#it is a self contained ramble. do not interact with me specifically this one time i do not exist for all intensive purposes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iloveyouemanuelmarco · 10 days

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Edit/Update: Hi guys, sorry for spamming you with a giant wall of texts and such that could pass for more consistent keysmashing sessions atleast, I was sorta breaking out of reality and my brain was malfunctioning, causing all my thoughts to come vomiting out of my mind and repeating at once. Super not-poggers/pogchamp of me, innit?/Ironic. Anyways you can still read it if you want but just know that I'm better now x).

[Please remember my post is currently still updating so if certain bunches of information on here is changed or added then understand why atleast, thank you!;))

My introductory pinned master-textpost for my new Tumblr Dot Com (main/non-laternative)blog page(I am probably gonna update it once I am able to get my lazy, couch potato butt off my bed and learn blow to make/post a carrd or rentry but I don't know yet so please be patient with me as it's all under construction atleast to my knowledge since my brain can be super blurry when it comes to memory♡. Anyways, My page is now gonna start loading so please wait!!:[■■■■■■■■■■•100%].(Apps I Use: Gacha Life(2)/Gacha Club By Lunime Games, Alight Motion, IbisPaintX, Medibang, Capcut, Kinemaster, FilmoraGo, PowerDirector, Canva, Picsart, ClipStudioPaint and more probably but it depends).

☆Tag Guidelist!!☆:#Mani/Marco Speaks: Rants, vents and over all just stuttering on and over my autistic rambles except I am having a complex time attempting to explain my more complicated thoughts on the internet instead of irl TwT. #Mani/Marco Draws/Animates/Writes: You can probably guess what those tags are for atleast xP. #Mani/Marco Does (Sh)Art(Crack stuff and shitposts). How many fandoms am I in?: Idk too many to count for a huge interweb community hoarder like me Q^Q!!<3

☆Other Tags(Updating)!!☆:#ROTD:IMF/Road Of The Dead: One More Future: Tag for my Road Of The Dead/Saga Of The Dead OC x Canon Angst Alternate Universe Webcomic. FNAR: TOTNG/Five Night's At Rose's: Tales Of The Nightguards is for my other alternate universe fanfiction/webcomic except it's for Fnaf instead of my obscure hyperfix and Spider Scene: My Spidersona OC tag lol(=^=)♡.

(Please Read my pinned textpost as such content contains necessary media and information involving my introduction aka my about me section I guess along with my before you follow, do not interact criteria and boundaries as they are currently so thank you for reading such and have a wonderous day or night wherever you are on the beautiful home planet known as Earth moving forward♡. I appreciate the care and support for me and my variety of content I attempt to put out for you all:)!!♡ Please follow me on my other active social media platforms if you want to keep up with my gay buff anime boy and cute yuri manga stuff xD!!): Ok, so I am sorta bored at the moment right now and I wanted to make an updated pinned but more specifically a masterpost explaining my future projects and stuff involving my art skills and other talents being used to make such so here I am with such a untidy and barely passing for somewhat clean mess of an information-dumping session QwQ. Oki doki, here I go, here's my chance at one and becoming soon to be huge in numbers on the interwebs!!0^0.

Content Warning: The written, animated and/or drawn material you're about to start reading/looking at does have the possibility of containing future(non-sexualized, feltishized, objectified or romaticized)dark themes that may upset the average guest of my main/non-alternative Tumblr Dot Com Blog page such as fictional depictions of gore/blood/guts, violence/murder/abuse, different forms of physical self-destructive habits and other nsfl fictional stuff that may be traumatic or at the very least inappropriate for younger auidences, suggestive or lewd but non-pornographic/nsfw-ish but not literally pornogrpahic content and more. At the very least, proceed with caution and for your own safety please leave if you're uncomfortable on/sensitive to certain videos of mine and for those who choose to stay regardless, please again be careful and don't be afraid to take a step away for your own care and concern when it comes to yourself . Thanks for your cooperation☆. I know my page's cutesy/kawaii-aesthetic copying nature can be quite deceiving in it's depiction of such a user like me. I am not trying 5o be rude or anything, but I just want to keep you safe atleast is all...viewer discretion is advised!! And if that's not bad enough, here's another cause for a much more huge concern...old and cringeworthy meme death content ahead along with a very constant petty and sassy mood I do not have the courage to express irl obviously >.<!!♡But what can I say, sometimes I miss being an online internet mean-girl but whatever I guess sorry for ranting in my attempt to expand my internet horizons for new chances of opportunities for popularity and going viral somehow- heck ughh-!!Now Playing: World Is Mine By Supercell Feat. Hatsune Miku!!

☆[1:52 ─〇───── 4:14]☆

(One more note, due to my identity not only being a mess if gender and sexuality but also of my brain malfunctioning and causing my autistic ADHDer person to go insane with paranoia, I am starting to use both singular(I/Me/Mine)and plural(Us/We/Ours)pronouns when referring to myself as an attempt at a non-harmful coping mechanism for future reference atleast so please be calm and collected with me as I take the time and effort to construct our sentences together in a way that is easy to explain and somewhat makes sense haha. I don't want anyone to become upset and confused by anything I say or do so is that alright? Good, kay and thx on that, bai).

Hai babes, it’s you know who and I am back again for a round two, F.B.I open up!☆(o0ω0o) But anyways srsly, we’ve become more polite and caring since we’ve carried on away from the last of the past so for the new ones that I haven’t seen yet since I’ve used the site then, henlo and konichiwa everybunny!!^-^Welcome and thank you for stopping by to my official one and only brand Tumblr Dot Com blogging page, kind wandering strangers of the internet(and hopefully future adoring fans)!!Meowdy, my name is Emanuel Or Marco and since I'm back for more, I guess it's time for my masochistic self to get a round too in internet tormentation(Is that a real word??Idk but it's gonna be apart of my vocabulary now I mean uhh 0.o. Please trust me I am 100 percent a super smarty pants!!You just haven't found out about my true power yet!!>:[). Hmph, my name is Emanuel or Marco and thank you for stopping by to visit my official Tumblr Blog or something like that since I'm gonna be your host for today hehe~ Lmfao currently I am a 16 year old[mostly-digital]artist and animator who is multifandom but mostly draws fictional gay thick or big-booty buff men in a 2000s anime/manga inspired artstyle which sometimes leans on the "kawaii" or moe side and other times is somewhat based off of edgy amature art stuff from the older side of the internet[Think of the super cringeworthy stuff you'd find on NewGrounds, YouTube or DeviantArt back somewhere around 2007]. When I draw different stuff related to my interests, it may get on the side of edgelord content such as gore/blood/guts/violence/weapons[Fictional NSFL btw], creepy/horror related content, suggestive or NSFW[Not really]self-indulgent stuff, maybe venting if I feel ready to be open like that sometimes I guess it depends and OTPs along with OCxCanon content and crackshipping. If you're uncomfortable with any of that then please for your own saftey leave my page and take care of yourself thank you♡. I don't know what other stuff to put here other than I've recently started working on my idea for a Five Night's At Freddy's self-insert alternate universe fanmade-webcomic and a Saga Of The Dead/Road Of The Dead fanmade comic game continuation due to it being an on and off hyperfixation and special interest of mine roflmao. Anygays, the reason I came or am coming back to here is because of the simple fact that the internet is just being more dumb than it was before so ever since then, we’ve decided to make the choice of expanding our horizons when it comes to making content hehe lol(Sorta masochistic of me? Yes-, but do I care?…No). So…yep, Hope you don’t mind us as you hop in, have fun joining the ride and stay tuned for more♡(o^-^o)) For some random facts about us, some of our professions include watching anime, reading mangas, playing videogames(otaku and gamergirl-boyish), drawing our ocs, writing stories, songs or poems, listening to pop-punk nightcore, being scenemo(Scene kid+Emo), baking, looking at funny memes(or at the very least whats funny based off of my broken sense of humor-;m;), making videos, streaming and roleplay though I don’t have any hyperfixations at the moment haha. If you need us to tag any of the fandoms we’re in, please DM us cause I love our moots >:3c Yippee!!

To get more into about who I am as a person without accidentally violating my own privacy and saftey, I am a somewhat gender-nonconforming or genderfluid/bigender??(Idfk, man)bisexual aceflux FtM/transgender man who uses both he/she pronouns but please don't use they on me thx. While I am apart of the LGBTQIA+ communtiy on the interwebs I am also a professionally dxed autistic and ADHDer who may get distracted irl and go afk somewhat so if I suddenly disappear for a couple days or something on other social media platforms I hopefully haven't been murdered/j(Please use tone tags with me if asked since I do have a hard time reading social norms irl okay thank you). I want to try a polyamrous or queerplatonic relationship with other people in the future but not now obviously since I still need to work on being better when it comes to the mental health department lol xD(I am stone faced as I am typing lol). I am a white-latine person who is making an attempt to learn more about his culture and to understand more of the language but sometimes I may struggle due to cognitive difficulties so please keep that in mind and be patient with me...My DMs are open 24/7 in looking for new mutuals on here but I may be somewhat vulgar or off putting under my overly-cautious mom-friend nature once you get to know me. That being said don't be afraid to tell me if I am making you uncomfortable in any sort of way due to that or if I'm accidentally supporting someone or something problematic in nature ok? Good. To keep in mind of what I am gonna post on here, it's probably very stereotypically fanboyish or some sort of dumbassery depending on the context but then again it's my page so Idfc :]. Main fandoms are mostly hyperfixations or special interests of some sort such as Undertale/Deltarue including AUs, Five Night's At Freddy's(Both the canon and sometimes the OG 2014 Rebornica nightguards au) and the Saga Of The Dead or specifically for me the Road Of The Dead 2010 Newgrounds flash games by EvilDogGames and SickDeathFiend(one of my more obscure??obsessions). Other things related to cartoons and videogames I really find comfort in are My Little Pony:Friendship Is Magic, Minecraft? Roblox, YouTubers, Vocaloid/Utaloid related content, Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse, EddsWorld, Invader Zim, Pokémon, Postal, Hatred, Team Fortress 2 and admittedly some Friday Night Funkin'(I know it's dumb sorry about that). There's definitely more but I can't really list them all rn so yeah that's about it for this section.

When it comes to music, my taste is pretty diverse though I do have some obviously favourite genres but I am always looking to expand my horizons and more. Bands such as Green Day, Three Days Grace, SlipKnot, Korn, My Chemical Romance, System Of A Down, Linkin Park, Falling In Reverse(I am a Ronnie Radke hater though, so far he seems like another douchebag asshole), Asking Alexandria, Sleeping With Sirens, Sum-41, Pierce The Veil,, Black Veil Brides, Falling In Reverse, Set It Off, Get Scared and Bring Me The Horizon just to name a few. Though if you want my preferred genres when picking stuff I guess that would include stuff like Nightcore(not technically a genre but shut up please/lh), Rock, Pop-Punk, Trace, Emo, Techno, Happy Hardcore, Classical, maybe Lofi and I wanna get more into Rap or Hip Hop but specifically Drill. 80s and 90s stuff is cool too, it really just depends on what I find on the internet :D. General hobbies include reading, writing which includes imaginative stories and poetry, drawing(duh), singing, dancing, helping to bake with others, cosplay or just dressing up in cute outfits at tbh, watching anime, reading manga, playing videogames, collecting figurines sometimes, roleplaying, cleaning/organization, studying earth and animal science related topics, watching cute animal videos on the interwebs, memes that suit my broken sense of humor, spending time with relatives and caring for irls who I hang out with, listening to music(who doesn't??), visual novels, robotics in fiction and irl, subcultures that were prevalent in the 2000s such as the type of fashion style you'd find on Myspace scene or emo kids, anything kawaii/cute or edgy and dark, taking naps, snuggling with my stuffed animals, learning instruments and just enjoying nature scenery on days when I am more avaliable irl. I also want to travel the world or something similar when I finally can and to learn how to code so I can program my own videogame ideas but baby steps T-T. Modern day insane derpyness and all that. Here’s a couple examples of my drawings incase you were curious ^-^:

Before you follow: I sometimes use typing quirks such as stuttering(I have a stuttering irl), I sometimes use typing quirks such as stuttering(I have a stuttering irl), saying cat phrases such as meow, nya or mew, overuse text-faces and in rare cases, using all caps when shocked or excited/happy atleast, I dunno why we do such dumbass things, but I can and I wanna I guess xP. Please use tone tags when speaking to us though, since we’re neurodivergent(AuDHD)and have a hard time picking up social cues somewhat TwT. Please be gentle with us though, we’re very fragile and sensitive. We’re not schizophrenic, psychotic or anything that could cause dangerous thoughts, but we have professionally-dxed anxiety and depression which causes us to be paranoid combined with medication on some days ;-; I sometimes may go on ahem…erm “unhinged” rants for a lack of a better word about stuff that bothers us so if we’re appearing scared and not making any sense, please snap us into and bring us back to Earth- I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone in the process of destruction and pain ;w;. Sometimes we are selective about who I interact with on my page so I may avoid you if your account looks suspicious. Please don’t automatically assume I hate you if we do that however, it’s just us wanting to be cautious and to be at our own comfort. If you’re ever sad and want to rant about your daily struggles in life, or just want to chat and make a new moot then my DMs are open 24/7 whenever we’re not busy(not gonna force you obviously if you’re uncomfy roflmao-_-). It’s not our first time online, I have an account for irls so if you somehow find me here and know who I am, no you don’t:). And another thing for our followers, if you want, you can refer to us as nekos or cats/kittens instead of those who are 100 percent human since sometimes we don’t understand the attachment to just humanity. As strange as I may seem, please don’t shame/make fun of us, even if it’s cringe, you’re no better being a bully here on our space(not to mention we have habits and a life that’s not online. Shocker, I know/sarcasm).

Do not follow or interact with me in a free-form and casual manner if you racists/xenophobic(Use AAVE when not black, islamaphobic, antisemetic and etc.) LGBTQIA+Phobic in any capactity(including transmeds/truscum, radfems, TERFS/SWERFS, radinclusives, radexclusives, those who identify with offensive labels that mock the LGBTQIA+ Community by default[Ex: Bi/Pan “Lesbians”], believe in only two genders[There’s a difference between sex and gender], believe pronouns are equivalent to gender or use pride flags who’s creators have been outed as being prejudiced or bigoted in any way[It makes marginalized people uncomfortable, stop it. Looking at you “I don’t care about queer discourse” idiots. You look dumb/srs:0]), are pro-para(Go to jail :)), are in pro-£D or pro-$H spaces, misogynistic/sexist(Unless you’re male because misandry doesn’t C:), ableist in any form(including against self-dx and if uses fonts in bio or dn),use slurs or words in specific contexts you cannot reclaim, just being discriminatiory when it’s not needed at all. MAP, Zoo or Necro(Doesn’t matter if anti-contact or not), identify with the public label of AAM, are fatphobic, believe fiction doesn’t affect reality (Examples such as proshippers, profiction, com(p)shippers, and anti-antis are some of the group names), fetishize mlm/nblm/wlw/nblw romance (fujoshi, fundashi, fujin, himejoshi, himedashi just to name a few), romanticizes abuse or mental illness in fictional stories, anti-furry/anti-otherkin/anti-fictionkin/anti-alterhuman or anti-nonhuman, anti-objectum(I don't understand or identify with these things but as long as they're not hurting anyone I support and don't find any problems with it), anti-xenogenders/anti-neopronouns, transID/RadInclus/Radqueer(You make the trans community look like morons), are a lolishotacon/kodocon(someone who is attracted to fictional minors or characters with child-like aesthetics),make inappropriate headcanons, justify fictional problematic ships, ship irl people, make jokes about serious matters such as r^pe or abvse, are uncritical about your fandoms, support the DSMP fan, DreamWasTaken stan or support mostly any of the members, supports of defends problematic public figures online(Ex: Jschlatt, Pewdiepie, CallMeCarson and etc), Trump Supporters/Alt-Right/Heavily Conservative, Prolife, excessively sexualize, romanticize or objective fictional mvrderers(We’re ok with you being a fangirl/fanboy/fan and simping moderately as long as you don’t hurt those around you with your crush by condoning the crimes and other harmful actions they’ve committed. After all, we are somewhat of a monster hugger ourselves tbh~), are an nsfw centered page, sexualize age regression or agere/practice ddlg, practice pet-play or age-play(or any other problematic kink for that matter-),make fun of someone’s triggers, missuse tonetags, does whitewashing in art or thinks “blackwashing” is real(making a character black will never be the same as taking away representation), support NFTs, AI Generated "Art" or CryptoCurrency, on EDtwt/SHtwt/TCCtwt, consider wh¡te people to be able to be systematically oppressed like other races, make RPF(Real person fanfiction), partake in cringe culture during the modern day(grow up, it’s not the anti-sjw internet phase anymore, moron) or are just a degenerate at all. Genuine mental illness fakers please fucking dni you suck and I pray no one with actual tourettes, DID/OSDD or autism cross paths with you for their sake. Lmfao stfu and gtfo). It should be obvious but anyone who's LGBTQIA-phobic, racist, xenophobic, ableist, misogynistic, islamaphobic, antisemetic, ableist, fatphobic or supports hateful and degenerate shit or problematic creators get out now before I block you<3.

Please dni if you’re apart of these fandoms unironically too: YarichinBitchClub, Kiss Him Not Me, Attack On Titan, Ms. Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid(Gonna steal the characters from the show, they don’t deserve to suffer 3:), Nekopara(Stealing those designs too, if you’re so upset about it just come at me bro- anddd…I’m blocked), Boyfriends(F♡ck you and eff off, Refrainbow<3), South Park(Unless I follow you first but you're on thin ice), Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss, BlueyCapsules, Your Boyfriend and Kakegurui. One more thing, dni if you fetishize the yandere/lovesick archetype or demonize those with BPD. People with the disorder and/or those who identify with Yanderes are real people who don’t deserve to be ridiculed or made into a kink fantasy. Btw for those wondering why I may follow controversial public beings on my other social medias, I just want to remind you that follows don’t equate to endorsements and that just because I’m keeping tabs on someone because I’m a nosey cyberstalker/j doesn’t mean we agree with their likes, reposts, following and etc so please consider that before making assumptions about us! P.L.U.R 4 Lyfe x3. If I end up accidentally supporting someone who may be controversial please let me know, I promise you that I’d never want to hurt anyone with who I may interact with on any active social media platform we use. Welp, I guess that’s all for now, my little space children, please be sure to hop on, have fun on the ride and stay tuned as I have a short introduction video for YouTube and a showcase in the works ^w^ We’re working very hard planning behind it all when we’re not doing homework and destroying our mind with it(Curse you, the United States Of America Education System!/lh)and remember, rawr stands for “I love you” in dinosaur xD. Rawring 20s here we come >:D)). Follow and support us and our work on the pages I run in my spare time our beautiful, amazing and divine kohais!QwQ Love you and give us gentle and sweet constructive criticism pls again >3< Arigato(Thank you) and sayonara, my waffles, pancakes, sweet bbys and more!Btw sometimes I am pretty much not here anymore on Tumblr so if I don’t post for a few months and then start posting again soon you then know why, just fyi TmT. Random thing that's not as important but Jeremy/Scout, John Creaseman, Postal Dude, William Afton/Dave Miller/Springtrap, Micheal Afton, Henry Emily, Vincent Bishop and me are in a complex polyam relationship so haters dni uwu(Please help me I wanted to die writing that emoticon *barf*). But seriously I know it's weird but they all are sort of comfort characters to me in some way shape or form so it's ok if you don't like some of them but please don't complain if you dislike them. I'll respect your opinion and you'll respect mine like civilized "adults"☆.

