#in posting this to give you guys whiplash after that last one :)) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

minustwofingers · 10 months

Text

love is a laserquest p.1

masterlist

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

warnings: no cws, but i will say that i don't know anything about this career path so i apologize if i'm totally butchering it!

a/n: see ? see? i promise i haven't forgotten about you guys/this blog/this request. this is admittedly a short installment, but you've all been so good about waiting and i had a little itch to write tonight. hopefully more of this will be posted soon. i hope you enjoy!

tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

wc: 1.8k

enjoy!

“Hi. I’m Y/N.”

You sit and extend your hand, smiling as diplomatically as you can manage to the girl sitting across from you.

She ignores you.

“I said hi,” you repeat.

One painted eyebrow arches the slightest, but she doesn’t look your way.

You grit your teeth. A question list that you’ve meticulously prepared is memorized and tucked away in your mind, but now you’re just furious that you spent so much time preparing for an interview with someone who wouldn’t even look you in the eye.

While you wait for the camera crew to get ready, you sit and observe the room—movie posters behind both you and Lina, bright lights that are already making you sweat shone down from above, and a homey oak wood coffee table between you two to give the air of casualness.

God, you hate this. All you want to do is go home.

“Ready?” a cameraman says from the side.

You send a game smile his way. “Ready.”

“We’re rolling.”

“Hi!” said the girl across from you, suddenly laser-focusing her attention on you with so much bubbly energy that it made you feel like you’d gotten whiplash. “It’s so good to meet you. I’m so glad that we were able to do this.”

“Me too,” you respond, saccharine sweet. “You have no idea how excited we are to have you, Lina! It seems like all anyone wants to talk about nowadays is your role in Ontario.”

The interview’s length is oppressive and mind-numbing. By the time you ask your last question and Lina sends you her last dazzling smile, you’re already on the brink of offing yourself on the camera for all to see.

“And cut,” said someone over your shoulder.

You relax, letting out a long breath. That was the last one for the day. You got to go home now.

But since you were a normal human being, you give Lina one last try to redeem herself.

“It was great having you,” you say in a way that you hope reads as genuine. “Thank you for coming in.”

Lina doesn’t respond—she’s already back on her phone, intent on ignoring you.

The drive home is awful and long and full of LA traffic. It was something you’d never quite forgive your younger self for—not advocating for yourself sooner. If you had, maybe you would’ve already been taking the subway alongside all the other New Yorkers, surrounded by serious people wearing serious clothes and carrying serious things around in their briefcase.

Instead you got the quirkiness of Southern California, all arid air full of cigarette smoke and lost aspirations. When you first came to LA, naive and blithely optimistic about your prospects as a journalist, you thought that living near Hollywood would be exciting, all the energy and dreams like firecrackers to the social scene.

Then you got off the plane and realized it’d all been a lie. There’s no hope in a place like Hollywood. It’s the most hopeless place in the world, knowing that all your servers and Uber drivers and retail employees are all working 3 other jobs to make up their rent as they chase a dream that will never happen.

Because no one ever makes it big. Well—no one really. One year into your life at PopNow! has made you interact with more people who have, you suppose, “made it big”, and each interaction is dependably more absurd than the last. Like Lina. God, you hate Lina.

You reach your apartment right when the sun is kissing the horizon, the royal purple of the night descending upon the sky. That was another thing you missed—the stars. You’d missed them when you were at Columbia, but that was when you knew you went back home to the midwestern countryside. Now you’re stuck in the light-polluted hell of California, and there’s no way to know when you’re going to get out.

You should have turned the job down, you think to yourself as you get ready for bed. The face wash you rub into your skin obediently forms into silky little bubbles. You should have just done whatever you’d had to do to stay in New York, even if it meant being unemployed and living in a broom closet with 3 other people.

But you’re a writer. And you’re getting published, and that’s all that matters.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

The assignment is in your inbox when you wake up the next morning at a prompt 5:30am. As you go about your normal routine, you let the words in the message sink in.

Alyssa’s in the hospital. Emergency appendectomy.

Alyssa’s the most senior writer at PopNow!, regularly netting the juiciest recorded interviews.

…interview today that needs to be completed…

You angrily beat your legs back into scissor kicks as you run through the motions of your favorite apartment-friendly pilates routine. Today was supposed to be your day off.

…musician Ellie Williams…

…2pm…

…great opportunity…

You have no fucking clue who Ellie Williams is. She’s never been mentioned on NPR or the New York Times, the only two news sources you bother to follow, so she can’t be that relevant. Or at least not relevant enough to warrant you losing your one day off. But that’s what it’s like to be working in showbiz. Your days don’t belong to you anymore.

By the time that you’re in the studio, hands folded and question list memorized, you feel like you know all you need to know about Ellie.

She’s got everything you need to be a world-wide sensation. Humble, small-town beginnings? Check. Sympathetic backstory that makes even the most hardened viewer’s heart soften? Check. Conveniently conventionally attractive features, well-placed tattoos, and a certain swagger that seems so natural it has to be somehow hard-coded into her genes? Check, check, and check.

You’ve interviewed hundreds of Ellie Williams. You’re ready for this.

Jan from production sets out glasses of water on the table in front of you, one for you and another poised in front of the empty chair.

“You ready?” she asks, not unkindly. “Don’t be nervous. I know that this might be a bigger one than you’re used to, but there’s a reason why Stephen asked you to fill in for Alyssa. You’ve got this, honey.”

“Thank you,” you say. The smile you send her back is tense, because as much as you hate to admit it, you are nervous. It’s ridiculous how something you don’t even care about for an industry you think is bullshit is capable of getting under your skin, but you’d done very few recorded interviews. When you imagined what kind of hard-hitting journalism you’d be doing back when you were at Columbia, it was nothing like this.

You sit and wait, bouncing your leg and hoping the rest of you looks at ease. The set is as corny and soulless as always, one tall houseplant shoved half-heartedly between the two blue cushioned chairs like an afterthought. There’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table between you two, as if you’d crack open People mid-shot.

You hate your job so much. You always feel so bad thinking this way—there are people out there who would probably actually kill for the chance to be rubbing elbows with the celebrities you did on a regular basis—but whenever you start feeling too guilty, you think of how you ended up here, your dream internship getting whisked away by fucking nepo baby Becca, and then you let yourself be angry again.

A door slams shut, and suddenly you’re all business again.

The first thing you notice about Ellie Williams is that she’s actually very tiny, especially in comparison to the burly camera man that she squeezes by to make her way on set. She’s looking a little preppier than she does on stage, donning a pair of wide-legged black trousers, chunky black docs, and a haphazardly buttoned forest green shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough for you to see the entirety of her arm tattoo.

“Hi.” You rise from your chair to offer a hand, feel the pressure of her fingers gently gripping yours. “I’m Y/N.”

Ellie blinks. “Uh, hi. I’m Ellie.”

“Is everything alright?”

“I thought Alyssa was going to be interviewing me,” says Ellie. She drops into the chair opposite of you, crossing a leg over the other thigh.

“Emergency appendectomy,” you supply.

The way Ellie reacts makes you regret this immediately.

“Oh,” she says, cringing. “Shit—oh, can I swear in here?”

“We’re not rolling yet,” you say gently.

“That’s, uh, really too bad,” she says. Her tattooed hand reaches up to scrub the back of her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to blink and stare at her blankly. “Um, thanks? I don’t really know her.”

“Right, right.” Ellie lets out a long sigh that you take as an offense. The interview hasn’t even started, and the languid way she reclines back in the chair reads as already bored with you. “So, do we just go ahead and…”

“Yes,” you say, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah, we’re ready.”

Brilliant start.

The interview begins in earnest, and for once in your life, you’re actually rattled by this girl, by the way she tilts her head at your questions, tongue running over the flat of her front teeth. She has freckles sprinkled across her nose that didn’t show up in any of the photos you’ve seen of her on stage. The ones where she’s awash in blue light, guitar slung over her shoulder and hair sticking to her forehead. It’s disquieting, honestly, how she could just spring a surprise like that on you.

By some miracle, you manage to get through your list of questions without forgetting anything, but sometimes you stutter on your delivery and have to fight to keep yourself from grimacing. Nothing that she tells you is ground-breaking, nothing you don’t already know. In other interviews, you’re normally able to slip into a sort of conspiratorial voice, prying out information and digging a little deeper than your interviewees intend. But with Ellie, you’re paralyzed, stuck straight to the script that had been sent over to Ellie’s publicist for approval.

Not like you’d get away with anything when it came to Ellie, either. She has bags under her eyes that you can see concealer creasing in. It’ll wash out post-production under the bright studio lights, but up close it’s obvious that she’s not interested in entertaining any bullshit.

When it’s over, you’re sure your face is on fire with how hot your cheeks feel. Ellie looks just as nonplussed as ever.

“It was nice to meet you,” you squeak out.

She takes her time answering you, busy with draining the glass of water Jan had set out in front of you both and, once it’s empty, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves.

“Likewise,” she says, and then before you can think to say anything else, she’s gone.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams self insert

137 notes · View notes

astroyongie · 6 months

Text

Why Am I This Way - Psychology Answers

Note: hey guys! This will be a little series post mainly based on psychology. In order for me to congratulate myself for finally achieving my masters in clinical psychology I have decided to create these mini posts that will contain different questions that we often ask ourselves. In these questions I will provide psychological answers in which they will hopefully bring you a sense of understanding on yourself! Enjoy!

Note 2: This first Why Am I This Way will be based on the “How Am I” Section. Other sessions will include “Why do I behave this way?”, “How Others see me”, “What's Happening” and “How can I get better?”

This section will have the following parts: “I know I shouldn't but.. can I have another piece of cake?”; “I love to be alone.. am I weird?”; “Why do I procrastinate so much’”; “ Am I really a good person?”; “ I was just joking!”, “Why does it always happen to me?”, “Why do I hate working so much?” and “Should I be more egocentric?”

With that said, let's dive into it!

“How Am I” Section

“I know I shouldn't but.. can I have another piece of cake?”

What happens in the unconscious brain:

Based on Freud’s work, these type of questions that overwhelm us are usually thoughts linked with pent up guilt that is unconsciously working its way out

One thing is clear. Often, we don't realize the things that we think and we don't always understand our actions and our behaviors. When we stop to reflect on it, we are usually stuck in a sense of guilt for doing things that are against our values and morals and yet we cannot understand why we have done things that way.

Based on the most known theories of Freud, the ID and the superego (based on ID, EGO and SUPEREGO Theory) are actually the ones that are behind these guilty feelings of “should i do this or not, even if i know that i will regret it later”.

ID is the mind that is first formed when we are born. It is something rigid on our unconscious, something that is based on the principle of pleasure. The ID is constantly seeking gratification and pleasure in order to smooth our anguish within one self.

The superEgo is different, it is the last thing that is formatted in the unconscious (after the Ego) and it works on the principle of the world’s rules. Basically it is a part of us that comprehends the world around us and it tries to follow the rules and the interdictions that were instructed when we were younger.

Now this is why many of us struggles with this. Having craving desires about something, and that guilty feeling coming from the Superego because we have internalized that what we want is wrong.

Someone that has had a harsh childhood, who has been neglected or has seen their rules being too strict will often struggle with this, because they need to have their ID smoothed but they cannot bear the guilt.

This is what happens: ID wants to be fed with something comforting. Chocolate! so it stays in your head “let's have chocolate!” and the superego will whiplash right after “are you crazy? Having chocolate? you cant even fit in your pants and you want chocolate! you should be ashamed of yourself!”

This is basically how overthinking your worth will work, how one often develops Eating disorders for example or bad relationships with food, but this also happens with social relationships, addictions and any reward system.

The fear of the outside world usually unleashed that overwhelming anxiety that will after turn into guilt if you give in to your ID or it turns into restrictive punishment if you follow the Superego.

Many of us will put so much effort into controlling impulsive destructive thoughts and behaviors in order to muffle the critics of Superego but that often results in depression, anxiety and an affinity with other psychological problems.

So what can we do?

understand where those desires come from. If your ID is making you crave something, either food, social contact, a new dress, a new drink or anything that it is, ask yourself where this feeling comes from? Are you bored? are you sad? are you upset? Are you overly excited? understanding that process and allowing yourself not to be psychorigid is already a big improvement. find balance between rewarding yourself and being true to your rules. Also stop punishing yourself, You have done nothing wrong. You deserve to be happy and smoothed the same way you deserve to go beyond your addictions

Understand in which you fall. If you are the type to crave in in your desires it means these possibilities: Early trauma ou neglect, environmental stressors, maladaptive coping mechanism,, substance abuse, personality disorders, lack of emotional regulation skills and cultural and social influences

If you fall in the fragil superego, if you are too strict with yourself, it means these possibilities: weak parental influence, traumatic experience, overly harsh and permissive parenting, lack of role model, cultural influence, early childhood experiences like rejection and personality disorders.

For those who have balance between giving in desires and restraining, then congrats! You are a rather healthy being

Now that you know this, you have a start on where to work to become a better version of yourself

#psychology #psychology facts #psychology notes #psychanalyse #self help

69 notes · View notes

oh-koenig-my-koenig · 11 months

Text

Fit for a King - WIP - random scene#1

loosly connected scenes so far: Fit for a King - Masterlist

König and FMC are on a break after the last mission and they use the time to lock themselves into a hotel room to f*ck each other’s brains out

CW: pure smut, 18+ NSFW, butt stuff, switch dynamic

a/n: I wrote a lot today, so I'm gonna post some more

(NSFW below)

“Your ass makes me forget about the bad stuff.”, he says quietly and even if I can’t see it, I can hear the little smile in his voice. I turn to him. “What did you just say?” He giggles and grabs my ass again. “Your ass makes me forget the bad stuff.”, he repeats, this time with a dirty undertone. His hand moves over my cheeks until it reaches in between them. “Sometimes it’s the only thing I can think about, how it looks when I fuck you from behind.” His fingers gather some of the wetness still pooling between my thighs and inch upwards. “Making me think how it would look bouncing on my dick.” One of his fingers pushes inside me as his other hand closes around my throat. I gasp as he whispers into my ear: “If you could even take my cock in your ass.” Arousal floods me as his dirty words register in my brain and he adds another finger, slowly starting to finger-fuck me and stretch me. “Or if you would just be too fucking tiny, squeezing me.”, he adds, his crazy gremlin voice seeping through the dirty talk. My mouth falls open because it just got harder to breathe, which has nothing to do with his fingers around my throat.

