Text
TELL ME IF YOU HATE ME - KA12
summary : kimi has a crush and a shit way of dealing with it, you think he hates you.
listen up : not proof read lolz! requests are open!!
word count : 1683
⋆。‧˚⋆
The cars zoom past me as I press my finger down and a series of clicks sounds from my camera. I smile, holding my camera up and making sure I got the shot I wanted.
I did.
I see a flash of red by the garage which makes me breathe out, Ollie just crashed and I know it freaked him out. I put my eye to my camera again, zooming in so I can see if he’s okay.
He is.
I snap some far photos of the garages, passing Ferrari, then McLaren, and right as I'm about to skip over Mercedes, something catches my eye.
Lewis isn’t the one who gets out of his car, but a smaller boy with a mess of brown curls. He claps one of the pit crew members on the back and smiles. As he turns to face the track, I get a full view of his face.
Kimi Antonelli.
I had forgotten about the boy who’s driving with Mercedes next year. Ollie was talking my ear off about it last week but still… I guess I was so focused on shooting the cars that I didn’t realize who was in it.
I snap a photo of him, the light hitting his face perfectly as he takes a deep breath.
I’ve never met him, but I was forced to follow Prema by Ollie so I know he fits into Ollie’s odd life perfectly.
I walk back into the ferrari garage, smiling at my boss who takes my camera from me. I’m doing an internship, specifically with Ferrari's media team. Once they found out I like photography, they let me have a camera and media access.
I smile at Ollie who shoots me a thumbs up, letting me know he’s okay. I end up eating alone while scrolling on my phone, some people walk past but because free practice 2 is happened, most people are watching.
I take a bite of my salad and scroll once more. I get a weird feeling after my third bite, and when I look up, it’s the last thing I expect.
Kimis there.
He’s still in his race suit, his hair messy and a water bottle in his hand. His eyes get big when I turn to him. I’m about to raise my hand to wave but he spins around and bolts in the other direction.
I laugh out loud but when I look around, no one’s there to have seen it.
That was… weird.
⋆༺
“Hey, Y/n!” Ollie yells to me across the paddock, he’s standing with Kimi and Jack Doohan. I smile and wave, saying goodbye to who I was speaking with, and flipping my hair over my shoulder before making my way over to them.
“Hey! Happy Quali day!” I smile at them, especially Jack because I haven’t seen him all weekend.
“What are you up to today?” The australian asks me, his hands in his pockets.
“Taking pictures mostly, trying to get a bad one of Charles, and watching Quali. How about you guys?” I turn pointedly towards Ollie and Kimi but the Italian has his eyes pointed elsewhere and his mouth shut.
“Kimi and I.” Ollie grips Kimis shoulder and practically forces him to look at me, he smiles softly but looks back at Ollie as he talks, “are doing the same! Minus the photos and stuff. Wanna grab lunch with us later?”
I nod, pulling out my phone as I get a call, “Shit, i’m so late! See you guys later!”
⋆༺
Quali is fun and the Mexican fans are absolutely exhilarating. After getting caught up with photos, I finally met Ollie and Kimi in the Ferrari hospitality.
Except there’s no Kimi.
I raise a brow as we sit down, “Does Kimi not like me?”
Ollie moves his food around, “Uh… I don’t think so. Why?”
I shrug, “I just get the feeling he doesn’t really enjoy my company. Which hasn’t been much around him.”
Ollie frowns, “No! He just had to shoot something for Mercedes. He wanted to come.”
⋆༺
You know those times where you wish you could go back in time just five seconds? That’s how I feel right now.
“No!” I yell as Kimi turns the corner with four coffees in his hands and runs directly into me. “Fuck!” I back away from him, shaking off my hands instantly.
“Ah!” He does the same, looking up at me slowly, “I am so sorry…” This is the first time he speaks to me? Seriously!?
I take a breath, trying to gain control of my mind that’s screaming. I peel off my sweater, luckily my shirt underneath is untouched.
“I- Shit.” I groan and wipe my arms off with my sweater, “What are you, an errand boy!? I thought I was the one with an internship.” He laughs at this, then slaps his hand over his mouth.
“I’m genuinely so sorry.” He shakes his head, everything on me now smelling like coffee. I look at his shirt which is partly splashed.
“It’s not fine but It wasn’t on purpose.” I shrug, just staring down at the coffee cups.
“I’m such an idiot.” He groans, “Look, I’ll buy you a coffee to make it up to you.”
I smile slightly, crossing my arms, “Coffee in Ferrari hospitality is free. I’m assuming it’s the same for Mercedes.” He shakes his head, looking horrified.
“That shit is gross. I know a place.”
The ‘Place’ in question is in the general admission area. He pulls on my ferrari hat for extra security and grabs our coffees quickly.
“I actually can’t believe you’re wearing red.” We walk the back way, laughing. Maybe he doesn’t hate me? Or maybe he does and the coffee was all apart of some scheme.
He side eyes me, “Neither can I.” He pulls it off of his head, “Toto would kill me.”
Ollie finds us the second we step foot in the paddock, “Hey! Don’t tell me you became friends without me! Do not forget that I started this!”
“Yeah ok, Ol- I’ll give you friendship creds.” I pat his shoulder as he frowns.
⋆༺
It’s dark by the time I head out of the paddock, yawning, I notice Kimi on his phone. “Hey!” I say, smiling as he looks up at me.
Except his face does that weird thing again.
His cheeks go red and he looks like he’s forcing a smile. “Hi.” He says softly.
“Good day?” He nods, looking back at his phone and clearing his throat.
“Yeah.” He keeps it quick before walking away, “Bye.”
“Bye…?” Okay. So I don’t think I'm going crazy now because that was one weird ass conversation. If you can even call it that.
⋆༺
I wake up on race day and do my morning ritual, scrolling on instagram. I don’t go through all of my notifications often, but today something caught my eye.
Liked by Kimi Antonelli
The post is laughable, it’s from two years ago, Ollie and I were celebrating our birthdays since they fall on the same day.
Weird, Again.
I get ready and head out even though that stupid like is on my mind the whole time.
As if the universe is sending a message, I walk into the paddock at the same time as Kimi. He’s talking to his team member in fast italian and I ignore the fact that it’s 100% hot and focus on the fact that he 100% ignored me!
I call Ollie immediately, “Your friend hates me.”
I hear him laugh on the other side of the phone, “Kimi?”
“See! You already know who I'm talking about!” I groan as I enter Ferrari hospitality.
“Y/n. I think you just make him nervous.”
I stop dead in my tracks, “What?”
“Look, I absolutely love you. But you have a total resting bitch face!” I scoff at him even though I know it’s true, “He sees you taking photos a lot and even though I try to get him to talk to you, he’s like scared or some shit. I think he thinks you’re pretty too.”
I hang up.
⋆༺
I watch from the garage, spirits are high but I find myself distracted as Kimis face comes up on the screen.
Why is he so cute?
I bite my lip and think. I want him to like me. I want him to be friends with me like how he is with Ollie! So why can’t he see that? I mean, there’s a possibility he just doesn’t like me.
In that case, that’s fine! I just want to know.
My thoughts are how I find myself cornering him with my arms crossed and my actual bitch face on.
“Um… yes?” He looks scared.
“Do you not like me, or something?” He frowns, “I mean- If you don’t, that’s fine! But I don’t fuck with people who aren’t honest. Because I know i’m not completely likable to everyone and genuinely I don’t care if you don’t like me but I sorta hope you do because Ollie is my friend and Ollie is your friend and he wants us to be friends!” I take a breath.
Kimi just blinks, “I do like you.”
I roll my eyes.
“I just… felt embarrassed.” I raise a brow. Embarrassed? “I dumped coffee on you! And then I liked that post which had Ollie telling me to stop screaming into my pillow.” I laugh at that. “I just… I'm not good with pretty girls.”
That has me frozen.
“And you’re like scary pretty.”
I laugh, smiling, “You’re totally boosting my ego right now.” He just called me pretty.
He rolls his eyes, standing up straighter, “I’m sorry for being awkward.”
I sigh dramatically, “It’s fine.” I flip my hair over my shoulder, smirking, “My good looks just stuns people sometimes-”
He pushes my shoulder, “Oh fuck off!” I laugh with him, his cheeks red again, “Can I make it up to you?”
I bite my lip, hiding my smile, “Pick me up at 8.”
#fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#kimi antonelli fan fic#kimi antonelli fic#kimi antonelli fluff
357 notes
·
View notes
Text
lobos, we cannot stop hunting
summary: the full moon comes and you insist on staying with your best friend despite his valiant warnings to make you run away from him... pairing: werewolf!chan x reader genre: smut, fantasy, best friends to lovers warnings: *takes a deep breath* heat suppressants, hugging, werewolf transformation, kissing, making out, hair-pulling, eating out, begging, fingering, overstimulation, consent is established multiple times, slightly mean dom!chan but overall a sweetheart, praise+degradation, size kink (duh), unprotected sex on the floor, knotting, breeding kink, mating *exhales* author's note: happy halloween, baby stays!!! 🐺 make sure to get some yummy treats and always remember to say the magic words please and thank you 😈 but ESPECIALLY please as the king of the wolves taught us 😉🛐 word count: 1.8k
"It's a full moon tonight," your werewolf best friend Chan says.
"So?" you murmur, not even bothering to look up from your phone. Those F1 reels that keep popping up on your feed are so interesting! "You've got your pills and stuff? You'll be fine, same as always."
"I ran out, actually," Chan scratches the back of his head nervously.
You put down your phone. Sorry, sexy F1 guys, you can wait.
"Can't you get more?" you ask him.
"No, my doctor is out of town. It's his anniversary with his wife and his phone is turned off."
"Goddamnit, Chan, and you tell me that now?" you are immediately worried about your best friend.
Before he started these pills, Chan told you that the full moon was like really bad on him. As in, he was completely out of control and had these...urges that he had to take care of by himself. Basically, he was in a lot of pain. He's been using these pills for the last two years and they've been working miraculously. Chan was pretty much like a human during the usually dangerous for werewolves full moon. Thankfully, his doctor has been very helpful in giving him plenty of these amazing pills.
"I'm sorry...I thought I had one left but I must have miscalculated."
"Chan, I keep telling you to write these stuff down in advance," you shake your head. "What are you going to do tonight?"
"Suffer through it, I guess. I was just giving you a heads-up so you can get out of here...like right about now."
"What? No way I'm leaving you alone!" you argue passionately. "What if you die?"
"Uh, I'm pretty sure I won't. But you don't get it, without my pills, I could unwittingly put you in danger. My best chance to make sure I'm not a menace to civilized society is to lock the door and tie myself up or something."
"That sounds horrible!" you cry out, feeling intense sympathy for your best friend. "I don't want to leave you alone."
"You have to!" Chan insists. "I would hate myself if I hurt you."
"You won't!" you keep trying to persuade him. "I trust you more than anyone else in the universe."
Chan shakes his head, still hesitant.
"Please, you should leave before the moon comes up."
Little does he know it has already begun to rise...
"No, I'm not leaving you," you keep saying and wrap your arms around him.
Chan desperately tries to push you away. But it is too late.
As the moon's power grows, so does his. The only thing that prevents you from continuing to embrace him is his oncoming transformation. Your arms fall weakly to your side as you witness the impossible. His generally tender, adorable features quickly turn into sharp, wolflike and kind of intimidating ones, if you have to be honest. But this is your best friend, your Chan, you keep reminding yourself. And all the fear disappears from your body. As you kneel down next to him, you run your hand through his soft fur, trying to pet him.
He initially snarls and tries to scare you off but the more you insist, the more he relaxes under your gentle touch. God, you can't believe he was afraid he'd harm you. He's just...a big puppy.
You can't resist the temptation and you hug him again. He's so fluffy you're gonna die! And then, the unimaginable happens. He fucking purrs! Oh dear, if you had already been having a hard time trying to hide your feelings for your best friend, then seeing him like this would surely be your demise.
Then, unexpectedly, he shifts back to his human form, taking you by surprise. One, because that was faster than you'd expected. Two, because he's entirely naked, but doesn't seem perturbed by it. You try your best to look him in the eyes because uh...you're still not sure where this is going.
"Please, go, I don't think I can control myself any longer," Chan begs.
"Control what?" you're so confused. "I already witnessed you in your wolf form, you seem pretty chill."
"It's not my wolf form you should be scared of," Chan warns darkly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if you don't get out of my sight in the next ten seconds, I'll fuck you until you pass out. And maybe even after that."
Oh? Wait...OH!!!
"Was that supposed to be a threat or a promise?" you quirk your eyebrows at him.
"Hold on, don't tell me you're actually excited by the prospect?" Chan wants to make sure.
"I mean...don't threaten me with a good time," you shrug calmly.
Chan kneels next to you, grabbing your hands tightly.
"I'm serious right now, don't play with me."
"What makes you think I'm not serious? I trust you, I want you, I lo- Uh, I like you a lot, whatever you do, that won't change," you mentally curse yourself for almost saying the big L-word. You hope he didn't catch that.
Judging from Chan's expression, he seems pretty satisfied with your statement.
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," he whispers and kisses you harshly, biting your lips and making a mess.
Your mouths are linked by an unending streak of saliva, but honestly you couldn't care less as he claims you, pushing his tongue deeper down your throat, gripping your hair with his fingers for better access. You are already melting. You spoke too soon. You are definitely not ready for this. But you wouldn't be able to make him stop, even if you wanted to.
"Last chance," Chan breaks the kiss to give you the opportunity to back out. To get out of here while you still can.
"Do your worst," you challenge him recklessly and he kisses you again, even harder than before if that is possible.
You know that your best friend, despite his shy and cute demeanour, is physically stronger and bigger than you, but seeing him like this, completely losing control is such a thrill you make sure to commit the picture to memory as vividly as you can.
Chan takes off your clothes in a hurry and just like a hungry wolf, attacks your pussy. And starts devouring it as if it's his last meal on Earth. He doesn't even make the effort to get to the couch, which is so close. He just takes you right there, on the floor. You shake uncontrollably, but he grips your thighs to stop you from moving.
"Please, please, please," you keep repeating even though you have no idea what you're asking for. For him to keep going? For him to stop? You don't know anymore.
"I like it when you beg," Chan smirks against your folds and dives back in, swimming in your water.
It doesn't take you long to burst, completely letting go for him.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he praises you, not giving you time to recover and tracing circles around your entrance with his big fingers.
"No, you," you whisper weakly, trying to make him slow down by pushing his hand away. Needless to say, your efforts are in vain. "I'm s-sensitive."
Chan laughs cruelly.
"You can take it," his words are meant to be reassuring but they're not, as he sticks his finger inside of you.
It's just one but it's already so thick you are beginning to lose your mind.
"C-chan, p-please," you cry for him.
"What is it, sweetheart? You want another?" he mocks your lack of coherence and adds a second finger without waiting for your approval.
"N-no, I c-can't," you shake your head desperately.
"Yes, you can," Chan seems fully convinced, adding a third finger. "You're so tiny, gotta stretch you up real good to be able to take my cock next. Don't you want that, babygirl?"
"Yes, I want it," you are quick to agree and do your best to relax for his big fingers.
"Gonna let me take this sweet pussy with my wolf cock? Claim you as mine? Give you my pups?" he asks gently, his unrestrained actions in complete contrast with his sweet words.
"Yes, yes! Gonna let you breed me like the stupid bitch I am," you answer, degrading yourself in the process.
"That's what I like to hear, darling," Chan praises you and makes you come again on his fingers.
You are almost about to pass out. But somehow you manage to hold on for the next part. You want to feel it. Every second of it.
"Are you sure?" he asks once again, melting your heart.
"I've never been more sure about anything in my life," you reaffirm your belief in him.