Oh almost forgot to put something here..here’s a list of our boundaries just incase anyone is wondering atleast!(♡=Yes/☆=Okay/✘=No)

♡-Venting in my DMs(Yes ofc!!)

♡-Compliments(Yesh, less unisex ones tho)

♡-Making fan-content(Obviously:D)

♡-Chatting(Sure, just read my BYF and DNI Criteria first!)

♡-Idolizing me(Put me up and boost our ego, yes/hj)

☆-Joke flirting(Mutuals only please, no offense to anyone or anything!!)

☆-Getting inspired by my content(I’m flattered and appreciate it, thank you for the care, but please do not out right copy or get too heavily inspired by my work! And definitely don’t steal or trace any of it).

☆-Personal questions(Again, moots only or if we’re starting to become genuine and sincere online friends though my apologies if I don’t make it through. Have our drawings as a costly pay for our future abscesses;w;)

☆-Discussing with us about our gender identity, expression and sexuality(No, I’m not gonna debate you on it. It’s my life and it’s really harmless imo).

☆-Shipping(Only if the person being shipped is okay with it and is clear it’s just a joke).

✘-Comparing me to other people(I am my person, please don’t forget that and violate that boundary since it makes us super uncomfortable).

✘-Harrassing people, attacking, doxxing, sending death threats and hurtful messages under my name(Ofc not, dummy! What are you, an idiot?!!).

✘-Making full on serious NSFW/18+ content of us(I am in a minor body, go to heck lol/srs).

✘-Sending me non-fictional violent media/fictional media involving violence to real internet content creators or other random irl ppl(Don’t be a loser and keep that stuff to yourself or expose yourself for us, give us an easily callout post to make:))

✘-Overly using curse words(I want my demographic to be a mature audience of pre-teens to teenagers and possibly even adults if my content grows that much, so I don’t want it to be too immature Q-Q).

✘-Calling me “Mommy” or “Daddy” in a sensual way if you’re a future fan of mine(No….just no. Eww).

My Social Media Platforms(Onlyfans Coming Soon? Jk we’re minors still, you creepy dumb person who I hope is not an adult! Duhh). Check out my side/alternative blogs though once I am able to get ready making them!! Yolo after all ;w;. I love you guys, mwah mwah!!Ù3Ú♡.

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kyonoc · 7 months

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This might come in handy if I disappear in the near future

needy streamer overload. Tw; self harm

Val barely checks what I post anyway. Two other people who follow this blog probably have gotten sick of my excessive shitpost already. This shouldn't be appearing on the search, right?

No one shouldn't be reading this, except for me, so I suppose this is fine to share here.

Sometimes I wish to cut myself. So badly

But i cant

Because others will be more disappointed about it than me myself can manage to.

Because I'll make my mom sad. I put up the good girl, the carefree, happy child act for so long. It will be despairing for he once she finds out she has failed as a mother. That her child is so wrong in many aspects like this.

I think my mom can sense it, tho. She have always had a very good intuition. Or is my mask finally falling apart?

Because my friend will be taken aback by it. I never appeared to be unstable on the outside. Heck, I can't even remember the last time I vented to them. Even on this oh so called "venting blog" I created, I refrain my self from dumping my depressive thoughts here. I only ever share about my anxiety issues. Because.. Because if they realize that I am no better then them, surely they will be more cautious and I can't help them anymore?

Because I need to be the emotionally available friend. I'm suppose to be the therapist friend, the mom friend, not the other way around. Because I need to live up to my labels, because if not then.. If not then I'm just a blank, boring human. I don't have anything special about me, I don't have anything to my name. I'm good, but not good enough to make me stand out from the others. Not good enough to me make unique or remarkable. I'm good, but there are just so, so, so many people more talented and more successful than me. I'm supposed to be good, but I don't act like it.

Because I haven't harm myself in years, even if I desperately wanted to. Because everyone has fallen under the illusion that I'm fine. Because I'm supposed to be good. Thats why I can't, I'm not allowed to relieve myself through such ugly and despicable manners.

But least the pain will feel way better than the dread after each high and down. My emotions doesn't last long. Not the euphoria and mania, nor the depressive episodes and breakdown. I'm never one able to experience these to their fullest. The emotions will always be passing by so quicky, so hastily; be it sadness, grieving, happiness, or annoyance, hatred. And all their left behind is a never ending void of emptiness and dreadfulness. I'm writing these lines as Im feeling absolutely anything but blank.

And I hate thay feelings so much. I despite it. I want nothing more than for it to end.

KK.

I think few will make it to here. But, ah, anyway..

I dont think that Y user will ever read this. Mhm, seems like they've got a lot on their newfeed, considering the amount of post they have reblogged. So my post shouldn't be that noticeable. There are chances that they did came across one of my shitposts (considering I post these daily..), but just didn't interact at all. Either way, I hope my previous excessive amount of ramble is enough to steer them away from this one.

For V.. It seems like you do occasionally see my post. I didn't really get enough chances to test my theories, nor did I collected enough data to make a judgment. But whether is it you decided to interact with specific posts, or you only read those of mine that doesn't contain a readmore; I was kinda hoping you didn't make it to here. But this mean you did regardless.. It's okay. I'm fine. I'll bounce back, I always do. You should prioritize yourself first, cookie

Mhm, Val, if you see this, we both know what to do. You needn't to say anything, I'll be fine as time moves on anyway. We both are well aware of that by now, aren't we?

Post script KK-tan 2.0 here. I figured I should leave some kind of note behind as well, because it seems like my suicide plan may happen a lot sooner than I intended to.

Mhm, I'm not feeling like bringing my whole diary over here, but in short: I loath myself, and it's not because of hardships in life or anything, it's because I find myself to be imperfect. I strike for perfection, and my "incomplete" and flaw-filled self made me hate it so much. Enough to make me wish to erase my existence. The memories everyone have of me, my impacts and traces on this world, my proof of living. Aka, essentially asking to rewrite this world's history and alter everything, every event that have me in the picture.

But that is one unrealistic and impossible goal. So I'll do something more practical, more achievable: Delete my traces myself. My social medias even my clones, my birth certificate, my ID cards, my personal belongings, I'll cut ties and relationships with everyone I know, everything. But since this blog is owned by not only me, but also Val, it'll be selfish to delete it on my own. So this blog will stay unharmed, and so does this post. Surely Val will come here to seek an explanation, or nostalgia or whatever, and this post will act its part.

V-v-, it's not your fault that I disappear. Unsure if you consider me close enough to shred a tear.. but if anything, I don't want to be remembered. And specially not with regret and remorse. Move on, surely there will be someone who can encourage and support you as your #1 fan just fine. Don't think such like "If I paid more attention.." or some, I don't like it

G.. I feel like I need to inform you about this blog, in case I failed to go to the other side and reappear as a ghost to see you. But ah, I don't know if I can do that. Even if its high chance you won't read this, I hope that you'll be happier, that you'll start to love yourself more and more. I couldn't do anything for you, your battle was only yours, so I think you should be fine.

Val, I know, it feel like you are more likely to commit suisui first, yet I'm the one to go.

There's an saying that, "If [A] dies first, then [B] will live for them. But if [B] dies, [A] will follow them". I was hoping you could be the B, buddy, and I'll act as A. Don't follow me dude, I won't be lonely over here, remember? If the worst scenario happen, I want you to live my part, experience the world on my behalf. Pursuit our dreams and fantasies. All that. I'm aware that you have gotten emotionally attached to me, and I'm sorry that I let that happened. I should have been more careful, considering I'm well aware im this unstable. But ah, I still hope that you make it.

Mhm, this is very rushed, since it's more of a precaution before I forget than I'm actually intending to self yeet. Still, I hope this will do me justice if I really did the self yeet on an impulse.

0 notes

silverdecepticon93 · 3 years

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A Charming Fan

💮Requested by Anon: Hi!! May I please request a story in which Eddie is a huge fan of a female reader? Perhaps he attends a con + reader finds his enthusiasm cute? Thank you!!

💮Requested by Anon: can i get more yandere eddie please? 👉👈 especially sappy/hopeless romantic eddie, pretty please?? thank you thank you thank you! 🥰😍❤

Edward, surprisingly, was not a fan of the mystery genre. He hadn’t been for a long time, now. Maybe back when he was a bright-eyed young kid who was easy to dupe but he quickly grew out of that phase, one of the downsides of being so smart is that he would solve the entire plot of the book after reading the first chapter, maybe even in pages less than that. Basically, he simply was too smart for his own good once more and it had long since dampened his love of the fictional mystery genre. Then you started writing.

You, lovely sweet little you. He remembered when Jonathan recommended one of your books to him, insisting that he would very much enjoy your writing and while Edward was skeptical since he couldn’t even enjoy the so-called ‘best of the best’ mystery writer’s works, what would make yours so different? He hadn’t even heard of you before but yet, Jonathan insisted that your works were right up his alley. He didn’t read the book right away, he let it sit on his nightstand for a few days but after one night of obsessively trying to best the Batman, he gave up and plopped on his bed, tired and frustrated. When he looked up, he saw your book on his nightstand and sighed. Oh well, he may as well humor it, perhaps the few 3 minutes of entertainment could help give his brain a little break from the restlessness and buzzing of his overworked mind. Getting into a comfortable position while grabbing the book, he opened it up and began to read…

And then he was enthralled.

It was commendable writing he’d admit. The way your characters acted, spoke, and interacted were so human. The motives and the ‘whodunnit’ enjoyably complex and pulling him in deeper to the mystery and on a few special occasions, actually surprised him with delightful twists and turns. What he liked the most about your writing was how you portrayed your villains, while he liked your characters, your villains were never just pure evil and if they were, it was for their own complex reasons and tragic reasons. Almost like himself.

Such a poet with your words, a genius with your mysteries, and so many other things soon had Edward wondering who was this miraculous writing genius that wrote so beautifully and admirably?

He decided to look you up, finding out as much as he could about you. His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he found out that not only were you around his age but you were stunningly beautiful!

You didn’t have your picture printed on the back of your book like most authors, he’s lucky you didn’t or else he’d probably be too distracted by your photo to ever even start reading your book...and probably end up seething in anger as he thought about the thousands of other people who bought your book, but that didn’t seem to be a problem the more he found out. According to most of your interviews, you didn’t have as many as much as you’d like to have, some of them complaining that your books were too complicated or too hard to figure out, which only made Edward scowl in distaste as he read some of the complaints on book reviews people made on your novels.

Of course it was supposed to be complicated and hard to figure out, it was a mystery book for a reason!

Yet it was another reason why he adored you, because you both were the same. Two underappreciated geniuses that were taken for granted by the small-minded people that surrounded you both. If only he could meet you, to have the chance to talk to you and let you know that at least he appreciated your talents and you as a person in general. So imagine the thrill he felt when he heard you would be attending a local book convention being hosted in Gotham City.

