#prefacing again that this is for me alone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aviawrites · 1 month ago

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love bites (sinners)

!s: stack x female!oc

summary: Josephine’s brother, Wells, was a sharecropper with the Smoke-Stack twins. After they left him without a word, she never forgave them. When they come back seven years later causing trouble, she has no idea what to do — Especially when unexpected feelings arise. [5.5k]

a/n: thank you all for loving the last sinners story and welcome to my new followers! here’s another! also, again, im going to preface this with the fact that i am black. lastly, ! all of my ocs are ethnically ambiguous unless stated otherwise in the !s, free to read for all ! anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), abuse, alcoholism, blood, fighting, guns

in this story, our characters name is: Josephine

📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 2:00pm

Dry air blows in as I suck on my bleeding thumb, having stuck the sewing needle right into it again. Wells has left me in the store alone, as he’s so keen on doing, but as he enters again, he’s got dumb and dumber on his trail.

“Ain’t no goddamn way,” I say in awe, watching the Smoke-Stack twins walk into our shop.

“That’s what I said, Jo,” my brother smiles. I don’t. “The devil done brought their asses all the way back from Chicago.”

“They say he works in evil ways,” I state, flat faced.

Wells is beaming, smiling cheek to cheek and staring at the twins like they gave him something. I seem to be the only one remembering how they left him seven years ago.

“Say man, there any colored folk down in Chicago?” he asks.

“Theres colored folk everywhere,” Stack grins, walking up to my counter.

“Why are y’all back, Stack?”

Wells chimes in. “They throwing a party, the fancy type. Down at the old mill.”

“The old mill?” I scrunch my face up. “And who bought that for y’all?”

Smoke huffs. “We grown now, Josephine. We buy shit for ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, I meant whose money did y’all steal to pay for it.”

“Woo,” Stack smiles wickedly, looking back at Wells. “This sister of yours always did have a mouth on her. Feisty little thing.”

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck on,” I roll my eyes, rounding the counter and heading toward the back.

“Wait,” Wells stands in front of me. “They bringing business.”

My ears perk up and I look back to the twins — Although, ain’t no business worth the mischief they bring with them.

“What business?”

“This suit jacket right here,” Smoke traces his finger along the button holes of his jacket, “I want you to embroider it, something classy for the party. I’ll give you twenty for it.”

I scoff. “Yea, hell no,” I begin walking off.

My brother stops me again, evoking a rough sigh out of me.

“What, Wells?”

“Come on now, Jo. We family, you gotta do this for ‘em. I’d do it myself if I knew how.”

“Family?” I furrow my brows, crossing my arms and turning my body toward the three men. “If we was family they would’ve never left you on that damn plantation when they fled.”

“It’s best you don’t speak on business you don’t know, Josephine,” Smoke warns.

Every time, he think he gets me with that damn Josephine. If only he knew that I preferred that name over any of my short ones, especially from the mouths of those I hold no relation or respect to.

“You think I don’t know, Smoke?” I near him. “Who do you think was there when he cried the nights after y’all left him?”

Wells shrinks in his spot, embarrassed. Hell, I don’t know why — If anything these motherfuckers should be ashamed for leaving their “family” to do the picking while they took their blood money and ran uptown without giving a shit about the rest of us.

“Twenty-five,” Smoke suggests.

“Forty,” I throw back.

“Thirty.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty-two, it’s the best I can do,” he holds out five clean bills, cleaner money than I’ve ever seen.

I sneer at him, rolling my eyes as I grab the bills and stuff the money in my apron pocket.

“Atta girl,” he takes his jacket off, placing it neatly in my hand. “And make the thread match will you?”

I give him a do-you-think-I’m-an-idiot? look. Why the hell would I put orange thread on a navy lined jacket. It only aggravates me more.

“Are y’all done here?”

“Throw mine in too, Josie,” Stack coyly grins, taking his jacket off too.

“No, Stack.”

“Come on, Jose. I got money—“

“Hell no, Stack,” I interrupt him, walking toward the back room. “You’re lucky I’m taking your damn brothers.”

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📍 Josephine and James’ house || 10:00am

Thimble covers my fingers now as I carefully thread flowers and flames into the bottom of Smokes suit. The thick smell of his cigarettes are embedded into every inch of the fabric, making me even less inclined to take my time.

Smoke is the lesser of two evils, if I had to choose. I can’t prove it, but I like to think that he at least felt a bit of hesitation before leaving Wells behind like that. Before they did what they did, when their daddy was alive, he wouldn’t only beat on them — He’d beat on Wells. I worked in a factory with my mama, so I was never subject to working in any kind of field, but Wells’ work got harder and harder the more he grew up. The only comfort he had was that he was doing it with the twins, our only friends. Ever since that day they left without a word and we heard about their destination through the grapevine, I never forgave them. The plantation got sold but each owner was as bad as the next, hitting Wells with his fist just because he could.

So no, I won’t forgive them — Not after that tricking shit they pulled on my brother, even if Wells is too forgiving to see it. God didn’t bless me with a forgiving heart.

James comes into the living room with his work overalls on, pulling the strap up over his shoulder.

“I’m heading out, baby,” he tells me.

“Oh, okay.”

I continue rocking in my rocking chair as he presses a kiss into my forehead. His retreating footsteps are tuned out by my singing, a gentle hum that gets me through the more tedious seam work. Just as I begin to get lost in my tunes, I hear footsteps nearing the family room.

I stop.

“…James?”

No answer, only more heavy footsteps.

My heart skips a beat and I reach into the wooden table that holds our plants. I feel like a child navigating a new toy for the first time as I retrieve James’ small revolver, holding it in my free hand and pointing it at the hallway.

Heartbeats turn into internal pounding in my ears as the steps take an eternity to reach me. When they finally do, I’m prepared to fire missing shots before meeting my grizzly demise.

As my sure murderer rounds the corner, I open my eyes to see…Stack.

“Jesus,” I hold my chest, letting out a relived breath. “Now why the fuck would that man let you in here?”

“I’m not allowed to visit my old friends?” he asks with a smile, leaning in the doorway.

“We ain’t nothing near friends, Stack.”

He sucks his teeth. “That’s just how you choose to see it, Josie.” He walks closer, sitting in the couch across from my rocking chair.

“That’s how it is,” I assure him. “What do you want?”

“To check in on you, damnit. We just got back, I’m owed a few updates, hm?”

“You’re not owed shit, Stack. And right now you’re wasting my time. What do you want?”

He stares at me for a moment, tilting his head and biting his lip in the slightest. “I wanted to know if you still dance.”

“Tuh,” I scoff. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“No, for real,” his tone quiets. “Do you?”

“Maybe I do, Stack. But not for you.”

“…I want you to show me.”

I continue embroidering Smokes jacket. “And why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I ain’t leaving until you do.”

“I guess we’ll just sit here then...”

And we do. What feels like half and hour goes by, the silence being filled with Stack’s constant nagging. He asks me any question he can think of, my life, my brother, my husband, my sewing, none of which I want to disclose to him. Nevertheless, I do, hoping and praying that he forgets his condition and gets up to leave.

Of course, he never does — They always were stubborn.

“Alright,” I huff, setting my embroidery needle down. “You really not gonna leave?”

“Sure ain’t,” he leers. “I’m starting to think you want me to stay.”

Accepting defeat, I set the jacket down on the rocking chair, grabbing a record from our side table and heading toward the player.

“Let me get that for you,” Stack grabs it from my hands, gently placing it on the record player and lowering the stylus.

He returns to his seat, crossing his leg and biting his lip, a hungry look of satisfaction on his face. “Go on.”

The record crackles to life, one of my favorite jazz songs blaring through the loudspeaker. As it always does, my body moves automatically, no thought needed.

“Wooo,” he pull his cigarette out of his mouth, clapping. “There you go,”

“Shut up, Stack,” I groan, turning my back to him and swaying my hips.

It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the music, throwing my hands in the air and running them down my body, my legs, arms, and hips rocking in symphony. I’ve forgotten Stack was sitting there by the time the music comes to a close — And my eyes haven’t reopened yet when I feel his frame against my back.

His hands hold my waist, pulling me close.

“That dance ain’t nothing like it was last time,” he says, his lips far too close to my ear.

My hands firmly rest on his. “Yea, well I wasn’t grown last time.”

“I know that’s right…” his breath grazes my neck. “You gon’ do that at the Joint for me?”

For the first time…I consider it. If it was anybody else’s Joint I’d jump at the idea, longing to feel the freedom of dancing to my hearts content once again. One thing James hates more than anything was my dancing — Any work of mine, he’d rather me not do. Even so, I can’t give the twins this satisfaction.

“You wish.”

Stack stays silent for a moment, simply pushing his chest against my back. I’m about to tell him to get the hell on when I feel his tongue on my ear…then his teeth, nipping my lobe.

Why I don’t immediately pull away is beyond me. If Smoke saw me right now…If James saw me right now…If Wells saw me — Wells.

I roughly push against his chest, turning toward him.

Stack adjusts his pants. “Come on, baby.”

“You best leave,” I suggest — I don’t know if I’m panting from my dancing or the close proximity.

He steps closer. “We got time—“

“I have a husband, Stack.”

“Mane, fuck your husband,” he urges. “He ain’t gon’ be home for another few hours, ain’t it?”

“And I need to have this suit done by then,” I reiterate, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “Go home, Stack.”

He searches my face for any signs of hesitation, and for a moment I think he sees it. But he backs down, putting his hands up and turning toward the door.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “But I best see you at that Joint tomorrow night, Josie.”

Hell the fuck no.

I stay in the living room until I hear him swing the door closed behind him — I’ve never trusted myself so little until now. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I follow him out.

I’m not supposed to tolerate these men, let alone dance for one of them. This is what I’ve heard of the Smoke-Stack twins doing to women. Serenading them, fucking them, and leaving them to the dogs. It won’t be me.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I finally walk to the door, reaching for the lock. But as I go to walk back down the hallway and finish the jacket, really this time, something on the coat rack catches my eye.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble under my breath.

Hanging there next to James and I’s winter coats, a grey suit jacket with a red pocket square sits pretty. In the pockets, Stack has left me five clean bills…$32.

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📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 10:00am

Business is slower than usual on this fine Friday morning. Wells finishes up some shoes that were brought in yesterday, and Smoke’s mostly finished suit jacket lays in the back room. It was being used as my personalized pillow before. My chin nearly falls off of my fist and my eyes flutter closed as a gust of warm wind passes over me.

All of the fatigue in my body is stripped away the next moment as two gunshots ring out from outside. Wells and I immediately pop our heads up and run toward the door.

“What the—“

My face drops when I see the scene outside. None other than Elijah Moore stands across from two men with bullets in their legs as he tucks his gun back into his jacket.

“The fuck are you doing, Smoke!?” I shout, running up to him.

“They tried to rob my truck.”

“So you shot ‘em?”

“I sure the hell did,” he looks at me crazy.

“Are you fucking serious? Y’all can’t go one day without bringing trouble can you?”

All of the store owners in the square have come outside, standing in front of their businesses and watching the scene play out.

“…Come on,” Wells pulls me back. “Go inside, I’ll handle it.”

“Will you, Wells? Or you gon’ let them get away with it again?” I yell in his face, adrenaline rushing through me.

“I got it, Jo. Just please go inside,” he begs.

I spin on my heels, rushing away from the bloody scene and back into the store on a mission. I rip a paper from under the counter and bite the pen cap off, spitting it onto the floor.

You and your crazy ass brother need to stay away from the Delta — Maybe back up to Chicago where they’ll deal with your asses right. Whatever happened yesterday was a mistake, I don’t want it, I’ll never want it. And come pick up this jacket of yours.

Grammatical errors litter the page, but I fold up the letter all the same, pressing it tight and leaving it on the counter as I go to retrieve Smokes suit from the back. When I return, Wells is entering with him.

“You just gotta chill is all I’m saying. People don’t do shit like that around here no more.”

I push the suit against Smokes chest, stepping back.

“Fuck is—“ he looks down at the jacket. “It’s done?”

“I’m not finishing your jacket,” I tell him, plain and simple.

He eyes me as I return behind the counter, stone faced and completely avoiding his gaze.

“You been showing me a lot of disrespect, Josephine, and I’ve been nothing but good to you,” he lays his jacket across his arm. “So I’ll ask you one good time, what your problem is with me.”

“You are my problem, Smoke. Both of you.”

Wells walks over to me. “Don’t start this again, Jo—“

“I’m not starting nothing, Wells. It’s called having a backbone. Keep the coat, Smoke. Your brother can have his back too.”

I can see him make the conscious decision to retain his calmness as he adjusts his position.

“Alright,” he nods. “If you ain’t gon’ finish it, Imma need my money back. Eighteen flat, and that’s being generous.”

“You not gonna play me in my own store, boy,” I pay him no mind, rearranging my counter. “That coat is more than half done. With all that money y’all got in Chicago you oughta not need any back.”

“See, what you not gon’ do is steal from me, Josephine. I don’t give a damn how mad you are.”

“Or what, Smoke?” I challenge. “You gonna shoot me too?”

He pauses, then pulls that same pistol on me. “Think I won’t.”

“Woah, woah,” Wells holds his hands up. “Is it worth all this, y’all? Really?”

Smoke and I stare each other down, neither of us budging as the barrel of his gun aligns with my nose.

“I ain’t leaving without my money, woman.”

“Well then you ain’t leaving.”

“I’ll get you your money, Smoke,” my brother mediates. “Just put the gun down.”

I shake my head. “Nah, he ain’t gotta put it down. It’s not like he’s gon’ shoot it—“

My words can barely get out when a bullet is fired into the wall behind me, causing a sharp ringing in my ear.

“Smoke!” Wells yells, running over to me.

I hold my hands tight over my ear, moving from behind the counter and over to Smoke.