He repositions me, pressing me into the mattress as he continues to stuff me with his fingers, my ass up in the air. “Fuck… König.”, I stutter as he adds a third finger. “Yes, Liebes*?”, he chuckles as he kneels behind me. “Did you want to say something?” But I can only gasp for air in between the little mewls and moans. “You sound so good.”, he grunts as he keeps stretching me out.

“You think, you’re ready for me?”, he asks and the way his voice gets all gravelly and rough, like he needs to hold back, drives me crazy. “I- I don’t know.”, I answer truthfully, trying to hold on to the bit of sanity in the back of my head, but the imagination of him fucking me like this…

He flips me again, his fingers gone all of a sudden and I whimper at the loss of fullness. He leans down until his face is just an inch in front of mine. His arms are caging me in as his bodyweight pushes me into the mattress. “We don’t need to do it, Mauserl**.”, he says softly. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.”, he apologizes as he places small kisses all over my face and neck. I grab him, hold his face in my hands. “Don’t be. It was…” I pause. “I…” He’s just looking at me and his gaze is swallowing me up, patient, waiting. One of these days the whiplash of being with him is going to be the death of me.

“I wanna do it, I’m just a bit scared.”, I tell him. “You’re a big guy.” He chuckles, and I can see the smile reaching his eyes. “You say such nice things.”, he says, booping my nose. “We can take it slower.” He sits back on his knees and positions himself at my entrance, pushing just the tiniest bit. “I can just take it slow.”, he says again. “Okay.”, I nod. My knees drop to the side to give him better access and he takes this as a chance to stroke over my wetness, circling my clit with his fingers as he keeps on pushing inside me.

I pant and let the sensations carry me away. His dick in my ass and his fingers working my pussy, getting me wetter and looser for him. “Oh yes, just like that.”, I moan as he starts to roll his hips, making him move inside me just a bit.

“Just so you know, this is requiring all of my restraint.”, he grunts, hoarse desperation lacing his words. I reach for him, my hand skimming over the strained ab muscles. “You’re doing so well.”, I tell him, softly whispering, and I feel him shudder. This is intoxicating and I want to do it again. “Fuck, don’t do that to me now.”, he almost whimpers, the soft sounds sending shivers down my spine. “Doing what?”, I ask innocently, letting the moans his movements cause just fall from my lips. “You feel so good in my ass.”, I continue and I swear, the desperate whine from his throat almost makes me lose my mind as well. “Taking it slow, just for me.” I look up at him and his gaze is already on me, hyperfocus on my face, taking in every single one of my sighs and moans as he’s finally seated deep inside me. That’s when I go in for the kill.

My fingers move up his torso as he slowly starts to move his hips, still holding back, little pearls of sweat starting to form on his muscled body. My hand reaches his chin and I hold onto the last coherent thought in my mind that is not yet taken over from the pure arousal of having him fuck me like this. “Thank you for taking it slow for me, like a good boy.”, I tell him in the sweetest voice. “Fuck…”, is all he mutters as his eyes roll back and his body trembles. “You’re killing me.” His eyes are on me again, all glazy, but there is a fever behind them. “I’m gonna make you pay for that next time.”, he tells me, mischief mixing into the desperate pleading. “Promise?”, I ask him. “Promise.”

His hand moves up my body and closes around my throat. “Now let me fuck you until you come on my dick, Prinzessin***.” His lips find mine and he kisses me while his hips find a slow, but steady pace. It doesn’t take much until I lose control, because all the prep had me worked up like crazy. His tongue strokes against mine and I can’t do anything but hold onto him, completely losing myself in him. His fingers slip inside my pussy and the feeling of being stuffed by him like this sends me over the edge. I come on his dick, incoherent rambling falling from my lips as he fucks me through the orgasm.

“So beautiful.”, he tells me biting my lip and then pulling away. I lift up my head, not being able to move anything else. “Don’t you wanna come as well?”, I ask him, surprised. His hand shoots up to scratch the back of his head as he sits back on his knees and the blushy tint on his cheeks gets redder. “I-“ He’s embarrassed. “I already came inside you when you called me…” He’s all mumbly and shy. “A good boy.” I cover my mouth with my fingers, not to let him see my giggle, but he knows. He spanks my ass. “Don’t laugh, brat!”, he scolds me, but I can see him smiling underneath the playful scowl.

“You’re so cute.”, I tell him and he stills for a second. “I don’t think anybody ever called me cute.”, he says, a somber expression on his face. The corner of his mouth tips up and I can see gremlin König coming out to play. “Especially after ass-fucking them.” I swat his arm, shock on my expression. “You brute!” He just laughs and gets up. “Come on, let’s get your cute Popscherl**** under the shower.” He grabs my ankle and pulls me to the edge of the bed to just pick me up. “Caveman…”, I mutter under my breath as he slings me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. He just laughs again. A light and hearty sound.

*Liebes: 'my love' **Mauserl: more austrian version of small mouse ***Prinzessin: 'princess' ****Popscherl: endearing austrian word for ass, similar to 'tushie'

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut

76 notes · View notes

iamadequate1717 · 11 months

Text

The Breakups

Stede and Ed have three breakups under their belt right now: Ed initiated two of them, and Stede is currently getting blame for one of those. The finale is releasing tomorrow, so hopefully this turns into a moot point, but I'm defending Stede anyway!

Part 2: The Breakups

Note that Part 1 is here:

This 2x7 breakup is likely to be over in 2x8 (.... I say less than 24 hours to the premier and trying to act like I'm a prophet...), and with rule of three, I'm going to say that's going to be their last one. Any more Will-They-Or-Won't-They would be tedious, especially since at that point, we'd be at about one-third of the series with them "broken up," and they need to start communicating as a couple already, but this oscillation is what makes OFMD unique isn't it?

Their breakups are about them as characters: the first time, Ed leaves with Calico Jack; Ed realizes his devotion to Stede but Stede has his fears confirmed... which rolls into the second breakup (Stede doesn't have those fears resolved early enough, and Ed feels like a discarded plaything), which rolls into the third. They need to address the fears and insecurities together and not spiral out on their own. I'm guessing (and using what HBO has shown us) that Ed gets his assurances early, and hopefully, we can put an end to this internal catastrophizing so they can face the world together.

Love, the emotion, may be easy, just like breathing, but a couple is still two people with different experiences and different needs, but real life relationships take work (...I say as a happy single person...). Romcoms end with the First Kiss, fanfics end with the First Sex, but OFMD seems to be carrying us through the growing pains of the relationship. Happily Ever After isn't a magical state that is achieved once you tell each other that you love the other, but so many pieces of media treat that as the end, but OFMD is treating it as a middle. Often times, it feels like the couple is just playing musical chairs, and if they're a couple when time runs out, they're going to be a couple forever!

In S2 speculation, it was not infrequent that people were imagining that the S2 cliffhanger would be Ed and Stede laying eyes on each other for the first time with a fade to black. That isn't interesting. We don't want these two to run out the clock.

But I want to look at the breakups specifically. Let's look at 2x7. Spanish Jackie lays down the truth to Ed, but he doesn't seem to latch onto the big point: does Stede know that this regular guy, no more pirate, part isn't a phase?

"He said at the academy..." Stede was dealing with other things, and from what he saw, Ed went back to piracy. To be fair also, the Revenge doesn't do much piracy itself, so Stede hasn't seen Ed's dissatisfaction first hand. A lot of audience anger toward Stede is an audience who saw the environment 2x1 and 2x2, who saw Ed in the gravy basket, who saw Ed's bored asides with Izzy. They're treating Stede as a member of the audience rather than as a character within the story. Stede didn't see any of this. Most of his interactions with Ed was cutesy fluff. Stede knows he likes being near Ed, but they haven't spent much time talking about deeper topics.

On what Ed does with the breakup in 2x7, I'm bringing up this line from 2x4, when they briefly spoke like adults:

Ed shutting down the conversation and not letting Stede give explanations isn't fair to Stede, but it continued with the third breakup: in 2x7, Ed leaves Stede with some emotional whiplash. Stede was just having one of the best days of his life and was met with an Ed who refused to explain what was going on. When you look at what just Stede saw, it was utterly baffling! My post on that:

And then Stede insulted Ed's fish, thereby making him History's Greatest Monster, amiright?

Ed basically screams that fishermen and pirates are so different, it would be like if a mermaid and a bird tried to have a marriage. It's a self fulfilling prophecy at that point: cut Stede out completely so they have no chance to grow their lives with room for the romantic relationship. (And really, for those criticizing Stede, how do you respond correctly off the cuff to a random statement like that?)

This is devastating: Stede has completely cut himself out of his old life. He left Barbados for Ed, not for piracy. He laid out his feelings, and he made himself vulnerable to Ed. Just hours after being intimate for the first time, he's coldly told it was a mistake, and his sad face at that statement:

He doesn't run off in tears to have a breakdown like I would! He instead is reasonable with Ed: they can define their relationship however they want, but Ed cuts off any possibility of any relationship.

Stede does not know what's going on. I'm really confused what people who are "so mad!" at Stede here would expect of him, provided they only know what Stede knows in universe. Stede just wants to talk and work on their relationship together. Ed wants to start a new career, and more specifically, a life completely separate from Stede.

No, Stede doesn't respond to that pirate line, but he gave the immediate response to the part he cared about more (and likely replayed the conversation over and over in his head later with improved responses, as we do).

Stede does not run after Ed here, but why would he? He's told the audience directly that he thinks Ed is better off without him.

Lucius tells him, "Maybe the time he spent with you is the best it's ever going to get for him," and again, Stede directly tells the audience that he doesn't believe that.

This is not a man with high self esteem. Remember him being ready to be executed and being told he's the worst pirate captain ever? He thought that was fair.

Ed cuts off their relationship, and Stede thinks he deserves that, that Ed realized he was better off without Stede. So Stede lets him go.

On their breakups, the first one was short (Ed's back the same episode!), but the second happened at a season break so there was more time for fandom speculation. We all saw the theories, and a too common thread was "Will Ed forgive Stede??", and we saw the speculation that Stede should prostrate himself before Ed and beg for forgiveness, no matter how long it took. It simplifies the narrative, but is that the show we're watching and is that fair to Stede?

Stede instantly forgave Ed after choosing Calico Jack over him in front of everyone; the second breakup was longer and they had more time to do the whole negative self talk thing, but Stede still did deserve more grace, didn't he? With Season 2 (and its truncated run time!), we saw the criticisms that Ed forgave Stede too easily, but did he? They're on friendly terms, but there is still a wall.

See Ed's time in the Gravy Basket. The first three episodes were the Soup Show. It symbolized family or warmth or whatever (...I say as a robot who doesn't understand human feelings...), so it's a standout that Ed calling the soup poison is his feelings about accepting that warm domesticity, not something literal about Hornigold. He opened himself up to someone, and all he got was heartbreak and confirmation he was unlovable (and he was too scared to do anything about it).

And this is followed almost immediately by the baller line about a man being brought down in the place where he had definitely chosen Stede for the first time.

In the Gravy Basket, we had the metaphor on the feet (no shoes = death, shoes = life... there is good meta running around, but I'm too lazy to find it). Ed gains one shoe (putting him between life and death) when Stede starts to be led to his body, and Stede brings life to him (shoe shot!).

Stede is an anchor to life at this low point, but that doesn't mean that Ed completely forgives.

In Season 2, we don't have the Gloves as Metaphor with Ed anymore (half gloves when he meets Stede, no gloves at the academy, full gloves when he goes full kraken), but he still has other cues on how his feeling about Stede. We don't have the casual touches of Season 1, and everything feels "off." We're lacking in the tenderness, and Ed still is keeping his distance.

Ed and Stede have held hands this season, but not in a romantic way.

When we get to the romance, Ed doesn't put his hands on Stede's skin/hair like Stede does for him (production stills don't count!). In the third kiss, he pushes Stede's collar up as a barrier.

With what the audience was invited in for their love scene, Stede is visually more exposed and ready, and Ed is more distanced and closed off (that is NOT to say that Ed wasn't into it...).

Everything is close to what it should be, but it's not the perfect expression of love exploding across the screen. Something's off. The audience can pick up on it, and Stede, our autistic king, may subconsciously feeling it, but he is taking a lot of it at face value. (They slept together! They're a couple and an unbroken team now!)

On The Sex, is this the first time that Stede has received (verbal) concerns about his welfare in the series? He was told he was a monster, a plague, a defiler of beautiful things, and he's just been trying to live his life with no one refuting that even in a small way.

Sure, Ed said his fake heads idea didn't suck.

Sure... uh.... Ed said he wasn't a girl?

He gets some affirmation, they do something to help them feel alive almost losing each other, and he's intimate for the first time with the man he loves. Everything is going great! But everything instantly flips 180 degrees a few hours later. He's been holding it together well most of the season, even after thinking that Ed is literally dead, and y'all shouldn't judge him for a few mildly harsh words said without thinking. He feels foolish and used and heartbroken, and his bad day has just begun.