How fortunate for him.

~~~~~~

You sighed softly as you saw people passing your stand, staring bitterly at the neighboring stands that were certainly getting more fans than you were. Was it kinda shallow for you to be jealous of other writers and their countless fans, ones who seemed to simply just give them all the praise in the world and complimented them on their genius and their work well done?

Eh, you didn’t care. All you knew was that you felt like a fool, sitting at your book stand just watching as people passed you like you were invisible, only a couple of few fans really visited you (two or three at the most) the entire day and the rest of the people just asking you where another author’s stand was. As if you weren’t already feeling the sting of being a horrible author.

You sighed and laid your head on the table. You felt like a goddamn fool.

“Ahem, excuse me? Miss (L/n)?” A voice spoke up from above you.

You looked up from your state of self-pity before meeting the green eyes of a rather attractive man. He looked to be around your age, if not a bit older, and had neatly styled brown hair and wore a charming lime green vest over his white dress shirt. He was very dapper looking and spoke so intelligently that it took you rather off-guard.

However what surprised you the most was that you noticed the book in his hands, more specifically, your book. He was a fan?

“I apologize if I’m bothering you.” He began sheepishly. You tried to return your kindest smile towards him while trying to contain your internal excitement, “Don’t be. I’m always delighted to meet people who don’t think I’m an over eccentric nut.”

You laughed lightly at your own joke while the brunet merely began to ramble in response to what you had said.

“Of course not! In fact, I find it rather trivial that some people can’t understand the genius behind your books! Your plots are very well-written, as are your characters, and I- Well, look at me going on.” He grinned nervously at you. Your smile became softer as you tilted your head slightly, “By all means do, it’s not often I get complimented by a fan, a cute one at that.”

The way his smile grew into a wide and goofy one made you chuckle once more as he shyly held his book out to you and slid it across the table with one gloved hand.

“If you would be so kind.” He spoke with a giddy and nervous tone, like a boy asking out their crush.

“Of course!” You beamed in happiness as you grabbed the book and took out your horribly underused pen that had been neglected most of the day, “and who am I making this out to?”

“Edward.” The man, Edward, answered.

He didn’t want to risk the chance of scaring you in case you happened to know about The Riddler, then again, he read that you lived in Central City so he highly doubts that costumed villains with extreme gimmicks aren’t exactly known to you.

“Edward.” You repeated, and goosebumps began to rise from his skin the moment you repeated his name.

He wasn’t sure why but there was something so angelic about the way you said it, something that made his heart skip a beat and his grin grow wider. Everything was enchanting about you that Edward was damn near overwhelmed, feeling as though he’d drown in your very presence alone. A sweet death, if you asked him.

“What a darling name.” You hummed as you slid the book back to him, which he snatched eagerly and continued to smile down at you, trying to ignore the loud thumping of his heart that became deafening in his ears.

“Um, miss (L/n)-”

“Please, call me (Y/n).” You insisted.

(Y/n). Edward had planned to be formal, to want to charm and impress you but it seems as though you were turning the tables on him. He had whispered your name from his mouth before, his mouth unable to suppress a grin whenever he did. If only you’d known how he’d repeated your name over and over again as though it were some kind of chant, or the way he’d obsessively written your name as (Y/n) Nygma when he was too frustrated by Batman to calm him. But to hear you insist that he call you by your name, your name that he had grown so in love with, was a euphoric feeling.

“(Y/n),” He corrected as he clutched the book to his chest, “I was wondering if perhaps I could fulfill that lack of praise you so rightly deserve over a cup of coffee sometime later?”

You blinked dumbfoundedly, well, he certainly wasn’t very shy. Again, if only you had been there when he had obsessively practiced that simple line to ask you out the moment he found out you were coming to Gotham. However, you didn’t know this, and that’s why you took him up on his offer.

“Well, I am in the city for the week. I’d be delighted to have a guide.” You accepted. The way he exhaled in relief and jokingly spoke, “Oh thank God, I thought that wouldn’t’ve worked!” made you giggle once more, which sent him higher than cloud nine.

You both exchanged each other's contact information and bidded each other good day, you already missing him and his company, and him yours. But you shouldn’t worry, darling, if everything goes according to plan, Edward would make sure that your stay for the week would be extended considerably.

#The Riddler x reader #The Riddler x you #Dc x reader #Dc x you #Edward Nygma x reader #Edward Nygma x you #Ed Nygma x reader #Ed Nygma x you #Yandere Dc x reader #Yandere DC x you #I Only Date Villains #Yandere Riddler x reader #Yandere Riddler x you #Gotham Rogues x reader #Gotham Rogues x you #Like I said I only write soft obsessive yanderes like this #Thank you for your request!#Yandere Edward Nygma x reader #Yandere Edward Nygma x you

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zodiakuroo · 3 years

Text

Pretty Things Don’t Need To Think

Kuroo decides he's had enough of his smart, independent girlfriend. He wants her to be his good little housewife instead.

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Fem!Reader

Contains: 18+ oh boy... dubcon, big dick kuroo, dumbifciation, misogyny, manhandling, oral sex (deepthroating), pee in vee sex, degradation, manipulation, pwp, breath play, mouth spitting, creampie, thigh riding, slapping, spit, porn watching, crybaby reader but kuroo is a meanie so :3

Word count: 4.6k

Notes: my first time writing smut n it’s mindlessly self-indulgent i just had this weirdly specific fantasy that i need to get out byeee

Kuroo loved the fact that you were smart. He loved the fact that you could debate and argue with him for hours on the most obscure topics. He love that you were always interested in his nerdy rambles and he found it adorable that you would sometimes go off on your own nerdy rambles. When he met you, he was so used to fucking brainless bimbos that he was surprised to find a girl that he both wanted to sleep with and have a conversation with. Your intellect was one of the many reasons he wanted to pursue a relationship with you beyond sex. One of the many reasons why he planned on marrying you.

Kuroo also loathed the fact that you were smart. Not loathed exactly. He just hated your stupid fucking degree. He hated the fact that it demanded so much of your time and energy that you sometimes had to put your studies before him. You wanted to be doctor, always wanted to apparently. You wanted it so bad he felt a little ashamed for how much it annoyed him.

But he didn’t understand it. You were going to be the wife of Kuroo Tetsurou, President of the Japan Volleyball Association. Is that not enough of an achievement?

You didn’t seem to think so.

Now Kuroo’s not a misogynist by any means. If he were, he wouldn’t even let you get this stupid degree. He doesn’t want you to be some mindless Stepford Wife who only cooks and cleans and says “Yes, dear” “No, dear.” Of course he believes in equal rights and all that bullshit but he just doesn’t see any reason for you to work. Financially, there’s no need. More importantly, as his wife you would be too busy taking care of him, his home and his children for you to even thinking about having a job. He would let you get this degree purely for you to soothe your own ego, so you could feel like you’ve accomplished something.

And this is the fucking thanks he gets.

Coming home every day to see you hunched over the dining room table, 4 different textbooks open, papers scattered everywhere. He works hard every day to make a comfortable life for the two of you but asking to come home to a clean apartment and dinner on the stove is too much to ask apparently.

You don’t even register that he’s in the room until he places two large warm hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump, quickly soothed with a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hi baby” he mutters against your scalp, gently massaging your shoulders.

“Hmm. Hi Tetsurou.” you turn your head to look at him, eyes bloodshot and bleary from staring at your computer all day. “How was your day?”

“Same old.” He places a chaste kiss on your lips. “How’s it going here? Are we winning?” He glances at your notes, Intercranial mass lesions. Subarachnoid Haemorrhage. Spontaneous Intracerebral Haemorrhage. He wonders why you do this to yourself. Pretty things like you shouldn’t have to think.

You groan. “Not at all. This neuro final is gonna kick my ass.”

He chuckles, hands gently massaging your shoulders. “You say that every time and every time you ace it baby.” Instead of asking you where his dinner is, he asks “Have you eaten today? What do you want for dinner?”

“ I’m not hungry Tetsu. You can order whatever you like.” He clenches his jaw in irritation. You can’t even be bothered to give him your full attention for 10 minutes? The man who works so hard so that you can afford to sit at home and study the whole day?

No.

He’ll get your attention one way or another.

“Angel,” he drops his voice an octave or two, leaning down so his mouth is pressed right against the shell of your ear. “How about you take a break yeah? Wanna help you relax.” He starts to kiss your neck. He hears your breath hitch. He’s got you. “You worked so hard today plus I reaaaaally miss you.”

With that he begins to leave wet kisses on your neck, feeling you melt into him. His hands move away from your shoulders, gently groping at your chest.

You suddenly go rigid. “Tetsu, not right now.” He doesn’t want you to know how pissed he is but he can’t help it, he groans in frustration. “I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly “I really need to get through these last 3 chapters.”

“Yeah right. Got it.” He storms off with a huff. He’s furious. Your little studious shtick has been nothing more than an irritation for him. But this is too far. He hasn’t come in a month, since you started prep for finals. You’ve been too busy to take care of him. You suggested porn and he laughed in your face. Why would he jerk off when you have a perfectly good pussy? Don’t be ridiculous.

“Tetsurou don’t be mad please.”

“Not mad baby. Keep studying. That’s important to you right?” He’s not convincing anyone but you don’t have the time or energy to engage.

You let out a heavy sigh before turning back to your laptop, falling back into studying like the whole interaction never happened. It made him even angrier. How you couldn’t care less about him right now.

“Just gonna watch some TV. That okay with you, love?” He says sounding sickly sweet, almost sarcastic. If you notice, you don’t make any mention of it.

“Mmhm. Just keep it down please.” You don’t even bother to fucking look at him.

You don’t wanna pay attention to him? You want him to just jerk off? Fine then, have it your way. Kuroo throws himself down on the couch as he rips off his tie with a little more force than necessary.

This is petty.

He makes quick work of the buttons of his dress shirt.

This is childish.

He quickly unbuckles his belt and pulls his slacks down just far enough to take his soft dick out of his boxers.

This is your fault.

You pushed him to do this.

He takes his phone and uses his internet browser to take him to the first porn site he can think of. He doesn’t really care about the kind of video so “Busty blonde slut gets destroyed” seems like a good a choice as any. He clicks on the video and sets up his phone to mirror on the TV screen. With the volume about as loud as it can go, he presses play.

The loud exaggerated moans and gagging startle you. Your head shoots up and you see your boyfriend, lidded gaze fixed on the flat screen TV in front of him. He’s panting, letting out little moans. You crane your neck to see what he’s watching and you see on the TV a bleach blonde girl with massive tits being an absolute trooper as she gets facefucked relentlessly.

“Kuroo, what the fuck?” God he hates when you call him by his last name mostly because you only do that when you’re really annoyed at him.

“Hm? What is it baby?” Now it’s his turn to not even glance in your direction. He’s too focused on the way the girl on screen’s throat is bulging as the man thrusts into her mouth. Maybe he should watch porn more often.

“What are you doing?” He can hear the irritation building in your voice. He hears the chair scrape along the hardwood floor as you stand up to get a better look at him. He knows you can see exactly what he’s doing now.

He smirks, turning to look at you for just a split second before his attention is back to being on screen. “Watching ah fuck watching TV”. He starts to stroke himself faster now, knowing you’re watching him. He’s a little embarrassed by how turned on he is. Cock already rock hard, his tip bright red and shiny from leaking so much pre-cum.

“Do you have to do… that… here? I can’t concentrate.” You clench your fists and your sides.

Oh you’re pissed. But this isn’t exactly the reaction he wants from. He’ll make it work though.

“Not my problem babe. Shit.” He takes his free hand down to play with his swollen balls and god, if he weren’t so determined to dump this load inside you he might have come right then and there.

“Kuroo!” You shout. He’s still not looking at you. How could he when the girl on the screen is getting absolutely railed. He only hears the sound of your barefeet on the hardwood floor as you storm over to the couch. He’s not sure what your plan was when you decided to come over here, but it doesn’t even matter anymore because the second you’re close enough he yanks you by your wrist and forces you into his lap.

“Tetsu!” You thrash and struggle in his hold but it’s no use. He’s bigger and stronger than you.

He wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you into a chokehold. “Oh I’m Tetsu now?” he laughs bitterly

“Let me go! Please!” You still haven’t given up getting out of this, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Shut up. I want you to watch this.” He’s forcing you to look at the screen now. “Look at that yeah? Look at how she’s taking that big cock.”

A hard palm strikes you across your cheek. “Stop squirming and watch.”

The blonde woman is bent over a coffee table while the man behind her rams his dick into her without abandon. Kuroo can’t decide if he finds her whining hot or annoying.

“Looks like it feels good huh babe?” His head is buried in the crook of your neck. “Wanna make you feel good like that.” He places a quick kiss to your temple before pulling your t-shirt over your head, your bare chest now exposed to the cool air.

“Tetsu please.”

“Please what baby?”

Please let me go.

But the way he’s hands are gripping at your breasts, pulling and twisting your nipples, you can’t form any words. Only whimpers.

“Please make you feel good? That what you want baby?” He whispers as he slots his thigh between your legs.

“Yeah yeah please Tetsu.”

Kuroo has turned his focus onto your neck. Harsh sucks, leaving bruises and bite marks in his wake. He wants to laugh at how pathetic you are. Just a few minutes ago, you were adamant on ignoring his presence and now you’re writhing in his lap begging you to touch him.

“Really? I thought you needed to study.”

“No no no Tetsu, only need you.” Just a quickie. You’re both pent up. 10… 15 minutes tops. Then you’ll go back to studying. That’s what you tell yourself.

“That’s right baby.” He grips your hips and grinds you down on to his thigh. “I know exactly what you need.” You take your cue from him and begin riding his thigh, neurology notes long forgotten as he goes back to assaulting your neck. The combination of the sensation of your clothed clit rubbing against his thigh and visual stimulation of the explicit content on your TV makes you dizzy with pleasure.

Your movements become frantic. You’re practically humping his leg at this point. He knows you’re close which is why he wraps one arm around your torso, pulling you back into his chest.

“Baby please.” You whine. Oh, you’re really crying now.

“Oh angel, you were gonna come just from that? Just from humping my thigh and watching some other bitch get eaten out? My angel must be so pent up huh?”

You can’t do anything except whimper and nod.

“Mmhm yeah my baby has been working too hard. Thinking too much. You’re too cute for that you know baby.”

You keep nodding, no idea what you’re actually agreeing to, too busy keening at the praise. You keep trying to move your hips but he just tightens his hold.

“It’s okay though baby I know how to take care of you. Your man knows how to turn off that little brain of yours.”

His hand slides into you shorts, fingers pressing on to your clit over the top of your soaked panties. The moan you let out might rival the porn star on screen, who now by the way, is riding the face of her co-star while she sucks his cock.

He slips his other hand into your panties and starts rubbing quick “Yeah that’s it. Feel good babe?” You melt into his chest. “Yes Tetsu! So good!”

Kuroo pushes his long middle finger into your dripping hole. So tight and warm, he has to bite back a moan of his own. A few slow pumps, before he lets his index finger enter you as well. He’s done going slow now, he starts fucking you with his fingers, thumb brushing over your clit every now and then.

You were so close before, it takes almost no effort on Kuroo’s part to get you there again. You throw your head back on to his shoulder, muscles tensing in anticipation of your impending release. “Tets- gonna cum, gonna cu-“ The second you feel the waves of your orgasm crash on to you, Kuroo has his hands off you entirely, reaching for the remote and turning off the explicit movie.

Ruined. He ruined your orgasm.

You open your eyes and you see Kuroo looking every bit the smug bastard and your own teary eyed reflection in the black screen. “Tetsurou… Why? Why would you-“ You can’t even get the sentence out before he delivers a harsh smack to your clit.

“You think you deserve to come?” A large hand wraps tight around your throat as he lets out a humourless laugh. “You’re stupider than I thought.”

“No Tetsu ‘m not stupid” You manage to rasp out but that just makes him squeeze even tighter.

“What was that? I thought I heard a stupid bitch say something.”

You claw at his had trying to get air into your lungs but Kuroo doesn’t budge.

“Please! Sorry! Please!” is all you can manage to get out. Just as you start to see spots, Kuroo lets go.

Airways burning, you sputter out a “thank you” but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care. “You’re sorry? Show me how fucking sorry you are.” He’s shoves you on to the floor unceremoniously.

While Kuroo removes his slacks and boxers, you try to compose yourself. You know what’s coming but first you need to stop coughing and stop crying. After a minute of deep breathing, you open your eyes and find yourself face to face with Kuroo’s monster cock.

And you’re not exaggerating. The thing is terrifying. Long and girthy, the biggest you’ve ever seen. He’s unbelievably hard with bulging veins, the tip almost purple with arousal. You’re mesmerised by it.

Perhaps the only thing scarier than his dick right now is the man attached to it. He’s staring down at you with so much condescension, small smirk playing on his lips. He wraps his hand around his thick base. “You good princess? Get to it.” He tuts.

You place one of your hands on his throbbing member as you tentatively stick out your tongue to lick at his tip where pre-cum is dribbling out. You slowly start to stroke him up and down as you swirl your tongue around the head. Kuroo is being kind, letting you go slow. If you think he’s doing this for your benefit, you’re mistaken. He wants to take his time with this. More importantly, he’s got about a month’s worth of cum stored up in his balls and he wants to make sure that every single drop goes inside your little cunt.

You take what you can fit (just less than half) into your mouth, lips stretched wide around his dick, the head is poking at the back of your throat while your hands work the rest of his shaft. You look up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He can tell by the way you’re looking at him you want him to know how sorry you are.

It’s cute.

He grabs you by your hair and pulls you off of him. ”Aw baby, that’s it? I thought you were sorry.”

A mixture of saliva and pre-cum dribbles down your chin. “Tetsu I am sorry. I’m so sorry!” You whimper.

“Yeah?” Kuroo whispers. His grip on your hair tightens as he tilts your head up to look at him. You stare up at your boyfriend, as he bends down to kiss you. Again, it’s surprisingly gentle but is quickly contrasted with the way he uses the other hand to grab your face, squeezing harshly to make you pucker your lips and keep your mouth open.

He smiles down at you, almost lovingly before he puckers his lips as well, letting a fat glob of spit drop from his mouth into yours.

It’s gross. It’s degrading. It’s cruel.

And that’s why you swallow it down almost immediately, without being asked.

“Good girl” He whispers and gives you a kiss on the nose as a reward. The simple praise shoots straight to your pussy and now you’re greedy for more.

Kuroo leans back and assumes his previous position but this time flexing his elbows and putting his hands behind his head. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, unbuttoned so you can admire his delicious torso. Toned and tanned with the trail of dark hair running all the way to his groin. He looks completely relaxed with his eyes closed and for a moment you find yourself enamored by how stunning he is. How stunning your man is. You want to please him now more than ever. You want him to call you his good girl again. You steady yourself on your knees and prepare for the task at hand

You start off with a few shallow bobs on his cock. Then you take a deep breath through your nose before taking as much of him in your throat as you can. “Holy shit.” He breathes out. His hips thrust up reflexively while you try to suppress your own reflex, trying to keep him has deep as possible for as long as possible. You’ve had lots of practice deepthroating your boyfriend’s dick but somehow it hasn’t gotten any easier.

You pull off of him but not completely, just enough to open up your airway to let much needed air into your burning lungs. You twist your hands around the exposed part of him. You look up at him and he’s giving you that fond smile again and it makes your heart swell in your chest. It’s all the motivation you need to take him back into your throat. Again you take him as far as you can but there’s still a good inch or so that you can’t take no matter how hard you try.

“Aw baby you need some help?” Kuroo coos from above you. You look up at him with big watery eyes and nod as best you can with his dick lodged in your oesophagus. He lets out a hum. “Anything for my baby.” He places one of his large hands on the back of your head and pushes you down until your nose meets his pelvis.

Your throat muscles are spasming around the impossibly large, impossibly deep intrusion but Kuroo keeps you there, seemingly reveling in your gags. Your drool dribbles from your lips, down his balls on to the black leather of the couch. You try breathing through your nose but you struggle. However, your discomfort is completely eclipsed by Kuroo’s moans and grunts. If it makes him feel good you’ll keep him in there as long as he wants. You’ll let him thrust into your mouth until he comes if he so choses.

Lucky for you, that’s not what he wants tonight.

You pulls you off his dick by once again but slowly this time. He watches the string of drool that connects your lips and drags you away until it snaps. He take his heavy shaft and slaps it against your right cheek. You let out a gasp and a smirk starts to play on his lips. Before you know it he’s smacking and dragging his cock all over your face, covering you in a mixture of your saliva and his pre-cum. “God damn. Prettiest fuckin’ girl in the world right here on her knees for me.” He says as he leans back to admire his handiwork. “Open” he says. You obey without hesitation and he spits in your mouth again.

You swallow eagerly. “Thank you Tetsuro.” Your throat feels raw but you smile at him, absolutely giddy, nonetheless.

“Get up here, pretty girl.” Kuroo helps you to your feet and shimmy out of your bottoms before guiding you on to his lap so you’re straddling him. Immediately two of his fingers are inside you again, your slick cunt offering no resistance whatsoever. “You know angel, I’m still not sure how sorry you actually are.” He’s scissoring his fingers, stretching out your walls. If he were a different man, he’d thrust into you right now without any prep but he sees how fucked out you already are, there’s no need to punish you any further. His fingers move at a tortuous pace, squelching as he thrusts them in and out of you.

