#and i know this person isn’t being sincere from their tone. so what’s the point of leaving this in my inbox

[stardust-sunset]

Bro is ur grandpa still groping u or smth? Is ur bro still putting his face in ur bras?

shut the fuck up anon. i can tell you’re not fucking being sincere. so shut the fuck up. least you could’ve done was put some sort of tw. and i can tell from your tone that you’re not taking me seriously. but fine. whatever.

for context so that nobody is like concerned or whatever. my grandpa is dead now. he has been for three years. and he only did that towards the end. he had alzheimer’s. he only slapped my ass a lot and grabbed my chest a few times. but he was demented so it’s okay i guess. and my brothers done a lot of weird stuff. but it’s whatever.

anyway anon. you also came back and asked about my quotev or whatever. i’m not responding to that since i don’t wanna talk about who was hurt by me. it’s not fair to them. so don’t ask about them. please. i’m not exposing them like that because it isn’t fair. shit on me all you want. hate on me all you want. i deserve that. but do not ty to get me to tell you who it was. i’m not telling. say all the rude shit to me you want but you leave them out of this. i’m not fucking doing that.

i haven’t posted about either issues in two years, nor about my quotev. so why do you know about that? this whole ask is just fucked up. the very least you could’ve done was put a tw. i deleted your other ask though because it’s not your business. and i’m not giving any information about the person because it’s not your business and they don’t deserve that. i don’t even know you. you can shit in me all you want. hate me, harass me, say whatever you want, make whatever threat you want. i don’t care. but don’t bring them up. i just made a vent not even twelve hours ago and you pull this. fuck. you.

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: I am currently obsessed w the premise of a reader who is just totally smitten by the super shy and introverted Reid from early seasons bc he deserved SO MUCH MORE APPRECIATION it upsets me at least thrice a day!

gif creds: @themoontaxi

Heaven Sent

“There’s an old Buddhist saying that, when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making.” Spencer tells you with a thoughtful expression as you perch on his desk, smiling down at him in his office chair, your heart lifting in your chest as he continues. “So always appreciate and be kind to each other - there’s a corollary for friends!” And just like that, your heart falls back into place, but your smile doesn’t falter, there’s no way that it can when you’re still looking at him. “When you meet a true friend, you will be bound together through space and time for 500 years.” Spencer ends his tidbit of trivia with a smile that very nearly sends you flying from his desk and into orbit.

As per usual, you try to keep your cool, offering him a beaming smile. “Bound together through space and time for 500 years, eh? For a Buddhist quote, that does sound a bit Doctor-Who.” You tease lightly, and when Spencer’s eyes crinkle with a laugh that you have brought him, you feel all 500 years spent drifting through space to find him, smack you right in the chest.

“It does, actually, you make a great point!” Your favorite genius chuckles up at you, a look in his eyes that has you reaching the same conclusion to the age-old philosophical question of whether heaven is real, because every time Spencer Reid looks you in the eye, you know you could argue to the ends of the earth with any philosopher that tries to tell you it isn’t. 

“Alright, Doc, I’m gonna go take a scheduled pee break but I expect another fascinating fact from you on my return!” You order playfully as you hop off of his desk, never any malice or sarcasm in your voice when you regard his seemingly endless knowledge. Spencer feels the sincere love you have for his facts, something few people have shown him. 

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise anything!” Spencer calls after you as you stroll towards the bathroom, your phone already in your hands, frantically typing a few texts to your best friend.

You: good god

You: I want him

You: so bad

Spencer’s retort catches you off guard, your thumbs slipping on your phone as you turn to look back at him, walking backwards and continuing to type without looking. 

“Spencer Reid, if there is ever anything that you can promise me, it’s a new fact with a few minutes prep, don’t lie to me!” You joke right back to him, the two of you sharing a laugh across the office as you reach the bathroom and disappear behind the door.

As you lean against the bathroom door, you release the breath you were holding in your lovesick chest and smile so hard your face hurts. In the midst of your recovery from such a wholesome interaction with your favorite person, you hit send on the text you’d typed, your eyes closed as you relive Spencer’s smile again and again.

You: it physically hurts

Then, your phone makes a peculiar sound that causes your heart to sing. Spencer’s text tone, specially selected so that you never get your hopes up at anyone else’s text tone coming through. As if your thoughts summoned him, Spencer has texted you, despite the fact you were speaking to him mere seconds ago. However, as you glance down at your phone to see his message, your blood runs cold. Much to your absolute horror, you have somehow managed to send that last message you typed and sent without looking, not to your best friend like the previous messages, but directly to the subject of the conversation.

Spencer: What physically hurts? Are you okay? Do you need help? 

The panic response in your body is so real it’s scary, every fiber of your being screaming in utter hysteria as you run your hand through your hair with eyes like a deer in headlights. This is the worst possible mistake to have made, but, maybe you can white-lie your way out of this, since that message didn’t mention Spencer by name. Frantically, you type out your response back to him.

You: Spencer I am so sorry omg Im fine that message was not meant for you 

Nodding to yourself, you take some deep breaths. Spencer is never one to invade a person’s privacy outside of it being professionally required to do so and by revealing so little in your reply, you are communicating that the matter is private and was unintentionally, partially revealed to him. 

Spencer: Oh, okay. Still, if you are in any kind of pain, please let me know; if there is anything I can do to help/anything I can get you, I will.

And, of course, Doctor Spencer Reid manages to make you smile like an idiot with such a simple, sweet text.

You: thanks, Spence, that’s really kind of you. Im ok tho, I promise!! :)

Spencer: Hold on, you went to the bathroom and complained of pain - is it your menstrual cycle? I have towels and tampons in my desk.

Your eyes widen at his boldness, but also sweetness, to ask such a thing. How cute, he thinks you’re embarrassed to admit to him that you are on your period and not at all completely humiliated by your massive crush on him, almost being exposed in its entirety because you were, ironically, distracted by him.

You: nono, trust me, Im ok!! 

Frowning in sudden confusion, you are quick to type out another text before Spencer responds to your first one.

You: why do you have those?

Spencer: I am a doctor, I work with people who menstruate and should not have to pay for such things if I have some that I can provide for free. 

And he has you smiling like a lovesick idiot. Again. 

You: wow, that’s really sweet Spence :’)

Spencer: Is It? Thank you! B)

Another confused frown furrows your brow as you stare at your phone screen quizzically.

You: what’s “B)”

Spencer: Sunglasses face. A cool guy. B) 

God bless this man and his total inability to use actual emojis, you are having to stifle your laughter with a hand over your mouth because otherwise you are certain the entire office would hear you.

You: omg of course it is! so cute!!

Spencer: B)

The second you see it on your screen again, you are trying to contain your laughter a second time. His ability to be completely and utterly adorable is unmatched.

Spencer: You have been in the bathroom for some time and have not yet clarified the reason for texting someone that you were in physical pain. Are you absolutely certain that you are alright? 

Panic begins to set in again as you consider your options, none of which including confessing the truth from within the bathroom stall you are hiding in.

You: look, I cant tell you the reason I texted that but I promise you I am absolutely fine!! 

The moment the ‘read’ symbol appears by your last text, there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Hey sweetpea, boy-wonder told me you were in some kind of pain, is everything alright in there? Do you need a tamp? A hot water bottle? Some soup? A-” While your dear friend, Penelope Garcia, continues to list things that you could possibly need, through the bathroom door, you are frantically typing to Spencer again.

You: did you send Pen over here

He responds diligently, of course.

Spencer: I am sorry if I have breached your privacy at all, I thought you might feel more comfortable talking to Penelope about whatever is going on, but I hope you know you can always talk to me about anything.

Sighing and closing your eyes in a pained blink, you call out. “I’m fine, Pen, seriously!”

But, ever the carer of the team, Penelope will not let that slide. “Well, I’m not leaving until you come out here and prove it to me.”

Now, you are physically and emotionally cornered. There is absolutely no way that Penelope will let you out of here without an explanation, and there is absolutely no way that you can lie to her, either. Alright, time to bite the bullet.

“Pen…if I come out, you must promise to take me straight to your office and I’ll tell you everything, but you cannot tell a soul, okay?” You ask her through the door, and you can practically hear the gossip-loving cogs in her brain turning on the other side.

“You got it, sweetness! C’mon out!” Penelope calls, and you take a deep breath, shoving your phone in your back pocket before unlocking the door and stepping back into the office.

Immediately, Penelope swings an arm around you and leads you to her office with haste. All the while, you can feel a certain pair of very attractive, swoon-inducing eyes on you, worrying after you.

The second you are alone together in her office, Penelope sits you down and pulls her chair up to sit opposite you, taking ahold of your hands.

“Spill it!”

You sigh, avoiding her eyes. “This is about to be the most humiliating confession of my life.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, her pupils practically dilating at the raised stakes of what this gossip could entail. “No, no, come on, this is a safe space!”

You nod. “I know, I know, but…admitting aloud to any member of the team is something I hoped I’d avoid forever.” You chuckle in disbelief. “Basically, I was texting my friend some very private things and then got distracted by Spencer and accidentally sent him one of the texts- it’s probably just easier if I show you.” You decide, retrieving your phone and showing her the texts you had originally been sending to your best friend, then the one you accidentally sent to Spencer. 

Penelope’s jaw drops. “Oh my goodness! Who are you talking about in those texts?!”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Go on, Pen, take a guess. Who is the one person I wouldn’t want to find out about my crush, except for the crush himself.”

And Penelope Garcia’s jaw has hit the floor, she is in a state of shock. So severely, in fact, you have to wave a hand in front of her face.

“Earth to Penelope?” You ask, amused. 

She blinks rapidly at you, her spirit seemingly returning to her as she starts to squeal. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh! I knew it, I absolutely knew it!”

Then, your phone dings, a text tone that sends goosebumps rippling up your arm. 

Spencer: Is everything okay? I am sorry if I upset you by telling Penelope, I was just concerned for you. Can I talk to you before we leave for the day, please?

Without hesitation, you show the text to Penelope, seeking her moral support in your time of need. “Now that you know what’s going on, please help me, what the hell am I supposed to do?!”

The technical analyst spins in her chair, typing away on her keyboard before bringing up a direct feed of one of the security cameras inside the main office. The two of you can see Spencer, sitting at his desk with his bag and coat on, ready to leave for the day, but glancing between his phone and the text he’s sent you that’s now showing as ‘read’ and Penelope’s office door, with a worried expression.

“Honestly, sweetpea, I don’t think you’ve got a choice but to tell him. The two of you are so close, he’ll see right through any white-lie you tell him and worry even more that he’s done something to upset you. The most painless way out of this is to just tell him the truth.” Penelope says, wincing at her own words as she looks at you because she knows how much it would hurt to have someone tell her that, if she were in your situation. 

Looking back up at Spencer on the monitor, seeing his worried expression, your heart aches at the thought of making him overthink about something he’s said or done, never wanting to cause him that kind of distress.

Sighing in defeat, you nod. “You’re right, Pen.”

Fixing your gaze back on your phone screen, you start to type, not missing the way Spencer’s eyes light up on the monitor at the notification of you typing back to him.

You: sorry Spence, I didn't mean to worry you, I'm all good! now coming :)

As silly as it is, the smiley face you send him brings a small smile to Spencer’s actual face, and that gives you the only confidence you need to rise from your seat. 

“Good luck, sweetness!” Penelope squeals, pulling you into a hug before practically shoving you out of her office.

Stepping into Spencer’s line of sight, he immediately starts walking over to you.

“Hey, I’m so sorry that I told Garcia, I know I shouldn’t have-” He begins to ramble, but your smile stops him in his tracks.

“You don’t need to apologize, Spencer, I promise, everything is fine. Are you ready to head out?” You ask him as he follows you over to your own desk, so that you can collect your own jacket and bag. 

“Y-Yeah.” He replies nervously, very obviously still worrying because you haven’t told him the whole truth yet, rendering him unable to settle.

The two of you walk to the elevator in silence, but as the doors close, isolating the two of you, you take a deep breath.

“You’re going to think my explanation is ridiculous, just to pre-warn you.”

Spencer frowns seriously, turning to face you, giving you his full attention. “Nothing you say is ever ridiculous, not to me. What’s going on?” His voice is so soft that it has you weak at the knees, which does not make this any easier. 

“I was texting a friend of mine and then carried on typing when I looked back to answer you, meaning I accidentally sent the next text to you.” The explanation is simple, in essence, but Spencer is nodding along like you are reciting some holy scripture. Biting the bullet completely this time, you pass Spencer your phone with shaking hands, allowing him to read the texts you sent your friend.

“But…you sent these after talking with me? While still talking with me?” He asks quizzically, for a moment blinded by his own obliviousness and a sadness settles in his heart because he truly believes you were thinking of some other guy when just speaking to him, but as the more logical conclusion presents itself to him, Spencer’s eyes widen.

You are unable to look at him, your gaze fixed on the closed elevator doors in front of you as you gently take your phone and conceal it back in your pocket. “Yep.” Is, somehow, the only word you can muster. 

Spencer parts his lips to speak, but the elevator doors open, and you all but make a break for it.

“Sorry. See you tomorrow, Spencer.” You blurt out hurriedly as you speed walk out of the building and into the parking lot, feeling physically sick as tears blur your vision, knowing you have single handedly ruined whatever wonderful friendship Spencer appreciates you for sharing with him, knowing your fate of a tear soaked pillow awaits you the second you arrive home. 

“(Y/N), wait, please!” Spencer calls out after you, his voice alone strong enough to stop you on your march. 

Turning to face him, Spencer’s heart breaks at the sight of the tears escaping your eyes. “Spencer, I am so, so sorry. I know you don’t like physical contact, I know you have never so much as glanced at me in the only way I’ve ever been able to look at you, and I want you to know I tried absolutely everything to stop myself falling for you because I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation like this, but every new thing I learn about you just makes me love you more than I thought possible and every time you smile at me you remind me what the definition of beautiful is, as though I’d ever forget when you exist to be just that in every conceivable way, and I’m so sorry or making you worry and care for me and that now you’ve got no choice but to process all of this and with your eidetic memory you’re not going to be able to forget it which makes things even more awkward for you and-”

Spencer interrupts your breathless, tearful ramble by pulling you into his arms, tucking your head into his chest.

“Breathe, (Y/N), please.” He asks, so softly, with such care and compassion you can only cry into his coat. 

For a few minutes, that is how you stay, crying in his arms as he holds you there, gently shushing you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his chest, his fingertips caressing your hair in a way that makes it very difficult for you to focus on anything else. But, when Spencer hears your tears settle into sniffles, your breaths returning to normal, he parts his lips to speak.

“500 years through time and space.” He says, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Unfortunately, in your heartbroken state, you don’t quite catch on. “Yeah, friends have always got to be kind and appreciate each other, I remember.” You nod, pulling away from Spencer to wipe your eyes. 

As your vision clears, you see the smile on his face, and Spencer shakes his head at you. “The saying is specifically tailored to soulmates, I only added the friendship clarification because I didn’t want to be too forward.” He holds your gaze, reading your eyes as you return to the wavelength you’ve always shared. “Actually, the next fact I was going to tell you when you came out of the bathroom, the new fact you asked for on your return, was going to be that a study conducted by the University of California found that when someone is in love, their heartbeat synchronizes itself with that of the person they are in love with. And I was, then, going to ask to check your heart-rate, because I am a Doctor, after all.” He chuckles bashfully, pulling the stethoscope from his bag and shyly hiding it in there again once you acknowledge it.

There’s no way you can keep your cool at this point, the bright smile on your face is impossible to conceal. “How long have you had that stethoscope in there in preparation for telling me that fact?”

Spencer does not hesitate with his answer. “4 months, 18 days and 6 hours.”

You nod slowly. “So, you’ve been sure for a while, then?”

Spencer nods back at you, his own smile widening. “For 4 months, 18 days, 6 hours and 3 minutes, to be exact.”

You can’t help giggling at that. “500 years, 4 months, 18 days, 6 hours, and 3 minutes later, here we are. Sorry, I took the long way round.” You joke, taking a nervous step towards him, and Spencer meets you halfway. 

“I think we both did.” His words are quiet, his breath on your lips as he leans down to you, smile to smile and heart to heart for the first time in your lives. 

It’s you that rises to your tiptoes to close the final gap between you, your lips meeting his and immediately sighing against them, truly feeling that you have waited each and every one of those 500 years for this kiss alone. Spencer’s large hands cup your face so gently, and your hands hold his there, stars and butterflies whirling around you in a bliss shared between two souls that took their sweet time in coming back to each other. 

As a thought enters your mind, you break away from the kiss to laugh lightly.

“What is it?” Spencer asks quietly, but he’s already laughing with you.

“Two hearts, beating together?” You say, giggling to yourself as the realization flashes in Spencer’s eyes, too, so much so that he finishes the thought for you.

“You’re absolutely right, that is a bit Doctor-Who!”

[hottpinkpenguin]

okay okay but that prompt “give me something to dream about” with steamy/fluff nikolai? yes please

A/n: hear you go anon! Hope you love it. Nikolai is SOO easy to write for!! ♥️

Nikolai Lantsov x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1622 | Warnings: steam, angst

You watched Alina Starkov’s long, dark hair swish from side to side as she stormed off from Nikolai’s side with an indignant huff. Stupid girl, you thought to yourself as you watched her stomp out of his private map room. You ducked out of the dimly lit doorway that the palace servants used as the girl everyone called a Saint spluttered past you without a backwards glance. She was small in person: short and slender with a youthful face. Pretty, but not beautiful. She had grit, you couldn’t deny her that. Maybe in a different world, and if she hadn’t just been proposed to by the love of your life, you would have been friends.

The door to Nikolai’s map room closed loudly. Not quite a slam, but Alina used just enough force to convey her displeasure. Plunged into quiet, you peeped around the corner at your prince. He was standing opposite the table, leaning on it with his hands splayed along its surface and his head hanging in defeat. For a brief moment, you wondered if he wanted to see you tonight.

“Show’s over, Tiger. You can come out now.”

You shot Nikolai a pouty glare as you came out from your hiding place. You knew he’d known you were there, although you felt sheepish to be caught.

“Come here.” He gestured for you. You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, but also a note of eagerness. He needed you. His usually pristine military jacket was unbuttoned, and in the soft candlelight you could see a sliver of his chest peaking out above the neckline of his white linen undershirt. He raked a hand through his hair, knocking loose a few pieces that fell haphazardly over his brow. You swallowed, suddenly your mind buzzing at the sight of him. If Alina Starkov was a Saint, then Nikolai Lantsov was a goddamn angel.

“How’d it go, Pirate Prince?” You shot Nikolai a flirty smile, winking at him and using the nickname you knew he hated. You tried to keep your tone light to hide the fact that your chest felt like it was a fraction of an inch from caving on itself.

He grimaced at you, stepping around the large table with war maps and heavy tomes of Ravkan history sprawled across its surface. With strong, sure arms he swept you up into a rib crushing embrace, spinning you around and burying his head in your hair.

“Swimmingly,” he replied gruffly. “She almost smacked me.”

You laughed in spite of yourself. You’d not-so-secretly been hoping that Nikolai wouldn’t follow through on his plan to propose marriage to Alina Starkov. No matter how many times he promised you that the proposal was just a calculated political move, you’d never be anything but bitter. You knew Nikolai too well to seriously convince yourself that he would balk at the last moment, especially when the fate of his country lay in jeopardy, even if his heart did lie with you. But that hadn’t kept you from dreaming, hoping against hope.

He must have caught the flicker of sorrow in your eyes. He released you from his arms, hooking a thumb under your chin and gently lifting your face until he held your gaze.

“You know this isn’t what I want, Tiger.” His voice was low, smooth as silk, and devastatingly sincere.

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t argue with him, not again. Not over this. Who knew how long you had to be relatively free with your affections for him. Even though the two of you kept your romance private, that was purely a matter of preference. If (when, you forcibly corrected yourself) Nikolai actually married Alina, you’d have to take extra care to avoid being detected. Maybe to the point of going your separate ways indefinitely. You refused to waste what precious little time you had left bickering over an inevitable.

You tried to push that darkness out of your mind, forcing a gentle smile onto your face. Nikolai’s snow-blue eyes danced at the sight.

“I know, Nikki,” you replied softly. He chuckled, recognizing the pet name you used only when the two of you were alone. You felt his hand press against your lower back, pulling you in closer. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, eagerly meeting his lips with yours. His mouth was warm and soft, the feel of him so familiar. The kiss was quick - tender with a hint of the playfulness you were both using to glaze over the deeper hurts. But it was delicious all the same. You let yourself enjoy it, twining your hands in the soft hair at the back of his neck and dancing your tongue along his bottom lip. He smiled against you, one hand cupping your cheek and deepening the kiss. You let him, for a moment, before you pulled back. You were teasing him, admittedly, and you could see it in the feral desire burning in his eyes.

“Saints be damned,” he muttered breathlessly, raking his gaze all over you. “You’re going to drive me mad, woman.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as a shiver ran up your spine at the gravel in his voice. Nikolai tucked his head against your exposed throat, laying down a line of featherlight kisses up under your jawline and towards your ear. When he reached your ear, he paused, nuzzling you gently. You ran your fingernails down from his hairline along the back of his neck and out across his broad shoulders. You felt his muscles release under your touch as he exhaled deeply.

“You need a warm bath, my Lord,” you informed him, kneading his shoulders to emphasize the tightness there. He groaned appreciatively at the sensation.

“That sounds nice,” he admitted, pulling back slightly and resting his hands on your hips. “But only if you join me.”

