would be my honor to watch you eat it,” she smiled. Michael slid over the plate with a nod, only to be interrupted once more, “what happens next?”

“Probably your lasagna,” Michael said with a tight-lipped smile.

Madelyn laughed at the reply, startling you. “No, I meant on the global-annihilation run. What do we do first?”

Michael looked at her, and carefully set his fork down. “I’m not sure.” Madelyn stared at him in confusion, asking for clarification. “I don’t know what to do. Where to begin.”

“But you’re the Antichrist…”

“Which people won’t let him forget,” You grumbled under your breath. Michael looked over at your dejected form, his eyebrows raised slightly at your defense.

“Everyone keeps saying I’m special,” he added on, looking back to Madelyn, frustration slowly beginning to rise inside him. “That I’m the beginning of the end-times. But nobody gave me a fucking instruction manual!” Michael stood up with sudden rage, and you acted on instinct by grabbing onto his shoulder.

“Calm down, she’s just excited,” you muttered, pressing against his shoulder to get him seated once more. Michael took a shaky breath, instantly relaxing under your touch. You rubbed his shoulder blade soothingly, watching him carefully for any signs of another outburst.

“And one of the only people I could always turn to, who I could always ask for advice, she’s gone now!” Michael cried, gripping the edge of the table to keep himself seated.

“But (Y-Y/N)... you have her,” Madelyn stuttered, but you shook your head.

“It’s not the same,” you explained simply, removing your hand from Michael. He looked at you with a sorrowful glance, but you said nothing more.

“I-I think there’s some people you need to see,” Madelyn said quickly, moving plates out of the way so she could rest a reassuring hand on Michael’s arm.

Michael looked at her with creased brows and a shake of his head. “Who?”

“Just trust me. We are on the presuppose of oblivion, Michael. Now, is not the time to bury yourself in doubt. This person who helped you… what was her name?”

“Miss Miriam Mead,” Michael answered with a soft sniffle. You wanted nothing more than to reach over and grab his hand, to comfort and calm him, but you held yourself back.

Madelyn grinned and pulled out her phone. “I have access to private search engines. I can find anyone… and there she is! We’ll just go and pick her up,” she smiled, waving her phone.

Michael shook his head. “It’s not possible, I’m not powerful enough to bring her back… not anymore, at least. She’s dead.”

“Dead?” Madelyn scoffed, holding onto both of Michael’s hands. Your heart twinged at the action, but you maintained your silence. “That’s something we can work around.” She stood up, coming to kneel beside Michael’s other side. She grabbed ahold of his shoulders and shook her head. “You, are the son of Satan. There is no one, or no thing, you can not have.” Madelyn sent you a wink, as if she knew the two of you were fighting, before she stood up and left the room.

You watched her leave with concealed shock, before shaking your head. “I’m going to bed,” you mumbled, making a move to stand up. However, Michael caught your wrist, withholding you from leaving.

“Wait for me,” he pleaded, pushing his plates away. He stood up, tugging you along with him.

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumbled while the two of you walked down the hall and toward your shared room. You didn’t make a move to break out of his hold, but you made your displeasure known.

“I know,” he whispered, walking into the room. He shut the door behind you, instantly grabbing onto your waist once the private darkness of your room washed over you.

“Michael, don’t,” you warned, but he was already pulling you against him, and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I miss you,” he said quietly, running his nose along your jawline.

“You shouldn’t have killed those people, then. You didn’t need to prove anything,” you growled, turning your head away from him.

“I did, though. You can’t leave me because of that, you promised.”

“Michael, I’m not leaving you, you ass. I’m mad at you,” you snapped, shouldering him off of you. “I’m tired. Let me sleep.” You walked away from him and over to the bed, unzipping your boots and laying on your back. You stared up at the ceiling, resting your hands on your abdomen as Michael shuffled about.

“No, not until we sort this out,” Michael declared, following you to the bed. He kicked off his shoes before climbing in beside you, resting on his elbow so he could stare down at you.

“What is there to sort out?” you scoffed, looking up at him. “You’ve found your clan, I don’t see why my feelings should matter.”

“Stop that, you’re getting jealous,” he scolded, flicking your nose.

“I’m not jealous of a whole bunch of losers in cloaks!” you defended, swatting his hand away.

“‘Don’t touch his hair’!” Michael mocked with a smirk, causing you to growl.

“You didn’t want her to, and you know it.”

“Maybe I did want her to, but you didn’t give me the chance to say anything,” Michael hummed, tilting his head to the side. You scoffed and scowled up at him, your eyes darkening with rage.

“She’s right out there! Go fucking ask her to touch it, then! I’m sure she’d love to. Hell, you could probably get her to touch your fucking dick!” you yelled, sitting up swiftly. You threw your legs over the edge of the bed, beginning to stand up.

“That’s it.” Michael’s tone was dark and caught you off guard. Suddenly, he was yanking on the back of your dress, pulling you back down to the bed. You were tossed underneath him like a weightless rag doll, before Michael was straddling your waist.

You could feel your dress riding up your thighs, forcing you to squirm beneath him in an attempt to lower it. “Get off me, you barbarian!” you shouted, lifting your arms to hit at his chest. Michael grabbed them and pinned them above your head, forcing you to look at him and preventing you from escaping.

“No. Listen to me, you brat. I’m sorry for what I did today. Those people didn’t deserve to die, you’re right, and I shouldn’t have done it. But you shouldn’t be acting like such a child to these people, either. Madelyn has taken us in when nobody else would,” Michael scolded, looking into your eyes.

You stayed silent for a few moments, looking up at him in defiance, before you caved. With the intensity of Michael’s denim-blue eyes and his too-true words, you had no choice. “You’re right. I’m sorry, too,” you sighed, allowing yourself to relax beneath him.

“There, we both apologized. Will you start loving me again?” Michael said, loosening his hold on your wrists.

“Who said I loved you?” you questioned, smirking up at him.

“Spending a week in the woods with me counts as love, babe,” Michael scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Mm, yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you giggled, wiggling your hands down so you could grab his hands. They clasped together beside your head, and Michael slowly lowered himself so you were chest-to-chest. You stare up at him with soft eyes while he smiled down at you.

“Thank you for staying by my side,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Through everything that’s happened.”

You ran your thumb over his knuckle and shook your head lightly. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere, handsome. We may fight and get on each other’s nerves, but I’m staying right beside you.”

Michael looked at you for a moment, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, we’re best friends,” you frowned, furrowing your eyebrows slightly. “I mean, I would sure hope you’d love me considering all the bullshit you’ve put me through. Making me hot all the time, shoving me in a five-star hotel, making us isolate ourselves for days on end. I mean honestly, we wouldn’t have been able to last if we didn’t love each other,” you scoffed, failing to see the look in Michael’s eyes.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbled, causing you to look back at him.