I hope I can get some thoughts up on the last part of 2x7 before the finale, but until then, here's some bonus sad face Stede during their first breakup, where Ed broke up with him in front of everyone! Everyone saw it! ("Never left" psh, likely story.)

How can you not be sad when he's sad??

We'll see what the finale does with them soon. Overall, I'm happy so far with Ed/Stede in Season 2. The rest of it... eh, Lucius/Pete is my happy spot. I'm hoping we get a good Ed/Stede payoff in the finale, and that we get to see more of their growth as a couple in Season 3 (manifesting!). It's rare that a show/movie/book/etc focused on just a romance sticks with the couple after that "finally together!" spot, and I want to see what this writing team does with that settled romance.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #stede bonnet #stede defense #stede did nothing wrong #blackbonnet #gentlebeard

65 notes · View notes

things-about-cars-in-posts · 11 months

Text

Miata Mod Master Mᴉsɥlᴉsʇ

[I had to spell Wishlist upside down to keep the alliteration going]

So, here's my first original post in quite a while. Apparently, the last one was a whole hundred followers ago - immense thanks to all 400 of you!!! And also, Tumblr informed me I got 1000 likes and kindly generated a picture for me to thank y'all for them with!

Given that's 2.5 likes per follower, I assume they mean 1000 likes just on my original posts, which would track considering most of my posts are additions, and liking all of those either counts towards that tally as just one like to my original post, or if you liked it through a reblog potentially nothing at all, because maybe likes to reblogs aren't counted even if they're reblogs of my own posts. But don't think I'm a numbers-chaser, this is just me wondering. Really, the only reason I even look at the activity chart of my blog is because I started trying to make that line as straight as possible for giggles (and then some of my posts blew up and ruined it, ecksdee). The thought of someone having enjoyed what I wrote has me smitten every time I see it, and I can barely even comprehend the idea that it happened a literal thousand times. I still can barely wrap my head around four hundred people all having decided they actively want to hear more from me. (Usually it's the opposite, har har.) I love all of you for it. The freaks, the puritans, the children (wait I just said that OOH GOTTEM), the adults, the uncomfortably weird, the hyper-organized users that use different blogs for each one of their passions, the hyper-random users that reblog my posts right after diaper fetish art. (And if you thought that was some whiplash, imagine the guy who followed a diaper fetish art blog getting shown me.)

But this is just me buying time, isn't it. Alright alright, let's talk about the wishlist, beginning with its premise.

This is not advice. This is not a list that makes sense at all, really - most of these items are way far down the list of things I'd do with the money they cost and/or the effort they'd take. This is a dream, where those aren't a factor. Just like some people's dream car is a ten million dollar hypercar that was built directly into the bodies of five Middle Eastern oil moguls, my dream car is a Miata with exactly these bits. (And a Seven, but I really need to stop confusing y'all with them being tied for the favorite car top spot.)

This list is based on a note I started in middle school for the fun of it (which is hopefully understood as the driving motive behind this all) and gradually updated through high school and sort of left behind after that, having kind of run out of bits to add to it. It's split into six sections:

Exterior

Interior (i.e. cabin, trunk and engine bay)

Drivetrain (i.e. anything that plays a role in making the wheels spin)

Chassis and suspension (i.e. chassis and everything that connects the wheels to it)

Electronics (i.e. electronics/microcontroller-related features)

Miscellaneous

This will be a chance for me to check the prices of all the things I listed and, at the end of it, tally up their total cost and feel feelings about its enormity. But of course, we'll need to start with a thing that was not in the note, as it was a given to me: the base car. So that will be the subject of my next addition to this post.

Because I can't make this a single post. Absolutely no chance. Even just any workaround to the image limit being about a fifth of the length of this list would be a nightmare for me to execute and for y'all to navigate. And frankly, the length of the task would make me, if not outright give up, at the very least skimp on the kind of explanations and discussions that I must assume are why you're all here. So I will need to make additions to this post (in the form of a reblog, of course) each going over one section at most. But truth be, even doing one reblog per section presents those problems, so some sections would need splitting in a number of parts. Or I could go to the other extreme and made one post per item (or when appropriate group of items), which would allow me to expand upon every which one as little or as much as appropriate while still keeping a tidy presentation. But to do this I would need to hide all the information bar the name under a Read More, because if I put as little as one picture before it by the time I'm at the end of the list every time this post appears in your dash you'll have to scroll past some hundred pictures to get to the bottom of it; also, of course, this would mean this post showing up in your dash upwards of a hundred times - though of course you could just ignore it a bunch of times and when you feel like it go through all the parts you've not read yet at once.

Right now I'm leaning towards the one post per item approach, which would allow me to work towards the completion of this abomination in small daily steps rather than in age-long parts which would also help addressing your other submissions. But it's very hard for me to figure out what y'all would prefer, as it's kind of hard for me to figure out who would actually want to read through the entirety of this. So, y'all are welcome to leave your feedback in the replies or through this non-binding format poll.

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

#i would have set something like two or three days but since day and week are the only options week it is #tumblr milestone #thank you #i am pretty sure those were tags included with the post but you know what I feel them so let's leave them in #mazda miata #mazda mx-5 #eunos roadster #miata mod master wishlist

91 notes · View notes

multi-fandomfuckboy · 2 years

Text

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 20: Snowball

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 21 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Long time coming for this one! I hope you guys enjoy it! I had a great time writing it and I have honestly been thinking about this for a while so it's so good to finally get it posted! I want you all to know that this is only a season finale and is NOT the end of the story. We have a little ways to go ❤️

Word Count: 4,569

Warnings: Anxiety, mentions of death, dancing, guilt, mentions gun

The coming days are a blur. There was a lot of talking that night. Everyone explaining their side of the crazy story that had been unfolding all around you. The pieces began falling into place and by the end of it you had a pretty clear picture of what had occurred over the past 4 days and where exactly you fit into it.

By the time the stories merged together everyone was ready to sleep for a week. You went with Steve to drop off Dustin while Jonathan dropped off Nancy, Mike, and Lucas. It was around 3 in the morning when you finally got home, Steve’s car pulling to a stop in front of your house. You feel nervous. Exhausted but on edge, still worried about the darkness lurking around the corners.

You jump when Steve places a hand on your knee. Meeting his eyes in the dim light of the car you see understanding. He doesn't want to be alone either.

“Do you mind if I stay here?” He asks. You look at your empty house and for a moment think of your mom coming home in a few hours and finding Steve Harrington on her couch. But when you look back to Steve, you can’t imagine being alone right now, not yet. “My parents aren’t home and… I don't know, I just…” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair frustrated.

“No.” You cut him off. “You can stay, I-I feel the same way.” you admit, smiling gently. He returns your smile gratefully. You instruct him to park a little ways down the street so he can sneak out when your mom gets home.

The two of you enter the house and you lead him to your bedroom, grabbing extra blankets from the hallway closet. You set up a little sleeping area for him on the floor next to your bed. You each take turns showering, and you let him borrow some of your baggiest clothes to sleep in. When you are both settled in bed, there is a tense silence. You don’t know how to tell him that you're grateful he’s here. That you feel better knowing he’s next to you after all of this.

“Can you leave the light on?” he asks. You smile up at the ceiling.

“Yea.” you say, there was no way you were turning off the light anyway. After another beat of silence you turn onto your side, lowering your arm off the bed and take his hand. He threads his fingers through yours without hesitation. It’s the most comforting thing you can think of right now, and it seems to work because both of you are asleep in minutes.

You wake up a few hours later to the sound of your mom coming in. You wake Steve and quickly sneak him out the window before going to greet your mom. She only has a couple of questions about your weekend at Nancy’s and you do your best to come up with a story. She doesn't press though, most likely just relieved that you’re spending time with friends like you used to.

It is strange going back to school. Similar to the last time, but now everything just feels… silly. Days ago you were fighting for your life against other worldly creatures and now Mr. Johnson is asking if you completed the make-up assignments. It’s enough to give you whiplash.

Luckily, you have Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan there. Never all at the same time though. Things are still uncomfortable now that Nancy is officially dating Jonathan. Steve hasn’t talked to you about it once. You know that he thinks if he keeps on acting like he doesn't care, eventually he won’t. But you see it in his eyes each time he sees them together, his heart is broken.

You and Steve have been hanging out a lot more now, even without Nancy. Something about surviving a near death experience together really makes a friendship stronger. Nancy had Jonathan so Steve had you.

Things are still strange between you and Nancy. Even after everything came out and Hawkins Lab took responsibility for Barb's death, there still seemed to be this space between the two of you. You, sometimes, wonder if it will ever be the same between you. If it ever could be.

You are working on it though. Making an effort to remain friends with her. You still love her, but it’s different now. You both are.

You manage to attend Barb’s funeral. You don’t remember most of it. The chilling numbness creeping over you, the fog descending in your mind as the priest spoke and they brought out the casket. You know that you cried and that when you started to shake Steve wrapped an arm sound you. You couldn't watch as they lowered the pine box into the ground, turning your face into Steve’s shoulder. He didn't say anything, and you're thankful for that. At some point Nancy took your hand, squeezing it tightly, crying next to you. It was comforting to know that Barb’s parents would get some amount of closure, but you doubt you will ever be able to look at them without feeling the stab of guilt.

It’s good to finally be able to grieve the loss of Barb, with Nancy. It heals some of the space between you. As the weeks go by most of your time together is spent filling out late admission college applications. It doesn't feel as daunting when she is talking you through the process. She even helped you submit a couple of creative writing scholarships. It’s strange, actually thinking about the future.

Mrs. Henderson must have spread the word that you were babysitting again after she ran into you the night you were looking for Dart, because the next week you started getting calls. You were hesitant at first but with the thought of paying for college looming over you, you slowly started to take jobs. Keeping it within the party at first, but eventually branching out.

You never did get a call from the Hargrove house though.

You haven't spoken to Billy since that night. You have seen him around, of course. In the halls, in class, driving by. But, every time your eyes meet he looks away quickly or avoids you completely. You try not to dwell on it too much, when you think about that night you can’t ignore the twisting in your gut.

Billy not speaking to you could have something to do with Steve, who had not gotten over his broken nose yet, sticking close to your side. You had tried to explain to Steve that he didn’t have the whole story. But, it's difficult to do that without sharing things that were not yours to share.

You can’t say that you mind. Steve is one of the few people you would trust with your life. But, it’s getting a bit ridiculous. You swear that any time Billy comes close to you, Steve will angle his body to block you. He always plays it off, but you know that it’s intentional.

A new routine starts to form as the weeks pass. You still walk each morning, Steve driving you to school most days. You typically spend lunch with Steve as well, since Nancy normally eats with Jonathan in his car. After school you spend an hour doing homework and college prep with Nancy. You pick up babysitting jobs on Tuesdays, Thursdays and weekends. The rest of your time is filled with writing.

The stories are still dark, mirroring the dreams that still haunt you each night. It just seems like the best way for you to get the darkness inside of you out, on paper. Luckily you haven’t felt anything close to what you felt in your mind the night El closed the gate. The only person you had told about it was Steve, both of you agreed that since it had stopped there was no need to worry the rest of the group.

When the Snowball approaches Nancy convinces you to volunteer with her. She explains that it would look good on scholarship applications. You agree, and that’s how you ended up picking up trash around the middle school gym.

You found an outfit in the back of your closet that you are fairly certain hasn’t seen the light of day in 2 years. Despite your mom’s best efforts, it still managed to look wrinkled.

It isn’t all bad. The music is decent and you get to spend a bit of time with Nancy, reminiscing about your own middle school dances. Best of all though, is watching the awkward pre-teens navigate their feelings for one another. There's something refreshing about the way they take a deep breath, stealing their resolve, before taking the plunge and asking their crush to dance. Their minds, undoubtedly, spinning with panic and fear of rejection.

It must seem so important to them, so terrifying. That’s what kids their age should be scared of. Not monsters and government cover ups.

You smile to yourself, watching Lucas pair off with Max. You had seen that one from a mile away. A girl even asks Will to dance. You watch Dustin attempt to ask a girl to dance. She laughs and walks away. He turns to try again, only for the other girls to turn away. Your heart gives an uncomfortable squeeze. He looks around lost, alone… before heading for the bleachers.

Setting down your trash bag you take a step towards him but feel a hand on your elbow, stopping you. Turning you see Nancy smiling knowingly at you.

“I got this one.” She says, nodding in Dustin’s direction. Her smile is kind but there is a glint of sadness in her eyes. “Kind of reminds me of when we first met.” Your brows draw together, trying to recall when that was. You have known each other for so long it is hard to say. Seeing your confusion she chuckles softly.

“We were all so little, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” She says kindly. “Barb and I were at the park, and there was this group of boys that kept messing with us, knocking over our toys and pulling our hair.” The sadness in her eyes makes sense, the memory flashes through your mind.

How could you forget the day you all became friends?

“We were both crying on the bench when you came out of nowhere and started yelling at them.” you laugh at the memory, tinged with the sadness of missing your friend. “I’m not even sure you were saying actual words.” She recalls chuckling.

“I think I was pretending to be a dog.” you add causing her to laugh.

“Well whatever you did, you scared them away and got our toys back. When you came over you told me that we looked sad and scared so you wanted to help.” Her gaze flickers to where Dustin sits on the bleachers. “You’re the reason we all became friends in the first place.” She says, her voice laced with sadness. “You’re always trying to help, and I guess what I’m trying to say is… Thank you.” When your eyes meet hers again there is a glint of unshed tears in her eyes.

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you smile, pulling her into a hug. She holds you tightly.

Clearing your throat you pull away, not wanting to cry in the middle of a dance.