Chan doesn't wait for a second offer and slides his cock inside of you. Fucking hell, if you thought his fingers were pretty huge, his manhood is on a whole different level. You try to adjust to his monstrous size and focus on his beautiful eyes instead. He's still your Chan, your sweet-
"Fuck, your pussy's so small, gonna rip you in half," Chan grunts loudly.
Okay, not so sweet after all.
"Please, don't. Or do, it's fine by me," you attempt to make a joke.
He laughs and kisses you again, going in deeper. You wrap your hands around his neck in a tremendous effort to ground you, help you remain conscious through it all.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Chan keeps talking meanly. "Want me to ruin that tiny pussy of yours?"
"Yes, yes, I want it all," you repeat mindlessly, not caring about the consequences anymore.
Then, as if by some miracle, you feel his cock growing even more while inside of you. Is that even possible? You thought it was just a myth.
Luckily, you're wetter than ever and your pussy easily swallows his knot.
"Gonna fuck you full of my cum, make you my mate, is that okay?" Chan wants to be sure.
"It's okay, Chan, I'll be your mate," you promise, not even sure what that means. But whatever it is, you're fine with it, as long as it's with Chan...
Then, he releases his wolf seed inside of your pussy, making you feel so full, so warm, so complete.
"Take it, baby, I know you can," he reassures you and you do your best to accept his overflowing victory.
It is a total mystery how you still haven't passed out. But you're grateful for it. You'd like to treasure this moment forever.
"I don't think I'll be able to let go of you anytime soon," Chan chuckles softly, still inside of you.
"That's alright, I think I can get used to this," you respond happily, kissing him again.
"Great. 'Cause I don't plan to ever stop hunting you, my sweet little prey," Chan vows.
"I am but a willing victim to whatever it is the full moon did to you," you smile contentedly.
"And if it's not just the full moon?" Chan asks, biting your earlobe playfully with his sharp teeth. "What if I want to have my way with you every night?"
"Who needs sleep anyways?"
The End
#bang chan x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids smut#bang chan smut#chan x reader#chan smut#stray kids imagines#stray kids fanfic#skz scenarios#stray kids#chan#writing
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
hi, everyone! Not really much of a poster, more of a lurker, but I just wanted to take a second to validate ya'll and get some stuff off my chest.
So, first of all, I am by all means an outsider. As in- never watched a single episode of 911 -outsider. The thing that brought me in, practically devouring fics and learning about the characters and the show? Bucktommy. Yeah, I practically live in this tag haha. They're cute as hell and watching them makes me so happy, and so does HenRen!! As a queer person myself, it's awesome to see them just living their lives, being a family, etc etc.
So, why am I making this post? To tell y'all you're not delusional, you're not bots, you're not seeing things-- bucktommy is there. I feel the chemistry, and so do the GA most probably.
I've seen some nasty stuff being said by 'buddie' shippers that are... demeaning and really childish, and honestly? They don't hate the ship, they just hate that it's not their ship. I've been in these trenches before, and the only thing that can combat their negativity is to avoid engaging them and to keep spreading the things that make bucktommy a great ship, because they are! They have so much potential, and I can't wait to see how the show will present their story to us.
And anyways, I adore Buck and Eddie as best friends. Why does that have to change? Buck can be queer, and Eddie can be queer as well if that's in his future, but why does that mean they have to get together? I love their dynamic as best friends because they remind me so much of me and my best friend! I would hate for them to lose that, but that's neither here nor there.
All that is to say, I'm excited for what the future holds for our firefighter boys, and I'm so glad the bucktommy fandom seems to be a relatively safe and welcoming space. I hope y'all keep it that way! ❤️ Thanks for listening to my rambles, haha.
(p.s. again, AS AN OUTSIDER, that graveyard scene when they're looking at each other in those suits... tell me that didn't scream wedding to y'all 😭)
116 notes
·
View notes
Text
Silver Lining | Worst!Logan Howlett x F!Reader
Synopsis: Logan was too familiar with depressive episodes, spending years stuck in his own. He never wanted you to feel the way he did, he wanted to take your pain away.
Warnings: ANGST, like no joke this is just straight up angst/whump with a somewhat happy ending, not character angst but reader angst – or at least that is what I think it would classify as?, mentions of mania, mentions of mental illness, reader screams at everyone and tries hard to make people hate her because she thinks she deserves it, mentions of depression, reader has a depressive episode, crying, self-doubt, mentions of unavailing oneself, language,
Rating: M
Word Count: 3.9K
Author’s Note: You know, at times when there are things you cannot tell anyone about, you write. This happened to be that moment for me. Also I know I said this was going to be angsty but I don't think I did the angst justice enough. I'm not used to writing it so I apologize if it's not full blown whump.
Tagging(?): @battermyheart @plagued-kitty @cxrrodedcoffin @babygorewhore @strangererotica
Hugh Jackman Taglist Sign Up
“I fucking hate you, leave me alone!” You scream at your apartment door, hearing Wade on the other end banging harder. You didn’t mean any of the words, you wanted to take them all back, you wanted to say you’re sorry and move on. Your hands reach out to tangle in your hair, pulling roughly at the root. Growls of agony and pain tear from your throat as you drop to your knees on the plush carpet, rocking back and forth. “Let me go, please let me go!” None of your words made sense, they felt foreign on your tongue as the pounding got louder, as the screams turned sour. The world faded to black as your head hit the carpet, your throat raw – straining against your sorrows. Footsteps echoed like snow on a winter’s night; The silence was not comforting. Bloodied fists fell beside your face, and Laura’s soft words lulled you to sleep. “We will be here when you’re ready. Please, take care of yourself.”
No one expected that a day full of laughing and bonding would take a hard left turn. No one knew what hid beneath your surface, they never realized how bad it was getting. All they saw was smiles and sunshine radiating off of you, never knowing they were caused by pain. You thought you were getting better, that you weren’t faking it this time – unfortunately your brain never got the memo. None of your words held any meaning; You knew that but you were worried your friends might not. Then again, day one you did tell Wade to not get attached – that was for his own sake when one day you were no longer here. It was an unspoken song in your head – it never rang true but certain times felt like it would, that it may.
Peter’s party was supposed to be fun, celebrating his anniversary of a year with B-15. A full day planned by Wade and Laura. Logan and you were made to keep them both busy for a while, while Al complained about the constant smell of latex balloons. A day you had been looking forward to for weeks; Spending time with Logan while also not feeling pressured into anything. Wade’s constant comments about you two shacking up held some tension between the two of you, sometimes making it awkward to even say hi to him. But this was supposed to be a turning point for the best, the manic episodes a thing of the past. You were finally healing, so you thought. Alas nothing stays the same forever; A little chaos thrown into a beautiful painting can sometimes turn the colors muddy.
Thirteen days it has been since you left your apartment, almost a full two weeks since you spoke to anyone. Text messages gone unanswered, calls gone silent. Knocks at the door becoming few and far in between as the days grew longer. The care packages dwindling down to one every other day than ever four hours. They did care, it wasn’t a bullshit excuse your mind made up, deep down you fucking knew and yet? It didn’t feel right. It was foreign of a concept; A group of people looking out for you because they care. You had been in with every wrong group possible that it ruined any singular chance of trusting their actions. Happy endings were not in your card, so you had convinced yourself. Episodes like this became your only friend, constantly reliving the worst moments over and over until you couldn’t cry anymore. The utter pain on Wade’s face as he cried for you, as Laura tried to help you, as Al reassured you, as Logan held you, were too much to constantly see. The distance was necessary. But never, never would they give up on you.
Over the last two weeks Wade has come by and sat outside your door, recounting missions and how they went to reading the newest Booktok craze in graphic detail, never spearing a moment to see if he could hear you laugh. Instead all he heard was sobs, self-hatred, and pain. It gave you the time to process your rage, to understand it cannot be pointed towards others who were only trying to help, to figure out a way to explain how sorry you are. But you never needed to, because Logan did – and they made sure they let you know. Out of everyone, Logan was rooting for you the most. Looking out for you, making sure no one came to disturb you when he heard your wails of sorrow, letting you feel rather than cause any discomfort. It killed him silently to hear you like this, not to be able to hold you through it, he wanted to do so much more.
Every text that you stomached to read from Logan was always reassuring, never condescending or jokey. Between small quotes he heard over his life of resilience to funny memes he stole from Wade, he was your cheerleader in every way. It helped you to know, even if you didn’t respond. It gave you the confidence to finally get up and take a deep breath, to understand what you were going to say. That was your plan for today and nothing was going to stop you. As soon as you realized in the early afternoon, you spent the rest of the time cleaning up your apartment, taking a shower, and getting your best comfy clothes on to have a sit down chat with everyone. It felt like everything was going to be okay – you felt like you had control over your emotions; This time it would be easy to convey what sparked your episode. Taking a deep breath you opened your apartment door as walked across the hall to Wade’s, keeping your hand steady as you knocked.
The controlled, hard thuds rang through your wrist as you heard a groan come from the other side, inaudible mumbles coming from Althea. A small smirk played across your lips as you heard her rambles, knowing how feisty the older woman is. The door to Wade’s apartment opened quickly as she stood facing you. Seeing Al after a few weeks of going MIA made your throat dry up, only hearing her words of reassurance as you had a breakdown. Instead of speaking you stared at the woman, fingers slightly trembling. Al let out a sad breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. ‘Oh honey, come on in.” How she knew that it was you wasn’t even a question in your mind, just her gentle nature of feeling you made your eyes misty. Al left a decent gap between her and the door as you crossed over the threshold, staring into the comfortable space.
You could tell that Wade and Laura weren’t around, considering how the pull-out mattress wasn’t out still and Wade’s door was wide open. But you knew he was here. As Al closed the door behind the two of you, the third door of the right opened quickly, the wood creaking against the hinges. Standing in the doorway with warm eyes and a stoic stance was Logan, staring at you like he was in disbelief. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink, instead he kept his eyes on your face. Your hair was tucked behind your ears and away from your features; Logan’s eyes trailed over each part with a soft smile on his lips, relief coursing through his veins. “How are you doing?” he asked calmly, not moving a muscle as he gauged your response. The tranquil state you were previously in started to crumble at those four words, your eyes growing tight and blurry as you stared into Logan’s hazel eyes. Your fingers began to shake as your heart raced, a sob threatening to tear from your throat without warning. All you could do was shake your head at Logan’s question, blinking your tears away. Without a thought, you moved fast into Logan as you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his flannel. Everything you had been holding onto for two weeks was already coming out; The dame officially breaking as he held you. “I got you, sshh – you’re okay,” Logan responded as he rubbed your back, tightening his hold on you as you cried.
Logan slowly shuffled you backwards into his bedroom, letting the heavy door shut on its own as he held you the entire way. Due to how lost you were in his sweet embrace, you didn’t realize that you were now in Logan’s room or better yet, laying with him on his bed. Positioning you to face him, Logan never let you go as he pulled you close to him, letting your face press into his neck as he pulled the comforter over the two of you. Short, sweet hums left his lips as he rested his cheek against the top of your head, letting your subconsciously link his thick legs with yours. “I’m proud of you for coming over, you know that?” Those words warmed your chest as you felt your body shiver, the praise meaning everything to you. Pushing your face deeper against the crook of Logan’s neck, you belted out a wail as you gripped his shirt, just knowing it was starting to soak with the runoff of your tears. You shook your head against his chest, slightly digging your nails through his shirt.
Over the last year you watched Logan transform from gruff and rugged emotionally to happy and prideful. Though that hardened shell of his would never leave, he seemed to be a lot lighter mentally. After he became the new anchor being, new resident of Earth-10005, and the new friend of Wade, which all still was confusing to your human brain, he realized that life was so much more than reliving your past – and learning to move forward from it. It was a slow journey for him but, he found solace in the understanding and knowing. Which is why he didn’t hesitate to grab you and pull you close, knowing this only mirrored what you did for him all those months ago. Being on the receiving end of it felt bizarre for you, but it felt like home. You didn’t want to believe it, but it was true. “You shouldn’t,” a low whispered escaped through your sob as Logan trailed his fingers over your back, drawing small shapes against your hoodie.
“But I am, it’s a big first step.” It was true in a way, the first step was always the acknowledgement. Just leaving your apartment was a great first attempt, and now you were really making strides. “We love you so much, I love you, sweetheart.” Hearing Logan say that caused your heart to clench; The game of cat and mouse of feelings you two have been ping-ponging over the last year reached its peak quickly during this whole time, realizing you two were in silent cahoots – there never needed to be a talk about labels when it happened to naturally. Neither one of you would admit it but, you were together way before any of this went down. Swallowing down the smartass retort wanting to slip off your tongue, you sank your nails a bit deeper into his shirt, feeling his hiss come out. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean, Lo. Do you know how to love?”
You hated yourself for those words, knowing you didn’t mean it but let it go anyways. A typical defense tactic to push people away. Logan knew it too which is why he never responded, only snickered at your persistence. He knew exactly how you would react, knowing from your past conversations about your previous episodes. Running his beard across the side of your cheek, Logan nodded against your face as he spoke, “I love Wade. I love Laura. I love Al. And most importantly, I love you.” Hearing him say again that he loved you should’ve been one of the happiest moments, knowing you both were making great strides in your relationship, yet it left a burning hole of lies in your chest. You scoff at Logan’s declaration, a fresh wave of warm tears cascading down your cheeks as you push your face further into his burly chest. You tried so hard to mask your cry with a cough but, Logan knew better. The words holding their true meaning, the truth snaking its way through your brain. Shaking your head against his pecs, you inhale a deeply, smelling his shower gel and natural musk flooding your nose. “You don’t love me, you barely know me.”
Logan smiles softly above you, trying not to roll his eyes at your clear avoidance of the talk you were about to have. He found your stubbornness endearing, seeing a bit of himself within you. He was the same way after all, never acknowledging or wanting to accept but always question, always avoid. Hiding and not accepting the truth was easier than healing at times. Logan placed his lips to the top of your head as he kisses it gently, rubbing his large hand up and down your back. He never let his lips pull back your head as you let out his words, wanting the warmth of his breath to sink in, hoping that would help you to understand the truth over the lies your mind was telling. “Then give me a chance to.” It slipped out between his lips so naturally you had no time to adjust, hitting you like a ton of bricks.
You stop in the moment; Your breathing, your crying, your whole body. Logan’s words sank deep within your soul, causing a bloom of emotion to burst within your chest. The truth was burning your nerves one by one, every fiber alight and refusing to be put out with your self-doubt. Every stage of grief you could possibly feel ran through your with cold fingers, awakening you for what felt like centuries. Trembling hands grip tighter at his flannel tighter, pulling him close and pushing him away at the same time. Your brows furrow as you scan the darkness within, trying to find a reason why he shouldn’t. All you could find was positive after positive with Logan, remembering how he tried to do the same to you and you refused to give up on him. Now it was your turn, but stepping into the unknown scared you more than anything else. Opening yourself up to him, was terrifying. “Don’t push me away, please.” Logan whispered into your hairline, feeling his own soul hurt for you.
“That’s all I know how to do.” It wasn’t a lie persay, but it wasn’t the whole truth. You never pushed away the gang, not ever. Anytime you were mildly upset you made sure to be with them, and they stayed with you through it all. Even the times you got annoyed with them, you never gave up on that friendship. You knew deep down you’d never push them away, in fact it was funny to you how you even thought that. As Wade had one said, we are like herpes – we never leave, sweet cheeks. “Let me help you break that cycle.” You wanted to believe Logan, trust his words and actions of the man you love. But it was fear inducing to do so, because every what if made its way out of the wood works, chiming in their two cents. What if he leaves you? What if he moves on? What if he is saying this just to make you happy? What if he doesn’t mean it? What if he just feels sorry for you?