“Don’t get-” A pair of lips, so soft and so hesitant, pressed against yours, silencing your question. Your breath hitched in shock as Michael carefully kissed you, his grip tightening on your hands anxiously. However, before you even had the chance to think, Michael was breaking the kiss and tumbling off of the bed.

“I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he stuttered quickly, tripping towards the door in the dark.

“Wait! Shit, fuck!” you hissed just as quickly, throwing yourself off the bed so you could grab Michael before he reached the door. “Don’t leave.”

“But I-”

“Kissed me, yeah. And you didn’t give me the chance to kiss you back,” you smiled, feeling Michael’s pulse race under your fingertips. You stood on the tip of your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Is this something you actually want?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Yeah, of course, it is,” Michael said, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you even closer. “Since I saw you in Hawthorne.”

“Since… since Hawthorne?” you gasped, eyes widening. “Why didn’t… why didn’t you say something?”

“Don’t be stupid, (Y/N). I didn’t know if you felt the same, and I couldn’t risk losing you. We’ve been over this,” Michael groaned, squeezing your hips. “Then everything else happened, and we got too caught up with it all. I almost told you at the Ritz a few times. I had a hallucination about you in the woods, that made me want to tell you -no, don’t ask-, but tonight… having you ignore me like that, I couldn’t take it. I needed you to know,” he whispered.

“Michael…” You gaped up at him in shock at his reveal.

Unable to find the right words, you tilted your head just enough so your lips were slotting against Michael’s. He whimpered into your mouth instantly, one of his hands moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss. You tangled your fingers in the back of his hair, battling for control over the kiss. It was wet, sloppy, and full of teeth, but god was it perfect. As the kiss became more heated and lust-filled, Michael walked you back toward the bed, until the back of your knees hit the edge, sending you both tumbling to the mattress. You gasped for air at the sudden break, while Michael’s lips attacked your jawline, and trailed down your throat. You moaned quietly at the feeling, tugging on his hair in encouragement.

Michael moved his hands to your waist, gripping it tightly as he nipped at your neck. His nails scratched at the lace fabric, wanting to rip it from your body, but having enough self-control to know better. Instead, he sank his teeth into the soft skin of your throat, eliciting a loud yelp from your mouth. He sucked at the skin, determined to leave a mark so everyone would know exactly who you were, and where you stood beside him.

“Michael,” you whimpered, instinctively moving your neck further to the side so he’d have more access. He trailed one of his hands down your waist and to your thigh, where he squeezed it roughly. He pulled back from your throat with a wet pop, the sound echoing around the room. He couldn’t see the work he had done in the dark, but he knew there would be a bruise there in the morning.

“We… we can’t go further,” he panted, staring down at you with pupils blown wide. You nodded in agreement, running your tongue over your swollen lips. Michael bent his head and gave you one last kiss, making sure it was much softer than the previous one. “Let’s go to bed.”

Michael moved off of you and stood up, helping you to your feet. He turned you around and slowly unzipped your dress, letting it fall from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Placing a gentle kiss at your shoulder, he watched you crawl into bed before removing his own clothes, until he was just in his boxers. He slid into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close, until you were safely tucked into his chest.

“I love you, my fox.”

“I love you too, handsome.”

Michael Langdon 18 Months Taglist (OPEN): @omg-luv4lyfe-universe @hesvoid34 @winchesterbloodxxxx @justanotherdaydreamersoul @frozenhuntress67 @michaels-slut @buckynatlarry @sweetcredence @crybabycth @very-aesthetic-pineapple @rainbowxmisa @xbutterflykisses78x @sherlokid7 @hexqueensupreme @kaliforniacoastalteens @xlangdons-evilbabygirlx @madhatterweasley @skullchik89 @assgardiangoddess @booyouwhoreee @kerouacsroad @moonagecordelia @valentinevirgo @aliahemmings97 @becca-in-outer-space @supersoldierballerina @quione3 @hxdesworld @multi-madison @lanijoyxo @bookwormstrawberry @killcort @shado-cat @heartjuliehart @alex--awesome--22 @scarletraine @x-idontknow-x @ourcielapologist @queenie435 @meeeeeeeeeps @goofyredpanda @naughtykpopthoughtz @daydreamin1220 @thewritten-angel @kayylluhh @x-i-a-t @howaboutanap @sidemans @divinelavellan @callbellaforagoodtime @bara-rose-would @geminiogy @la-gordita-mas-bonita @vampires0 @msjamesmarch @fand0msgal0re @saddbxtchh @nerdyalienhybrid @weeabootie @vikingsimaginesandthangs @sexxxychiq @al-chanyeol-mae @thatbatshitcrazyfangirl @helenaway-07 @baldenki @michael-langdxn @kickasskittie23 @samm-nicoleee18 @r3beltothesystem @misanthropegal @zrozenazchaosu @agb-random @whileinparis @thestylestour @leximills666 @pinkhappypanda @winterofherdiscontent @ivyxchaplin @mysticalavengers @the-captain-kidd @m-i-a-m-c-d-e-e @amarokofficial @thecrystalwitches @grippleback-galaxy @14-bees @evanpeters3826 @justatadbonkers

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #ahs #ahs imagine #18 months #pls show up in the fucking tags

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arcanalogue · 5 years

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Death and the Maiden, Cooking Edition: Pomegranate Tiramisu

Fahwad Khan, IMPERMANENT (THE POMEGRANATE SKULL) 2014

Pardon the long post, but I just don’t know where else to go with this. And even in terms of recipe posts it will be annoying because there’s the dreaded backstory — but I’m sharing in honor a friend who passed away, so I guess if you feel terrific about skimming past all that to get to a cake recipe one minute faster, no one can ever question your commitment to gastronomy.

So here’s the deal. Back in 2011 I was hosting a monthly variety show that featured numerous components: film, live music, burlesque, PowerPoint presentations, arts & crafts, really ANYTHING.

My friend Cas Marino wanted in on the action; he was a performer, but he was so much more than that. He was performing life, quite vividly; he was a cancer survivor who’d never stopped transforming. He played serious dramatic roles in productions all over New York City, he was happy to dive into a drag revue, he would host salons and get-togethers in his Midtown apartment, and on top of everything else, he was working on a blog called “The Food Daddy,” which was entertaining to read even if you couldn’t cook. As you’ll see below, everything he touched became infused with his humor and personality.

He’d appeared in a number of my shows, usually in drag inspired by that night’s theme. Here he is on the night we read excerpts from Elsa Lanchester’s then-out-of-print memoir.

Here he is, drinking milk right out of the carton on the night we did a whole show about the trope in fiction about women who transform into cats. (I’m telling you, dear reader, I was truly living my best life as a producer!)