You’re panting. “Anything, I’ll do anything.”

The slow drag of his fingers grazing that spot inside you as he pulls out makes your eyes flutter shut. When you open them again, Kuroo is holding the same fingers in front of your face. Your boyfriend keeps is hazel eyes locked on yours as he sticks out his tongue to lick up the arousal soaking his digits.

“Hmm ‘course you will.” He slaps his fat cockhead on your sensitive clit making you squeal.

He drags his tip from your clit to your dripping slit over and over again getting it nice and wet.

You chant “Tetsu please” like some twisted prayer. You desperately want to make up for your earlier ruined orgasm.

“Wanna see you bounce on my cock, angel.”

You oblige him wordlessly, taking hold of his shaft and lining in him up with your entrance. You slowly lower yourself on to him wincing at the way he stretches you out. The prep was minimal and his fingers are no match for the size of his cock. You have to stop to breathe and blink away tears. You lift up your hips and lower yourself down slowly again, taking a little more of him inside you. You repeat the process a couple more times.

As much as watching your struggle to take his cock strokes his ego, Kuroo is growing bored. It’s time to take matters into his own hands.

Kuroo grips your hips and takes you by surprise as he thrusts up into you, making you take the whole thing. You let out a shrill cry as the tip of his cock nudges at your cervix. A heavy smack lands on your ass. “I said bounce angel.”

“So big Tetsu fuck. So big.” You whine as he pulls you up, before he sheaths his dick fully inside you, making you shriek for a second time.

God you could be such a crybaby sometimes. You were starting to piss him off again. He pulls out of you completely and says “Turn around.”

“Tetsu no please! Wanna see you.” You pout, your eyes welling up with tears.

Another smack. This time across your face. You reach up to touch the sore skin on your cheek, it feels hot. “Don’t talk back to me you stupid slut.”

You whimper but obey his command. You don’t want Kuroo to be angry at you.

“Now sit on it.” He spanks you another time before gripping your ass and guiding his cock into you until your ass meets his groin.

Playtime is over.

Kuroo slips his hands under your thighs, grabbing the back of your knees and folding your body in half. Now he’s really fucking you. His thrusts are rough, cock knocking against your cervix repeatedly as he sinks himself into your sopping cunt over and over again. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass and the squelching of your dripping pussy make for the lewdest symphony you’ve ever heard.

“Tetsurou ‘m close. Please” you cry. The way his dick is rubbing against your sweet spot means you won’t last long.

“No.”

Despite his denial, he doesn’t ease up on his thrusts. You’re trying to concentrate on holding back your orgasm but honestly you can’t concentrate on anything except Kuroo pistoning his fat cock in and out of you.

“Look at you.” You see your reflection in the black TV screen. “You see that?” He gives one particularly hard thrust to emphasise his point. “Fucked stupid huh?”

“Yeah Tetsu Yeah.” It’s no mirror but you can see all that you need to. You see your boyfriend using your body like a fleshlight, thrusting up into you at a relentless pace. You see your cunt split open on his cock. You see yourself being completely and utterly owned by him.

“My girl is such a fucking whore huh? My own personal porn star.”

“Need to cum nnggh let me cum please.” You’re teetering so close to the edge and Kuroo’s filthy mouth is not helping your situation in the slightest.

“Why should I let you cum hm? You’re so good when you’re desperate. Think I should keep you like this.”

“Please Tetsu. Please. Wanna be good! Wanna be your good girl Testu! Wanna take care of you! Please.”

He likes the way that sounds.

His good girl. His wife. His. His. His.

“Cum for me angel. Cum. Right now.” He says, lips pressed against your ear.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. With the way he’s pounding his dick into your tight little pussy you have no choice but to spiral into orgasm. Your pussy spasms around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you. The hot coil in your tummy that’s been building unravels and the bliss hits you so hard you see starts. Kuroo keeps fucking up into you as you cream around him. As you come down, you go limp in his arms. That doesn’t stop him from using you though.

His grip around your thighs tightens and that’s how you know he’s getting close. “You gonna be a good girl for me? You gonna take this fat fucking load? Yeah? Take all of it deep in your cunt?” He growls right into your ear.

“Tetsu gimme pleasepleaseplease” You beg him as you cry from overstimulation, barely able to form the words.

“Take it. Take it. Fuck!” He growls as he shoots his load right into your tight, gooey pussy. You feel his hot cum fill up your womb and the sensation is so overwhelming it makes you go cross-eyed, tongue lolling out of your mouth. He grunts, still rutting into you through his orgasm. When he’s done he pulls out of you, smiling as he watches his cum leak out of your spent hole.

Kuroo loves the fact that you’re smart. But when you’re like this? Absolutely cum drunk, eyes glazed, body covered in bruises and willing to do anything he asks you to? He fucking adores you like this.

“Go take care of dinner princess, then your man is gonna take care of you some more.” He swats you on your ass.

You giggle and let your wobbly legs carry you to the kitchen with your boyfriend’s cum running down between your thighs, thoughts of your upcoming final completely fucked out of your head.

Along with every other thought not revolving around your future husband.

Kuroo reaches for his phone to text his assistant and tell her to cancel all his meetings for tomorrow. He has to go ring shopping.

#haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#hq x you #haikyu x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo imagine #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq smut #dark fic #tw dubcon #tw dumbification #tw breath play #tw manipulation #tw manhandling #tw degradation #tw slapping #tw spitting

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Eleven: Love - SMUT

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected p in v, cunningless, tit play, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, food and drink mention, emotional because we’re nearing the end, a family being brought together and our favourite soft, sad dad loving his son and, well… you.

Word count: 4300>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Eleven - Next

-------------

Just entering Black Gold Cooperative again, when you thought the previous night would be your last, drew tears to your eyes. This extensive size office was the place you’d first journeyed too upon venturing to the world of man. The building meant more to you than you had first realised, and it held so many amazing memories of self discovery. Your eyes flicked between the velvet sofa where you had once slept on, and the plants that peppered each corner of the lobby. They were vibrant and filled with life, symbolic of new beginnings. Now, the only magic in the air was love. You could feel it, Maxwell could feel it, and from the way Alistair perked up as you sneaked up behind him, he could feel it too. Love truly was the most powerful thing.

Seeing the way Alistair ran into his father’s arms, and the way he squeezed Max so tight -- like he was afraid to let him go, was enough to make your heart melt into your chest. “Daddy! You’re back!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Did you win?” He asked, his dark brown eyes glittering with hope. Alistair tugged on Max’s dark blonde shaggy hair as he waited for a reply.

“Yeah buddy, I won,” Max chuckled breathlessly. With those two words of affirmation, Alistair burst into tears. You took a step back as you watched the interaction, sensing how high the emotion was. You knew that Max had waited for this day to come for a long time. “No no, don’t cry. You should be happy.” Max cooed apologetically, his eyes widening as he tried his hardest to comfort his son. You were no longer a Goddess, and you had been stripped of your powers, but you could still feel the compassion between them both. And it was beautiful.

“I am happy,” Alistair choked out in between sobs, pulling back to look at his father. Max wiped away Alistair’s tears and offered him a weak smile. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.” Alistair confessed, nuzzling his face into his father’s chest.

Max sniffed and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I’m going to redeem myself for everything, Ali. I know… I know I’ve done terrible things and made big mistakes, and I really am a pretty messed up loser but--”

“No,” Alistair cut him off, his tone chaste. “Daddy, you’re a winner. Thank you for fighting for me.”

“Always,” Maxwell hummed, picking up Alistair and cradling him in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

***

Maxwell drove, and Alistair insisted that you sit in the back of the car with him. You obliged, unable to ever refuse the bright eyed little boy. Alistair’s small, clammy hands squeezed yours and he watched intently as you gazed out the window, entranced by all the things you passed. There was still a lot you had to get used to, but it brought you comfort knowing that now, at least you had the time. There was no pressure to return back to Themyscira. D.C. was your home. Wherever Alistair and Max was, you were home.

Alistair nuzzled his head into you and closed his eyes, feeling completely content with your company. “I like your new outfit.” he hummed, his fingers tracing your glimmering gold belt.

“You do?” you asked curiously, and felt Alistair nod against you. “You know Ali, I sorta prefer the normal clothes.” you shrugged, and caught Maxwell smiling in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

“I like this,” Alistair admitted. “You look like a superhero. Like… from my comic books.”

“You don’t need a fancy costume to be a hero, Alistair,” you said, tapping his chin so he looked up at you. “Your dad is proof of that.”

***

Maxwell dropped his keys on the side table by the front door when the three of you returned home. “Are you guys hungry?” he questioned, scratching the back of his head. After a day in court, he’d worked up quite the appetite, he must admit.

Alistair grinned and nodded his head. “Starving! Can we get pizza? Please daddy, oh please can we get pizza?”

“Hmph,” Maxwell grumbled, displaying a faux annoyance before bursting into an adorable grin. “I suppose so. Since it’s a day to celebrate.”

“Yay!” Alistair cheered, running into the living room and jumping on the sofa. By the sounds of it, he’d found the remote control for the television and turned on one of his favourite kiddie TV shows.

Walking over to the telephone, Maxwell caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the many mirrors in the hallway and frowned. He was happy, but Gods did he still look a mess. The blonde in his hair was rapidly fading out and he was in desperate need of a trim. He’d been neglecting his biotin supplements and forgetting to moisturize, and oh, his tired eyes. You caught him hyper analyzing his appearance and approached him from behind. Pressing a kiss into his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, you sighed.

“What are you thinking about?” you wondered out loud.

Maxwell swallowed. “I just… I’m not the man I once was,” he ran his fingers through his hair and gestured down to the power suit that he’d worn to court. “I’m not Max Lord anymore. Not this… big oil tycoon businessman. Not on TV anymore. This whole thing is a facade. It’s not me. And everytime I look at myself… I’m reminded of all the mistakes that I made,” he admitted quietly before taking a shaky exhale. “It’s fine,” he quickly backtracked. “Guess I’ll just have to suck it up.”

“The worst part is over, Max. And you’re a survivor,” you told him, taking his hand. “The world can forgive you, but it means nothing if you can’t forgive yourself. You need to learn to love yourself.”

“Will you help me?” Maxwell asked quietly, a nervous tone prominent in his voice.

You offered him a warm smile. “That’s why I’m here,” you reminded him sweetly. “To help.”

Maxwell turned around to face you fully and placed a hand on your cheek. You swore, in that moment and under his touch, that you had forgotten how to breathe. Max might not have been able to see it, but he truly was so beautiful. The gold in his former life may have been gilded, but the gold in his heart was pure and authentic. And now, it was all yours.

Maxwell pulled his tie off his neck and shuffled out of his suit jacket. “I think it might be time for me to hang up this tie for good.” Maxwell sighed sadly, running the patterned silk material between his fingers.

“Do you want to?”

Maxwell paused for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve worked so hard to get here… I just can’t give Black Gold up.”

“Then don’t.” you whispered, shuffling your body into his. He snaked an arm around you and sighed even louder.

“It’s not that easy, darling. I don’t have the money to keep it going.”

“I won’t let you give up on your lifelong dream, so… we’ll figure something out. Maybe you’ll have to downsize. If oil isn’t making you any money then maybe… you might have to specialise in something else. If the past week has proved anything it’s that all our problems can be figured out through the power of love. And you have that. Right here,” you maneuvered his hand and placed it on your heart before pointing your free hand into the living room at Alistair. The door stood slightly ajar. “And right there.”

Maxwell smiled. “There’s a thing, here. In the world of man…” you could tell he was about to start rambling about Goodness know what. He looked up slightly, avoiding your eye contact as he talked. “Where two people… love each other, a lot. And so they make a promise to dedicate themselves to one another. Asking you to be my girlfriend sounds a little childish,” Maxwell chuckled softly and your eyes widened when you realised where he was going with this. “But I guess… if you wanted…”

“I do!” You said quickly, cutting him off before he could even finish.

“You do?” Maxwell asked, truly stunned that you had agreed so fast. He couldn’t believe someone as magnificent as you would love him back, let alone want to be with him. He never thought he was deserving of love, especially after everything that had happened. If Maxwell had never met you, he would’ve been certain that he’d grow old, cold and alone.

“I do.” you confirmed, grinning and pressing your lips into his.

The genuine smile that was on his face when he pulled away was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. More beautiful than the sands and oceans on Themyscira. More beautiful than the landmarks and caves in Athens. It differed to his television smile. This was one hundred percent authentic. This was Maxwell Lorenzano. “I’m going to change into my pajamas,” you announced. “And I’ll bring Ali upstairs with me and have him get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” Max acknowledged, still grinning. “I’ll set the dining room table for the pizza.”

You guided Alistair upstairs and followed him into his bedroom. You sat down on his bed, and pulled him down to sit next to you. “I told you I had a gift for you, from Athens.” you smiled and watched as Alistair’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yes!” Alistair cried out, bouncing up and down.

You detached the lasso of Hestia from your tunic and placed the rope gently in his hands. “This is my lasso of truth. Remember that one night when I met Julianna and Theodore, and I came to visit you? And I showed you how it worked? Do you remember?”

Alistair nodded slowly. “Yes. You told me the lasso wasn’t powered by you. It was powered by the truth.”

“That’s right,” you confirmed, your heart swelling at how Alistair had retained that piece of information. “The lasso is important to me because it was a gift from my mother. And now, I’m passing it down to you. I didn’t get this in Athens, but it is from Athens originally. I hope my lasso will be a constant reminder for you to always tell the truth, and always see the good in people.”

Alistair’s jaw was agape and he was struck with awe as his fingers traced the magical rope. “I love it…” he whispered.

“I’m glad,” you smiled. “It’s very powerful Ali. Who knows, one day you might be able to use it.”

“And I can be a superhero just like you…” Alistair grinned before biting his lip. “And just like my daddy.”

“Exactly. Just like your daddy. C’mon now, I want you to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Then we can go order our pizza, okay?”

Before you left his bedroom, Alistair called your name. You sensed hesitancy in his voice, almost like he was nervous. “Can I… can I try out the lasso... on you? Maybe?”

You wanted to ask him why the child might possibly want to do that, but then you realised, he was probably just curious. So, you obliged, and held out your wrist. Remembering how you’d shown him before, Alistair wrapped the rope around your arm and took a deep breath.

“Do you love my daddy?” Alistair asked, after taking a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Will you promise not to leave him, ever?”

“I promise.”

“Would you mind if… if… I called you mommy?”

You felt warm tears prick the corners of his eyes. A mother. It’s everything you had always wanted to be. You were the goddess of home and hearth. The urge to one day have a family was in your nature.

“I’d love that, Ali.” you admitted.

Alistair pulled the rope from your wrist and enveloped you into a tight hug. “Okay. Because I love you mommy.”

“I love you too.”

***

“What do you want?” Maxwell asked his son, pen in hand. He’d been scribbling down the order, the businessman in him wanting to have everything planned out before he made the phone call.

“Pineapple pizza! The biggest one!” Alistair exclaimed gleefully, stretching out his arms. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ali, you won’t eat it all,” Maxwell frowned. You nudged him, as if to say, ‘let him have this’. “Okay,” Max sighed. “The biggest pineapple pizza. And what do you want?” he asked, turning to you this time. You furrowed your eyebrows together, taking another look at the menu that had been passed around the dining room table.

“How do I know what’s good?”

“Well, not pineapple.” Maxwell grumbled.

Alistair gasped, unable to believe the words that had just left his father’s lips. “Don’t listen to him,” Alistair said, grabbing your hand. “Daddy is wrong. Pineapple pizza is so delicious. Will you try some of mine?”

You squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Sure,” you agreed. Maxwell swore his heart melted everytime he witnessed interaction between you and his son. It was so pure, it was like you and Alistair had known each other forever. Granted, you’d known the little boy longer than you knew Maxwell. The day you woke up in the park felt like yesterday. “What do you like, Max?” you quizzed, eventually giving up on the menu.

“Pepperoni, I guess. I don’t eat pizza much.” He admitted sheepishly. Before you could reply, Alistair’s voice made you jump up in shock.

“Boring!” He called out. Max shot him a playful glare and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be rude!” Maxwell chastised, wiggling his index finger, and you couldn’t hide the smile on your face.

“He’s like you,” you pointed out. “Always has something to say.”

“My son.” Maxwell declared proudly, pulling Alistair into his lap and ruffling his dark hair.

Just like Max had anticipated, Alistair couldn’t eat the large pineapple pizza. In fact, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa after only two slices, a Star Wars blanket draped over him and a stuffed toy curled tight into his chest.

“Alistair asked me if it would be alright if he called me mommy,” you admitted quietly as Maxwell gathered the plates and empty glasses. His head snapped to face you the second the words left your lips. “I told him yes. But I figured… maybe you should have some say in it? I don’t know.”

“It means a lot to me that Ali can put his faith in you, and that he sees you as his mother. But this is a big deal. Family is for life and I don’t… he’s already lost one mother. I don’t want him to lose you too. So of course, it’s fine by me. As long as you promise to always be a mother to him, no matter what.”

“Always,” you whispered in reassurance, cupping Maxwell’s cheek and gazing into his dark eyes. “I promise.”

“I believe you,” Maxwell replied, kissing you on the forehead. “I should take him to bed.”

“Let me handle it,” you replied, stretching before leaning down to pick up the sleeping boy and cradling him in your arms. Clearly, somewhere down the line, you had forgotten you had been stripped of your powers and you were now a mortal. You let out a yelp. Once able to carry Alistair easily, you were now struggling. You wobbled slightly and Max hurried to your side to hold you and help you keep your balance.

“You okay?” Max asked, quirking an eyebrow. “He’s heavier than he looks.” you gasped, already a little breathless.

“Wanna trade?” he quizzed, raising a plate.

You mumbled a ‘yes’ and passed Alistair over to his father. “I’ll do the dishes and meet you upstairs.”

***

Max was still with Alistair by the time you had finished up the dishes and headed to the bedroom. You sat by the dressing table, brushing out your hair, and looked at the pile of discarded armour sat in the corner of the room. Maybe one day it would come of use, but for now, this was it. This was the start of a new life where you didn’t need no Amazonian armour. With Maxwell and Alistair, you had all the protection you could ever need.

“Hi,” Maxwell whispered, padding into the bedroom. You turned to face him and smiled. “I’m glad to be home… now… with you. Glad this is all over.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and began to rub them affectionately. “Me too.” you replied warmly, leaning into his touch and nuzzling your head into his chest. You closed your eyes in contentment. Every second you spent with Max, you spent wishing it would last forever. Although you knew better than to make a wish.

“Are you tired?” Max pondered, smoothing out your hair and admiring your face.

Pushing back your hair and admiring your beauty was up there with one of his most favourite things to do. Your eyes looked like home, your lips tasted like home. You were home.

“Mm, no, not really…” you confessed, staring at the image of both you and Max in the reflection of the dressing table mirror. But Max’s gaze was fixated only on you. “Actually. I had an idea, since you know, we’re celebrating and all,” you confessed after a brief moment of comfortable silence. Maxwell raised a curious eyebrow and waited for you to continue. “Remember our first night back in Athens when we…” you trailed off and glanced over towards the bed.

“Yeah.” Max answered, already breathless from the thought.

“I liked it a lot.” You admitted bashfully as you reminisced on your first time with Maxwell.

“Me too.” he agreed.

“So do you want to do it again…?”

Max didn’t reply with words, but instead he pulled you up from the stool that you were sitting on and twirled you around so you were facing him. He crashed his lips onto yours and let his large hands freely roam your back, desperate to feel every inch of your body. He’d been waiting to do this again.

Without breaking away from the kiss, you pushed him towards his bed and climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips and began to run your hands over his chest, leaning over and kissing along his jaw and down his neck. Feeling his cock already hot and heavy, he cursed under his breath, dipping his hand under the hem of your silk nightgown and smirking upon finding that you weren’t wearing any underwear. He slowly slid his thick fingers between your folds, causing you to gasp at the sudden bolt of pleasure that ran through you. His thumb began to circle your clit and you dug your fingers into his shoulders as he worked at your bundle of nerves.

He loved to look at you and watch as your face twisted in pleasure. He liked to know you were feeling good. His fingers were like magic, and he truly had a golden touch.

“Want you to cum on my fingers, okay?” Max asked, increasing the speed. You tried to push out a word but just came out as a mangled moan. You nodded your head, feeling your cunt desperately clench around nothing and your thighs tighten as you neared orgasm.

When you came undone, Max’s dark eyes gleamed with desire and pride. He pulled his fingers from under your nightgown and placed them on his tongue, sucking your arousal from his own digits.

“You taste amazing baby,” He praised, unable to contain his smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied back with a smile.

Both you and Max made your way over to the bed, stripping yourself out of your clothes and intertwining your bodies together.

“I don’t ever want this moment to end.” you confessed with a shaky exhale as Maxwell squeezed your breasts, peppering kisses down the valley of your chest.

“It doesn’t have to, princess, we have the rest of our lives to spend together.”