That mischievous glint in his eyes drove you absolutely wild. You could feel a warm jolt of desire begin to burn in your core. Nikolai sensed it somehow, smirking as if he could feel your lust. Something about the way he was devouring you with his eyes made you pause. You knew that, in a few more moments, you’d be lost to his touch and completely senseless with bliss. He knew it too, and he was hungry for it. You both were. But first, you had something to say.

“I won’t be your mistress, Nikolai. When you marry her. I love you, but I can’t do that to myself. To either of us.”

Your words were heavy, but your tone was soft. Almost apologetic.

You felt him momentarily wind down at the seriousness in your voice. The playful smirk melted from his face, leaving behind a somber sadness. He fiddled with the ruffles on your dress’ neckline for a few moments, both of you quiet as he processed your statement. He wasn’t surprised. Nikolai knew you better than anyone. You’d asked him once why it was that he understood you so clearly. We have mirror image souls, he’d said back as if it were the simplest answer in the world. From that moment on, you’d never doubted him.

“I know, Tiger.” His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”

You lifted your eyes to him, trying to memorize the way his face looked in the candlelight. He returned your gaze calmly, and you had the sense he was trying to commit the moment to memory just like you were.

After a few moments, you smiled, forcing yourself to loosen the internal grip you had on the heartbreak you knew was coming. He’s not married now, you reminded yourself. Your fingertips traced up his arms until your hands framed his face.

“Now, let’s get back to that bath.”

He grinned, lifting you from the hips until your legs were wrapped around his waist. He clasped you against him, your hands wrapped around his neck as he carried you out of the private map room and back towards the door that connected to his sleeping quarters. He turned around briefly to close the door behind him, shutting out the worries of the future in the process.

He let you slide out of his grasp when he entered the bathroom. Even through your house slippers, the tile floor was cool underfoot. He leaned down, opening the faucets over the large bathtub. Water came cascading out, splashing into the empty tub as he stoppered the drain. He tested the water temperature with his hands as you began untying the lacings on your bodice.

He turned back to you once the water was to his liking, watching your every movement with a greedy glint in his eyes. Once you’d stripped down to your skin, you stepped over to him and helped him slide his jacket off. It fell to the ground with a metallic ting as the medals adorning the jacket’s chest clinked on the marble floor. You started unlacing his undershirt when he reached up, grabbing your hands in his. He tilted his head slightly downward, pouring into your eyes with his own.

“A request, Tiger,” he drawled. You smirked as you continued to undo his shirt.

“Anything, my Prince.” He laughed at your reply, leaning in even further until he was so close you could feel his lips barely brushing against yours.

“Give me something to dream about.”

You leaned in, meeting his kiss, your body ablaze with the intensity of his words. You wanted to make sure that Nikolai Lantsov, the first and maybe only love of your life, didn’t need to ask you twice…

[captain039]

PART 2 Predator grounds (Cooper Howard)

Alpha!Cooper Howard (pre-war)x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB dynamics, vault tech things, forced heats/ruts, eventual smut, age gap, angst? Experiments, needles, drugs, talks of pregnancy, first times, anxiety attacks, anxiety, forced claiming

Previous part <-

Has it even been a day down here? You remember falling in and out of sleep on the edge of the bed, almost falling off at one point. You know the lights went dim twice so far and the music stopped when it did. You wish you could put those damn speakers up the vaults overseers ass if he was even around. Hell the only person you saw was the man bringing the food everyday. His overly cheery voice making you want to reach through the food slot and choke him. You think you’ve used too much water considering you’ve had five showers now, well you weren’t really washing yourself more like sitting on the floor in despair trying to relieve yourself quietly so the alpha outside didn’t hear. He hasn’t said a word, he’s been quietly brooding in the corner for the last few days. You’re worried about him, he always looks tense, you swear he never sleeps and he’s always twitching at every sound he hears. You feel sorry for him, feel sorry that he isn’t with the one person he married even if they did seperate he deserves that familiarity. He wouldn’t be in this harsh rut too, someone to take the ease off. God you’ve imagined too many times about how he could take you in every single inch of this vault room. He’s moved the couch to the corner, pushed the TV out of the way, he moved it while you were in the shower the second time.

You haven’t drawn the curtains back so you can’t see out into the hall way, hell you don’t want to, that couple across from you probably still going at it. You sit on the floor on pillows and a towel reading a crappy book they supplied on the book shelf. You haven’t explored all the shelves and cupboard, hell you probably wouldn’t mind watching a movie but it’s on his side of the room. You’ve never seen Mr Howard like this, so tense and caught up in his head, he’s usually a care free, kind, charcmismic man. Guess being frozen for 200 years will do that to a man. You glance at him hesitantly and gulp a little.

“Mr Howard?” You finally speak and he hums looking to you. His stare makes you falter and you nervously glance at the wall behind him before focusing back on his eyes.

“Are you- are you doing ok? Do you want a book? I think the Video tapes are on the bottom shelf too” you gesture to the light brown shelf filled with books and tape holders.

“I’m ok, sweetheart” he says his lips twitching slightly and you just nod a little saddened. You say against the wall head leaning on the mattress cursing the ache in your lower stomach.

“Room 236” a woman’s voice calls over and you frown.

“You’re not completing your functions!” She says cheerily and you raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Go fuck yourself and do it yourself asshole” Cooper yells and you flinch a bit at the tone but smile to yourself.

“If this continues we will seperate you to more appropriate partners! We want to save the America and you can help!” Coopers statement goes ignored and her words make your whole body tense and into a panic. You can’t go to someone else, you can’t be with someone else you’ve never done this, what the hell? They can’t just move you to get impregnated. You don’t want kids, the thought of a baby terrifies you.

“Sweetie look at me” you can hear Coopers voice briefly but your heart is pounding in your ears. He yells your name and you flinch and look at him.

“You’re alright, they’re not gonna take you from this room ok, I promise” he says so sincerely but he can’t control them, can’t control if they do take you, they’re in control here.

The lights dim signalling night time and you’re curled up hiding under the covers like it’d save you. The speakers words scare you to death, this whole situation seems to be dawning on you. Tears roll down your face silently and you suck in a small breath. You don’t hear the footsteps till you feel the bed dip and your heart rate rockets into panic.

“It’s me” Cooper mutters and you let out the breath in a shudder that you were holding.

“I keep my promises you know this” he speaks softly in the darkness and you nod your head despite him not being able to see.

“I know” you croak cursing yourself silently. He always did, he was that kind of man.

“Get some sleep” he mutters after some silence and walks back to his side of the room.

Morning comes, the lights turning on brightly making you wince. You didn’t sleep well at all last night, tossing and turning, fleeting nightmares. Alarms blare and you’re suddenly wide awake and standing up by the bed on wobbly feet. Your door is opening, Cooper is up quickly as well. You see two men in hazard suits and two people behind them with guns. You tense realising they were here to take you away. You see a scared woman being held behind the four people, she’s cuffed and held by two others in hazard suits.

“You aren’t fulfilling your duties in room 236, we are to remove the omega and replace her” his words sound automated and suddenly you’re wrapped up in strong arms.

“You won’t take her” Coopers voice is low, his breathing is coming out almost in a harsh snarl, he’s got one arm across your upper chest the other over your stomach.

“Sir, let the omega go” the people in the hazard suits are unbothered by the smells and tone he’s using.

“You. Won’t. Take. Her” he breathes harshly between each word and you swear he’s a man possessed.

“I’m so sorry” he whispers softly in your ear and suddenly there’s like an electric shock of pleasure going through your body as blunt teeth clamp on your shoulder. You let out a strangled noise as a mating bond clicks into place, you’re flooded by him and feelings making you stagger but not fall in his embrace.

“You won’t take my mate away” he challenges after he stops biting and you’re in a daze. They halt there advances, a mate bond is strong, he won’t touch another omega now. They step back hands up and the door slides shut. You breathe deeply, having held your breath majority of that time as you finally process everything that happened. You place a hand on your neck feeling where he bit and stutter. You hear him apologising feel him move in front of you but you’re in overload right now. You don’t look at him, you turn, grab a chair and head to the bathroom. You force the chair against the door and collapse to the floor in a heap. What just happened?

Next part ->

NOTES:

To continue Wasteland heat I gotta watch the episodes again I think I got like episode five? While writing and then had this idea xD but I’ll continue Wasteland heat after xD

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Okay, now that you've introduced us to gym crush Dave, what about gym bf Dave where he's a lot more confident in watching you do your sets, and being a total hype gym bf <3

(Sorry if it's not descriptive enough... it's late asf and I'm tired)

aww this is adorable! thanks for the request lovely 🧡 sequel to this fic but not necessary to have read :) short n sweet for this one

The gym isn’t crowded today; you thank the early hour for the emptiness. It’s not your preferred time (5 A.M is a little too early for you), but Dave couldn’t find any other room in his schedule, and it’s always better to have a built-in-boyfriend/gym partner.

You’re benching, the rhythmic movement up and down timed with your breathing, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead. The burning in your arms has already started, a feeling on the edge of pain. You already finished one set, following the plan that you and Dave made this week for your goals together. If it was anyone else, you would’ve told them to fuck off for talking about your workout routine; but it’s how you and Dave connect, among other things. Somehow, it’s easy to listen to his guidance and his encouragement. It helps that he’s always the most sincere, quietly supportive person that you know.

He’s beside you now, scrolling through his phone while he takes a break. There’s a layer of sweat covering his body, the black material of his shorts and tank-top doing nothing to hide his muscles.

Through the haze of your music, you hear Dave’s voice, always patient and calm. “You can do more than that.”

“What?” you ask, frustration seeping through your tone. Ever since you started working out with him, your routine has become decidedly harder, which you’re both thankful for and tired of. It’s undeniable that Dave pushes you past your limits in the best way possible. He takes a step closer to you, leaving his own weights on the ground.

“Come on, baby. You can do more than that. Here-” he helps you rack your weight and adds another five to both sides “you go. Try now.”

“Dave,” you start, peeling yourself off from the sticky plastic of the bench, “I could barely do what I was already doing.”

“But you did it,” he points out. “You go until failure, right? So add more.”

Reasonably, you know he’s right. You’ve got more in you, even though you may not feel like it, but the heaviness of your breathing and the shakiness of your limbs protest.

“Fine,” you huff, ignoring the grin on his face. “But you have to spot me, bub.”

“Of course.” Easily, he steps around you to get into position, ready to help if you need it. There’s no one you trust more than him to spot you; he’s always unfailing protective of you. Quietly, when you lift the bar from the resting position, he urges you on. “You got it, honey.”

Breathing in, you bring the bar to your chest and pause before pushing it back up, breathing out. One rep. Two reps. Dave’s voice steadily counting as you keep going, encouragements littered in-between. You finish the first set and take a breath, sitting up.

“There you go, baby,” Dave cheers quietly, his headphones around his neck, curls sticking out in all directions despite your attempt to pin his hair back. “See, you didn’t even need my help,” he points out.

“Asshole,” you grin, popping the knuckles in your hand. He sees it and takes your hand in his own, massaging your knuckles and giving your wrists a squeeze before helping you lay back down on the bench.

The next set passes and the next set passes, until you can’t lift anymore and Dave has to help you rerack your weights. Your arms are bone tired, burning, and shaking.

“Good job, baby,” he says once you’re sitting up, your face flushed and heated with sweat. There’s pride on his face that makes you feel proud of yourself. “I knew you could do it.”

“That makes one of us,” you reply, taking his hand when he offers it to you. He grabs your water too and hands it to you, and you gratefully take it.

“Come on, have a little faith. You’ve got a great coach, you know.” Running a hand through his curls, Dave starts his own set, not waiting for you to start again, which you appreciate.

When he takes his next break, you take a look around the gym to make sure that no one else is looking your direction. Once you’re satisfied, you wrap your arms around his neck, sweat be damned, and peck him gently. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away, leaving Dave to stare at you, open-mouthed, his eyes wide and surprised.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” he warns breathlessly, a half-grin on his face.

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling his headphones back up to cover his ears. “I’m counting on it, coach.”

[bendydudeinc]

This is my first time asking for something, but could you write about Izuku x Reader trapped in a small space, perhaps like a quirk accident that happened, and Izuku and reader were both trapped in a box or room, it could be anything. Or like after class and have to hide in a cabinet or anything related to that ig. If you want, of course, could I be smut. It's up to you if you want to add kinks, but I really like this idea, and I've had it for a while. I hope ots not weird. Thanks, and good luck! ☆

I gotchu😏 I got a bit ahead of myself with this one, hopefully it isn’t too far off what you wanted!

Boxed in with #1

PAIRING: Izuku x AFAB nonbinary reader

CONTENT: SMUT BARELY ANY PLOT, you and pro hero Izuku get stuck in a quirk accident together

CONTENT WARNINGs: Praise, size kink, slight public play, claiming/cum kink, sex in tight places, slight choking kink, consent is hot as hell, vocal Izuku is a sweetie during sex, reader is called darling, baby

H/n - hero name

=====================

You walked down the streets of Tokyo with your head up confidently, scanning for possible crime or anything abnormal. Fans pointed as their faces lit up, squealing when you turn to wave in their direction. You smiled to yourself, you loved being a hero. It made you feel so happy to see people that looked up to you, that felt moved by your ideologies and heroic efforts. You were so grateful that you made it up the hero chart so quick, but it still felt so surreal to you sometimes. So surreal that you’re really a pro hero. The number ten hero, h/n. It felt even more surreal that you graduated along side and were now working with Japan’s number one hero, Deku. You pressed on the small intercom device used for communication in your ear.

“Everything good over there number one?” The intercom sizzled before you got a response.

“Good here h/n, no new activity to report. You want to grab a bite? It’s about lunch already.”

Your face lights up, “Yeah, I’d like that. Wanna get some Katsudon?”

You giggled when he excitedly agreed, making your way to the restaurant you’d always go to together for his favorite food. You shook your head in attempt dismissal of any romantic thoughts of him. You knew that you two were just friends and worked together, but you couldn’t help the electricity you felt every time you were around him. The urge to melt into your seat whenever he made eye contact. The dorky smile that wouldn’t leave your face no matter how hard you tried as you listened to him fanboy. The warmth you felt in your heart when he showed his concern and care for you. His passionate personality and sincerity drew you like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t even help yourself from staring at his tall, strong, toned figure at times. His muscles were huge, but not obnoxious. His eyes and smile were absolutely gorgeous, you’d stare and giggle like a four year old for hours at them if you could. His jawline could probably cut the tension you had in half too. He looked like a God. You swore he’d caught you a couple times, to which you got flustered like crazy and completely brushed it off. You didn’t know he’d smirk to himself, definitely aware that you check him out. Everything about him just drove you crazy. You may have been a hero team, but the chemistry below the surface was blossoming like bunches of daisies every minute you spent together.

You arrived near the entrance to the restaurant, waving at Deku as he noticed you approaching and smiled. That expression quickly changed to seriousness and worry, and before you could ask, blue electricity formed around him and he was tackling you onto the pavement. You flinched, Deku shielding your fall as much as possible. You groaned and opened your eyes to see…nothing…..pitch black.

“Deku? Is this a villain attack?!” You started to get up to prepare for a fight, but bumped hard into Deku above you who groaned in pain, your hands then feeling around the solid cold walls at your sides that trapped you.

“I think someone’s quirk went out of control! The woman I saw across the street didn’t look like she had malicious intent, but I saw this…cement stuff coming out of both of her hands. She looked panicked.” Deku did his best to stabilize himself above you as you hit your hand against the hard cement on your sides, though to no avail.

“My quirk won’t be any good for this. You can use yours, would work perfect for this right?” You ask in a slight panic.

“Not when I’m s-so close in proximity to someone. There’s not enough space for me to safely use my power without hurting you, possibly seriously injuring you. Let’s wait here until someone can help or t-that lady figures out how to free us.”

You looked up to where his face would be in the dark, his stuttering making you now very aware of how close he is to you. You could feel his breath on your face, his legs and hips on yours. Your face burned red, and you prayed that he couldn’t see you too, or hear your breathing slowly getting heavier. You tried to shift your position but in the dark, not so easy. You nudged Deku off his balance, making him fall directly on top of you. His head fell into in the crook of your neck, waist and chest pressing against yours snuggly. The feel of his lips right next to your skin sent chills down your spine, butterflies pooling in your lower tummy. You bit your lip hard. He made a surprised sound and quickly propped himself on both of his forearms. You heard him start to stammer out an apology, but your body reacted without you being able to control it. You sighed out loud, your hips slightly rocking up to grind against his; too overwhelmed by the excitement of finally feeling him against you to realize what you’re doing.

“H-hey, what are you- crap.” His arms flexed on either sides of your head. You wanted to cry. You were so embarrassed, but you didn’t say anything. You were too scared too..until your eyes widened when you felt something press against your crotch. All fears of judgement and embarrassment slowly disappeared. Did he…like this?

He made a quiet noise of arousal as he began to cautiously grind down onto you, “You…you sneaky thing. Oh gods~”

Your body flutters with pleasure at the sound, hearing him so close to your ear. It was all so good, the sexual tension building for months finally slipping as you let the heat take over. You almost couldn’t believe your best friend and the number one hero really felt this way about you like you did for him. He began kissing your neck, nipping teasingly at your skin, listening for when he hit your sensitive spots. You suck in a breath and whine, tilting your head back when he latched onto one. He groaned, pulling away slowly after leaving a nice purple mark that he’d later aqpologize for. He doesn’t know his own strength

He hummed, happy with the reaction he got from you. He continued kissing your neck, stopping to whisper sweet nothings in your ear in between. “Hey I- I’ve always wanted you. I stare at your lips a lot because I wish more than anything to kiss them. I dream about holding you, about making you feel good. Making you- making you moan my name. I want this with you. I wanna make you feel better than anyone else could ever h-hope to measure up to. Fuck- I need more of you baby, please tell me..do you want me?”

You writhed under him in response, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. He wrapped one of his hands gently around your throat, earning a hard tug on his curls. The harsh grind of his cock against you said he liked it. He tightened his grip, his long fingers sinking into the sides of your neck. You were in shock, falling headfirst deep into the hole of lust, you could barely even think.

“Answer me my darling please talk to me, I want you s-so bad. Tell me. Do you want me? Want me to make you f-feel good?” He panted, struggling to shift, but managing to grab both of your arms, pinning them at your sides as you experimentally wrapped your legs around him. You moaned, the feeling of him keeping you down making you feel so small. His erection only grew, teasing your clit as he sensually moved against you. Your thighs twitched in anticipation around him.

You want to scream with joy as you reply, “Yes! Yes I’ve always wanted you so bad, I feel the same way Deku please, keep touching me?”

He moaned at your confession, gripping your arms tighter and rutting his hips into yours. By then, your eyes had adjusted to the dark, able to make out the side of his face and some of his hair. You figured it was the same for him as he pulled back as much as he could to lock eyes with you. His beautiful green eyes glowed lime with desire when he saw how needy you looked. He grinned wide, his expression shifting to one of confidence and determination. He leaned in to kiss you, and you felt like your entire body exploded with fireworks as your lips met his. You both moaned and whined into the kiss, deepening it as he showed his dominance over you, his tongue overpowering yours. You began struggling against his hold, wanting to challenge him. He pushed down on your arms harder, re-enforcing his power over you. You moan loudly nto the kiss, and he couldn’t help but laugh, backing away to observe you.

“Y-you really like that don’t you? Knowing I can hold you down like this?” His tone was curious, but demanding. You stared into his dilated desperate eyes, nodding your head frantically.

“Mmmm, do I have consent to do whatever I want with you honey?” He cooed into your ear, making you whimper uncontrollably, bucking your hips in need for him.

“Fuck. Yes Izuku please have your way with me, I want you to fuck your cum deep inside of me and make me all yours! I’ve been waiting so long…too long..do whatever you want!”

His eyes darkened, letting out the most slutty, strangled moan you’ve ever heard. He let go of your arms, scrambling to slip off your costume from the waist down. You helped him as he balanced on one hand to unzip his as well. You still couldn’t see completely clear in the dark, but you could tell he was big as he pulled his leaking cock out. It looked really thick. It made your mind race, almost cumming right then as you imagined the stretch. He started rubbing the length up and down your swollen clit, hissing as it got coated in your slick. You were going brain dead, whining like a dog as he teased your poor desperate hole.

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna feel so good I promise darling. Gonna stretch out your wet pussy s-so good ok? I love you. I love you, gonna make you all mine baby.” All you could do was nod, practically crying for him to put it in.

He whispered in your ear, “Hang onto me.” You obliged, wrapping your arms around his large shoulders as he slipped it inside of you. The feeling was inhuman, like a rubber band was going to snap so hard inside of you it might make you see heaven. You scratched down his back hard, each inch making you see a new galaxy of stars as you cried out. He moaned loud, resisting from pounding into you. Both of you lost in this moment, completely forgot that this is happening in…public.

He groans and shivers. “Doing so good baby look at you sucking me in. Almost all the way. D-does that feel good?”

“Yes! You feel so g-good Izuku oh my god. S’big, the stretch is gonna m-make me cum~”

He blushed hard, unaware before that his dick being girthier than average could be such a turn on for somebody.

“Good. I’m so glad. Go on then, feel good b-baby cum on me. Cum on my cock so hard.” He slammed the rest of his length inside of you and began a medium pace, mouth opening in a silent scream as he heard the lewd noises your dripping cunt made. Your bodies felt so right meshing together; you moaned in harmony, your scratching motivating him to go faster. He kissed you deeply to quiet some of your screams as you came almost immediately, the pleasure of him ramming precisely into your g spot too much for you to handle. You gasped as he pulled back to catch his breath.

You needed him. More. You needed him so bad it hurt. “Oh my god- oh my god cum inside of me Izuku! Please! Fill me up, I need it! Gonna cum again with you~!”