The offer to help you break the cycle was what set you off, tearing yourself away from Logan. Sitting up roughly on his bed, you bunched the comforter down at your hips, placing your head in your hands. The fresh wave of tears was threatening to spill over as you shook your head, your knees trembling with every inhale. “What if it can’t be broken, Logan?” You pan your eyes up at him, your bottom lip quivering. “What if that’s all I’m ever going to be destined for? Healing others while I hurt myself. I don’t know if I can be fixed, or changed or-“ Logan abruptly stopped your spiel as he reached for you, holding your face within his hands. The gentle flecks of golds and emeralds swimming in his irises caused your heart to flutter, his natural beauty causing your cheeks to warm. He stared at you like a man in love, needing you to know just how precious you are.
“I said the same thing about myself, for fucking years. I refused to believe I could be happy, in a better place mentally, I didn’t want to be happy. I wanted to hurt, knowing what I did to cause pain to others. I believed I deserved it. Not a day goes by where I sometimes slip into my old routine. But I remember that people do appreciate me, they do love me - even if I don’t want to believe it.” You noticed how Logan wasn’t aware he was crying with you, his tears slowly falling from the inner corner of his eyes as he spoke. The hold he had on your face growing harder, not in a painful way but in a comforting one. Every word he spoke he wanted to sink in, to show you if it wasn’t the end for him – it wasn’t for you either. “But-“ you chimed, trying to find a reasoning but coming up short. “No buts, just feel. What do you want, sweetheart?”
The question held a lot of meaning, a lot of endless possibilities that you weren’t able to explore in your lifetime. For the first time in so long, you felt like you finally had a choice over your own decisions, not your mental health. The way you stared at Logan, with admiration and hesitance caused his heart rate to speed up, his palms growing clammy at what you may say. He could smell your fear, hear your heart pumping at an abnormal rate. Placing his wide palm against your calf, he rubbed over your leggings with languid strokes, helping to coax your answer out. The feelings finally setting in, everything hitting its peak, knowing you were not going to be hitting rock bottom again. “I want to be happy.” It didn’t sound real coming from your mouth, foreign against your tongue as Logan painted his face with a slow smile, admiring your strength and truth to wanting to be happy, instead of staying in that darkened space.
“Louder, darlin.” Logan coaxed with a gentle smile, pressing his lips to your temple as he took a deep inhale. He liked to believe that was his way of ridding you of this pain, inhaling it so he could hold onto it – so you could feel at peace. A small grin made its way upon your lips as you closed your eyes, sinking into his touch deeper. His arms came to hold you against his chest, peppering kisses along the left side of your face as you exhaled. “I want to be happy, Logan.” This time it felt real, felt right coming from you. Your tears dried up quickly, the sticky residue still on your cheeks as you started to get back on your metaphorical feet. His kisses caused your stomach to burn with love and passion. Grabbing at his right hand, you pulled it to your lips as you kissed over where his claws would come out, showing him how even something so deadly deserves care.
“Give yourself permission to.” Logan smiles genuinely as he cups your cheek, running the pad of his thumb over your skin. Reveling in his touch was the only thing you could do, watching him with hearts in your eyes as you smiled. Having someone like Logan be so patient with you, caring for you like no one before has, made you feel safe. It made you feel like things were really going to get better, and now they were. He was right, you needed to give yourself over to your own happiness, and welcome it in. It was a scary thing to adjust to but, you deserved it. The torment you had been putting yourself through, dealing with crisis after crisis and believing every mean word to be true, you deserved this much needed break and acceptance. Logan pressed his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes, wanting you to take in every word deep within your soul. “I’ll be with you, every step of the way. I won’t give up on you.”
That was all you needed for the tears to start again, this time though – they were different. They were sweet this time around, not sour and hateful like earlier. This time they were cool to the touch, not scalding hot. Hearing the love of your life say that, meant the world was healing. You were silently giving yourself over to Logan fully, letting him help you instead of shutting him out. Welcoming him in during your time of need was what the world gave you, and you were never going to take it for granted. Sighing out into his touch, you sniffed back a few tears as you cleared your throat, knowing another cry would slip out sooner. “No one’s ever told me that.”
It broke Logan’s heart to hear that, knowing people gave up on you too easily during your time of need. He couldn’t bear the thought of you alone in the world, dealing with the demons on your own; He needed you to know he would make sure you never fell down that path again. Leaning into you, Logan pressed his plush lips against yours, letting the slow hum of the central air drown out the loud voices in his mind. Just like that the world stood still, in this moment it was just you and Logan – no one else, no other thing. Time stopped to let you both take this all in, to realize two souls were converging into one, and the path ahead was twisting together for the two of you. The soft nature of the kiss felt like it could heal all of your wounds, and deep down you believed that it did. Logan was stitching together every slice in your being, healing those jagged scars, stitching your soul into one again. “Good thing I’m not no one,” Logan smiled against your lips, stealing a few sweet kisses as he nudging his nose to yours, making you look up at him. “I’m someone to you.”
#logan howlett#logan howlett fic#logan howlett fanfic#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett angst#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett x f!reader#logan howlett x reader#worst!logan#worst!logan fic#worst!logan fanfic#worst!logan fanfiction#worst!logan angst#worst!logan fluff#worst!logan x f!reader#worst!logan x reader#worst!logan howlett#worst!logan howlett fic#worst!logan howlett fanfic#worst!logan howlett fanfiction#worst!logan howlett angst#worst!logan howlett fluff#worst!logan howlett x reader#worst!logan howlett x f!reader
115 notes
·
View notes
Text
No actually I'm going to say. I honestly think that was such a satisfying and fitting epilogue for something as unqiue as the dream smp. Maybe its vague about certain things and maybe it wasn't a picture perfect happy ending but it felt so satisfying, not just because of the original shit nuke ending and the way the server originally just slowly faded (although that contributes) but also, because it's a representation of the dream smp itself saying goodbye to its fans. Jack being the point of the view character is so fitting because he's been there since the early days and it makes it so that for once, we get to see C! Tommy from someone else's point of view without his own perspective offered. And that's so fucking impactful. When C! Tommy asked Jack where he'd been and that he hadn't seen him in a long time, he was talking to C! Jack sure but he was also talking to the viewers themselves by extension. The image of C! Tommy silently standing there and treating Jack, the point of view character of the viewers, like an old friend is so haunting and comforting in a way words can't express.
And then there's just the entire theme of grief and moving on that's present throughout the entire thing? C! Jack and Tommy both reminisce about how much the SMP impacted both of them. They look on at C! TECHNO'S HOUSE as they talk about how despite all the shit it put them through, a part of them misses it and longs to be back there again because there were things there that were fun and that meant something to them. It's so fitting on a metatextual levels. The characters are reminiscing about the SMP's old days "before everyone left" and so are the content creators through the characters but also, so is the audience. The viewers. The old fans who clung on. The fans who who didn't. The fans who, despite everything the server put them through, still wanted to tune into a livestream for even a chance of seeing it again.
I just feel like the stream represented so many of us. When C! Jack says he didn't like the person he was back then but that doesnt mean he was bad, I just feel like that encapsulates so many of us during the pandemic. Like many (I think?), I used the dream smp as escapism. I was in a really bad place and I was avoiding most of my irl friends. I hate who I became during those times. But also. I had so much fun. I would tune into streams every day and scroll tumblr and the fandom made me feel so happy and included and I loved the inside jokes and I loved the characters and I loved the streams and I loved everything and a part of me still misses that. I was avoiding everything in my life and I was so isolated but I was so full of excitement and bliss and fun when I would tune into those streams. I've kinda spent the past 2 years lowkey hating who I was. But this stream, C! Jack's line and reflection specifically, genuinely made me realise that maybe I shouldn't idk view my old self so negative and that he (who I was) was probably just trying his best during a tough time even if his choices weren't always the most functional. That I've improved and that that's okay and good even. And that maybe just because I like who I am now doesn't mean he was bad.
Idk there's also something about C! Tommy telling C! Jack he might never see him again and C! Jack telling him that that's okay (also again image of C! Tommy looking at the viewer's point of view and telling them he'll probably never see them again...). There's just something about growing up and how you kind of lose contact with some people and how that's normal and it's okay and it happens and how that ties back into some of the dream smp's themes about growing up. But also there's a bit of grief there and that's okay. Idk there's something so visceral about the last piece of media about the dream smp literally being about grief and moving on and about how the characters literally say goodbye to eachother after everything but also about how that's okay. Idk I wonder how many people feel similarly
To conclude this, I feel like the moment in the stream that hit me the most was CC! Jack being happy he let go of the manishroom (and the server by extension) and that he's moving on but then later saying "I didn't like letting go of the mushroom. Felt like I wanted to cling onto it forever" and something about that just hits. Idk there's something how the characters both feel such a unique pain and longing for the old times in universe and how that reflects how the audience and streamers themselves feel and there's something about how I genuinely don't think something that wasn't as accidental and beautiful and messy and painful and earnest and flawed and unique as the dream smp could ever capture that feeling. And I think I love it for that. And I think I love the epilogue for representing that. And I think the dream smp said I love you and goodbye to its viewers with that epilogue and I think I said it back.
#SORRY I GOT PRETENTIOUS NEAR THE END JUST GAHHHHHH FEELINGS. indulge me#dream smp#dsmp#tommyinnit#jack manifold#mcyt#dsmplr#mcytblr#analysis#??#meta#????????#well yeah idk metatextual analysis of the text. or. stream. kinda#mof speaks
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kinktober Day 31
starring: james mcavoy x male reader
request: James mcavoy fic where James is reader’s dad best friend and he is coming over to stay for the summer reader and James don’t really get along at first. But one night James comes out the shower while reader is still awake and James ends up fucking him and eating him out hard and has him worship James body through scent and kissing etc
warnings: smut, cursing, slightly rough sex, cumming untouched, pervy james, sweat kink, unprotected sex, creampie, ass eating, cum eating, slight muscle worship
directors note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN i hope you get a lot of candy or pass out a lot of candy and you better watch some scary movies tonight 🎃👻🍬🦇💀🧡
it's not that you hated james, it's just that he really just wasn't your kind of guy, when he came around he would always get you in a head look and mess up your hair or just 'jokingly' bully you and your dad never said anything to him about it, he just told you that's how james plays.
now he had to stay at your house for the whole summer after something happend with his house, i think it was something about he has renovations going on at his house, him staying in the guest room wasn't any better seeing as it was right next to your room and the walls were pretty thin so you would have to be extra quiet sometimes.
but god you had to admit when he was here he was so sexy, especially when he offered to mow the lawn and he was outside shirtless pushing the mower, sweat dripping down his muscles and abs looking like a greek god, when he came back inside you tried your hardest to hide the boner in your pants but it was kinda hard (pun intended) since it was painfully up right.
you thought james didn't see it until later that night when you thought everyone else in the house was asleep and came out of your room, accidentally bumping into a james who just got out of the shower, his arm subconsciously finding your waist out of pure instinct "oh shit sorry" you go to push off him but your hands couldn't move, to stuck feeling his chest and pecs.
seeing your infatuation with his body he picks you up by your thighs and take you back to your room "your dad's sleep right" he smirks above you pulling at the hem of your shorts "mhm" you nod and he takes the rest of your clothes off along with his towel revealing his girthy cock to you, whimpering at the sight of it making him even more eager to fuck you.
your legs instantly wrap around his waist "you want this cock bad huh" he chuckles and you nod up at him, his shoves his fingers into your mouth, wiping all around it before pulling the soaking things back out and bringing them to your hole, shoving one in then two then three and working them in and out of your to open you up nice and well for him before pulling them back out.
he looks down at you as he pushes his full length into you, your eyes widening in shock at the thickness of his dick, you were pretty shocked to think you were fucking your dads bestfriend but if it meant getting fuked by such a good cock you could give less than two fucks about it being wrong.
his hips start to snap into your ass, his tip hitting your gummy wall again and again, it was a little painful but it felt so good to stop, all you could do was let out little moan, small enough to be heard but not loud enough for your dad to hear and come see what the ruckus was "i saw that boner in your pants earlier today, such a pervy little guy" he taunts you as if he wasn't in his bestfriends sons ass right now.
"shut up please and just fuck me" you whine tightening you grip on his arms as he went harder into you "mmm fuck im cumming" you moan spurting your load all over your chest, head dropping back into the pillow a little dazed as james kept going "cumming without even jerking off? how much more of a perv could you be" he smiles and leans down to kiss you, his tongue maneuvering into your mouth and exploring it, his slightly sweaty scent was filling the room faster and faster with the mix of heat between you two.
your legs starting to go weak around his waist but still strong enough to keep him in you as he came, cum shooting up your ass as he bit back loud groans, pulling out of your messy hole he immediately went down to your ass and licked at it "push it out" he demands and you do so, pushing the load out your hole which he catches on his tongue and slurps up.
beginning to eat you out to get the rest of it, cleaning you up a little more around the hole before standing up "i take it this is gonna be a regular thing" you asks catching your breath "come to my room when your dad falls asleep and it will be" he responds putting the towel back on and walking out.
taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @kadenvatsune @fuckshft @wompwomp-1mh3re
#james mcavoy#james mcavoy x reader#james mcavoy x male reader#x male reader#x male y/n#gay smut#x male smut#x male#gay#male reader#bottom male reader#james mcavoy smut#james mcavoy x you#james mcavoy x y/n#kinktober
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mild Venom: The Last Dance spoilers
One thing I think would’ve made TLD better even if it had the same plot and ended the same way is more reciprocal affection.
I think the biggest problem of the movie symbrock-wise is that all affectionate/romantic scenes are mostly from Venom. Eddie seems to just be tolerating Venom most of the time. They’re suppose to be ride or die at this point. They’re suppose to be best friends he said it himself! I think if more scenes showed Eddie’s love or at least fondness for Venom, then more fans would be happier with the movie.
To be clear tho, I didn’t hate the movie but I do think it’s a step down from how their relationship was previously. Obviously I wasn’t expecting it to be so explicit with loving pet names and sloppy make outs but more implied in the way the previous movies did it.
Some examples I came up with for Eddie loving venom moments (actual spoilers):
Eddie complaining to the bartender that his fun vacation time with his “friend” was interrupted when they got punted into Marvel universe instead of talking about thanos and meta humans and how annoying aliens are. I want to believe they had fun in Mexico!!
Eddie smiling (and being grateful!!!) when Venom made him a cocktail. Also he shouldn’t have a headache venom can heal him.
When Venom says “You always take me to the best places” Eddie replies with “anything for you, bud” (but make it sound like babe)
More bonding over stuff they’d do in New York. Eddie can talk about food and Venom asks if there are bad guys there and Eddie says They can be the lethal protector there
More scenes in the Casino!!! It was so short :((
They should’ve tried to cheat at cards at least to show they also have a mind bond. It could’ve been cool or funny!!
A woman trying to hit on Eddie but he gets awkward and rejects her cause “I’m here with someone”
Mrs Chen could mention Ann and Dan are married and Eddie is happy for them but implied he’s sad cause he can’t marry venom
While separated in the Area 51 lab, Eddie is significantly distressed about it and talks about feeling hollow inside or like with a missing limb
Eddie should’ve been given the option to sacrifice Venom save himself and the world. But he CHOOSES NOT TO he says “but I need him” like the trailer suggested!!!