This was all in a lovely professional downtown establishment, so naturally I was interested in bending every possible rule past the breaking point. So when Cas asked if he could make food for my entire audience, I said YES... and then went to inform the venue so they could explain why it was completely against the rules. (In this instance, they had their own cafe on-site that was strictly kosher, and they could not risk confusion or contamination with outside food.)

I don’t recall exactly how we pulled it off, but Cas began showing up at my events armed with enough food to serve 75 people (the theater’s capacity). Do you realize how incredible that is, reader? Sometimes we’d sell out, but sometimes we’d only have 15 folks in the audience, half of them comps. Cas believed in me so hard, he planned for a sold-out show every time. He would have been offended if we ran out of kibble with even one person left to feed.

The food was always on theme, so when I did a show about America’s First Ladies, he combined vintage recipes from Barbara Bush and Rosalynn Carter to make Bipartisan Buffalo Chicken Sliders, which he served dressed as Eve, the original “first lady,” mostly naked and covered in vines.

As you’ll read below, he agonized over the perfect thing to serve at our “Death and the Maiden” show. At one point, it was going to be mini-eclairs filled with pomegranate cream and tipped with an almond fingernail. He finally settled on this original tiramisu recipe that knocked us all COMPLETELY OUT. And I ate the leftovers out of my fridge for days, because letting even one serving go to waste felt like a desecration.

Look, I’m telling you he could COOK. He once described his culinary style to me as “tragically indulgent.” His fantasy (like so many others at the time) was to parlay his food blog into an actual cookbook someday.

Sadly, Cas did not live to fulfill this particular dream. In 2014 his cancer returned, and he faded away right before our eyes. From his hospital bed, he wrote me: “I have to survive this just to write about it and do a one-man show where I cook and feed and we all laugh and sob and go ‘Mmmmm that's fucking good’ and it just becomes a big audience/artist participation evening of sharing where I am the only one who gets to talk.”

That same year, I managed to recreate his Pomegranate Tiramisu and serve it to friends as my birthday cake; for a couple years afterward, I would look the recipe up on his website and fantasize about making it again. The ingredients weren’t cheap, and it required more kitchen space than I had in NYC.

And then the worst thing happened: at some point after Cas’s death, the domain expired and his blog went 404, and ONLY THEN did I realize I hadn’t scribbled it down anywhere. People say “the internet is forever,” but hell... even Tumblr users know differently.

I spent a few more years being very depressed about this, imagining the recipe was lost forever, but it turns out someone had managed to preserve the blog’s contents, and at long last it fell back into my hands. BACK FROM THE DEAD! Not unlike the Bride of Frankenstein herself.

So I’m going to let Cas take it from here, dear reader. Thank you for letting me bring him back to life for a just few minutes, performing for you, feeding you. Knowing that would’ve meant everything to him. From one of his last messages to me: “I have no designs on sainthood. But I know I still have shit to accomplish in this world, even if not a physical member of it.”

Knock ‘em dead, Cas!

“The Food Daddy” - Pomegranate Tiramisu

This recipe was created by me to fit the bill for the recent “Meet the Lady” performance (which, if you’ve not heard or read, is a monthly variety show that really rather defies description), titled “Death and the Maiden”.

I toiled with possible ideas that had to do with death and maidens, figuring most easily that a “death by chocolate” offering would at least use one of the title words. Then lady fingers came into the thought process because, well, if you dismembered a maiden you’d have two byproducts: death, most notably, and lady parts — including, but not limited to, her fingers.

Lady fingers naturally led to Tiramisu fantasies, but I didn’t want to go the traditional route. And after discussing it and brainstorming, I got smacked in the back of the head with the realization that the mythical Persephone — a maiden — kidnapped as she was by Hades — who, by way of his being the god of the underworld, was death its very self in semi-human form — ate nothing but pomegranate seeds during her detainment in hell.

If this doesn’t spell fucking dessert, I don’t know what does.

Herewith, my scaled-down recipe (in scope, not in structure or composition; I doubt you’ll need to serve 75 people with yours, though even at half-size this will serve a small army). You can pare it down even further if you feel such need, or instead of making it into one big sheet cake, assemble several smaller ones (I found this worked BEAUTIFULLY in loaf pans) and send them straight to the freezer for future enjoyment.

A few other flexible considerations: I made mine in a full-size deep steam table pan for presentation and food service purposes. These things measure roughly 20 x 10 x 3.5”, but you can use the smaller (12 x 9 x 2.5”) disposable aluminum half-pans for this recipe, or as stated above, any other configuration of sizes that suit your needs. If you want to unmold it and slice it after freezing, line your pans first with cellophane wrap. After just a minute or two out of the ice box, you’ll be able to lift it out of the pan (perhaps with the help of a hungry friend) by the ends of the cellophane, place it on a cutting board, and have at it. Tres artistique, even weighing in as mine did at about eight pounds. This last conclusion required me getting on the scale both with and without the final dessert in my arms and subtracting the first weight from the laden number, which could have been quite a site, as I generally refuse to step on a scale until I’ve removed every last stitch of clothing including my socks, and spit out any spare saliva and shaved every last facial hair so NOTHING will add even a bazillionth of an ounce to my readout, lest I suffer a deep fit of depression. And being depressed when you’re holding what turns out to be 8 pounds of really good cake is a recipe for emotion-eating disaster. But I staved off the need to feel slimmer than normal in light of the facts that (a) I was mid-movie shoot that week, and thus had to maintain a larger-than-usual mane of face-hair for my role; (b) spitting near food meant for others would be gross; (c) being naked around the same food would be even grosser; and (d) the tile floor in my bathroom could be a bit chilly, so why risk taking off my socks?

Socks, spitting, scanty clothing — nothing could have made this less enjoyable. The audience that night devoured what was served to them, and all but attacked the leftovers on the way out of the theater. I had sent samples of this creation to my usual team of taste-testers for input as part of the development process, and perhaps the most poignant and fitting critique came from my dear Mom who, just having started a new diet regimen, had the following to say during our brief check-in on the phone:

“Hello. This is your mother. Fuck Weight Watchers, and Fuck You.”

I love you, Mom. And not just because you loved this surprising new take on an old favorite.

60 Lady Finger cookies

4 Cups Pomegranate juice

1-½ Cups plus 2 Tbsp. sugar

1 Packet unflavored gelatin

4 Egg whites

1 tsp. Cream of Tartar

1 Cup Mascarpone cheese

3 Cups Crème Fraiche

1 Tbsp. Corn starch

¼ Cup water (or as needed)

½ Cup sliced almonds

¼ Cup Pomegranate seeds (or dried sweetened cranberries)

(Reserve 6 Lady Fingers for garnish.)

In a saucepan, mix pomegranate juice with 1-½ cups sugar, and sprinkle gelatin on top. Stir or whisk until gelatin is dissolved with no lumps remaining. Bring mixture to boil over medium-high heat, stirring constantly until sugar and gelatin are fully dissolved. Reduce heat to medium-low and continue to boil, stirring often, for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and set saucepan into a larger bowl filled with cold water. Stir frequently and change cold water bath often, allowing juice reduction to cool as close to room temperature as possible.