His hips stuttered, gripping your waist with the strength to leave a mark as his eyes rolled back, whimpering into your ear as he fucked into you harder than ever. Slap slap slap could probably be heard by anyone within a twenty foot distance. He choked out a loud moan and came inside of you. His last thrust was almost unbearably rough, holding you still on his cock as it sat deep inside of you, cumming against your most sensitive spots. You were too lost in the moment to even realize he had moved slightly to play with your clit, making you squirt as he came, the rubber band snapping hard as you gushed around his cock. He collapsed completely on top of you, both of your cum and juices leaking from around his cock and down your ass and thighs. You both laid together, holding each other close and giggling from the love drunk feeling.

“Did you- did you like that?” He asked as he caught his breath, kissing your neck sweetly.

“You- you’re wondering that while you just made me squirt, Izuku.”

You both laughed and continued praising each other, almost forgetting that help was supposed to come soon. Neither of you complained

“Oh and Izuku? I love you too.”

[pisupsala]

I wish I could control my dreams because a 30 year old with colorful stationary with glittery gel pens sounds like way more fun lol

Ps- he was an ass but he had his moments. I will deny any attraction if asked lol

I can't control your dreams either, dear anon, but I can write you a small drabble~ enjoy ✨ [no warnings, only fluff and glitter gel pens] ***

You are the only person Bradley knows with a pen holder in their house—a filled, regularly used pen holder, no less. The container itself is nothing special, just one of those black metal mesh cups you’ll find at any office supply store, sitting on the corner of your desk. It’s deceptive in its simplicity. It’s filled to the brim with a colorful selection of pens of all different types, although Bradley never paid much mind to it. He generally has no need to write things down—he has his phone, doesn’t he?

The first time he notices is when he meets you for dinner one evening after work; you’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. Everything is fresh and new, and you’re still learning about each other. You are dressed in the regular muted colors you wear to the office—understated, elegant. Deceptive in its simplicity. As you lean into him, hand on your chin, the sparkle in your eye as you look at him lovingly isn’t the only thing that glitters. On the side of your hand, at the crease of your wrist, the soft light of the restaurant playfully reflects from a pink glittery smudge.

“What’s that?” Bradley inquires curiously as he gently pulls your hand toward him to inspect the smudge. The moment you notice what he’s looking at, you pull your hand back, nervously rubbing your fingers over the spot, which won’t budge.

“I must have bumped into something,” You mumble, mortified. 

Bradley decides not to push you on the issue that evening, but as time passes, more parts of your glittering personality shine through. The silliness of singing together in the car, to the soft sincerity of slow-dancing in the kitchen late at night. And he keeps seeing the pale, shimmering smudges on your hands and fingers after a long day—a small reminder of the person you're really under the serious exterior you put up for work. But it takes Bradley an embarrassingly long time to figure out where those smudges are coming from; his brain seems to end up at it, probably being makeup (despite you certainly not wearing any glitter to work).

You are working late—you’re still on the phone when you climb into Bradley’s car, an annoyed look on your face, tone clipped. Your relationship is much more serious now, the months past only making your feelings deeper.

The moment your eyes meet his, you wink playfully, face breaking out into a smile. Bradley smiles back—and you have to bite your lip not to have the breath get knocked out of you. Rather, you return to your phone call, the smile immediately melting off your face as Bradley steers the car out of the company parking lot.

Digging your notebook out of your bag—a sturdy, black hardcover, you leaf through it to the page that you need, reading off the points coldly to the person on the other end of the line. Bradley glances over curiously. The page in front of you is filled with notes in simple black ink, but the margins are overflowing with patterns and doodles with what Bradley finally recognizes. It’s something buried deep inside his mind, something he hasn’t seen since the awkward days of middle school.

And suddenly, it all clicks. The smudges, the errant glitter, and even the measure of mortification that came with it: you still write with glitter gel pens. Bradley can’t help but laugh quietly as you wrap your phone call.

“What’s so funny?” You grin at him, slipping your notebook back into your bag, before you stretch languidly. 

“You,” Bradley laughs. 

“Really?” Smile on your face, you flip the visor down, using the small mirror to unpin your hair. “What did I do this time?”

“You are the only person that I know that still uses a notebook,” He starts, carefully monitoring your reaction from the corner of his eye. “It’s cute.” He adds.

“I remember important things better when I write them down rather than typing them,” You reply, relaxed now, smiling as you run your fingers through your hair. “It’s my secret weapon.”

“Especially when you use glitter gel pens for page decoration?” Bradley teases. A beat passes before you burst out laughing. 

���It makes my day a bit more colorful,” You admit. “My work is drab enough as it is.” 

“Do you send your colleagues reminders written in pretty glittery colors instead of emails?” Bradley jokes, laughing along with no.

“Absolutely not.” You defend yourself, feigning offense but unable to keep the corners of your mouth quirking up. “That’s only for truly important messages.” 

“Such as?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know, I never had to write one yet.” 

It’s weeks later, when Bradley is away on a training mission, that he finds the small folded-up note safely tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Your neat looping script, in glittery pink, sending the most important message, meant only for him:

I love you.

***

Library

[slowd1ving]

UNFORTUNATE BACKUP・゜ MIGUEL O'HARA NSFW

It's just you against fate. Unfortunately, it's hell-bent towards pairing you with the most annoying person in existence ever. Medical Researcher/Field Doctor reader, GN but he is used exactly 1 time warnings: nsfw, violence, tension (resolved), degradation wrote this for my friend a while back so it's not my usual style ;; lowkey clueless abt medical stuff so I'm sorry if that's obvious... this would've done numbers here if I actually posted this when itsv came out but as you can tell I just could not be asked if you've seen this before, it was posted to ao3 like a year ago by yours truly!!! wc: 7.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST . 　⁺ MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Maybe it’s fate playing a silly little prank on you when you don’t see Jessica waiting for you at the abandoned Alchemax you’re investigating. Maybe she’s late? You shift from side to side, wishing you brought your insulating suit to combat the frigid wind sweeping through the clearing where you stand. 

“Jess?” you hesitantly call out, even though you know it’s utterly foolish to do so when you haven’t even surveyed the surroundings. You can’t help but feel a pang of worry at her absence; it’s only the rustling leaves that answer your call. 

“You’re late.” it’s not Jessica’s voice that sounds out from the shadows of the Alchemax entrance. As your eyes struggle to make out who exactly spoke, he steps out into the weak rays of sun. It’s… Miguel? What the fuck is he doing here? Rarely do you ever see him, since the medical research facility is practically a gazillion miles away from his office-cave. 

“Sorry,” you try to inject some sincerity into your tone since he’s your superior, but it’s proving difficult when you’re literally on time . You slowly push open the creaky revolving door (which is ridiculously heavy, but you refuse to let him see your struggle). 

“While you were taking your sweet time,” Miguel pauses to shoulder the door open with practised ease, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “I already surveyed the building for you.” 

Literally nobody asked. You bite back the retort, feeling your face contort into a very impolite expression. Don’t lose your job. 

“Thank you,” you force out, surveying the entrance hall with a critical eye and an infrared detector scope. No signs of biological life here, it seems. It’s unusually quiet; normally these facilities are crawling with anomalies and other beings, which is why this is a job for two. 

“Where’s Jessica?” you ask offhandedly, following Miguel up the emergency stairs. You don’t want to make conversation with this standoffish man, but anything beats the very awkward feeling in the air. “Have you kidnapped her or something?” 

“A comedian,” you can hear him mutter under his breath in annoyance. He doesn’t turn to face you. “She sent me to work with you, since she had something urgent come up back in her home world.”

So she hasn’t just left you for the fun of it. Cool. You don’t say anything in response, choosing to run the objectives of your mission through your mind instead. Find the DNA lab, grab some spider-DNA, then do the same in the pathogen department. Back at base, they’ll be used to drive forward immunity research you’ve been conducting with your colleague. 

“The first stop is here,” Miguel informs you curtly, pointing to the frosted glass door in the middle of the corridor. You wordlessly move to gather your specimens, noting how the room is unexpectedly in great condition. The samples are all fresh too, dating only a month back. Great. It’s unusual, but you’ll take it. It’s the same with the virus specimens you’ve managed to get - the Alchemax was probably abandoned very recently. 

“Done,” you don’t see the point in trying to be amiable when Miguel clearly isn’t. We’re never going to be buddies. 

It’s a very pleasant week that flies past without you seeing him. Even though you’re permanently part of the team, you’re rarely ever assigned an active combat mission since you’re one of the few medics available in the facility. Seriously, why are there so few medical Spiders? Regardless, your line of work means that you won’t be in contact with Miguel any time soon. Or so you hope. But fate likes its silly little jokes. 

“They sent you for backup?” the question flies out of Miguel’s mouth when you step out of the portal into the dimly lit streets of Earth-152. A symphony of police sirens and rain splashing onto the pavement is heard in the background; it’s a fitting orchestra for this annoying scene. 

“Is there a problem?” your fist clenches around the strap of your medic bag as you fight to keep your frustration at a simmer. It’s not often that you’re called in for backup to tackle such a large-scale anomaly (see: never ), but you’re good with combat and injuries. Objectively, you’re an exemplary ally to have when fighting - is this fool denying that? “Or can I do my job?”

“He’s just worried because it’s a big operation,” Jess interjects from behind you. What a relief. She elbows him from where she sits astride her motorcycle, looking pointedly at him. “ Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns to look at his wristband, which currently projects what appears to be a map of the area. You ignore the slight, turning to face Jess with your brows furrowed. “Any updates?” 

“The target should be appearing within the next few minutes,” she quickly pulls up her own projections to show you a blurry photo of the target. “We’re capturing him alive and heading back to headquarters. Target’s particularly strong, so be careful.”

“Right,” your affirmation is interrupted by incessant red blinking from the map hologram. Your breath catches in your throat at the tantalising prospect of finally fighting. Two streets away. You follow Jess out of the alleyway into the blaring lights of the city, feeling the neon lights soak into your very being . Warm summer rain sluices away all your wariness before your webs propel you to the side of a glass skyscraper. 

The target’s nowhere to be found on the roof of the building he’s supposed to be on. Frustration makes itself palpable in the air and you can’t help but feel the dawning horror of apprehension. What’s going on? 

“Ambush!” your mouth forms the warning just as you spot several clones of the target emerging on the roof of the building. You’re not sure if Miguel or Jess heard your cry of shock, but you can’t check on either of them as the clones of the target start surrounding you. You can’t afford that; your webs are laced with a potent tranquilizer that makes quick work of those in your immediate vicinity. It’s not enough - the hordes that emerge from your peripherals are surrounding you anyway. 

“I’ll take care of these,” Jess’ motorcycle makes quick work of a good portion of the clones - they disintegrate pretty rapidly when hit with the heavy vehicle. “Miguel’s on track to find the main body. It’ll go faster if you also look for it.”

“Right,” you know Jess will be fine; her motorcycle and quick wits will let her tackle this crowd with ease. Find the main body. Your gut tells you it’s not going to be far away. In fact, your senses are urging you to check out the derelict factory a few blocks away. And who are you to ignore them? 

“Where are you, where are you,” you mumble to yourself as you swing towards the building. Its imposing structure almost halts you in your tracks, but you know something is lurking within. The angry clouds swirling above don’t make the situation any less menacing, but you ignore the unfortunate weather. No use in shaking in your boots because of some clouds.  

Luckily, there’s a row of windows in the shadows of the factory by the roof; it’s an easy objective to lithely creep up the side of the building. There. Concealed within the shadows of rusty machinery is your target, leaning against the wall in a too-casual manner. Before he can spot you, you crawl down until you’re not in view - there, you immediately fire out a call to Miguel from your watch. It’s the first time you’ve ever done so, but the situation calls for it. 

“What do you want?” his little hologram’s mask is indented with a sharp annoyance. You should’ve just handled this yourself. 

“I’ve found the target,” you retort with whatever venom you can muster. The two of you are colleagues, for fuck’s sake; there’s no use dismissing others like that in the first place. “You can see my location, right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish off this one,” from what you can see, he appears to be fighting a different enemy, judging from the sharp slashing you can faintly make in the background. “Stay exactly where you are until I arrive. Don’t engage in combat.”

“Sure, sarge,” you end the call with your annoyance slowly brimming over the edge. Who knows how long it’ll be before he finishes off that other enemy? You peer back into the factory, intending to continue your little reconnaissance. Your blood runs cold at the view down below. There’s nobody there, not a whisper of a soul down in the depths of those shadows. 

“Looking for me?” you almost jump out of your skin when a cheerful voice calls out from below. It’s the target, who’s somehow managed to make his way to the side of the factory you’re currently balanced on. 

“Don’t do that,” you spring down to the ground so you can come face to face with the target, clutching your bag to your side. The orders not to engage are still fresh in your mind, but you can’t exactly ignore the situation, can you?

“So, uh,” you begin, noticing the way he leans into the space between you two slightly. Diffuse the situation. Stay calm. His suit is almost as dark as the night itself, and it catches your eye with how it thrums like shaken ink. “Any chance you’ll give up peacefully?”

You already know the answer when he laughs mirthfully, with his head thrown back in sharp amusement. You can almost taste the forceful no that’s about to leave his lips. 

“You’re funny,” his razor-edged smile lacks any sort of laughter as he regains his composure. You brace yourself. “But no.”

And you’re ready, ready for the swift kick that comes flying your way. You easily move out of the way, while quickly slinging a web his way - it only scrapes by his upper arm, unfortunately, but it still has the potential to affect him somewhat. Concentrate. The fight will only last a few minutes at worst; it’s absolutely crucial to keep a clear mind. 

You alternate between throwing calculated jabs and webs designed to trap opponents to create a perfect feint and secure yourself an opening. One second. One second to carefully strike a tranquilizer web directly at the shirt under his suit. You don’t want to touch whatever makes up that shifting suit. What is it?

That question is answered immediately as clones start emerging from its shadows. Shit. You can see why the guy’s taking so long to be captured; it’s incredibly troublesome when he’s got a whole legion of clones available. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Steeling yourself, you fire a tranquilizer web straight at him while sending a kick to his side so he evades it right into your line of fire. The web lands on his cheek, which is an excellent target for the tranquilizer to work its wondrous magic. He’s out cold within a second or so. Perfect . It leaves you with plenty of time to ponder how you’re going to explain to Miguel that you’ve (unintentionally!) disobeyed orders within the humongous timespan of ten seconds. 

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

“What did you think I meant when I said to not engage?” Miguel’s annoyance seeps into the air when he sees you standing over the unconscious clone-man. 

“It was self-defense,” you argue, holding your hands up in mock-surrender. He’s clearly sceptical with the way his eyes swivel from the knocked-out target on the floor back to you. “Play it back on the watch!”

“Jessica, he’s been apprehended,” Miguel speaks into his watch briefly, before putting his arm back down. It's an uncomfortable feeling; you don’t think you’ve ever been the subject of such an intense, scrutinising glare. 

“You did take out the trouble,” he finally admits grudgingly; it feels like somewhat of an accomplishment. Somewhat. “Do a better job of following orders next time.”

You fight the urge to mutter expletives under your breath. 

It’s the same song and dance for the next month; fate can’t help but assign you as backup to Miguel’s missions, though it’s strictly limited to medic duties in case someone fucks up. It’s unpleasant - his criticisms of your actions slowly wear down your absolutely bottomless patience like coarse-grit sandpaper pretty quickly. 

You wouldn’t call the next mission a fuck up; it can only really be described as an absolute calamity when you step out into the mayhem. It’s an incessant cacophony of blaring sirens and pure carnage - from what you can gather, a gaping abyss is swallowing the buildings above where it’s situated. It’s a disaster. 

It’s not really a surprise then, when Miguel forces his way onto the hologram projection on your watch to move you elsewhere, your nerves are frayed. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit out, scribbling out a list of equipment for an unfortunate intern to bring from the medical facility. You pray what you carry is enough to quench the insatiable hunger of injuries. “Let me do my goddamn job for once.”

You hang up; etiquette be damned in this haze of smoke and debris. Thankfully, there’s no fatalities recorded after the sinkhole is stabilised. On the other hand, the infirmary is going to be very lively for the next week. The movement of your hands can only be described as frenzied with how efficiently you patch up the countless injuries on site - there’s an ever growing mountain of sanguine gauze building up beside you. 

It’s only a few hours later that you’re finally allowed a reprieve. You trudge back to the medical facility where one of your few colleagues who’s actually finished training is running around haggardly to care for the incoming patients. 

“Can you patch up O’Hara?” he nervously asks you, while you feel your bones wither away. You meet his pleading gaze impassively. “He’s been refusing medical treatment from any of the available interns, and you’re the only one who doesn’t crack under that pressure.”

You want to say no. Your mind’s practically begging you to refuse so you can have him out of mind for some time. But looking upon that pathetically pitiful countenance of your colleague, your resolve softens. This man will wilt like a goddamn cabbage if Miguel so much as exhales sharply. 

“Fine,” you concede with a look of defeat; it’s almost horrendous with how quickly he beams at you. 

“After, your shift’s over,” he calls out after you as you grab some ointment, gauze and other essentials. You’re unclear as to how Miguel was injured exactly, but your gut tells you it’s probably just some shallow injuries if he hasn’t been coerced by Jess into coming to the infirmary. Just do the job. You should’ve kept your Spidersuit on below your regular clothes; yet the prospect of sinking into bed right after you treat your last patient far outweighs the vulnerability you feel. 

It’s not exactly a short walk to where Miguel’s room is situated, but the concept of time is one that’s chased away by the sinking feeling in your stomach. It goes by too fast. You really should’ve just refused. Here goes nothing.

Surely you’ll be turned away immediately after you knock? Surely you’ll be able to go back to your own room and forget this ever happened? Surely fate will smile down upon you for once?

Fate truly is a fickle being. 

Your knock on his door is almost immediately answered by an exasperated “ Come in.” You suppress your own exasperated groan as you recognize Miguel’s voice. Cradling the bag of medical supplies in your arm, you shove the door open with your shoulder. It’s dark - which you’d expect - but it still takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the sight-

Rapid heartbeats resound in the back of your head as you make out Miguel’s dim figure sitting on the edge of his bed. His suit is rolled up around his waist, leaving his torso completely bare. Your blood is practically beating up your veins with how quickly it races around your body. What the everloving fuck . The resounding question you have is answered by the dim glow of a syringe in his hands - it’s not exactly a secret that Miguel’s not just a human bitten by a radioactive spider, but it’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed a tangible instant of it.

“It’s you,” he doesn’t move to cover up with a scandalous gasp, but rather stares you down impassively. Who was he expecting? “What do you want?”

“To dress those wounds like I’ve been told to,” you stare right back at him, refusing to let your eyes be cowed into avoiding that gaze. You don’t budge, you don’t shift from foot to foot; your stance is staunchly planted onto the floor of his room. You can faintly see some nasty-looking gashes that look like they were caused by debris, as well as shallow lacerations that were undoubtedly made by a weapon. 

“I’m fine,” he dismisses you, but you can see the shiny skin surrounding some of the injuries. You can’t even feel the resentment that you would normally - if that becomes infected, it’s not your problem. 

“Those might get infected,” you point out, though you don’t really know what’s prompting you to argue in favour of spending more time with him. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”

You suppose that noncommittal grunt is a concession to your superior logic. He stares at you wordlessly as you approach him; he’s rarely ever seen you without your mask and suit, you realise. Silence. Well, it would be silent if it weren’t for your heart desperately pounding away, so much so that you swear even he can hear it. You carefully put your bag down onto the floor. 

He doesn’t hiss or pull away as the antiseptic-covered cloth runs over the gashes; the imperceptible stare that’s on you is disconcerting, to say the very least. He’s cold to touch, even through the thin disposable gloves you’ve donned. It doesn’t fully hit you that you’re touching Miguel’s shoulders and upper chest without getting your head bitten off. Absolutely shocking. 

Those gashes beneath his collarbone aren’t as nasty as they looked underneath all the dried blood - he’s not going to need any stitches, so you can just slap gauze and medical tape over those bad boys and let the platelets do their job. It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate on the next set of injuries when you can feel the warm air of his breathing near your neck. Shit . Your eyes hone in on what your hands are doing; it’s not enough to distract you from his burning gaze on you. 

“The front’s done,” you pull back, only now noticing you’ve been standing between his goddamn legs . It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake at the revelation, but you’re sure that he can hear the deafening way your heart is beating. Say something.  Anything. The silence is all too unnerving. 

“There’s some cuts on my back as well,” he finally says after you’ve surveyed your work and start opening your bag to find the bio-waste disposal bags. You pause. You suppress the urge to rub your hands together maniacally. 

“Alright, turn around,” you laugh internally at the absurdity of the situation - he does nothing but spout frustration at you, yet there are no complaints or criticisms escaping him as he turns around obediently. It’s not a full turn; the angle of his turned back invites you to take a seat beside him on the mattress. Woah there. 

You wait a second or so before realising that, yes, he’s waiting for you to sit down and isn’t actually going to bite your head off for doing so. It’s extremely surreal to sink into the firm mattress beside him; you doubt anyone’s made it this far in this goddamn cave . It’s even more surreal feeling the wisps of body heat brushing against you from the thighs still covered in his Spidersuit: a sharp contrast to his cool torso. 

Be professional. Your eyes skim over the various scrapes littering his shoulders, and fortunately, all of them just need a quick wipedown and a plaster. It’s a lot easier to daub the antiseptic on without his gaze on him; that is, until you become slightly enraptured by the way his muscles tense (almost imperceptibly) at the sting of the antiseptic. You’re not as smooth as you wish, fumbling the packet of plasters while you revel in the fact his gaze is elsewhere. 