There it was again. The dumb nickname he’d called you from the day you first met. You’d insist that you weren’t a princess, and by no means royalty, but to Maxwell, you were. You were his princess. A rose stuck amongst a bush of thorns. You were the epitome of hope, beauty and love. And you were all his.

So the nickname grew on you, and you’d come to like it.

You felt the tip of Maxwell’s cock tease against your entrance as he swiftly rubbed his length up and down, between your glistening wet folds. By the time he pushed himself inside of you, just the scrunched up look on his face was enough to make your stomach erupt into butterflies. The crinkle in between his eyebrows and the way his perfect lips parted into an ‘o’ shape as your walls clamped around him.

“Fuck, you-you’re so tight,” He gasped, the Adams apple in his neck prevailing as he tried to swallow away his desire. “Always so tight. So per-perfect. Good girl. Such a go-good girl.” he praised, a small strand of dark blonde hair falling out of place and crossing his forehead.

You shuddered at his words.

“Look at me,” you begged, and he obliged, his chocolate coloured eyes snapping open. Despite the glaze of lust that seemed to cloud his vision, he was able to fixate on you, spending a few moments adoring your face -- the face he fell in love with -- as he remained seated deep inside you. He was stretching you open and Gods, it felt delicious, but you needed more. You desperately needed more. “Move, please.” you whimpered, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

Maxwell began to rock his hips into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. He leaned over you and pressed his forehead against yours as he picked up his speed. “Don’t be too loud,” he warned quietly, his warm breath fanning over your ear.

It wasn’t long before he felt his cock twitch inside of you. “Shit,” he moaned, squeezing your shoulder to signify that he was close. “Neither of us are protected-- fuck, I need, I need to pull out.”

“Mm, no, no Max. Keep going. Don’t stop.” You begged, your fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You could get pregnant.” he rasped out, suddenly remembering you were now a mortal.

“Would it really be so bad?” you asked, and your question alone was enough to throw Maxwell over the edge.

Would it really be so bad?

You had a point. Max had never imagined having any more kids. Hell, he’d never really planned on having Alistair. But times had changed, and he was so in love with you. He figured -- maybe kids were something he could give another go at. Little mini you’s running around the house would simply be so adorable. And who better to have children with, than the goddess of home and hearth? Having a family was written in your destiny. It was always meant to be. Given the time and the place, the prospect of having kids, getting you pregnant… it just felt right.

The start of a new life… both figuratively and literally.

Of course he was certain that this was what you wanted, and evidently, you wanted it to. But the idea of seeing you swole and round, carrying his children… well that was a whole different thing.

“Fuck princess, you’re gonna look so good carrying my baby.” Maxwell grounded, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

You felt your orgasm wash over you, and your walls clamp around his cock. That was enough to push him over the edge.

Maxwell came inside of you, and he made sure to cum deep, too. Once he’d regained his breath, he grabbed two pillows from his side of the bed and propped them under your butt so the lower half of your body was higher than your upper half.

“What are you doing?” you giggled.

“Making sure not a drop of it goes to waste,” Maxwell replied as he pressed sloppy kisses along your inner thighs.

And when he caught a glimpse of his seed beginning to spill out of you, he plunged his index finger and pushed it back in.

“I love you so much.” You whispered as Maxwell smoothed out your hair and kissed your lips.

“I love you too, darling. And I can’t wait to embark on this new life together.”

You pondered for a moment, relishing in the comfortable silence before you brought your index finger and pointed it towards Maxwell. “Life is good, but it can be better.”

Maxwell was trying his damn hardest to fight the grin that was edging to cross his lips. How could one person be so adorable?

“It can always be better.” he whispered, bringing his hand down to your stomach and kissing you again.

———————————————

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I Believe In Love taglist : (tagged in replies!)

#maxwell lord #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord smut #pedro pascal x you

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worminstuff · 3 years

Text

The Balcony of the Treehouse pt.3

sleepy bois x reader au

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“I want to preface this, I do love you all so much, but I'm incredibly disappointed.” Phil stared at the 4 kids in front of him. He knew his words struck as deep as they would to any kid hearing that from an adult important to them. Especially Techno, he strived to make Phil proud even more than Will. Y/n on the other hand, he wasn't sure of. She often was a chaotic wild card, and she didn't get much parenting from anyone other than him from what he's seen over the many years. Phil believes he's disciplined her more than her own guardians, and she listens to him. But she's also gotten herself in many tough situations all the same.

She's not necessarily his own, but he treats her as if she were.

Out of Techno and Y/n she was definitely not the mediator. The only time he's seen her relatively responsible, is when it comes to being home alone, and interacting with Tommy. Which both impressed him greatly, but not enough per say.

“I know all of you are stubborn, some more than others,” he directed his gaze to Techno, whos eyes seemed to hold more self loath than before, “but unless you all talk even a bit, it's only going to get worse.” he turned to Y/n and placed a hand to her shoulder, “i want you around. I know you don't tell me everything I should know, especially about home, but I know enough and I see enough. I want you here with us when you need us. And we need you too.” he watched as her eyes welled up with tears.

Y/n turned her head slightly to glance at Techno, who was finally looking at her for the first time since the night prior.

She watched his lip give a small wobble as his eyes seemed to fight back a bit of tears.

“He's not wrong.” Techno mumbled out.

Y/ns brows furrowed, “why would you need me?”

Techno looked at Tommy in Y/ns lap not wanting to look at her. Tommy realized he was looking at him, and upon seeing Technos teary eyes Tommys started to get a bit watery even.

“You're my only friend.. Who's gonna sit with me in the treehouse? Who's gonna listen to me ramble? I wouldn't get good morning hugs..i wouldn't get anything you do for me on a daily basis and i don't wanna think of that.” his voice was barely audible but Y/n could hear him. She felt a tear run down her cheek. Tommy looked up at her too, now wondering why everyone was crying. His face started to contort in baby-like sadness, smacking a hand on her leg, but not harsly. He was reaching up at her face. Y/n looked down at Tommy and her heart melted, she leaned down slightly and he set a small hand on her face.

“No more crying!” Tommy didnt often speak, he very much could, pretty well sometimes, he was just more physical usually when conveying his thoughts. Which made this situation all the more meaningful.

Phil was the only one who had looked at Wilbur yet, who was sitting silently watching Y/n and his little brothers, Wilbur had more tears on his cheeks than all of them. Well maybe not Tommy, but he was rivaling him.

Wilbur was realizing how Y/n really meant to Techno. But all the same, he was realizing how much she meant to him too. She was everything to him since he was 12 and realized he liked her. Since he was 15 and realized he loved her.

“Even Tommy needs you. Trust me, we all do.” wilbur said softly. Y/n looked over to him, her eyes softening, her heart hurt for him. Wilbur was really getting the worst of this situation.

Before she could say anything, he spoke again, “Techno i know you don't like how i feel but we're both being selfish. It very much isn't our decision to make for her.” he said to Techno but quickly looked back to her, after wiping away a tear, “not that i want to force a decision on you any time soon,” she nodded as she rubbed tommys back to calm him a bit.

“I just..it's..she's my Y/n” Techno looked at Wilbur, it was the first thing he'd said to him through all of this, and everyone was a bit taken aback.

“Your?” Y/n said, the most taken aback.

“I know that sounds bad but, but it's been us since..since forever!” his voice cracked slightly, he looked at her, “were us! Y/n and Techno! You're my person!” he was getting angry, “and you!” he looked to wilbur, “and you're my brother! You shouldn't get to try to take that away!” his face was growing red.

“That's not what i want! I don't want to steal her, she decides how she spends her time not me! If she wants to spend time with me shouldn't she be allowed to?” wilbur scowelled.

“I don't like this at all'' Y/n mumbled towards phil. “This is like some stupid cheesy movie with two brothers fighting over a girl. Its stupid to be frank. I think we should just..we should just get over ourselves yeah? Wilbur i..im not commenting on either of our feelings cause i don't want to. And Techno, I get that we are us and all, but I'm still my own person. I love you, and you're my person too, which is why you need to talk to me.” she wiped away all the tiers from before, as did Techno, and he nodded at her.

Wilbur was solem, he figured he was setting aside their problem as to not talk about it infront of Techno. At least he hoped that much.

“You're right, i'm sorry I was mad Y/n.” he felt entirely better.

“It's okay, no biggie.” She offered him a smile which he returned. “Treehouse?”

Techno nodded excitedly.

Y/n looked at tommy in his lap, he seemed less upset now, “see Tommy, not more tears,yeah?”

Tommy seemed to lighten up at that, so she looked to Phil who gave a silent nod and picked Tommy up from her legs.

Techno stood, looking at her to follow,

“I'll be a be up in a bit, go ahead.” she smiled and nodded towards the backyard. He nodded back and turned to go.

Phil left the dining room, leaving Wilbur and Y/n alone.

He looked at her with a small smirk, “do you still have my sweatshirt?”

Y/n's face reddened slightly, she pouted. “I wanted to apologize, you know.”

“You don't have to, Y/n” he chuckled.

“I slept in it actually.” Y/n mumbled, not looking into his eyes.

“In what?”

“Your sweater.”

His stomach felt queasy.

“Y-you did?”

“Erm..yeah. It was comfy. And i felt close to you..” she looked up at him, only to see the widest grin shed saw on him in a while.

“Well, i have a lot of them.” he leaned back in his chair, gaining a bit of confidence.

Y/n smiled shyly and stood up, “yeah because you're obsessed with spending money.”

“I'm so not!” he laughed slightly.

Y/n gave him a small giggle, “i'll see you later wilby.” her voice was soft and smooth, she leaned over the table and placed a small kiss to his cheek. Leaning back she watched as his eyes grew wide and his cheeks burned a faint pink before she turned to make her way to the treehouse.

Before he could get another word out, she was already outside.

Phil poked his head into the room, letting out an airy laugh.

“Yeah?” he said to wilbur, laughing at how shocked he still seemed.

Wilbur looked up at phil, “Dad?”

Phil nodded, “mhm?”

“I love her.” he had a starry look in his eyes. “Shes-she's-..” he was trying to think of a word when suddenly Tommy spoke up from phils arms again for the second time that evening.

“Pwetty!” he grinned and looked up at phil.

Wilbur and Phil both laughed softly.

“That's for damn sure..” wilbur smiled to himself and shook his head slightly.

Once Y/n had made it into the treehouse, Techno immediately pulled her into his arms. Y/n quickly hugged him around his shoulders.

Techno was tall, not as tall as Wilbur, but definitely taller than Y/n and tall for his age. He leaned down to rest his head on her shoulder as he hugged her.

Looking over his shoulder she noticed the contents of her bag on the floor, “so you found the book?”

Techno nodded into her shoulder, “can we sit?”

She nodded and slowly pulled away looking up at him, moving to the rug.

He sat in front of her, but reached his arms out. She smiled and moved to be in front of him, leaning back against him. They usually sat this way when he was reading, so he could either read to her or she could just sit close to him while he read.

Techno leaned his head on top of hers, and slid his arms around her waist pulling her close.

“Thank you for the book by the way.” he mumbled.

“Did you cry?” she smirked.

“I did cry. But not because of the book specifically.” he said.

“Oh.” her smirk fell. She put one of her hands on top of him, pulling it from her waist to hold on to his fingers. “Did you..sleep here?” she saw the way the blanket was on the rug and the book around it.

“Uh..yeah. I did.” he picked his head up to look at their hands. He flipped his hand so it was facing up, Y/n traced small patterns into his palm.

“I almost came up here..” she turned to look up at him.

Techno stared down at her, his eyes tracing each feature on her face. His free hand came off of her waist to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I wish you had..”

Both of their eyes were lazy. “Will you tonight?” Technos eyes weren't on hers, they were watching her lips, and his hand was resting at the base of her neck, he could feel her pulse quickening.

“Yeah..of course.” she tried to contain her nerves at the way he was staring at her.

He stared at her a little longer before she moved his hand from her neck up to her cheek.

“You signed that letter “your Y/n”..” he mumbled, looking at her eyes for a split second.

“I did, yeah.” her eyes almost seemed glazed over.

“You're mine?” his eyes were wild, unlike hers. Her head lulled more to the side, into his hands at his words.

“Say it..i need to hear it please..” his words were so soft, but they felt like he'd just knocked the wind out of her all the same.

“I'm yours.” she stared at him, as he seemed to tense at her words. His eyes drifted to her lips again as he slowly leaned down to her, his face less than inches from hers.

“God..” he mumbled as his lips clashed with hers. She reached up behind her to rest her own hand on his cheek, pulling him closer.

Y/n could barely think clear with the way his lips felt on hers, he was being so gentle.

Meanwhile Technos thoughts were running rampant. The way her small hand felt on his jaw, the way her pulse was going so quick, the way her face felt so warm, the way she was still holding onto his other hand grasping it so tightly. And it was all his doing.

He pulled away for a moment, needing to know how she was feeling and what she was thinking.

As he pulled away Y/n gave a small whine, unhappy with how he moved away from her. Her eyes were still closed even as her brows furrowed.

He smiled softly down at her, he couldn't believe he'd kissed her.

Her eyes opened for a moment, finding his loving gaze.

He was about to pull her face back to his when they both suddenly heard a knock to the doorway of the treehouse.

Wiilbur was standing on the balcony outside the doorway. His eyes seemed almost empty.

“Dinners em..dinners ready. Dad sent me up to get you two.” he turned quickly, getting away from what he'd seen as quickly as possible, before they could see any sort of tears that had formed in his eyes.

This time it was Techno that had messed up royally.

^^^

pt 4

#dreamsmp #dreamteam #dream smp #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois incorrect quote #sleepy bois fanfic #sleepy boys inc #sleepy bois #sleepy bois au #philza #tommyinnit #wilbursoot #technoblade #techno fanfiction #techno x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbursootfluff

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transmasc-wizard · 2 years

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Ooooh, can I hear little about your OC's?

y e s

unfortunately for you you have managed to hit me at a "i could literally infodump for hours" mode so you're about to get a ramble

SO! the subject of this ramble is Angelique Lavoie (she/they), nonbinary lesbian and thief extraordinaire, first narrator of my WIP gfw1/Moonlit Blood.

Angelique (Angel for short, and how I will refer to them for the rest of the post) is the "cinderella" of this cinderella retelling. Their household contains them, their little sister who they'd kill and/or die for, and their parents who become Worse with every passing draft. The parents in question are just... bad at parenting. they essentially do nothing, focusing on Angel's little sister (13yo) and leaving her (16-ish) to almost completely take care of herself. This has been going on this way for 8 years. And now Angel can see that her parents are slowly pushing Gabrielle (sister) out of their List Of Priorities, and Angel is angry. She finds herself starting to act like a parent right around the opening of the book.

Angel is, however, instinctively selfish. See the whole "has literally had to take care of herself since she was 8 with almost nothing else to look out for them" thing. Their selfishness only stalls for Gabrielle, who's life is a thousand times more important to them than their own; everyone else who knows Angel is quick to call them a self-centered piece of shit. Whenever anyone who knows Angel as a person sees her interacting with Gabrielle, they can barely register how it's the same person.

And when Gabrielle gets murdered, literally no one else matters anymore but themself.

I haven't quite decided when in the book it happens--originally it was the climax, but now I'm thinking that closer to the middle or the start is the best option. It aligns better with Angel's arc; she is supposed to represent what happens after the worst. Additionally, she is a Cinderella who, instead of being good naturally, must learn to be. I think starting her off at her worst, most closed-off and sharp moments will be a good contrast to later when she's more soft and willing to try and be kinder.

this could be longer, but. This ended up being a pretty specific Topic on Angel and i think it's best to keep it that way? sooo yeah. ty for the ask, drink water, have a nice day

#asks #just-6-thoughts #writblr asks #wip gfw1 #angel #gabrielle

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fluffnstuffq · 3 years

Text

We all know that the “kin for fun” trend is bad.

Recently, however, the question of “why is it bad?” has risen in prominence, and thus I’d like to give my two cents on the matter. I initially wanted to give a rehash of the whole “this is a community which has been around for decades, please don’t appropriate its terms because you don’t know what you’re talking about” spiel.. though I know that’s been repeated endlessly to no avail.

Dozens of times I’ve tried to explain that, though I’ve often been faced with the “words change” or “it’s just a game, it harms no one” argument.

So I’m taking a more personal approach.

I don’t know if my anecdotes will change anyone’s mind, but if anyone in the “kin for fun” community sees this and actually reads through it, I implore you to try to listen to genuine otherkin, do some research, and find other terms that better suit you.

Beware, long rambling anecdote under the cut.

It is hard to believe that, a mere 8 months ago, I was new to the otherkin community.

I’d been reading about and researching otherkinity in depth for as long as a year prior, though it was as recently as May 2020 upon which I took my own first step into evaluating my own experiences, creating an otherkin oriented side blog, and formally taking the plunge into what I’d initially assumed, from fun “kin assign ask games” or “no doubles drama”, to be a trend.

While I quickly versed myself in the original, serious and introspective parts of the community, I had my fair share of run-ins with those of the “kinnie/kin for fun crowd”. One such experience, over the course of about two-three months, forever left an impression on the way I view the community (and the problems within it) as a whole.

Without naming names, some of the individuals we encountered turned out to be... the practical embodiment of some of the worst facets of this community.

They were the prime example of the misguided “kinnie” mindset. Dead-set on fitting under the ‘kin label, though unwilling to do any research on their own. Faking out of control, dramatic shifts to seem more “valid” to genuine otherkin (more on that later). Willing to go as far as picking traits from other people’s original characters to “customize” their “kinsonas” perfectly.

However, aside from their merely misguided attempts to fit in (which could’ve been easily fixed if not for the stubborn kinnie mindset), the most scathing of their actions highlighted some major issues of the “kin for fun” side.

In just a few months, we had our identities stomped on and treated like nothing more than a game.

You see, the “kinnie” mindset is not self contained. It is almost impossible to maintain this mindset and respect the involuntary, deeply personal nature of otherkin history, due both to widespread misinformation/trends, as well as the common plague of stubborn ignorance of definitions.

In most cases we’ve seen, once one steps fully into the mindset that their own kintypes are nothing more than a game or an act, they begin to at the very least subconsciously view others’ experiences the same way.

This is obviously not the case for all those who take on alterhuman identities by choice (ex: copinglinking). However, in taking on the “kin for fun” label, one immediately disrespects the identities of others by appropriating and bending terms with a history to fit themself.

And once one establishes that they lack care or concern for the already, dare I say, endangered terms once meant to foster a sense of community and understanding, of shared experiences... that person already predisposes themself to spiraling into greater disrespect and ignorance of the identities of others.

The individuals that we encountered, like many others of this mindset, used their so-called “kins” for the sole purpose of feeling validated, for looking “cool” and as leverage to get their way. Because it was nothing more than roleplay and a brief interest to them, they often treated others’ kintypes as something that could be similarly discarded/”turned off” or reset. As if others’ kintypes were nothing more than characters which didn’t deserve respect.

Exotrauma and otherwise painful memories, while stressful and sometimes nightmare inducing for us, were nothing more than fodder for outlandish “story ideas” and “angst” for them.

In the cases of these individuals faking shifts, they often acted in ways threatening and even triggering to those around them; though because it was just a show for them, they failed time and time again to recognize the negative impact their violent “shifts” had on others.

They had no restraint, for both their own actions and the fearful/concerned reactions of others were just harmless roleplay in their eyes. (I do feel like.. even roleplay should have boundaries if the events of a story upset the people participating, and the notion that anything goes, even at the expense of someone else’s comfort.. it just gives very uncomfortable “fiction does not affect reality” vibes. Though, that’s a story for another time).

As our experiences weren’t real to them and never had been, they often conflated us with the “canon characters”, like we and many others they interacted with were nothing more than toys to fixate on, change and push “headcanons” onto, and test the limits of.

And because they didn’t care to learn, because individuals such as these continued to remorselessly fall deeper into the rabbit hole of “I do whatever I want/I don’t care to learn otherwise”, the lack of consideration grew more severe.

Those who “kin for fun” may certainly be experiencing.. something, I will not discount that assertion. Whether copinglinking, a hearttype, or merely a fictionflicker/cameo shift. However, it’d be disingenuous to say that it is harmless for them to continue to warp and pick at terms that do not and will never fit them. For every joke, every dozens-long “coping-kinlist”, every admittance of “haha I was never a serious kin”, they all do the same in spreading misinformation.

As I see more and more people self-identifying as “copinglink, but using the kin title because it sounds better”, even if calling oneself “a non-serious kinnie”, one wonders... why use those terms if you know they do not fit? Why encroach upon communities of bittersweet memories, of aching homesickness, of involuntary nonhumanity, only with the intention of putting on an act?

Why fight so hard, when directly told and shown how “kin for fun” actively tears apart the already dwindling otherkin community on this platform? Why cling so hard to words that are not yours, why force change upon the definitions of words meant to be a safe haven for those searching for understanding? Why paint “serious otherkin” as dangerous gatekeepers, sufferers of clinical lycanthropy, or those merely suffering from delusions/hallucinations?