“You got this one.” you say gruffly, moving to pick up your trash bag. Nancy gives you one last smile before crossing the gym to Dustin. You watch her lead him to the dance floor, gently showing him how to dance. Your heart aches watching them. Memories of Nancy, Bard and you dancing together fill your mind. Nancy doing her best to get the two of you to move in any coordinated manner, eventually devolving into a mass of giggles and jumping around.

You have to turn away. You continue around the gym, picking up trash, until you see Eleven walk in. Mike sees her instantly. You watch as he leads her to the dance floor, the two of them cautiously coming together, so happy to be in the same place, together, alive. They awkwardly sway to the music and you can’t help but recall what Max had said to you on the kitchen floor. The comparison she had made between Mike and yourself.

Seeing Mike reunited with the person he thought he had lost hits you in a way you were not prepared for. The idea that something so amazing could happen for them and the fact that it would never happen for you. El is back, but Barb is gone forever. A bitter resentment twists in your gut, acidic bile rising in your throat at the thought.

You're disgusted at yourself for the feeling. You should be happy for them. What kind of monster thinks something like that?

The large gym suddenly feels too small, the music disorienting. The jumble of bodies makes it too warm. Your palms feel moist where they grip the black trash bag with white knuckles. Looking around frantically, you see the exit out the back of the gym and hurry towards it.

Pushing open the doors you rush out of the bustling gym into the freezing December night. The frigid air bites at your feverish skin, soothing you. You focus on taking deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You stare after each exhalation, a small puff of breath shimmering in the dim light. Each inhale like ice, slowing the pounding of your heart, cooling the fire churning in your mind. After a few moments, your breathing comes more evenly and you run a shaking hand though your hair.

The world around you is so still. The cold seems to have calmed the earth, as well as your racing mind. Standing in the alleyway between the gym and the rest of the school, you gaze up at the night sky. The inky darkness speckled with shining stars. It’s calm. The sound of music drifting softly from behind you.

Hearing something move in the darkness to your left, you jump. Turning, you freeze, spotting a shadowy figure leaning against the wall in front of the dumpster, roughly 100 feet from you. You can’t make out their features from this far away in such low lighting. You see the low glow of embers flickering at the end of a cigarette that dangles from their lips.

Your body is rigid, muscles taught, your hand reflexively moving to your waist despite knowing your pistol is not there. Before your mind can decide between fight or flight the figure speaks.

“So, they put you on trash duty, loca?” A familiar voice calls. You feel yourself relax at the sound of Billy’s voice, releasing a breath. Billy pushes himself off the brick, standing upright as you approach, your eyes adjust to the light and you see him more clearly.

“Lurking in alleyways now?" You ask, drawing closer. "Very cool.” you shoot back, hoping the panic is gone from your voice as you stop in front of him. His outfit is more formal than you are used to seeing, a collared blue button up that matched his eyes well, along with a leather jacket and jeans. You vaguely wonder if the jacket is doing much to keep him warm. His lips twitch upwards at your comment, the embers of his cigarette glowing brighter as he inhales again.

“Not lurking, just…” He turns his head upwards, exhaling the smoke above your heads before levelling his eyes back on you. “Chaperoning.” He finishes, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground, using the toe of his boot to extinguish the remaining embers.

“That makes two of us.” You say, taking a step around him to get to the dumpsters lining the alleyway. Setting the garbage bag down, you open the lid of the large green container allowing it to fall back clanging against the metal loudly. You reach for the bag, preparing to hoist it in, but Billy’s hand beats you to it.

“I got it.” He says, quickly lifting the bag and tossing it in with little effort. You stare at him for a moment, confused.

“Thank you.” You say, hesitantly. He wipes his hands on his jeans, only grunting in response.

He hasn’t said so much as a sentence to you in over 6 weeks and now he’s doing you favours? Turning back to you, he shoves his hands into his pockets. He seems to make himself look somewhat smaller, hunching his shoulders slightly. You’re reminded of the way he had shrunk next to his father, your stomach flipping uncomfortably. His eyes find yours and you see the conflict in them. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but stops, closing it again.

The only sound between you is the music drifting from the dance. His eyes hold yours and you have to look away, suddenly feeling warm under his intense gaze. You clear your throat, hoping to relieve some of the tension.

“Well, I-uh, I should…” you trail off, gesturing behind you to the doors leading back to the gym. Billy’s eyes remain transfixed, you feel heat begin to creep up your neck. Swallowing thickly, you move to take a step back, hoping to avoid any confrontation.

Before you can pull further away Billy’s hand reaches out, grasping your arm. His hold on you is surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant, and you notice that despite the cold air, his palm is warm. Glancing down at where his hand makes contact with your skin, you notice the healed scars on his knuckles. Your mouth suddenly feels dry. He clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his face.

“Listen, I’m not really… good… at stuff like this.” He admits gruffly. His eyes hold yours, his brows pulling together as the small muscle in his jaw flexes. You swear that in the dim light you see a dusting of pink in his cheeks, it must have been the cold. You wait in silence, watching him struggle to speak.

“Thank you.” he practically has to spit the words out. Your mouth gaps slightly. Billy was not one for niceties and you’re fairly certain this is the first time he has thanked you for anything.

Your shock turns to confusion, not entirely sure what he’s thanking you for.

“For what, exactly?” you ask as gently as you can. His eyes shift, falling to his boots.

“For that night you helped me find Max.” he explains, avoiding your eyes. “You really saved my ass with Neil.” he goes on. Your stomach twists at the memory. More specifically the way Neil had looked at his son as he stood, terrified, on the front steps. It had put you on edge then and now you know for good reason.

The gratitude you had seen in Billy’s eyes before he disappeared into the house suddenly makes sense. You have no idea what Neil would have done if you hadn’t insisted on speaking with him that night, but if Billy’s demeanour is anything to go by, it couldn’t have been good.

“You’re welcome.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. Billy’s eyes meet yours again as he takes half a step closer to you. Against your will, your heart races at the proximity. You are suddenly aware of the heat radiating off of him, making the empty air behind you feel even colder. The hand encompassing your arm twitches, the warmth from it seeming to creep over your skin. You find yourself wanting to draw closer, to close the small distance between you and be consumed by the warmth. There is a pause of silence, the music emanating from the gym filling the space.

“Dance with me.” Billy says, suddenly. It’s less of a request and more of a gentle demand. You gap up at him not knowing what to say. It’s such an outlandish offer. It’s the middle of December, in an alleyway behind the gym at a middle school dance. His lips twitch upwards at your bewildered expression.

“What? Never danced with a guy before?” He asks, in a tone meant to be teasing. Your face heats up as you try to recall a time that you had been asked to dance, it had to have been in 8th grade.

“N-no, I have.” you deny. “It’s just we’re in an alleyway and- and it's freezing out.” you try to explain your hesitance, his grin only growing wider. The flash of his white teeth makes your stomach flip.

“Don’t worry loca, I’ll lead.” He assures you, the hand on your arm sliding down to gently hold your waist. He takes another step towards you and all the excuses die on your tongue as he smiles softly down at you. Your mind races, trying to recall what Nancy had taught you.

Squaring your shoulders towards him, you place your hands, arms extended, on his shoulders. Billy’s brows pull together, taking in your rigid posture.

“Jesus christ, what are you? 12?” he asks. You open your mouth to bite back at him but the hand on your waist pulls you closer, pressing your body fully against his. Your breath hitches as he slots one of his legs between yours.

“Now your arms go here. '' he instructs, his free hand moving your arm up around his neck, moving you, impossibly, closer. Your heart is pounding against your ribs so hard that you're certain he can feel it through where your chest is pressed against his. His hand trails down your side to your back, holding you against him with a firm pressure. He lowers his head, leaving the only space between you a few inches between your faces. You can feel his warm breath mingling with yours.

“Now feel the music, move with it.” He instructs, his tone gentler now, just a whisper between you. You can feel his breath fanning across your cheeks, under the smell of cigarettes you smell his peppermint toothpaste. You do your best to focus on the song over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. Taking a deep breath you begin to shift your feet slightly. Billy clicks his tongue.

“Loosen up a little, move from here.” He tells you his hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips, moving them against his in time with the music. You’re not fully aware of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, too consumed by the way his body is moving. Feeling him sway along with you helps you move more rhythmically. The two of you begin slowly, building your confidence, Billy leading you. His body seems to consume you, guiding you along with him. Part of you is amazed at how he is able to fluidly move the two of you together as one, along with the music.

You begin to move independently, feeling more confident, his arms always around you. Becoming engrossed in the way the two of you are moving together, not even aware of the cold anymore. Your hand absentmindedly moves along his shoulders to the base of his neck, your fingers threading through his curls. They are surprisingly soft. You hear Billy hum, the sound vibrating through his chest. Without warning, he bows his head, leaning forward into you while his hands support your back, lowering you into a dip.

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up in your chest. Billy chuckles at your reaction, lifting you back up. Your smile remains on your face as he continues to move the two of you.

As the music slows, so does he. You pant a breath, trying to contain your smile as he slowly comes to a stop. He smiles back down at you in a way you haven’t seen before, his blue eyes sparkling. The closest you had seen was when he was talking about California, or when he was drugged. It makes your head feel fuzzy. He still holds you close to him, his eyes on you. With his eyes searching your face so intently, you suddenly feel embarrassed, averting your eyes.

“Thanks.” you say, not even sure what you’re thanking him for, but feeling like it needs to be said. You feel his hands tighten slightly on your waist.

“Don’t mention it.” he breaths. There is a pause, your eyes glancing back up to him. Your heart skips a beat when his eyes shift over your face, flickering momentarily to your lips. “I owe you anyway.” he chuckles, pulling himself away slightly. Without his body pressed against yours, you're aware of the cold air is around you. As much as you want to pull him close again, you reluctantly remove your arms from him.

You're about to ask him what he means by owing you when the sound of the gym doors opening startles you both. Nancy stands in the opening, peering out into the alleyway. Seeing her before she can make out your face in the dark, you take a step away from Billy, his hands falling from your waist. Finally seeing you, Nancy sighs.

“Hey, I was looking for you.” She says. You try to smile, tugging at your clothes, suddenly aware of how wrinkled they are.

“Sorry, I was taking out the trash.” You explain, hoping that the darkness conceals the reddening of your face. Nancy’s eyes narrow, adjusting to the darkness, darting between you and Billy before settling on you. One brow quirked inquisitively. “Right.” she says. You know that her investigative mind is already spinning. “Just making sure you’re okay.” It's a question. Nancy knows what happened between Billy and Steve. She knows what he is capable of, something you had momentarily forgotten.

“I’m good.” you assure her, smiling as best you can. “I’ll be back in a second.” you say quickly. Nancy glances at Billy once more before nodding and closing the door.

Exhaling, you turn to look at Billy. His gentle smile has been replaced by a cocky smirk, it makes you want to shove him.

“Smooth.” He crows, stepping back to lean against the wall. Rolling your eyes you run a hand through your hair, goosebumps rising on the skin of your arms, trying to put the way Billy had felt against you out of your mind. Glancing at him, you watch as he fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. You’re not sure what compels you, but you swallow past your embarrassment and speak up.

“Did you want to come inside?” You offer. Billy levels his eyes on you, a new cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Nah, I’m good ‘chaperoning’ from here.” He says, putting air quotes around the word, before retrieving his lighter and igniting the cigarette. Part of you wants to stay, another part wants him to come with you, but in the back of your mind you know that he will stay and you will go. That’s the way that it has to be, for now.

Turning, you head for the doors back to the bustling gym.

“I’ll see you around, Loca.” Billy calls after you.

Despite everything, you smile at the familiar goodbye.

“See you, Billy.” You reply, before opening the doors, walking back into the light of the gym, leaving Billy in the cold, dark, outside.

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 21 (Coming Soon)...

AN: I hope you guys liked it! Finally a bit of steam in this slowburn!! Just a little taste of what's to come! Let me know what you guys think, leave a like of a comment! I read every one of them and appreciate it SO MUCH!

Taglist:

@official-starcourt-mall@lem0ns77@bethii1 @wysteria-arts @fanficfanatic204 @theshinyrock @spacedaddydinn @raidxny @emmyawards1 @lucxxy @leia9817 @wounded-writing @taisab02 @goblinpit @howlerwolfmax @kilvru3 @blueberry-birdie @flamewriterr @im-julessssss @tsukibaby1@mikeyswifie@superblyspeedydragon @let-love-bleeds-red @m-rae23 @msrawog @speakinglikeconstellations @taintedxkisses @pineapleavocado @hawkinsavclub1983 @arael-asuka @velvet-spider @extra-3motions @uniquecookiepainterbear @crimsonsabbath @mushy-mushroom04 @jevdidv @vermillionwinter@black-kitten-imagines@sammysgirl1997@fillechatoyante @chaoticbilly @tmriddler @stanseventeen@katzenwahnsinn@wisdomcrys@twoochickens @devrill @loadivine@hermankopusortizorsumshite@0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @primalsnack @peachyaeger@royaltysuite @sunnmoonsstuff @sobleedstherose@harmonics0537 @urmom-0987 @halbhohehalluzination@ladyapplejackdnd

@tulipsandlulis@gremlinfuck @perilous-pasta @candy12110@ccanineal @idkwhyimhere18 @ronnasey @friendlyneighborhoodgrunge-hippy

@chansmaze@sammararaven@tanyaherondale@actual-mom-steve-harrington@harringtonfan4@trenko-heart@maackiimoo@haleypearce@orangechickenpillow @bekindmydarling-blog @urmomgov

@krazy99 @clenchedfist @renaroo123 @bee-1n-space @puppybittingotherpuppy @neonbanshee @cannonize @rhumphr4 @chansbackdoor @cg94 @untoldshortsofthefandoms

@joyisalover @hibyewhy @rosey96 @spacegirl7777 @longingforasteroids @tayhar811 @lizzy6 @simpforbuckyb @laneyspaulding19 @dimskies @nyenye

@awesomesauce-abbie @blueray222

@alexa4040 @blackholegladiator @strangerthings1983fan

@curlszx88 @bdudette @eddiessweetheart86 @haleybarnesx @decadentwastelandtrash @all-for-kpop

@sophiaj650 @dystopianhellscape @punchyprincess23 @luvrsbian

389 notes · View notes

eris-snow · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, jealousy, Band AU, drummer bakugou, Quirkless AU, fluff,

Drummer Bakugou would be hot as hell. Disclaimer: The song Good 4 u from Olivia Rodrigo is in here so all props to her for this song because I am incapable of writing a single note.