Have Eddie explain to the scientist women what being with venom is like and how he makes him feel (like the end of the first movie). Not only is this sweet but will allow the scientists to be more sympathetic towards symbrock and explains their willingness to help them and also to bond with the other symbiotes later in the movie
Have Venom apologize for hardships he put Eddie through and have Eddie assure him he’d do it all again if given the choice
Have Eddie shed a tear (at least 1!!!) when he wakes up without venom for the last time
The rest of these are more significant changes to the movie but still in keeping with the general plot:
Venom should’ve kept the codex a secret for a while and just told Eddie the xenophage was just revenge for the symbiotes imprisoning knull or something
Eddie can tell venom is acting strange and suspects he is hiding something (like in the comics re: their pregnancy)
The codex truth is revealed after the dance with Mrs Chen when they get attacked by a xenophage but before they get separated and taken to Area 51 leading to the sacrifice venom convo
When they reunite, venom admits he kept it a secret cause he was afraid Eddie would leave him but Eddie reassures him it’s them til the end
The rest of the movie plays out the same. But I think these choices would’ve really solidified their bond. It would’ve been more painful at the end but more satisfying!!! If you wanna make angsty tragedy then go all the way don’t half ass it
They’ll also have more scenes for their RomCom/Valentine’s Edit
#here’s my venom rambling#I kept thinking what was missing and how it could be fixed#symbrock#venom#eddie brock#venom the last dance#venom spoilers#venom the last dance spoilers#veddie
80 notes
·
View notes
Note
May I request C6 with Regulus? I’m in some desperate need of Reggie comforting reader 😭😭😭
there are sosososo many different ways to interpret this prompt, and somehow i chose? perhaps the darkest one? so sorry, you are really going to need that comforting now... thanks for requesting lmao xx
Prompt: C.6 "I don't know, it just happened"
Words: 5.5k
Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, blood racism, internalised blood racism, hate crime/minor assault, emotional breakdown, mutual self-hatred, regulus has not left the black family, alluded black brothers drama, undecided side regulus, perhaps a bit cliche/romanticising, established relationship, your dad is dead (long ago, mentioned), heavy hurt/comfort, happy ending
Notes: lol i am not okay
It was a rare occurrence that Regulus Black felt light these days, in any meaning of the word.
His feet felt shackled as he trekked through the Hogwarts halls he felt were increasingly unwelcoming to him. His consciousness weighed him down like a thousand bricks as he knew he had to either take a stance against his parents or become complacent in a hope of survival. He knew he had to do the former; he had no idea how to stop himself from the latter. Trapped, cornered, cowardly – heavy.
Yet, when walking the final few metres to your dormitory that he knew housed your soft self now that you were done with tutoring first years, he felt undeservingly light. A sensation only you could inspire in him these days.
While conversations were growing tenser and tenser between you the more Regulus struggled with freeing himself from his family, your love for him had yet to falter. He knew he was only biding his time, but until then he could not help revelling in it, albeit guilt ridden.
He does not knock before entering, just carefully pushes the ajar door further open. You had told him off for knocking so primly every time – “you’re always welcome here, Reggie” – and he wanted nothing more than to please you.
“Amour?” he called out as he closed the door softly behind him, looking around the dorm for a trace of you, or at least one of your dorm mates.
None to be found.
He dropped his bookbag by the end of your bed, reaching up to scratch the back of his head as he looked around. Some of that heaviness began returning to his limbs at your absence, his hope of slipping away from the world with you for the next few hours dissolving.
Then, he heard the water running from the adjunct bathroom. A sigh of relief escaped him, though his body remained tense, and he made his way over. He could hear the water splashing from the sink and he carefully knocked on the door with one knuckle.
“Amour?” he tried again.
This time he technically got a response of sorts, though nowhere near the one he had been hoping for. All movement behind the door stilled. The water was still running in a steady stream, but whatever you had been doing with it, you had stopped. Regulus could almost picture you standing like a deer in headlights – his brows furrowed unhappily at the thought.
“Are you alright, love?”
Finally, your voice answered, but the fragility of it rattled him. “Oh, um, hi Reggie, I– I’m alright, be with you in a minute, yeah?”
You seemed distressed. Regulus did not care for it at all.
“Could I come in, amour?” He spoke to the door as if it was not there, as if he was looking you in the eyes, willing you to let him in.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmured, but he just barely caught it through the wood.
Regulus seemed to have met a divulge where he had to make a choice – a relatively minor one, but it felt important nonetheless.
A large, painful part of his mind was screaming at him to leave you alone. She doesn’t want you, she’s finally seen you for what you are. Scum staining the story of her life. It is this voice that rules most of his actions, the voice keeping him and Sirius apart, the voice tying him to something he does not feel comfortable with.
Then there is another, burning hot part that aches to reach for you. The part that knows you better than the first thinks he deserves, the part that can tell by the tone of your voice, by a jerk of your finger, exactly how you are feeling and, hopefully, what you need. This part is one Regulus takes a great deal of pride in, this part feels good. Though it scares him and the first part tries to quell it, he holds it near his heart.
And it is this part that opens his mouth and says, “Could I come in anyway?”
A minute. A hesitation. A sigh.
“Yes,” you whispered.
His hand is tentative as it grips the doorhandle to the bathroom, as if it has become a part of your body from him talking to it, deserving of that same care he attempts to show you. He twists it and pushes it open.
The bathroom is swept in darkness – a conscious choice on your part, seeing as you would have to magically blow out the candles that lined the walls. He could still see you, leaning against the counter with the sink, face turned slightly away from him.
“Hi, my love,” you greeted, trying to seem casual as if he had just walked into your dorm under usual circumstances. With your hand awkwardly angled so that he only saw the inside of your palm, you adjusted the faucet. “How was practise?”
Regulus ignored your small-talk, walking up to stand beside you, body angled fully towards you as you began scrubbing at your hands once more. With the light trickling in through the open door, he swore the water looked pinkish. His breath hitched, eyes flickering all over you and the room to make sense of whatever was happening.
“Amour, what’s wrong?” His voice was rawer than he was comfortable with.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You were getting a hang of the bright and airy tone of voice you were going for, but it was too late for that. “Just a long day, you know? Do you want to go get the bed ready so we can relax?”
The voices were warring in Regulus’ head at the rejection of his presence, but once more the part he could only describe as lovesick took a step closer to you, so your bodies were just barely touching. “Y/N,” was all he said.
Your ministrations grew more desperate, scrubbing water up and down your hands and forearms, breath laboured. He lifted a hand to brush against your face – when you flinched, his heart broke.
She’s scared of you.
No, she’s just scared.
He let his hand ever so slowly land on the cheek furthest away from him, cradling your jaw with the kind of light touch reserved for baby birds and broken children. He found the skin there soft and wet, and he swore he could cut himself on the shards of his broken heart.
He guided your head to turn towards him, his grip loose so that you could stop him if you wanted. Once your face was opposite his, Regulus fought every instinct in his body that told him to study you, search your face for the spawn of your pain. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. Giving you space, privacy even, giving you the moment you clearly needed – but sparing you from doing it alone
Your hands slowed down in their scrubbing, and with his free hand reaching out blindly, he turned off the faucet. Your breath stuttered where it spilled over his lips.
“Do you reckon you want to sit down? Talk about it?” Regulus whispered, eyes still closed.
He felt you nod against his skin, grabbing a hand towel as you walked backwards the few steps needed before you could sit down on the toilet lid. Regulus followed you, eyes opening and attempting to adjust to this darker corner of the bathroom. He sat down on his knees between your legs, painful tiles be damned, and looked up at you intently.
In front of him sat the light of his life, visibly sullied. Your face was red and he could make out the tear tracks and smudged mascara underneath your eyes. You clutched the towel, hands buried within it and out of sight.
“Amour,” he whispered dumbly, unsure of what else to say, as he carefully brought his hands up to wipe at your tears.
You mumbled his name and it almost sounded like a sob.
Your hands were writhing in your lap around the towel, and he reached down to take it and help you dry yourself when you jerked your hands closer to you, towel still in grasp. “No,” you whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” you lied through your teeth. “I’ve just had a bad day and– and felt anxious. Couldn't help but cry over it. I don’t know, it just happened.”
Regulus gave you a sad smile, squeezing the still-wet skin on your forearms. “Uh-huh. And you felt like taking it out on your hands?”
A sob finally tore through your body properly and you brought your hands up – still in the towel – to cover your face. You leaned forward and cried into it, and Regulus immediately opened his arms to hold your shaking frame. Your towel and face were smushed into the crook of his neck and he drew big circles on your back with one hand, the other securely holding the back of your head.
He was broken, at a loss for words, trying to recall any and every memory he could find of witnessing others comforting, not trusting his own instincts. Through them all, out flashed a memory of Sirius humming to him when he had nightmares as a child, how the vibrations soothed through him until he could finally fall asleep again, in his big brother’s bed this time. Without any distinct melody or song in mind, Regulus began to hum as he swayed you just ever so slightly back and forth, hoping to bring you some semblance of safety.
Your gasps lessened until the bathroom was near-quiet again, but he did not stop his movements with you or the humming. Your heart blossomed from his efforts and broke at what you knew was to come.
You lowered your hands from your face, letting them fall into your lap with their towel. Your face was now in direct contact with the soft skin of his neck and you took the opportunity to press a soft kiss there.
“Can I please do something to help you?” he whispered into your hair.
“You are.”
He breathed in slowly. He is. “With your hands, I mean. Are you hurt?”
Tears slipped quietly down the expanse of Regulus’ neck, trailing down underneath his shirt. You tried to nuzzle deeper into him.
“I–” you stop, seemingly changing your mind. “I’m alright, I just need to… to remove magical ink from them and I can’t get it off.”
Regulus fought back the that’s all? that was creeping up his throat. He knows at least two spells that work for most permanent inks and can brew a potion for it within the hour if those don't work.
Your head squeezed against his shoulder as he nodded his head, still stroking your back. “No problem, beautiful, I can fix that.”
“No,” you whispered once more, seeming to shrink in his grasp. “I have to.”
He helped ease you out from his neck so that you were face to face once more, his hands coming up to brush over the sides of your arms. The look in your eyes was one he struggled to decipher, apart from the shine of anxiety.
“Why do you have to? Let me help you, amour.”
You took another shuddering breath, brazing yourself for impact. “You can’t see,” you whispered finally, fighting the quiver of your lips.
“I… I don’t understand.”
“You can’t see them, Reg, I’m sorry.”
“Did someone do something to you?” It was the only explanation he could conjure up for why any permanent ink would make you this distraught – and why you would hide from him like this.
You searched his face carefully, faintly nodding in a way that made him think it was a response to your own thoughts and not his question. Like you decided on something.
“Someone wrote something. I just want it gone.”
Regulus’ stomach churned. He regretted the harsh tone of his voice as he demanded, “Who?”
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me. Please. Who?”
You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing at it as you realised he would find out. Someone would tell him, even if you refused to show him. He would know. You tasted blood in your mouth.
With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Regulus saw the faint red on your lips as well and immediately reached out to gently pull your lip free from its torment. His fingertips lingered on your lips until he replaced them with his own with a short, tentative kiss. If you were to have blood in your mouth, he would too.
Lips still against yours he whispered again, more pleadingly this time, “Who?”
You let your walls crumble. This sweet, caring boy was in your grasp for now and you could not help but let him care while he still wanted to. “Mulciber,” you whispered back.
Regulus pulled back enough to meet your gaze, confusion filling his. “Why Mulciber? What would he have to write on you?”
Up until now he had half-thought that some of your first year tutees had pranked you in some ungraceful manner. He was certain he had never seen you and Mulciber even talk before, let alone have an altercation that could involve magical ink. He was one of the more brutal Slytherins, but he had never had any reason to talk to you, and he knew that you were someone Regulus cared for. What he had hoped would let him in on your pain only confused him further away from any answer.
“Regulus, please,” you begged, ignorant to his confusion. Tears were once more filling your eyes and he wished for nothing but to stop them.
“Okay, okay,” he whispered, hoping to convince your tears to stay where they are. “You– you don’t have to explain it, love. I can just remove it for you.”
“Could you teach me instead?” Your lip was back between your teeth, lightening in colour underneath the force it was exerted to.
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to remove something from your hands yourself, you need them for the spell.” Regulus hoped his gaze seemed sympathetic.
You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your head slightly to your side. Regulus recognised your breathing pattern to follow a technique you had taught him to calm down the first time he had a panic attack around you. Afterwards, you didn't mention it, only giving him space to talk about what he was comfortable with, comfort at the ready.
His own breath was bated as he watched you make your decision. A definite tear slid down the cheek closest to him, in a hauntingly cinematic manner. At last, your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked back into his eyes with the most devastating expression. Slipping a hand slowly out from your towel – out of Regulus’ line of sight – you brought it up to his cheek to bring his face closer to yours.
The kiss was searing, filled with a love and devotion he was not prepared for in a situation like this. He was enveloped by the smell of you, and though you still tasted of copper, your lips were painfully soft and he let himself fall deeper into you. When you pulled away, you pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.
“I love you,” you whispered. Regulus hated how it sounded like you were saying goodbye.
His brows were furrowed as he looked at you, and he hoped it looked like confusion and nothing more sinister. “I love you too, amour. You know.”
“I’ll let you remove it, if you want.”
“Please.”
Your gaze fell to your lap and remained there as you let both hands out of the towel, placing them palm-down on your thighs. Regulus had begun reaching for his wand in a holster on his belt, ready to rid you of the source of your discontent, but he was frozen still when his own eyes finally took in your hands and the two bold, dark words written on each one.
MUD on the left. BLOOD on the right.
Mudblood.
Regulus’ blood had run cold in his veins and he found himself having to adopt your breathing technique. His vision blurred as the two words seemed to grow larger, which seemed impossible considering they were written to take up as much space as possible. The handwriting was shaky, as if there had been a struggle when they were written. There were some light bruises already forming around your wrists and upper arms that further proved his fear. Mudblood. With red streaks over both works, likely from how hard you had been trying to wash them, all but scraping them off. Mudblood. The word was choking him. His hand that had remained still midair by his belt began to tremble.
He was knocked out of his trance as he saw a single tear splatter across the lettering on your right hand.
Regulus moved his gaze back up to yours to find it was still trained on your hands, eyes glossy and unseeing.
“I–” he tried, but his voice broke off. “I don't understand. Y/N, I don’t understand.”
You seemed to flinch a little at the sound of your name, but other than that you made no sign that you heard him.
“Amour,” he rectified. “Why would… what is this?”
You moved your right hand over your left, starting to scratch at the word scribbled there, nails digging deep. Regulus’ hands flew up to stop your ministrations at the sight of the worsening redness, but your whole body physically flinched away from him in a way he was sure must hurt.
Regulus was lost.
“I don’t understand. Why would Mulciber write that? You’re not a–” He cut himself off, scared of what word would slip off his tongue. “You’re not muggleborn.”
Finally, you looked up and met his eyes. Your fearful, heartbroken expression seemed to soften at the sight of him and you gave him the saddest smile that did not reach your eyes. “I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper.
Realisation dawned on him.
“Your father…?”
His half-blood best friend turned lover, who he already had not dared tell his parents about, living with her muggle mother after her wizard father passed away. It was a convenient story in times of tension and division. Death is an easy excuse, hard to verify.
Although, clearly, someone had now, and the truth had come out.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered once more through a sob. Your shoulders were hunched and knees drawn close to your body. You looked like you wanted to disappear.
It took him a greater amount of strength than he was proud of to push the shock and confusion from the forefront of his mind and pull back up the memories of how to comfort. To focus on those and not the million of questions running through his head.
What does this mean? Why didn't you tell him? Have you been hiding from everyone, or just him? How have you been carrying something so scary and he was none the wiser? Is there an award for shittest boyfriend at Hogwarts that he can be looking forward to?
Regulus reached out for you and pulled you slowly into another hug, arms circling securely around your back. Your body stilled in his grasp, apart from the small heaves for air in between your sobs.
“What are you doing?” Your whisper was muffled into his shirt. Your frail voice and tense limbs cut him deeper than any spell could.