“Almost done,” you reassure him after he tenses up slightly after you brush your fingers over your handiwork on his lower spine. Can he feel the way your pulse is absolutely electrified right now? You don’t even like him, but the proximity might just send you into cardiac arrest. 

“It’s fine,” his tone is slightly strained. You raise your eyebrows, but ultimately ignore it in favour of patching up those last few cuts. 

“Done,” you try not to sound too regretful. You hate the way your heart’s beating more and more rapidly; it takes everything in you to quickly gather your materials and stand up from the bed.  

“Thanks,” the begrudging gratitude that comes out from him forces you to look back at him wordlessly. You take the time to search his face with your eyes, noting the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Is he…

“Are you running a fever?” the question escapes your lips as you move closer, whilst the medical supplies are unceremoniously dumped onto a side table. Your hand carefully places itself on his forehead (paying no heed to the very close proximity of his teeth). There’s no actual heat radiating from him, but the way he’s currently looking at you with that half-lidded gaze is making you feel like the delirious one. Why isn’t he saying anything?  

Say something.

The back of your hand slowly moves away from his face, but you freeze as your wrist is grasped by his hand. What is he… His skin is cold, but the prickles left behind on your wrist are burning and spreading all over your body. You’re not breathing; you’re waiting for his next move. 

“You are so frustrating,” he says through gritted teeth - though it lacks any of the usual bite that’s present. He speaks! You can feel his little angry exhale on your hand from where he’s holding it near his face. You still haven’t moved away, instead choosing to observe the way his facial muscles contort into an expression of fervid displeasure. “To think you’d have such an effect..”

The last part is muttered under his breath, as if you weren’t the intended recipient, but you hear it clear as day. What effect? The heavy implication creeps up inside your mind; it wriggles its way through the cracks in your composure. Surely he didn’t mean it that way, right? Surely you’re just annoying? You can feel your breathing get more shallow as his gaze flickers back up to your face - it searches ravenously, focusing on each feature as if it were a long awaited oasis in the arid desert. 

His hand lets go carefully - it’s so unlike his usual brash movements that you almost laugh. Yet, once you’re free from his hold, you don’t make any move to leave again; it’s truly a strange magnetic effect you’re enveloped in. The carmine glow of monitors in the corner of the room is the only weak illumination in the room (it’s making the situation feel way too intimate in your opinion). 

“Do you want me to stay?” your words escape your lips in a hushed voice. You can’t help but feel the addictive thrum of confidence pulse through your veins, your very capillaries . Maybe the unidentifiable emotion roiling within his eyes isn’t an avid dislike of you? You don’t know why you offered. You’re not sure if you even want to know. Still, you can’t help but feel prickles of curiosity at whatever’s making him so flustered. 

Do you know the implications of your offer?

“Do I want you to stay..” his repetition of your question might’ve seemed mocking at any other time, yet the unusual hushed cadence begs to differ. Anticipation. That’s what’s keeping you rooted in place for fear of disturbing this unfolding scene. You’ve never seen him like this - it’s a delicate balance your heart is begging for you not to destroy. 

“After I let you put your hands all over me, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” he leans slightly closer towards you - you’re extremely glad he’s still sitting and not absolutely looming over you like the tower he is. You can feel your erratic heartbeat pulsate through your entire being at his words. It’s getting incredibly hard to think when anticipation in your stomach gives in to the rising swell of desire. 

“You’re yet to be put in your place, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” you feel a shiver run through your body at his proximity, yet you’re the one leaning into him now. You’re so close you can feel his breath fan over your neck; it’s the only part of his body that’s remotely warm, so much so that it’s absolutely scorching you. Or maybe it’s the white-hot blood you can feel blossoming on your face. 

His cold hand ghosts over your chin, tilting your face down with nothing more than a brush of his thumb. Please. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the muscles of his face contort into a slight smile. 

“Do you want this?” his brows furrow slightly. A question. Your veins already thrum with the answer. 

“ Yes ,” you respond, feeling both your brain and heart work together to cheer you on for once. This better not be a dream . You can see the flash of teeth as he smiles, before you’re roughly pulled onto his lap. It’s actually comfortable to straddle his thighs, you note, but you can’t exactly focus on that anymore when he draws you into a searing kiss. 

He tastes of the coppery tang of blood. It’s the first thing you notice as he slots his mouth against yours. The second thing you notice is how impatient he is, probing at your lip with his fangs while simultaneously pressing you up closer and closer until you’re practically melting into him. You don’t miss a beat; you snake your hands into his hair until they’re buried in the thick brown waves. Your fingers slightly pull at the back, and he lets out a small groan into your mouth at the sensation. 

Sharp fangs graze your lower lip ever so slightly, but the pain is immediately alleviated by his tongue running over the cut. He’s sucking on it - evidently, there’s some blood left behind (or maybe even traces of the venom coursing through those fangs). His little pleased hum reverberates within you; you find yourself being flustered more by that than the way he’s rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice after the two of you pull apart for air. The string of saliva connecting your lips to his is tinted a rich sanguine; the bridge linking the two of you is entrancing, right before it breaks. His words set your very veins ablaze. 

“ Please ,” you don’t even know what you’re pleading for , only that the pace is far too slow for your liking. It seems he feels the same way, since his face dips lower so his mouth can settle on your neck. He’s careful not to fully sink his teeth into your skin, instead choosing to lightly skim them over your pulse points to elicit small gasps out of you. Your hands grasp and twist so he’s pressed closer and closer into you. It’s strange - you never thought that he’d be the one to coax such a reaction out of you. 

“Desperate, aren’t we?” you can feel the infuriating bastard curl his lips upwards as he sucks marks you know aren’t going to fade for days into the side of your neck. The mocking lilt of his question makes all the blood rush straight down - it’s unfair how unbearable he’s being. Your nails are no doubt leaving marks of their own as you let your hands roam the vast expanse of his back. 

Almost involuntarily, your hips move to gain a semblance of any relief, any friction, but the firm grip of his hand on your thigh prevents you from doing even that. You hiss as his sharp nails dig into the skin (if you get tetanus you’re officially suing). 

“What a pathetic little slut,” he coos into your ear; he can definitely hear the way your breath hitches at his harsh tone. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. “Getting turned on from a few kisses?” 

Fuck . 

You can’t even deny it; instead, you turn your head to the side as if you can escape his prying eyes with your embarrassment. It’s futile. You know he can feel your racing pulse against his lips as he once again presses them to the side of your jaw to coax small sounds out of you. 

“I bet you could get off with just my thigh like the filth you are,” his words drip condescendingly, but you can barely hear him over the pounding heartbeat in the back of your head. You furiously bite back the whine that’s emerging from your throat from his fleeting touches. “Will you?” 

“Fuck, Miguel,” you choke out as he moves one of his legs away so you’re completely pressed against his thigh. 

“Get yourself off,” he utters, seemingly bored, but you both know he’s anything but from the way his eyes gaze intently at you. “But first..”

A quick, experimental swipe of his claw-like nails leaves your plain shirt neatly cleaved in two. So impatient . You can’t say that you’ll miss it, but still. You pull the shirt off, until your torso is just as exposed as his. His gaze sweeps over you ravenously. Then, he leans back onto the bed with his elbows propping him up so he can enjoy the show. What a bastard . 

You bite back a groan as your hips stutter forward; the friction is already causing that sensation in your stomach to build up, even if it’s barely anything. It’s probably due Miguel’s eyes raking over you with tightly restrained desire. You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower and he looks away for a brief instant as you keep your eyes trained right on him. The tightness of your pants does absolute miracles to fill your mind with a pleasure-induced haze, so much so that you’re leaning forward and putting your hands on the curves of his waist (as if they were handlebars) to steady yourself. 

You can go slow without losing out on the mind-numbing friction you’re experiencing - the absolute pressure is slowly driving you to that brink without you having to even try. Still, you can’t help but feel a small gnawing trickle of disappointment; will this end this soon? You push it out of your mind as you continue moving against his thigh - that haze you’re in is too powerful to worry too much about the what-ifs. You succumb to the pleasure, slowly, but surely. 

It’s almost comical as that pleasant haze is snatched away. Even with heightened reflexes, you barely process the swiftness with which Miguel sits up and somehow manoeuvres you so your back is sinking into the sheets of his bed. You can’t help but cry out in disappointment. 

“You thought I’d let you fall apart so easily?” he’s practically purring with that vexing smile on his face - you almost prefer his permanent scowl to this smug expression. Still, being manhandled by him makes your heart drum louder than ever in your ears. “After your constant misconduct ? Open your mouth, whore.”

You open your mouth obediently, and he lets out a pleased hum. You instinctively know what he’s about to do, so it’s not a surprise when he lets a thick string of spit fall into your mouth. You swallow, noticing how his eyes trace over your throat with barely suppressed lust. 

“ Please ,” you choke out, helpless with your wrists pinned to either side of your head. You can hear a dry little chuckle sound out from him. 

“Speak up,” he leans in closer to practically spit the words out. A slight shiver runs through you when his breath ghosts over your ear. “What does the little slut want me to do to him?” 

It’s so utterly laughable; his words make you so goddamn pliant in his hands. 

“I want you in me,” you don’t miss how his body tenses at your bold request. The curve of his throat bobs when he swallows thickly. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises quietly. His head dips low to trail a path down your chest with his mouth - you know you’ll be absolutely covered in marks by the time he’s done with you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You revel in his touch. You lean into him like a goddamn moth to flame. 

With a swift tug, he pulls down the elastic band of your pants (you thank whatever’s above that they’re spared the same treatment as your shirt). You’re left shivering as his mouth travels to mark up your thighs - he’s practically burning bruises into you at this point. 

Dim red lighting washes over every sharp crevice and line on his face. The sight before you eases the frustration building at the agonizingly slow pace he’s setting. More . It’s as if he’s heard your silent plea; before you know it, one of his fingers slips past your underwear and enters you, coated in what feels to be lube. Fuck . A drawn out string of muttered expletives escapes your lips as he continues at his slow pace. 

“Are you frustrated?” he mocks, resting the side of his head on your inner thigh as he languidly moves his finger. That prick knows it’s not enough; he’s inviting you to beg for it. It’s humiliating, but you can’t bring yourself to care as desperation pools in your stomach. 

“Faster, please -” your words cut off with a strangled moan as he pushes another finger in easily. Your hand desperately grasps his hair to ground yourself, earning a reverberating groan against your inner thigh. Fervently, you pray those walls of his are soundproof; the obscene noises coming from both your mouth and between your legs fill up the room quickly. 

His composure seems to be rapidly slipping as well, judging by how his enthralled gaze is focused on how you’re taking his fingers. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes flicker between your lowered eyes and where you’re pulling him in greedily. As soon as you increase in volume, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you so unbearably empty . 

The next thing you notice is the neon red ropes that buzz with static energy trussing your wrists up - it can only be his handiwork, though you’ve never been this close to those unusual red webs. You don’t question it; instead, you’re rapt watching Miguel, who’s hooking his fingers around the bunched up material around his waist, and pulling it down ever so slowly as if he’s putting on a show for you. Maybe he is , considering his eyes are right on you and watching your expression with an underlying smugness as you take the sight in. 

He’s blocking out the vermillion glow of those monitors, practically towering over you and making you swallow nervously thinking about how exactly you’re going to take him. That worry pushes its way into the back of your mind as you decide you don’t particularly care when he’s haloed by that lighting as if he were an angel.

He looks like he’s relishing your reaction when he pulls his underwear off; after all, he’s suppressing that dry, mirthful laugh at your widened stare. You can’t help it - he’s massive . You’re enraptured by the small hiss he lets out at the coldness of the lube as he pumps himself, knowing very well he’s just as entertained as you. 

“Scared you won’t be able to take it?” he challenges, parting your legs easily with the faintest pressure of his claws digging into your thighs. His pupils are completely blown out with lust; they’re honed in on you completely as if he were hunting you down. “Like you weren’t desperately fucking yourself on my fingers a minute ago?”

He cages you easily: too easily. You’re so malleable for him already, and he hasn’t even begun. Your wrists are starting to feel deliciously numb from the low buzz of his crimson web, and you can feel your breathing start to accelerate. 

“ Please , Miguel,” whatever scraps of dignity remaining in you aren’t enough to stop you from begging him to do anything . “I can take it.”

And whatever self-control he’s been displaying (hardly any) up to this point swiftly dissipates as he leans in to swallow the moan that emerges when he finally puts the tip in. He’s still moving all too slowly, but the stretch is making up for it. A low whine escapes your throat as he presses in, and you’re teetering between pain and pleasure. 

“Thought you said you could take it,” he lets out an amused exhale into your mouth, not going any deeper to accustom you to the burn. “And I’m only halfway.”

You rock your hips into his and revel in his groans, prompting him to slowly bottom out. Holy fuck . It’s enough to make your mind blur with a foggy haze at the absolute fullness he’s causing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, or at least, his expression is contorted into one of sharp amusement. 

“Faster,” you urge him on. He can feel your wanting in every arrhythmic breath you take. 

“So desperate,” he groans out as you roll your hips to generate any friction. His chest dips down until it’s pressing up against your bound wrists, only adding to that sharp pressure building in your stomach. “I bet you just want to be used like a degenerate toy.”

Please . 

He doesn’t allow you time for thought at all when he starts moving; his pace is unrelenting and brutal, forcing noises so obscene out of you that you’re praying for whatever next-door neighbour he might have. The snap of his hips into yours is slowly building up that aching pleasure, and your back slowly arches so he can target that particular spot better.

You’re very rapidly unravelling, even more so when he bites down into your shoulder. The pain coursing through your veins swiftly devolves into pleasure. You can already taste the blissful wave that’s steadily approaching you. 

His movements become more sloppy as he becomes more vocal at the way you’re taking him. It’s incredibly attractive to watch that carnal desire overtake him. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, digging into the sides of your shoulders with his claws. It goes straight to your pleasure-addled mind, even more so when you hear the wet sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room. “Like a personal fucktoy, don’t you think?”

You can’t even say anything in response, wrapping your legs tightly around him so he can reach even deeper than he has. The overwhelming urge to let go is building up quickly in your stomach, and that heat is climbing all over your skin and mind. 

"Fuck, I’m gonna-” you choke out as Miguel angles your hips down with one hand, pressing into just the right spot. He swallows your cries as your mind goes completely blank with pleasure, still moving into you as you reach that climax. His movements draw that euphoric state out for as long as possible, before the waves of pleasure become overwhelming for your fatigued mind. 

“Miguel-” your whine is broken off as he moves into an upright position, digging his claws into your hips as he keeps moving against them. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asks mockingly, wiping up a tear leaking from your eye with the rough pad of his thumb. You succumb to the touch, taking him in all his entirety. Your gaze trails from the frustrated lines on his face, lower, to the rivulets of your cum splattered on his lower abdomen, and finally to where he’s staring, completely enraptured. The breath in your throat hitches as you observe the bulge in your stomach fading and reappearing in time with his thrusts. “I’m not stopping until you fulfil your purpose.”

You feel a trickle of trepidation as he pulls back so only the tip remains in you. 

“What are you-” you trail off, noticing the way his lips curl in anticipation. Oh god . Surely, he won’t-

“Getting myself off,” his lethal smile is the most foreboding one you’ve ever seen, before he slams his hips into yours. It hits that sweet spot instantly and you cry out pathetically. He’s got you seeing the very galaxies with how numbed your mind feels. Distantly, you can feel tears of pleasure swimming down the sides of your face, and his own groans of pleasure. 

He pulls back again, leaving you empty once more, and repeats his earlier motion. You’re practically broken over his dick, but the waves of pleasure aren’t letting up any time soon. It seems the sensations are also getting to him; his powerful movements are slowly becoming sloppier by the second. 

“Want me to cum in you, like the slut you are?” Miguel groans out, coming more and more undone. His question makes you tighten around him, which earns you another breathy exhale. “Getting turned on by the very thought of me breeding you?” 

“ Fuck , yes,” you cry out involuntarily. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing its rapid beat in your stomach as he fills you up again and again. His grip on your thighs is slipping as he messily fucks into you. Obscene squelching noises fill up the room, but you’re too far gone again to care if the whole goddamn building hears the two of you. 

You can feel him desperately trying to maintain any sort of grip of control as his hips snap into yours fervently. Over and over, he repeats your name in a chorus as if it’s his lifeline. That aching feeling in your stomach is slowly returning, ardently wanting him to continue his unforgiving pace. 

With a start, you realise the binds on your wrists have dissolved due to his wavering concentration. Immediately, your hands wind their way around his back to steady yourself, scratching harsh marks into the muscles. He lets out a wanton groan at the sharp sensation; his breaths are coming faster and faster, and you know he’s close. 

Your fingers thread upwards through his hair to pull him into you. He breathlessly kisses you, though it’s more a desperate clash of teeth than anything. His lips part slightly in pleasure and he stiffens minutely. Got him . 

You swallow all the noises he’s making, feeling hot spurts of his cum paint your insides. He doesn’t stop moving ; it’s as if he’s making sure not a single drop is wasted. He rides out the high by pulling you ever closer to press against his body. The shuddering halt of his hips against yours lets you know the fatigue’s taken over him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, and he doesn’t pull out either. 

The salty taste of sweat is prominent on your tongue when you drag it across the skin of his neck, leaving your own marks as a petty form of revenge. He lets out a sharp exhale, but doesn’t protest as he lets you roll him over so that you’re lying on top of him, connected nonetheless. The movement makes him whine , on the other hand, which you know you’re never going to forget. 

“Fuck,” you mumble against his skin, feeling him shift to gaze down upon your head that’s propped on his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have any shifts tomorrow.”

Your head moves up and down on his chest as he lets out a tired laugh. Wincing, you prop yourself up on your palms so you can sit up and pull yourself off him. He groans lightly at the change, but you attempt to ignore it. 

Carefully, you rise to your knees with a pang of regret at the loss of him in you. When you look at him, he’s visibly entranced by the combined rivulets of fluids streaming from between your legs, as if he’s asking if he really did all that. 

“You can, uh, use my shower,” he offers, sounding extremely unapologetic. “And stay the night if you want.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean into his touch as he rubs small circles into your thighs. A pressing question emerges in your mind, however. 

“Do you always sleep with your doctors?”  

[eggymf-archived]

of paper planes and wildflowers; 11

ft. ominis gaunt with f!reader (series)  

chapter warnings: angst, mentions of kidnapping, a lot of trauma, torture, partially proofread (teehee)

chapter summary: everyone has their dark sides, no matter how “clean” their record seems. the question is, would you be able to accept them once they've reared their ugly head?

word count: 5.9k

a/n: special mention to @freesiriusblack​, @cranetreegang​ and @iamintoomanyfandoms​ for enabling me to push through with my ideas for this utter bedlam of a chapter. personally this chapter was quite hellish to write, but yolkie persists! i’m still rather nervous if you readers will like this one though. one scriptorium chapter coming right up!  also, i made a wee audio of the first part of this for funsies. you can listen to it right here. (it’s sfw.)

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

The Great Hall was particularly quiet this morning, with most students likely sleeping in for the weekends. The vast space was illuminated in a slightly blue-toned day lighting that peered through the ginormous glass windows. Ominis was currently seated at the Slytherin table right beside Sebastian, who was helping himself to a hearty meal. Meanwhile, the misty-eyed male had halted his little eating session briefly: he had his wand pointed towards a piece of parchment that he held, skimming through the letter that he had received several moments ago from an all-familiar Great Horned Owl.

Dearest Ves, I apologize for my lack of reply ever since that note that you've given me. Many troubles are weighing within my mind, as of late, but rest assured that it's not regarding our little situation. That being said, I think I might have an inkling as to who you might be. However, I am not one to rely on just assumptions although you've made it quite blatantly obvious as to who you are. Instead, I shall gather concrete evidence that'll point me to you for good measure; just so I know that I didn’t make a mistake. By that time, I would’ve most likely accumulated enough courage to even confront you about the matter. I’m not one who would dare do such a thing, but I suppose I’m willing to make your case an exception. For now, I wish to indulge in whatever time that remains of this pen pal relationship. I find it hard to let go, if I'm being completely honest. I quite like exchanging letters with you after all — it was certainly an eye-opening experience plus an incredible joy to be in correspondence with a man of wit and grace. I hope you don't mind my horrendously bizarre request of relishing in the moment. With utmost sincerity and adoration, (Y/N)

Ominis sets the letter down, refolding the parchment and tucking it into the inner pocket of his blazer. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed as he took a bite out of his eggs on toast, mulling over the thoughts that had been injected within his psyche upon reading your letter.

This was yet another moment of him silently wishing that he had the gift of sight; perhaps if he were able to look at you from across the hall (if you were there to begin with, of course), then he wouldn't be formulating all sorts of pointless questions within his mind. Dark brown orbs stared at the lithe-framed male from the corner of his eye as he sighed woefully.

“Are you alright, Ominis? You're a little distracted this morning,” Sebastian asks before sipping from his cup. “Bad news?”

“No… It's nothing, really. It's about her, I suppose,” he mumbles in response. 

“Perhaps if you stopped skirting around the issue, then maybe it would be easier for you both,” Sebastian shrugs. “When are you going to tell her anyway?”

“She already knows, Sebastian. She just needs to confirm it for herself,” Ominis sighs while Sebastian gapes at his revelation out of sheer astonishment, paying closer attention to what the opal-eyed male has to say.

“She knows?! Isn't that a good thing? You could just drop the biggest clue and that'll solve your problems!” 

“Yes, but I'd rather spare her from my persuasive tactics for now. Must've been quite a shock to her that her pen pal was the blind lad all along,” Ominis grumbles. “Perhaps I paced this whole thing way too fast…”

“Oh?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Anything happened lately?”

“... I might've brought her along to Feldcroft to meet Anne.”