“Are you fucking crazy!?” I shove him. “You gonna do that bullshit in my damn store?”

“Give me my money.”

Grace and Bo from across the street run in, examining the sight in front of them — Smoke tucking his gun back in his suit, my hands over my ears, Wells pushing me back.

“What the hell is going on?” Bo asks.

“He’s fucking insane, that’s what.”

Smoke turns to Wells. “You best tell her to give me my money, nigga. Else the next one going into a body.”

“I’m gon’ get the money, goddamnit!” Wells exclaims.

I get in Smokes face, rage overriding my common sense. Without thinking about it, I spit — A ball of saliva lining his right cheek.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

Smoke short circuits, looking at me with ten different men in his eyes. But the good ones don’t get the best of him today; he wastes no time pulling the gun out again, aiming it right at my chest. Grace swoops in, pulling me away before he can do something he might regret.

“Let’s go, we are going,” she tells me.

“He won’t do nothing!” I yell as Grace drags me to the car. “You ain’t shit, Smoke! Your ass should’ve stayed gone!”

Bo and Wells run out behind Smoke as Grace backs us out. Smoke has completely lost his composure now, shouting all of the fuck-you-bitch’s that he can muster. I’m just glad he has sense enough not to shoot my ass where I sit.

It’s only when driving away that I finally calm down, realizing just how huge of a mess I made of something that may not be worth it. As Grace speeds us away, I sink lower in the passengers seat, wanting nothing more than one of those cigarettes in Stack’s jacket pocket.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

I wrap my feather shrug tighter as the cool air of the Mississippi night breeze past me. I drove here in silence and in secret without asking myself questions. Why the hell I’m here, I don’t know.

Cornbread stands up the minute he sees me walking up.

“I don’t think you should be here, ma’am.”

“Cornbread, please get the fuck out of my face,” I smile, not in the mood to stay in this cold ass weather.

“Un uh,” he shakes his head. “Smoke gave strict orders not to let your ass in.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I reveal the burgundy embroidered suit jacket from behind my back.

“Stack told me to bring it for tonight, I’m already late.”

Cornbread is conflicted, looking behind him in search of the twins.

“Man, where your brother at?”

“My brother ain’t my keeper — Now seriously, Cornbread. We wasting time and it’s cold out here.”

A sultry voice calls out from behind the doorman. “Let her in, Cornbread. She’s with me.”

He reluctantly obliges, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” I curtsy.

Behind him, I see my one and only friend around here — Pearline. She wears a big smile, hooking her arm in mine as we walk deeper into the dancing crowd.

“I hear you been stirring up trouble,” she taunts.

I scoff. “And you been eyeing Preacher Boy since I saw y’all at the train station yesterday.”

She giggles, looking back at Sammie who happens to have his eyes on her right this moment.

“Just a little fun,” she shrugs. “So, which one is yours?”

“Girl, what?”

“Smoke…or Stack?” she urges, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I’m thinking Stack.”

“Well, I’m thinking neither!” my eyes widen. “I am married!”

She coyly shrugs. “I am too…”

My mouth hangs agape, in disbelief at this side of Pearline — No one’s been able to pull this out of her before. Hell, it ain’t my place to be mad at it.

We don’t fit another word in before Preacher Boy comes to retrieve his little princess, excusing himself and softly pulling Pearline to the stage. She waves goodbye, but I can only give her a look. An I-know-what-y’all-did look.

Pearline’s song pulls that dance out of me that the jazz did yesterday. I have to stop myself from rocking my body to the blues so early into the night. As if I conjured this devil, my eye is caught by none other than Elias Moore himself — leaving the bar to talk to old Delta Slim. I make my way over.

“Stack,” I nod, placing the coat in his hands.

He grins, passing his drink to Slim who quickly makes himself scarce after downing the whole cup.

“I knew you could play nice,” he slips it on over his vest.

“When I want to,” I tilt my head, the hate that I usually feel for this face completely dissolving. “Where’s Smoke?”

“Man, fuck that,” he nears me. “Where’s James?”

I roll my eyes. I’ve tried my best to forget about my husband since the second I left home.

“Oh?” Stack raises a brow, intrigued.

“We argued,” I summarize, my voice low. “He didn’t want me working no more, said it made him look like an unfit husband.”

He sucks his teeth. “Shit, you like to work. And I like that.”

I grin, praying that James never finds out where I came tonight.

“Honestly, I came here half just to spite him.”

Stack’s own smile grows wider, his golden grills showing as he wraps an arm around me, his hand sliding down to palm my ass.

“Let’s spite him even more,” he pulls my body close against his.

But this time…I allow myself to smile. Whether I like it because I know I shouldn’t be doing it, or because I’m growing soft spot for this twin, I don’t have time to figure out.

“Mm-mmm,” I decline, lightly pressing him back. “I gotta find Smoke— Pay him back.”

He backs off, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t, Jose. He still hot from this morning.”

“I gotta. I did some disrespectful ass shit today.”

“Oh, I know it,” he winces, looking up.

I do the same. Standing over the balcony staring at us is his brother, a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding him.

Stack places his hand on the small of my back, leading me upstairs. He’s hot on my trail as a knot ties itself in my stomach. Had it not been for Stack pushing me, I might’ve turned around and forgotten about the whole ordeal. But nonetheless, as Smoke slips into a room, I follow after him,

Annie stands beside Smoke as we enter, we’ve clearly interrupted something. Smoke just stares holes through my head, his jaw clenched so hard I think it might pop.

“You got my money?” His ice cold tone makes it sound much more like a demand.

I reach into my bra, straightening out a few bills before handing to him. His hand is hard and firm as he pull the dollars from me, counting them up.

Stack scrunches his face up. “Nigga, you was tripping over $18?”

“It’s the principle, mane. Business,” Smoke nods at me. “She know that. Now let’s go make some money.”

And with that, Smoke and Annie exit the room. I’m not enough of a fool to think that Smoke forgives me or will ever forget what I did — But he’s fair enough to take only what he’s owed and go on about his life, and I can respect that.

Now alone, Stack sits in a creaky wooden chair, relaxing and spreading his feet apart. I just stare at him, feeling the slightest bit insecure under his gaze.

“You hear that music, don’t you?” his grills gleam at me. “Show me a little some’.”

A small laugh escapes my lips. But before I can say no, Pearline begins to sing a smoother song downstairs, something much more my speed.

“Go on,” Stack urges me.

I oblige, now thinking less of how mad James would be and more how pleased I can make the man in front of me. My back is turned to him and I begin running my hands up and down my sides, accentuating the curves that I’ve yet to let Stack see. The song gains momentum, speeding much more than I thought it would. Lovely singing turns into wild hooting as the stomps of the crowd thump in my ears. Still, I sway to the music, just with more intention, seduction even. I don’t even notice that Stack has gotten up until his hands are following mine, running over the most intimate parts of my body.

“You gon’ finally let me have you, Josie?” he rasps in my ear, his voice nearly blending in with the music.

“Maybe if you work for it…”

The two of us move in harmony, his hands following mine, my hips following his. It’s not until the tempo slows that I realize the position we’re in. My hands sit on the table as Stack stands behind me, his clothed waist grinding against mine as he leaves rough kisses on my neck. I don’t resist it this time, I don’t want to. In fact, I want to do the exact opposite. His hand rests across my throat, turning my head so that I can properly kiss him. It feels amazing, finally letting all of the tension out in this way. I feel possessed by the music as our hands grow nearer and nearer to crossing a line. But suddenly the stomps ain’t so far, and Stacks lips ain’t so close.

I open my eyes to a gruesome scene. It takes me a moment to be sure, but once I’m sure, I’m sure. James has burst through the door and ripped Stack off of me, landing blows the minute he entered. Only seconds have passed and blood has already begun covering his fist. Stack wastes no time, retrieving his brass knuckles and aiming for James’ face. Blood splatters across the room and the two men fight like dogs in front of me.

“Stop—“ I can barely choke the words out when I realize that this is going to end up in a death.

I don’t bother wasting time thinking before I run downstairs. The time between my leaving the room and returning with Smoke and Annie behind me must be about fifteen seconds, but it feels like three.

“The fuck!?” Smoke pushes past me.

He pulls his gun, aiming it at the incoherent mess that is Stack, James, and a lot of blood. I don’t speak, only run to the two men and try my best to save my James, pulling back on his shoulder. He swings his blood-soaked arm back, elbowing me in the face with a crack before continuing to tussle with Stack. I fall to the floor, cradling my cheek as I scoot away from the two men.

Two shots ring out, and the sound of thrashing finally ceases.

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📍Josephine and James’ house || 12:00pm

I made out that he found the note when he begged me not to leave him. Even bloody, shot, and thrown on the Mississippi road, James still gained the power to speak those words to me. He threw me his accusations that he had against Stack, saying he did something against my will. James did it to save me, according to him. I blamed myself all night long for forgetting to put that note away — Maybe it was that that allowed him to survive the night. Perhaps my praying and apologizing to God was enough to make him save James from those two bullets in his side.

It don’t matter now. I’m back home alone just like I would be if he wasn’t in the hospital, feeling the same too — Despite my stitched up cheek and the never ending thoughts of what Stack and I could’ve done last night. It’s wrong, I know it is, but no matter how hard I fight it, all I can imagine is what we would’ve done had James not barged in.

It’s stormy this evening, the clouds covering the sun make me feel like the lord might’ve darkened the sky just to make me feel worse. I flip through my old photo album, photos of young me, Wells, and our parents in that small house in South Carolina. Sometimes I miss those days — Most times, actually. Before I had a hard head and a harder ass, ready to take on anyone who wanted to whoop me at anytime. Back when I could be a soft Josephine who wouldn’t provoke men to shoot her or spend my nights with drunkards at an old mill.

A knock at the door pulls me from my miserable reminiscing. I close the album and set it aside, opening up the door for what I assume to be a patched up James…But it’s not. It’s a much more warming face.

“Stack,” I half smile, having no idea how he feels about last night…How he feels about me.

“Can I come in, Josie?” he asks.

I nod, stepping aside and letting him walk past me. As we make our way to the couch, I’m marveled at how little lasting damage James did to him. Sure he had a few stitches beneath his t-shirt and a cut and a bruise on his face, but nothing like James — His face was swollen, still black and blue when I visited him this morning.

We sit next to each other, Stack taking his time not to hurt himself. The tension eats me alive as we just stare at each other, soft jazz music playing.

“I’m sorry…” I begin. “I wrote a note-“

“Shh,” he places a hand on my criss-crossed thigh. “It wasn’t never your fault, baby.”

I can’t find it in me to smile today, although baby makes me want to oh so bad.

“Doctors said he should be okay this morning. But he was damn near dead by the time I drove him there last night,” I tell him. Stack gives me no answer. “If he recovers…I don’t know if I ever want him back in my house.”

I never allowed myself to consider the possibility of leaving James. My mama taught me that in order for anyone to see my value, I’m gon’ need some sort of man behind me, whether that be Wells, my daddy, or another man. But daddy died and I protected Wells more than he ever could protect me, so I did what I was told — Found a husband.

I don’t know that I ever loved him. I said I did, but I didn’t know what love was when we got married. It didn’t matter anyway, he had money and he was good enough to me in the beginning, so I couldn’t ask for more. It was three good years before he showed me the real him. The him that got home from work and started drinking, and more than that, started hitting. Only holes in our walls at first, then more. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what makes me so violent. I never had it in me to stand up to him so I stood up to everyone else.

Stack brings his hand to my stitched cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

“If he ever comes near you again — Ever does this again,” his voice is the most tender I’ve ever heard it. “Smoke and I will shoot him dead this time.”

I shake my head, the tiniest hint of a smile on the corner of my lip. “No need.”

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, offended.

“Oh no, I do,” I assure him. “That’s why I’m not scared of what he’ll do no more. I think you and your brass taught him enough of a lesson.”

His eyes scan my body, his hand returning to my thigh.

“Something like this happen before?”

“Only when he’s drunk and jealous,” I don’t include the part where that is every night. “That’s why I’m at the shop so much. I sometimes think that if I’m there long enough he’ll forget he was ever gonna touch me.”

Stacks face has dropped.

“Your brother know this?” he asks, a fiery glimmer in his eyes.

“He got no clue,” I scoff. “He’s dumb that way.”

He stares at me for a moment, a hunger in his eye behind the immediate anger. He raises a hand to my cheek again.

“I can show you real love, baby. Even if it’s just for today...”

Gently, Stack pulls my face to his. We’re careful not to touch each others’ wounds as he kisses me harder, laying back and pulling me on top of him. He pushes his hips up and I grind mine back and forth, groans escaping the both of us.

I feel free when I’m with Stack, like I can be powerful in who I am — I don’t worry about the store or James when I’m on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, a deeper more guttural rasp in his voice now. I ignore it, enjoying his kisses that he litters across my chest. I feel like I’m flying, he can do anything to me.

“Josie,” he whispers.

“Hm?” I hum, not bothering to look down as I pull my dress up.

“…Can I bite you?”

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vladtoly · 5 months ago

Text

Close Call

Dae-Ho x Female!Reader

Requested: Yes

Proofread: No

Word Count: 690

A/N: I need to preface this by saying I really loved Thanos' character and I simply portrayed him this way for the blurb. No hate for him, I swear! Also I did struggle a bit making Dae-ho the jealous type, so he may come off more protective than anything. Hope it's still good, thank you for requesting!

As the second game came to a close, you sat anxiously on your bunk, watching the entrance doors. Your boyfriend had been on a different team, though not by his own choice. Originally, you had been with his group, but when player 222 had come to them, revealing she was pregnant? You immediately gave up your spot. Dae-ho looked like he wanted to object and offer to leave instead, but you silence him with a simple side eye. Whatever group you were in, you’d assumed you would be fine, or at least hoped. And you were.

Now you were just worried about him.