“I'm comforting you, sweet girl,” he mumbled into your hair. “Or at least trying to.”
“Why?” you asked miserably.
Regulus pulled back just far enough to see your face, making sure his arms were still holding you with love, drawing patterns across your back.
"Because I love you," he whispered intently. His eyes tried his hardest to lock on yours, but you still would not meet his gaze. "Because there is nothing to be sorry for."
Your expression grew incredulous, bordering on angry – if it was with him, yourself or the world he was uncertain. "I've lied to you. I've deceived you into a relationship you wouldn’t have agreed to had you known, I– I’ve put you in an impossible position–” You had to cut yourself off as another sob tore through your body. “I’m so sorry.”
Regulus shuffled impossibly closer to you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking slowly across your cheekbones. He felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight in front of him, anxiety rising at his chest as he struggled to find the words he knew the situation called for.
This was all unknown territory for Regulus. The two of you had had as few conversations about blood status as possible, both weary about the growing tension at school and in the wider wizarding society. You had held him the one time he dared cry in front of you over a particularly harsh letter from his mother. You had whispered sweet nothings about you're not them and I will always love you, but he thought they were just that – nothings. In turn, you had mentioned your parents and cried over your father a handful of times, but never divulged too much. He had weaved his way through comments from other pureblood students at school regarding his relationship with a half-blood, but most pureblood families have lapses with a half-blood here or there that he could usually throw back in their faces to silence them. No one dared push it further than that. When Andromeda left the family for Ted, he almost had to confront it all, confront what he now knew to be lies that had been spewed to him all his life, but even then, he managed to avoid it as he instead received the beating of his life for not alerting the family about the signs he must have seen at school. He let himself simmer with that pain instead of looking inwards, instead of seeking help. He figured he didn’t have to, not just yet.
That time had evidently passed, as he now held a sobbing and defiled sun in his hands.
No, this was uncharted territory for him entirely – but he could not afford to let it stay like that.
“My love, Y/N,” he said with a surprisingly steady voice, never letting his gaze stray from you. “Please, please listen to me. Please hear me. You are everything; it is you, you are everything. You could be muggleborn, muggle, werewolf, siren or fae. It would not change anything.”
Your eyes met his, red rimmed and glossy, confused and bewildered. This time it was your turn to whisper, “I don’t understand.”
“It is difficult–” Regulus’ voice broke as the first few tears slipped down his face. “It is all so difficult right now, I feel lost and… scared and I don’t know what to do.” The words almost clogged in his throat, like barbed wire to admit, but he knew he had to. “I should have told you all of that already, I should have shared with you so you could feel safe to share with me. I haven’t known what to do, how to do it. The one thing I do know is that I love you and I need you to be safe and I need you to be here with me. I have not been deceived, for I would always choose you.”
Your eyes were wide, but you were not crying at the moment, gaze flitting all across his face, as if to ensure he wasn’t lying, hanging onto his every word. It was the motivation he needed to continue.
“You are not allowed to be sorry, amour, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” A small sob escaped him and his heart flipped when your right hand came forth to just barely touch his shoulder. “I should have been here for you, you shouldn’t have to hide. You should never have had to question my love for you, my loyalty. It will always lay with you, I swear it. Gods–” a heaved breath “– I’m terrible at this, you know I’m terrible, but I’ve been trying so hard for you and I will continue to. Just please let me. Let me and I will try.”
“Regulus…” you whispered, hand creeping from the brush against his shoulder to settle on the side of his neck.
He looked at you, ready to take any reaction you would give him, to tell him off for his horrible apology, for making things about him, for not being enough. Your mouth opened and closed as if you couldn’t settle on the words. Instead you let out a small breath and pulled him back into you in a tight embrace.
It took him not even a second to hold you in return with passion, hands appraising as they swept up into your hair and around your waist.
“Do you mean it?” you whimpered into him and he let his forehead fall to your shoulder as he cried.
“Of course, I mean it. Of course, of course.” He kept muttering it into you as he held you tighter and tighter.
His body was filled with an entirely new set of fear. A warm one that spread through his blood at the thought of what you had to face. Mulciber already knew and had taken action on that knowledge seemingly without hesitation. Regulus had heard what was being said amongst the Sacred 28, he knew to what degrees the hatred was building. His entire body was built on fear as he held what he now realised could be disturbingly fragile.
That is, until you whimpered another question into his hold and his body ached with a love so deep he had never thought it possible.
“Do you still love me?”
He had already said so, but he would happily say it again, over and over, damning himself for allowing you to wonder. “Yes, amour, always. Always.”
Regulus took your face in one of his hands again, cradling you as he brought his forehead back to yours. Angling his face forward, he pressed what he hoped was a sweet kiss to your lips. It was wet, metallic and everything he needed.
“I’m sorry for lying,” you whispered. He shook his head against yours.
“No, I’m sorry for stalling.”
A beat of silence. “Stalling what?” He thought you knew, but he tried to have no qualms about being explicit about it.
“Leaving.” He said it simply, hoping it would will it to be.
This time it was your turn to shake your head. “Can you leave, though? Safely? They’re becoming more and more fanatical, Reg, what if they hurt you? I’ve seen the letters.”
The fact that you have experienced what can only be classified as a hate crime, yet you have the goodness in your heart to worry about him in this way only makes him more certain of his choice.
“I have to, my love. I have to. It’s time.” He took a deep breath. “I will… I will ask Sirius for help.”
You looked into his eyes, vision blurry from your proximity. “I’m scared for you, but I’m so proud of you at the same time.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Regulus tried to huff out a small laugh, but it just came out teary. “Will you please come with me?”
“To Sirius?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
His hand on your squeeze pressed further into you, reverent. “We can ask for help for us both. They practically wanted Ted dead when they disowned Andromeda, and she was not even the sole heir. I’m so sorry for putting you in that situation, I–”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you assured, voice more stable and beautifully soft. “You are everything to me too, you know.”
“I’m scared,” Regulus whimpered. It’s the first time he can remember saying that out loud to someone since he was 6.
“I’m scared, too. But less so, now that I know I still have you. I couldn’t handle losing you, Reg.” Your eyes teared up again and he leaned up to kiss the corners of your eyes sweetly, collecting the tears before they had a chance to spill.
“You have me, you have me,” he whispered almost feverishly against your skin. “And I’ve got you.”
You sighed, the closest to contently you think you can get at this moment. “Will you please help me?” you whispered as you looked down at your hands.
Regulus shook himself out of his mini spiral, shook off that first voice in his head that reared its head once more and over and over, shook off anything that was not you. He mumbled an of course against your cheek before he kissed it, taking your hands in one of his.
Unsheathing his wand he never managed to retrieve the first time around, he took one last look at the ugly markings on your hands – the hate was precisely that, ugly, and it had no place on your skin. Starting with the left – MUD – he tried the first spell he knew, and it did nothing. The bile rose in his throat as he went to try the next, fearing the worst, but by the grace of a nonexistent god, the letters finally melted away. He repeated the process on the other one.
You tried to pull your hands out of his grasp at that, but his hold tightened. He healed the viscous red streaks and peeling skin from where you had scratched at them, a cold sensation soothing over your skin as he moved his wand. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the gentleness, but you found yourself beginning to become completely dehydrated.
Regulus brought your hands up to his lips while he put his wand away to grasp at them with both hands. He kissed the spots he had just cleared up. Long, lingering kisses in the middle of your hand, followed by soft butterfly kisses all over it. His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing tightly, giving the flesh new sensations to remember instead.
“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, almost like a revelation. You had loved him and you had trusted him, you had just not trusted that it would be forever, that it would be more than any loyalty to his family. You were ashamed at the thought now, as you looked at the boy on his knees in front of you, crying from loving you, kissing away your pain. It filled you with something you had not believed this day would hold for you – hope.
“I’m not,” he whispered, letting your hands settle together in your lap. “But I hope to be. I want to be. I will be.”
You smiled wetly at him and leaned forward to kiss him once more. Originally intended as a peck, the kiss grew deeper, a slow passion as you held his lips between yours, feeling the love seep through the thin skin. He continued pressing kisses all over your face, much like your hands. Any teary or red skin had his lips faintly brushing over it, taking his time to dote on you. You let your breath calm down in the meantime, panic and tension slipping away from you to be replaced by a deep exhaustion as you leaned into him.
He noticed – he had to notice, swore he always would from now on.
“Are you ready to lay down in bed, amour. Face the light?” He smiled sheepishly at the poor attempt at a joke. You seemed surprised as you looked around, almost like you had forgotten you were in a shadowy dorm bathroom.
“Only if you will lay with me.” Your tone was nearing teasing, though not quite there. He was determined to achieve it within the hour.
“I promise,” he whispered, kissing you one last time before helping you up.
And he would go on to help you to bed and hold you tight for as long as you would let him. He would listen to you cry and laugh and worry without a second thought. He would take you with him to ask Sirius for help on escaping and keeping you safe and he would devote himself to being better. He would do anything for you – because you were, after all, everything.
#regulus black#regulus black x reader#regulus black x you#regulus black x y/n#regulus#regulus x reader#regulus black fanfic#regulus black self insert#regulus black self-insert#regulus black reader insert#regulus black x reader-insert#regulus reader insert#regulus self insert#regulus fanfic#marauders#marauders era#marauders era fanfic#marauders era self insert#marauders era reader insert#hp reader insert#slytherin skittles#the slytherin skittles#slytherin skittles x reader#slytherin skittles x you#slytherin skittles x y/n#marauders x reader#marauders x you#marauders x y/n#timothee chalamet#timothée chalamet
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
Death's Revival - Chapter One
Summary: Natasha's sudden and tragic ending left behind many mourning loved ones, including her wife. Yelena tracked down Clint, and now she's going to meet her sister's wife, only without her sister there to help out. Grief is a process for friends and family, especially when it ends suddenly...
Word Count: 3,541
Warnings: Grief, mentions of death/dying, weight issues, memory issues, etc.
A/N: I wrote this bc this is what happened, and that's only if you believe Thanos was real and not an anxiety induced dream sequence...
Masterlist (coming soon)
Chapter 1: Mourning Widows
You hear the elevator ding, hear the doors open, and you simply sigh inwardly, knowing who it is. Sure enough, Steve knocks lightly on the kitchen door, an absurd but nice gesture that he insists on, and then he comes in, the same kind and resigned look on his face that you see every week.
You don’t say anything, don’t move from where you’re wrapped in a blanket and pressed against the bay window in the living room. He walks through the kitchen and comes to sit on the couch, carefully and quietly. The two of you sit there for a while in silence, and that's fine with you, you’d be happy if he stopped coming altogether. No, you think, not happy , not anymore, but satisfied seems like the right word. You’d be satisfied if he left you and your grief alone forever, for the rest of time.
“Sam and Bucky are going to stop by tomorrow,” Steve says quietly, watching your face for a glimmer of interest, a spark of excitement, anything to remind him of the vivacious and vibrant woman you had been a little over a year ago.
You simply nod, keeping your eyes pointed out the window. He sighs, and if you could feel anything besides the numbness and all consuming heartbreak, you think you would feel guilty. He’s just trying to cheer you up, take care of you, and heaven knows that you haven’t made it easy for him.
The months, now almost two years, since Natasha… since it happened, you’ve been a husk of a human being. You’d stayed at the compound, not wanting to leave the home you and your wife had shared, even though it was a painful reminder of what and who you had lost. The future that would never come for you, and the woman who would never come home again. Still, Steve had come by every couple days to make sure you were ok, and then after a few months, he’d come once a week. He’s concerned about you, and he has every right to feel that way. You forget to eat most days, even though he’s tasked FRIDAY to remind you at least once a day, and you don’t do anything but move from the bed to the couch to the window and back again.
“Clint is also stopping by, said he needed to talk to you,” at this your head swivels sharply to him, your eyes locking. He looks relieved at this sign of awareness, even though he knows what's coming.
“No.” It’s simple and to the point, even though your voice is rough, speaking for the first time in—maybe since Steve was here last week, maybe longer. You can’t really remember at this point. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Not anymore.
~~
“Thank you for telling me everything, Clint. I know, and want you to know, that you couldn't have stopped her, not once she’d made up her mind. It’s not your fault, what happened, and she was your best friend and loved you so much. I just, well, I can’t—” you break off, tears choking you as you look away from Clint and focus on her tombstone, both of you here for the first month's anniversary.
“You can’t look at me and not hate me. I get it, trust me.” Clint gives a wry smile and a shake of his head. You hold in a sob, try and calm yourself down a bit.
“I just can’t be mad at my dead wife.” He nods, getting up from where he’s been sitting next to you on the ground.
“I’ll be here if you need me, but I won’t…I’ll keep my distance.” He gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head, and then he’s gone, into the wind, by the time your sobs have died down enough to be able to talk.
He’d kept his word, stayed away after that. You were grateful. And heartbroken.
~~
“You know he wouldn’t come by if it wasn't important,” Steve’s voice drags you back to the present.
You scoff at him, “nothing is important anymore.” And when he goes to talk, you keep speaking, “it’s fine. I’ll see him, all of them, tomorrow.”
He looks relieved, “thank you.” You nod in response. Or maybe you just think about nodding. You’re not sure and it doesn't matter.
There's a silence, and then: “I’m tired now,” and you stand up, unfolding yourself from the window seat and briefly wondering how long you’d been sitting there, how many hours it’s been.
Steve nods and stands as well. The two of you walk through the room and out the door, and he pulls you in for a gentle hug before he walks to the elevator. You wait until the doors close behind him and then walk to your room. Keeping the lights off, you crawl into bed and pull the covers tightly over you, arranging the pillow the way you like. You stare into the dark room as the silent tears begin making their way down your face and you try in vain to prepare yourself for tomorrow, for Clint’s arrival.
~~
The next day you’re back in the bay window when you hear the elevator again, and for a few seconds it’s silent, and your heart beats faster. He seems to remember then, starts making noises as he moves closer, and you curse your foolish heart for even entertaining the idea, for reminding you of Natasha’s silent footsteps whenever she moved around anywhere.
Not a great start to this encounter.
Clint comes in, not wasting any time with the foolish knocking that Steve insists upon doing every single time he comes.
You shift your head, face Clint, though you can’t quite meet his eyes. He can’t meet yours either, or the bags under them.
“I met Yelena.” He says finally, breaking the quiet tension in the air.
You blink twice, “how?”
“She tried to kill me.” He says bluntly, and you sit there in shock for a second before you’re laughing for the first time in months. It must sound a bit hysterical, because Clint gets even more uneasy, and you quiet yourself down quickly.
“Oh?” you ask, motioning for him to take a seat, and then he tells you everything, the whole story between him and Kate Bishop and Yelena. By the end you’re moments away from crying, and Clint looks like he is too.
“I also mentioned you, and she knew who you were, although I guess she… well, she just kinda forgot about you.” He looks concerned when he says that, worried that he’s somehow hurt your feelings with this. You want to laugh again, at the absurdity that Yelena forgetting your existence would be enough to hurt you anymore, but you know it would absolutely sound hysterical again, so you just shrug.
The two of you sit there for a while, unspeaking, each lost in thought. Eventually, mostly because you want him to leave, you pluck up your courage and break the silence.
“Why are you really here, Clint?” You need to know, Steve could’ve told you about Yelena, so it isn’t that.
“I wanted to check on you,” there’s a loaded pause before he continues, “and Yelena wants to see you.” He waits for his words to sink in, your mind slow and foggy now in a way that he’s still unused to, even all these months later.
“Why?” it’s the only word that your brain can come up with, surprise flooding in; actually, your brain is also screaming ‘no’ but you have a feeling that it won’t be that easy to dismiss this, to run from it.