Sebastian nearly spat out the pumpkin juice he was drinking, quickly swallowing the sweet liquid and wiping the stray droplet with the back of his hand. He turns to Ominis, absolutely gobsmacked before crossing his arms with a teasing smirk on his face.

“So that's why you skipped classes with her!” the brunette laughed. “Merlin’s beard, you work fast! Even skipped an entire step in the whole courtship process. Meeting the family before dating? Oh boy. Whatever will your father say about this?”

Oh, if only Sebastian knew how far the jump truly was. He'd be absolutely floored.

“Sebastian, for the love of Merlin, just eat your damn breakfast,” Ominis groans. “It’s bad enough I’m worried that I messed up.”

While a rather grumbly Ominis continues to munch on his breakfast, Sebastian glances towards the Ravenclaw table, his eyes coincidentally meeting with yours. You instinctively averted your gaze by looking down on your empty plate, sipping on your own cup of pumpkin juice. A smug grin appeared on his face.

“Oh, believe me when I say this. You didn't mess up, Ominis,” he chuckled, leaning slightly closer and lowering his tone. “She’s been staring at you this entire time.”

The blonde-haired Slytherin sputtered, instantly grabbing his nearby cup and chugged its contents.

“Not when I'm eating, you moonmind!” he hissed, his face turning an angry red. Deep within the corner of his mind, however, he was relieved. Sebastian chortled at his best friend’s predicament, taking the last bit of toast in his mouth while Ominis refilled his cup with pumpkin juice. From a distance, a certain student clad in Hufflepuff school uniform motions for Sebastian to come over. 

“Well then, best be on my way. I'll see you around, Ominis,” he grins, patting the said male's back before scuttering over to Skylar, who was waiting with their arms crossed, the both of them exiting the hall together. Finishing the remnants of his meal, Ominis got up, making his way to the exit of the Great Hall. You quickly got up, trailing towards him.

“Gaunt!”

Ominis turns towards your direction, his cheeks flushing the faintest shade of pink.

“Is something the matter?”

The light thumping of your footsteps died out slowly as you approached him. 

“Alright, self. Keep it subtle,” your inner voice encourages.

“Uhh, do you have plans today? I was thinking if we should start on that Charms assignment together,” you suggested, masking your innocent little intentions with an air of nonchalance. Ominis raises an eyebrow.

“... Isn't that assignment due in two weeks?” he asked. “And Ronen gave it only yesterday too. What's the rush?”

“Alright, pack it up. We're leaving. NOW!” the once encouraging voice screeched within your head, unfortunately falling into deaf ears as you persisted in pushing your luck.

“...You know I'd rather not rush, especially if it's a group-related sort of task, right?” you asked, attempting to bury that particular incident about your first Transfiguration assignment with him back into the depths of your mind. Up until this very day, it was truly a grave reminder of your former unsavory antics. Not that you regretted or disliked it, of course.

A knowing smirk graced his visage, instantly sensing the slightest hint of your bashfulness. A verbal tease was threatening to spill itself from his lips, but he remained quiet despite his amusement. He has to control himself after or at least try to. His silence was deafening despite the mumbles, chatters, and sound of cutlery within the Great Hall while dread began to churn within the pit of your stomach.

“Wow, the floor certainly looks enticing right now. I wonder if it's willing to swallow me, never to return again?” you thought in an attempt to diffuse your ever-growing anxiety of rejection.

“You know, if you just wanted to spend more time with me, all you need is ask,” the male before you chuckled. “I would've gladly agreed.”

It was too much for your poor morning brain to handle. You stood there motionless, quivering with your face adorning a shade of crimson at his sudden flirtation. Goodness, it was as if you've spontaneously combusted on the spot — you wouldn't even be surprised if smoke was coming out of your head at this very moment. 

Ominis gave you a cheeky grin. Although he was incapable of sight, he was well-capable of sensing embarrassment from afar, especially if it was yours.

“T…That’s not—!” 

“Sure it wasn’t,” he drawled smugly, sauntering towards the exit doors and pushing it open before facing. “After you.”

You shot him a look of half-hearted disdain and exited yourself out of the Great Hall, with him following you right after. The both of you were headed to the library yet again for another study session, with you hoping that things will be a bit more uneventful for today. While walking together in silence, Ominis suddenly cursed under his breath.

“Blast… I left my summarized notes in the common room. That was supposed to make it easier for us…” he sighs. You raised an eyebrow this time around, a smirk worming its way to your face.

“For us?” you absentmindedly repeated rather innocently. Ominis scoffs in amusement.

“You sure like the sound of that, huh?” he drawls. “Why? Does the thought entice you that much?”

A look of bemusement was evident in your visage before realization dawned upon you, a tint of red coloring your cheeks for the umpteenth time no thanks to his antics.

“Is this another one of your tricks, Gaunt? Because I’m not falling for it!” you huffed while crossing your arms.

Ominis lets out a teasing chuckle, sparing you from the rebuttal he had intended to fling towards you. You half-heartedly glared at him, still flustered. Whether it’s out of bashfulness, agreement, or denial — you weren’t quite sure at this point. Truth be told, you actually like the attention.

For the most part, you patiently waited at the nearby staircase of the Slytherin common room for Ominis, secretly picking off dirt from your fingernails while mulling over the multiple topics that had to be written in the parchment later on. Soon, the large snake emerged from the foot of the seemingly blank stone wall, revealing the door to the common room. Your brows furrowed, however — there was a muffled sound of two awfully familiar bickering boys from the now newly-revealed door. 

You immediately sprang up to your feet the moment the doors swung open, revealing a frowning Sebastian alongside a vexed Ominis, who was stomping his way towards you with obvious annoyance towards his best friend. You let out a surprised yelp as his slender fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you towards him as he makes his way to the narrow corridor on the right. You turned towards Sebastian, who was equally just as frustrated as Ominis with his arms folded across his chest.

The moment both you and Ominis reached the end of the corridor, his grip on you loosened. A sigh escaped his pale pink lips out of exasperation.

“Gaunt, what was that about? What's going on?”

Before Ominis could even whisk you away from the dungeons or provide you with an answer to your questions, you were both interrupted by the sound of running footsteps reverberating throughout the empty corridor.

“Ominis, wait!” 

His head whipped towards the direction of the new voice within the scene, his tone low and exhausted. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks towards Skylar, who was panting slightly after making that sprint towards the young Gaunt. Your eyes dart to and fro between the two, sensing the direness of the situation.

“I’ll uhh… Just go over there…” you mumbled, backing away from the new fifth year and Ominis. You scampered a considerable distance away from the two, the sudden urgency of their interaction befuddling your wits. Sebastian wasn’t far from you, but you kept your lips sealed — the freckled male still looked rather cross, and you'd rather not get involved with any spats or possible crossfires within the friend group.

Minutes passed, and the air was still as silent as ever aside from the faint chatters at the end of the corridor. 

Upon hearing your name and Sebastian’s being called, you immediately sped towards Ominis, who was pacing around at the corner of the hallway. Skylar then began igniting the nearby braziers, much to your absolute confusion, and the heavy movement of moving stone echoed throughout the desolated hallway, revealing a hidden dark stairwell that leads to a lower level in the dungeons. 

“What in Merlin's name..?!”

Sebastian and Skylar descended down the poorly lit stairwell, leaving you and Ominis at the entrance. A sense of dread was brewing within your gut as you glanced at the secret area. You were about to step closer to the entrance, only to be yanked back by the male beside you. Your head snapped towards his direction with a frown.

“You might not want to enter. What lies ahead is far too sinister.”

The obscurity of the situation finally roused the annoyed frustration within you, nearly making you snap at the blonde-haired male. Inhaling a deep lungful of air, you calmed yourself despite the intensity of your panicked confusion.

“You better tell me whatever it is that's going on in there, Gaunt. I despise it when I’m being kept in the dark.” 

“It’s not for you to know,” he insisted, his brows furrowed in agitation. “I shan't allow it. You can’t. We don't know what kind of Dark Magic—”

“Dark Magic?! And you three are blatantly putting yourselves in that sort of danger?” you hissed angrily. “I'm coming with you.”

“No, you're not!”

“Yes, I am!” you vehemently insisted in the heat of the moment before letting out a sigh. “...You might need me for what lies ahead.”

Ominis groaned at your blatant display of stubbornness, exhaling exasperatedly at the mess the entire situation had become no thanks to Sebastian and Skylar's poor timing. 

You were right — and he hated it. 

You are a capable witch, but there was this inner knowing that what has yet to happen within Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium will completely go awry. To further add on to his tumultuous vexations, he knew well enough that you wouldn't back down no matter how much he insists. 

He threw his hands up in defeat, ultimately surrendering to your request.

“Fine, you can tag along. But stay close: we never know what might be lurking in there, and I’d much rather have you unscathed.”

“... I will.”

Upon the both of you slipping inside, the entranceway was immediately sealed shut, the stone wall sliding back into its place. His wand blinks red while you whip out your own, its tip emitting a white glow as soon as you casted Lumos non-verbally. You felt a faint brush against your pinky before his own intertwined itself around yours before leading you down the stairwell, where Skylar and Sebastian awaited. 

“Took you two long enough,” Sebastian drawls, leaning against the stone walls. “I was beginning to think that you'd leave us in here.”

“We had a small discussion. Nothing more,” Ominis said stiffly, letting go of your digit and leaning beside the walls near the large door within the confined space. Skylar shone their wand at the rubble, their eyes darting from the destroyed relief on the wall. 

“Reparo.”

The rubble started to piece itself back onto the wall and Ominis instantly pales, hearing the all-familiar, notoriously dreadful language of the snakes communicate with him once more. It had been so long since he had heard it or even used it, and it made him sick to his core of using it again after suppressing it for so long.

The true horrors started from the very moment the archaic language was uttered from Ominis' lips, his voice resembling a melodiously harsh hiss to a person incapable of understanding its meaning. The whole way to the scriptorium resembled a cruel game to test one's mettle in the pursuit of knowledge, yet it wasn't synonymous with triumphs and honor, but with vile prejudice and madness — a place that's only privy to the elites of the elites: the Gaunts.

Your lips curled into a frown as your brain began to decipher every last bit of detail within the musty, confined space. Within your analytical mind, the various components of this huge puzzle created by Salazar Slytherin himself was a symbolic representation of his long-standing lineage that prevailed throughout time.

The braziers were the first part of the puzzle: perhaps a witty little play of their plethora of generational secrets that is hidden in plain sight. The second part was the snake-decorated door that could only be opened by Parseltongue: the proof of their dedication in maintaining the purest of magical blood. Currently, you were at the third part of their trial, which consisted of snake dials that would strike the moment time runs out — a reflection of their hostile volatility.

One thing was for sure about this series of trials: the further you progress, the more harrowing it gets. It was a matter of time before this well-orchestrated symphonic chaos resounded its glorious crescendo of horror, and you were dreading what awaits all of you with every fiber of your being. 

Alas, there was no going back.

You've managed to solve one dial smoothly on your own while Sebastian and Skylar were busy solving the other two. You sauntered towards Ominis, who was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. Mimicking his actions, a tired sigh escaping your lips, glancing at him from the corner of your eye with pure concern, his words heavy within your mind and heart.

“What lies ahead is far too sinister.”

You were beginning to see why Ominis would say such a thing. Although your partial ignorance enveloped you within a protective shell, you were still cursed with the ability to piece even the most obscure of clues together. The entire situation was a complete mess, but amidst the flurry of incoherence, you were absolutely sure that the rumors pale in comparison to the truth of this ancient family's culture.

“Just how many atrocities have you gone through, Ominis?” you woefully queried within the privacy of your thoughts, taking a quick glance at the said male who held a morose expression on his face. 

The final gate was soon opened, the sound of metal echoing throughout the series of empty rooms. Sebastian and Skylar immediately rushed into the room with you and Ominis following them with reluctance, the nearby torches instantly ignited by magic. Your eyes wandered to the door at the opposite end as you strode nearer to it. It strangely resembled cooled, molten lava that had been molded into the shape of people letting out an anguished screams. 

Ominis grabbed your arm, preventing you from straying too far from him. The hairs on his skin were standing upright, and the mere acknowledgement of that accumulating fear left a bitter taste within his tongue.

It was likely to be the final room, for it held the most sinister trial compared to the previous rooms that the four of you had traversed through. Sebastian and Skylar were near the enchanted door, observing the pile of bones along with a piece of parchment that laid beside the remnants of a once living being. 

Noctua Gaunt — Ominis' missing aunt.

The chaos that ensues right after that grim realization gripped the entirety of your being as panicked words were exchanged amongst the other three while you stood in silence within the safety of Ominis right by your side. The contents within your brain, however, were in a state of pandemonium. You could hear your own heartbeat pulsing within your ears, and cold beads of sweat were forming at your nape and temples. 

Your hearing was selectively fragmented at this point: your brain was only paying attention to the relevant information that the other three parties with you were spewing out. It was akin to grasping at Billywigs, but you were desperate for any crumb of information to at least make sense of whatever that was happening around you.

“... Cast Crucio…”

“... Ominis… Most experience…”

“...Cruciatus Curse…"

The hushed conversation between Skylar and Sebastian made your skin crawl, and it worsened the moment Skylar started to approach both you and Ominis. Your mind was racing, hurriedly piecing the shards of information to give you a better picture.

“... If this is a place accessible only to the Gaunts, and casting Crucio is inevitable, that means…”

The weight of the truth dropped upon you, crushing your heart. Nothing was registering within your head as you finally wrapped your head around the matter. Despite Skylar's pleas and improvised propositions, Ominis was adamant in not dirtying his hands any further. You, however, stood there in a daze with a dull throb pulsating within your poor head.

Eyes of mortified realization began to trail towards the only Gaunt within this room, eyes turning glassy as the fog enshrouding his past cleared up even further, finally giving you a distinguishable context of how much Ominis has truly suffered over the years.

His lack of sight…

The foul reputation that he garnered just because of his last name…

His aloofness…

His efficiency in chores despite his wealth…

His chosen family…

This entire situation…

The curse of being an heir of Salazar Slytherin.

"That spell is the reason why I have no family left!" 

His heartbreaking revelations echoed throughout the space, the cold hard facts now set in stone. Ominis inhaled sharply, temporarily soothing his nerves before turning to Skylar once more.

“You and Sebastian will need to sort out another solution,” he finally says calmly. Skylar sighs with a look of dejection.

“... I understand. What about you?" they asked, turning towards you. Ominis’ lithe frame instinctively obstructs the ancient magic wielder coldly as his expression morphs into an icy glare.

“Leave her out of this,” he snarls at Skylar, who immediately backs away, not wishing to further incur the male’s anger. Ominis turns to you, immediately noting the small trembles that racked through your body and your slightly erratic breathing. He intertwined his fingers with yours, rubbing circles on your soft skin with his lightly calloused thumb. 

He found himself in a pickle, unsure of how to navigate himself through this precariously placed situation. Your current state was a cocktail of all sorts of nasty emotions, consisting primarily of fear, confusion, and agonizing despondence. All he could offer for now was his silent, unspoken promise.

He will absolutely not let anything or anyone hurt you, especially with the Cruciatus Curse.

Sebastian pointed his wand towards Skylar, inhaling a deep breath to focus himself on the task at hand. The Hufflepuff stood still, trembling as they shut their eyes tight, bracing themselves for the alleged unimaginable pain. You turned away with your eyes closed, unwilling to see the vile act play out before your own eyes.

“Crucio!”

The tip of his wand shot out a small flicker of red before immediately fizzling out, much to his sheer frustration. He casted it once more, only to be met with the same results. 

“Dammit!” Sebastian yelled exasperatedly, eyes glossing over with frustration and anger. “I can't cast it, Sky. Not on you.”

“You have to, Seb. You're the only one who can! I… I don't have the heart to do such a thing…” 

The despair that loomed over everyone in the room became denser as you swallowed thickly upon hearing the new present problem. You turned to Ominis, your gaze drifting from his hand that held yours firmly to his sullen expression, recalling what he had said before the both of you decided to dive within this situation.

“I’d much rather have you unscathed.”

With a sorrowful sigh, your other hand reached for his fingers that held you with protectiveness, gently wrenching yourself out of his grasp. You gave Ominis one final apologetic look before sprinting towards Sebastian and Skylar, your unspoken apology driving a dagger through your chest.

“I'm sorry, Ominis.”

“Sallow,” you somberly called out to the brunette as you stared at him piercingly with firm resolve. Ominis' sightless eyes widened, his throat running dry the moment you spoke the words he never wanted to hear from you.

“Cast it on me.” 

Sebastian darted his eyes from you to Ominis as his grip on his wand tightened. With an exhale, he points his wand towards you while Skylar backs away to the nearby wall. Every inch of you slowly relaxed despite the inward fear that ran rampant within you, acceptance seeping into your being as your eyelids fluttered shut.

“Perhaps this is for the best… For Uncle Lawrence… For Simon… For atoning my sins…”

Deft, slender fingers gripped his own black wand handle with ferocity before hurling a spell towards the freckled male.

“Cru—”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” 

Nearly blindsided, Sebastian quickly encases himself within a thin, spherical shell, deflecting the spell that Ominis had casted in the heat of the moment. 

“What the hell, Ominis?!” Sebastian yells, glaring at the blonde-haired male who pulled you closer to him grabbing your wrist possessively, taking slow steps back away from the door. His wand was pointed towards Sebastian, the frown on his face deepening upon feeling the prickling sensation of Sebastian's glower towards him.

“I meant what I said that only the both of you are to sort this out on your own, Sallow!” Ominis spat in vile disdain, warningly articulating his every word. “Leave her out of this!”

Sebastian scoffed contemptuously, his actions now fueled both by sheer anger and annoyance.

“This is not the time to play the hero, Gaunt,” Sebastian snarls, his wrath bubbling within him. “I'm not going to die in here just because you're being utterly ridiculous with your damned morals!”

“Sebastian, stop it!” Skylar hissed. “That's enough!”

Sebastian's eyes darkened, finally hitting his boiling point as he scornfully glanced at each one of you. Your eyes widened at his change in demeanor. His usual playful brown eyes now had a dangerous glint that you've seen countless of times within your occasional nightmares. 

The shackles of terror immediately ensnared you once again when Sebastian fired a spell aggressively towards Ominis, who quickly pushed you away and deflected the spell back by a hair's breadth. You sat on the floor helplessly, watching Sebastian hurled spell after spell towards Ominis, who was struggling to keep up with the barrage of light jets that were sent towards him out of maniacal fury. 

It was just like that day of great tragedy — the day that two precious lives were lost and you were the only one that made it out alive. 

If only you hadn't insisted on sneaking out of the estate on that fine summer day.

If only you weren't so darn helpless.

If only you weren't that curious in venturing into the unknown.

It was all your fault.

From your perspective, you were no longer within the dungeons. You were back in that dimly lit, dingy, dilapidated warehouse, seeing your younger self trapped within a cage alongside your elder brother whilst seated on the filthy ground. A cloaked, towering figure looms before you, his heavy footsteps getting louder and louder. Your eyes were met with another pair that contains the same dangerous glint that you had witnessed within Sebastian's eyes.

Anguished regrets welled up within you as he flashed you a sardonic smirk, whipping out his wand, and aiming it towards the cage beside you. Your eyes trailed towards the said direction, but to your sheer horror, it wasn't your younger self and Simon who was still manacled and trapped within the cage.

It was Ominis.

The cloaked figure raises his wand, his smirk morphing into a maniacal grin. You gritted your teeth, finally snapping and unraveling the ugliest side of you that you had desperately tried to keep under wraps for the sake of moral standards. Gone were your reservations of maintaining the upkeep of your so-called reputation as you shakily stood up, arming yourself with your wand. 

You won't let the same fate happen to anyone ever again — especially him.

Every ounce of the pain you've accumulated over the years coursed through your veins, serving as kindling for your long dormant unbridled rage as you stared at the root of your anguish straight into his eyes.

You wanted to hurt him — to inflict a pain so great that he grovels and begs for his life in tears. You inhaled blissfully at the thought, before casting a cold, condescending gaze towards him, uttering the incantation icily with no hint of remorse.

“Crucio.”

“SEB!!!!”

“... Seb?” 

A red blitz shot out from the tip of your wand, piercing through the chest of the person that stood before you. Crackles of red lightning coursed through their frame as they writhed in the worst pain of their life, screaming and crying out in pure agony. You released the person from the spell, your eyes beginning to focus on your present reality, only to be horrified upon realizing who you had casted the spell on.

Skylar Evans.

Your knees buckled as you watched Sebastian cradle them gingerly in his arms with a panicked, regretful expression. The Hufflepuff looked back at him with a weak smile on their face, attempting to reassure the brunette that they were alright despite taking the hit that was initially directed towards him. Guilt seeped within your pores, goosebumps resurfacing from your skin as your previous actions slowly ingrained itself within your brain.

“What have I done…?”

Your hands trembled as you bitterly gazed upon them with nothing but remorse before tucking away your wand back into your inner pocket. You couldn't bear to even hold your own wand at this point. It felt vile and disgusting, and you wanted to throw up just by thinking about the heinousness that you had committed in a fit of traumatic despair.

Ominis approaches your trembling frame, your breath ragged and tears prickling the corner of your eyes. He pulls you into a warm embrace, desperately trying to comfort you by rubbing your back gently, as shudders racked through your body. A sob escaped your lips, gripping his robes tightly.

The sounds of your sorrows crushed him, and he wanted nothing more but to soothe and rid you of  your pain, but all he could do for now was to remain still until you’ve completely calmed down. He felt your tears seep through his clothing, and he held you even tighter, softly hushing you as he ran his slender fingers through your locks of hair. You inhaled his familiar scent, slowly relaxing while listening to his steady heartbeat. 