“Senorita, excuse me. Mind if I join?”

You sighed as a weight landed on your mattress, the voice not waiting for your answer. Just a glance at your side revealed it to be Thanos. You hadn’t even been in his group, just sitting in the one behind his- but that didn’t stop him from turning around and dropping pick up lines constantly. It had almost been a relief when it was your group’s turn.

Shifting away, you kept your eyes on the entrance. “I do, actually, thanks.”

The man ignored your answer and made himself comfortable, man spreading and propping his arms behind him on the mattress. He seemed to know how to make any space crowded, all on his own.

“Don’t know why you’re looking at the door. All you need is right here,” he purred out, leaning his head closer to you.

“I’m waiting on my boyfriend. You can leave.” Your reply was short and sharp, hoping maybe obvious disinterest would make him leave. But you also doubted it.

The weight moved closer, and as soon as you felt a hand on your arm, your head finally snapped to look at him. “Do you know what ‘leave’ means?”

His face split into a goofy grin, obviously high off one of the pills you saw him pop earlier. “Well, I finally got you to look at me, didn’t I?”

Before you could respond, a hand grabbed Thanos’ hoodie and dragged him off the bed. When the owner of the hand came into view, you were more relieved to see Dae-ho. He was alive. Thank God.

“Why were you touching her?” he nearly yelled, his attention directed at Thanos.

Oh, right. You almost forgot about him.

Thanos just laughed, shoving himself out of your boyfriend’s grip. He brushed himself off as you quickly went to Dae-ho’s side.

“She looked lonely. I was just trying to help, you know?” Thanos leaned closer. “When you finally drop dead, then I’ll really help her.”

“You fucking bas-“Your words were cut off as Dae-ho lands a hard blow to his cheek.

Hobbling back, Thanos tried to lunge forward only to have the rest of your group step in front of him, making a wall. Your eyes were trained on him until a gentle hand touched your cheek, directing you to look away. As you turned, your eyes met with soft brown ones, wide with worry. “Hey, are you okay? What happened, what did he do?”

The sound of your boyfriend’s voice grounded you. You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Nothing, he didn’t get the chance.”

His shoulders finally relaxed, resting his forehead on yours. “God, remind me to never leave you alone again.”

“Dae-ho, he was more of an annoyance than anything. He’s been doing shit like that all day.” You sighed out.

He groaned, tilting his head to look at the ceiling. “Trust me, I noticed.”

The words sank in. A small smirk began to form on your face. “Were you watching us earlier?”

“Kind of impossible not to. I wanted to check on you, and he also happens to be the loudest guy here. Makes it hard not to notice.” His eyes remained on the ceiling as he spoke.

Chuckling softly, you gently moved him back to look at you. “I’m okay. I’m right here and okay. Thank you for looking out for me.”

A deep sigh left him as he placed a firm kiss to your forehead, mumbling against the skin, “Someone has to.”

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

Squid Game headcannon/blurb requests are OPEN!

#squid game x reader #squid game #kang dae ho x reader #player 388 x reader

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nhmkhnh · 16 days ago

Text

velvet boundaries.

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

preface: in a house where she’s your best friend’s mother and you were never meant to be hers, caitlyn makes you unravel one obedient breath at a time.

author's note: alright mama cait is here! enjoy, my girls.

wrn: lowercase ;; age gap (c: 39 ; r: 19)

navigation.

it’s a slow summer afternoon, all clinking glasses and polite laughter in the spacious backyard of the kiramman estate. you’re there because your best friend invited you—of course—but you didn’t expect her mother to look like that.

caitlyn stands by the hedges in a sleek navy sundress that hugs her waist too perfectly for someone "just turned thirty-nine." she’s pouring champagne into a flute, head tilted, soft smile gracing her lips as she chats with a family friend. but her eyes—her eyes are already on you.

she doesn’t smile when your eyes meet. doesn’t look away, either. it’s not flirtatious. it’s worse. it’s clinical. calculating. like she’s just filed something about you away.

you try to ignore it, to keep talking to her daughter like normal, but every time you glance over, she’s still watching you. unbothered. bold. one hand on her hip, thumb grazing the rim of her glass in lazy circles.

at one point, when your friend disappears inside for snacks, caitlyn walks up beside you. doesn’t say hi. doesn’t introduce herself.

“i don’t recall you dressing like this the last time you visited,” she murmurs, voice low and unimpressed, eyes flicking over your outfit.

you blink, stammer something about borrowed clothes, but she’s already turning away.

“i see,” caitlyn says, with that maddening hint of a smirk. “well. it suits you.”

and then she’s gone. just like that.

but her voice? her gaze? the deliberate slowness of her walk?

you feel it burn in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the day.

your best friend’s texting someone on the couch, completely distracted, so she barely notices when her mom walks back into the living room after a phone call.

“it’s going to rain soon,” caitlyn says casually, looking at the window. then she turns to you. “you’ll stay for dinner.”

it’s not a question. you blink.

“oh—uh, only if it’s okay, i don’t wanna—”

“i said you’ll stay.”

you can feel your friend nudge you with her elbow, like yeah, that’s just how her mom talks. but there’s something in caitlyn’s tone that makes you sit straighter.

dinner is tense in ways it shouldn't be. caitlyn sits across from you at the long oak table. you try not to stare, but she’s in a blouse now, crisp and fitted, one button too low. her fingers cradle a wine glass, slow and deliberate, the same way her gaze moves down your face like she’s sizing you up—again.

your friend’s chatting with a mouthful of pasta. caitlyn ignores her entirely. she only speaks when she’s addressing you.

“so, darling—” that word makes you stiffen “��what are you studying these days?”

your voice catches halfway through your answer. not because of nerves, but because caitlyn interrupts, cutting right through the sentence with a soft, “that doesn’t suit you.”

you blink. “what?”

she sips her wine, eyes not leaving yours. “you don’t strike me as the type to follow rules. i imagine you’d get bored.”

there’s a silence. even your best friend looks up, confused.

caitlyn just smiles. “dessert?”

later, as you get ready to leave, your friend runs upstairs to grab her umbrella. you’re alone in the foyer with caitlyn, who’s helping you into your coat.

“you should visit more often,” she says, voice soft against your ear as she adjusts your collar, fingers brushing a little too slowly down your shoulders. “there’s something… refreshing about you.”

you don’t say anything. you can’t.

she opens the door for you, lets the cool air hit your skin before adding one last thing:

“don’t keep me waiting too long, dear.”

your best friend’s in the middle of a meltdown—midterms, boy drama, caffeine withdrawals—and she practically begs you to sleep over for emotional support. you agree. of course. because you’re kind. loyal.

and maybe, just maybe, because you haven’t stopped thinking about her mother’s voice all week.

the house is warm. the lights are low. your best friend’s already curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and deep into some trashy reality show.

“wait, can you grab my charger from upstairs?” she mumbles. “i left it in my mom’s room. top drawer.”

you hesitate.

but you go.

caitlyn’s bedroom door is slightly ajar when you reach the second floor. you knock, soft, but there’s no answer.

and then she says it—from somewhere inside:

“come in. i need a hand.”

you push the door open.

she’s standing at her vanity in a silk robe, back half-turned, one arm behind her trying (and failing?) to zip up a long dress.

her eyes catch yours in the mirror.

“zipper,” she says simply. “would you?”

you step behind her like you’re dreaming. her perfume is soft, sharp, familiar—like amber and velvet. her bare shoulder is warm under your fingers.

the zipper is smooth, but slow. too slow. and caitlyn doesn't move an inch. she just watches you in the mirror.

“your hands are cold,” she murmurs. “nervous?”

you don’t answer.

when the zipper reaches the top, she places her hand over yours, holds it there for a breath too long.

“there,” she says, finally turning around. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

you stammer something about the charger. she smiles and reaches into the drawer behind her, placing it in your palm—slow, deliberate.

as you step back toward the hallway, she speaks again. soft. amused.

“you should knock louder next time, sweetheart. or someone might mistake you for a voyeur.”

you don’t sleep well that night. you dream of silk and zippers and the sharp sound of your own breath.

you show up to brunch with your best friend wearing a soft cream sweater—something new, something that makes you feel… noticed. and you are.

the moment you step into the kitchen, caitlyn’s already leaning against the counter with a black mug in hand, nails polished, gaze unreadable. she looks you up and down once, then twice. the air shifts.

“that color looks good on you,” she says, voice low. “makes you look… sweet.”

you murmur a thanks, trying not to flinch under the weight of her stare. but she’s not done.

“i remember wearing something like that when i was your age.” she steps closer, casual. “though i never pulled it off quite so…” her eyes flick to your lips. “innocently.”

you freeze.

she sets her mug down—soft ceramic on marble—and brushes past you to the fridge. close enough that her shoulder glides along yours. close enough that your skin feels branded.

your best friend walks in mid-tension, yawning and stretching.

caitlyn doesn’t miss a beat. “i was just telling your friend how well she’s growing into her figure.”

your friend blinks. you nearly choke.

“mom.”

“what?” caitlyn shrugs. “i meant it as a compliment.”

but her eyes are still on you. calm. knowing.

later, while your friend goes to the bathroom, caitlyn walks past the table where you sit alone. she pauses behind your chair. one hand settles on your shoulder—light, but unmistakably firm.

“you do like compliments, don’t you?” she whispers.

you don’t turn around. you can’t.

but you feel her smile against the back of your neck before she walks away.

it starts innocently.

your friend’s mom invites you to stay for dinner again—some sort of semi-formal thing, wine glasses and roasted duck and linen napkins. you wear something nice this time. you don’t know why. maybe you do.

but the zipper at the back of your dress? it’s stuck.

your best friend’s already downstairs, yelling about how you’re going to be late, when caitlyn appears in the doorway to your guest room.

“problem?” she asks, tone deceptively casual.

you give her a sheepish look. “it won’t budge.”

caitlyn’s already walking toward you before you finish the sentence. her heels make no sound on the carpet.

“turn around.”

you obey.

her fingers graze your back first—cool and careful. the first tug is mechanical. but the second? the second one lingers.

“poor craftsmanship,” she murmurs. “a dress like this should glide open. don’t you think?”

you swallow. “it’s supposed to.”

“then hold still. let me.”

you don’t breathe as she works.

her knuckles trail your spine like a line being drawn. her breath grazes your shoulder. she doesn't speak again, but she doesn't rush either.

when the zipper finally gives, caitlyn’s hand doesn’t fall away.

instead, she rests her palm flat between your shoulder blades, grounding. possessive. like she’s checking your pulse.

“you should’ve asked for help earlier,” she says, voice so low it curls in your stomach. “it’s what i’m here for.”

you face her—slow, unsure. but she’s already turned away.

“i’ll be downstairs,” she says over her shoulder. “don’t take too long.”

you stand there in your half-zipped dress, heart in your throat, knowing damn well she didn’t just unzip fabric.

she’s unzipping you.

it’s late. your best friend’s gone out—date night, something forgettable—but you stayed behind. said you were tired. said you had studying to do.

caitlyn knocks on your door just past ten.

you open it, blinking at her silhouette. silk robe. bare legs. a glass of red in her hand.

“i made tea,” she says, but she doesn’t offer it.

instead, she studies you for a long moment, then tilts her head toward the hallway. “come with me.”

you follow without thinking.

she leads you into her study. a soft-lit room full of dark wood, leather-bound books, and shadows that feel too heavy for the hour. she sets the wine down, walks behind the desk, gestures toward the chair in front of it.

“sit.”

you do.

she pours herself another glass, deliberate and silent. then she leans back in her chair, crosses one leg over the other, and studies you with those cool, assessing eyes.

“you’re very obedient when it counts,” she says, swirling her wine.

you shift in the chair. “i just didn’t want to be rude.”

“oh, i don’t mind rudeness,” she replies. “but hesitation? that disappoints me.”

you don’t know where to look.

caitlyn takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours.

“do you know what i see when i look at you?”

you shake your head.

“i see someone waiting to be told what she’s allowed to want.”

you suck in a breath.

she leans forward now, elbows on the desk, voice velvet-soft. “if you were mine, i wouldn’t make you guess.”

you don’t speak. can’t.

she smiles—small, amused. like she knows.

“still,” she says, standing, walking toward you. “let’s call this practice.”

she sets her glass down beside yours, then tips your chin up with two fingers.

“stay right there. don’t move.”

you stay.

she walks away.

you shouldn’t be wearing the dress.

it’s too short. too tight. too low. your best friend picked it out for a party she’s dragging you to tonight, but you knew the second you pulled it on: it wasn’t about the party.

it was about being seen.

specifically—by her.

you’re halfway down the stairs when caitlyn looks up from the foyer, eyes locking on your legs first, then climbing higher.

her lips part slightly. she doesn't smile.

“going out?” she asks, voice like warm velvet wrapped in glass.

you nod, nerves prickling. “with your daughter.”

“i see that.”

she takes a step closer. you should keep walking. you don’t.

she circles once, slow and precise, her heels echoing lightly against the wood floor. then she stops in front of you, fingertips brushing the hem of your dress. barely there.

“this fabric’s so thin,” she murmurs. “one wrong breeze and—”

you inhale sharply.

caitlyn tilts her head.

“did you wear this for her? or for me?”

you can’t answer. your pulse is hammering. she knows it.

she steps in closer—too close—until her hand is at the small of your back and your bodies are a breath apart.

“show me,” she says softly.

you blink. “show you… what?”

“what it looks like when you beg with your eyes.”

you freeze.

she leans down, mouth near your ear, breath warm. “you already know how.”

then the door bursts open—your best friend yelling something about being late—and the moment snaps in two.

caitlyn steps back, calm as ever. like nothing happened. but before she walks away, she murmurs, only for you:

“fix your lipstick, darling. it’s smudged.”

it wasn’t. until you bit your lip.

it’s another quiet evening in the kiramman house. your best friend’s asleep upstairs—headphones in, lights off. you’re in the kitchen, barefoot in shorts and an old tee, pouring a glass of water and trying to stop thinking about how caitlyn looked at you earlier.

but then—

she walks in.

silk robe. hair pinned up. a glass of something darker than wine in her hand.