God, he pissed you off. Bakugou can be one hell of an asshole, anytime, anywhere. You blew out an irritated scoff as you fixate your eyes on the blinding lights glaring down on the stage, determined to find a way to make yourself go blind so that you could stop looking at that emotionally-exhausting human named Katsuki Bakugou.

Unfortunately, his aura made it practically impossible to ignore him.

Your band had picked him up about a week after you guys formed. Jiro said she knew a guy that could fill in your drummer's vacant spot. After all, you needed a percussionist. Bands couldn't last long without one.

So when an angry, explosive and loud blond was dragged into the rented-out studio the very next day, you were hesitant to believe that this was the man that was going to solve all your problems. He proved you wrong though.

"Why the hell do you want me in your stupid little band anyway?" He snarled, trying to pry off Kaminari's arm that was clamped around his shoulders. "Can't you just ask Icy Hot or something? I'm sure even Damn Deku learn how to do it if it meant helping you guys until you got a replacement!"

"But that person won't be you, Bakugou!" Kaminari moaned, determinedly and successfully getting the blond into the room with the help of Tokoyami and Yaoyorozu. "Please, man! You're the best there is close to campus! The school band won't even let us take anybody!"

"And I can see why!" The blond spat, still fighting the mass of limbs that blocked the door. "I didn't want to do this shit!"

You frowned from your spot, clicking the microphone to the stand as you folded your arms. "Are you sure about this?" You whispered to Jiro, who had her head cradled tightly in her hands. "Isn't he the one always getting the top marks on all the weekly tests the teachers give us? You sure he can play?"

Bakugou's neck jerked so hard that you thought he would get a whiplash. "Hah?" He stopped resisting, sharp eyes snapping to you. "The hell do you mean 'can I play?' I'm the best fucking person you'd find in this entire country!"

Tokoyami, Kaminari and Yaoyorozu slumped down in relief, winded.

You blinked, taken aback. Then, your lips curl into a sly smirk.

"Prove it."

He decimated any thoughts of getting another person the second he held those drumsticks.

Since those high school days, the 6 of you matured into a band that wrote and performed original music, posting it on any social media platform to let it gain traction.

Thankfully, with Jiro's parents being music producers, it was infinitely easier to learn what was in and find the direction your band was going in.

Even after years of performing, you were still a bundle of nerves before performing.

Not this time though.

Now, all could do was to remind yourself to stay calm, get into the zone, and channel all this irritation into your vocals to make your performance more realistic and impactful.

Your relationship with Bakugou would be described as...chaotic at best. As the main vocalist in the band, you were mostly in charge of the lyric writing and overseeing what was the chords and rhythm for each song.

Bakugou was the one who dwelled the most on each section to make sure your lyrics were nothing short of perfect.

There were times when it would be just the two of you in that studio, rehearsing and replaying original albums or favourite covers before the others came. Even if Bakugou and you would yell and glare at each other, both of you held begrudgingly respect for what each of you did.

Bakugou annihilated any competition for a drummer in your region, just like he said. And even though you never brag, Bakugou knows you have the confidence and lung capacity of a whale. Your technique was unquestionably better than Jiro's.

That's why Bakugou knew every habit and quirk you executed in or out of that studio. He'd gotten really good at observing especially you.

The way you would fidget when someone would tell you how amazing your singing was, obviously flustered. That incoherent laughter that you think sounds terrible but one that Bakugou absolutely adores because it enforces the genuinity of your reactions. The blond is proud to know that he has drawn that laughter out of you the most times out of all the people he's seen you interact with. The way your words can change from throat-ripping rasp to velvety smooth to fit any one of your songs.

Fuck, you're so clumsy and stupid and irritatingly mind-racking all the time, but he can feel his feelings slamming harder and harder against that bedrock wall of control he so desperately built to keep his mind clear.

You don't make it easy though.

Bakugou is obnoxious at times, and this was one of those occasions. There was a slip-up backstage, and he just wouldn't stop yelling. You get that he was angry, you were too, but this was one of the times to be professional and suck it up. You'd get to perform anyway, it was just a little hold-up because one of the lights stopped working. One of the male assistants even came up to you to offer you a drink in apology.

Still, Bakugou just had to make a scene.

He ripped gently took that beverage out of your hand and threw it away the second you got it. Snapping at you in his temper tantrum, lashing out a tired "whatever" as if he were a child. The nerve of this guy!

Control now, let loose later, you remind yourself behind those velvet black curtains. Ignoring the looks of concern from your bandmates and the pressing scowls of confusion Bakugou was giving you.

A practised smile frames your face as the curtains part, and that's when you were greeted by your ever-enthusiastic fans.

It's showtime.

Maybe your sneaky attempt at revenge went a little too overboard.

After all, almost half of the female fans of your band were always fangirling over the great Lord Explosion Murder that killed everyone with his music. You wanted to make him feel how you did for once, even in your own narcissistic way.

There's no way he'd like you anyway.

It was easy to get lost in the song you wrote about heartbreak, getting lost in the frenzy of emotions, the strumming of the electric guitar, the rhythm of the drums...

you could feel the music thriving in your bones today.

As you sang, you noticed a guy in the front row grinning so broadly that practically half his face was plastered with that smile. "I LOVE YOU Y/N!" You heard him shout, jumping along with the crowd as you transition into the bridge.

Maybe you just felt neglected with all the feelings bottled up at your throat with Bakugou. It's hard to say anything when you know it's not your place, after all. Maybe that's why you did what you did next.

Smiling alluringly, you lock eyes with that man in the crowd and sing.

"Maybe I'm too emotional

But your apathy's like a wound in salt

Maybe I'm too emotional

Or maybe you never cared at all"

His eyes light up so bright that it almost makes you chuckle. It felt nice to be reciprocated for once.

At the back of the stage, Bakugou stares at you in utter confusion. What the hell did you think you were doing? He thought, finishing his section and letting you transition back into the chorus.

"Well, good for you

You look happy and healthy, not me

If you ever cared to ask"

Twirling the drumstick between his fingers, he watches, stupefied, as you continue to blatantly flirt with the audience, looking so innocent even though Bakugou knows you know exactly what you're doing.

You smile at-some guy in the front row, the blond can't make the extra out-and-did you just wink at him?

Bakugou's nostrils flare, eyes burning with jealousy.

This was what he get for being an unceremonious idiot. Karma is having a field day today. He watched you flash that flirtatious smirk to that bastard one more time as he clicks his tongue and raises his drumsticks in the air.

Tch.

The symbols clang loudly under his aggressive playing style as he lets spiteful jealousy take over his actions. He strikes the drum harder than necessary, unable to do anything but express how he felt through his playing, and it certainly gets your attention because you just sing louder above his drumming.

Kaminari, stunned, racks up the volume as Tokoyami supports Bakugou's drumming, letting the vocals and the rhythm take charge with a hint of the main melody from Kaminari to tie the entire performance together.

The performance ends with you and Bakugou panting, having used so much energy up to prove a silent point to each other you both couldn't voice at the moment.

The crowd roars with applause. Jiro exhales in relief, grateful both of your childish reactions only fueled each other and didn't tear down the entire show. You all bow, and practically hurtle off the stage. Shit. Bakugou was not going to be happy.

"What the hell were you doing back there?!" Bakugou growls collapsing on the couch as if dropping a dumbbell, vermillion eyes fixated on you in pure, raw fury. The minute you got of the stage, Bakugou had dragged you away from your bandmates and flung you into some random room to 'talk to you privately'. You right. He was fuming. "Flirting with the audience like that...are you begging to cause problems?"

"What's wrong with engaging the audience, hah?" You fire back, eyes lit aflame. "My pitch was perfect today!"

"And my rhythm has never been better!" Bakugou flings, eyes locked with yours as you glare each other down with searing stares. "But does that mean I make those fucking pretty eyes to anybody? I fucking don't!"

"Maybe it's because it's nice to reciprocate for once?" You yell without thinking, voice booming. "You don't even know who those lyrics are for, asshole! They were meant to be for you!"

Stunned silence enveloped the room. Bakugou recoils, taken aback...

"Run that by me again?"

Your eyes widen, only just realising your mistake. The red in your cheeks swelled from anger to embarrassment, bite dissolving the minute he called you out.

You messed up. "I-" You run an exasperated hand through your hair, sighing. "That song was for you, Bakugou. I was just fed up because you were acting all cranky before the performance started. And the fact that your fans have been vexingly clingy lately. it was just a mix of things that bothered me for a while now that blew up all at once."

Bakugou replays the lyrics in his head, realisation hitting him like a truck.

You like him.

He takes a bold step forward, closing the space between the two of you.

He likes you.

"Bakugou-?"

"Your fans," He leans in a hair away, breath tickling your face. "They piss the shit out of me too."

Your breath hitches. Was he really-?

"You gonna leave me hanging or what?" Bakugou grumbles, the fury in his eyes seeping out to make way for a softness you're not used to seeing.

You close the gap between you two.

Bonus Part:

When Kaminari sees the both of you come back with joint hands, he immediately pumps his fists and high-fives Tokoyami. "Finally," He groans, "you've been dancing around each other for years now. I thought you would never get together!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP DUNCE FACE!"

#mha #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #fluff #bakugou fluff #my hero academia #mha fanfiction #katsuki bakugō #bakugou jealousy #jealousy

274 notes · View notes

authortobenamedlater · 7 months

Text

E3 deep dive, brought to you by illness and cold medicine, you are warned.

I maybe should start just doing the highs and lows of each episode, because these take forever to write and I’m not sure how interesting they are for the rest of you. I was going to do highs and lows at the end of this post but it got too long.

We open up with Silver Team going rogue at Visegrad Relay, looking for their Cobalt comrades. It’s becoming increasingly clear that not only is this mission off the books, but John hasn’t told his team this. Not great for unit cohesion, Master Chief.

The base is eerily empty and there’s a rhythmic thumping sound. The Covenant? No, just a door opening and closing. Somehow that doesn’t feel much less scary.

Instead of the Covenant, we meet a swarm of Marines led by an impressively gutsy and likely ONI officer who puts herself between Silver Team and the ominously thumping door. She accuses John of stealing a Condor and falsifying a flight plan. This is news to the rest of Silver. John doesn’t care and barges through the door expecting to find Cobalt. He finds a whole lot of nothing. This doesn’t look like a cover-up at all, nope.

Next we whiplash to Ackerson having a touching and mundane moment with his father, who’s senile but not so far gone he doesn’t know he’s senile. Evidently Ackerson has been spilling classified information to his dad. In light of everything else going on, that’s pretty far down on Ackerson’s list of misdeeds. We also learn that “Julia” the mysterious flash clone was Ackerson’s sister. Why did he clone a bunch of her for Halsey? Ackerson Sr. reminds his son “You promised not to let them [the Covenant, presumably] take me alive.” Once again, nothing ominous here.

Then we have Dadmiral Keyes dressing down his overgrown children for ripping through the UCMJ like it’s wet toilet paper. You also get the feeling Keyes is getting squeezed into this and has information he should have shared with Silver, but was ordered not to. John asks if Ackerson is behind this, and everyone knows the answer but can’t say it.

John’s team is rightly furious with him for lying to them. Kai at least tries to reason with him but John’s not hearing it. The audience knows John is right and the UNSC-ONI machine is gaslighting him into thinking he doesn’t see what he knows he’s seeing. However, he’s still being a jerk about it and turning his own people against him. He doesn’t help his case when he mops the floor with his ONI babysitters like Steve Rogers taking out the Hydra guys in The Winter Soldier elevator scene.

Laera is trying to escape the Rubble and go after Soren, only to get wrapped up in Soren’s crew’s plot to steal the “Madrigal money.” Kwan continues to prove herself both useless and useful. With Madrigal glassed now, one has to wonder what role Kwan has to play. At the same time, she’s tough and resourceful, I have to give her that. She also tries to do what’s right. She knew Laera would die and went to rescue her, probably thinking she could reunite mother and son at some point but mom has to be alive for that to happen.

Laera, too, shows herself to be more than just a pretty face, resisting Antares’s interrogation even with a gun to her head. And the part where she says “I can usually reason with my husband” 🤣 it takes a real woman to hang with Soren-066. Plus, Laera always looks fabulous! I want to look that good if I ever get shoved in an airlock.

Got ahead of myself there, but some things work best tackled as a big chunk.

Riz seems to be increasingly disenchanted with Spartan life, not that I can blame her after how John treated her last week. Never mind that she’s been in constant pain for six months. She ends up at Louis’s place where we learn he and Danilo the PT are married. Riz asks Louis what “other things” there are to be besides a Spartan. We don’t get the rest of the conversation, but it looks like Riz might be getting ready to jump ship. She may find her options more limited once Reach falls, though.

Back at the ranch, we discover what actually happened to Cobalt. They were in fact at Visegrad, and ran into the Covenant. We don’t know if this happened before or after Silver Team showed up, but it confirms what we all thought: There’s some conspiracy to keep Covenant activity on Reach under wraps.