Clint looks at you oddly, and you realize that you’re probably not thinking clearly, not used to being around people and having human conversations anymore. It doesn't matter, he can explain it to you, remind you how normal people think. He owes it to you.
“You were her wife,” he says and you get angry, feel something other than grief and guilt and sadness, and it shocks you into moving, standing and facing him.
“I am still her wife.” Your words are venomous and Clint’s eyes go wide. And even though your wasted figure wrapped in one of Natasha’s old jackets must not cut an imposing image, he still looks shaken. Good.
Nodding, he speaks again, “yes, of course. And that’s why Yelena wants to meet with you, to talk about…her.”
It strikes you at this moment that neither of you have said Natasha’s name out loud. It hurts to realize, and hurts even more to try and say it.
Your jaw clenches.
The elevator dings.
“Just think about it, please.”
And then Steve, Bucky, and Sam walk into the room, finding you still standing over Clint with anger and agony written all over your face. Everyone freezes for a second, and then with one last glance at Clint, you shift focus to the others and sit back down in your usual spot at the window.
“I see we missed a party,” Sam says, and Bucky smacks the side of his head in response. You don’t smile, don’t give him a witty comeback, and it breaks his heart to remember how you would always go toe to toe with him, each one-upping the other until you were both laughing and the others were groaning and throwing things to get you two to stop.
“Have a seat anywhere,” you say, ignoring the sadness in the air, and not looking in Clint’s general direction. The sudden emotions have exhausted you, adrenaline fading away and leaving you with that tired and hollow feeling you’ve had since Clint returned alone.
The three sit down, and begin talking about what they’ve been up to since you’d last seen them. You have, of course, heard all of this from Steve’s weekly visits, but you let them talk, try and remember how it felt to be part of the world, to engage with them and their lives, to care about any of the trivial day-to-day worries. It gives you a headache.
After about thirty minutes you excuse yourself, leaving them in the living room and trudging back towards your dark bedroom. They watch you leave, making your way down the empty hallway that always feels so much bigger now. You settle yourself into bed and practice saying your dead wife’s name into the darkness.
~~
Back in the other room, the four men sit around the coffee table and discuss your appearance.
“She was standing when we got here, and it looked like she was listening when we told her about stuff,” Sam says, ever the optimist.
“She only lasted half an hour, last time we came she stayed for a whole hour.” Bucky cuts in, the two glaring at each other a bit.
“Well, she was with Clint for a while,” Steve interjects, playing the peacemaker. At this they all look at Clint.
He explains what he told you, and then everyone winces as he explains the aftermath of that conversation, and why you’d been upright when they arrived.
“Well we’ve got to do something, she looks terrible, and we all promised Nat that we’d look out for her if anything ever happened.” Sam sounds determined, but there is a tiredness in his voice that he cannot mask, not anymore.
“That’s why I’m hoping she’ll let Yelena come visit, it might do them both some good.”
“Well, we have to do something, I visit every week but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything.” Steve looks defeated too, “maybe Nat’s sister will be enough to drag her out of her grief. Pepper at least had Morgan to focus on, maybe this will be similar.”
Everyone nods and then they stand, making their way to the elevator and going down to Steve’s floor for the rest of their visit. The sadness and grief clings to every room and every object in your home, and they all breathe in relief when the elevator doors close and cut them off from the despair that hangs in the air.
You can tell when they’re gone, and you settle back into the silence and desolation of your empty home.
~~
Weeks pass and you forget about Clint’s insistence that you meet Yelena and talk to her. Really, you’ve forgotten by the next day, but you’ve managed to push away the memory of Clint’s entire visit by this point.
You’re lost in thought, eyes glazed over as you face the window, and so you don’t even register the sound of the elevator, you don’t hear the door open, but something shifts in the air and you jerk out of your stupor.
A woman, and it can only be Yelena, your brain supplies in a moment of startling lucidity, stands in the middle of the room. She’s facing you and though she’s wearing stylish civilian clothes, the way she’s standing reminds you of the first time you saw Natasha in her Black Widow outfit as she returned from a mission. The same posture and alert eyes, the air of authority and strength.
You can’t breathe.
Her eyes move from your face, down to your hands where you’re unthinkingly twisting your wedding ring around and around, a nervous habit you’d had since it landed on your finger all those years ago.
She swallows heavily.
“Yelena, hi. I didn’t know you would be…visiting, today.” You force your lips up, a ghostly version of a smile, and the best you can conjure up right now.
She moves further into the room, “Barton said to come by whenever, and Steve said that this is when he usually comes to visit, so you’d probably be in here.” Instead of in bed crying, is what he’d meant.
“Yes, well. You’re welcome here anytime of course.” You pause for a moment, trying to figure out what to say to this stranger who you feel such a connection to, thanks to Natasha. “I’m not sure we decorated the room to your standards, though.” She looks around confused, and you’re surprised to feel a real smile tug at your lips.
“Not this one,” you say as you stand carefully, “your bedroom.” And she follows you silently, your heart aching at that, through the hall, past your bedroom to the one at the end of the hall.
You stand and gesture towards the door, “go ahead, we spent hours decorating and arguing over everything. We wanted it to be comfortable but also stylish.” She opens the door slowly and you take this moment of privacy to wipe away the tears that have formed at the memories of you and Natasha, curled up on the couch and arguing over different bed frames, remembering how you’d picked out paint samples, finding the most ridiculous shades to make the other laugh, the carpet that had been delayed–
Yelena makes a noise that thankfully cuts off your thoughts, and you sniff a bit, entering the room to see her looking around, tears in her eyes as well.
“This is for me?” She asks, sounding so small and desolate that you have the urge to gather her into your arms.
“Of course, sweetheart.” You say gently, continuing after a pause, “she was hoping that you would come visit, maybe even stay with us a while, and we wanted you to have your own space, to feel at home with us.”
Yelena turns around once more, taking it all in again, and this time when she turns back to you, you open your arms and step forward, though you allow her the space to come to you, not wanting to push her boundaries. Natasha had taken quite some time to be comfortable expressing emotions with you, but you’re hoping Yelena will be more receptive; nothing, after all, bonds like shared grief. She stands still for a moment, and then she’s wrapped herself around you, sobbing into your neck, and then you’re crying as well. The two of you eventually sink to the ground, grief bringing you to your knees, though you are both comforted by the other’s presence.
Your tears dry up first; you’ve cried so much that you’re constantly surprised there’s anything left at all. You rub Yelena’s back as her own sobs quiet down, and soon she lifts her head, looking around again in wonder. You follow her gaze as it lands on various objects throughout the room, watch as she catalogs information the way your wife did, thoughts traveling too fast for you as usual, though you’re happy to wait for her to share them.
Eventually she does, starting with a statement presented as a question.
“You haven’t moved anything, but you come in here, keep it clean?”
“Yes.” You wait.
“Why?” She turns and faces you, searching your eyes for something.
You shrug at her intent gaze, “it’s your room and she wanted you to see it this way.”
“I didn’t even know about it.” It’s somewhat accusing, and you wince a bit. “I just mean, she never told me.” Her voice is a bit softer, but the hurt in it is unmistakable.
“She wanted to, but she was waiting for it to be perfect. And then you were…” you trail off, knowing from Clint that Natasha’s suspicions were correct, Yelena had been snapped.
“I was gone,” she finishes for you, understanding your hesitance, “and then, yes. Everything.” It goes unspoken, the thought that by the time Yelena was back, her sister was gone, dead and broken on a random planet thousands of miles from the people she loved, the world she died to save.
You stand after another few minutes and excuse yourself, leaving her to sit in her room, hoping that she can feel the love that Natasha poured into every choice she made for that room.
~~
“Barton says that he doesn’t usually come here, that the two of you don’t see each other.” An hour later Yelena greets you with this, walking in and settling down on the couch.
“Yes.” You don't know what else to say, how to explain your feelings regarding this man that Natasha loved like a brother, who watched as she fell to her death for him, instead of him. Leaving him, and her sister, and you to piece together a life for yourselves without her in it. You hate them both for it, and miss them even more.
“Would you have been upset if I killed him?”
“She would’ve been furious.” Your lips quirk a bit, but Yelena shakes her head.
“That is not what I asked you.” And she waits for you to answer her, refusing to drop it.
“I don’t know what I would’ve felt. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?” you ask, shaking your head slightly. “Neither one of us is going to hurt him because she loved him and made her own choice, and would be pissed if we did.”
Yelena hums thoughtfully as she considers your words, as she considers you. She’d sat in that room, her room, and thought about what she’d been told of you. Natasha had mentioned you during their time together on the hunt for Dreykov, had droned on and on about you and Clint until Yelena wanted to knock her unconscious, jealousy and curiosity warring in her mind at the thought of these two important people that her sister so clearly loved.
Natasha had described you as vibrant and wickedly smart, someone who could keep her on her toes and made her feel more loved and safe than she’d ever felt before. Looking at you now, Yelena sees an empty husk, your eyes are lifeless, only a brief flicker whenever you talk or think about Natasha. Clint had sounded almost as devastated about you as he had about Natasha, as though you were dead for him as well; you kind of are, she thinks. Between your emptiness and refusal to see him, he’d lost the only other connection to his best friend. She tries to feel pity for him but comes up short.
She stands and walks over towards the kitchen, begins poking around, and after a minute you look over at her, a muted expression of curiosity on your face.
“I’m making some food, I’m hungry and you need to eat.” You don't say anything, just nod, and she hums softly to herself as she moves around the kitchen.
You sit and watch her for a moment, and then turn away when her clean and precise movements remind you too much of your missing wife. You doze a bit, lulled by the sounds and smells she’s making, the entire place feeling more alive than it has in a long time. It’s both unsettling and comforting.
Once she’s done, the two of you eat in a silence that feels somewhat comfortable, and then you retire to your respective bedrooms, neither of you saying anything about Yelena staying the night.
~~
When Steve asks FRIDAY what time Yelena left, and he hears that she’s still there, he smiles to himself, and feels something like hope stirring inside his heart.
He texts Clint.
~~
Yelena leaves the next afternoon, but she starts coming by regularly between her various jobs. It helps both of you.
~~
#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow#clint barton#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#marvel fanfiction#marvel x reader#yelena belova#steve rogers#bucky barnes#sam wilson
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
Night Shift - Spencer Reid
Word Count: 1.6k
Summary: You have done everything Spencer wanted for the Halloween season, now it's time for him to do what you want... which you both regret.
WARNINGS: swearing, brief suggestive implications (no smut)
A/N: today is the birthday of my pookie wookie James Patrick March so I won't sleep tonight writing a fic for him so look out for that!
________
“Why the hell are we doing this?”
She grinned in response, eyes on the road as she drove, “You got to choose all the fun Halloween activities, now it’s my turn,”
Spencer sighed, leaning against the window as he looked outside, out into the dark streets of Virginia, “And you have to choose the most childish thing?”
“Actually,” she replied, “I think watching Charlie Brown Thanksgiving or whatever it’s called with zero children around is pretty childish,”
“It’s tradition!”
“Boooooring,” Y/N deadpanned, making him roll his eyes, “My ideas are more fun,”
“Two grown adults going to a graveyard in the middle of the night looking for ghosts? Fun? Ghosts don’t exist, Y/N. You know, there’s actually a lot of explanations as to why people think they see ghosts. There are psychological reasons such as pareidolia, and cognitive and confirmation bias. You could even think of the neurological explanations like-”
Y/N zoned out, nodding her head as her boyfriend spoke. She didn’t understand what he was saying half of the time, but she hated how so many people just shut him up. And so she forced herself back to listening to him and his yapping. “You’re so cute,” she said after a while, pinching his cheek, “My favorite yapper,”
“Don’t interrupt me,” he grumbled, swatting her hand away. He went straight back to his blabbering and she just smiled. She was happy he was comfortable enough with her to call her out. Most people just cut him off and he would let it slide, not wanting to be a bother. But when it came to her… he could get cranky.
Y/N laughed, pinching his cheek again, “We’re here anyway. C’mon,”
Rolling his eyes, Spencer followed her out to the back of the car. She opened up the trunk, revealing the overabundance of “supplies” she gathered for this activity: flashlights, night goggles, crosses, even some small vials of holy water?
“You came prepared,” he mused, picking up a cross with a laugh. She knew he wasn’t religious in the slightest, and she herself wasn’t either, until ghosts were involved.
“Don’t worry, I brought religious symbols from other religions as well,” she said, opening up another duffel bag, “We’re safe,”
“I feel so protected,” he said sarcastically, resting his head on her shoulder as she organized her materials.
“Shut,” Y/N grunted, snapping the night vision goggles into place, “Oh hell yeah. We’re the real deal,”
“Do I have to put that on?”
“Yes,” she slipped the goggles onto his head, patting his hair, “Look at you. Ghost hunter in the making.”
“I probably look so stupid,”
“Nooooo,” she took out her little digital camera and snapped a photo of them together, “We look like hot, sexy, ghost hunters,”
Spencer gave her a look, “You’re insane,”
“I love you too, babe,” she handed him a flashlight, for in case the goggles went out. She then handed him a camera, “We’re gonna catch some ghosts,”
“This is so embarrassing,” he groaned, allowing her to take his hand and drag him through the gate and into the cemetery. He was already looking around, on high alert.
“I like the spirit! Get it? Spirit?” Y/N snickered proudly.
“I’m not searching for ghosts, dummy, I’m searching for living humans that might lose their shit when they see us,” Spencer replied, “And that joke was terrible,”
“As if you could do better,” she huffed, turning on her camera and beginning to record. The cemetery was silent except for the rustle of leaves in the wind and their steps on the grass.
After a few minutes, Spencer was already bored, “I don’t think we’re going to find any ghosts,”
“Shut,” Y/N took a deep breath, “If there are any spirits with us, please make yourselves known,”
“Y/N, you’re talking to yourself,”
“No, I’m not. I’m talking to the spirits,”
“There are no spirits,”
“There so are,”
Spencer sighed, gazing around the cemetery in boredom, “Did you know that in the Arlington National Cemetery, about thirty funerals are conducted in a single day alone?”
“I did not,” Y/N replied, “Morbid. Fits the mood. However, I don’t even know where that place is,”
“Babe, we’re in it right now,”
“Oh,”
“We’re in the largest cemetery in the United States,”
“Hell yeah, there’s gotta be ghosts here then,” Y/N grinned, “Turn your camera on,”
Spencer did as told, not bothering to argue with her. He watched as she continued to call for spirits, hands in the air dramatically. “Babe, all the camera is capturing is you being a fool,”
“When we catch a ghost on camera, we’ll see who the fool is,” Y/N looked at the graves, “There’s so many of them…”
“Lot of fallen soldiers,” Spencer agreed.
“...what?”
“Fallen soldiers,” he repeated, “These graves are for fallen soldiers, veterans, prisoners of war-”
“Holy shit, I feel like such an asshole.”
“Mhm,”
She glared at him, “Let’s get out of here,” Spencer shrugged, slipping his hand into hers as they began walking back towards the gate. “Can’t believe you let me waltz into a veteran memorial in search of ghosts,”
“I thought you at least knew where the hell you were,”
“No, I just looked up cemetery on Google and followed the GPS toward the nearest one, I didn’t even pay attention to the name,”
“Of course you didn’t,” he suddenly stopped in his tracks, Y/N skidding to a stop next to him.
“What is it- oh,” she saw the hooded figure as it disappeared in the shadows. Hooded figure. Disappearing into the shadows.
Hell no.
“What the hell was that,” Spencer said. It didn’t even sound like a question. “You saw that too, right?”
“Right,” her grip on his hand tightened, “C’mon,” she was ready to fucking go.
“I swear if a security guard catches an FBI agent ghost hunting with his girlfriend, I’m going to throw up,” Spencer said in worry, grip on her hand tightening as well. He continued to nervously look around, expecting a security guard to jump out and arrest them both.