“can’t sleep?” she asks.

you shake your head, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “just… thirsty.”

she walks over to the kitchen island and sets her glass down, slow. controlled. then she leans against the counter and nods at the stool across from her.

“sit.”

you obey. you always do.

she watches you for a long moment. then—

“put your hands on the table.”

your brows pull together, confused. “what?”

caitlyn’s voice doesn’t rise. it doesn’t have to.

“hands. flat. right in front of you.”

you hesitate—only for a second. but she sees it. and that pleases her.

you set your hands down.

she steps closer. walks around the island, until she’s behind you.

you feel her breath at your ear. “you follow instructions well. i like that about you.”

her hands brush over your shoulders, then slide forward until they’re ghosting above your wrists. not touching. not yet.

“but do you know how to stay still?”

you inhale. shallow.

she presses her palm down over your right hand. just one. not hard—but enough to anchor you there.

“i could ask anything of you right now,” she whispers. “and you’d listen. wouldn’t you?”

you nod.

“no,” she corrects gently. “use your words.”

“yes,” you breathe.

“good girl.”

her free hand traces your jaw, slow. her thumb skims your bottom lip. it lingers.

“keep your hands right where they are,” she murmurs. “no matter what i do.”

and then she leans down—kisses the corner of your mouth.

just once. barely there.

but you feel it like heat spreading through your spine.

she straightens, glides her fingers off yours, and walks away without another word.

you sit there for ten more minutes. hands on the table. shaking.

the rain’s falling outside, soft and rhythmic. your friend went to spend the night with her girlfriend, and caitlyn—well, caitlyn said she was staying in. you offered to help her tidy the guest wing before bed.

now you’re here. in her room.

you shouldn’t be. but you are.

you’re holding a stack of freshly folded towels when she steps out of her ensuite bathroom—hair down, skin dewy, dressed in an impossibly sheer black satin nightgown that clings like second skin. the light behind her frames her in gold.

you freeze.

she doesn’t.

“towels?” she murmurs, stepping closer.

you nod. your throat’s dry. “you said you needed fresh ones…”

“i did,” she says, taking them from your hands and setting them aside. “but now i need something else.”

she doesn’t touch you. not yet. but her eyes devour every inch—down your bare legs, up the line of your throat, resting finally on your parted lips.

“you shouldn’t walk around here dressed like that,” she murmurs. “not if you don’t want to be—”

her fingers find your chin. tilt it upward.

“—watched.”

your lips part. you forget what you were going to say.

caitlyn steps in closer, her body brushing yours. “tell me the truth, darling. did you wear this hoping i’d see?”

you shake your head. then nod. then can’t decide. your breath stumbles.

she smiles.

“honesty looks good on you.”

she walks around behind you, fingertips grazing your waist as she passes.

“i’m going to ask you once,” she says, voice velvet over steel. “just once.”

you turn, eyes wide. waiting.

“are you mine for the evening?”

silence.

your heart’s beating so loud you’re sure she can hear it.

then you say it.

“yes.”

she exhales—low and pleased. walks to her nightstand, takes a small black velvet ribbon from the drawer. loops it around her fingers.

“good girl.”

she gestures to the foot of her bed.

“sit.”

you do.

she walks over slowly. takes her time. then bends slightly, ties the ribbon loosely around your wrist.

“this isn’t to restrain,” she says, brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “it’s to remind.”

“remind me of what?” you whisper.

“that tonight, you belong to me.”

it starts with the ribbon.

you still wear it sometimes when you're alone—just to remember. but tonight, caitlyn sees it. wrapped loose around your wrist beneath your sweater sleeve as you help her carry dishes into the kitchen.

she doesn’t comment.

not yet.

later, when the house is quiet and your best friend’s asleep across the hall, she finds you standing at the window in the guest room, moonlight casting silver along your skin.

her voice is quiet behind you.

“you wore it for me, didn’t you?”

you don’t turn around. you nod.

caitlyn closes the door.

you hear the soft sound of her heels across the wood floor. you hear your own heartbeat in your throat.

then her hand slides up your arm from behind—slow, deliberate—until her fingers find the ribbon and tug.

it unravels, whisper-soft.

she pulls it free and loops it around her fingers once more.

“i gave this to remind you who you belong to,” she murmurs at your ear. “but it’s not enough anymore.”

you swallow hard. “what do you want?”

“i want you to say it.”

she turns you around gently, backs you toward the wall until you’re caged between her arms.

“say who owns you,” she says, so close her breath fans over your cheek. “say it with your mouth.”

your lips part. nothing comes out.

so she leans down, kisses your jaw. your neck. your collarbone.

“you want to please me,” she whispers. “i can feel it. i can hear it in every breath.”

then her hand slides beneath your sweater, gliding up your spine.

“be brave for me. say it.”

your legs shake. you’re dizzy with want.

then finally—

“you,” you whisper.

she hums, pleased. but not done.

“louder.”

you blink, dazed. “you.”

she cups your jaw. “say my name.”

“caitlyn.”

she inhales like she’s waited a hundred years to hear that from your lips.

then she kisses you. deep and slow and unforgiving.

when she finally pulls away, your sweater’s wrinkled, your breath’s stolen, and the ribbon’s in her pocket.

“mine,” she says, smiling darkly. “and you’ll keep saying it. every night i make you feel this way.”

#caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn arcane #arcane

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imagine-you · 3 months ago

Text

If I Open the Door To Heaven Or Hell 3/? [Wally Clark/Reader]

Summary: Wally runs off to comfort Maddie and you decide to follow. What you see when you finally catch up has you making a drastic decision. Word Count: 1.9k Author's Note: Let me preface this by saying there is no infidelity in this chapter. There will be no infidelity in this fic.

Read On AO3 // Fic Masterlist

Things were going better than ever with Wally. After your rendezvous in the tech booth, you felt like you had turned a page in your relationship.

You craved Wally in a way that was nearly terrifying to you.

All you wanted was to spend time with Wally. You trusted him with every little thought of yours, because you knew he always wanted to know what was on your mind. You gave him all your quiet moments and he filled them with his presence. You had spent years feeling like your death had put a hold on living, but with Wally, you felt like you were getting a second chance. You had never felt so whole before and the fact that your journey through the afterlife had brought you here with Wally seemed surreal.

You felt like you had built a little bubble that was just meant for the two of you. It was where you felt safe and wanted and you didn’t want to give that up for anything or anyone. Wally’s soft looks and gentle touches lit you up inside. You were happy in a way you had never experienced when you were alive.

You always wanted to be alone with Wally, but your promise to help Maddie meant that you had to venture out and reconvene with your friends.

You had agreed to join the others while Simon let everyone eavesdrop on the dinner with Maddie's mom and the others. The aim of the dinner was to get Janet back to the school and thanks to the phone call Simon placed, you were able to listen in on the landline in the library.

It seemed like a reasonable enough plan. But it wasn't long into the call before Maddie was leaving, clearly distraught. Wally tried to go after her, but Charley suggested letting Maddie cool off. But you noticed the way Wally kept watching the door, as if he kept expecting Maddie to show up again.

You knew Wally was a good friend to Maddie. He listened to her and always made sure to check in with her to make sure she was okay. You admired that about Wally. He really was the heart of the group. But sometimes you couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit jealous of the attention he gave Maddie. You had never had anyone like Wally before and you were terrified you were going to lose him.

You got distracted listening to the call and the next time you looked up, Wally was gone.

You tried not to let it get to you. Wally could be anywhere. It didn't hurt that he didn't even say goodbye. It didn't mean anything.

You were really bad at lying to yourself.

Once the plan completely collapsed upon the arrival of the janitor, you had nothing to distract you from thinking about Wally and Maddie and whatever they might be doing together.

"What's got you so glum?" Rhonda asked, pointing at you with her lollipop.

"It's nothing," you lied. "Just thinking about something."

Rhonda sighed before leaning forward and placing a hand on your shoulder. She usually wasn't the touchy feely type, so the fact she was making the effort now surprised you. "Is it about Wally running off after Maddie?"

You refused to look at her, knowing she would read your answer in your expression.

"You two aren't as subtle as you think you are," Rhonda continued. "You think we haven't noticed the two of you sneaking away every opportunity you get? Half the time, we don’t know where either of you are, but we know you’re together. What else could you two be doing if not each other?"

Your shoulders slumped and you had to concede defeat. You finally turned to look at Rhonda, dislodging her hand on your shoulder. "How long have you known?"

"Since we met with Maddie's friends," she admitted. "I had an idea there was something going on between you two before that, but it wasn't until Wally got all worked up over Simon accidentally checking you out that I knew I was right."

"Fuck," you sighed, not sure how to feel now that Rhonda knew about your relationship with Wally. And you were sure that if Rhonda knew, then Charley had to as well.

"Oh, yeah, totally clocked that one," Charley chimed in with a smirk once he noticed you looking at him. "Wally's nuts about you."

"Yeah," you agreed, ignoring the look of concern on Charley's face when it came out sounding despondent.

"If you're so worried about it, then why don't you go after him? You'll see you're worried about nothing and then you can move on from there," Charley suggested.

"Or you'll see you had something to worry about and move on from there," Yuri added.

Charley shushed him while Rhonda shot him a disgusted look.

"Read the room here, Russian kid," she chided him. "We're trying to cheer Y/N up, not give her a crisis."

"I'm just saying," Yuri defended with a shrug of his shoulders.

You knew Charley and even Yuri to an extent were right. You couldn't wait around just hoping you were right or wrong. You would have to find out for yourself.

"Yeah, okay," you decided. "I'll see you guys later."

"Y/N," Charley called, prompting you to turn and look at him again. "Wally's a good guy. He wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," you said, even if you couldn't squash the denial that was trying to worm its way into your brain. Wally was a good guy. But he might hurt you. You didn't think on purpose, but there were other ways. And you didn't want to hide from heartbreak if it was waiting for you.

You turned your back on your friends and left the room. You nodded at Quinn as you passed her in the hallway and set about trying to find where Wally had gone in his pursuit of Maddie.

It took you a while to find them, but when you did, you wished that you hadn't bothered. They weren't doing anything damning like kissing, but the way Wally smiled at Maddie had your chest feeling like it was going to cave in.

You weren't sure how they both ended up in the pool or why, but watching them splash each other playfully before Wally pulled Maddie into a hug and held her in the water felt like a betrayal. Wally wouldn't. Wally would never. But all you could see were his arms wrapped around her and the dopey grin on his face he got when he was pleased with something.

You didn't know why it felt like he had taken a knife and twisted it right into your heart, but you suddenly felt like you couldn't breathe. It was stupid, because you were already dead, but all you could think about was that you had something good and it was slipping away from you right before your eyes. You wanted to turn away, but you were stuck watching them through the window on the door to the pool, helpless against the pull you felt to confirm your fears.

Maddie had her hands twisted in the back of Wally’s shirt, practically clinging to him like a lifeline. Wally had his chin resting on Maddie’s head while he talked to her. You couldn’t hear him, but Maddie nodded her head before pulling away just enough to look up at him.

They were so close. Too close. You could almost imagine them kissing and the thought was enough to make you feel like you might throw up.

You couldn't watch any more. You turned away, needing to take the hurt and ground it in something real. You didn't want to fight with Wally. You didn't want to fight with Maddie.

Inanely enough, you wanted to fight yourself. You could feel all your pain beginning to internalize in an endless litany of you simply weren't good enough.

You found yourself drifting from one place to the next before you ended up at the one place in the school you always avoided.

The room where you died.

A plan began to form in your head. It was stupid. It was reckless. Everyone would wonder what the hell was wrong with you.

But that was just it. You had no clue. Because it felt like everything was wrong with you. One perceived slight from Wally and you had gone off the deep end.

You found yourself going to the boiler room. It was where you had stashed your object. It was a denim jacket that had been your pride and joy when you were alive. It was covered in patches and pins of your favorite bands. You had loved collecting them and adding them to your jacket. You spent so long on the placement of each patch or pin, hoping to make the most of the space and show your love for the music that felt like it was speaking directly to your soul with every lyric and riff.

You never in a million years would have thought that the object that meant the most to you in the world would end up being what got you killed.

When you saw it after the others discovered the box of objects linking you to your deaths, you had stashed it in the boiler room hoping to never see it again. But now, there were scars to confront and answers to uncover if you wanted to get Maddie back into her body.

And that's all you could think about at the moment. Getting Maddie her body so she would leave and Wally wouldn't fall in love with her.

You had never been the jealous type, but you had never had anyone to lose like Wally before. It wasn't rational and you knew it was a terrible idea that would only hurt you more, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were lost in a haze of pain and so you grabbed your object and went back upstairs to the second-floor girl's bathroom near the pre-cal classroom.

You weren't sure how long you stood outside the door watching the red glow around the door warning you away. Your own personal hell was right on the other side of the door and you didn't know if you were brave enough to open it.

You had your hand on the door handle, but you hadn't made any move to actually push the door open. You knew your scar would make you relive a horrific version of your death. The memories you had suffered for years would become twisted and only torment you more than they already did.

Your resolve was starting to fade. You didn’t know if you had the strength to confront your death. Like Wally, your death had been quick. Over and done in just a moment. But the events that led up to it still haunted you.

There was a laugh at the end of the hallway that tore your focus away from the door in front of you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Wally and Maddie walking in your direction. They hadn't even noticed you yet. Wally was focused on Maddie and bumping his shoulder into hers. Maddie looked up at Wally, adoration clear on her face, and you felt your heart break all over again.