He releases you from his embrace after a long while, cupping your cheeks to brush away any tearful remnants from your cheeks.

“I'll go check on Sebastian for a little while. Will you be alright?” Ominis softly asks. You nodded in response, a slight hiccup escaping your lips.

Meanwhile, Sebastian helped Skylar to stand up on their feet before the both of them ventured within the now accessible scriptorium. Mentally looking back at the aftermath with a hint of remorse etched onto his freckled visage: Ominis was visibly shaken from that unsolicited duel, you had just relived a traumatic event, and Skylar sacrificed themselves to save him from an Unforgivable Curse. The severity of the situation should've been discouraging to an ordinary lad, but not towards Sebastian.

It was a moment of triumph for him, and a step closer to finding a cure for his own twin sister's malady. The enthusiastic reaction from Sebastian upon finding Slytherin's spellbook caused Skylar to furrow their brows. It was as if the prior events didn't happen, and that brought a sinking feeling within their own gut.

As Ominis enters the scriptorium, you trudged towards the remnants of Noctua Gaunt, gazing upon her bones gloomily. Albeit your current reluctance to use magic no thanks to the harrowing series of events, you conjured up a gilded silver box encrusted with emeralds, putting the bones of Ominis' late relative within it after you've shrunk it down temporarily, holding the box firmly within your grasp.

You finally mustered enough courage to enter the scriptorium itself, approaching Ominis meekly, who still looked rather vexed with the entire situation as both Skylar and Sebastian left the place. Hearing your footsteps approach him, he gently smiles towards your direction. He was about to grasp your hand with his, only to find out that you were carrying a metal box of some sort.

Before he could query about what it contained, you beat him to it, erupting in shy stammers to explain your actions.

“...This isn't a good final resting place for your Aunt Noctua, so I figured we should at least bury her somewhere…” you mumbled. “... I could put her back if you don't—”

“No, please. I appreciate it, truly,” Ominis cuts you off as a pleasantly warm feeling engulfs his chest. 

How could he not possibly fall even harder for you at this point?

Ominis cleared his throat instinctively to diffuse his bashfulness.

“Shall we head back to your common room first? Perhaps discuss it on the way there?”

You smiled gratefully at his offer, agreeing instantly. 

The both of you exited the scriptorium promptly after, engaging in a rather casual conversation with each other while walking slower than usual to prolong your time together. Before heading to the Ravenclaw Tower, you and Ominis made a short trip back to the Slytherin Common Room, keeping the gilded box in a safe compartment within his own cupboards.

It was nearly lunch hour soon, yet it felt like an entire day had passed with how much had happened within the several morning hours. The both of you wanted nothing more than to just retreat into your dorm rooms for a long nap, or perhaps head to the hospital wing for some extra vials of Draught of Peace. 

“We're here,” you say to him as the both of you reach the stairwell leading to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Pleasantly enough, the place was desolated, with the good majority of students probably seated at the Great Hall for their meal. 

“Will you be alright?” he asks while you gaze upon him fondly with a chuckle escaping your lips.

“I will. A nap will probably do me wonders after all that chaos. As for my lunch, you don't need to worry. I'll just head over to the kitchens when I wake up,” you reassure him, your voice giving away how truly exhausted you are with its lack of usual mirth. He smiled gently in response.

“Very well. I shan't stall you any longer. I'll be in the Slytherin Common Room if you need me.”

You slowly inched back to the stairwell, a giddy little grin present on your lips as you stared at him with no reservations regarding your affections this time around. Ominis' heart fluttered, feeling the unspoken attraction floating about in the air.

“Thank you. I'll see you later, Ominis.”

You climbed up the spiral staircase with a slight skip to your step this time around, a hue of pink twinging your cheeks. You have to admit: the man possesses this uncanny ability of effortlessly making your day a lot better despite how jarring things get. 

How could you not possibly fall even harder for him at this point?

You soon approach the knocker of the Ravenclaw Common Room, its melodious, feminine voice speaking out a random riddle.

“I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, yet also the easiest to ignore. What am I?”

You smiled at the question, almost chuckling at the pure coincidence. You confidently spoke your answer with a faint smile.

“Love.”

< chapter 10: desiderata

chapter 12: the art of subtlety >

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[whisperofsong]

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Bob prepares to embark on a mission and you’re determined to demonstrate how much you care about him.

Note: After (finally) watching Top Gun: Maverick, I couldn’t help but be drawn to lovable, endearing Bob.  Thank you for reading my work; I hope you enjoy it😊

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It’s a rowdy night at the Hard Deck as the aviators ready themselves for the upcoming mission.  Although you’re not part of Top Gun, your close friendship with Natasha “Phoenix” Trace has its perks, one of them being that you’re often included in get togethers with the group.  The din in the bar is comprised of clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and music emanating from the front of the bar as patrons participate in enthusiastic renditions of songs through karaoke.

While some of the guys inflate their egos with a competitive round of pool, Bradley Rooster Bradshaw, Bob Floyd, Phoenix, and you sit at a small table and converse about the impending mission.  Although you’re doing your best to listen to all of your friends’ contributions to the discussion, you find yourself focusing on one person in particular: Bob.

“I’m just saying that this mission feels different.  Sure, each mission entails risks, but with the way Maverick was talking this morning…I don’t know.”  Rooster shakes his head as if to dismiss this heavy thought, but it’s evident that it continues to linger in his mind.

“Maverick’s an intense guy, Rooster.  Plus, he knows he’s assembled a competitive group, so if he talks it up, we’ll be inclined to work harder.”  Phoenix takes a hearty sip of her drink, slightly grimacing as she shallows and places the glass back on the table.  “Think of it this way,” she declares with authority.  “Now that you’re locked down in a relationship, you have someone to come home to, someone waiting for you here.”

Rooster’s mouth quirks up in an impish grin as he considers her words.  “She is worth coming home to, that’s for sure.  Any guys catch your eye, Phoenix?”

She smirks at his inquiry and briefly glances at her almost empty glass before responding.  “No one special, but there is a guy I’ve been seeing casually.  We’ll see where it goes.”  She shrugs before regaling Rooster with a humorous incident that occurred during training the other day.  While they interact with one another, your eyes flicker again to Bob who is extremely quiet, more so than usual.  You lightly kick his foot underneath the table, pulling him away from his thoughts.

“What’s on that brilliant mind of yours, Bob?” you ask playfully, shooting him a soft smile.

Bob gives you a small smile in return and adjusts his somewhat crooked glasses.  “I-it’s nothing.  Really.” He waves it off sheepishly, which only piques your curiosity.

“C’mon, tell me.  I wanna know,” you say in a genuine tone.

“Well…it’s just…I-um-I don’t really have…anyone waiting for me.”

You give him a quizzical look, not understanding what he’s implying.  “Waiting for you?”

Y-yeah. You know.  When I come back from the mission.”  He averts your gaze and takes an especially large sip of his water, which you suspect is a nervous reaction after his recent admission.  A couple minutes pass as you study Bob, seemingly uneasy as he anticipates your response.  You reflect on the time you’ve spent in his presence over the last several months and realize how much fondness you hold for this man.  The one who insists on holding the door for you whenever he can. The one who makes a point to inquire about your day and prompts you for details instead of settling for generic answers.  The one whose sweetness isn’t a ruse or a ploy to charm women, but rather a sincere characteristic that makes him…him.  

“That isn’t true, Bob,” you correct in a firm voice.

His eyebrows close in and he stares at you with a puzzled expression.  “What?”

“You said you don’t have anyone waiting for you, but that isn’t true.  You have me.”

Bob’s cheeks are now flushed and his pupils are enlarged as he absorbs this striking revelation.  “Wh-wh-what?  I…I don’t’ understand.”

“It’s pretty simple.  When you come back, I’ll be here waiting for you and, the whole time you’re gone, I’ll be thinking of you.”  You smile at him warmly, deriving both amusement and pleasure at his stunned features.

Before he can reply, you stand up from the table.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to do.”

“Wait-“  However, you don’t stop to provide Bob with an explanation because you’re already on your way to the section of the bar reserved for karaoke with the perfect song in mind.

Once you’re set up with the microphone in your hand, you speak into it clearly and confidently.  “This song goes out to a special friend of mine.”  While your friends gawk at you in wonder, your eyes remain on Bob whose mouth is now agape.  As the familiar opening notes of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell ring out, various individuals, including Rooster and Phoenix, hold their drinks high to signal their approval.  The initial nerves begin to dissipate as you grow more comfortable and gradually find you’re immersing yourself in the experience as you observe Bob’s reaction.  His face undergoes a delightful metamorphosis with confusion and surprise transforming into happiness with the knowledge that this performance is for him and him alone.

When the final chorus hits, other patrons join you in singing and dancing, but the best part is seeing Bob stand up and sport a smile that truly has him glowing.  Your heart could almost burst from his reaction and, as a result, your own grin grows to a remarkable size.  Once the song ends, the bar erupts into applause accompanied by some cheers and you blush at the attention.  As you approach the table where you were previously sitting, Bob abandons his spot and briskly walks towards you, pulling you into an unexpected, but welcome nonetheless, embrace.  He holds on to you tightly and you do the same, thinking that nothing else in your life has ever felt so right.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper as he clutches you to his chest.  If you could permanently reside in Bob’s arms, you would do it in a heartbeat.

He pulls away first and says, in a voice laced with tenderness, “I can’t wait to come home to you and I haven’t even left yet.”

@bradshawsbaby @theforgottenmcrmy @gretagerwigsmuse @bratshaws @cantfighthemoonknight @roosterforme @stranger-nightmare

[puppiesandnightlock]

Link: A Robin’s Song Chapter 5

summary + additional info: here

The song had been finished and recorded without the help of his brothers this time, however he would delay in posting it.

How would Jon react, if he knew that HE was actually Robin, the same Robin Jon followed on everything and fawned over. 

This was a good plan, in his opinion. After all, they’d made a pact to go to every school event in high school, and if they didn’t have dates, they’d go together.

It was right before lunch two weeks before the dance that he noticed Haisley with a ukulele and had a sinking feeling in his gut. 

Two of the cheerleaders from her team came up behind her with a banner between them as Haisley began to strum out the opening notes of ‘I Do Adore’. 

He watched Jon’s inner turmoil before smiling and pecking her on the cheek, accepting the promposal. The bile began bubbling up, leaving the other teen feeling both disgusted at himself and the display. 

He bid them goodbye with congratulations and went to hide in the library, his default setting at this point. 

He bemoaned his woes to Akira, who had been sitting with Skylar, the girl talking their ear off. It seemed as though they’d been cornered and forced into human interaction that was not with a chosen being. They’d both stopped to listen to Damian, sympathetic looks on their faces. 

“Are you still going to prom, then?” Skyler asked, with a hopeful look on her face. 

“Jon asked me to come even if he went with Haisley so i guess so. He wants to set me up so that I'm not going alone.”

Akira stifled a laugh before settling their features. “Sorry, sorry. Just tell him you have a date, he’ll accept it.”

“But I don’t?”

“Go with us!” Skyler chirped. “I’ve been talking Akira up about coming and i think i’ve got them convinced!”

Dark brown eyes held an expression of suffering as they gave a nod. “If you come, I’ll go, but you have to promise to suffer with me.”

“Deal. I’d rather you two over a random person I don't know.” 

And so, our protagonist was roped into going to what is usually the big plot point in most high school centered stories.

He had posted the song, the feedback intense as people psychoanalyzed the latest from him, speculating the more upbeat and hopeful tone of the song.

“I hope this means Robin is closer to getting their person.” Jon sighed one afternoon, as they went through the Kent’s attic in search of hand-me-down suits. 

“Unlikely.” Damian scoffed bitterly. “Life isn’t a fairytale, and I highly doubt this will work out for this Robin person.”

Jon rolled his eyes, the beginning of a scowl tugging at his lips. It was odd, the immediate sense of defensiveness in the air.

 “You don’t always have to be so pessimistic, Damian, and besides, I’m not an idiot, don’t treat me like one.”

“Why are you so defensive about this?” he shot back, pissed at himself for taking the bait.

“Because if Robin can’t get their happy ending, what guarantees I'll ever get mine!?” 

The silence that followed was painful, and Jon swiveled around, continuing his now angry search through the boxes. 

Damian felt a pang of guilt, this had been happening more often than it used to, and the idea that their decade plus a few years friendship was breaking so easily made him panic. 

“Hey.” He said after a beat, a tad awkwardly. He reached for his friend and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” The response came too quick. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn't have snapped like that. I’m just…wound a little tight right now.”

The tension dissipated a bit, the suits they’d been looking for were found after a few more minutes. The attic was more of a mess then it had originally been, and they struggled slightly to get down.

Before Damian left to go home, in a bold action, he grabbed Jon’s hand, the taller one looking down in surprise, twin blossoms of pink appearing on his cheeks.

“You’ll get your happy ending.” He told him, all the sincerity he possessed in the words. “And when you do, I'll be there with you to push you forward.”

Even if I'm not the one you have your ending with.

Jon watched him, some emotion that Damian couldn’t place shadowed in the deep blues, contrasting the smile that appeared at the words.

“I’ll hold you to it, Dame.” He said, squeezing their entwined hands.

The night of the Prom, everyone gathered at the Kent’s, Haisley and some of her friends, plus Damian, Akira, Skylar and Colin, who turned out to be a mutual friend of Jon’s. They would be taking two cars, but not before the customary pictures. 

There were framed ones of Damian and Jon going to several dances together or with a group to dances around the house, and this last one would serve as a closing point.

For everything.

His heart squeezed watching Haisley and Jon take couple-y pictures, but he laughed and smiled and heckled with the rest of them, playing the part of the good best friend.

Anyone who looked close enough could see that it was fake, but the night dragged on until they were finally piled into two cars and dropped off at the school ready for a night of cliche and most likely spiked punch.

Haisley, as predicted, went over to mingle with her other friends, leaving Jon with Damian, Akira and Colin, Skylar having been dragged off to look at some art piece or the other.

Jon and Colin chatted idly, Akira sipping some drink Skylar had offered her and sending meaningful looks to Damian whenever there was a pause in the conversation. He ignored such looks nearly the entire time. 

“I’m going to go get some food.” They pronounced loudly, after several ignored looks. 

“Cool.” Colin paused, looking at them curiously, Damian sending them a death glare. 

They kicked Colin in the shin, looking between Jon and Damian. He mouthed an “oh” and turned to Jon.

“I’m gonna go get some food too, just gonna ah, go..” He jogged off to follow Akira, whose voice was heard sighing. 

“I suppose subtlety is not a word in your vocabulary.”

“Well.” Jon’s mouth quirked. “You have any idea what that was about?”

“Absolutely none.” Damian made a soft clicking noise, turning back to Jon with a small grin. 

“How do you like this so far?” The blue-eyed boy nodded towards the filled auditorium. 

“It's…alright, I suppose.” he shrugged, looking around. He scowled as he turned to see colin and skyler turn around like they hadn’t been staring at them, Akira taking a sip of her drink and nodding towards the dance floor.

He flushed, and ignored them. He and Jon kept up the idle conversation, until one of “Robin”’s covers came on and Jon looked at him, eyes shining. Damian inhaled, and opened his mouth, both him and Jon speaking at the same time.

“Hey, do you wanna…”

“Will you..”

They dissolved into giggles. “You first.” Damian laughed, heart pounding.

“You wanna dance?” He asked, stumbling over the words in a rush to get them out.

Damian felt his stomach flip and a soft smile played on his lips.

“Of course.”

They made their way to the floor, a few cheers coming from Damian’s “wingpeople”, which were yet again ignored.

The two mingled with the rest of the crowd, eyes sparkling and laughter ringing out. They twirled and bounced around, and for that time, Haisley was gone, the worries were gone, the ever-present weight that was bringing down their friendship was lifted.

“Okay, students, it’s time for the first slllooww dance of the night! I’d like to crown out Prom King and Queen,”

The smile faltered as the dance floor cleared and Jon and Haisley walked up the steps.

His other friends surrounded him, offering sympathetic smiles or a hand of the shoulder. 

They would have made it either way, as the high school’s quarterback and the cheer captain, they’d been the it couple since they’d gotten together.

This was normal and it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

Both with shining plastic crowns, they took their places as the opening notes of a slow cover of a song played.

Damian startled as he heard his own voice coming through the speakers in a soft, honeyed tone.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…but I can’t help falling in love with you.”

They began to dance, and he blocked out the entire room, focusing only on Jon and Haisley, marveling at how the lighting made them both glow. It truly seemed like the ending of a fairy tale, the couple dancing in the moonlight as the screen faded to black.

He could hear the soft sigh, the “Oh, Damian….I’m so sorry..” and his own voice painting a sweet picture of a couple this song was never intended for.

The cover he had done had been after a night going down memory lane, pouring over the pictures both families had kept, strawberry ice cream and cuddling together and all the things that he loved so dearly about their relationship being shoved into those few hours.

None of this was ever intended for Haisley to be included in, not his life, not his relationships, none of it. But there she was, in the spot he wished he could be in.

This only solidified what he knew all along.

That life would never be his. Could never be his.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be….”

Not them. They weren’t meant to be.

The hand on his shoulder reeled him back to the high school dance and he wrenched away from the grip, turning away from the scene. His back was to the couple and his friends held back.

“Let’s give him some space guys.” Akira said, moving them away. 

“If you need a ride, let me know, man.” Colin pointed to his phone and followed Akira. 

Skyler gave him a cupcake from one of the tables surrounding them and followed the rest to a spot in the back.

He kept his eyes downcast making his way through the crowd, all of couples now heading over to join the Prom royalty.

The hot prickling at the corners of his eyes was becoming more and more irritating and he broke out into a run as he made it out of the Gym.

Dryness turned to tears, burning hot trails down his face. His vision blurred and he slowed his sprint down, coming to the football field. He stayed behind the bleachers and pulled his knees to his chest, angrily scrubbing at the tears.

This was always bound to happen, and he knew for a fact that he never should have held out for a happy ending he knew would never come.

It was funny, however, he supposed, that this happened on prom night. Just like any ordinary cliche high school romance. This was reality, though, and in reality, no one got their happy ending.

‘If I were a girl, I would say I was crying in my prom dress.’ The thought popped in his head and it was so absurd for the moment that he laughed, a small, tearful noise. 

His fingers tapped out a rhythm without his consent and hesitantly he tried out the words, startled to find that out of his misery there was perhaps something in for it.

Damian inhaled deeply, and took out his phone, telling the people to be on the lookout for a new song releasing sometime next month, titled ‘Prom Dress.’

He brushed himself off and decided if he was going to wallow in the disaster that was his life, he would do it in comfort.

Rubbing at his eyes, he reached for his phone and hesitantly let Colin know he’d like a ride. It would be only in his benefit to extend some more trust to these friends of his, after all, what did he have to lose anymore?

He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, fuzzy images of the night before in his head. 

Rolling over, he picked up his phone, ignoring all the notifications from his ROBIN accounts and going directly to his messages. There were two numbers he didn't know, from both Akira and Skyler telling him they got his number from Colin and asking if he was alright.

One from Colin asking the same, and several missed messages from Jon.

<-- J 

                     9:30

D where r u

                   10:01

Damian

                10:15

Dami

           10:15

Damessssss

                10:30

R u ignoring me

                           10:37

Why did you go home

                           10:37

Did smth happen

                10:40 

R u okay?

                           11:04

Damian pls call me

He felt a pang as read the messages, resolving to call jon the moment he finished scrolling down their messages.

<-- J 

                                                                                11:17

Damian i rlly need u rn pls call me

                                                            11:20

Damian we need to talk

                                     11:20

Like right now

That was the last message and Damian’s heart sank. Would he really be so upset that he left? Or was this something else entirely?

He hit the call button immediately, Jon picking up the line. It was silent as Damian spoke into the phone tentatively, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hello? Jon?”

A few sniffles were heard and Damian zeroed in. “A-are you crying?”

“Dami-” Jon sounded awful. “Damian, can you come over?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course…be there at ten.” He hung up and pushed back the covers, never minding the headache and shoving a moderately clean shirt over his tank top and grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor. He ran a hand through his hair and decided that the Kents had seen him in far worse than his bedhead, going into the living room to see most of his siblings crowded around the television watching cartoons.

“I’m going over to Jon’s, be back in fifteen minutes, Duke’s in charge!” he called out, shoving on his shoes and ignoring the shouts from behind him.

He’d grabbed a pop tart on the way out and shoved it in his mouth on the way down the street towards the larger houses.

Arriving, he knocked on the door, Jon’s mother answering. She looked relieved as she saw him.

“Hi, Mrs. Kent.” He looked past her, searching for jon.

“Lois, Damian. I’ve known you your whole life, You can call me Lois. Jon is in his room.”

She let him in and he went up the steps, calling out, “Thanks!”

Jon was huddled in the corner of his bed, prom suit thrown in the pile of laundry.

“J?” He said softly. “What’s goig on?”

“Dami..” His eyes were red, the unnatural color making the blue of his irises vibrant.

“I’m moving.”

The song had been finished and recorded without the help of his brothers this time, however he would delay in posting it.

How would Jon react, if he knew that HE was actually Robin, the same Robin Jon followed on everything and fawned over. 

This was a good plan, in his opinion. After all, they’d made a pact to go to every school event in high school, and if they didn’t have dates, they’d go together.

It was right before lunch two weeks before the dance that he noticed Haisley with a ukulele and had a sinking feeling in his gut. 

Two of the cheerleaders from her team came up behind her with a banner between them as Haisley began to strum out the opening notes of ‘I Do Adore’. 

He watched Jon’s inner turmoil before smiling and pecking her on the cheek, accepting the promposal. The bile began bubbling up, leaving the other teen feeling both disgusted at himself and the display. 