Keyes is clearly distraught over the four (remarkably intact) bodies in the morgue. THE DADMIRAL LOVES HIS OVERGROWN EMOTIONALLY STUNTED SPARTAN CHILDREN I am not taking questions on this. The exchange between him and Ackerson here is top-tier. When Ackerson tells Keyes to leave and Keyes says “I won’t run”? I don’t think you’re going to be in season 3, Jacob.

Kai goes to Ackerson, who admires her for defending her “CO.” John isn’t her “commanding officer.” He’s not an officer. I don’t know what they’d call him, though. “Your team leader”? I won’t bug you all with nitpicking terminology. Kai is so stir crazy that she asks to be deployed alone until John is cleared for combat. This, I suspect, is how she ends up with the S-IIIs.

John takes his concerns to Parangosky, who to the surprise of no one, has not really left ONI. He tells her the Covenant is on Reach and no one is listening to him. Parangosky doesn’t give him the help he’s looking for. She tells him to go back to FLEETCOM and lay low, and she’s brought a cadre of spooks to ensure his compliance. This does not placate the increasingly agitated Master Chief.

Ackerson visits Halsey in holo-jail and gives her a speech about how she made the Spartans “fragile” by implanting those pellets. He tells her that “these things [she] made, broken as they may be” will be the foundation for something greater. I suspect this is the Spartan-III program. It’s also what Adun says to Halsey’s clone right before he kills her and dissolves her in acid.

Then the bomb drops: Julia, Ackerson’s sister, was a Spartan who died from the augmentations. Suddenly everything about Ackerson makes sense.

But the bombs aren’t done dropping. Ackerson leaves, then walks back in with none other than Soren-066. He tells Halsey “I didn’t want you to be alone” and walks out. Halsey looks legit TERRIFIED when she sees Soren.

Finally, John goes to see Talia and finds her in church. I’m going Gaga over the religious references this year, you all don’t even know. Talia has a recording of the “interference” on Sanctuary, which we find out is also a prayer offered by the Arbiter not named Thel ‘Vadam, stating his intention to offer Reach as a burnt offering and place the Demon’s head on the altar.

While Talia is translating the prayer, we see a montage that notably shows us Ackerson giving his father a pill, probably cyanide, reiterating his promise that he wouldn’t let the Covenant take his dad alive. He tells his father “I have to go away” which is the third time he’s said as much in two episodes. As he’s walking out, Ackerson brings in a final Julia clone, and his dad thinks he’s seeing his little girl one last time. A teary-eyed Ackerson walks out, and the next time we see him he’s strapped into a troop transport. Going where, we wonder?

Then an explosion shatters the church’s windows and the episode ends.

All this sets us up for…next week it’s all going down.

#halo #halo tv show #halo spoilers

22 notes · View notes

backtothefanfiction · 2 months

Text

All The Good Girls Go To Hell | TF!Boys Mafia AU ~ Part TWO

Summary: Phoenix has one last night of freedom before she is forced to go to work for her dad. What better way to spend it than a night on the town? Maybe taking home one of the guys she knows will only wind up Pope... or hopefully get her closer to bedding the man himself?

Warnings: 18+ Only, (Mature Content), Dark Mafia Romance Au, broken family, unhinged female rage, AFAB, OFC, Mixed POV, objectification of the female body, drug and alcohol used, smut, bondage, dom!reader, oral (m!recieving)

Word Count: 5.2k+

A/N: I am sorry this took so long to get done and posted. I also know I could have gone further into things at the end of this chapter but it felt like it ended there for me and it'll give us a place to start in chapter three. Once again we are gonna jump around to a few different character's perspectives. As always if you enjoy please give feedback and reblog, it means a lot. Also I'm posting this without doing a final proofread so may still contain some errors, but hopefully not. Enjoy!

TWO

PHOENIX

I haven’t been back in this room for years. Although I was bounced around boarding schools since I was 12, I still came home for the holidays and most weekends- my bedroom becoming a shrine to all the things I loved as a teenage girl. Hunky male actors (who we’re definitely way too old for me) cover my walls. All the half page and sometimes double spread posters from the centerfolds of my favorite magazines. Whatever space lay between was covered in doodles- made by sharpies- in an ever decreasing interest in becoming an artist.

My en-suite cupboards are filled with a plethora of half used bottles of crazy color, that are sat tempting me in my post break up adrenaline. They are probably long past their best before date and not that effective. At least that’s what I tell myself as I’m getting out the old tupperware pots still waiting under the desk and begin dumping out colors. I’ve only really got enough pink and blue to do half my head, so decide to split my hair in half straight down the middle and do a half and half ombré with the two colors a la Harley Quinn. But when my eyes fall on the toxic neon yellow shade, I know I have to find a way to work it in too. So instead of taking the pink and blue right down to the very ends of my hair, I decide to put the yellow on there instead.

I’m sat on top of my old hand-me-down four poster bed, reading one of the old teen magazines (that have been kept in a box under my bed all these years) whilst my hair develops, when my Dad finally comes up to find me.

“What in hell’s name have you done to your head?” He says, stopping short in the doorway when he takes in the sight of me.

“What can I say? I was bored.” I say bluntly, barely looking up from between the glossy pages of the magazine.

“Give me that.” He says, stepping forward and snatching it out of my hands.

“Hey- I was reading that!” I protest, but he cuts me off.

“You’re 26 Phoenix, it’s time you start acting like it.”

I genuinely look at him shocked. After all these years he’s finally decided to grow a backbone and discipline me. “Woooow.” I begin to sass him when I spot Ez over my Father’s shoulder, encouraging me to stop.

“Enjoy your last night of freedom Phoenix, because come tomorrow night you’re going to work with Archie.” my old man continues.

My attention snaps back to him so fast I almost give myself whiplash. “What!”

“Don’t give me that shit. You’re back living under my roof, you pay your way like everyone else in this house.”

“What, even Marina?” I snark, knowing she’s never done a single day’s work in years.

“Yes, actually.” my Dad retorts, “She helps me with the books.”

“Yeah, I bet she does.” I roll my eyes.

“Look, you don’t like it- maybe you shouldn’t have set fire to your life all over again. Jesus!” He turns on his heels, growing exasperated with me. “Your shift starts at 7 tomorrow. You can get a ride with Archie.” my Dad barks before he storms out the room without shutting the door behind him.

“I told you, you’ve really done it this time.” Ez chastises me from the open doorway.

“Oh shut up.” I say, getting up from the bed and slamming the door in his face.

I want to scream the word ‘FUCK’ for the whole house to hear, but I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. Only I would get cheated on and then punished for it.

My fingers instead rub at my eyes. ‘Fuck this shit,’ I think to myself, storming over to my closet. I fling the doors open and survey what I have to work with. Most of it is from when I was 17 and near anorexic. It takes a few passes back and forth between items before I decide on a couple of items and choose to get a little crafty with them.

An hour later I’ve washed out my hair and styled it, throwing on a full face of makeup- complete with glitter and a dark lip- I now don an outfit made up of two spliced shirts, the front an old silver sequin shirt I’ve cut into a square and then fixed to the straps of a black spaghetti strap top. It hangs low enough to just about cover my pleather hotpants covered ass. My bra and tits are almost completely on display, but it’s just the bait I need to not have to buy a single drink tonight. Given that my Dad runs Medusa’s as well, I won’t even have to pay to get in.

I shove on a pair of bejeweled silver ankle boots to match the makeshift dress I’ve scraped together and throw on my old faithful leather jacket- once an oversized fit, that now fits perfectly- and I’m ready to go.

“Hey, give me a lift down to the club.” I say, knocking on Deano’s door frame two rooms down.

He barely looks away from his TV where he’s in the middle of a racing game. His fingers, glued to the controller in his hand, twiddle the joists and the tires from the car on the screen, screech through the sound system he has hooked up. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll finally introduce you to Lucy.”

“How do you know she’ll be there?”

“It’s a Friday night. She’ll be there.”

“Phe, you haven’t been down to Medusa’s for years,” there’s a beep from the TV as he pauses the game to finally look at me, “how are you so sure- Dad is gonna kill you before he lets you go out dressed like that.” he says.

“Well I wasn’t planning on giving him a fashion show before we left.” I sigh, crossing my arms and legs, leaning my body against the door frame. “Besides, he’s the one who said this was my last night of freedom and I don’t plan on spending it sitting on my bed in my joggers

watching reruns of the old house wives.”

“Fine.” he sighs, rubbing at his face, “But you’re messaging Lucy to make sure she’s gonna be there.” He points at me.

“Doing it now.” I say, reaching into my jacket pocket for my phone and typing out a hasty message to my old partner in crime. “Get dressed.” I bark at him.

“So bossy.”

“Yep. And don’t you forget it.”

FRANKIE

Although most of the people in the clubbing business are in their 40s and 50s, the actual clubbing lifestyle is not suited for anyone over 35. Unless you are a woman in your 40s that is. (You’ll be surprised at the amount of middle aged Mom’s who band together and make a big deal about going out at least once a month, so that they can hold on to some semblance of themselves and their youth- especially if they have kids.)

No. If I had it my way, I would definitely not be spending my Friday night at a club full of sweaty twenty something year olds, all scantily clad or greasy and sleazy, trying to make a pass at anything else that walks or even just looks too long in their direction. I can’t say the same about Benny though- but he is and always has been the baby of our little quartet. The man still hasn’t yet hit 40, so this ideally is still his game; and out of all of the clubs we’ve bought over the last few years, Medusa’s is without a doubt his favorite. Marble stone statues dotted about the place, a large spray painted mural of the lady herself, complete with 3D gold fiberglass snakes that protrude from her head and red lights in her eyes.

It’s also where most of the rich kids in town come to spend their money, so it always turns a pretty profit; not just from the booze, but also the amount of drugs that are bought and exchanged in the toilets. All of it our gear of course.

Even when we aren’t dropping by for an inspection, Ben will still opt to spend most of his nights here sampling the merchandise, before taking home the prettiest young thing in a skirt he can find at the end of the night. That poor creature will then wake up at the penthouse the following morning and attempt to slip out before anyone else notices her. Unfortunately though, I’m an early riser and usually already sat having my morning coffee in the kitchen in my t-shirt and underwear, so a clean and easy get away very rarely happens.

We’ve barely made it through the door for the evening when he’s already eyeing up some girl dancing around a pole on top of one of the platforms. She’s barely wearing any clothes and has pink and blue hair, definitely Benny’s type. He’s always been fond of something a little more reckless and different- like him. He’s practically salivating as he comes to a stop to stare at her across the top of a couple of booths.

“Don’t even think about it.” Pope’s serious voice cuts through Benny’s thoughts. It has us all looking then.

Pope has never been one to make a comment or cock block any of us for that matter. He’s always said, what we do in our own time is none of his business; but the mere sight of this chick has him growing tight.

Benny looks like he’s about to protest, his hands rising into the air to indicate back to the chick in a ‘oh come on, how can you say no to that’ kind of way- and I don’t really blame him; this chick’s even got my eyes lingering to places they shouldn’t. But Pope’s face remains firm. “I’m serious Ben, you don’t want to touch that,” he says. “And that goes for all of you.” He adds quickly, seeing the way both William and myself also seem to be taking her in. Because it’s true, she really is like nothing else here. The way she’s dressed, her colorful hair, her confidence- it’s magnetic.

She sways her hips more, a naughty smile on her face. She knows we’re looking. But her eyes don’t linger on us. They linger on Pope.

“You know each other?” I ask, observing the obvious.

“She’s David’s kid.” He states as if he’s already exhausted by her. By us. By this whole conversation.

“The fire starter?” Will chimes in. He seems to be eyeing her up with a whole new kind of appreciation now.

“Fire starter?” Benny’s ears prick up and he begins to bounce on the balls of his feet, palms rubbing together as if he’s gearing up for a competition.

“I told you Ben, hands off.” Pope says again. “Now come on. We’ve got work to do.” He says and continues to walk towards the back of the club to a raised seating area that’s reserved only for us.

“Yeah, yeah.” Benny sasses back to him, but leans into me, nudging my shoulder with his as he says, “what’s he gonna do?” He nods in David’s daughter's direction, before giving me a mischievous smirk.

PHOENIX

In all fairness, this so-called ‘last night of freedom’ was turning into a bit of a dud until they walked in. There was no real entertainment. It was boring. Predictable.

Lucy was indeed at the club as predicted, flanked by a couple of nobody guys already hovering around her like mosquitoes, despite the fact she didn’t seem to give a single one of them the time of day. My brother of course quickly joined their ranks. No- she was far more focused on doing blow at the table with her “girls” (I’d never met them before… couldn’t even remember their names), but I joined nonetheless. After all, Lucy was loaded.

She worked as one of those so-called “influencers”. She was constantly charging companies upwards of 10 grand a post, claiming it was such hard work to take a picture and write the perfect caption for her 1 million followers who only followed her for her looks, not her substance- of which she had very little.

So I made small talk, bumped a couple of lines and downed the complimentary bottles of bubbly that kept being brought to her booth and over all, tried to block out the mind numbing monotony of the whole situation. I only started dancing on the table to give myself something to do- but then my new buddy and his friends walked in. Gods he was more handsome and mysterious under the cover of night- and his friends weren’t bad looking either.

They all wore some version of an all black uniform; casual suits with half open button downs, black T-shirts and leather jackets. I didn’t know which one I wanted to sink my newly single teeth into first, because let’s face it, I’d happily fuck each and every one of them… maybe even twice… or maybe even more than one of them at the same time.