It was then Wally looked up and noticed you. You didn't even have to say anything. He knew what the room before you really meant to you. It was when his gaze dropped down to the jacket in your hand that the smile slipped off his face.

"Y/N," he called, coming to a halt. "What are you doing?"

"Is that--?" Maddie asked.

"It's her scar," Wally confirmed before he took off running towards you.

Wally was fast, but he was still too far away to stop you from opening the door and entering your scar.

Author's Note: So someone requested more of the pool scene from the latest episode and someone else requested getting to see reader confront her scar and this probably isn't what y'all had in mind, but here we go. Yay, two-parter!

#school spirits #wally clark #wally clark x reader #wally clark x you #school spirits x reader #wally clark imagine #school spirits imagine #reader insert #imagine #fic #ao3 #school spirits spoilers #my fic #heaven or hell verse

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salemlunaa · 4 months ago

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౨ৎ why a “void state pact” isn’t gonna work ౨ৎ

no drama, just saving you from waisting your time.

When the idea of people joining a “pact” to induce the state of pure consciousness for each other first came up, many bloggers have come out to debunk this view that we can all enter the void state for eachother, because you can’t.

And the person who brought up a… lemme just be nice and say a thoughtless idea, and decided to make this post ,with multiple comments agreeing under it, sighhhh

“these bloggers talk about how we are limitless yet we apparently can’t enter the void for others”

“not everyone is the same”

“So nothing is logical, but it’s apparently illogical to manifest others into the “I AM” state?”

I will say this now: the void state pact cannot exist, why? because what you are doing is quantum jumping, reality shifting. For example if i want to manifest my friend Joey to induce the void, I will quantum jump to a reality where she induces the void, she won’t come with me. The reality where she hasn’t managed to induce is still a thing. What i’m experiencing is a reality where Joey induces, but she cannot share my experience. It’s not possible to share an experience with someone as it is our “I AM”. You’re not going to change because of someone else’s “I AM” state intentions.

This may be triggering to read, but to better understand: in the same way, it’s like if someone hated you so much induced void pure consciousness so you could die (like top tier level hatred 💀) , you wouldn’t just randomly drop dead. You’d still be here. But them? they have quantum jumped to a timeline where you’re not here. It’s not a limiting belief, it’s just fact that it’s their experience, you’re not going to die because of someone else’s experience.

Here’s another analogy, let’s say you’re painting in class with your friend, and you all have big canvases to paint many little pictures. Your paintbrush only works on your canvas, it’s not possible for you to paint on your friend’s canvas or anyone else. You can create a small drawing on your canvas depicting your friend eating an apple, but it’s not on their canvas. You can’t paint that picture on their canvas, And it’s not a reflection of their own experiences or preferences. They have to do it themselves or their canvas will NEVER contain a picture of them eating an apple, the version of your friend that is on your canvas is eating an apple but the version of your friend on their own canvas isn’t.The outcome of your friend having a picture of them eating an apple on their canvas is 0, unless they paint it themselves. It’s not a limiting belief because you can paint ANYTHING you want on YOUR canvas, it just won’t show up on theirs.

Again it’s not a limiting belief because you CAN do anything, but YOU are the one who is everything, therefore YOU are the one who experiences everything, and let me just preface: that doesn’t make it any less real and it doesn’t make the loved ones in your life disposable. It just means that you and you alone can experience every single version of someone. You can experience a reality where all your friends induce the void, but only you experiences that. They don’t induce the void with you so they can’t go anywhere with you.

Again, if you would just read bloggers posts and stop trying to force things you would see that the state of pure consciousness is not hard at all, in fact it is first nature to you.

If you believe that this is something you need to work hard for, you don’t understand the void state. If you can’t grasp the fact that no one else can trigger your “I AM” experience, you don’t understand the void state. If you believe that you genuinely can’t do it, you don’t understand the void state. If you believe that there are other people “more capable” than others in doing this, you don’t understand the void state.

If you don’t understand you’ll never get in. It doesn’t take alot to understand. Truly

And as a blogger, I can speak for a lot of us when I say I feel disrespected when I and a lot of others try and explain the state of pure consciousness, and it’s like you completely ignore the help. As if you’re a child blocking your eyes telling yourself you can’t do it on your own. We try and break down the simplicity of it all and it’s like you completely disregard everything we say. I’m not gonna lie, it’s very, very frustrating.

And if you’re feeling even a little bit swayed, where do you see their success stories??💀💀 if one person had already induced then all of that pact should’ve induced right? im waiting for the influx of success stories….but notice how all they’re doing is waiting and complaining… no success in sight

so i’m urging you to please do not follow this void pact thing before you’re still here with them in 2030 relying on others to help you experience YOUR OWN dream life.

Lets be serious pls

🩰🍨do it yourself, it’s the only way

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vantabone · 8 days ago

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Canto 8 Spoilers!

TW: SA/CSA, Grooming and familial, emotional abuse.

A small analysis on Hong Lu's Story as a Metaphor for SA/CSA

I’d like to preface this with if I come off as insensitive or offensive, I sincerely apologize. I'll delete this if need be. Feel free to correct me on anything. Of course, feel free to disagree as well. This is just my own reading into the story. It's not supposed to be "the canon or right" way of interpreting it.

I'm fully aware that this could be entirely unintentional on PM's part, but the beauty of stories is finding your own interpretation of the words gifted to you. Please be civil!

If you find yourself feeling unwell while reading through this, please close out for your own mental safety.

I believe that Hong Lu's backstory can be read as SA. I don't think I'm alone in this as I've seen others mention it too, but I’d like to talk about my main points on why I believe this: his objectification, his abject grooming by Jia Mu, and how he reacts during and after, as well as the circumstances around it.

A question you might ask is: why this topic? Couldn't this be applied to other types of abuse too? The answer is yes! It can! But the imagery of the cuckoospawns, its wordings, and how Hong Lu acts afterwards is a direct result of that incident and recontextualizes his behavior. The inherent horror of the loss of bodily autonomy, the imagery violent creatures rising from one's own body, the silencing of the victim and its specific wording leads one to think in that direction. So I will be going that direction.

Hong Lu is heavily objectified. In his IDs and even before his canto itself, this is one of the things we know about him. He’s described as a “gem of a child” (Liu Hong Lu uptie story), “a precious jade that must be kept within the deepest coffers” (Qingtao) and during the flashbacks, everyone else around him either praises him or scorns him for his upbringing without thinking about how it affects him emotionally. The first scene where the shadows close in on him while he hears about how they whisper is obviously a sign that this is something he’s distressed about.

The elders themselves literally use him as a source of their entertainment. This objectification is one of the main reasons why he believes he has no bodily control over himself.

To be clear, Jia Mu was absolutely grooming him. One of the main tactics abusers will use is to isolate their victims from people who could support them, and when Baoyu shared how scared he was to Xiren, Jia Mu immediately had her lobotomized. This reinforced the belief in his mind that if he were to speak about this to anyone, bad things would befall them too. This is also a common thinking pattern that SA victims have, particularly the ones that have suffered familial abuse.

Familial abuse especially is tricky because it affects everyone. Some family members would even tell the victim not to report the abuse because it could “ruin” their family by tearing it apart. The weight of the emotional turmoil falls once again to the victim, adding more stress to an already traumatizing situation.

As Jia Mu is the family hierarch and him as a child, there is already a clear power imbalance there that Hong Lu will never be able to escape anything she makes him do. Jia Mu knows he’s a kind and gentle child. Someone who would try his best to save a person suffering. Someone who believes he could befriend even the people who speak ill of him. That boy would never willingly put anyone in harm’s way. She uses this as leverage to ensure that he would never talk to anyone about his circumstances again and to continue her abuse over him.

During the lab scenes we’re treated to how he continues to be forced even though he pleads he doesn’t want to. He begs anyone to help him, but Jia Mu even goes as far as taking away his only source of support: Xiren. In the end, what breaks him is his sole confidant rehashing the same words that sends him unbearable fear: to be silent and keep watching. He pushes away Daiyu, who is the only other person that notices his change of heart. A sign of trauma is pushing away the people that care about you as well as the isolation abuse tactic in full display. He now forces himself into the mold of what Jia Mu wants him to be. Because if he does this, then it’ll hurt less. Because this is what they tell him to do. He forces himself to be more palatable to his abuser.

Now, the incident. When he tries to stop people from going inside the venue, they don't believe him. He can't explain why out of fear. They laugh, ridicule or get mad at him for saying nonsense. This also mirrors the way victims are treated: are you sure it really happened? You're ruining someone's reputation. You don't even have any proof. Are we supposed to believe you? They're a good person, they would never do that. They do not take his cries for help seriously. Baoyu trying to help was also his own cry for help. That if they listened to him, maybe his choices do matter.

Second, I believe it’s no coincidence that it has implicit sexual violence, in my opinion. They did not go into details into how the cuckoobirds reproduce exactly, but their choice of wording is very intentional: “high level of fertility”, “reproductive abilities”, and “the glint of hunger when it’s reproductive instincts kicked in”. It is supposed to invoke that type of imagery within you without actually saying what went on. That’s part of the horror. So then, it should be easy to guess what it means for Hong Lu to have witnessed all of that unwillingly.

To preface I'm not saying he was assaulted himself. However, the things he witnessed also counts as SA because this was done to him against his well. I think it's an important distinction that there are different types of SA as well.

He was forced to watch people used as a breeding ground for the cuckoospawns. And even if they were not, these were things bursting out of people's bodies and wombs. There's a lack of bodily control for everyone imvolved. That's incredibly violating to imagine. Baoyu was only a child, too.

This is how he reacts after it all: dissociation, self-hatred and a deep, deep desire to be heard and comforted by anyone. It was vile. It was extremely violating. All he wished was someone to please help him, because this was something that never should have happened.

“After today, nothing good will ever happen to me again.” this was the line that made me go, oh.. Baoyu.. :(... And what fueled me to think about how exactly I was reading the canto. Not going into details, but this was a line that struck me personally. When something that violating happens to you, you just feel... I don't think I could describe how empty it makes you feel. But it really does feel like nothing good will happen to you again, because that traumatizing experience will always weigh down on you no matter what.

He buries his flowers-- his emotions and conscience, his free will and choices, and most importantly himself-- in a way that he won't have to watch as they wither. They will still be as "clean" and pure as they ever were, like what happened to him never happened at all. This is a common pattern among victims of SA, especially children. When someone has been assaulted, they think they've been dirtied by the experience and will never be "clean" again. This is a tangent but I personally don't like this perception because no matter what happened to someone, I don't think they've been "dirtied" at all. It was never their fault to begin with.

The elders as well have an obsession for him to stay a pristine jade. Impervious to anything beneath him like despair, fear, and agony.

Here are some other points I couldn't fit in above:

- When Jia Huan exclaimed he knew the reason why Baoyu was depressed, he reacted with fear. But when Jia Huan went on to say it was because of Daiyu, you could actually see his face slowly fall too. Whether it was disappointment or relief, but I think it was because he wanted someone to understand his situation without him having to say it out loud.

- (credit to user lyrecross for noticing this) Hong Lu shares the same "emphasis on the stomach area which is either wounded, open or binded" imagery across his EGOs. It's intriguing and sad how he shares the theme with the woman who was undeniably violated the most in this canto, Kong Sihui, who had her baby eaten by a creature which then burst out of her womb.

I'd like to point out his effervescent corrosion EGO: oysters create pearls because it's their body's natural defence against parasites entering their shell or to damage to their fragile shell. His corrosion line is this, too: “Filth nests inside me... So that they may be reborn as something useful.” This one's more or a stretch but the pearl's positioning also looks like a pregnant woman's belly. (I guess the entire clam opening is the stomach though)

The only exception to this trend is Soda Hong Lu which has the corrosion ego line “The seagulls... They keep crying and screaming away..!” and his base ego.

- DOTRC also had very blatant themes of sexual assault because it was about the misogyny women faced during that time. I interpret the original Jia Baoyu as also a victim of CSA, because even if its the time period, children having sex is pretty.. yeah. I'm glad to see they didn't leave this particular theme behind, even if they weren't that faithful to the original novel.

If you managed to read this far, thank you for taking the time out of your day to do so! And please be kind. Hong Lu is one of my favorite ever characters and I'm a big fan of the direction PM took with him. It might have been unintentional, but it was nontheless written well. Please share your thoughts with me, as long as it's polite!

#canto 8 spoilers #limbus company #hong lu #this is a pretty heavy subject but. i think ignoring how it could be interpreted in this way is pretty sad.#i dont really do analysis or metaposts but this is something thats pretty personal so yeah #please be nice to one another!#tw sa #tw csa #tw grooming

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avelera · 6 months ago

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Analysis: Why Jayce broke up with Mel in Arcane 2.08

Since the finale episodes of Arcane dropped this morning, I've been going back and re-watching some of my favorite scenes, and I was struck by Jayce breaking up with Mel.

First of all, yeah, he clearly does break up with her, though I missed how formally he does so on my first watch-through. He does it in the Council chamber, just before Viktor attacks. But since they get interrupted, he finishes breaking up with her (after checking in with her) on the balcony later.

But what really struck me about the breakup wasn't in those scenes, but actually back in 2.07, when Jayce is alone in cavern in the darkest timeline. I definitely didn't catch on the first viewing that this is where he chose to break up with her.

In the background, you can hear Jayce in the depths of his despair and solitude starts going over in his mind all the steps that led him to where he is.

Here are some of the quotes he hears:

"I never asked for this!" - Himself to Viktor, trying to justify his actions up to that point just before Viktor leaves him.

"This research is everything, my whole life," a quote from one of his first conversations with Viktor but, more importantly, it establishes Jayce's entire raison d'etre up to that point. Hextech research was his life.

"He was my mentor, Mel, and I betrayed him," obviously is Jayce discussing the coup d'etat against Heimerdinger he orchestrated to save Viktor, but it was with Mel's assistance and urging.