He bid them goodbye with congratulations and went to hide in the library, his default setting at this point. 

He bemoaned his woes to Akira, who had been sitting with Skylar, the girl talking their ear off. It seemed as though they’d been cornered and forced into human interaction that was not with a chosen being. They’d both stopped to listen to Damian, sympathetic looks on their faces. 

“Are you still going to prom, then?” Skyler asked, with a hopeful look on her face. 

“Jon asked me to come even if he went with Haisley so i guess so. He wants to set me up so that I'm not going alone.”

Akira stifled a laugh before settling their features. “Sorry, sorry. Just tell him you have a date, he’ll accept it.”

“But I don’t?”

“Go with us!” Skyler chirped. “I’ve been talking Akira up about coming and i think i’ve got them convinced!”

Dark brown eyes held an expression of suffering as they gave a nod. “If you come, I’ll go, but you have to promise to suffer with me.”

“Deal. I’d rather you two over a random person I don't know.” 

And so, our protagonist was roped into going to what is usually the big plot point in most high school centered stories.

He had posted the song, the feedback intense as people psychoanalyzed the latest from him, speculating the more upbeat and hopeful tone of the song.

“I hope this means Robin is closer to getting their person.” Jon sighed one afternoon, as they went through the Kent’s attic in search of hand-me-down suits. 

“Unlikely.” Damian scoffed bitterly. “Life isn’t a fairytale, and I highly doubt this will work out for this Robin person.”

Jon rolled his eyes, the beginning of a scowl tugging at his lips. It was odd, the immediate sense of defensiveness in the air.

 “You don’t always have to be so pessimistic, Damian, and besides, I’m not an idiot, don’t treat me like one.”

“Why are you so defensive about this?” he shot back, pissed at himself for taking the bait.

“Because if Robin can’t get their happy ending, what guarantees I'll ever get mine!?” 

The silence that followed was painful, and Jon swiveled around, continuing his now angry search through the boxes. 

Damian felt a pang of guilt, this had been happening more often than it used to, and the idea that their decade plus a few years friendship was breaking so easily made him panic. 

“Hey.” He said after a beat, a tad awkwardly. He reached for his friend and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” The response came too quick. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn't have snapped like that. I’m just…wound a little tight right now.”

The tension dissipated a bit, the suits they’d been looking for were found after a few more minutes. The attic was more of a mess then it had originally been, and they struggled slightly to get down.

Before Damian left to go home, in a bold action, he grabbed Jon’s hand, the taller one looking down in surprise, twin blossoms of pink appearing on his cheeks.

“You’ll get your happy ending.” He told him, all the sincerity he possessed in the words. “And when you do, I'll be there with you to push you forward.”

Even if I'm not the one you have your ending with.

Jon watched him, some emotion that Damian couldn’t place shadowed in the deep blues, contrasting the smile that appeared at the words.

“I’ll hold you to it, Dame.” He said, squeezing their entwined hands.

The night of the Prom, everyone gathered at the Kent’s, Haisley and some of her friends, plus Damian, Akira, Skylar and Colin, who turned out to be a mutual friend of Jon’s. They would be taking two cars, but not before the customary pictures. 

There were framed ones of Damian and Jon going to several dances together or with a group to dances around the house, and this last one would serve as a closing point.

For everything.

His heart squeezed watching Haisley and Jon take couple-y pictures, but he laughed and smiled and heckled with the rest of them, playing the part of the good best friend.

Anyone who looked close enough could see that it was fake, but the night dragged on until they were finally piled into two cars and dropped off at the school ready for a night of cliche and most likely spiked punch.

Haisley, as predicted, went over to mingle with her other friends, leaving Jon with Damian, Akira and Colin, Skylar having been dragged off to look at some art piece or the other.

Jon and Colin chatted idly, Akira sipping some drink Skylar had offered her and sending meaningful looks to Damian whenever there was a pause in the conversation. He ignored such looks nearly the entire time. 

“I’m going to go get some food.” They pronounced loudly, after several ignored looks. 

“Cool.” Colin paused, looking at them curiously, Damian sending them a death glare. 

They kicked Colin in the shin, looking between Jon and Damian. He mouthed an “oh” and turned to Jon.

“I’m gonna go get some food too, just gonna ah, go..” He jogged off to follow Akira, whose voice was heard sighing. 

“I suppose subtlety is not a word in your vocabulary.”

“Well.” Jon’s mouth quirked. “You have any idea what that was about?”

“Absolutely none.” Damian made a soft clicking noise, turning back to Jon with a small grin. 

“How do you like this so far?” The blue-eyed boy nodded towards the filled auditorium. 

“It's…alright, I suppose.” he shrugged, looking around. He scowled as he turned to see colin and skyler turn around like they hadn’t been staring at them, Akira taking a sip of her drink and nodding towards the dance floor.

He flushed, and ignored them. He and Jon kept up the idle conversation, until one of “Robin”’s covers came on and Jon looked at him, eyes shining. Damian inhaled, and opened his mouth, both him and Jon speaking at the same time.

“Hey, do you wanna…”

“Will you..”

They dissolved into giggles. “You first.” Damian laughed, heart pounding.

“You wanna dance?” He asked, stumbling over the words in a rush to get them out.

Damian felt his stomach flip and a soft smile played on his lips.

“Of course.”

They made their way to the floor, a few cheers coming from Damian’s “wingpeople”, which were yet again ignored.

The two mingled with the rest of the crowd, eyes sparkling and laughter ringing out. They twirled and bounced around, and for that time, Haisley was gone, the worries were gone, the ever-present weight that was bringing down their friendship was lifted.

“Okay, students, it’s time for the first slllooww dance of the night! I’d like to crown out Prom King and Queen,”

The smile faltered as the dance floor cleared and Jon and Haisley walked up the steps.

His other friends surrounded him, offering sympathetic smiles or a hand of the shoulder. 

They would have made it either way, as the high school’s quarterback and the cheer captain, they’d been the it couple since they’d gotten together.

This was normal and it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

Both with shining plastic crowns, they took their places as the opening notes of a slow cover of a song played.

Damian startled as he heard his own voice coming through the speakers in a soft, honeyed tone.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…but I can’t help falling in love with you.”

They began to dance, and he blocked out the entire room, focusing only on Jon and Haisley, marveling at how the lighting made them both glow. It truly seemed like the ending of a fairy tale, the couple dancing in the moonlight as the screen faded to black.

He could hear the soft sigh, the “Oh, Damian….I’m so sorry..” and his own voice painting a sweet picture of a couple this song was never intended for.

The cover he had done had been after a night going down memory lane, pouring over the pictures both families had kept, strawberry ice cream and cuddling together and all the things that he loved so dearly about their relationship being shoved into those few hours.

None of this was ever intended for Haisley to be included in, not his life, not his relationships, none of it. But there she was, in the spot he wished he could be in.

This only solidified what he knew all along.

That life would never be his. Could never be his.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be….”

Not them. They weren’t meant to be.

The hand on his shoulder reeled him back to the high school dance and he wrenched away from the grip, turning away from the scene. His back was to the couple and his friends held back.

“Let’s give him some space guys.” Akira said, moving them away. 

“If you need a ride, let me know, man.” Colin pointed to his phone and followed Akira. 

Skyler gave him a cupcake from one of the tables surrounding them and followed the rest to a spot in the back.

He kept his eyes downcast making his way through the crowd, all of couples now heading over to join the Prom royalty.

The hot prickling at the corners of his eyes was becoming more and more irritating and he broke out into a run as he made it out of the Gym.

Dryness turned to tears, burning hot trails down his face. His vision blurred and he slowed his sprint down, coming to the football field. He stayed behind the bleachers and pulled his knees to his chest, angrily scrubbing at the tears.

This was always bound to happen, and he knew for a fact that he never should have held out for a happy ending he knew would never come.

It was funny, however, he supposed, that this happened on prom night. Just like any ordinary cliche high school romance. This was reality, though, and in reality, no one got their happy ending.

‘If I were a girl, I would say I was crying in my prom dress.’ The thought popped in his head and it was so absurd for the moment that he laughed, a small, tearful noise. 

His fingers tapped out a rhythm without his consent and hesitantly he tried out the words, startled to find that out of his misery there was perhaps something in for it.

Damian inhaled deeply, and took out his phone, telling the people to be on the lookout for a new song releasing sometime next month, titled ‘Prom Dress.’

He brushed himself off and decided if he was going to wallow in the disaster that was his life, he would do it in comfort.

Rubbing at his eyes, he reached for his phone and hesitantly let Colin know he’d like a ride. It would be only in his benefit to extend some more trust to these friends of his, after all, what did he have to lose anymore?

He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, fuzzy images of the night before in his head. 

Rolling over, he picked up his phone, ignoring all the notifications from his ROBIN accounts and going directly to his messages. There were two numbers he didn't know, from both Akira and Skyler telling him they got his number from Colin and asking if he was alright.

One from Colin asking the same, and several missed messages from Jon.

<-- J 

                     9:30

D where r u

                   10:01

Damian

                10:15

Dami

           10:15

Damessssss

                10:30

R u ignoring me

                           10:37

Why did you go home

                           10:37

Did smth happen

                10:40 

R u okay?

                           11:04

Damian pls call me

He felt a pang as read the messages, resolving to call jon the moment he finished scrolling down their messages.

<-- J 

                                                                                11:17

Damian i rlly need u rn pls call me

                                                            11:20

Damian we need to talk

                                     11:20

Like right now

That was the last message and Damian’s heart sank. Would he really be so upset that he left? Or was this something else entirely?

He hit the call button immediately, Jon picking up the line. It was silent as Damian spoke into the phone tentatively, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hello? Jon?”

A few sniffles were heard and Damian zeroed in. “A-are you crying?”

“Dami-” Jon sounded awful. “Damian, can you come over?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course…be there at ten.” He hung up and pushed back the covers, never minding the headache and shoving a moderately clean shirt over his tank top and grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor. He ran a hand through his hair and decided that the Kents had seen him in far worse than his bedhead, going into the living room to see most of his siblings crowded around the television watching cartoons.

“I’m going over to Jon’s, be back in fifteen minutes, Duke’s in charge!” he called out, shoving on his shoes and ignoring the shouts from behind him.

He’d grabbed a pop tart on the way out and shoved it in his mouth on the way down the street towards the larger houses.

Arriving, he knocked on the door, Jon’s mother answering. She looked relieved as she saw him.

“Hi, Mrs. Kent.” He looked past her, searching for jon.

“Lois, Damian. I’ve known you your whole life, You can call me Lois. Jon is in his room.”

She let him in and he went up the steps, calling out, “Thanks!”

Jon was huddled in the corner of his bed, prom suit thrown in the pile of laundry.

“J?” He said softly. “What’s goig on?”

“Dami..” His eyes were red, the unnatural color making the blue of his irises vibrant.

“I’m moving.”

[carmenized-onions]

First of all HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!

I just reread everything for the THIRD time and I finally built up the courage to send my thoughts. I am OBSESSED with this story! You had me hooked from the very first chapter you posted. I don’t think I’ve ever read a fan fiction that was this damn good. Every single detail is so well thought out, you have captured these characters perfectly. I can’t believe that you are writing this one week at a time (we need to get you in the room when they write season 4). Every character is written so well throughout this story, I can tell that you really get this show. I’ve always felt disconnected when reading fan fiction because the writing style is usually so different from how the actual show is scripted, but man… you nailed it. I feel like you understand these characters better than the actual writers of the show. Nothing you’ve written so far has felt out of character. I’m actually furious that this story isn’t cannon because it’s so damn good! I won’t make you read every single thought for every single chapter because that would take me forever to write and I’m not that great at writing. I will however share with you my overall thoughts on chapter 13:

Holy shit! This was THEE chapter. I love a flashback episode and this was PERFECT (I think you should be very proud on how this turned out holy moly). It is mind blowing how well you’ve fit Chip into this story. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a more detailed review of this chapter but next time I promise to write out my thoughts as I read. I am very excited to see what happens next. Have a lovely day!

THANK YOU DEAR, sorry I’m late to all these birthday wishes myself, I’ve got like 20 asks in my inbox, my apologies for my lateness loves, a bitch has been busy. 

THIRD re-read is WILD!! I wish I was still on my once a week release man, I was in my BAG. Hopefully after the move I can finally get back into it. ALSO listen, if anyone knows, how to get in that writers room, i’ll make myself so available. I’ll go anywhere. I’ll meet you on Huron and Orleans right now storer please. (though I do think they already filmed a majority if not all of S4? Which,, I’m not gonna lie I am worried about. They need Joanna Calo back like fucking yesterday. God i’m so in love with her). It really really means a lot to me though as a screenwriter being told so often that I should be in the room. So sincerely thank you!!

AS WELL AS THE STYLING YES!! I consider myself pretty versatile in terms of being able to switch my tone based on what genre I’m working with, but as a little fucking freak, The Bear lends itself very well to my own frantic stream of consciousness constantly over the top writing, I think. So I’m happy about that. And thank you thank you for saying I understand the characters, I’m always always trying to do their personas justice cause they’re !! just so !! I love them. They’re all very rounded out and managing all those little people quirks is always so fun and interesting. I can’t deny I also wish Chicago’s Kindest was cannon. It would be so interesting to see it play out in show perspective, rather than y’know having it as almost always Tony’s perspective going through her days. Ahhhh I can’t think about it for too long or I’ll lose it. 

AND THOUGHTS ON CHAPTER THIRTEEN THIS WAS ABSOLUTELY THEEEE chapter,, I think that’s why i’ve had so much trouble with Chapter 14 honestly, because it was like oh christ. That was my magnum opus. It’s all downhill from here. Hopefully that’s not the case, but we’ll see. I need everyone to gas me up so much when CH14 comes out. Chip is so woven in to the story at this point and it’s gonna personally hurt my feelings so much when S4 comes out and everything I wrote is not possible in future canon because Christopher’s gonna do that to hurt ME personally. Jkjkjkjk. But it is a secret fear I have. It’s fine. 

Thank you so much for your thoughts!! Also listen, I love getting peoples play by plays, but never feel pressured to do em!! Honestly hearing like people’s analysis’ of scenes as a whole that stuck out to them is probably my favourite shit to see— I LOVE IT ALL THOUGH— I DON’T KNOW— ITS ALL VERY GOOD AND I’M THANKFUL FOR ANY AND ALL THOUGHTS I GET!! I’M GONNA SHUT UP NOW!! Hope you enjoy the next one when it’s out see you then !!

[destinygoldenstar]

In defense of Noah.

So I got noted quite a bit in my Owen post (which blew up A LOT more than I initiated. Wow.) that I did not mention that Noah was... not the nicest person in the world to Owen in RR, and yet I claimed they were friends. 

I wanted to say my thoughts on that.

Will this be bias because I love Noah? Yeah. Probably.

I’m not gonna act like Noah was traditionally nice to Owen. Not ever, actually. He did laugh at Owen’s milk snot in World Tour, and a couple times I’m too lazy to recall right now, but not much else that can be deemed as ‘friendly.’

Really, has Noah EVER been traditionally a friendly person? To ANYONE?

He deals with his interactions with a smirk and a rude demeanor. With the exception of Emma, who I will get to later, he talks in the sarcastic tone we love about him. 

I understand where that criticism comes from. Despite becoming good friends with Owen and staying with him on multiple reality shows, he doesn’t really show that much kindness towards him. Heck, he doesn’t really show that to anyone and constantly forces people to do the hard work for him. Dodgebrawl? The Tyler stretching incident? That’s not OOC. 

But... I honestly liked it. And here’s why.

It was just really wholesome to see this stone faced lazy guy get slapped in the face with sincerity and make a much healthier life for himself. Better than working for Chris anyway.

Noah’s someone very introverted and, lets face it, spoiled. The game might actually be the first time he was rejected ever. After Island, he became Chris’s little assistant, and that says all, and in World Tour, he actually does try to dodge hard challenges first (remember the pinball challenge?) And who forces him into a position to always be on guard? Owen. Mostly because Owen is probably gonna (accidentally) kill Noah. And Alejandro, who is sus.

I See London is the first episode where Noah legit takes charge in something. He’s not nice about it, I don’t expect him to be, but they had to win the challenge. It’s not the rules were gonna change on them at the last minute- oh wait.

(I mean, it’s Total Drama. Hosted by Chris McLean. So... I’m not as mad about that as you think I would be.)

But let me ask this: If Noah had no care for Owen whatsoever, WHY would he even stay with Owen for so many reality shows? 

I’ll wait.

Of course Noah isn’t gonna outright say he cares about him, or even be good at encouraging his partner. “You’re about as picky as a raccoon”, is essentially his poor way of encouraging that he can do it. Unlike Emma, who only saw Kitty as an asset to winning the money at first, Noah knows who Owen is, and tries to help them both. Could he be nicer about it? Yes. But that’s not the point. The point is ‘how would this be an in character way for them to deal the situation?’

“Hold on, but he developed all these feelings for Emma and constantly tried to impress her” -The reblog section

Here’s the big case.

That whole thing is only proof that Owen’s good nature DOES rub off on Noah. Better yet, being forced into situations where he has to actually TRY to make it and survive. 

And a crush? Yeah, that’ll let that all out at once. It’s basically, Noah recognizes that he legit WANTS something that’s hard to get. Of course he’s bad at dealing with emotion and struggling with something that seems so... sappy. This is a whole new experience for him. 

And as much as you may want to deny it, Noah is NOT just an emotionless sarcastic machine. If that were the case, he wouldn’t laugh at Owen’s milk shake at all, which that too, could’ve easily come across as unconventional for him. 

(I don’t want to talk about the ‘But there were hints that Noah was gay, and yet he becomes straight’ stuff. I don’t hate it, and that’s coming from someone graysexual. Total Drama is bad at representation. The fandom just wants to ignore the facts because they love the show and the characters anyway. If I wrote Total Drama, would I have made Noah gay? Coin toss. But what’s canon is canon, write a fanfic instead of whining to the writers. Over.)

For me at least, I just found it really wholesome to see this brainiac become way more understanding and better at relationships as the show went on. 

With Emma, it’s understanding her boundaries in order to properly be with her. 

With Owen, he does actually get better at showing his care for Owen as RR goes on. It’s Owen who helps him in the air guitar challenge, and from there, the bossiness towards the big guy becomes way less frequent. 

Total Drama doesn’t have it’s characters blatantly say, “I’m sorry I treated you badly” or “I’ll try to be better” or “I care about you and I want you around”. Some shows do that, in my writing I do that, but that’s never been this show’s style. So of course Noah isn’t gonna blatantly apologize or say “I need you.”

Would I have liked for Noah to have said this sort of stuff out loud? Yeah.

Would I have liked for Noah to have more screen time to flesh out what I’m talking about? YES.

But for what we have, I still love Noah as a character. He’s not the best written character in the show, but sometimes you don’t care.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll make a Noah centric fic that takes place in an alternate timeline of the show. where he DOES get the screen time to flesh out what I’m trying to say. No promises though. 

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

The Unusual Prince

Notes; Great, listening to Once Upon A Dream, and must write fluff.  this is a Au of my Mushroom Man and the Father Spore we’ve been making with Blu, with Mumbo and Scar being the focus. 

Summary: Mumbo wasn’t expecting this type of reaction, much less an apology from Father Spore of all people. But here he was with the other holding his hand too keep him from leaving, and telling him he was sorry for not making things clear. And honestly Mumbo isn’t sure how to react. 

Warnings: Not much of any, other than mild Body Horror as mushrooms do grow out of Scar’s body.

-

Mumbo was pissed as he glared at the cocky smile of the Father Spore. Trying his best to just head back to the building to listen to an idea that Bdubs had. He was still dead set on just killing all of them, even if Grian was in the mix. And frankly Mumbo himself was no murder, and couldn’t bring himself to agree to such an idea.  But on his way there, Scar decided again to stop by and tease and rub in the fact he had Grian. Telling about how he got that bird to scream his name all day long  once back at the resistance base. How Cub had joined in at one point, making sure they made Grian a perfect, happy mushroom bird. 

And frankly, Mumbo was done with this, “Will you just shut the fuck up already!?” he snapped at Scar, cutting him off mid sentence. “What do you expect o hear form me!? What do you want, permission to fuck over this city with your shrooms or whatever!?” he screamed a little, dark black eyes glaring at Scar.

Whatever he was expecting, it possibly wasn’t that, as Scar stared a bit wide eyed at Mumbo’s reaction. Sure, he was used to Mumbo yelling, scowling, or anything else. But there was something else in the tone now.

“Well go right on ahead! What do I care! you have Grian, like you said, and you know for a fact I’d never do anything against him!” Mumbo yelled back, by now tears of frustration ran down his cheeks. “Why do you keep playing this game with me!? Just for some selfish ego problem of yours!? Do you like seeing other suffer so much!?” he accused and somewhat asked.

Scar gapped a bit at that, “that’s not what I-” he was cut off again by Mumbo throwing up his hands.

“What you what!? You keep coming at me each time to gloat and talk about the deadline, why do you bother with that?! Just to play a messed up game with me! Just take the fucking town, you know you already can!” Mumbo yelled, “i didn’t ask to be mayor of this! I didn’t want to be a mayor. Grian and I entered as a joke yet somehow won, and rather than just get a normal time with normal problems like infrastructure or whatever, I fucking get you! And I have no idea what to do! I’m not a military person, I’m not some hero! I’m just a guy who used to farm for a living near the outskirts of the island!”

Tears of frustration ran down Mumbo’s cheeks, his throat hurt, and he let out a chocked sob. “Just do as you please already...” he near whispered in a horse voice. “Why do you keep insisting on dragging me into it?. . . Gods I’m tired.” he said almost to himself that last part. 