Because of those who “kin for fun”, I was initially steered away from investigating my own identity; I’d only seen the jokes, the toxic “kin drama”, the cringe blogs and factkin and “kinning”. Because of “kin for fun”, it took me over a year to come to terms with my own alterhumanity, in all of its facets.

Because of “kinnies”, my fears are proven time and time again that I will come across someone who views my identity as roleplay at best and “childish, a phase, character theft” at worse. Because of “kinnies” and the mindset they’ve fostered, time and time again someone steals my memories, my experiences, my identity, justifying it as creating their own version, like an AU of an AU.

Because of “kinnies”, time and time again I’ve been told to “stop taking things so seriously, it’s just for fun” when complaining about my identity being minimized. I’ve been told that “kinnies”, despite appropriating an already existing community, are the “normal ones”, the “sane ones”, the “good ones” who don’t really believe in all that they boast.

Some have even told me that it doesn’t matter at all, for all they can see is a trend with no real hold over their identity in the longrun. “It won’t matter in ten years”, they say.

Perhaps not for them, long after their interest in the “trend” has faded. But for me and countless other genuine otherkin? In ten years I will still be Blixer from Just Shapes and Beats, I will still be an unnamed creature of woods and starlight and faded memories of golden lanterns, I will still be otherkin, and I will still carry the scars of my identity being torn to shreds and thrown into my face like dirt.

I cannot run from my kintypes and never could, even when I was afraid of them. “Kinnies”, in most cases, hardly believe my identity really exists.

What do they believe, then? What are they trying to achieve, scrubbing away the less “aesthetically pleasing”, fluffy bits of this community? What good does it do them to take meaningful, personal words to describe an identity that they can shed at the drop of a hat if it is “problematic” or boring at the end of the day?

One can smile and nod and say that, despite “kinning for fun”, they still respect otherkinity as a whole. And I say, in most cases, that reassurance is hollow. You have already stolen our words, you have already spread misinformation.

This has stumbled into rambling territory, so I leave a few questions, honest, genuine questions.

I ask those who “kin for fun”, what is the allure of words that you have stolen? What is the allure of having the blood of a shattered community on your hands?

As many others have said before, you may find a place in the greater alterhuman community. We have terms for you, as well as many other specific experiences.

Why fight so hard to steal our haven, to push us out of our own spaces, when your own words are waiting for you with open arms?

Words change, yes, but why fight so hard to change them at the expense of others?

#fluffywords #otherkin #fictionkin #important #//i want this to be SEEN this is our most important essay post yet /srs //#please reblog #//rb if you want to i mean. not forcing anyone /gen. its just very very important weee//#//we crave introspective discussion//

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goldenlie · 3 years

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I already made that point in the ask on a different blog but I dislike how they put Dream on pedestal and relate anything that happens with George to him. Jokes and more serious takes calling him covid warrior get me annoyed because it's the same person that allows his mom do groceries for him and didn't see any issues with Sapnap going to visit Karl, create irl content with him and other ccs and even make video with mr beast despite Sapnap apparently interacting with his mom and sister. It also surprises me how the fans push so much towards meet up when it's clear they are the ones that care the most about it. Don't get me wrong I do believe dream team wants to meet up however question directed at Dream if he would visit George in UK was meet with awkward silence and George had to answer for him that it means no. Clearly it's important but there is no feeling of urgency or even a maybe in there. Same with George, I feel like after experiencing irl content and hanging out more with ccs in UK he isn't in any real rush to get to the US when he knows neither Sapnap or Dream will be down to create that type of content which is fine but George seems to enjoy making it so losing advantage of meeting up with Wilbur, Tommy etc to create content might be something that he started to care more about. Wilbur also planned to move to US from what I remember so it's just a theory, not really serious but maybe George wants to move when Wilbur does so they both have someone to create irl content with? Sorry for rambling but this situation rubs me the wrong way in so many ways, hope you'll have a nice day!

(The following is a depiction of my own personal views containing fandom critical aspects which mostly dissolves into a general discussion. This isn't intended to speak on behalf of any DT members (S+G+D) in any sense or to insinuate how they feel regarding their following.)

In an effort to shorten the length of this, my thoughts on the "covid warrior" situation are in more detail here. In summary, It's not the best idea to hold a cc so high for the expected, eventually something will slip and the fall will be much greater than it deserves to be. As you mentioned, allowing quarantines to occur in his own home where other family members frequent doesn't fit the narrative created by some. No ones going to be perfect in a pandemic, yet we shouldn't act oblivious in favor of holding up this pristine image specifically crafted and implemented by fans.

Regarding the Dream association with George. I'll preface this with acknowledgement that getting the green light from the creators themselves to view their relationship romantically, will create a ripple effect of posts, clips, and overall more attention funneled to the cc's. However, I don't think the aim was to ever be overshadowed by the idea of themselves in a romantic sense. To be truly frank George is the one facing the brunt of this association. People think Dream and they imagine a high tier mc player, people think George and know him from being flirted with in tiktok clips. This link leaks into moments unintended to be related to one another, bringing up his name whenever George even interacts with other ccs? Expecting Dream to give George a slap on the wrist for attending a party? Unwarranted behavior. Dream is not responsible for George (or Sapnap) and vice versa. They are separate people responsible for their own actions.

The initial excitement at meeting each other was very clear in December/January due to both Karl+Quackity and Sapnap+Dream meeting up. Understandably over time the thrill at the thought began wearing off due to the shaky future presented by the pandemic (Yet I've no doubt they'll be glad to be together under one roof in the future). I think this was especially obvious during the puffy podcast in particular when Minx directed the question to Dream whether he would visit George now or wait another one and a half years before meeting him. Dream toyed with the question for a bit, confirming the timeframe before being pressured for an answer to which he responded he'd guess he'd go. It didn't exactly sound ecstatic and as you said it's not the first time the question has been dodged or answered with such emotion or lack thereof.

That being said, It's not surprising they don't want to get their hopes up considering the pandemic is too reliant on people to predict. However, I saw a lot of talk at the time concerning how sweet it was Dream said he'd go to London. It's down to personal perception but in all honesty the situation did not read that sweet to me. Although I understand the desire for a heartfelt sentiment declaring "Yes! Of course I'd go across the Atlantic for George!", this was not it. There is a tendency to romanticize and view subjects with a rose tint in this fandom but this instance was one of the more painfully obvious times.

A similar reaction occurred on Georges solo PkMn stream. Dream joined heavily insinuating him to end stream despite George explaining his plans to continue for a further hour. At a weak attempt at pleasing the fans Dream promised a dnf stream and within seconds the chat spammed "take the deal!". It felt very self exposing of chat, these joint streams are not uncommon but it had been five months since the previous solo stream. On top of that, some started claiming how whipped George was to leave steam when in reality there wasn't much of a choice presented. When watching a trailer to a game they might potentially play, commentating it with "what's happening" Dream responded "you're ending stream". Not everything is a "cute" moment (if anything looking back this was comical) and that's expected, but lets not act tone deaf when we bare witness to such.

Returning to your initial point regarding the meetup, Sapnap seems to be the one who carries the brightest torch for it publicly. During a GTA stream he excitably referenced the long awaited time in which he would collect George from the airport. George once expressed offhandedly how he thought S+D might not have room for him to which he joined the call expressing how they could do bunk beds together and reassured him they'd have space (although surely that was obvious from the beginning). Sapnap once posed the question to George where he'd take him if he showed up in London, asking if they'd go to Tesco. Even during the PkMn card unboxing stream (Karls), he told the camera George could have any of the cards he pulls and they'll be waiting for him in Florida. These were all such genuinely kind sentiments where you could tell he's been anticipating the meeting for a while yet, they've been talked about to a much lesser degree.

Regarding the content situation, there hasn't been a stream which consciously consisted of Sapnap and Dream together since the move in. Baring in mind Sapnap often disregards face-cam streams the odd joint stream could've occurred if they so wished. It's not apparent to a random viewer they live together, not to say that's a bad thing or that they needed to in any sense, but I feel like it's a good teller of how content will be once George moves in. Obviously Georgenap could do face cam streams together and I have no doubt that's what we'll get, which I can't complain about. Honestly it wouldn't be surprising if George and Wilbur do the plane journey over together. However, Wilbur has expressed his desire to travel America and as much as I'd enjoy Georgebur taking landmark after landmark, it seems more likely for George to travel on occasion to the states where Wilbur finds himself. Sadly indicating the real life vlogs with Gnf will regrettably be left in the UK.

#I absolutely rambled back don't worry anon hope you week is banging #talk until your hearts content I enjoyed reading your perspective!#apologies for going all in on a different topic you briefly mentioned #cw critical #mcyt fandom critical #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #sapnap #scheduled post

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autumnslance · 3 years

Text

Rambling Headcanons on Azem and the WoLs

Thinking about some headcanons for my version of Azem, in relation to how the Unsundered remember her and how that affects their interactions with modern Warriors of Light that have pieces of her soul. Also how I’m interpreting Lore about reincarnation, soul shards, crystals, memories, and everything else in relation to that.

And since this is my long rambling commentary, behind a cut it goes.

For one thing, I don’t really go by the idea of “WoL is Azem and can/will remember everything.” I kinda lean on an interpretation more akin to Steven Universe; Steven has Rose’s Gem and her powers (though they manifest differently for him), but he is his own person with his own thoughts, ideas, and personality. His attitude, habits, and abilities are informed by his mother, as they are in any child, but he is adamantly Not Rose Quartz (which is what allows him to be the one who can challenge the Diamonds and change Gem society as she could not).

As for the Azem crystal, per “Etched in the Stars” quest from MSQ, it wasn’t imbued with memories of Azem as the other Convocate crystals were; since Hades was doing this on the down low without the other Unsundered finding out, it contains “a singular spell” according to Hytholdeaus’ shade (and subconscious mouthpiece for Emet-Selch, the things he perhaps wanted to say and couldn’t due to his tempering?); not to mention his way of referring to us as his “new old friend”.

It’s also worth noting even if it was the same as the others, that still wouldn’t necessarily correctly be Azem’s personality and memories; the constellation crystals are the Unsundered’s memories of their colleagues, their perceptions and feelings associated with those people. We now have Fandaniel, who specifically mentions in the stinger to “Echoes of a Fallen Star” that he was not present for the End of Days, but heard enough about it from the Unsundered, and has been imbued with their memories of his original incarnation in order to take that office. But he’s also resentful of the Unsundered’s plans and adherence to those old memories, to the point of wanting to undo all of their work and burn the entirety of existence down.

I find it interesting that Hades didn’t try to remember Azem the way he did the others. Perhaps because he didn’t have the balancing input of Lahabrea and Elidibus, so didn’t trust himself to be as objective alone; perhaps the spell to reconstruct and imbue the memories required all three of them working together. Perhaps because Azem turned away from the Convocation over the summoning of Zodiark. Perhaps it was just too painful for those and other reasons, and/or perhaps out of respect for the one who did choose to walk away in time and so retained their sense of self.

Reincarnation also isn’t new to Final Fantasy, and in FFXIV, we get the explanation in ARR about the cycle of aether, starting with the death of someone releasing their soul and aether into the Lifestream, to eventually be reborn as someone new. The trick was finding out how Primals fit into that, and more importantly the Ascians as we know them today, and their ability to circumvent that cycle through the Echo (also it bugs me no one seems to recall or talk about the Sahagin priest from “The Gift of Eternity” in the Leviathan arc and his body hopping until Leviathan nommed his aether, especially when trying to figure out if/how Zenos was back). The Dotharl also lean on reincarnation, recognizing a soul’s past but also acknowledging who they are now and their differences (such as Mauci fighting differently every rebirth).

Eden Spoilers: We also have Gaia now as a current reincarnation of a Convocate, her chosen name being the original’s, and her memories of her current life erased by outside meddling and attempts to control her, to try to make her be that person again. Except Gaia rejects that and fights for her own life and autonomy in the here and now, because she is her own person, giving her “fairy” a bare amount of sympathy at the very end and with a “maybe see you in the next life” before reuniting with Ryne, and keeping the name “Gaia” as her own way to acknowledge that past while looking to the future.

My Azem, then, is symbolically a parent to her reincarnations. I sort of see Minfilia and the young Mini-filias the same way; not physically her daughters, but her soul shards on the First and who she can imbue with her powers, so she takes a symbolically maternal aspect over them, until Ryne finally breaks the cycle with the chance her separation from Eulmore’s methods gives her. And we get told time and again that Ryne is a different person than Minfilia, though there are similarities in how they respond (“Yes, I rather like the sound of it” in the quest “Crossroads” and the short story “One Name, One Promise”) and look and act, even as Emet-Selch calls her a “reincarnation” in “The Best Way Out” and recognizes how she’s not a fully realized Oracle yet. Ryne certainly sees herself as a different person from Minfilia, even after Minfilia rejoins with her to grant full Oracle powers. So in the case of Azem and my WoL—or Azem and Ardbert—there will be similarities inherited through those connections, but they aren’t the same person. Azem is dead, what remains are her metaphorical descendants. This also falls in line with the Unsundered plan being to Rejoin all the shards, then sacrifice all the life on the Source to reincarnate the original world and all their friends and families—which I personally don’t think would have worked, but that’s another post.

Since I play a lady WoL, the game treats Azem’s pronouns the same as when referring to the PC WoL, and then I randomly wrote an Azem scene two years ago where I just automatically used she/her pronouns cuz I tend to write lady OCs, and it’s stuck for me. But I doubt gender was a huge deal to the Ancients, given their capabilities with Creation magic; since altering their host bodies is something the Ascians can do with ease if they choose, it’s reasonable to assume they could also alter their original bodies as needed. Also what little we know of Amaurot’s penchant for robes and masks for equality among their population in the day to day would lend itself to not really giving a darn about gender presentation or what sex someone was under their robe and mask (or the race they presented as either, as I find the idea they were all just Really Tall Humans boring, and Elidibus’ shorter stature in his original/true form, as well as one of the Convocation Members in his memories, indicates realistic variance and possibly alternate racial traits. Also probably some visual literary devices happening at the end given his state in game, but the story “Ere Our Curtain Falls” also describes him as smaller, even taking his age compared to his peers into account).

Aeryn and Ardbert are not carbon copies of Azem in attitude or appearances. There are definite similarities, but it’s kinda like how one physically resembles a grandparent. In my Febhyurary day 3 scene where Emet-Selch recalls a moment with Azem, and compares Aeryn to her, he likens her behaviors to how a child unconsciously mimics a parents’ habits. Like, I notice more as I get older when I laugh like my mom, or react to day to day things like my dad, or how I move, or turns of phrase, etc. Things I notice, but someone else may not, or only someone who also knows my parents well and notices those similarities if they look for them. That sort of thing, in Emet’s view on Aeryn vs Azem, and how he doesn’t see Aeryn as the same person, and it’s at once endearing and infuriating to have those reminders in someone who is a part of his old friend.

(In some ways returning to the SU analogy, many other Gems insist that Steven is the same person as Rose, since the same gem is in his belly as in hers, she having given up her life to birth him and pass that on. Emet-Selch seems to go back and forth in seeing the WoL as their own person, versus saying “you wouldn’t remember” in “The View from Above” as if trying to awaken some fragment of Azem they hold)

Azem’s tendency to help others, to seek out new experiences, to have adventures; that’s all definitely a part of the WoL’s personality, and something ingrained on those soul fragments. A lot of other personality bits, though, belong entirely to the new people these souls have become.

My Azem—Pandora—was a friendly, charismatic person, endearingly awkward and a bit clutzy in the day to day mainly due to her over-eagerness to get to the next thought. She was possessed of a great deal of personal power, though, and when focused could bring it all to bear with grace and subtlety; not a lot of hand-waving or motion or other crutches or dramatics (unless she was feeling dramatic, anyway; sometimes you just gotta put on a show). Azem’s that hyper-competent anime character that’s super dangerous but acts like a cheerful goof daily to throw people off. Also cuz she’d just prefer to be cheerfully goofy than super serious.

While Aeryn has a sense of dramatics—I mean, her primary jobs are RDM, BRD, DRG, and DRK—and she has her lighthearted, teasing side, she’s also too earnest to pull off the obfuscating stupidity/annoyance act. She’s laid back where Azem was eager, quiet where Azem was chatty. She’s also maybe Azem’s wish that she could be a fashionista, or dance well (Azem liked dancing but was definitely more enthusiastic than graceful, and Amaurot had a dress code).

I don’t really have a clear idea of what Azem looked like, aside from iridescent hair—I couldn’t decide on the light opal version or dark oil slick type, but honestly she probably did both at various points. The iridescence itself was natural to her. Same with her eyes; shifting hues with time/place/mood cuz why not, she’s an ancient and the wandering member of the Convocation, she isn’t going to be plain.

EDIT: I dunno how I forgot, BUT: Azem was Not in a relationship with any of the Convocation. Hades might have liked to be, but in the end, they were old friends, maybe even since their youths pre-Convocation (since “Through His Eyes” indicates they were pals before he was Emet-Selch). Azem’s affections for everyone really were platonic/familial. They were all important to her, but she didn’t take lovers. She had other things to do!

#Final Fantasy XIV #Shadowbringers #Azem #Warrior of Light #Ascians #Lore #Lyn Meta #writing #Reincarnation #Sundered #Emet-Selch #Hythlodeaus #Aeryn Striker #headcanon #Ardbert Hylfyst

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andavs · 4 years

Text

So I watched Bumblebee...

...

The jeep was bright blue and the most obnoxious vehicle Derek had ever seen, but it was perfect. It was a 1980 CJ5 and once the list of defects was read aloud, he was the only bidder so he got it for next to nothing. Not that the price could’ve kept him from buying it, because Laura had a thing for jeeps.

Specifically older jeeps, none of that Cherokee or Sahara or SUV kind of models—she liked Jeeps. And she also liked to rant about shoddy craftsmanship of modern models and how they weren’t really jeeps… Derek usually tuned her out by the time she got to the wave hierarchy.

For someone who didn’t actually own a jeep and never actually had, she really liked jeeps.

And she would really like this one.

There was the expected wear of a vehicle over thirty years old and some body damage from an accident; the leather seat was ripped, and it looked like there was a scorch mark near the driver’s side door, a sizable dent in the passenger side. Aside from that, it seemed as though the jeep was relatively well taken care of, until it ended up in a county abandoned vehicle auction.

It would definitely take some work, and he'd probably have to replace everything under the hood, but it was worth it to see Laura happy and excited.

It had been a long time since she was happy and excited.

Now he just had to get it home to get it fixed up, without it breaking down on the side of the road. And despite the fact that he was going to have to fix every part of it in some way, that seemed like the much greater challenge at the moment.

The jeep lurched violently as he shifted, and he struggled briefly to get it into gear. That was where he could really feel the age of the car; he never had any difficulty shifting in his Camaro.

"Clutch, dude."

He slammed on the brakes and the jeep swerved violently to the side of the empty highway. Derek twisted around in his seat to threaten whoever the hell stowed away in the back seat, eyes glowing and furious—

But the back seat was empty.

There were no other heartbeats, no muffled breathing, and the trunk was far too small for anyone to fit into, even if they did somehow manage to conceal the sounds of a living, breathing person.

"First clutch, then gas—seriously have you never driven stick?"

That time the voice came from the other direction, and he turned back towards the front.

The radio was off, his phone was in his pocket...

“Oh, and there’s a weird kind of delay? So wait a second before the gas or it stalls, and you gotta put some muscle into it.”

Derek did as the disembodied voice instructed and the car jerkily started forward again.

So the jeep was haunted. Cool.

The ghost’s name was Stiles, and he was the most obnoxious person, living or dead, that Derek had ever met. He never thought he could have such disdain for a disembodied voice, but the very sound of it was starting to fill him with such a deep-seated rage and irritation that there were new claw holes in the side of the leather seat.

Okay, not entirely true. He’d grown to hate a lot of radio personalities over the years, but at least there were music breaks and they were limited to the hours of their show. They babbled for an hour and then they stopped.

Stiles had no such limitations. If the car was on, he was talking.

And talking.

“I was stuck in an impound lot for who knows how long! Of course I want to talk!”

Derek rolled his eyes, thankful that Stiles didn’t seem to be able to see anything, because he would probably have something to say about that too.