It’s clear the biggest guy wants me too, the way he stands staring, his tongue practically lolling out of his mouth as he salivates, his eyes taking me in like I’m already his favorite meal and he can’t wait to chow down. No doubt he’d take me for the ride of my life, if I let him, but it’d be too easy. I love a challenge and the way Pope has his eyes on me, I really can’t resist.

As he ushers them to move on, taking the lead as they make their way towards a VIP booth up a couple steps over to the far left of the DJ booth, giving them the perfect view to survey their goods, my mind begins to whir as quickly as my limbs swing around the pole in my hands. I watch tentatively from a distance, taking mental notes of every little thing he does. The way he runs his hands back through his tight curls when he becomes stressed. The way he struggles to relax, always sitting further forward, reaching for his phone or something on the table, or if that fails, fiddling with the buttons of his open blazer as his fist rests against his hip.

He’s uptight that’s for sure. Typical business type who likes to be in control and run the show. If I’m gonna wear him down, it’s gonna take time and not just on the side lines working in this club, but I have to penetrate his inner circle. As I slump back down next to Lucy in the booth, I slowly realize what I have to do. It’s just like in the olden days, if you wanted to bed the King, you had to get yourself in with someone lower down in his court and work your way up- and I knew just who to start with.

BENNY

I knew Pope had said no, but when had that ever stopped me before? He knew what I was like. Knew I’d rather act now and enjoy myself and deal with the consequences later. Besides, it didn’t matter whose kid she was, if she was in here, she was clearly legal and the way she’s been eyeing me up since we sat down, clearly meant she wants this too. She’s firmly placing herself down on the table- and damn- if that isn’t that most appealing slice of cherry pie I have ever seen.

Actually scratch that, she looks like the embodiment of one of those slushies you can get down at the 7/11 and all the guys know the blue raspberry, cherry mix is my favorite.

“Yo! Ben!” My brother snaps his fingers in front of my eyes, breaking me once again from my fixation and fantasies. “Brother, have you been listening to a word Pope just said?”

“Yeah, of course.” I bristle, but in all honesty, I haven’t got a fucking clue.

“Oh really. Go on then,” he presses me, as Pope and Frankie stand and begin to leave the booth, making their way over to the bar, “tell me what he just said.”

“Something about going and checking in with the team leader that’s on tonight to check about sales or something.” I murmur my reply.

“Lucky guess.” My brother says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, why did you call her the fire starter?” I turn and ask him. He’s got that look on his face and struggles to meet my eyes, because he knows it’s a bad idea to answer my question and supply me with no doubt deadly information, but he also knows I’ll just keep asking or find it even more of an intriguing game if he doesn’t.

“She set fire to her school.” He finally says, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a stick of gum, unwrapping it and placing it in his mouth. I’ve never understood his obsession with the stuff, but then again, I’ve never understood why he’s such a neat freak either. And to be honest, given my brother's near compulsive need to always have minty fresh breath (despite the fact I know he ain’t been kissing no girls in a long time- not since Kylie broke up with him) I’d probably place my bets on the two things being linked. “Oh and she set her fiancé’s bed on fire when she found him in bed with another girl. Or should I say ex-fiancé now.” Will continued as he chewed down on his gum.

His words had my eyes growing wide. “No, Ben, don’t even think about it.” He chastises me.

“What?” I say indignantly. “How do you know what I was thinking?” I ask him.

“Because I know you. You’re probably wondering what it’s gonna take for her to set you on fire.” I can’t help the small grunt that escapes me as I cross my arms and spread my legs, sitting myself back in the booth. “Yeah- exactly.” My brother says with his know it all attitude.

I hate it when he does that. He pretends like he’s all high and mighty, but I know for a fact he checked her out too, when we first arrived. And I know he would definitely hit that if given the chance. No doubt she’d be too much for his uptight ass though. But then again, I think to myself as my eyes glance back across the room to her as she gets back up from her seat to begin dancing and wrapping herself seductively around that pole again, maybe that’s exactly what he needs to loosen him up a bit. But given the way she’s currently eyeballing me, there’s no way I’m letting him tap that before me.

PHOENIX

I take my time as I wait for the rest of them to finish up for the night and leave- knowing all too well that Benny would stay behind. Between drinks, and the odd extra sniff of blow off the back of one of Lucy’s guy friends’ hands, me and my target for the night have been eye fucking each other like it’s a sport. At 1am he approached the bar. At 1:15 a pink and blue bubblegum flavored drink made its way over to me. It didn’t take two guesses to work out who had sent it- but the bartender told me anyway.

I raised it in his direction, with a polite smile of thanks, before I seductively brought the straw to my lips. I kept eye contact with him as I began to suck it down and he gave me the dirtiest smirk, before he turned his attention back to Pope and the rest of their group. When I flashed a look towards the elder gentleman he quickly turned his eyes back away from me, but unfortunately for him he wasn’t quick enough for me to not see the look of contempt in his eyes. Oh yeah, this was gonna be fun.

It was another hour and a half before the rest of them left. At this point Lucy was too far gone. Half of her mates had disappeared. There was only one other girl left at the table with us who was talking to my brother, whilst two other guys who had been thirsting over Lucy all night, finally seized their moment.

“We’re gonna take her home.” one of them shouted as the other attempted to pull a very inebriated Lucy out of the booth. I thought for sure Deano would protest being the sober one and designated driver, but he was far too wrapped up in the red head sat next to him; who also seemed fairly sober considering the state the rest of our group had been getting in most of the night.

Overall though, I couldn’t care less- I had my eyes on my own prize.

The tall fair haired man finally began to make his way over to me now his companions had officially left the building. He looked like he could be a boxer… or a football player. As he got closer I noticed his eyes were a piercing baby blue.

“Benny.” He said, holding his hand out to me.

“Phoenix.” I replied with a smile in the corner of my lips, taking his hand carefully in my own and giving it a shake. I noticed Deano notice him and bristle slightly, it was clear he wanted to say something, but the way Benny turned his eye on him, he quickly lost his nerve.

“Deano.” Benny said, laying on the charm.

My brother swallowed hard. “Benny.” He said a little tightly.

“Here-“ Benny said to Dean, slipping a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer, “why don’t you two go treat yourself to a couple of drinks on me,” he said, pulling out a money clip. He peeled off a couple of bills, handing them over to my brother, before he slipped the money back into his pocket. Deano gave me a small reluctant and protective look, but when he looked back to Benny, he knew not to protest- after all he did work for him and knew not to get on Ben’s bad side.

“Come on, Isla.” He said to the red headed girl beside him, offering her his hand before leading her over to the bar.

As Benny sat himself down next to me in the booth, I couldn’t help but smirk. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Deano that scared of anyone.”

Ben let out a scoff, “Nahh.” He said, denying the claim with a small wave of his hand. “It’s nothing really. Dean’s a good guy. I fought him once actually.”

My brow furrowed at the piece of information- so he was a boxer. “Really?” I pondered.

“Ehh just a small little work match.” He said, sitting himself back and smoothing out his trousers. “We’ve got this boxing gym down near the docks. Some of the guys like to go down there sometimes, let off a little steam.”

“Does Pope go?”

“Pope?” His brow furrowed slightly, but his tone was one of surprise. “Nahh… nah.” He said, shaking his head. “My brother and Frankie do sometimes, more to support me and just watch, but no- Pope doesn’t really go there. It’s not really his thing.”

I pause for a moment, just to take in the information. “So what does he do to let off steam then? I mean, the man seems pretty uptight.” I say the second part of the sentence lightly, I don’t want Benny thinking I’m only using him for information about his Boss.

“To be honest… I don’t really know.” Ben confides in you. “I mean, I come here and do my boxing, my brother likes his bikes. Frankie likes to take off into the woods and go fishing. But Pope, honestly, I don’t know.” He goes quiet then. He’s contemplative, as if he’s never really put much thought into it before. I shuffle myself slightly next to him and he quickly snaps back out of it though. “What about you?” He turns his head and asks me, his eyes raking over me and lingering over my chest on the way. “What do you like to do to let off steam?”

☆

I’m barely thinking about how I just ditched my brother, leaving him alone at the club without even saying goodbye, as Benny slams my back into the door to the penthouse apartment. His lips have been on mine since the elevator doors closed. When the bell dinged to signal we had reached the top floor, we hadn’t even parted; he hooked his large hands underneath my ass and lifted me up, my legs and arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders and hips as I allowed him to carry me like a literal child to the door.

He propped me against it with his hips as he fumbled in his pockets looking for a key card. “Wait, wait, wait…” he said against my lips as he reluctantly parted from them, “just give me a… second.” He said as he finally located the card and held it to the small black box beside the door. There was a beep and the tiny light went green as the door went click. “There we go.” He muttered to himself, pulling on the door handle and pushing it open before latching his lips back onto mine and taking me inside.

He carried me over to the kitchen island, where he finally put me down atop the cold marble countertop, parting with me for only a moment so that he could take off his, no doubt expensive, designer blazer and hand it over the back of one of the bar stools at the end of the island. The quick break allowed me to survey the room in the city lights that streamed in through the large floor to ceiling windows that lined the far left wall and wrapped around the side of the stairs at the end of the large open plan living space, that no doubt lead up to the bedrooms.

“Is anyone else home?” I asked breathlessly, as he moved back around the island to nestle himself between my legs, his large palms sliding up and down my bare legs.

He shook his head, a small glint of excitement in his eyes. “No, my brother and Frankie had business to attend to.” He explained, his eyes moving up and down my body, taking me in like I was a meal, as he spoke. “They won’t be back for at least another couple of hours.” As soon as he finished his sentence, he immediately began to attack my lips with his own again.

It was thrilling to finally kiss another man after being with Freddie for nearly five years, even his Ben’s lips were a little rougher. It was clear already that Benny was all about force; his job, his muscles, the boxing, his kissing- and although in the right person a little force in sex can be a good thing, I knew sex with Benny would no doubt be fast hard and over way too soon before my orgasm had even had a chance to build. But I’d been watching him all night, saw that look in his eye when he first saw me. Noticed the double take he did when his brother no doubt told him who I was and what I’d done. I’d seen that hunger in him grow and I knew what he truly wanted.

I broke my lips from his, feigning the need to take a breather; and to my delight, felt his lips begin to travel down my neck instead, affording me a chance to look over his shoulder towards the dining table right in front of the window and formulate a plan. I slowly began to walk my fingers down his chest, making a path right for his belt. My lips attached themselves to his once more in an attempt to distract as I began to push him back, hopping down from the counter as I walked him slowly backwards towards the table, carefully maneuvering him around it in front of the large window that overlooked the city. I gently hooked my toes around the chair leg at my side, pushing it out from under the table and shifting it to just the right position behind him, all the while my fingers worked to undo his belt. He smiled against my lips with a knowing chuff as I swiftly pulled the belt from the loops, the metal of the buckle jangling in my grasp.

I met his eyes with a devilish look as I pulled away from him, gently nibbling on my lower lip and he grunted slightly in anticipation. However that grunt turned into a small moan as I pushed him back down into the chair and sat myself on top of him. I could already feel how hard he was in his slacks, eager to get inside me.

He reached his arms around my back as he tried to grind up into my sex, but I shook my head. “Nuh, uh, uh.” I chastised him, reaching behind me for his wrists. At my words, he pouted, but that childlike look of wonder quickly returned to his eyes when I moved his arms behind his back and began to wrap his belt around them, fastening them tightly into place, before I stood up and began to step back from him.

“What ya gonna do fire starter?” Benny asked me teasingly as I began to sway my hips back and forth; looking him up and down, taking in the sight before me.

“Who, me?” I teased as I slowly began to lift up my top to reveal myself to him.

“You gonna set me on fire too?” He asked almost excitedly.

“Maybe… someday.” I said, as I began to slide my shorts down, leaving them in a puddle of fabric on the floor with my top. Now stood only in my underwear and heels, I began to slowly walk towards him again. “But tonight…” I teased as I circled him, my finger dragging across his chest, up across the back of his shoulders and back again. When I was back in front of him I slowly began to drop to my knees before him, my hands sliding up his thighs and back down again as I parted his knees, “-tonight,” I said again, my fingers beginning to inch back up towards the opening of his slack, “I think I’m just gonna blow-” I unbuttoned his trousers, pulling the fabric and forcing the zip open, “your-” I reached my hands in below his waistband and pulled out his cock, it was so hard and thick just the sight of it made me begin to salivate. “Mind.” I finally said as I wrapped my lips around his cock, my tongue swirling around his tip, making him moan loudly into the dark room.

________________________________

Tag List (if you want to be added, you have to tell me in writing)

@casa-boiardi @southernbe @littlenosoul @movievillainess721 @pastawench @littlemisspascal

#triple frontier mob!au #triple frontier x ofc #mob!au #frankie catfish morales #Frankie morales #benny miller #will miller #will ironhead miller #Santiago garcia #Santiago pope garcia #pedro character imagines #osc community #charlie hunnam characters #garrett hedlund characters #triple frontier fic #ben miller #ben miller smut

6 notes · View notes

zvtara-was-never-canon · 1 year

Note

Can I say that as someone whose original ship started off as Zutara but is a multishipper, I really, really hate how much their fandom has watered down the pairing. The ship has come to revolve so much on the obsession of not being canon that almost all content is framed as “how can we be “better” than canon?” Oh, Aang did this in the show or the comics or in LOK? Well, my OC Zuko would NEVER.

Zuko, Katara, and Aang exist as nothing else but to be their OCs and projections. Aang is the evil jealous boyfriend who holds Katara back and comes in between Zutara’s “true love.” Zuko and Katara are doormats who have no spine, except when it comes to Aang and Mai. Then they’ll “stand up” to their abusive exes.