Mumbo sniffled a bit as silence hung in the air, roughly brushing away tears as he turned to leave, he was done arguing with a man that had mushrooms for brains. But as he walked, a hand reached out and grabbed his own. He turned back to see Scar looking at him with soft green eyes.

The hand held his tightly to keep him from moving, “I’m terribly sorry Mister Mayor.” Scar said to him quickly before Mumbo could yank away. “This wasn’t my intentions at all.”

Staring incredulously Mumbo looked at the spore man, “What?’ he asked in a croaked tone from all the yelling he just did. 

The gloved hand held his as Scar looked guilty and sad, the cocky smile gone form his face instead was deep worry. “I do enjoy messing with you, but al in good banter. I had no idea that ... well my courting gestures were hurting you.” his tone seemed sincere enough.

Yet, Mumbo stared in shock at that, “C-Courting Gestures?” he echoed on disbelief, courting? Scar was courting him!? How remotely was he even doing that?

A nod as Mumbo found he wasn’t pulling away from the hand that still held his. “Indeed, my species, well, the way we court is much different to mortals. We like to cause problems for our potential mates, eager to have any attention we can get from them. But we never do it out of pure malice intent. true, you are my enemy in ways, so it’s a bit different... but haven’t you ever asked why I never killed you when I could? Instead opting to use spores to have you come to me?” he asked a bit in shock himself.

Mumbo gapped, his face feeling warm now as he did think on that. He swallowed now closing his mouth, “But what about Grian?” he asked confused.

“Ah, an oversight then, I knew of feelings, I had hoped by getting your mate to see potential in me, you would too.” Scar said sheepishly, Mumbo tried not to gap again. “He’s a beautiful bird, quiet stunning, I knew he had to be mine, and I knew you would follow as you are quiet the amazing person yourself.”

Okay so maybe flattery was working as Mumbo’s face heated up again and his ear tips turned red. Scar looked guilty now, “Mister Mayor I don’t use titles lightly, nickname suffice well for mates. But you’ve prove yourself stubborn in every way, shape, and form. And if that doesn’t make me long for you more, I don’t know what else might.”

Blinking out of the stupor, Mumbo spoke up, “You want me because I’m stubborn and keep pushing back against your advances?” he asked.

“Well it proves to me that you’d make an excellent care taker, and wont’ let anyone harm me or our mates or even children to come. The fact you fight against my advances for your attention proves I’m not trying hard enough...” a look of embarrassment, “Some spend their whole lives courting another, once we set our sights on a mate, we are stubborn to let go.”

The thumb rubbed his fingers as Mumbo felt warmth now in his chest at those words. He really shouldn’t be feeling such things! Father Spore was the enemy after all, and had tried to corrupt him many times, and had already done so to Grian. But... where all these truly just gestures of love? Could this evil man really be that much of a Himbo!?

A pause rang between them as Scar gave him a pleading smile, “Allow me to make it worth your time Mister Mayor, and I’ll make this up to you. I enjoy your feathers ruffled, in a metaphorical sense, but that’s not all that I am about.” he said pulling Mumbo closer. 

A embarrassing squeak did escape Mumbo’s mouth, the other hand moving to catch his own free hand. The earthy scent was back, but wasn’t as overpowering as it used to be, Scar looked into his eyes, “I promise you, I’ll be a good mate for you, Grian, and Cub.” he near whispered.

Dark eyes stared into the green ones as they were pulled around, his feet automatically following Scar’s own. His heart futtered in his chest at how intense the stare was, the normal cockiness that was always there with a smirk and eyebrow raise, was gone. Replaced with a fonder look, soft, and caring. 

This was.. so new, alarming at times. Mumbo didn’t think Scar was truly capable of being soft like this. He had only ever heard about it from Grian, but figured that it was just the spores in his head talking. Or perhaps Scar forcing Grian to say such things.  Instead, Scar seemed so apologetic, and hurt that he had been making Mumbo so deeply upset to the point of tears. Being quick to clarify and try to stop Mumbo from crying or yelling more. Come to think of it, Scar never called him ‘Mumbo’ that much, it was always by his title. Which he never did for anyone else in the office. 

They did pull back a moment, as Mumbo messed with his tie, trying to let his thoughts processes this. He could make out Scar humming a faint tune, before going over and taking his hand again. Mumbo looked at him, seeing that gentle smile he always gave Grian. 

Trailing a hand up to Mumbo’s shoulder as the mayor did smile faintly back. His eyes growing fond at how... caring the touches were. He really shouldn’t be falling for this, it could just be a tactic to use his feeling against him, but... it felt so real, guiding again into a twirl as a small laugh escaped his mouth.

At that moment, the rain did start to fall, a light drizzle that soaked their clothing. Etching another laugh from Mumbo as it drenched them. 

The sound made Scar’s eyes lit up brighter as the smile became more real, no longer having sad tints to it. He pulled Mumbo closer again, a hand on his waist, “You have a pretty laugh.” Scar teased him lightly earning a bashful smile.

“you’re an odd person.” Mumbo said back to him as they walked together the rain drizzling around them. “Going from evil and secretive one minuet, to cherishing and devoted in another?” he looked perplexed, but still held Scar’s hand as they walked together past the area that was once the science building. 

A shrug, Scar laced his fingers with Mumbo, “Can you forgive me?” he asked him shyly, “You have rights to be mad, I’ve been a terrible mate to your feelings.” the spore creature said messing with his shirt a bit. “But I promise I’ll-”

He was cut off by Mumbo moving forward and giving him a soft kiss. Scar pulled back for a moment in shock, “You do know that can-” he was cut off again by the mayor hugging him.

“I know...” Mumbo told him, “It’s fine, i’ll worry about it later, right now, let me have this.” he mumbled into the shirt, taking in the earthy scent that was strangely comforting now. Before he hated how he could tell it was Scar’s scent, now, despite making his head fuzzy he liked it. Arms wrapped around him quickly, and hugged him closer, was... wait Scar could purr? 

“I’ll stop stalling if you wish, tomorrow, would that be good? You can wait for me and the others if you like, to keep up appearances.” Scar offered to him with a bright smile when he pulled away, “I’ll take you home tomorrow, from there we’ll go at your comfort level.” he said excitement in his tone as he held Mumbo in his arms, and peppering his face with kisses. “Okay?” he asked running a hand through the other’s silver and black hair.

Mumbo looked up at him, the other was only slightly taller than him. “I..-” he was cut off when he heard yelling of his name down the ally way. Bdubs’s voice from the sound of it. Fear laced his heart at the idea of them seeing him like this. Turning back to speak to Scar, only to stare... the Father Spore had already left the scene... leaving Mumbo alone in the rain.

He stared at the area where Scar used to be, and felt a painful longing in his chest and sadness that he had left. The spores on his hands were being washed off by the rain, but he’d have to disinfect anyway... at no doubt Bdubs request as the rain could also be infected. 

Taking a breath, he did faintly smile, “Tomorrow then.” he said out loud, hoping he was heard, turning back to find the others. And for once... a weight was lifted off his shoulders. 

-

Mumbo sat at the desk sighing lighting as he read over the plans again. He had bene humming faintly to himself all day the song Scar ahd been, finding out it was a Disney song, which made him smile a bit. He never would have pictured the villain to be a Disney fan.

Call him an idiot, but last night had been wonderful, his lips still faintly tingled whether from the memory or actual spores on them he wasn’t sure. And he remembered the faint dreams of it that carried off, which had him hoping today was the day.

He honestly didn’t have much left in him to care anymore about this place. He’s no military leader or hero, like he told Scar. The other could just take over already, and he’d be done with it. At that point, he was ready to just let Scar kill him. Only to find the other giving a proclamation of love in a twisted and dark sort of way, but yet it still made Mumbo’s heart flutter in his chest. 

Lost in thought for a long moment just now messing with the papers, Mumbo heard something outside the office. He stood up to go check, only to jump as the doors opened quickly. He could only make out a blur of purple feathers before he was slammed into. And grunted as he fell back with a Grian in his arms, it knocked the wind out of him as Grian hugged him tightly. 

Purple spores were consuming the room quickly as Grian was chirping happily. “well, I did tell you he’d cause a scene.” Mumbo heard as he looked past the mushroom purple wings to see Cub walking in with Scar. 

“Oh let him, he’s missed our dear Mayor.” Scar chided lightly with a grin on his face. “hello my love.” he said to Mumbo leaning on his cane with a casual smile. Mumbo just gave a playful glare at that as Grian didn’t seem to want to let go.

A soft chirp again came from him, “I knew you’d come around eventually.” Grian mumbled into Mumbo’s neck. “Gosh Mumbo, it’s been a bit depressing without you.” 

Mumbo rose an eye brow, “Depressing? Really? I’d say this job title was more so.” he got a swat from one of the wings, which cause purple pollen to ran on his hair and shoulders. He sneezed a bit as Grian snickered, and did allow Mumbo to stand.

Sighing a bit, Mumbo smiled at the other two. “Do I want to know what’s going on outside?” he asked in a joking tone. “Nah.” Cub said waving his hand as Scar nodded in agreement.

Scar leaned upright again and walked over to Mumbo, pulling him closer by the waist and kissing him again. Closing his eyes, Mumbo leaned up into it, by this point he didn’t care if the others saw. Breathing in slow and calmly as he was hugged from behind and Cub also joined in. They did pull back from the searing kiss, and just held him. 

“I can’t wait to see what you’ll become my darling mayor.” Scar chuckled to him, a hand squeezing his waist. “It’s a new world for all of us, and I know we’ll make it even better.” he grinned showing sharp teeth.

A dazed look was on Mumbo’s face, and a dizzy smile at that. He didn’t say anything just leaned on the other. Scar chuckled, “Come along now, let’s get you home, sunlight can be a bit much to new sporelings.” he said leading mumbo by his hand as Grian took the other.

Not an ideal situation, letting the villain win, but Mumbo could live with that. 

[wanderer-on-the-steppe]

For the “Character Ask Game 💚🤍🖤” post… Bohun? :D

Oh, this is gonna get long! Thank you for an excuse to shamelessly ramble about Bohun! :)

One aspect about them I love:

Just one? That’s clearly impossible! So… I’m just about as good at counting as Bohun is at writing, okay?

Okay ;)

His sincerity. Whatever one can say about him, he does not pretend. He may delude himself, of course, and misunderstand his own feelings, or be unaware of some of his motives, or mistake something he does for an expression of love that actually harms the person he loves – but he’s never just careless or indifferent. He doesn’t compromise on things that are important to him. He takes love as seriously as it deserves to be taken.

Then… (you remember, I can’t count ;)) his capacity for an almost childlike awe and reverence for everyone and everything that is dear to him. He’s kept that alive amid all the horror and violence he’s experienced and also among all the horror and violence he’s become capable of himself. He always reminds me of this one Simone Weil quote:

“At the bottom of the heart of every human being, from earliest infancy until the tomb, there is something that goes on indomitably expecting, in the teeth of all experience of crimes committed, suffered, and witnessed, that good and not evil will be done to him. It is this above all that is sacred in every human being.”

And then (I CAN’T COUNT!) this abyss of despair and rejection and loneliness that just bursts forth from him and that cannot be contained or toned down or made to look tame and banal enough to be socially acceptable. Of course, if he was real, I wouldn’t wish that suffering on him, but as a fictional character, I’m deeply thankful to him for making it possible to express things (and see them expressed) that few are brave enough to say out loud with regard to themselves.

One aspect I wish more people understood about them:

I don’t think I know anything about him that others haven’t known for longer, but to put something here:

He isn’t “stupid”. Yes, he fails disastrously at seeing things from other people’s (especially Helena’s) perspective, and it does a lot of harm. But I don’t think it’s something he just could have easily avoided. Because this kind of narrow focus made sense for most of his life. He has constantly struggled to survive – both in a literal sense and psychologically – and most of the time, he had to look out for himself. And being especially attentive to others was not something that would have been an advantage. Quite to the contrary: it’s likely he had to steal a lot as an orphan child, and he probably accompanied Burłaj on raids quite young [and you know all this better than I of course, because you have written about it! ;)], so not thinking too much about the situation of the people he stole from (and later the people he had to kill!) must actually have made things easier for him.

And when it becomes clear that he suddenly needs the skill to see things from another person’s point of view – because he has fallen in love – there’s nowhere he could just take it from. Of course it does harm to Helena that he cannot imagine what the situation is like for her, and how much fear she’s in, and that she will be traumatized afterwards. But it’s also not just avoidable carelessness or stupidity from his part. It really is this difficult for him.

One (or more) headcanon(s) I have about this character:

Bohun has a much easier time being kind to animals than to people. Because animals haven’t hurt him, animals don’t look down on him or regard him as beneath them, or do anything that he cannot bear without resorting to violence. He will certainly have had to hunt – both as a child always on the lookout for his next meal, and during military expeditions – but I cannot imagine him hurting or killing animals unnecessarily.  And I imagine that as a child who both depended on his hunting success (together with the just mentioned stealing ;)) and was lonely and used to rejection from people, he watched animals closely and developed respect for them. I also think he’s been talking to them as a child, and maybe singing his very first songs about or even for them.

One character I love seeing them interact with:

This one gets a short answer: Jan Skrzetuski :) Both in canon and in fanfiction.

One character I wish they would interact with/interact with more:

Khmelnytsky. And I especially wish we’d get to see their first encounter: when Bohun, distraught, arrives with him after the raid on Rozłogi, and Khmelnytsky figures out, more or less (how much might Bohun have told him – and how much might he have been able to guess??), that this man is in serious trouble, and decides to trust him anyway, and Bohun gets his first impression of the man he’s now going to follow, with no way back, not as a deliberate political decision, but because it’s the only path left to him…

I’d also like to see more of the time afterwards when Bohun gains Khmelnytsky’s trust and rises through the ranks despite initially having joined the uprising in an act of despair.

One (or more) headcanon(s) I have that involve them and one other character:

When he came back from his last raid before becoming estranged from Helena, he really was in a bad state psychologically. My imagination hasn’t been specific yet what exactly had happened, but even with everything he’s already experienced, something he had to do, or maybe even something he just witnessed, was too much for him. (And no matter how much violence he’s already done at this point, I think that this thing was something that genuinely wasn’t his fault.)

The thought of coming home to Helena helps him stay alive, and he needs to be able to tell her what happened, and to still be the person he’s always been for her, and not be regarded with horror… But when he returns and sees her in her certainly unhappy, but – for someone just returned from war – quite peaceful looking daily life, he’s reminded of just how unimaginable it all really is for her, and he hesitates, again and again, until there is that one quarrel that gets out of control, and his wartime instincts take over, and he fights his opponent, and he kills him, and Helena does recoil from him in horror. And he probably never gets to tell that thing anyone.

Though, in a world where fanfiction fixes things and he ends up as part of a happy OT3, there might still be a day when he’s first able to tell Jan (because Jan’s been a soldier and knows what war is like), and then asks Jan to help him tell Helena…

[pichlive]

Your reaction to the Narrator and what he says is really funny. You’ve basically gone:

I don’t trust you!

Okay, I think you believe what you’re saying. However, I think you’re wrong so I’m going to ignore you.

Wait, where did everyone go… SHIT, was the Narrator right!? Did the world end!?

The Narrator, the Hero and the Smitten are all gone. Are they dead? Did the apocalypse happen!?

Oh, never mind, the Princess is here. The world might still have ended though…

Meh, sometime things need to end for new things to start AKA I don’t care that my choices may have led to the premature and possibly painful death of every man, woman, child, animal and possible the universe itself. The Princess is here and that’s all I care about. Plus, maybe something else with come after this.

Oh good. Things have reset… and the Narrator’s back warning me about the end of the world again yawn

Wait, maybe the Princess made him like this

God, I hate this guy and how he’s – checks notes – doing the thing that the Princess might be making him do. Anyway, I love the Princess and she can do no wrong!

Don’t get me wrong, your reactions are completely understandable. It’s hard to believe a random voice that goes ‘go murder this person or you’ll condemn everyone else to die.’ Anyone would find that sus. Not to mention, while you are being told the Princess will end the world, the only person you’ve actually seen is the Princess and she asks you not to kill her. I do wonder if you’d have been so blasé about the possible end of the world if you’d seen some of the people you may or may not have damned.

It’s just funny that you simultaneous believe the Princess might be the one making him like that and that she’s worth saving but he isn’t. If you’re right and the Princess made him like this, he’s very much a victim but you don’t care because you’ve choice her side.

You’ve said that you’re going to try to save everyone, with the possible exception of the Narrator who you think might be a lost cause. It sucks for the Narrator. You think he believes what he says, that he might even be right, that the Princess might have made him like this and he’s still the only person you aren’t bothered about saving.

oh boy-- outside of the game content! Looks like i've unlocked the voice of The Anon!

so this little dumpster fire of an ask has been waiting in my inbox for… quite some time.

my initial hesitation to answer, more than anything else, was because, sincerely-- the tone of this anon made me think they might pipebomb me with spoilers to prove whatever little weird point they're making here-- if, in hindsight, there even is one worth making.

and also not give you the immediate satisfaction either-- if you even are still here (hi i guess?)

but now that i've finished the game…

well okay for one all i'm going to say is i can tell you haven't even finished the game. maybe even barely watched the demo.

Or by this point, might have gotten beyond that-- given that one ask i also believe you also sent me (from the way you... apparently think my reactions are so '''funny'''), you'd probably have tried to spoil me even more... because i wasn't getting to the points you thought i should???? what is your fucking damage?

but the first reason i wanted to 'answer' this was to show off how completely fucking bonkers you are.

the fact that i KNOW on some level you had to have based all this JUST on my playthrough-- and opinions-- of the game.

my very… incomplete perspective and playthrough of the game at the time you sent this in, btw.

the very… condescending way you word… all of this. because i have a spine i find this more cute than anything, if very annoying and weird.

the fact you seem to make judgement calls… on my morality? from how i play a game? with very Not Real Characters? I mean yeah it wants to draw you in and my choices/opinions for the most part have been genuine but i think ya'll get what i mean here

also i can further tell you have Not Played The Game because of assumptions even I haven't made? or at the time hadn't made? or if you have, uh… well. um. hm. alright then.

but again like-- your assessment of me based on… what was at the time a very incomplete playthrough with what information i had-- and if anything now that i have completed the game, uh, yeah, i'm pretty firm on my perspective.

but also other than shaming me for… beyond siding with, sympathizing with a character… the game wants you to sympathize with and bond with and not getting along as much with a character who, at every corner… listen i don't think he's technically a liar but gaslighting and condescension isn't that great of a look either. but also shaming me for liking her so much when the game is stated outright TO BE A LOVE STORY. DO YOU ALSO GET WEIRD AT PEOPLE WHO PLAY FUCKING DATING SIMS AND LIKE THE CHARACTERS, ANONTHY?

also your weird judgement of my impressions in general. like. it's almost that's what a liveblog is?

'the only person you aren't bothered about saving' is. also interesting. all i'm gonna say is um. anon. genuinely. what the fuck am i supposed to do here to even SAVE the narrator?

but also the insistence i'm playing a game 'wrong' that…… outright says there ARE no wrong choices, just different perspectives (which, i suppose also technically applies to me here-- but my point here being this anon is kind of weirdly fucking judgmental).

hell, even the creators have stated they won't answer any lore questions outright BECAUSE they want it to be interpreted in a variety of ways!

which, speaking of the creators.

i don't know them obviously, but, uh. anon?

i don't… think they'd want you acting like this. like thank god this game is so popular.

i say this because…

let's imagine, for a moment:

i have a weaker spine, and this game is far less popular, and still by an indie studio (granted if it was less popular i might not be playing it but that's beside the point).

let's say i recieve this and decide, at 'best', to modify my playthrough… not according to what i want. but because of some random guy on the internet who's being weird.

suddenly it's incredibly ingenuine for a game that wants you to make YOUR own choices.

or, a step further: i just stop live blogging it. if people think i'm making the 'wrong' choices, why show that, after all?

maybe, at worst, i even stop playing.

anon, if this game HADN'T of gotten the reach it had… how do you think this kind of attitude would affect it? or, hell-- even as popular as it is… this is still… pretty fucking rude to do to other people, and by proxxy the creators to a point.

like, there is the 'don't be a fucking dick in the fandom' part, obviously. shaming other people for their perspective on a game that WANTS you to do so is, uh. pretty boggling.

but there's also the other point that doing this DOES hurt indie creations. not that oh you have to treat them like glass and never debate with each other no no-- but treating people like this when they're publically helping talk about an indie game… is kind of shit, actually!

and to clarify-- i'm not holding myself up as some like, single beacon of the slay the princess fandom, like, god no-- there's a lot more influential people here who have done that way better than me in terms of hyping up this game.

more so that-- well, this isn't for anon. i know i'm not gonna convince them, whoever they are. and, hopefully, since the ask you sent after this, that I can tell is you because you use that cute little condescending indicator of thinking ways i'm playing you don't like/think is 'right' is ''''funny''''-- i've finally been able to block your ass. good riddance to someone who bafflingly was apparently following someone's content they don't really like all that much and don't know how a fucking block button works on their end.

like. are you like this with any friends you have? do you look at them and also like, similarly act like god's rudest little asshole about however they play a game? interpret a media? if you're allowed to determine my apparent entire morality from a short view of my play session i think i'm allowed to determine from this short (unfortunate) window into you that you sound pretty fucking insufferable.

no, this is moreso me-- other than making fun of anon and gawking at them-- going don't fucking do this. not JUST because it's rude-- but it can actually be VERY detrimental to other indie projects, even this one to a point, that's SUPPOSED to have discussion and different interpretation.

don't be this weird asshole.