In the bowl of a stand mixer or with electric beaters, whip egg whites with cream of tartar until stiff. Remove to a separate, clean mixing bowl (preferably chilled in the freezer) and set aside.

In stand mixer or large mixing bowl with electric beaters, mix mascarpone with 1-½ cups of cooled juice reduction until well blended. Beat on medium-high for one minute. Add 1 cup of the crème fraiche and blend until smooth. Finally, fold in beaten egg whites, half at a time, just until fully incorporated.

Assembling the tiramisu: Here’s where Food Daddy starts getting anal (but this works easiest, so just shut up and do as I say. Love you!). On your prep surface, set your plate or bowl of unpackaged lady fingers (you don’t want to be messing with cellophane and plastic bags and such mid-project here); next to that, set your remaining juice reduction; and next to that, set your cake pan.

Working from left to right (or for my Hebrew or dyslexic foodies, right to left), dip a lady finger lightly in the juice by placing it on the liquid’s surface, flipping it over with your fingers, then removing it by hand and placing it in the cake pan. Working quickly, repeat this process, building a tightly packed layer of side-by-side, row-by-row, lightly soaked lady fingers on the bottom of the pan. Nobody will see the inside of the tiramisu in its entirety, so if to make a uniform layer with few gaps you need to rip a finger here or stuff a finger there, I won’t tell a soul if you have to be a bit forceful or creative.

Spoon half of the pomegranate mousse mixture over the bottom layer of lady fingers. Using the back of a spoon or a rubber spatula, spread the mixture evenly. Lift the pan and drop it gently a few times on your work surface, just to make sure all the gaps are filled and big air bubbles are removed.

Repeat with a second layer of dipped lady fingers, and then a second layer of pomegranate mousse, again tamping pan to release air bubbles and distribute the filling evenly. Top with one final layer of dipped lady fingers.

Spread the top with the remaining 2 cups of crème fraiche, tamp pan to settle the layers, and set aside.

Pour remaining juice mixture into a measuring cup, and add enough of the water, if needed, to make 1 cup of liquid. Return to saucepan, and stir in the corn starch and the remaining 2 Tbsp. of sugar until starch is dissolved. Place pan over medium-high heat, and bring to a boil to thicken. Remove from heat.

In a food processor or with a cutting board and knife, coarsely chop the almonds and the fruit, then add the reserved lady fingers and pulse (or chop and crumble) until the whole thing looks like somebody pawed at a poor helpless berry-nut muffin until there were no big chunks left.

Sprinkle the crumb mixture evenly over the top of the tiramisu. Drizzle with the pomegranate syrup mixture.

Chill tiramisu at least 2 hours in refrigerator before serving. For overnight storage or longer, cover with cellophane wrap gently pressed against the top surface.

This will “cure” and the flavors will blend and the whole combination really pull together if left refrigerated for two days. For storage beyond that or to deal with leftovers, this freezes BEAUTIFULLY. Just allow to come to room temperature before serving, or enjoy it “semi freddo” by removing from freezer and slicing wide, inch-thick slices, laying each on its side on individual serving plates and eating it cold and firm. A dollop of additional crème fraiche and a sprinkling of chopped almonds (did I hear someone say “mint sprig”?) sure would make this anything but a “leftover” dessert.

#death and the maiden #pomegranate #tiramisu #recipes #cooking #cas marino

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she-is-tim · 5 years

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Neighbours pt 2

Lucas is a young, exhausted musician who just tries to relax, while Eliott is the overexcited, dubstep loving artist who lives next door.

Aka Lucas confronts his annoying neighbour who turns out to be gorgeous

WARNING slight angst is incoming!

Previous chapter here

Sunday 9:35

Eliott was struggling in bed, he already kicked the blanket off of himself hours ago. It wasn’t the usual struggling though, he just couldn’t sleep much since his adorable and kind neighbour spent hours at his place yesterday. His couch still had some of his sweet smell on it, that nearly drove him crazy. He grabbed his phone and looked through instagram just to forget about it for now.

He scrolled through some nice and funny posts when something came to his mind, he decided to search for Lucas on there. Not like he wanted to stalk him, but he was really curious. It took him a while to find the profile, but there was him. Lucas der Deutscher. Eliott chuckled and looked through his posts, being really careful not to like any of them. There were some silly pictures of Lucas, pics of nice food, snacks, a theatre, but there was a lot of picture with this guy. He was tall, black, handsome, wearing a leather jacket. Basically every third post was about him which really bothered Eliott. He threw his phone on the pillows and sighed.

An hour later he crawled out of the bed, walking to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and decided to shave too. He looked horrible, the bags under his eyes started to make him look like his spirit animal.

After he was done, he put on some clothes, light grey jeans and a black shirt with an unzipped hoodie. He wasn’t really fan of flashy, colorful clothing, he liked his dark shirts and jackets. It was fitting his personality.

He walked to the living room, looking at the couch. He remembered how beautiful Lucas looked as he sat there, smoking with him, telling silly stories. His heart was beating faster as he looked at the wall, the barricade that separated him from that gorgeous being. He wanted to just grab a sledgehammer and destroy it, so he could see Lucas everyday. He shook his head. Stop it!

Lucas woke up early, making coffee and a light breakfast for himself. He was sitting in the kitchen, his laptop in front of him, watching a show on Netflix as he ate. His mornings were usually like this, but now he barely could concentrate on what was going on on the screen. His thoughts were circling around Eliott since last night. The way he smiled, the way he blew a smoke ring like it was an ordinary thing to do. Everything about him was so thrilling, exciting for Lucas. He hasn’t really been in a relationship since he realized that he’s gay. He had two girlfriends before Sara and Chloé. Both of them were clingy and Lucas was just scared to accept his sexuality, so he went with the moment. Thank god he managed to escape that web of lies.

His phone started buzzing, so he paused the show, he didn’t even realize that it was still going and checked his phone. It was a text from Yann, his best friend. Lucas smiled.

From Yann: Morning dude! How’s it going?

To Yann: G’morning! I have shit to tell, wanna have a video chat?

From Yann: Give me 10 minutes

To Yann: You got it!

He finished his breakfast, drank his coffee and put the plate and mug in the sink, he will wash them later. He then sat back to the table, waiting for Yann’s call. It took him a bit more than 10 minutes, but finally he recieved a video call which he immediately answered. His best friend smiled at him brightly, tho he still looked a bit sleepy, he must have just wake up. Lucas was really grateful to have a friend like him.

“Hey there! What’s up, Lulu?” Yann asked with his usual enthusiasm. He was always caring and kind with Lucas, except when they were teasing each other.