“I’m less worried about security guards, more worried about demons,” Y/N whispered the last word, eyes widened almost comically.
“How could you be more worried about what doesn’t even exist?”
“Just because you haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they don’t exist!”
“But there is no factual evidence to support their existence,”
They bickered on for a few minutes, until they heard the snap of a twigs. Spencer jumped, arms immediately going around her in fear, “Shit shit shit shit-”
“Shh!” Y/N pulled out a crucifix, waving it around wildly, “I’ll protect you!”
“With a freaking piece of wood?! Y/N, put that down!” Spencer groaned, now more annoyed than scared.
“I'm prepared,” she then pulled out some amulet with a hand symbol on it, waving the object around.
Spencer rolled his eyes, no longer scared, “If ghosts were actually real I'm sure you'd be the reason we would die,”
“At least you're not scared anymore,”
“Because I'm flabbergasted,”
Another twig snapped and she raised the amulet again, “Show yourself, spirit!”
“I'm going to the car,” he deadpanned, until he saw it again. The shadowy figure. He squeaked, on instinct snatching the crucifix from her belt and pointing out, “Shit shit shit shit,”
“They're back is turned,” Y/N realized, “It doesn't see us… what is it doing?”
The dark figure was doing something, but it was too far for them to see. Y/N stepped closer and Spencer immediately gripped her wrist, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Investigating?” She stated the obvious.
“Okay but what if it's one of those demon devils you're so afraid of?”
She paused, biting her lip, “but I wanna know,”
“I swear if this shit was real you'd get us both killed- HOLY SHIT-” as soon as Spencer turned his head from her to the figure, it was right in front of him.
Well, he. An older white man with unsettling blue eyes and thinning salt and pepper hair, smile lines forming on his cheeks, grimace on his lips.
Spencer and Y/N screamed.
“You little shits!” The man barked out, “Get the hell out of here before I have you arrested-”
They were gone. They did not need to be told twice.
“I hate you!” Spencer hissed at his girlfriend as they sprinted out of the cemetery.
“We can have angry sex later, babe,” she replied dryly, pissing him off even more, “Missionary, so we could keep arguing,”
Spencer dived into the passenger seat of the car, “You're disgusting NOW DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!”
“Shit, I'm going I'm going!” She exclaimed in response, starting the engine. She sped off, getting a glance at the pissed off look on his face, “Oh the angry sex is gonna be crazy,”
_____
Later that night, after that crazy fucking angry sex, Y/N let out a tired yawn, turning on the TV. Spencer was passed out next to her, so she kept the volume low as she flicked through the channels.
She stopped on a random news station, leaning against the headboard and lazily bringing an arm around him as she watched the news story.
Armed grave robber arrested at Arlington National Cemetery. That was the headline.
“Holy shit!” Y/N exclaimed, causing Spencer to snap up in alarm.
“What?! What happened?!” he said in worry, starting to scramble out of bed.
“Look!” she pointed at the news report, which was showing the mug shot of a familiar grumpy-looking older man.
“The guy from the cemetery…?” Spencer sunk down against the pillows, brows furrowed as he watched the screen, “He wasn’t a security guard?”
“I mean, he wasn’t dressed like one. We were just so panicked we didn’t even think about it.”
“I suppose,” he started biting his nails in nervousness, “I swear if we get caught…”
“More angry sex?” she proposed. He glared at her. “Or not…”
#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#doctor spencer reid#bau team#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid criminal minds#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid x you#dr spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fic#matthew gray gubler
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy Gortoween everybody. Thanks @gortash-week for all the food!
Sweet Thing
Modern AU verse Durgetash. Prompts: Costume party, sweet delights, the devil you know. CW implied feederism and coercion.
(This is basically fluff for me.)
“Come on. We’re going out.”
He’s drunk, because of course he is, though he’s not sweating enough yet to have moved onto anything harder. Manva moves to shut the door, but he catches it and moves past her before she has a chance.
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s late.”
“It’s bloody nine-thirty! What is it with your generation. You’re tucking yourself in with your teddies by nightfall.”
“I have a class at six tomorrow.”
“Christ. I didn’t think students got up for anything before ten.”
“A Pilates class, not a class-class.”
She’s already exhausted by his presence. Decked out head-to-toe in black, his hair pushed back and the only hint of colour an ugly pair of red-tipped boots that must have been some designer’s idea of a joke, he strides through the grey of the studio apartment like a fly across a fruit bowl.
“Come on,” he says again as he opens up the fridge and takes out one of her sparkling waters. “Get something black and slinky on and let’s pop out. I’ll have you back by midnight, promise.”
He walks back to her, slipping a hand over her waist, his thumb pushing past the fabric of her vest. There is a smile playing at the edge of his lips, and she knows why. He has already won, and they both know it.
He calls a cab and takes them into old soho, the backstreets of the city that heroically resist the lure of gentrification. They stop down an alley with one illuminated door with missing letters, and she follows him down a narrow staircase that leads to a tatty looking retro diner. There is a DJ feebly playing generic fifties music, and they are led by a lone waiter to the far corner of a tacky, tattered old red Formica booth. She had worried that she was underdressed; the only black clothes she had in her wardrobe was a two piece Lycra workout set, but as she shrugs off her coat she only thinks of how the plastic seats will stick to her arms.
“This can’t be what you’re all dressed up for,” she says as she fingers a sticky menu on the table.
“I’m going on,” he explains as he pulls out a cigarette. “Lady Jannath’s Costume Masquerade.”
She recalls seeing the photos when she was younger in Orin’s copies of Tatler. Wisteria Jannath and her daughters in couture garments that would have been just as welcome at the met ball.
“And where is your costume then?”
“Ah yes,” he replies, and pulls out a cheap pair of plastic horns from his inside pocket that he places on his head with a flourish.
She hates that it makes her laugh. “Hardly up to the dress code, is it?”
“Dress code is for people coming through the front to be papped,” he explains, lighting his cigarette and taking a long, measured pull. “I’m there for the real party. Oh, I almost forgot…”
He pulls out a tiny witches hat from the jacket, a delicate little hair clip that he reaches across to place on her head.
She flinches. “I don’t do Halloween.”
He scowls, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and flicking ash across the table. “Why not? Lighten up a little.”
“It’s not… for me. I don’t want to.”
“Come on. Don’t be such a little-”
“You can’t smoke indoors, Mr Gortash.”
A heavy, masculine, and above all exhausted voice pulls her out of their little bubble. She feels embarrassed as she looks up at the poor waiter, who is surely only doing his job and is sick of late-night nonsense like-
“Quite so,” Enver replies with a smile, and takes another quick puff before pulling out his wallet. “Bring me an Old Fashioned, two Ring-a-ding-ding burgers, and a milkshake. Chocolate, dear? Strawberry?”
He doesn’t even look at her as he pulls out a wedge of cash and folds it for the waiter. It must be at least three hundred.
“I don’t want anything,” she tells him.
He smiles at the waiter and puts the money in his hand before leaning back.
“Chocolate, I think. With all the toppings. Bring it over with the whiskey bottle and then leave us be, there’s a good chap.”
The food arrives and it is fine, nothing remarkable, with generous portions of fries and beef-bacon instead of pork. She looks around the room as Enver talks about his day, something about international markets that is impossible to follow as he tops up his glass, and notices that the room is full of suited men with women. Some look younger, others perhaps hired. All of them tucked away, just like she is, in dimly-lit booths.
“Why did we come here?” she asks him as she dips one of her fries in the melting ice cream. “We could have stayed at mine.”
“Maybe I wanted to treat you.”
“But not enough to take me to the party.”
“Would you have wanted to go?”
She considers it, just for a moment. The crowded space, the photographs. The feeling of hanging on his arm. “…No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But why here?”
“It’s an old favourite. Now come on. You’ve barely touched your food.”
She looks down at the half-eaten burger and seemingly endless chips. She already knows how heavy her body will feel tomorrow on the reformer, how it will sit on her chest.
“I’m done.”
“Truly?” He moves closer to her, and runs his hand over her stomach openly as he leans into her neck. The feeling of shame lurches in her as she tries to pull away, but there is nowhere to go as she traps his hand in hers. “You don’t feel full at all,” he murmurs against her neck. “And there’s not much to hide behind, is there?”
“Enver-“
“Fine. If you’re sure.”
The hand on her stomach slips from her grasp, chasing up her skin as he leans in to kiss her. The kiss is hard, forceful, and she almost chokes on it as she pulls away.
“I want to go home,” she tells him, her hand reaching to try to find her coat as he laughs at her.
“Then go! Do you want to go back to the home that I pay for, the one I furnished and supply for you with only the ask of your company in return, or would you prefer to go back to your real home?”
He leans in and kisses her again, and she can feel her head swirl as if he has drugged her. She knows he has not, would not.
It wouldn’t be so fun for him if he had.
He pulls away, holding her by the back of her neck. “A girl your age should be out at a party, getting felt up in the corner by some quivering boy for a quick fumble in the dark,” he tells her. “Chasing little memories, gathering little discretions for the diary. But you’re not there. And you’re not at home. You’re here, with me, and you’re here because you like it. You like what I am.”
She breathes in the scent of him, takes in the feeling of his thumb moving down her collarbone and his other hand reaching down her thigh as everything dissolves but him. Smoke and ash, the silly plastic devil horns an unnecessary addition.
Perhaps it is better to stick with the devil you knew, after all.
#gortoween#enver gortash#durgetash#cw feederism#to be safe#I wrote this in an hour on my phone so. apologies#but I joined in!#this was NOT what I was planning to write this is NOT what I have to finish today
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
I loved @twilightkitkat 's post SO MUCH I just had to add to it. It reminded me of a fic I'm working on rn.
I especially liked the part with Vanessa because I don’t think she just left him because of the reason Wade thinks. She didn’t just want him to be a superhero or whatever- in the flash back, she’s begging him to open up to her, to be present, to let her help him and I don’t thinks Wade could do it.
He felt like, incorrectly, that he couldn’t burden her with it. He has so much baggage and pain and issues, and he can’t corrupt her with that. He had cancer and instead of spending his last days with her, he left her. And when he survived he avoided her until she was literally kidnapped.
Everyone thinks Logan runs but really Wade does. He doesn’t want the people he loves to know he’s in pain. At his birthday party, he’s obviously miserable but everybody’s together! And smiling! So he’s going to be happy and pretend he’s just fine. But he’s not even very good at hiding it bc, like mentioned before, it’s a little bitter. His jokes don’t land or they come out passive aggressive and tense. But nobody calls him out for it except Logan. Logan who tells him in the meanest way that he’s a clown but that he’s sad, pathetic, and attention starved. He’s not buying the clown act.
And when Logan moves in, I love the idea that he starts noticing Wade when his mask falls or he gets too tired to pretend.
I’m writing a fic where Wade deals with chronic pain in less healthy ways and, of course, he tries to hide it. It's more brief and censored on tumblr bc I don't want to get my account terminated again, but it will be more detailed on ao3.
…
He dealt with it in other ways. The pain.
After all, a little bit of death couldn’t hurt, right?
Treating himself gently only sometimes worked. If he did everything right, if he did all the steps then maybe, maybe it would ease up. Sleep well, wake up at the right time, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, draw a scalding bath, and take some hard hitting drugs.
Most days, Wade was much more impatient. Most days, Wade failed. It was too hard to take care of himself when waking up felt like dragging himself up from glacier water and pounding on the underside of the ice. Cooking was a nightmare he didn’t even want to consider tackling, and he was rarely patient enough to wait for the bath to fill or for sleep to take him as his body wracked with pain.
There were faster, easier, more instant ways of relieving the pain.
Any pain that didn’t stem from his own body was good.
With Vanessa, Wade had tried the healthy way. The three meals, ten hours of sleep, and taking his vitamins. The whole mile. There was this urge he constantly resisted that told him it would release the tension in his skull if he carved under his eye into his cheek where the migraine pulsed, like he was some sort of fucked up carpenter with voices in his head.
Vanessa didn’t understand it. If he was in pain, why would he want to be in more? She understood his masochistic tendencies in bed where they mixed pain and pleasure, but just pain? Just harm for the sake of being harmed? They got into a lot of fights about it.
He resisted the attempts. Hid them from her where he could. Sometimes he’d miscalculate, and she’d walk into the bathroom before he could heal and clean up his brain splattered on the bathroom tile. She hated it, and Wade hated that he was hurting her.
He reeled back any anger or snippy comments that stemmed from the sheer newness of having his body feel like it was dying all the time. It was so hard to interact when pain rippled through him like a feedback chamber. It made his fuse short and curt. His witty remarks turned snappish and bitchy. People asked stupid questions and made even stupider comments when he was having a Bad Pain Day, and everything felt a bit more raw and oozing. Wade didn’t have the energy to keep up the act and while his mind rarely stopped running, it shifted into something darker when pain was on his mind. His jokes fell flat, laced with a bitter ending. Sometimes, Wade didn’t even want to talk. He wanted to punch someone. Maybe even himself. And every time he snapped or said something he didn’t mean, he wanted to hurt himself even more.
Quickly, he grew exhausted putting on a brave face, and he had never been good at letting people help him. There was this awful clash of wanting to be comforted by the people he loved and hating that he needed comfort. It made him feel weak and pathetic, and Wade already hated so much about himself that he didn’t want anyone to see the twisted, fucked up parts of him. How ironic that he always had an audience anyway. He couldn’t hide it from you or whoever was watching him those days, but he could hide it from the people he loved. Shield them from it, almost.
On Bad Pain Days, Wade didn’t want anything to be different. He didn’t want to acknowledge the pain he dealt with, and seeing that pity on her face set his teeth on edge. It both hurt to be babied and, later, it hurt to be ignored when he stubbornly insisted he was fine.
Obviously, it didn’t work out.
It was better with Al.
Al tried to help. Once or twice. Her motherly instincts kicked in, maybe, Wade didn’t know. He shot himself once in front of her while they were watching the Bachelorette together, and she cursed him out and told him to stop and never do it again. Wade took his little attempts to the bathroom after that. He cleaned up after himself. He went out. Wade tended not to do the more dramatic methods that draw attention.
Wade had it down to a science. A decent chunk out of his frontal lobe sent Wade into a pleasant, almost subspace-like place. He would just… float and forget that his body hurt all that bad. It was good for Bad Brain DaysTM too when Wade’s thoughts were louder, faster than normal, and the voices stopped sounding like himself. When the fourth wall was a little too easy to see, and it got to him, being the doomed comic relief, when his head was trying to split his consciousness in two.
If his temporal lobe was nicked, then Wade would start hallucinating and hear a banger of a song while time, space, and movement sort of fucked up for a second. It felt like getting high, but he didn’t need an entire bag of cocaine and to hot box weed to get there.
If something happened to his parietal lobe, the pain wouldn’t know where to go. A bear could literally be eating his insides, but the pain signals couldn’t register if they had nowhere to go.
He did most of his questionable coping methods in the stereotypical bathroom spot. It was private, and Al got onto him for getting blood and bits all over the apartment. He once left his liver or his kidney in the kitchen sink, and Althea threatened to call the cops on him - her coke stash be damned. Now he’d drape himself in the empty tub, play music loudly, and expertly deal with the pain.
The system he had was fine. Regulated. It was working. It was fine. It wasn’t going to get any better.
Until Logan.
...
I haven't posted it on ao3 yet, but it will be apart of the series for my fic where Wade cries in the Honda instead of fighting.
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
Before saying thank you to everyone who participated and reblogged, I want to say some words too. Some words that I haven’t been able to say in my main blog because feelings aren’t my thing, and I hate being vulnerable… so I’m hiding behind this anonymous blog. So sorry, it’s going to be long and there are going to be typos, probably, sorry for that too.