"You must destroy it. It corrupts. Consumes." A quote from Heimerdinger, warning against Hextech. Which must feel especially prescient now that Jayce is stuff in the evil bombed-out future where Hextech destroyed the world.

"I was trying to create magic." Jayce to the Council to defend his Hextech research and save himself from banishment, but, he only mentioned magic at Mel's goading, which I would guess he's beginning to recognize now for what it was in retrospect.

"It's your time now, Jayce." Mel, part of her goading of Jayce into advancing Hextech research and his political career.

"Perhaps it's time for the era of magic." Mel's words on the night she saw Hextech for the first time, after helping Jayce and Viktor break into Heimerdinger's lab.

"You must destroy it." Heimerdinger about the Hexcore, again, probably feeling pretty prescient right now with Jayce literally in the pit of despair in a the evil Hextech future.

Finally, while looking out over the fire while clearly going nearly insane from the isolation, Jayce begins to hallucinate seeing Mel. But then, her image in the fire gives way to Viktor's.

The decision has been made there. It's not just Jayce reflecting on his two closest loved ones (as I thought the first time), rather, it is the moment Jayce makes his decision: he is picking Viktor over Mel. He has decided that the reason he is here in this terrible place is because of Mel, not Viktor. He is choosing his partner, going back to what they had before she became involved in their life. His new course is set.

Now, I want to preface the next part by saying I love Mel, she's a fascinating character, and though I ship Jayvik I also ship/shipped MelJayVik, so this isn't coming from a place of bias. I'm just analyzing the material when I say these flashbacks were Jayce rearranging the narrative in his head and realizing Mel's been manipulating and goading him in his pursuit of Hextech.

Given where he is when this is happening: starving, freezing, in pain, alone for weeks if not months in a stone box, slowly going insane, surrounded by the burnt corpses of people destroyed by Hextech, I'd say... yeah. His need for someone to blame is pretty understandable. He even starts whispering, "No!" in a panic at the memories in response to what she says in his mind.

So when we get to the Council chamber in the main timeline in 2.08, I'd argue that Jayce is spoiling for a fight. He's had months of agony to decide things are over with Mel and that he's angry at her. He wants to blame her for what happened to Viktor, for what happened to him, and he's in pain and he wants to lash out. The relationship is definitely over.

But then Mel is in pain too. And Viktor shows up, with his own autonomy, showing that they all had their shitty parts to play in this drama.

The attack by Viktor adds another element, Jayce was probably also mourning that he had to shoot Viktor at that point, another thing that was painful and made him want to lash out and blame others for this horrible place he's in emotionally and the horrific place he's been in physically until recently.

It's only after Viktor's attack though that Jayce realizes that this situation is complex, it's not all Mel's fault. It would be easier to just pin all the blame on Mel and make Jayce and Viktor her victims, but Viktor shows to him that he has his own agency and Jayce needs to be clear-eyed going forward about who he is saving, because it's not "Mel's victim". Viktor is his own person.

Jayce also remembers some of the care he once had for Mel when he catches her before she falls (in a tender moment I mistook for a full reconciliation between them the first time but no, it's just him remembering he cares for her wellbeing). Jayce can't trust her anymore, after realizing just how adept she was at manipulating him without his realizing, but he does still care for her as a person. And he's cooled off enough to address the pain she is clearly carrying.

(I admit, I do love this moment of him calling himself an ass, because I adore Jayce but it's a lovely beat of self awareness and really shows his growth as a person that he can say this to someone that just hours before he was squaring up to fight against and blame for all his misfortunes.)

But anyway, the moments you really see that it's over between Mel and Jayce:

When he doesn't explain to her what happened to him. That's not for her to know anymore. He's decided that they're not together or intimate anymore. And he's probably still hurting from realizing how she's used what he told her in the past to encourage/manipulate him to her own ends and therefore wary of sharing. This is also a reason for the breakup: he can't share the immense pain he's been in because he can't trust her anymore, and he knows it. It's over.

In the scene on the balcony when he turns away from her instead of towards her before offering his advice. Jayce is very touchy-feely, he always offers physical comfort to his loved ones. But there, he deliberately turns away instead of taking her in his arms and comforting her. Again: it's over between them. But he still respects her. So he reminds her of how indomitable she is, along with offering the slight backhanded compliment born of his distrust for her: she's never the passenger, she is always the one in control. He knows, because he's realized she used to control him.

I've mentioned in other meta that this season deals in a lot of comeuppance for events in S1, and this is arguably Mel's. She'll be ok, she's got magical sun powers and she's the head of a powerful house now. But she doesn't get to keep Jayce in her life as her lover anymore after what she did, because she did manipulate him, even if she had good intentions mixed with the self-interested ones.

The trust is simply gone now. But he cares for her and wishes her well, so, I'd argue they parted on as good of terms as could be done.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #jayvik #jayce talis #mel medarda #it's about their relationship but I'm not putting it in that tag because it could come across as anti #but I'm not anti Mel this is just analyzing the text

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mammoth-clangen · 2 months ago

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D’you perchance have any thoughts on the morphological (for lack of a better word?) dire wolves that Colossal Biosciences just revealed to the public? 👀

Oh my god Aenocyon, you can't just ask someone why they're white!

"Morphological dire wolf" my ass. Which is coincidentally where Colossal pulled the white coats from…

Give me an example of a modern temperate/grassland predator that's white*, I'll wait. *Excluding white lions, which are an uncommon but resilient morph resulting from leucism.

I based my Aenocyon design off bushdogs and dholes. They are called Masked Wolves in Kindred's setting, because I enjoy a good pseudo hyena niche uvu-b

Extremely extremely long 'thoughts' below the cut lol c':

Preface: in this discussion the term "dire wolf" has too many meanings, as such I will be referring to them as follows:

Thrones' wolves: for the huge, white, fantasy animals from Game Of Thrones GMO wolves: for Romulus, Remus and Khaleesi, Colossal's creations, Canis lupus Aenocyon: for Aenocyon dirus, the true, extinct dire wolf known from fossils across North America

----

Part 1: That's not a dire wolf-

The first question everyone has been asking is "So, are dire wolves de extinct now?" The answer is an emphatic "NO!" from anyone with knowledge of genetics, palaeontology, or taxonomy.

Aenocyon dirus were actually not wolves, nor dogs, but a secret third thing.

They are canids, but last shared a common ancestor with grey wolves and their lineage some ~5.7 million years ago.

For context, this paper suggests a similar divergence time between genus Homo (humans, Neanderthals and co) and Pan (chimps and bonobos); animals that look and behave markedly differently from each other.

The genomes of Canis lupus and Aenocyon dirus being 99.5% similar may sound like a lot, but again, humans share 98.8% with chimps, and 99.7% with Neanderthals, and yet are very distinct from both.

Skeletally, behaviourally, in soft tissue, etc, you could tell any of the three apart; the same goes for Aenocyon and Canis members.

Additionally, Colossal made 20 changes in 14 genes.

The grey wolf genome has 2,447,000,000 base pairs. Does that maths seem a bit off to you?

That's not even enough to change a grey wolf into a domestic dog, let alone an ancient outgroup!

This would be akin to modifying a lion to have bigger teeth and saying you resurrected Smilodon fatalis.

Or editing a Asian Elephant genome so they retain their juvenile hair and calling it a Woolly Mammoth.

It's a bold-faced lie.

Beth Shapiro says "they look and act like dire wolves" but that, too,simply isn't true.

Visually, the GMO wolves simply aren't what Aenocyon would have looked like. It's what a Thrones' wolf looks like.

Hmmmmm, funny about that, seeing George R R Martin helped fund the 'dire wolf project'...

As with many fossil animals, we don't know much about Aenocyon's behaviour.

You can't say the GMO wolves (who are also still pups) act like Aenocyon, because that's based off nothing.

What we do know is Aenocyon were likely pack animals (from the sheer number found in La Brea Tarpits), and crunched more bones than modern wolves (from their many broken teeth).

Also, crucially, they had Wild Sex Lives (from the many, huge, broken and healed bacula... youch).

Colossal is also being colossally shady by: doubling down on their bs use of the outdated "morphological species definition", blatantly misleading the public with their use of the words 'cloning', 'dire wolves', and 'de extinction', and refusing to share their methods in a peer reviewed paper before going public with a clickbait headline.

Do not trust them with your Red wolves either. They're using coyote hybrids and considering what they deem 'close enough' for a dire wolf, I wouldn't put any money on the quality of their GMO red wolves either...

Also can I just say, whatever genes they modified to "make the skull larger" clearly didn't impact the lower jaw...

No, I'm not sorry for this image uvu-b (But for real look at that poor pup and his overbite jfc)

Part 2: -and if it was, that wouldn't be good either.

I fundamentally do not support de extinction.

No, not even for the Thylacine, not even for passenger pigeons, nor the dodo. Even my beloved Homotherium should be left in the past.

This might be an unexpected stance because I am, surprising no one, a big fan of extinct animals, megafauna and otherwise.

But the thing is, I'm an even bigger fan of actual, living animals.

The animal ethics of de extinction are dubious at best.

The surrogate dog mothers of the GMO wolves likely won't live good lives.

I wouldn't be surprised if they were destroyed after being used, because their bodies could contain feto microchimerisms and Colossal absolutely doesn't want their special wolf genome getting out.

I doubt the GMO wolves themselves will live a full life before they outgrow their hearts, like Ligers.

This would likely be the case for any modern animal genetically modified into megafauna; a body not adapted to deal with the increased size.

Purely conjecture, but I also wouldn't be surprised if Romulus, Remus and Khaleesi have vision/hearing issues from their white coats.

White coats in wolves are associated with hearing impairments, so the gene used for these animals was from domestic dogs. Meaning Colossal has created a very expensive wolfdog.

Again, what kind of life are these wolfdogs supposed to live? As awful pets for the rich? In a zoo? Released to pollute wild wolf genomes? (assuming they're fertile; I hope not)

Regardless, it's not looking good if they ever planned to have them be 'wild animals'

Even true clones (which the GMO wolves are not) tend to have health issues.

Celia the Pyrenean Ibex (bucardo) was cloned, but the clone died after 9 minutes from a deformed lung.

So in 2003, this made the bucardo the first species to go extinct twice, yippee?

There's also the problem of genetic diversity.

How many intact genomes do you have on hand?

For dire wolves the answer is Zero!

To my knowledge, we don't have the full genome coded from one individual, just Frankenstein-ed from many. Which is fine for sequencing the canine family tree's relatedness, but not for cloning.

The absolute minimum individuals to survive a genetic bottleneck is said to be 50 in larger species. Called the 50/500 rule, it states that 50 is enough to survive, but 500 is required to prevent genetic drift.

To which I say, good luck!

Even with well preserved permafrost species (such as woolly mammoths), you'll have a hard time finding 500 individuals with prefect genomes.

And then, where will you put them?

If you were to, somehow, make a breeding population, where are they going? A national park? A zoo? Is their old habitat still available to them?

In Aenocyon, the answer is simply "they don't have a niche anymore".

Unlike the Thylacine or Dodo, humans did not directly cause the extinction of Aenocyon dirus. And even if they had, it was 10,000 years ago!

Would making room for a de extinct species impact the habitat/niche of another species?

Regular grey wolves fill Aenocyon's role as a canine mesopredator, with Puma as the apex (alongside bears as an apex omnivore).

With the loss of megafauna to prey on, a de extinct predator would just compete with other, also endangered species.

Animals also change the environment they life in.

Mammoths will clear trees like modern elephants. This would recreate the Mammoth Steppe, but those trees making up the taiga and boreal forests are themselves crucial habitat.

Other species have moved in since the mammoths' extinction. Siberian tigers, lynx, muskoxen, brown bears, elk, moose, and so many others; many endangered.

Trees also prevent erosion, which is already happening at unprecedented rates due to agriculture and deforestation.

Crucially: What's to stop an extinct animal going the same way it went out last time?

Ask yourself this:

Would the average American appreciate "flocks of Passenger pigeons big enough to darken the sky and whiten ground with their guano"?

Would people suddenly be okay with lions in Europe eating their livestock, when they are champing the bit to shoot Iberian wolves again?

Would Tasmanians suddenly feel the same about the Thylacine, when farmers in Australia still happily kill dingoes and eagles for lamb predation? [citation, I am an enviro technician and have had farmers tell me they shoot Wedge-tails, knowing I'm a toothless lion to stop them.]

I doubt it

At what cost?

Are we going to find 50 thylacine genomes?

If so (doubtful), how much will cloning and/or modifying a relative into a thylacine cost? Now that x50?

Wouldn't that money be better spent on quoll reintroduction?

What about finding 50 gestational carriers for mammoths?

Are you going to use their closest relative; the already critically endangered Asian Elephant?

Wouldn't that time and effort on those elephant mothers be better used making more elephants?

And the social cost:

If extinction isn't forever, what's to incentivize lawmakers to fund conservation?

Really, it comes down to this:

Why bring back the dire wolf when we could put this money into protecting the Iberian and Red wolves?

Why bring back the thylacine when their cousin is dying of a transmissible cancer?

We've already seen the impacts of "extinction isn't forever anymore", with those in power already trying to cut funding to conservation, because you can "just bring them back".

But as we've seen time and time again: there is no Planet B. There is no De-Extinction, not really.

Maybe what was gone should stay gone, so we can focus on what we still have.