“Well I don’t,” Derek said flatly, hoping his tone conveyed just how much he didn’t want to talk, “so shut up.”

His tone did nothing.

“Was that supposed to be threatening?” He wasn’t laughing, but Stiles sounded entirely too amused, which just pissed Derek off even more. “What are you going to do, hit me?” He taunted. “Punch the dashboard? Run into a tree? I’m dead, dude, you can’t hurt a ghost!”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m sure I could find a way.”

“Please do, I’d love to watch you fail.”

Derek turned onto his street. He was almost home. In just a few short seconds, he could turn the car off.

“You can’t even see.”

“But I have a very vivid imagination.”

He turned into his driveway.

“That sounds like a brooding silence,” Stiles continued. “Deep frown, furrowed brow, are you clenching your jaw? I think I can hear teeth grinding.”

As if he could hear anything over the deafening, rattling roar of the shitty jeep.

Derek said nothing as he unclenched his jaw.

“Do you have prominent cheekbones? I’m picturing cheekbones, maybe some artfully tousled—”

“Oh look, we’re home,” Derek interrupted, deadpan, and parked the jeep in his garage.

“Oh no, don’t you dare turn me off! Derek! Der—”

He turned the key and breathed a sigh of relief at the blissful sound of silence.

It was a full week and a half before he turned the jeep on again.

A week and a half of standing in the door of the garage, staring at it for three minutes, and then closing the door and walking away.

A week and a half of opening the driver’s side door, hesitating, and slamming it shut again (because the lock didn’t catch properly unless he slammed it).

A week and a half of steadily mounting guilt eating away at his stomach until he couldn’t take it any longer and stormed out to the garage at four in the morning to turn the damn car on, only to be greeted by an irate Stiles calling him a dick and a number of other colorful names. Followed by the deafening squeal of audio feedback in retaliation.

They finally reached a tentative truce; Derek would start the jeep every day, and Stiles would learn to shut the hell up when Derek needed a break.

Starting the jeep daily turned into taking it out for a drive daily, usually to the auto parts store so he could get some advice from the employees about what he needed to buy for it.

“Everything,” was the answer he got, so he sighed and handed over his credit card, silently wondering if this stupid jeep was even worth it.

He wasn’t giving it to Laura with a ghost, so why even bother fixing it up? He asked himself that a lot, late at night while he stared up at the ceiling in bed. He didn’t need a jeep, especially one with so little room for anything more than two people. His Camaro had a larger backseat, a larger trunk, more power—it was better than the old blue jeep in pretty much every way except getting up a steep driveway without scraping the front bumper.

Except his Camaro didn’t contain the last remaining consciousness of a person.

His Camaro wasn’t the one thing keeping that person from fading from existence.

It wasn’t the one thing he enjoyed talking to.

Well, not talking to—bickering with, more like. Arguing. Insulting. Their conversations were usually just shy of mutual verbal abuse, and for some reason, Derek kind of enjoyed it. He was spending thousands of dollars and hours of labor to continue interacting with a single person, in a manner that could barely be considered more eloquent than a YouTube comments section.

Maybe it was because no matter how nasty he got, Stiles gave it right back. Stiles didn’t walk away and cut off contact. He didn’t let Derek’s shitty moods linger in his mind and poison their next conversation. He didn’t drag it up to use it against him. He called him a dick, a tool, a monumental douchebag, and moved on to his next thought.

Except it wasn’t just bickering and insults. Not anymore.

Because Stiles got it. He understood. He understood when Derek went quiet for days at a time and drove through the neighborhood for hours without saying a word. He understood when Derek started the car and just sat there in the driver’s seat in his garage, staring at the unfinished drywall he’d put up and never painted. He never even taped the seams.

“I get it, dude,” Stiles said during one of those days. “So I’m just going to keep talking and you can jump in whenever you’re ready.”

And oddly enough, it helped. When Stiles rambled on from one topic to the next, spewing facts and anecdotes he’d read at some point, it dragged Derek out of his spiraling thoughts and guilt and grief and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t his own self-loathing. His pity parties, as Stiles had dismissively named them, but even that helped in some twisted way.

“I’m not going to be the goody bag at your pity party,” he’d said like he was quoting something, and then given Derek entirely too much information about the bathroom situation in Versailles.

“You’re going to have to replace the transmission as soon as possible if you’re going to keep driving this,” Dave said, shaking his head at the mess under the hood of the jeep.

Derek nodded, resigned, and handed over his credit card.

For all that Stiles talked, he never talked about himself. Derek wasn’t really sure how the whole ghost thing worked, but if Stiles could remember the entire history of the imperial system of measurement, it seemed like he should remember his own life. And yet, he never mentioned it. The entire history of the Genovese crime family, yes, Derek had heard it twice, but nothing personal about Stiles.

The few times Derek had asked, he got vague answers. The kind of answers that made it sound like he was hiding something big. Talking around specifics, not referencing any names, occupations, locations—anything that could be used to identify him.

Normally, this would be a giant red flag and send Derek running into the night, but Stiles was a ghost. He was dead. He couldn’t even change the radio station, let alone hurt someone, so Derek let it slide. Plus, he was fun. And Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that word to describe anything in his life.

“You’re going to have to pound this out,” Dave said, gesturing to the pretty significant dent on the passenger side of the jeep. “What happened? Did you hit a tree or something?”

Derek shrugged, told him it was there when he bought it, and accepted his recommendations for a few body shops in the area. But the thought lingered.

It had crossed his mind before, plenty of times, but never more than a passing thought. It felt strangely invasive, asking a ghost how they died. Was there etiquette for that? How did one approach that subject this far into a relationship?

“Did you die in this car?” Derek asked bluntly one afternoon, ripping off the bandaid with all of the tact and finesse he usually showed in social situations.

Luckily Stiles was used to that by now and didn’t bat a proverbial eye.

“Probably? Don’t remember.”

Derek frowned at the freeway in front of him, letting the roar of the jeep’s new engine fill the silence. “You don’t remember your death?” That seemed like the kind of thing that would leave an impression.

“Weird, right? Kind of seems like a major milestone in someone’s life.”

To say the least.

“Dude, you have to look me up!” Stiles said excitedly, like the idea just came to him. “Stiles Stilinski, with an I.”

Derek didn’t exactly jump for his phone, and not just because he was driving.

“Where’s the I?”

“Everywhere, it’s like the only vowel in my name. Just do it. I need to know if my death was as embarrassingly pathetic as the rest of my life.”

Well that was depressing. And a very effective guilt trip.

When he got home and parked the jeep in his garage, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and guessed how to spell Stiles’ name. He guessed wrong, and even when he corrected it, he didn’t find anything. Just an old voter record website and some totally locked down social media profiles that didn’t even have a picture of his face.

“Wow, so I made zero impact even in death.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably and kept himself from pointing out darkly that even if Stiles hadn’t, his jeep had made a big one. Into something very hard.

“Okay hang on,” he bounced back quickly, “if my jeep was in an accident, there would be an accident report! That should say what happened!”

This was turning into a much bigger project than Derek expected.

“How am I supposed to find that? You don’t know where it happened, and even if you did, I don’t think the cops give out accident reports to anyone who asks.”

Stiles sighed dramatically. “Just get a laptop.”

Derek wasn’t sure which law he’d broken by using a sheriff’s login to access a national law enforcement database, but he was pretty sure he could go to jail for it.

“It’s fine, I do it all the time,” Stiles had assured him, but he had a feeling a sheriff was much more likely to overlook his own son committing fraud with his account than a complete stranger. Even if his son was directing all of it. As a disembodied voice through his car.

Derek glared at the radio and adjusted the computer on his lap. It was a bit of a tight fit with the steering wheel in the way. And also because it was a jeep from the eighties and was roughly the size of an oven.

Stiles stepped him through the search process. When the license plate and VIN number came up with nothing (and who knew their VIN off the top of their head, even in death?), he got more creative until finally, there was one, single result.

“It says here there was a car accident, a hit and run,” Derek summarized as he scanned through the report. “The jeep was found on the side of the road, no plates, no VIN, no witnesses. The unidentified driver was unconscious and taken to the hospital.”

“Unconscious,” Stiles repeated, immediately latching onto the same point Derek did. “So I’m not dead!”

“Would it say if you died later at the hospital?”

“Probably depends on how much later it was. When did the accident happen?”

Derek scrolled up to the date. “About a year ago. You don’t remember any of this?”

“Conveniently, it’s a total blank. Where did it happen?” Derek read off the county name, just two over from where he lived, and not the one he’d bought the jeep in. “Great! Just a few hours from Beacon Hills!”

Derek froze, heart starting to pound. It couldn't be...

“California?” It was a stupid question; the state was huge, everything a few hours away from them was still in California.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“No,” he lied, and if Stiles heard the lie, he didn’t push it.

There was no way this was a coincidence, Derek thought frantically. Beacon Hills wasn’t that big and since he left, he’d never met anyone who knew where it was, let alone someone who came from there.

"You have to find me, Derek, I need to know!" Stiles was practically yelling to get his attention, and when Derek still didn’t respond, he sighed dramatically. "I know it's a pain in the ass, and I'd do it myself, but I’m literally a disembodied voice in a jeep.”

Making him feel bad about the fact that he had a body. Annoyingly effective strategy.

“And how exactly am I supposed to find you?” Derek asked, giving in but telling himself he was just playing along. Warning alarms were going off at the back of his mind, every part of him screaming not to go back to the place where he’d lost everything. But he couldn’t bring himself to outright refuse this one thing for Stiles. The only thing he’d outright asked him to do since buying the jeep.

“You know where the crash happened, right? Look for the closest hospital and start there.”

Derek glared at the radio, not appreciating his condescending tone in the least. Stiles was such a dick sometimes.

Most of the time.

The moments he wasn’t a dick were the real anomalies.

“And say I find you,” Derek returned in his own snotty tone, “how exactly am I supposed to identify you? I don’t know what you look like!”

Stiles scoffed like that was somehow Derek’s fault. “Caucasian male, twenty-five, brown hair, brown eyes, five ten, roughly a hundred and fifty-seven pounds, tattoo sleeves on both arms.”

Derek blinked at how quickly he’d rattled that off, but most importantly,

“Tattoos?”

“What, I don’t sound like I have tattoos?”

“You’re trapped in my car, you don’t sound like you have a body at all.”

“Watch it, buddy. We don’t know that I’m dead, so this isn’t your car yet.”

Derek had a receipt from the auction and a very large credit card balance that said otherwise.

As it turned out, the county of the car accident wasn’t exactly a metropolitan area, so there weren’t very many hospitals to search. In fact, there was exactly one within an hour of the crash site.

“You have to go! Even if I died, they’ll at least have the record,” Stiles said like that was an upside. Like Derek wasn’t about to stroll into a hospital and start asking questions about unidentified dead people like some kind of creep.

“And then I get to be the one to call your family and tell them,” Derek muttered quietly under his breath, and if Stiles heard him, he didn’t respond.

He pulled into a parking spot at the back of the lot, even though there were plenty of open spots closer to the hospital, and sat there for a while, psyching himself up for what was about to happen. He was about to walk into a hospital and ask about the probably protected private information of the man whose ghost was haunting the jeep he bought in a county auction.

Totally normal.

“So are you going in, or…?” Stiles asked after a long few minutes of silence.

"Not if you keep bothering me," Derek snapped, but took off his seatbelt anyway. There was no way he wasn’t going in.

“Be fast!” Stiles yelled at the last second before he turned off the car.

He dragged his feet a bit to the front desk in the lobby, rehearsing how exactly he was going to phrase this, but the woman behind the computer saw him coming and smiled welcomingly and he couldn't turn back after that.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a cheerful smile.

Derek plastered on his best charming smile in return. His approximation of a functioning human being with basic social skills.

“Yeah, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was in a car accident last June, in a blue jeep.” He rambled on about a disappearance, devastated family, and how they’d been scouring nearby hospitals for any unidentified patients.

“Oh, of course,” she said sympathetically. “Can you describe him?”

He rattled off the description Stiles gave him as she typed them into the computer, and waited (somewhat) patiently while the system searched. His claws were leaving impatient pinpricks in the wooden desk, but they would probably wouldn’t be too noticeable.

“And you said this was last June?” she asked, clicking around a few times. “We had one John Doe admitted after a car accident that month, a white male in his twenties, with tattoos.”

Derek’s heart started pounding. That had to be Stiles.

“What happened to him?”

He was having a hard time interpreting her professionally neutral yet still pitying expression. “Oh, sweetie. He’s still here.”

John Doe 24, was what the name tag outside the door said, and through the blinds in the window, Derek could see the room was filled with machines, blocking his view of the man lying inside. There was a steady beeping, the mechanical whirs and hisses of a ventilator, something dripping from an IV bag.

The social worker who led him there opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter.

The first impression Derek had was that underneath the smell of hospital and sterile medical equipment, he could smell the jeep. Or the person who had driven the jeep for so many years that the scent of him was permanently embedded in the interior.

His second impression was, once the face under all of the wires and tubes and tape registered…

He didn’t know what he expected Stiles to look like. His voice sounded young, a little high and scratchy, he knew a lot about a lot of things—a nerd, was what Derek would say if pressed. Someone who spent way too much time reading Wikipedia and had a “fun fact of the day” calendar for every year since he learned how to read.

Stiles did not look like a nerd.

He was skinny, his cheekbones prominent, but he’d been in a coma for a year. A little weight loss was probably normal, as was the messy, amateur haircut. Brown hair, moles, an upturned nose, but the real identifying trait was the tattoo sleeves. Runes and symbols, starting at his wrists and continuing up under the sleeves of his hospital gown. Most of the symbols Derek had never seen before, but the ones he did recognize…

The triskele.

On its own, it could be nothing. A complete coincidence. But paired with everything else around it...

Stiles knew about werewolves.

“Is this your friend?” the social worker asked, looking hopeful.

Derek swallowed. “That’s Stiles.”

Derek slammed the jeep’s door behind him and started the engine.

“Well?” Stiles immediately asked. “What happened?”

“You know about werewolves,” Derek found himself saying, even though he intended to work that in a little later. After the whole I found your comatose body in the ICU reveal.

There was a beat of silence before a slightly high-pitched and unconvincing, “What?”

“Your tattoos. You know about werewolves?”

“Well that explains why you took this whole haunted car thing so well.” He didn’t elaborate. “But you saw my tattoos? You found me?”

“Yes, I found you,” Derek snapped. “You’re in a coma and you have symbols from werewolf lore tattooed on your body, including the symbol of my dead pack. Why.” Stiles wasn’t a wolf, he could feel that much from seeing him in person. But the only other group that studied werewolf lore so closely were hunters, and if Stiles turned out to be a hunter…

“I’m in a pack, okay?” He paused, and if he had lungs, he would probably be taking a steadying breath. “I’m an emissary, and now you need to call them and tell them where I am, so they can get me out of this coma!”

“What makes you think they can?” Derek snapped, still on edge and maybe a little scared of losing the most intimate connection he’d made with anyone in years. Which was really just sad.

“My consciousness is trapped inside my jeep, Derek, this clearly isn’t your average coma!”

Valid point, Derek admitted with a bitter eyeroll. He could also admit to himself, bitterly, that he couldn’t keep Stiles in a coma forever so he could keep talking to his car. It was selfish and cruel and probably sadistic on some level. The fact that he was completely inept at connecting to real, live humans wasn’t Stiles’ cross to bear and it shouldn’t keep him from potentially waking up and living his life.

“Fine,” Derek said after a long, loaded pause. “Who should I call?”

“My dad, sheriff of Beacon Hills. He’ll handle the rest.”

The McCall pack rolled into town like an army and hadn't stopped working since.

Now that they'd found him, there was always someone at Stiles' bedside at the hospital, while everyone else had set up camp in Derek's garage to work through the problem. They'd brought a mountain of books, computers, all types of occult paraphernalia—anything they could possibly need to fix this.

Meanwhile, Derek was going through an absurd amount of money buying gas for the damn jeep, because now that they had Stiles back, in any kind of form, the pack didn't want to turn off the car and lose him again.

Derek tried to explain that he’d turned the car off and on countless times and Stiles was still there, nagging him constantly, but they didn’t want to risk it. He wanted his garage to stop stinking of exhaust, but there was no way he could deny a father the chance to talk to the son he believed to be dead for over a year.

(Though he definitely wished there was a way he could deny Stiles’ desire to sing ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, screaming it into the garage in the middle of the night over the roar of the jeep’s engine.)

Beyond setting up their base of operations in his living room and taking over most of his home, the McCall pack was also able to fill in a lot of gaps and answer a lot of questions. Namely, what the hell happened to Stiles.

A rogue faction of the Argent family had been closing in on the McCall pack at the time he went missing, and given the way both he and his car had been scrubbed of his identity, it wasn't much of a leap to suspect the hunters were responsible.

"But why not just kill you?" Lydia mused aloud. She was settled in the passenger seat of the jeep with four open books stacked in her lap. "Why go to so much trouble to hide your identity when they could've just killed you and dumped the body? We're right by the mountains, there's plenty of places to do it."

"Why does it sound like you've considered doing this before?" Stiles asked, sounding insulted and a little wary.

"Because you really piss me off sometimes," she said dismissively, and moved right along. "There's no way what they did is neater, especially with the risk of you waking up at the hospital."

"It’s because even hunters wouldn't kill an emissary," Derek cut in from the doorway, stepping forward and putting himself out of his misery. It was actually painful listening to young and inexperienced packs try to navigate the intricacies of the culture. "Emissaries are considered neutral and vital to maintaining the balance, and killing one is like declaring all out war, even as a hunter."

"Ha! See? I'm vital!"

Derek ignored Stiles’ interruption. "Leaving him in a hospital to die from his wounds, completely anonymous, is probably the cleanest way they could’ve handled it. If they killed him outright and his body was identified, it would only be a matter of time before his pack traced it back to them.”

Lydia looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment, processing. Then her eyes hardened.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” She closed the book at the top of her stack with a threatening finality Derek had never mastered. “We’re going to war.”

Considering that up until recently, Stiles had become something of an emotional crutch and coping mechanism for Derek, it was ironic that he suddenly found himself filling that roll for all of Stiles’ pack.

Scott, the impossibly young alpha sought him out on the back porch almost every evening, and spent an hour picking his brain on everything from werewolf culture to the guilt he felt for not finding Stiles himself sooner.

“I never felt him die, but after so many months…” Lydia confessed quietly one morning in the kitchen, her hands clasped tightly around a mug of coffee that had turned lukewarm an hour ago. Her eyes were haunted with a grief Derek knew all too well. “It was easier. To accept that I was wrong. It was easier to give up.”

He ran into Stiles’ father just outside the garage door at four in the morning, leaning against the wall with red-rimmed eyes.

“I had alerts for his name, the plates…” he started, and Derek could remember that regret. The constant, unrelenting scream at the back of his mind that he should’ve known. That he should’ve done more. That he should’ve been able to stop her.

“The plates were removed,” Derek explained, hoping to save the man from some tiny bit of what he’d gone through. “The VIN, all of the insurance information, his wallet—anything that could identify him or the car.”

"But he was a—” He swallowed, cutting himself off before his voice got loud enough for Stiles to hear through the garage door. “If he didn't have any ID, it's standard procedure to do a search for missing persons, I should've gotten an alert, I should've found him!"

"Hunters have people everywhere. It's possible the police kept it under the radar for them."

The Sheriff rubbed a hand over his mouth, practically vibrating with emotion.

"My son has been sitting here for a year, as a John Doe. Just three hours away."

Derek had nothing to say to that.

"Is he hot? He sounds hot."

Derek froze outside the garage door at Stiles’ question. He would deny to anyone who asked and himself that he in any way cared about the answer.

"He's very hot," Lydia said with an uncomfortably approving tone. "Muscles, stubble, a great ass."

Derek wanted to die.

In the end, it was a simple fix.

In his last moments of consciousness, when the hunters were approaching the crashed jeep to drag Stiles off, he’d run. Not physically, his body had been too broken for that, but mentally. His consciousness fled, and aided by his emissary magic, it jumped to the closest thing capable of housing it.

“At least there wasn’t like, a skunk walking by,” Stiles joked, and Derek was the only one who grinned at the thought.

“Both his body and consciousness need to be in the same place,” Lydia explained, and she made it sound like that alone would allow Stiles to return to his body. A simple fix.

So Derek disconnected the radio from the dashboard, and the pack took it to the hospital, and Derek was left sitting there in a silent car, staring at the loose wires dangling from the dash and suddenly feeling more alone than he had in years.

The pack hadn’t asked if he wanted to go and he wasn’t about to impose on such a monumental and emotional moment, but he wanted to. He wanted to be there when Stiles opened his eyes. He wanted to see how he looked when he was happy or annoyed, how he looked when he called Derek a dick, if his eyes went distant in those rare moments he went quiet. He wanted to see the recognition on his face.

But would he recognize him?