“I’m doing okay, I have some news.” he said with a big smile. He had to tell somebody about Eliott, because otherwise he would convince himself that it was just a dream, nothing else.

“I’m all ears.”

“I met a really hot guy yesterday. But like really, really hot.” he started. “He is tall, handsome, an artist and he has the most beautiful smile.” he said excitedly.

“Where did you meet him? At the coffee shop?” he asked curiously. Lucas used to talk about hot guys that came and go at his workplace from time to time.

“No, dude, listen. He is my fucking neighbour!” he said seriously. Yann was surprised, he didn’t remember ever seeing Lucas’ neighbour, while he was basically visiting his friend every week at least once.

“Your neighbour? I thought your neighbour is some kind of sick old lady who never leaves the building.” he said surprised.

“And I thought it’s some stupid punk asshole.” he shrugged. “I tried to play the piano yesterday when he started to blast dubstep so loud my head started to hurt from it. So I went out, banging on his door, ready to yell at his stupid face, then I just couldn’t talk. He was so fucking gorgeous.” he explained, shivering a little as he remembered how it struck him seeing Eliott for the first time.

Yann chuckled and leaned closer to the camera. “Is my Lulu having a crush?” he asked a bit teasingly. Lucas blushed now and looked away. “Yes, he does! Lulu has a crush! Lulu has a cruuuush!” Yann was basically singing on the other side of the call.

“Stop it, I don’t have a crush.” he said, but he could hear how that wasn’t true. He sighed and leant back on his chair. “Maybe I have a crush on him.” he admitted.

“Okay, so is there any plan? I mean you wanna ask him out? Is he into guys too?” he asked, honestly being interested in his best friends now existing love life.

“I don’t know... I mean, he invited me into his place.” he mumbled and then told Yann shortly what happened yesterday. His friend listened carefully, sometimes nodding or making a noise to let him know he’s still listening. “So yeah, he’s coming over today.” he finished it, looking at Yann now.

“Woah, that’s a lot to process, bro.” he said honestly. “But if you ask me, I think you should go with it. I mean he clearly seems to be into you and not just wanna be friends. And I am sure he will fall for you hard after you play the piano.” he added with a wide smirk, Lucas felt relieved and smiled back.

“What would I do without you?”

“Probably sleep under a bridge somewhere in Paris.” he smirked. “But I got your back, bro. Just let me now how the date went, okay?”

“It’s not a date.” he mumbled.

“Of course it’s a date. See ya later.” he said giggling and ended the call.

Lucas spent the rest of his morning cleaning and making sure Eliott won’t feel like he’s coming to a messed up musicians place. He picked up the music sheets from the floor, put away the laundry, organized his books on the shelf at least three times. He was super nervous, he couldn’t even eat lunch, so he was just standing in front of his opened wardrobe, trying to find the perfect outfit. He usually wore sweatpants and a loose shirt, but he had to impress his visitor. Yesterday was so sudden he didn’t even think of that Eliott saw his stupid grey sweatpants that had black violin keys all over it. So embarrassing.

He decided to put on nice, sky blue jeans and a dark red shirt. He tried to fix his hair to not look like he just got out of bed. It was almost 13:00 and he just got more nervous by each minute, looking at the clock on the living room wall as he walked around his coffee table. Sometimes he glanced at his piano too, then his couch that was just behind his instrument. Eliott is going to sit there, watching him play the piano. He suddenly remembered that his guest might wanna smoke, so he looked for an old ashtray he had only because Arthur and Basile used to some at his place when they had a gathering here. He put it on the coffee table and looked at the door now. He can come at any second.

Sunday 12:34

Eliott was circling around in his living room, holding a joint in his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas and that he’s about to see him in a few minutes. He felt anxious, he couldn’t breathe properly which wasn’t a good sign. Probably the lack of sleep, the booze and weed from yesterday didn’t help him to feel better today. He sat down on the couch, leaning back, trying to normalize his breathing just as his therapist taught him. He put the joint behind his ear and grabbed his phone.

His hands were shaking so badly, he needed a few tries to type and send a message. He couldn’t let Lucas see him in this condition, what would he think of him? That couldn’t happen. It broke his heart that he can’t watch him play the piano.

To Lucille: I need you. Come over, please.

He threw the phone away, because he hated the fact, that he had to contact her again. It was inevitable, she was the only one who could handle his anxiety attacks and his depression. He needed her, even though he wanted someone else. He could never want Lucas to see this side of him, this weak, vulnerable Eliott who was wheezing on his couch, grabbing his shirt like it helps him not to fall into the pit of darkness.

“C’mon, Lucille.” he mumbled into the silence of his living room.

Sunday 13:25

Lucas was a bit worried, Eliott seemed excited yesterday to come over, but he wasn’t showing up. He decided to go and check on him, just to see if he’s okay. His chest hurt because he was truly worried about the tall boy. He exited his apartment and in that exact moment he saw a beautiful, brunette girl standing on the hallway, giving a kiss to Eliott before walking into his apartment with him.

Lucas felt betrayed and heartbroken, even though he only spent a couple hours with his neighbour, he felt like they had something, some connection that was special. But he was wrong. Eliott never really wanted anything from him, he was just a flirty person in general. Lucas felt so stupid, he should never had such high expectations from this, life has never been kind to him when it came to love. He was destined to be single.

He sat down to the piano, taking a deep breath. He started to play Debussy’s Claire de lune. He let the soft music to fill his living room, gently moving his torso to the tunes, closing his eyes as he played. He wanted to forget Eliott, forget the world and just live for the music that was always his way to escape reality. Life sucks.

#Skam France #Fanfiction #Lucas Lallemant #Eliott Demaury #AU #Elu #Eliott x Lucas #Elu Neighbours AU

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changingchances · 5 years

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Crossing Senses Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor Part Seven

A/N: 2806 words. HELLLLLOOOOO LOVELIES! I’m sorry it’s taken a hot minute for me to post! Now that classes have started, I have a lot less time to write in between studying. I have around 18 credit hours this semester, so I apologize if updates are scarce or a little scattered right now. Thank you so much for your support and your feedback! Please feel free to message me with any questions, suggestions, comments, etc! I hope you enjoy this next bit! Much love!

P.S. If I missed anyone in the taglist, please let me know and I’ll add you to the next post!!

Warnings: Swearing

Roe is greeted with a headache that she can feel in her teeth before she even opens her eyes. She’s nauseous. Her throat hurts. She can feel her heartbeat in her face. To try and relieve whatever discomfort she can, she rolls over in bed and lays face down into her pillow, breathing deeply. Her eyes pop open, though, when she realizes that her pillow doesn’t smell like her laundry detergent. Sitting up on her elbows, she looks around in a daze, trying to ignore the pounding in her head when her eyes move too quickly.