Liam, I don’t even know where to start. I really can’t believe it’s been 2 weeks. Time goes too fast and too slow at the same time, and I feel like I’ve been living these past 2 weeks in a limbo of time going too fast and time going so slow. And I haven’t been able to say a proper goodbye to you yet. Not in the memorial I travelled to, not on my own, so I’ll try now.
I have many “what if?” in my personal life that I try not to get into because spirals, and you have become one now too: What if I could save him? As if I had that power, wish I had. I really wish that my support (your fans support) has been enough to save you, has been the blanket you needed, the hug you needed, whatever you needed. What if One Direction has never existed? What if things were different? And it’s so selfish of me to think that I wouldn’t be here if One Direction never existed. Because you’re not here because One Direction existed. And it’s something that is getting hard to process. I know you loved One Direction, maybe Niall was 1 directioner during the band years, but you were 1 directioner after the hiatus, and 1 supporter for your band mates, for your brothers. I know that besides everything that happened, you loved to be in that band. But what if Simon hasn’t been behind the band management? You know where I’m going… I start spiralling, I find an answer to a question, and I have a new question in mind.
I’m sad and I’m mad. And I’m in denial. I’m sad because you deserved to have a happy ending, you deserved to find your place in the world and in that industry you loved so much. You deserved to heal and to get better. You deserved to see your child growing up. You deserved to see the love. You deserved a much better ending. It’s so tragic. I have been worried about you for years, but never, not even in my worst nightmares I thought this was going to be your ending.
I’m mad at the whole industry. An industry that is full of selfish and greedy people who care more about money, numbers, and money again that they care about the artist. I’m mad at everyone in that hotel who didn’t try and who didn’t do enough. I’m mad at everyone who didn’t defend you, to everyone who bullied you, to everyone who didn’t understand what trauma and addiction can do to a person. I know a lot of people have been saying that the hate you’ve got was because of everything that was being said in early October, but it’s not true. The hate didn’t even start in 2022 after that podcast. The hate started before. The hate started during the band. The hate continued after the hiatus. The hate was always there, for stupid reasons and because of the hypocrisy of this fandom. And because of solo fans who found very funny to put you against each other and loved using the word “flop”. I hope you knew that your music was great. I hope you knew that One Direction wouldn’t have been the same without you. I hope you could know that I have a tattoo related to you, done before the tragedy, but it won’t be the only one. I hope you knew that you had talent, so much talent. I hope you knew you were enough. And loved. I’m mad at the whole world for dampening your light.
And I’m in denial. I’m in denial because you’re here, Liam. I have been a fan of you since I saw you five singing Viva La Vida in the xfactor, and in the fandom some months later. We’ve grown up together, I’m just months older than you. In all these years, 14, you were always in my screen, always in my earphones. And you’re still there, so what do you mean you’re not here? What do you mean you’re not here when I see your gifs, when I can listen to your voice, to your laugh. You know? You were also part of my final project in university, a project about One Direction. You were in so many parts of my life. You are in so many places in my life. It’s so hard to process it when I have you the same way I have always had you—on a screen and earphones. And I’m trying to think that this means that you’ll live forever. I know you’ll do. I know I won’t love anything the way I have loved this band and you all 5. The way I love this band and you all 5. You’re still here. I’ve been seeing white feathers when I was thinking about you during walks, so you’re still here.
I know my comfort place is now tainted by other emotions that aren’t joy, comfort, and love. Tainted by sadness, and anger, and pain, and what ifs. But I’ll know, or I hope, that in the future I can listen to your music— both your solo music and the band music—and feel more positive emotions than bad. I hope I can do the same watching “one direction funny moments” and no think about how it all ended. You know? I always imagined being on my 40s or 50s and going to the reunion, meeting with my mutuals (who most are friends) and dancing all night to the best songs ever.
I imagined dancing to one of One Direction songs during my wedding, wasn’t sure one. I knew I wanted to dance No Control because I wanted to do the dance with my friends who love you as much as I do, but I also was thinking about If I Could Fly piano version, or Home. I imagined so many things in my future and in so many of them, One Direction and you were my soundtrack: getting my first house and the first album played there being Midnight Memories, getting married and having your songs in the wedding, going to your solo concerts and the reunion concert, singing your songs in karaoke, talking to my kids about you and watching videos together, getting more tattoos related to One Direction, doing a tour in London visiting iconic places, doing a pyjama party with my friends that I met here and watching videos and singing together. So many moments that now I don’t know if I’ll do, because now I’m not strong enough to think about it. But I’ll hope I’ll do, because you deserve to be celebrated and honoured in a happy way too. I’ll try Liam, this is my second promise.
I’m not quite sure if I believe in afterlife, in heaven, or in reincarnation. But wherever you are, I hope you are at peace. I hope you’re receiving all this love (that you deserved to see). I hope you’re happy. I hope I’ll get to live another life where you’re part of it again. I love you, Liam. You’ll live forever, in my heart, in my mind, in my screen. I’ll keep talking about you, listening to your songs, and honouring you anyway I can. It might take some time because I need to process and heal, but I’ll do, because you deserve that. My third promise?
Sending kisses, hugs, and love to you. 💕
PS: I’ve made a first promise to you in private that I plan to keep.
#remembering liam payne#liam payne#I plan to keep all the promises but that first one I made only to him it’s the hard one#I’ll post the thank you post later I need a bit of time after pouring my heart here ❤️🩹
46 notes
·
View notes
Note
Markus Sircantus my favourite fanfic writer tell me... How does one cope with Technoblades passing?
IM SORRY THIS IS KINDA OF A SERIOUS ASK- I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WORD THIS RIGHT BUT- When the "so long nerds" came out I just balled my eyes out, I cried all night (it was night for me when I received the notification) and I was really wrung out the morning after it in school, and people got kinda worried about it and I explained it but- I was 18, it felt silly to cry over a person I never met before (and with gaming content) I really liked his content and it was all I watched in the pandemic but I just. Like. Stopped watching. because I got self conscious about being sad about it, and I thought I had moved on? Accepted? The grief lasted a day but I never thought much about it bcz I never watched his content again.
But now I catch myself thinking about him, missing to watch his streams, wanting to watch again his videos but- every time I see a bit of him, hear a little of his voice, MY EYES GET ALL WATERY AND SHIT, I CAN'T SEE HIM WITHOUT CRYING AND IT SUCKS. I don't really have time to get all sentimental eeeewww emotions but I miss him, I miss him so fucking much.
I've been following you for a long time now! But I have to admit that I only recently got the courage to read one of your oneshots that got Techno in it, its been a good while I didn't read your fics ;v; (sorry).
So... Sorry for the long ask LMAO, I'm just wondering how you- probably a person that likes Technoblade more than me- got over it and ON TOP OF THAT WRITES OF HIM! Please show me the path, enlighten me with your wisdom....
(sorry if I was rude somewhere- If you don't want to you don't need to give me an answer, thanks for the time reading it tho! And thanks for your fanfics! It was really a comfort for me in the down times :3)
(also sorry this is anonymous I'm a coward)
Well, Im actually not quite sure how to cope with it at all. Only the passing of time has made it easier for me to swallow, and in all honesty, i still havent been able to watch any of his videos since. I still flinch in hearing his voice when it shows up on my feed. But i write about him without a second thought, and i guess a reason for that is because at some point i accepted that my writing was a way of keeping him alive. My stories are a comfort for both myself and others wanting to continue to find joy at the thought of him, and i desperately needed comfort in the months after he passed, so i just kept writing until the bitterness stopped.
Its also like. Im kinda stubborn about feeling Bad. Grieving sucks and i hate feeling it and i hate crying so much that i refuse to let it linger and ill cram my head with anything else to let the worst pass. I dont think about him being dead. i just think about how happy he made me feel. I focus on the fact that he was really fucking funny and how he was an inspiration for thousands, and i focus on the fact that he still continues to inspire me in making more silly family dynamic fanfiction. I just dont think about it too much, thats all. I dont have any wise advice to share, haha, just that i try to keep my habits for his memory and for my happiness’ sake
#honestly writing dsmp in the height of its popularity was a joy like no other#and im not gonna be like oh i miss it wish it was the same bc i still have it#im still writing#nothing is the same but im still writing so im still happy#eh i dunno for a write i dont have a lot of words to use for this#im not good with grief
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
Imagine if Jimmy wins the life series... Huh, what a thought. Anyway have some more incorrect quotes!
Pearl: Cleo, you're my best friend. Cleo: Best friend? BEST friend?! Bitch, I'm your only friend. Cleo: I'M THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF TOLERATING YOUR DUMB ASS!
Impulse: Your smile? It makes my day. Tango: Your happiness? I live for that. Joel: A room? Get one. BigB: Hotel? Trivago.
BigB: What's the most efficient way to burn calories? Martyn: Exercise more! Joel: Set yourself on fire. Tango: There are two kinds of people.
Impulse, to Jimmy: ...And I need you and Tango to help, and by "help" I mean "do everything."
Joel: Yes, I'm adopting Grian and you cowards can't tell me no!
Scott: Martyn said its my turn with the brain cell. Cleo: Square up.
Joel: You know what your problem is? Scar: I only have one?
Mumbo: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time. Gem: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.
Jimmy: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Skizz: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Joel: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Jimmy, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.
Pearl: sSSSHIT- I BURNT MY LIP- Tango: ...Why the fuck would you even drink coffee with a METAL STRAW in the FIRST PLACE?? Pearl: BECAUSE WE WERE OUT OF THE PLASTIC ONES!
Lizzie: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything? Lizzie: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies. Joel: Socks are Feetie Heaties. Scott: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties. Impulse: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies. Pearl: Stamps are Lickie Stickies. Gem: I hate you guys so much.
*The Squad is at Home Depot* Impulse: *Fell in the cacti display while wandering around the garden section* Grian: *Shitting in the display toilets* Lizzie: *Tokyo Drifting one of those flatbed carts down the aisles* BigB: *Stealing paint chips for aesthetic purposes* Mumbo: *Just wanted some goddamn lightbulbs and everyone ruined it* Pearl: *In the car sleeping*
Ren: Would you take a bullet for me? Lizzie: ...yes? *Jimmy angrily burst into the room* Ren: *running away* Great, thanks!
Martyn: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon. Jimmy: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic. Martyn: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.
Ren: You three, explain right now! Bdubs: It was Etho. BigB: It was Etho. Scott: It was Etho. Etho: Etho: …fuck.
Skizz: I did it! I memorized everything in the book! I'm gonna ace this test! Ren: Ok, Skizz, I'll give you one more question before you go. What ended in 1918? Skizz: 1917. Ren: ...You're ready.
Skizz: Just be yourself. Say something nice. Bdubs: Which one? I can't do both.
Pearl: I need to dye my hair. Bdubs: ... Pearl: Or get another tattoo. Bdubs: ... Pearl: Or a new piercing. Bdubs: Why? Pearl: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.
Gem: I’ve been described as a ‘heartless villain’ and a 'little shit’, but I prefer… 'has alternative ways of having fun’.
Joel: You don’t deserve me. Jimmy: At your worst or your best? Joel: I don’t have a worst. Jimmy: Because you’re already at your worst?
Martyn: BigB! This soup is flaccid! BigB: LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS MEAN?!
Gem: Tell me, what you are mad at? Cleo: I paid twenty dollars for bottomless drinks. Impulse, in the background: They got to the bottom. Cleo: What is that? The bottom of the damn glass!
Grian: I wonder who’s ruining my life. Grian: *looks in the mirror* Grian: So we meet again.
#grian#gtws#bdouble0#ethoslab#inthelittlewood#smajor1995#jimmy solidarity#impulsesv#smallishbeans#ldshadowlady#skizzleman#mumbo jumbo#tangotek#bigbstatz#geminitay#pearlescentmoon#zombiecleo#renthedog#trafficblr#incorrect quotes#enjoy💜💜💜
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
linktober 31 - HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
I thought for the last day I'd write a little retrospective on what this whole thing was like and what I learned. I'm too tired to draw literally anything else I'm due for a break lol
So this was my second time ever attempting a linktober/october drawing challenge, but my first time managing to complete all the days and prompts. I feel super proud of myself and accomplished for pulling it off.
There were a number of things that were surprising and that were challenging for me that I wasn't expecting this month. If anything, I think this challenge really highlighted my flaws and mental blindspots with how I approach making art.
For one thing, I came away from this not liking everything I made. I think I only like about 9 or 10 of the 30 pieces I put out there. When I don't like my art, I tend to get stuck in this mental stalemate of refusing to finish a piece until I like it, but also refusing to retrace my steps and erase/rework what I have so far for fear of losing progress or not being able to replicate the line/angle/color/etc that I liked.
It was surprisingly hard to accept when I didn't like a piece but had to move on for the sake of time and post it anyway. But once I did it a few times, it got easier. I realized prioritizing my standards over my available energy is not gonna promote progress. If I kept sinking myself into one piece and not moving on until it was optimal, I never would have finished anything-- that was the pitfall that ultimately made me bail out 10 days in last year.
I also realized my sunk cost fallacy/"what if I erase this and can never redraw it good again" stems from some real lack of confidence in my knowledge and techniques with art. I'm self-taught, and I think I tend to believe that everything I make is a dumb happy accident, even though I have mental rules when I draw, use tons of references, and have a process lol. There are a few pieces I started over 2-3 times before I got them right, and that's starting to feel liberating instead of like failing to me now, which I never expected to come out of this experience so that's cool.
Another place I had to learn to let go of control in this was with allowing for style variation. I really wanted each and every piece to be coherent and painterly, like they all came from the same book or something. But then I couldn't decide whether I wanted to do all/no lineart, all/no detailed background, all/no heavy rendering, etc. At the end I settled on just keeping the same canvas dimensions and just prioritizing filling up the space. Glad I ended up doing this, because I really would benefit from continuing to chill out and scale back how much I default to making dramatic, high-render pieces. I gotta break out of my comfort zone and make more sketchy little guys!
Sometimes my attachment to the prompts fluctuated; some prompts I thought I would love and then just wanted to get them over with. Some prompts I thought I would hate and subsequently half-ass, then I ended up redoing them and putting more effort & time into and loved the end result!
It was funny to also see how some pieces that I loved straight up did not get a whole lot of notes or attention. Some pieces I was "meh" about did crazy numbers lol. I'm used to posting maybe 5-6 times a year on here, so I'm usually indifferent to getting notes (by which I mean, I'm super grateful for likes & reblogs and the super sweet & funny messages in y'alls tags, but I'm not butthurt when I don't get notes because whatever happens, happens). Churning out 30 pieces in 30 days made me sometimes get bewildered by what did and didn't get notes, but frankly in the end I think it helps reaffirm that I should continue putting whatever I want out there because it! is! not! graded!!!
So would I do Linktober again? Probably not, sorry! it was a lot of time & effort and took me away from fall festivities more than I would have liked. I kinda only managed to pull this off because I was transitioning between jobs this month and had a week off to just draw. But I also completely see the value in taking on a challenge like this and finishing what I started, I'm super glad I did this, I think my art improved from it. I would definitely do future drawing challenges/prompt things that are quicker or have less prompts!
My advice to prospective future linktoberers: pace yourself and be gentle; this is a great chance to do something exciting and new with your art, but above all it's about you having fun. There are no prizes at the end except for what you've learned and how you feel about it, and that's for the best!!
One thing's for sure, I am zelda'd out lmao so I'll be branching out towards some little projects I have lined up for personal art and other fandoms I'm into right now
So anyway thanks to all of you who read this or who gassed me up this whole month, I appreciate you!!!!!!!! ヾ(^∇^)
25 notes
·
View notes