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the-bonfires-ember · 3 months ago

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fuck it ill do it myself

Being in a Relationship with Someone with NPD for Dummies

**I would like to open with the preface that if someone is not willing to work on their NPD or to work through elements of their mental illness that strains your relationship, then they are not ready to be in a relationship. I got super lucky in that my partner was over-therapised tbh and so is able and willing to make the accommodations I mention here but that will not be the case for everyone. Think it through carefully. Everyone deserves love, but they should never feel like they need to sacrifice their own wellbeing to give it and get it in return. Be safe and look after yourself**

This is written for people in romantic relationships but with some editing, it could be useful for platonic relationships also

So, the first thing I want to explain is Narc crashes. Maybe you've heard about them, maybe you haven't but understanding them is, I think, the most important piece of groundwork you could have. Think of NPD as a hard shell over something very soft and gooey. Anything can cause the shell to crack, even the most gentle of taps. And those cracks can vary in size, so that sometimes only a little bit of the insides ooze out, and sometimes a lot pours out all at once. Someone with NPD has built their ego and external image to shelter a typically very young and fragile version of themselves. And when that shell breaks, it can feel like an attack on that weaker part. NPD crashes look different depending on the person. For me, as an example, I get this overwhelming feeling that I am going to be discarded and left alone. Which is particularly unhelpful in a romantic relationship but we'll get there. For other people, depending on the severity, they could lash out, get very defensive, or start having ideas about self harm and suicide. I don't really get that bad anymore, but I also haven't crashed so catastrophically in recent months.

On to specific advice!

Make a plan of what to do in the case of a crash. This can be anything from, 'tell me that you still love me and that you aren't going to leave' to 'leave me alone, I can't regulate around other people'. It could be physical comfort, it could be getting them something sweet to eat when they are calmer, or it could be a bath. Have a conversation about it when you are both in a good mental state and make a plan. Keep in mind the differences in severity so that you know what to do and how to react.

When you have a problem, bring it up gently and carefully. When they are doing something that you want to question or ask for them to do differently, remember that they will take it badly if you handle it wrong. I don't mean 'just let them do whatever they want forever'. That is both unhelpful and unrealistic. Of course there are going to be things you need to discuss. Just be cautious about your words being interpreted as a threat to them. This can be another thing you discuss together ahead of time so that you can formulate a way of phrasing such things in a way that they feel more comfortable with.

Keep your emotions under control. If you are mad at your partner with NPD for something, get a hold of that anger by yourself first and then bring it up with them when you are calmer. Getting angry at someone with NPD creates a loop of them feeding off your anger, getting anxious and overwhelmed by the perceived aggressive nature of the conversation, and immediately going into defense mode - which tends to make you angrier and then it just loops around again and no one benefits from that. I mean, I think this applies to all relationships but taking out your own emotional responses on your partner is especially damaging when they have NPD. It hurts us much more deeply and for much longer.

To break those things down to their base components, you need to have a lot of patience and emotional maturity. Which is a big ask, and I'm sure there are people out there who have made it work somehow without those things. I don't know of any personally, but I'm sure it has happened before. Either way, make sure that the relationship works for you too. If you have to go to all this effort for the one you love, they should be willing to do the work for you too.

People with NPD deserve to be loved, but no one deserves having to hurt themselves to keep loving the one who is doing that harm in the first place.

Mental health is complicated. Personality disorders are complicated. Frankly, people are complicated. Maybe some of what I've said is valuable to you and your partner, and maybe none of it is and you are still able to be in a healthy relationship, even if it looks different to mine. And that's great! As long as it works for you both, do whatever you want forever.

Just be safe and take care of yourself first and foremost.

#cluster b #actually narcissistic #actually aspd #npd #actually npd #aspd #npd safe #aspd safe #cluster b safe #relationships

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dearmyloveleys · 2 months ago

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A directing and producing perspective on this WHC1 scene and why I think it’s 100% romantic in nature

Just to preface, I completely agree why some will argue that Sieun and Suho are platonic. There are so many scenes between them that I arguably will even do the same for my friends. I can even excuse the scene where Suho says Sieun is warm hearted in the hospital room and their mini training session by the Hangang. But this scene in the screen grab. THIS.

There is absolutely no reason for this scene to be shot and directed the way it is without leading the audience’s minds. There are zero heterosexual thoughts going through each of the characters’ minds in this scene and the scene direction, even way before when Suho goes to Sieun’s cram school to pick him up. Zero. Zilch. Nada. This scene was not casual at all.

1. Suho picking Sieun up from cram school

First of all, we need to understand that in film, blocking and scripting work hand in hand. Most of the time, these two work so well together that they form cliches in genres of film, especially for TV series. They form how a scene is shot for each line said/unsaid and guides the viewers in their processing and understanding of the scene. The moment Suho shows up on his motorbike waiting only for Sieun outside school, alarm bells go off in my head — dude why does this feel like a typical date scene in teen romance shows. Unless you’re a parent or sibling, you likely to be their romantic partner coming to pick em up.

There is this trope you must know about if you watched and read enough romance shows and books, especially het romances. I call this the “I don’t know why I came but I came anyway because I just want to see you”

Character A: *shows up at Character B’s house”

Character B: “What’s up?”

Character A: “Nothing. You wanna go out?”

If not dating, these characters are on the cusp of asking each other out — It’s almost scene for scene, line by line from Suho. And the way Suho just perches outside the cram school so casually waiting to pick Sieun up, it’s so unbelievably partner coded when it falls into that typical romance trope.

2. Suho wearing the helmet for Sieun

It doesn’t help that Suho takes up the helmet, wears it for Sieun and says, “Cute”. Cute? *throws up in the toilet* Suho absolutely is flirting again. And as many others have already pointed out, Sieun hates physical touch but he just goes along with it when it comes to Suho. This entire scene is a good example of that. He has absolutely 0 physical reaction to any of Suho’s advances, and if you watch the scene where Suho places the helmet on Sieun slowly, Sieun’s hands drop to his sides immediately when the helmet is taken out of his hands by Suho.

There’s not even a moment where he freezes and doesn’t understand what’s happening. It’s so adorable — it’s him saying: okay you do it for me. Wear this helmet for me. Dear lord. If I want to be delulu even further, not only does Sieun go along with it, you can even analyse it as Sieun being pliant.

And of course, the highlight of this entire scene, Sieun’s endless ocean eyes at Suho when they arrive at the apartment block to deliver food.

3. When you give me those ocean eyes

From the entire series alone, I can tell all the actors are very much purposeful and directed in their acting. Whatever that needs to be shown is shown. There really isn’t a need for nearly 10-15s of screen time just solely focused on Sieun staring at Suho like that. Like what? Like he’s absolutely infatuated, and we know Park Jihoon’s eyes tell one hell of a story if he wants them to.

Also to reiterate: 10s of a show’s screentime easily translates to 10min of irl action with multiple takes. That scene is directed for about 10-15min irl — it is on purpose to tell the audience about something. We as creatives can’t really put a scene in for shits and giggles. It tells us that something is probably going on between Suho and Sieun but they don’t want to handle that, so this is my guess: they do not show Suho’s close-up reaction shots at all to perform a certain damage control.

4. Production team probably deleted Suho’s reaction shots because it got too gay

🧎‍♀️ If they had included it, it would have just been too high on the gay radar. Because let’s face it, we’d have so many more edits and media noise of that scene if we had Suho’s reaction clips. It’s even worse, because the production team would have definitely filmed reaction shots for Suho and they’re purposefully not adding him into the final product. The post-production team highly likely edited a version of this where both Sieun and Suho were included, but it turned out too romantic so they only kept Sieun in.

A typical, platonically passing scene will be something like their Hangang lesson: you can go check it out, both Sieun and Suho have their respective reaction shots edited in there.

Just for Sieun alone, it’s already filmed with a blocking that’s so romantically shot — a close up, 3/4 profile shot of him staring up at Suho with a soft light illuminating his face, and Suho’s hands would have been on his face if not for the helmet.

In this exact moment in my article header image, it looks like either one is going to kiss the other. The image by the official Waave site doesn’t help: What, am I looking at a romance OST album cover for School 2015? And Suho lifts the visor and pats Sieun’s head again. Patting, alright, whatever.

But the lifting of the visor seems like such an additional step that’s not needed, but it comes so naturally from Suho. Why does he need to do that? 🤨 Plausibly, he’s still physically flirting here. It’s highly likely that he’s flirting with Sieun the entire scene, from picking him up to tricking him into doing the delivery.

5. Conclooooosions

Just like how Sieun grows to be comfortable with physical promixity and touch with Suho, Suho begins to be a tad bit more touchy with Sieun than his usual physical self. Furthermore from what I can grasp, I don’t believe Suho is one to initiate a hangout outside of serious matters (aka beating enemies up), it’s always either Beomseok or Yeongyi.

Hell, even Suho isn’t willing to get out of his comfort zone to help Sieun initially, and now, he’s skipping work, going up to Sieun on his bike for a surprise date. And Sieun? He’s not studying to spend time with Suho. It’s always the going out of one’s usual routines that indicate a change in a relationship and feelings.

These scenes means an awful lot because there is just so much unsaid behind Suho’s actions and Sieun’s eyes. It drives me mad mad. There is absolutely a tension going on between them that is glossed over in these scenes. It’s the only scene that I cannot really find myself excusing to not be romantic in nature. Dare I even say, in whatever untold story there is behind these scenes that night, it intensifies both of Sieun’s and Suho’s motivations behind the actions they take in the next/last few episodes.

#and they put my boy suho in a coma!#that’s essentially how uk when a queer couple is supposed to be together #when they kill off one of the two #I started writing this at 6.30am and now it’s 8am #thanks for attending my ted talk #needed to get this off my chest #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class one #whc1 #kdrama #yeon sieun #ahn suho

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mayajadewrites · 4 months ago

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── .✦ Renaissance - Levi Ackerman .✦ ──

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ levi x fem reader

summary: levi leaves you in the underground for the scouts, only for him to find you again in marley when the war is over. however, nothing about you is the same as it once was. you are not the same person you were 12 years ago. cw: canon universe, smut, fluff, yearning ao3 authors note: there are several things in this story that are not canon to the original AOT storyline (like Levi needing a wheelchair) but I will warn you if/when those things come up.

chapter notes: bit of an angsty chapter! thank you all so much for your support and comments, it really makes me happy that you want me to continue this story. if you would like to be added to the tag list, just ask! <3

tag list: @ackerboi, @staarflowerr, @midw1nter, @glads-stuff, @nxcxllxsevens

preface - chapter one - chapter two

CHAPTER THREE

Every part of your body wanted him. Wanted to engulf yourself in him, never letting him go again. His hands on your body felt like they belonged there, his kisses frantic as his hands run up and down your curves.

Your heart belongs to him - even 12 years later.

But your brain is screaming at you to push him away.

In today's battle, your brain won.

You push your hands on his chest a bit rougher than the last time, turning to take the cash he handed you out of your bag and giving it back to him. "I can't, Levi."

He gave you a emotionless expression, like the last few minutes didn't even happen. "You're going to refuse money like that? Good money?"

"It's not about the money, Levi!" You press your hands to your eyes, tears threatening to spill down your face. "You left me alone for 12 years! I had no one, I had to take care of myself the minute you left. But I guess it's my fault for relying so much on you."

The tension was thick in the room, silence louder than any voice could be.

You sit down on the bed, your gaze moving to the floor as a sign leaves your lips.

For the first time in years, Levi says your name with such softness that you almost don't believe it's him.

"Look at me." He moves to stand in front of you, his eyes roaming your face as if to look for some sign of softness.

When you bring your eyes to his, it takes everything in you not to completely give into him. But you have a sliver of strength left.

"Why would you even want me now? I'm... stained. Ruined."

"What makes you think that?" He moves to sit next to you on the bed, his thigh grazing against yours ever so slightly. "There's not one stain on you."

You bring your eyes to his, and it was like you were transported back in time to when you were teenagers, just trying to survive on the streets of the Underground.

"I sell my damn body for money, Levi. I'm filthy."

"Hey." He brought his left hand to your face, his index finger pressing to the underside of your chin. "That doesn't mean you're stained or dirty."

"I never wanted this." You look away from him, refusing to keep eye contact. "I had no other options."

You resented him so, so much. If he came back and told you to stop this, you would have. Without hesitation.

But this was the only thing you felt like you had control over in your life. Doing this allowed you to have a bed to sleep in and 3 meals a day.

There were nights when men would physically hurt you, and they felt that they could because they paid for it. Many mornings you woke up with a black eye, purple bruises sore on your skin with marks from the fingers of your clients. No one respects the people of the Underground, they're a subspecies to the people above.

"Please leave, Levi. You can get your services from someone else." You turn your head quickly, his hand falling from your face. "And don't come back."

You refused to look at him. You couldn't. Because the minute you did, all of the words you just said would mean nothing. You bite down on your bottom lip, the slight pain distracting you from Levi's gaze burning a hole in your skull.

He put the wad of cash back on your lap before standing up, buttoning his shirt and putting his jacket back on. But you held your ground, looking the other way - out of the window that had a perfect view of the full moon.

You could have sworn it looked exactly the way you did the night Levi left.

Tonight, he left again.

Weeks passed. Days of avoiding the street that Levi's tea shop is on.

But this morning, you woke up earlier than usual and decided to walk around the streets, enjoying the silence.

You see balloons at the front door of his shop, a sign saying "OPEN" that's almost to your hip as you walk by.

It looks different from the last time you were here. Granted, it wasn't technically open yet, but within weeks Levi really put this place together.

Through the windows, which were so clean you almost couldn't decipher if they were actually there or not, you saw gray painted walls, with plants comfortably decorating the space. Some small tables occupy the space, and then you see him. His back is to the window, the muscles of his shoulders flexing as he wipes down the tables.

Your breath hitches as you watch him, knowing he has a crease between his brows as he cleans the surfaces. He always was so meticulous when it came to cleaning that he would spend hours making sure any space he was occupying was spotless.

He's always wanted this. Always.

Levi used to tell you about how he wants to open a tea shop one day, and that he used to talk to his mom about it before she passed away.

"We used to always have tea together in the morning." He would say with a soft smile on his face. "I was the only kid in the brothel, so the other women would pinch my cheeks and tell me how handsome I am. Our tea time in the morning was what I woke up for."