This is not her room. The walls are white rather than the strange off cream paint in her apartment. There is a television on the wall across from the bed as opposed to her rickety desk and old bookshelf. The bed is far larger than her own, with white sheets and blankets instead of grey. She turns over onto her back and sits up straight, one of her hands moving to press against the side of her head. It takes a long moment to figure out where the hell she is, but once it comes to her, everything else about last night comes crashing down as well.

Roe’s soulmate was at the party, so she got drunk. Matt was at the party, and he got into a fight with Brian. Roe had a panic attack- the worst one she’s had in years. Roger was taking her upstairs to a room, so she could calm down, be alone, but… she saw colors dance across his face. She’s painted those colors before. She knows them far too well after all of these months of listening to the same song again and again. Even if Roe were the type of person to believe in coincidences, this would be too much of one. She has no doubt in her mind that she is Roger’s soulmate. Her heart plummets and lands in the soles of her feet.

Roe rests her face in her hands, knees to her chest. She isn’t sure why this doesn’t feel like good news. She should be elated, right? But Roger Taylor has a reputation. He is known for taking what he wants from the women who throw themselves at him, and then moving right along to the next most interesting thing to cross his path. He’s a cocky musician basking in the beginnings of fame. He has tendencies to drink, to get incredibly angry, to start fights at gigs. Roe’s not certain what she had been expecting in a soulmate, but those characteristics hadn’t made the list. And she’s willing to bet that she isn’t what Roger was hoping to find at the beginnings of forever, either.

But he wants so badly to find her. It troubles him a great deal that he has no clue about her. He isn’t avoiding the rest of his life like Roe is, he is actively searching for her. And here she is, harboring what may be one of the most important discoveries to him as though it were a tragic diagnosis.

God, I have to tell him, don’t I? Roe blows out a heavy sigh and lifts her head. The poor guy deserves to know the truth, if she didn’t make it obvious already in the elevator last night. She hopes she maintained some level of composure. She can’t imagine anybody would want to realize who their soulmate is through the likes of her reaction. She runs a hand over her eyes, deciding that she desperately needs a shower before she can function in any capacity. She needs to think. Showers are good for thinking.

Once out of bed, she pads over to the huge bathroom. She doesn’t even want to think about how much this place must have cost Freddie. It’s when she catches her reflection in the mirror that she realizes she isn’t in the dress she had on last night. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind before now. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear and a white button-down shirt, just long enough to reach the top of her thighs. She draws in a shaky breath. It has to be Roger’s shirt. She doesn’t remember getting undressed last night- she went straight to the bed once Roger unlocked to room and must have passed out in moments.

She stares at her reflection, stares so hard she imagines the glass may crack beneath the weight of her gaze. Roe has never considered herself to be beautiful. She’s rather pretty, not plain, but not traditionally attractive. She doesn’t have long locks of silky hair. She’d chopped her curls off, nearly shaved her head, when she was fifteen to piss off some wanker she was dating at the time. She feels short hair is simply easier to manage and suits her far more than the tangled mess that were once her long ringlets. She isn’t blonde, nor a fiery redhead. Her hair is simply brown, so dark it almost looks black. Her ears, not covered by any curls, stick out in a rather average way, minus her variety of piercings. Her grandmother nearly had an aneurism at the sight of the hoops and studs several years back- told her that pretty young ladies shouldn’t have chunks of metal sticking out of their skin. Roe rolls her eyes at the memory.

She continues to study herself, unconsciously comparing her appearance to that of the variety of young women she’s seen Roger with in the past month alone. Roe’s face is narrow, jaw a little square, cheekbones a little higher than average. Her eyes aren’t particularly slanted, nor particularly wide, merely almond shaped and framed by bushes of God-given lashes and naturally thick, messy brows. Her irises look brown. Everyone tells her they are a nice shade of brown. But Freddie, who’s known her for over a decade, and Brian, who’s been close enough to her face in the past month, have pointed out the green and amber flecks scattered within the wooded hues, commented on how they are in fact hazel rather than brown, told her they are beautiful. She can’t help but wonder if Roger would notice the forest greens and touches of sunlight in her eyes. She wonders if he’d think they’re beautiful, too.

Roe sighs, long and heavy, before scanning down her body. She is on the thin side, but with no assets of the small-waisted, supermodel quality women on billboards, on commercials, on Roger Taylor’s arm. She used to hate not having large breasts, not possessing hips “fit for child-bearing”, as her aunt once put it. She’s gotten better, though, at really loving her body for what it is. She is flat-chested, small-boned, not particularly curvy, not tall in any sense of the word. But she’s got the look of a dancer, long lines and defined muscles. Her head is always held high, her feet a little turned out at all times, shoulders back and down, ribcage closed and posture taut. Roe is certainly not unattractive, but she does not fit the standards of Roger’s most preferred type. She chews her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth.

You’re thinking too hard, Roe. She turns away from the mirror and glances down at the white button-down shirt she’s wearing.

She really tries not to dwell to long on the fact that Roger must have gotten her out of the dress and into the shirt while she was asleep. She imagines his intentions were nothing but good, but all things considered, she doesn’t know whether she’s grateful or uncomfortable. The thought of him seeing her naked makes her throat tighten, and she sheds the clothing, gets into the shower, and cranks on the water before she can think too hard about it. But she does think about it. She thinks about how she hated the man until his apology last night. She thinks about how she probably wouldn’t have given a shit had he seen her undressed before she her revelation.

She thinks about how everyone talks about feeling elated, relieved, so very in love when they find their soulmates, and here she is, standing at the edge of another panic attack.

Deep breaths. Roe reminds herself, ducking her head under the scalding hot water and reaching for the shampoo. As she washes her hair, she tries to take inventory of her thoughts to ground herself, an attempt to make sense of the array of emptions she’s bombarded with. She feels some sense of dread. In all honesty, that isn’t unusual. Anytime the topic of her soulmate has come up for the past couple of years, she feels overwhelmed, tries to avoid the conversation at all costs. So, it’s possible, and very likely, that she is nervous about Roger being her soulmate, but not merely because her soulmate is Roger. Soulmate scenarios scare the hell out of her on their own.

Now, about his shirt. She recognizes that it was a kind thing to do. She recognizes that he did not do anything inappropriate or malicious to her. She understands that she typically has no problem getting naked in front of any men. So, what about this is so bothersome?

Roe pauses in rinsing her hair to glance down at her body. While she’s in fantastic shape, she recognizes that her body is not the type of fit most men fantasize about (because who’s is?), but that hasn’t deterred her for several years. She figures that if a man doesn’t like her body, it’s his problem and not hers, as she is incredibly healthy and feels she looks pretty damn good. But the idea of Roger, her soulmate, seeing her undressed, possibly comparing her body to the bodies of countless other women…. Maybe she doesn’t feel good enough. Roger has been with so many beautiful women. This insecurity where the drummer is concerned likely stems from the fact that she fears rejection from her soulmate above most things.