Kataang content revolves so little around Zuko that I get whiplash when I see how much Zutara content revolves around Aang and Kataang. It’s all one-sided, delusional beef against Bryke anyway bc Bryke does not give a fuck about them and will make Kataang content because they are the only confirmed canon endgame ship and the main ship of the series, not to spite Zutara shippers. The whole shipping war continues to give them publicity and promotes the show, why else would they attempt to replicate it in Legend of Korra? I suspect that after seeing how popular Zukka has become post 2020, they’ll attempt to do the same for that ship too. All these posts about how “my Zutara fanfic is a fuck you to Bryke and their self-insert” is so funny because these grown ass men do not care and are only benefiting from your fan content that you so believe keeps them awake at night tossing and turning.

And you would think, after all the posts about how shitty LOK and the comics have treated Katara over the last decade, Bryke is FINALLY listening and giving her the post-canon development that she should have gotten ages ago, would be considered a positive sign for them. But instead they’re dreading all content that comes from Avatar Studios painting Katara in a positive and more independent light. Like what! Do you know how many fandoms I’ve been in which I would kill if the showrunners retconned awful post-canon characterizations about my fave characters, despite years and years of begging?

I'm dreading the new content too, but only because I haven't truly liked anything since the original show so I just don't want more disappointment.

"Don't do the thing we've been asking you guys to do all the time 'cause then we lose one of our main bullshit arguments to why Zutara is better than Kataang" is just the kind of stuff that shows all the "We totally care about Katara as her own separate character and not just an OC we can use to pretend we're dating Zuko" has always been and always will be bullshit.

#anti zutara

23 notes · View notes

lightning-writes · 9 months

Text

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 21/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: Bucky and Rue have a snowy moment (alternatively: Rue defends Bucky)

word count: 2367

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: panic attack, mention of weapons

a/n: this chapter will give you whiplash, but the slow burn is burning friends! hope you enjoy and happy new year!

P.S. SPECIAL AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END

AO3 MASTERLIST X

“Do you think it’ll snow?”

Rue and Bucky are walking to yet another store, not having much luck in finding gifts for her co-workers from the restaurant. She told him she’d bought the ‘big gifts’ already and had some smaller gifts to buy.

(She also mentioned she’d bought his gift weeks ago, which falters his steps.

The last gift he’d ever received was from Steve, the notebook in his pocket. It’s nearly full now, a shared memory between friends, brothers.

Before that, the only other kindness he’d received for decades was his new prosthetic from the Wakandans. He could argue it was an investment, but Ayo’s skill of breaking the brainwashing had put him forever in her and Wakanda’s debt.)

“It feels like it,” he mutters, mind still stuck on their previous conversation.

(It took a few minutes after she mentioned a gift for him to ask what she wanted for Christmas. She had laughed, waved him off, and said she didn’t need anything. When he pressed, she’d shaken her head and said any gift is a good gift.

This had his brain racing through all the small details he knows about her, cataloging all the things he could get her… but his brain is firing blanks.)

“I hope so,” he hears the smile in her voice without looking at her, “we haven’t had a white Christmas in a while.”

The city is always busy, but it’s the Saturday before Christmas. The place is a maze. When the space narrows, Bucky allows her to step ahead of him, keeping an eye out. Busy streets usually lead to hidden dangers.

“Hey,” she nudges his arm with hers. He finally looks over to her earnest gaze. “I know you’re a quiet guy, but what’s going through that brain of yours?”

“Nothing,” he says too quickly. She narrows her eyes.

“Bucky, don’t make a big deal about the gift thing, please. I’m getting a gift for Greta… it’s not that serious.”

It’s a minor hit to his ego, but he also knows she’s downplaying it. “Easy for you to say.”

She rolls her eyes and takes his hand. It’s his prosthetic, and she startles away from it.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, tucking it back into his pocket.

“No, you’re just cold,” she says with a laugh. Surprising him, she reaches into his pocket and takes his hand out again. “I have… a weird question.”

He glances at her, studying his metal hand in hers. “Go on.”

(Admittedly, Bucky realizes she could easily ask him anything about the metal arm, and he’d tell her. Maybe it’s because he’s started to trust her. Maybe it’s because he can’t remember the last time someone willingly touched the prosthetic without making it weird or clinical.)

“Does your arm make you… cold?” He watches her grow more sheepish as the seconds pass. “Like, because it’s metal and attached to your body? I mean, are you always cold… or…?”

He laughs at the incredulity of the question. Her accosted look is dramatic. He laughs as he explains, “No one's ever asked me that before.”

(His grip on her hand tightens as they pass through unyielding pedestrians.)

“It doesn’t now, but it used to… my other arm, from…”

“Hydra,” she whispers close to him. He nods.

“Besides, with the Serum, I tend to run a little hot,” he dodges someone walking the opposite way, steering Rue out of the way as well, “so it was never really an issue.”

“Well, it’s too cold for me,” she lets go of his hand with a chuckle, “so I’ll…”

Bucky hears it before he sees it.

The tinny, metallic clatter.

It’s an IED, it’s a grenade.

His muscles react before he does.

His body pushes Rue out of the way, tumbles, and he lets his body hit the ground first, landing so he shields her head with his metal arm. His body is rigid, but his heart is wild as he waits for the explosion.

(He doesn’t even register that his hat’s gone flying or Rue’s matching heartbeat thudding against his chest, her breath panting against his face.)

The explosion never comes.

He chances a look over his shoulder to see… a hubcap, wobbling to a pathetic halt.

“Bucky.” He looks down at Rue. He watches her alert gaze soften. He feels her arm, pinned beneath him, worm its way up to cup his face. “Hey, we’re safe.”

“I…” He pushes away from her immediately, resting on his knees, “Sorry, I–”

(Panic is a tidal wave, freezing his thoughts and the words coming out of his mouth, and it crashes into embarrassment.

He’s drowning, he’s drowning.)

“Hey, James, it’s okay.” She’s on her knees now, too, studying him. He feels her hands on his thighs, pressing into them as she gets close to his face. “James, we’re safe, okay? Breathe with me.”

“Wow, you really saved her from that hubcap, dude,” a laughing voice says behind them. Bucky suddenly remembers they’re in the middle of the sidewalk, painfully aware of all the people pouring around them.

(And their staring eyes are crushing his chest.)

There’s a young guy, younger than Rue, younger than Bucky was when he’d been drafted. He’s wearing a baseball cap, so Bucky can only see the shit-eating grin on his face.

“Can you kindly fuck off, please?” Rue says with a saccharine tone, but her features are configured in a way Bucky has never seen before.

Mean and hateful.

(Even when she’d threatened that person in the restaurant, her face had been neutral, and he could tell her words had been measured and calm. This is something different.)

“Why, so you can coddle–” The guy turns his cap backwards, showing the realization filling his eyes. Bucky’s blood drains from his face. The guy’s phone is out and aimed at him in seconds. “You’re the fucking Winter Soldier.”

Rue’s on her feet before Bucky can react. “Stop recording us.”

(Bucky’s mind flashes back to the information the Toad gave him, Rue’s history of getting into fights, inebriated or not. He wonders if this streak of anger is making its appearance again, after many years.)

“Yeah right, bitch.” He scoffs, pushes her aside. She stumbles. To his phone, he narrates, “Who knew the Winter Soldier was such a pussy?”

Rue’s already in motion when Bucky gets to his feet.

She snatches at his phone, but the guy steps out of reach. “I said, stop recording us.”

He puts the camera on her face now. “Look at this, the Winter Soldier’s little whore–”

Rue gives him a hard shove, knocking him back into the crowd, and his phone flies out of his hand. Without hesitation, her heel slams into it. The sound of glass grinding beneath her boot is surprisingly loud in the busy night.

“What the fuck!”

He lunges at her. She’s already swinging, her rings glinting in the city lights, but Bucky grabs her waist. She catches Bucky off guard when she drops her weight and bounces back to deliver an open-palmed hit to the guy’s jaw.

She’s holding a knife now.

Bucky’s knife.

The guy must not have seen it because he’s going for a punch - but Bucky catches his fist. He bends the arm backwards, to a degree he knows feels like it’s breaking without the damage.

(Under different circumstances, if his brain hadn’t been rewired, Bucky’s very aware that, with all the adrenaline in his body, he would have killed this guy for less.)

A crowd is forming, and Rue is yelling, “It must be so exciting to livestream a street fight, but god forbid one of you helps a man being publicly ridiculed!”

(Someone yells, sarcastically, “Looks like it’s being handled!”

But Bucky’s more focused on this man’s elbow being on the precipice of shattering with one swift move, and the color bleeding from this kid’s face).

“Stand down,” Bucky says, an intentional growl, low enough for only him to hear. Finally seeing Bucky for the threat he is, the guy nods, a frantic bob, and Bucky releases him. “Get out of here. Now.”

“Bucky…”

He looks to Rue, who offers his cap, and finally scans the crowd of people. Now aware of the cameras, Bucky tries to obscure his face and gently pulls Rue away from the scene. She protests, mad he’s not standing up for himself, but he assures her it’s not worth it.

“James,” she hisses as he ushers them through an alley. She snatches her arm out of his grip, her face red. “That guy deserved every minute of that.”

“So?” His words have no heat. He doesn’t want to fight her. “I don’t need the public to see me as being… aggressive.”

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes well with tears, but he sees they’re frustrated ones. “Sorry,” she repeats, “I’m just really disgusted by humanity right now.”

(He doesn’t know what to say to that. He is, too.)

They stand in the alley as wind howls through. He’s reminded of the first time they met, in an alley, but it was him in distress. He remembers her patience and her humor.

He rubs her arm for comfort, cautious to whether she even wants to be touched right now. As he lets his hand slip from her, her hand catches his and holds it tightly.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. He purses his lips, thinking about it. “I mean, from the flashback or whatever that was. It must have been scary.”

“I thought it was an explosive,” he explains. She nods, like she knows. “I guess I still have some work to do.” He taps his temple. “This thing’s still has some loose wires.”

“You’re capable.”

(She smiles, and it catches in his chest like wildfire. The stark contrast of the tough Rue ready to fight and the soft Rue looking at him like this… it’s jarring.)

Then, he extends his other hand expectantly.

Rue’s face pinks when she realizes what he’s waiting for. Lifting a sheepish look up to his gaze, she places his knife back in his hand.

“What exactly were you going to do with this, hm?” he teases.

“I don’t know,” she gives a weak laugh, avoiding his eyes. “I just wanted to be prepared?”

“You were doing fine without it.”

He puts his arm around her and leads her back to the main sidewalk. Like a blessing, no one is paying attention.

////

When she drives him home, Rue announces she had brought some Christmas decorations to help make his apartment feel festive. She says she can’t stay to set them up tonight, but she’ll help him next week. She does, however, give him the task of setting up the fake Christmas tree by himself.

(Bucky sees the long case in the trunk of her car and frowns. Why would Rue have a sniper bag casually in her car? When he opens it, fake pine leaves tickle his hand, and he huffs a laugh at his ridiculous assumption.)

After carrying two suitcases full of decorations into his apartment, Bucky walks Rue back to her car.

“So, I’ll see you next week,” Rue says, hip leaning against her car. “Vick says she’s making eggnog for you.”

Bucky frowns, confused, saying, “She doesn’t even know me.”

“She knows about you. I–” She’s looking up at the inky sky, squinting against the streetlight pooling them in light. “Bucky… it’s snowing!”

(He knows. He sees the way the flakes fall on her dark hair like glitter. He sees the way her eyes glow with wonder. He sees the pure joy on her face.)

He has to clear his throat when he finally says, “You were right.”

When her eyes land on him, the moment is suddenly charged. There’s a buzz in his chest and in his head that mutes rationality. He imagines what bystanders might think, walking past, seeing their gazes tethered to one another, unwavering, covered in snow, hovering close.

(Would they make correct assumptions, of two friends teetering on the edge of something more…?)

Rue reaches up to brush some snow off his hair, his shoulder, and her hand stays there. He feels planted in place. She takes a step closer, nearly closing the gap between them, only her other hand resting on his chest stops her body from being pressed against his. A gust of wind blows through the street with a rush of snow, and with it, Rue tiptoes to press her mouth to his.

The kiss is… searching. Knowing. Warm and affectionate. He barely registers how her cold nose brushes against his cheek. He’s only aware of her hands, her lips, her tongue. He doesn’t move to hold her or to be closer. He just matches her kiss for what it is.

(But when she makes a small, pleased noise before pulling away, all he wants in those few seconds is to catch her in his arms, to hold her so impossibly close, to kiss her so deeply.)

“I…” Her eyes linger on his mouth as she wipes her bottom lip with a deliriously cute smile. Her nose is pink, and so are her lips. “I couldn’t waste a fresh snow kiss.”

“Okay, ‘Lorelai’,” he murmurs. He revels in the way her eyes light.

“What, is Gilmore Girls another one of your guilty pleasures?”

“No…” his laugh is low.

(The street seems so uncharacteristically quiet. He’s afraid of ruining the moment. He’s afraid of scaring her away.)

“But it is on around four in the morning.”

(She has to know, right? She has to know that she has, somehow, infiltrated all of the walls he’s built around himself. She has to know that the look she’s giving him right now, eyes lit with mirth, is piercing through his chest and seizing his heart. She has to be aware of it, at least… right?)

She laughs, and he feels her hand slipping from his chest, from his shoulder. She looks up at him, through her thick and snowy lashes, a quiet look passing over her face.

“I’ll see you next week?”

(Did I screw things up? Her tone asks.)

“I sure hope so.”

(Her smile is so bright and beaming, and he can’t look away.)

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEARS GUYS! I know the story is still before Christmas, but at least we got a kiss ;) Thanks so much for the support throughout 2023, I really appreciate all the love! Here's to finishing this fic in 2024 lol !

6 notes · View notes