Would he remember him at all?

Did a ghostly consciousness retain memories of what happened outside of its body, stuck in a car radio?

He started the car once more, a new habit when he wanted to just stop thinking and live in the now, but aside from the rumble of the brand new, powerful engine, it was quiet.

Stiles was gone.

“He wants to see you,” Lydia said with some judgment two days later. This time her coffee was still warm and the bags under her eyes and lightened. A book on werewolf traditions was open in front of her, to the chapter on formal declarations of war, so she was clearly intending to make good on her promise of justice for Stiles.

Derek couldn’t say how Scott and the Sheriff were handling things because he was pretty sure they’d been sleeping at the hospital since Stiles opened his eyes. He hadn’t seen them once.

Derek concentrated on pouring himself the perfect amount of coffee and retreated to the garage. The new radio arrived that morning.

He was being an idiot, Derek told himself, sitting there in the jeep in the hospital parking lot. The new radio was still in its box in the passenger seat, because though he’d gone out to the garage to install it, he ended up at the hospital.

Stiles wanted to see him, so he clearly remembered him. He wasn’t going to walk into the room and meet the eyes of a stranger.

But he didn’t think he could handle seeing the recognition and then being looked over for something better. Stiles had his friends and family, the people he loved and who loved him, the most important people in his life right there at his side. Derek had a strained and distant relationship with his sister across the country and an unhealthy attachment to the disembodied voice of a ghost that used to live in his jeep.

Stiles’ jeep.

He would probably be wanting his car back now that he wasn’t dead, and Derek wouldn’t deny him that. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, not after everything Stiles had done for him. Put up with for him. He had a stupid, deeply ingrained impulse to repay debts out of self-defense, and restoring the jeep Stiles loved so much could only account for a fraction of what Derek owed him.

“That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Stiles said, and Derek’s eyes flicked over to the loose wires hanging from the dashboard.

Great, now he was hearing his voice in his mind. Would he ever escape Stiles’ commentary on every thought he had?

“No,” Stiles answered, matter of factly. “So are you going in, or…?”

Derek glared out through the windshield at the Subaru parked in across from him, telling himself he wasn’t going to let the phantom of Stiles’ judgment dictate his life. He lasted all of twenty seconds before he turned off the car and got out.

The John Doe name tag had been replaced with one that said Stiles Stilinski, was the first thing Derek noticed approaching Stiles’ new room. There was also a slightly creepy illustration of a rabbit with a basket of Easter eggs taped up next to it, even though they were nowhere near Easter.

Derek really took his time staring at it, shamefully stalling but refusing to give in to the soulless, judgmental eyes of the smiling rabbit. He wasn’t being a coward, he just wasn’t going to lose to that damn rabbit.

“Creepy, right?” Scott said as he came up beside him, and Derek nodded. “His dad and I are about to go grab some lunch, but you can go in.”

Derek nodded again, and as the Sheriff passed him, he squeezed his arm reassuringly. Or sympathetically. Derek didn’t know him well enough to know how to interpret that.

A full two minutes after they left, Derek pushed open the door and walked into Stiles’ room.

Stiles didn’t notice him at first; he was frowning down at the remote to the TV, and stabbing at the buttons, trying to change the channel from a sappy Lifetime movie. It looked like he hadn’t quite found his coordination yet, but given that he’d been in a coma for a year, Derek was amazed he was moving at all. Magic probably had something to do with that.

He still looked small in his hospital bed, but his shoulders were broad and suggested he wouldn’t look very small at all once he regained his strength and muscles. There were dark circles under his eyes and a scar in his hairline that was hard to ignore, but he was sitting up and the breathing tube was gone and when he finally changed the channel and sneered down at the remote in victory, his brow crinkled.

Derek’s life would’ve been a lot easier if he’d been ugly.

Stiles looked up to the TV to see what channel he’d landed on, his tongue poking out through his lips in concentration, and froze when he noticed Derek standing in the doorway. Silently, without announcing his presence, like some kind of stalker.

They stared at each other for probably a solid minute, Stiles totally confused and Derek suddenly at a complete loss for anything to say after a month of saying whatever the hell he wanted to Stiles through the radio. Then it visibly clicked on Stiles’ face and he smiled crookedly and reached out, and Derek had no choice but to step forward and take his slightly shaky hand.

A month of talking and driving, arguing, bickering, fighting, and sitting in stubborn, angry silence, and now finally, they were touching.

“Hey, Derek.”

His voice was quiet and scratchy, still regaining its strength after a year of silence, but that was definitely Stiles’ voice.

Stiles was back.

#who knew a transformers movie would be so inspiring?#also that movie was way better than it had any business being #sterek #ficlet

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backofthebookshelf · 4 years

Text

One of the nice things about the way the TMA fandom has reached full large-fandom levels of toxicity is that I no longer care if people get mad at me for my opinions on characters! So, some Georgie meta.

(Because fandom is and always has been Like That, I do feel the need to clarify here that I love Georgie, she's one of my favorite characters, characters are more interesting because of their flaws, and I have no investment in the idea that women or female characters are inherently better or more emotionally competent than men or male characters. If I talk a lot about her relationship with Jon, it's because Jon is our point of view character and also the person she interacts with the most. Also, this rambles, sorry.)

I've been thinking about the Season 4 Jon Trauma post and how much I liked the way it talked about Georgie, and it's convinced me that if Georgie could feel fear, she's the one who'd be most afraid of Jon out of all of them. She's the one protagonist we have whose only interaction with the powers has been as a direct victim of them. She doesn't know what they feel like from the inside, like Jon and Melanie; she doesn't know what they're like when they're someone you love, like Basira; she doesn't even know what they're like as petty middle management, like Martin and Tim. What she knows is that one time a monster ate her (only) friend and traumatized her so badly she spent a year in a suicidal depression.

And now her ex - and yes, Jon and Georgie have a remarkably comfortable relationship in the beginning of season three, but they're still exes and they broke up for reasons, even if we don't know exactly what they are - has turned up on her doorstep, shaking and possibly bloody, with nowhere else to go and no access to his home. He's clearly lying about what's going on. He repeatedly violates her house rules. And then he tells her that he's turning into one of those same kinds of monsters that traumatized her and ate her friend. It's clearly enough to override any remaining affection she had for him, and by any definition he has now positioned himself as a trigger.

(Through no fault of his own: the only real response he has to Georgie's statement is "I can't believe you didn't tell me." She's the one who assumes that he Knew, somehow, that she also had a statement; she's the one who suggests he had alternatives. Both suggestions are plausible but we don't actually know for certain that either are true.)

But Georgie isn't afraid of Jon because Georgie can't be afraid -at least, according to her. I'm not sure how much I believe this in the grand scheme of things; it seems like an extremely unlikely mechanism for one of the fears to have. It seems much more likely to me that she's just never met anything as terrifying as that encounter was, and her subjective sense of fear has been massively recalibrated. In which case not only meeting but having hosted in your home another monster who self-describes as similar to the one that was so terrifying that literal threats to your life are no longer distressing would...probably ping. But she's conceptualized herself as a person who doesn't feel fear; it's even possible that was part of her recovery, identifying this as a possible benefit of what would otherwise have been a universally terrible, soul-breaking experience. She looked existential terror in the face and survived, and came out of it a person who cannot be afraid of anything left on this earth. That's kind of a superhero origin story, and I can't blame her for it. I think anyone with a mental illness has at least tried to find ways in which their suffering has made them a better, stronger person.

But whether she's suppressing and rationalizing away any fear she feels or she genuinely doesn't feel any of it, she does frequently behave as though her lack of fear gives her a more objective view of the situation than anyone else. I don't believe she actually uses the word "just," but it drips from her every interaction with Jon after Dead Woman Walking. Why doesn't he just stop reading the statements? Why doesn't he just quit? And, in Zombie, I honestly can't interpret her reaction to Jon when he wakes up from his coma as anything other than, Why doesn't he just die? If he hates being this so much, if he really doesn't want to be a monster, why doesn't he just die?

I really would like to think that it goes without saying that this is, at the very least, a massive failure of empathy, but she's so explicit about it and fandom spent so much time basically agreeing with her that apparently it doesn't. Not only is Georgie not afraid of the situation, but (and this is the part that makes me wonder if she's not rationalizing, rather than being supernaturally unable to feel fear) she can't possibly fathom how afraid everyone else is, and she never tries. She persists in treating the whole awful situation, as @findingfeather's post says, like this is a mundane problem with people who are refusing to help themselves, rather than a supernatural trap that has been specifically built to be inescapable.

Now, let me be clear, even if she were talking to, say, a drug addict who nearly killed themselves because they were in denial about how much of a problem they had, her attitude would be unforgivable. But in this case Jon had no choice in whether or not to become addicted to statements; it was done to him in such a way that he didn't notice it was happening until withdrawal was already incapacitating. He also didn't have the option to leave, as Tim's extended vacation made clear. And, on top of all of that, the whole reason he was in a coma in the first place was that he was trying to save the world. (Neither he nor she knows at this point that he was doing nothing of the kind, so that's really not relevant.) And - look, when Jon came to her after the end of season two, he was asking for help. When he rejected the kind of help that she offered it was because he knew it didn't apply to the problems he actually had, but she treats that like it's his problem, which is something like offering a leg splint to a person bleeding out from a gunshot wound and getting offended when they tell you that won't work. He was very clear that what was happening scared him and he didn't know what to do about it, and her only suggestion was "walk away," which he literally could not do, for multiple reasons.

She's lucky Jon has pretty much precisely zero self-worth at this point, because anyone else would have cut her off completely for behaving like a fucking asshole.

I say "she's lucky" because frankly, even though she says that she wants nothing more to do with him, she turns up at least twice in the Institute after that, with the excuse that she's picking up Melanie to take her to therapy. I don't know about you, but I have never once gone to someone's workplace to pick them up and gone snooping around inside, and no matter how fascinatingly weird that workplace is, I definitely can't imagine doing so when I know that workplace also contains a person I have definitely decided I never want to speak to again. She goes into the Archives, for Christ's sake, and she listens outside Jon's office door for long enough to catch a bit of the recording before letting herself in (so it's very clear she knows who's in there).

Now I'm not trying to paint her as a monster here; Georgie would hardly be the first person to have second thoughts about cutting off someone they still care about, or to break that boundary that they set themselves when they realize they do still want to know how that person is doing. But the fact is that she positions herself as having the moral high ground in every single discussion they have and that's just not true. She is not literally a supernatural monster, true, but if season four did anything with the concept of monsters it was breaking down the difference between "supernaturally driven no-longer-human" and "person capable of caring and empathy." (That's a whole different meta, though, one that I will get around to someday.) Not that Jon is any better, in that encounter specifically, at dealing with a complicated and contentious relationship - he deliberately goads her, even if he doesn't use compulsion. But that's the thing, they're both exes who have had a falling out and aren't handling it very well. Neither of them is in the right.

All of which makes me really wonder what her relationship with Melanie is actually like. We don't actually see hardly any of it directly, and of what we do, well, Melanie sounds like she's still high on painkillers, so it's hard to take that as an indication of anything. But given that people (who are not intentionally trying to manipulate those around them) tend to, y'know, be fundamentally the same person in their various relationships, though it may manifest in different ways, we can probably make some guesses.

I have always been bothered by, and I really can't ignore, the fact that they were getting together at the same time that Melanie was doing what Georgie has been demanding of Jon since season three: she did whatever it took to get out. I have to wonder if Georgie knows about the nonconsensual surgery part of Melanie's process of getting out, and if she does, if she understands how vital it was. I certainly wouldn't be surprised, if she does know, that she's managed to compartmentalize it: Jon inflicted this terrible trauma on Melanie, Melanie escaped the entity that took her over. (Subconscious implication: Jon is a monster; Melanie is better than him.) I would be very surprised if Georgie is interested at all in the fine distinctions between entities; she's shown no interest in learning what is actually happening to anyone in this situation beyond "it's bad and they should get out of it." But it's relevant, because by the time Melanie makes the decision to blind herself, she's in a much different position than Jon, enslaved by an entity but not consumed by one. She herself admitted to Jon that she would never have voluntarily escaped from the Slaughter.

And given how difficult Melanie finds it to talk about any of this - you can hear her dragging the words out from behind her teeth in her conversation with Jon in Flesh, truly incredible acting by Lydia Nicholas, my god - if Georgie doesn't want to hear it? I can't imagine Melanie insisting. Yes, Melanie is going to therapy, but let me tell you, I've been going to therapy for twelve years now and I have yet to have several of the important conversations my therapists have insisted I have. That shit is hard. But I can imagine a scenario where, having been told by her therapist (who, remember, doesn't have the first idea what Melanie is actually going through, because Melanie isn't telling her about the supernatural so she has to leave out a lot of really relevant details) that she ought to tell her friend/potential girlfriend/new girlfriend about these things, Melanie attempts to bring it up, Georgie says kind and reassuring things and refuses to let her clarify any of the details, and Melanie gives up in relief, thinking, well, I tried. Super valid all around, but it doesn't mean that Georgie has any clearer picture of what Melanie's traumas actually look like, never mind Jon's. There's no world in which I can imagine Georgie actually internalizing the idea that Melanie loved the Slaughter when it had her, and she would gladly have stayed with it if Jon and Basira hadn't intervened.

In Georgie's eyes, Melanie is being a Good Victim. She was hurt but she was strong; she fought it until she won; now she's going to therapy and setting boundaries and trying to heal. She got away.

(Except, of course, she didn't, because as of The Eye Opens no one has gotten away, because this is the entire world now. We have no idea how this has affected Melanie. Presumably she's out of reach of the Eye, given that Jon can't see her or Georgie (and there's some evidence on the side of Georgie's encounter genuinely having stripped her of fear, if she's also invisible to the Eye), but she spent a long time under the influence of the Slaughter. It had her firmly enough that her attacking Jon was enough to give him his Slaughter scar. If nothing else, Melanie certainly hasn't had her fear removed, and talk about a situation bound to retraumatize someone who had such a visceral revulsion to being trapped that Elias chose it as his mechanism of control over her. Melanie probably doesn't look like a Good Victim any more, and I'd bet her relationship with Georgie is suffering some serious strain because of it.)

We don't know when exactly Melanie and Georgie got together; the last time one of them mentions the other is, I'm pretty sure, when Georgie tells Jon that Melanie is back from India. So we know that Georgie and Melanie were friends; that's good, that's a good foundation for a romantic relationship. At the very least they know each other, they have some idea of what to expect. I'd be surprised if they were dating during that season 3/4 hiatus period, though, or frankly any time before Melanie's surgery, just because Melanie seems much too consumed with rage to have room for any other emotions, and I can't imagine Georgie putting up with that.

What seems way more likely to me is this: Melanie comes back from India, arranges to meet Georgie for drinks. Probably they don't talk about anything serious; possibly they talk about Jon, honestly, since we know Melanie was looking for him and Georgie talked to him about Melanie, but very likely in the same "stuck-up pompous ass" way that Melanie talks about Jon in early seasons. (I bet Melanie's roasts are amazing.) Shortly after that Melanie joins the Magnus Institute and then, very likely, either she never tells Georgie about it and therefore they don't talk much or she does tell Georgie about it and Georgie tells her that place is bad news and she won't have anything to do with it and they don't talk at all, until, whichever way that went, the Unknowing happens and Tim dies and Jon winds up in a coma and everything goes to shit. We know Georgie visits Jon in the hospital; we don't know if Melanie does, but frankly it seems unlikely. If they did cross paths during this time, it was probably very brief and superficial. Then: the surgery, and Melanie's recovery.

I'll be honest, I have a hard time imagining Melanie deciding on her own that she should go to therapy. It's possible Basira suggested it, but it really does sound like a Georgie thing to do. So I picture something like this: from the way Basira talks it sounds like they've all been pretty much living in the Archives for a while, and on top of that everyone in the Archives has just badly violated Melanie's trust, so Melanie pulls up her Facebook DMs and talks to the only other person she has. You were right, she says, this place is terrible, I can't handle it, there's no one here I can trust and I'm so alone. And Georgie, who is generous with help and advice (so long as it's accepted) and (like anyone) weak to being told she was right about something, starts talking to her. We know Georgie's got good boundaries, and we know she doesn't want to hear details about what's going on in the Institute, so I can see her saying, I can talk to you, I would love to talk to you, but not about this. For that you need a therapist.

So Melanie gets a therapist, and the prospect of going out amongst the monsters they know are stalking the Institute without that protective shield of rage (never mind the emotional vulnerability of going to therapy in the first place) makes public transit an unthinkable option, so she asks Georgie to take her, and she does, and she keeps taking her to therapy, which is, as far as we know, the only time Melanie leaves the Archives in season four, until she blinds herself and escapes it completely.

And so they have this relationship that's built up almost entirely around Melanie's trauma - with a foundation of friendship, certainly, so I do think that if they are willing to work through it they could make it a working, healthy relationship, but (and again this isn't stated in canon but is my speculation based on what we know about these characters) it is a romantic relationship that's built around the process of Melanie recovering from multiple traumas. Ones that we know that Georgie a) doesn't know many details about, and b) more importantly, refuses to know any details about. Now, I have no experience with romantic relationships and serious trauma; I might be wildly off base here. But. I know that boundaries are important and I know that trust is also important. And if Georgie is holding similar boundaries with Melanie that she has with Jon (and, as I went into excruciating detail about earlier, she has very solid emotional reasons to protect herself with those boundaries), that's drawing a hard line around what's basically the past two to three years of Melanie's life, and undeniably both the worst and most important things that have ever happened to her. That seems...difficult to manage in the long term.

(This is a bit more of a stretch, more of the germ of a fic idea than an argument I'm prepared to defend, but I also would not be surprised if Georgie told Melanie that she wouldn't date her while she was still working at the Institute. That's a very reasonable boundary, and it's good motivation - and probably healthy motivation, I do like the idea that Melanie had something to reach toward in escaping the Institute, not just the desperate flight from - but it's also something of an ultimatum. Which is not inherently bad, but it is the kind of thing that can fester, given other problems.)

Now it's entirely possible that Georgie isn't that internally consistent. People aren't! (See: Basira's attitude toward Daisy vs her attitude toward Jon in season four.) Maybe she's more flexible about being willing to listen to Melanie, maybe she's starting to understand some of what was happening and how genuinely impossible a situation it really was. But that has to be a struggle for her, too; it's not a perfect, sweet, unconditionally good situation that teaches you that you've been unfair to the point of cruelty to someone you used to care about. And by the time the apocalypse rolls around, Melanie is, if she's lucky, just barely able to say she's healed from the plain physical trauma of blinding, never mind all the other baggage. They've got to be having a rough fucking time of it, at the very least, even if you assume that they're suddenly both the kind of people who will sit still and listen supportively and talk honestly about their own messy and complicated emotions, when neither of them have been that kind of person before.

(Another disclaimer because Fandom Is Like That: This is in no way a condemnation of or argument against fluffy What the Girlfriends fic; fic is for making fluffy things that you want to happen to your faves, or building fluffy content that you desperately need for whatever reason. Gods know there are plenty of unhealthy parts of Jon and Martin's relationship that I ignore in most of my fluffy fic. This is me attempting to work through my thoughts and feelings about the relationship I see in canon in the hopes of actually being able to write some fic about these girls myself someday, because I personally can't write fic until I understand canon, and so much of them happens offscreen because they're not main characters, and they're written with such depth and complexity that you can't just slap a stereotype on them and call it good. Which is awesome! But it means I gotta do the work, and I post it because a) it's work, and this is fandom, and I want validation; and b) I'm hoping other people have insights that might also help me clarify my thinking.)

#the magnus archives #tma #georgie barker #jonathan sims #melanie king #long post #real fuckin' long post #sorry #it's a meta party #cw suicide #cw addiction

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