“Great,” Roe mutters to herself, scrubbing at her sudsy hair. “I’ve become the stereotypical psychoanalysis.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Roe? Is that you in there?” Roger Taylor’s voice is muffled from outside of the bathroom. Roe’s fingers freeze in her hair. Her stomach drops, the reality of her situation hitting her once again. She clears her throat and forces herself to reach for the soap.

“Yeah, who else?” She calls, praying that the quip sounds realistic. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There is no answer. She stands there for a few more moments, huddled under the hot water. She’s not sure what comes after this, once she steps out of the shower and rejoins the world outside of her head. Is she going to have to face Roger right now? Or will she have to wait until she goes downstairs? Until the next band rehearsal? Until the next gig? Roe can’t decide which would be worse- coming clean now or harboring her epiphany indefinitely. Surely, it would be better in the long run to just get it out in the open, get it over with, to have an answer now. A jolt pulses in her stomach, uncomfortable and anxious in its presence. What the fuck would she even say to him? Hey, man, it’s me, Roe, your soulmate, Miss Forever. Should she make some grand gesture? Roe shudders at the thought, her face heating up with humiliation at just the idea of it. No, she needs to do this privately, and if Roger is here now, then this is the most appropriate moment. And God knows when a moment like this may make itself available again.

She doesn’t move from beneath the water.

Just get it over with. That nearly electric feeling in her gut hits again. She takes a deep, deep breath and wills her hand to shut off the water. Stepping out of the shower, she grabs a hotel towel and dries off slowly, buying time, putting off the inevitable. Another deep breath. She opens the door, quietly calling the drummer’s name. When she goes to step out of the bathroom, she comes face to face with a yawning woman. Roe pauses, expression carefully blank.

“Excuse me,” the woman smiles and squeezes past into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Roe stands for a short moment, face expressionless, but mind racing. Her headache had eased some in the shower, but her temples are pounding again. it feels like someone’s stuck an ice pick behind each eye. And then she’s moving to the bed, searching for her dress, for anything to put on so she can get the hell out of this room. But the dress is nowhere to be seen. Her shoes are nowhere to be seen. At this point, Roe is more than half tempted to simply march out wrapped in nothing but her towel.

“Looking for these?” Roe turns so quickly at Brian’s voice that she swears she gives herself whiplash. He’s stood in the doorway, still in the clothes he wore last night, though this shirt is mostly unbuttoned. When her eyes meet his, her stomach drops for the millionth time this morning. His nose has blood crusted beneath it. Both his under eyes are swollen and purpling. His lip is split, and there are bruises smattering the skin exposed by his undone shirt. Roe approaches him, one hand clutching at her towel, the other immediately reaching for his face. When she’s directly in front of him, she hesitates, her hand hovering at his cheek, but he leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. They stand that way, silent, and then Roe is choking on the tightness in her throat, trying to blink away the burning in her eyes. When she takes a breath, it’s a little too sharp to go unnoticed, and Brian opens his eyes, brows furrowing in concern.

“Roe, it’s alright, love.” He reassures, covering her hand, still resting on his cheek, with his own. Roe shakes her head though, lips pursing as the tears well up. Brian, who’s been holding a bag in his other hand, drops it to the floor and wraps her up in his arms, burying his face in her neck and practically lifting her off of the ground in the embrace. Roe can’t keep the tears from falling, but she doesn’t let them overwhelm her. Brian’s already witnessed the beginnings of a break down. The only thing a full out sob session will do is worsen her headache.

But, hell, she feels like her thoughts are tidal waves crashing against the walls of her mind. She’d seen Matt for the first time in over a year, and the guy fought with Brian, who she’s been sleeping with casually for over a month. She had that damned panic attack in front of the whole band. She met her fucking soulmate, but he doesn’t know that he’s her soulmate, and she woke up this morning in his shirt even though he obviously slept with the long-legged beauty that Roe met outside of the bathroom, a woman he likely picked up after dropping Roe, his soulmate, off in the hotel room. Is she missing anything?

Roe abruptly pulls away from Brian, her hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. She can hide the tears pretty well, but they’ve been replaced with a swell of ire, sheer resentment for the whole situation she’s found herself in, and she doesn’t do as well at concealing it.

“Roe, it’s really alright-“

“No, Brian, it isn’t.” She exhales, still facing away from him. Her voice shakes the smallest amount, only serving to feed her irritation even further. “This whole thing is so fucked up,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The smallness of his voice, typically so eloquent and certain, causes Roe to turn her head, glancing back at him. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to get the hell out of this hotel and as far away from Roger Taylor as humanly possible. But the look on Brian’s face keeps her from saying anything along those lines.

She sighs again. “No, not really,” there’s a pause where neither of them say anything. Taking in a deep breath, Roe continues. “It would probably do me some good, though.”

Brian smiles a little at that, small and concerned. He nods and picks up the bag he’d left on the floor, holding it out towards here.

“These are your clothes from last night. I imagine you’d rather have these than be stuck in that towel all day,” He smirks a little. “Though, I can’t say I’d mind you choosing neither of them.”

Roe snorts, rolls her eyes as the takes the bag from him.

“I think I’ll stick with the clothes.”

Taglist

@voidfanfiction

@raveng1rl

@itsgrassy

@d-r-e-a-m-catchme

@legendsaresooftenwarnings

@armadaextra

@radioblahblahh

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #Queen #queen imagine #brian may #ben hardy #ben hardy x oc #slow burn #soulmate au #freddie mercury #John Deacon

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spider-bih · 6 years

Text

Ugh P.10 [Peter Parker] [Soulmate AU]

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, more angst, mentions of pain etc

A/N: Gif not mine <3 Yikes! This took way too damn long. Also, if I forgot to tag you, I’m sorry! People ask in different ways (msgs, asks, replies), and I have trouble keeping track! The best way to ask to be tagged is through an ask. I tag my asks with ‘taglist tracking’ and go through them as I update. We’re nearing the end babes! There may be one or two more parts </3 Also- I am not a doctor, forgive any mistakes I make. I tried doing research.

Part 9, Masterlist

------

‘C’mon Peter. Do it, you have to do it.’, he thought to himself.

He had to. He had to turn you over- had to see your face, even if it was for one last time. He was crying and he didn’t even care- hot tears spilled out of his eyes from beneath the mask. His emotions were going insane, but he was physically silent. Everyone was. The attacker was down, and you weren’t moving. They all heard the shot- they’d all screamed, but no one saw where you were hit exactly. There was so much blood- too much to be just a graze, right? God- he didn’t want to do this. He really truly didn’t want to do this- how had today gone so wrong? Everything went so smoothly at first. He was able to think clearly for a few hours, he was able to not ache so much over you and you- you were safe just hours ago. Hours- and yet, within seconds, shit hit the fan.

You didn’t deserve this- why had this happened? Why would you ever do that? Hadn’t you lectured him about being careful- about how easily you could lose him? So what the fuck was this?

Why was he losing you? Like this- of all ways to have to lose you, why did it have to be like this?

Sirens going off in the distance told him that he had to be quick. It was now or never. He had to see- he had to know. He couldn’t feel any pain- and he couldn’t be sure if it was because you were gone or because you were in too much shock to feel anything yet.

With trembling fingers and choppy breaths, he turned you over, a raw gasp escaping him as he did.

“Oh god..”

--------

Everything was black for the moment. You felt nothing- heard nothing. Your world was eerily silent.

Was this what death was like? Were you dead? God- maybe you shouldn’t have done that- maybe you should have let him leave. He had to feel your absence by now- had to feel empty and alone. This wasn’t supposed to happen! You were going to find a way- you were going to find some means of telling him what he needed to know. He had to know that you were wrong- that this wasn’t some mistake on the universe’s part. Yeah- it took him damn near dying for you to see that, but you saw it. You saw how wrong you were and now you were dead. You would never get to tell that yeah, you would always be scared, but you weren’t going to leave him. You’d bare the pain he carried and would lift him when the world started to break him down. Now he’d have to do it all alone.

Peter Parker was going to have to live alone- grieving for a soulmate he never got the chance to love or even know. He’d have to live with the bitter knowledge that his soulmate was so scared of the life he lead that she refused to stay- but threw herself at danger and got herself killed. She was terrified of losing him- of dying from the dangerous life he was going to lead- but she left him by doing the same thing he did daily. She threw her own life on the line for the sake of others. For the petrified people in the coffee shop- for the old lady who didn’t deserve to be robbed, for all of them.

You think it’s a tragic end to what should’ve been a beautiful story. You think it’s wrong and unfair- why does he deserve this? Why do you? Why-

‘Oh good fucking hell- ow- what is that?’, you think to yourself. You feel a searing white hot pain somewhere on your body. You still can’t see, and so you don’t know where it is. It feels like your head. It feels like one side of it is on fire- and by god you want it to stop. It hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt before- and you weren’t even sure if it was yours. Weren’t you dead- or was this hell? Your own personal hell- one in which you’d feel a pain so severe you wished you could die a second time to be rid of it? Was such a thing even-

“Th-There’s so much blood- but I feel her.”, a voice whispered. It sounded familiar but you were in too much pain to recall.

“Spider-Man- you have to leave- the police are coming! An ambulance too!”

“I just have to know-”

“Look! Her chests moving, she’s okay! Thank you for-”

The voices cut off as you completely blacked out. Either from shock or the pain of your head- you were swallowed up by blackness again.

----------

Beeping.

Something was beeping and it was really annoying. You could also swear you smelled bleach- it wasn’t too strong though. It was just there, lingering. The pain you’d felt before was gone, not entirely though. The side of your head still pulsed faintly with a dull ache. It just throbbed for now, but you were sure it would soon get worse. With your luck so far, why wouldn’t it?

With a small grunt, you blinked open your eyes, taking in your surroundings. A monitor was at your side, tracking your vitals. You were in a hospital bed- but you were still in the clothes you’d worn to school. Your fingers had a little bit of caked blood on them- you hoped it wasn’t your own. However, when your hands gently reached up to touch the part of your head that had been hurting, you figured it probably was your own. For one, it stung a little when you touched it- but that was because there was a bandage on your head that you pressed into your skin. You looked for something reflective- something to be able to see yourself in.

So you were alive? You didn’t die- but surely you had to have right? His gun was right in your face- no one survived a gunshot like that- at least not without some sort of life-altering brain damage. Yet here you were, propped up on a hospital bed, breathing. Hell- what time was it? Did your parents know-

Oh.

He was here.

Here- sitting in that chair, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. He must have heard you wake up. The room itself was dim, so you didn’t notice his figure at first. It must be really late- didn’t that mean visiting hours must be over? As glad as you were to see him, you couldn’t help but wonder why your parents weren’t here. Shouldn’t they be? You’d been shot-

His head snapped towards the door- then back to you. ‘Be right back.’, he mouthed before ducking out the open window of your hospital room.

You wanted to call out to him, but a soft gasp stopped you. A nurse had come in and saw that you were now awake. She explained that you weren’t expected to wake until morning, your body needing to rest after it’s shock. Also pain meds- those kinda made you drowsy or, they were supposed to. You were wide awake, and she kindly explained to you what had happened. A bullet grazed the side of your head and because of the fear you’d been feeling at the moment it happened, your brain sent your body into shock. You were then rushed to the hospital and treated accordingly. The graze made a gash that had to be stitched- they also had to shave a little of your hair to do so. Now, you had a bandage around your head and some pain medication should you need it. It was four in the morning and your parents wanted to see you, but they weren’t allowed until morning.

After she told you all you needed to know and answered the questions you had, she made sure you were okay and went off to see other patients.

Soon enough, he slipped back into your room through your window.

And then there were two..

Part 11

Ugh Tags: @leilei-draws, @i-larb-spooderman, @sarcasticvodka, @jinxstarfire, @hollandroos, @cubedtriangle, @hufflebuffpitch, @reigna-a, @spideythewebsitter, @lionfart, @iamaliceinwonderland, @sneakered-salamanders, @cerealwaterandfishsticks , @johnsonxstilinski, @incoherent-smiles-deactivated, @profmmcgonagall, @thatcrazywhovian09 , @the-redthread, @nicunt, @twentyjuanpancakes, @jaib2-blog, @sleepless-trainwreck, @darlingimawriter, @tmrhollandkay, @what-the-heck-life, @spiderman-2013, @professional-holland-hoe, @clean-and-claire, @parkeretmj, @lux-jeon, @krissynovelty, @4610supersam451, @hufflepuffhopes, @heypearce , @fizzylollipop12, @autijahnerd13s-blahg, @grasshoppper, @hufflepuffhopes, @idontlooklikereginageorge, @holystilinski, @ktitens, @eziggyra, @threalme13-posts, @jswwtn, @skyfall8600 , @fleursdeau, @fearless2tobeme, @lynnamin-bun, @casual-vaporwave, @cutedictionary, @heyyyyitsanie, @trash-hopkins, @hufflepuff-always-and-forever, @lame-lozer, @morgannope, @darlin-you-bitch, @fangeekkk, @komunyska, @fearthedietcoke, @draqcnheartstrinq, @wrongirish, @uddertow, @huggingholland, @the-fire-storm, @parkerscupcake,@oksrslytho, @satan2002, @sisterofpersassy, @thatgirlthatlikesmarvel, @peterp-peterq, @sonal-ily, @justagirlwholovesfamdons, @marvelavengers8, @denim--wrapped--nightmares, @ [Wanna be tagged? Shoot an ask or msg!]

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