"I'm sure she's so proud of you Levi. Even now." Your voice was quieter than usual as you look in his eyes, gently pressing your hand to his knee as you both sit against a brick wall, the night sky enveloping you both.

When he looked at you, he saw his entire world in front of him.

And that was the first time he kissed you.

You look above the door of the shop, noticing the small sign with the name of the shop.

Kuchel's.

A single tear rolled down your cheek before Levi opened the door to his shop. When his eyes found yours, you notice his gaze was softer than it had been the last time you were there.

You and Levi often communicated without words, only your eyes.

His eyes were begging you to come in.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #snk levi #levi #levi aot #levi snk #levi attack on titan #aot levi #captain levi #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan

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krakensdottir · 2 years ago

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A scene I wanted to address, because I think we need to, because there is some understandable concern over this.

So, Aziraphale's first taste of human food... he goes pretty nuts. He eats it as fast as he can get it down. He can barely stop to breathe. And I can see why that evokes the Greedy Fat Person trope for some.

Given that Gaiman is no fan of fatphobia, I'm pretty sure that's not the intent. But I won't lean on that. I'll go further, and explain what that scene evoked for me, and see if it makes sense to anyone else.

(To preface, I'm a fat person with blood sugar problems who DOES eat like a starving animal and has 0 shame about it. So I'm not just Not Seeing It because of skinny privilege etc. To get that out of the way.)

So first off, of course, it's his first EVER attempt at eating human food. The absolute lack of moderation could be explained by that alone. But I think it's significant that it's specifically meat.

Those who are familiar with the Old Testament know what I mean when I say that God is carnivorous. It's the entire reason he was a bitch to Cain and not to Abel. The Abrahamic god was one of many at the time that accepted burnt animal offerings, before later revisions attempted to wave that away because oops, it sounds too pagan. Flesh of livestock was a common and expected offering, and burning it assured that the smell and smoke and 'essence' would rise to the heavens.

With that in mind, consider what the taste of meat would do to an angel. What it might awaken in them, the first of God's creations?

Maybe it's the monster-lover in me, but I didn't see a fat man gobbling food. I saw an inhuman ancient entity of immense power that only disguises itself as a man, briefly succumbing to a primal and Earthly urge. It wasn't comical to me. It was almost frightening, in a very intentional way. Rarely do we see through the human guise in this series, see just how eldritch these ethereal beings really are, especially Aziraphale. But here he is, ripping almost uncontrollably into the flesh of another life-form with ominous music and thunder overlying the whole scene, and a demon staring at him with intense satisfaction and fascination throughout.

That's what I took from it. If I had to guess, I'd say that's closer to the intent. Again, partly from knowing the author, but also from the way the scene is shot. We're watching an angel partake in literal pleasures of the flesh for the first time, taking formerly living matter into his body. I can totally vibe with Crowley's reaction, tbh.

#go s2 spoilers #good omens #I know we know they're not human but I think the implications of that are often missed #and I think it's VERY significant to understanding the tone of this scene

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nhmkhnh · 18 days ago

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too close to home.

pairings: vi x fem!reader

preface: your best friend’s mom shouldn’t look at you like that — and you shouldn’t like it. but you do.

author's note: mom's best friend? now we got best friend's mom!

wrn: lowercase, suggestive at some part. list: flirty!vi ;; age gap (v: 39 ;; r: 19)

next part / navigation.

the first time you meet vi, it’s by accident. you were supposed to hang out with your best friend, but she texted you last minute that she’d be late. you didn’t expect anyone else to be home, let alone her.

the door swings open before you can knock twice. and there she is.

tall. built like someone who could crush you with a look. messy rose-pink hair pulled into a low ponytail. sweatpants hanging low on her hips, white tank top clinging to her figure. there’s a half-finished tattoo sleeve on one arm, a scar peeking out from her collarbone.

she leans against the doorframe with one hand and tilts her head.

“well hey, sweetheart. you her new little friend?”

you stammer something close to “yes,” but she’s already turning around, leaving the door open behind her like an invitation.

vi walks barefoot back into the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge. “c’mon in, baby. she’ll be back soon. you want anything? water? juice? you look like you might pass out.”

you sit awkwardly on the couch while she moves around, calling you baby like it's normal, like it's not making your stomach twist in ways it shouldn’t. she’s so casual, like she doesn’t even notice the way your eyes keep flicking to her tattoos. her hips. her voice.

but then she catches your stare. smirks over her shoulder. walks a little slower as she brings you the glass.

“eyes up here, sweetheart.”

and fuck. you think you're in trouble.

it’s supposed to be another hangout with your best friend. just a movie night. but she bails again, something about practice running late.

vi opens the door this time with a beer in one hand and a little smile on her lips like she knew you were coming.

“well hey again, baby,” she says, like it’s an inside joke now. “your girl’s not home yet. you gonna ditch me again or… stay for dinner?”

you hesitate. you should leave.

but vi’s wearing a loose, cropped hoodie that barely touches the waistband of her joggers. her nails are painted black. there’s music playing softly from the kitchen—something old and sexy, like soul or r\&b. she tips her head toward the dining table where two plates are already out.

“you don’t look like the kinda girl who skips a home-cooked meal,” she murmurs, walking past you. “c’mon. sit. let mama vi take care of you.”

mama vi.

you try to laugh it off, but she notices—of course she does. she notices everything. the way you bite your lip. how you can’t meet her eyes when she sits across from you and props her elbow on the table, chin in her palm, watching you eat like you’re more interesting than her food.

she reaches over mid-meal to wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth with her thumb. her touch is gentle. too familiar. she doesn’t move right away.

“there we go, baby,” she murmurs, voice low. “can’t have you lookin’ messy.”

you don’t speak for a whole five seconds after that. not because you’re shy—because your heart is racing, and she knows it.

later, when your best friend finally gets home, she finds the two of you on the couch laughing about something dumb. you’re flushed. vi’s sitting too close. and your best friend narrows her eyes.

“… were you flirting with my mom?”

vi just chuckles low in her throat. “relax, sweetheart,” she says. “i’m old, not blind.”

but she doesn’t stop calling you baby.

it’s storming out when you show up this time. not planned—just instinct. you were nearby, rain caught you off-guard, and before you could think, you were on her porch, soaked to the skin and shivering.

vi opens the door, looks you over once, and immediately steps aside.

“jesus, baby, you’re freezing. get in here.”

you try to protest—you really do—but vi’s already tugging you inside and peeling off your wet jacket, hands grazing your arms like a slow burn. you can barely focus with her so close, warmth radiating off her body in waves.

“you’re shaking,” she mutters, voice lower now. “sit down.”

you obey without thinking. you always do with her. she disappears into her bedroom for a second and comes back holding one of her old hoodies—massive on you, soft and worn and smelling like her cologne.

“arms up,” she says.

you hesitate, but she’s already tugging your soaked shirt over your head like it’s nothing. her eyes flicker for a second—low and deliberate—before she drapes the hoodie over you and zips it up halfway. you’re drowning in it. she likes that.

“there we go,” she murmurs, voice thick. “my good girl.”

you don’t know what to say. you can’t say anything. your pulse is thundering in your ears, your mouth is dry, and vi knows. she watches you, like she can hear it too.

she kneels in front of you, hands braced on your thighs. not in a dirty way. just steady. present. too present.

“you gotta take better care of yourself, sweetheart,” she says softly, eyes locked on yours. “a pretty thing like you shouldn’t be runnin’ around in the cold.”

you nod dumbly. and she—fuck—she reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear. thumb grazing your cheek, slow, like she wants you to feel it.

“you okay now?”

no.

but you nod again.

vi stands, eyes lingering a moment longer than they should.

“good,” she whispers. “stay awhile. i like the company.”

you come over wearing lip gloss and a tiny skirt. you weren’t trying to be noticed, not really… but vi sees you the second you walk through the door.

and she doesn’t look away.

“damn, baby,” she mutters under her breath, eyes dragging down your legs, slow. “where the hell were you dressed like that?”

you blink, a little stunned by the heat in her tone. “i had class.”

“uh-huh,” she hums, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “you flirt like that with your professors too, or just the boys?”

you laugh awkwardly, cheeks hot. “what boys?”

vi quirks an eyebrow. “mhm. don’t play dumb with me, sweetheart. that one kid—what’s his name? tall, always tries to ‘walk you home.’”

“oh, connor?”

“connor,” she echoes, like the name tastes bad in her mouth. “he touch you?”

you blink again. “wh—no?”

vi smiles. but it’s not nice. it’s something else. sharp. hot. possessive.

“good,” she murmurs. “i’d hate to think someone else got their hands on you first.”

you freeze.

she steps closer. her voice drops like a trap. “you ever let him call you baby?”

“n-no.”

“mm. that’s mine then.”

you forget how to breathe.

vi’s fingers graze your chin, turning your face just enough to look at her fully. her expression is unreadable. hungry, maybe. curious. dangerous.

“you look so fuckin’ pretty when you’re flustered,” she whispers. “you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, huh?”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

she smiles—slow, wicked—and taps your cheek twice with her fingers before stepping away, leaving you stunned.

and before she disappears into the kitchen again, she calls over her shoulder:

“skirt’s cute, baby. but next time? wear it for me.”

it’s late. your best friend’s knocked out upstairs after a movie marathon. you should be sleeping in her room too.

but vi finds you on the couch with a blanket wrapped around your legs and your eyes barely staying open.

“you not tired, baby?” she asks, leaning over the back of the couch, so close you can smell her shampoo. “it’s past midnight.”

you shrug, voice soft. “didn’t wanna wake her. she sleeps like a rock.”

vi chuckles, walking around and dropping onto the couch beside you. she's wearing a fitted black tee and gray sweats that hang low on her hips. her tattoos peek out under the fabric. her arm brushes yours—just barely—but it’s enough to spike your pulse.

she hands you a glass of water. watches you drink it.

then, out of nowhere: “you get nightmares?”

you blink. “what?”

vi doesn’t look at you. just stares ahead, thumb tracing the condensation on her beer bottle.

“i used to, when i was your age,” she says quietly. “didn’t sleep good unless someone was close by.”

you swallow. her voice is low, almost… vulnerable.

“i don’t really get nightmares,” you mumble. “just… i dunno. it gets lonely.”

vi finally turns to you. her gaze is soft this time, but no less intense.

“you don’t have to be lonely here, baby.”

a beat of silence. the air shifts.

then she pats her thigh gently and tilts her head. “c’mere.”

you hesitate. “wh-what?”

“you’re falling asleep anyway. i won’t bite. just rest your head, sweetheart.”

you try to protest, but your body moves on its own. you curl against her side, cheek resting on her thigh, blanket draped over your back. her fingers find your hair without asking. they scratch gently at your scalp, slow and rhythmic, and you melt before you can think.

“see?” she murmurs. “told you. you always sleep better when i’m close.”

you don’t remember falling asleep. but in the middle of the night, you stir for just a moment—and feel her fingertips brushing your cheek. barely there. tender.

and then her voice, so quiet it could’ve been a dream:

“my sweet girl.”

you’re helping vi cook. your best friend ran to the store for ice cream. it’s just you and her in the kitchen. music’s playing—low and sultry—and you’re cutting vegetables while vi leans against the counter drinking her beer, watching you like you’re the damn main course.

“careful, baby,” she says, eyes locked on your hands. “you’re holding that knife all wrong.”

you blink. “i’m fine—”

she’s behind you in a heartbeat. her hand wraps around your wrist, her other one lightly sliding over your waist. chest to your back. you freeze.

“like this,” she murmurs in your ear. “let me show you, pretty girl.”

her voice goes low and dangerous on “pretty girl,” like she knows exactly what it does to you.

she adjusts your grip slowly, her fingers curling around yours. her chest brushes your back, warm and firm, and you can feel her smile against your neck when your breath catches.

“there,” she whispers. “good girl.”

you drop the knife.

it clatters onto the counter, forgotten.

vi doesn’t move away.

instead, she gently turns you around, and suddenly your hips are against the edge of the counter and her arms are caging you in.

“you okay?” she asks, way too close, way too tender.

you nod. barely.

she studies you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest rises like you’re running out of air.

and then she chuckles, soft and low. “you always look at me like that.”

“like what?” you whisper.

“like you want me to ruin you.”

you don’t deny it. can’t.

her fingers trail down the side of your neck, just once. “tell me to stop,” she says.

you don’t say a word.

so vi steps back—but not far. her eyes don’t leave you. not for a second.

“next time,” she murmurs, licking her lips. “we’ll see if you really mean it.”

and right then?

your best friend walks in, and everything snaps back to normal. but vi doesn’t look away.

neither do you.

it starts with a bruise.

just a stupid bump on your knee from tripping on a stair at uni — nothing serious. but vi notices the second you curl up on the couch, skirt tugged up too high, exposing the purpling mark on your thigh.

“what the hell is that?” her voice is low, sharp. controlled.

you glance down. “it’s nothing. i tripped.”

vi’s across the room before you blink. she kneels in front of you, her hands warm and strong as they gently tug your leg toward her.

“let me see.”

you stiffen. her palms are broad on your bare thigh, and she’s staring at the bruise like it personally offended her.

“i said it’s fine.”

“i didn’t ask if it was fine.”

you go quiet. her grip isn’t tight, but it’s steady — thumb brushing the tender skin around the bruise, touch reverent, like she wants to fix it with her hands.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” she murmurs, voice rough.

you swallow. “it’s not a big deal.”

“it is to me.”

you’re not sure what to say to that. and she must sense it, because suddenly her tone shifts — softer now, but laced with something dangerous.

“you shouldn’t wear skirts this short if you’re not careful, baby.”

your breath catches.

“you don’t like my skirt?” you ask, too brave, too quiet.

vi huffs a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. her hands slide just slightly higher. “i didn’t say that.”

“then what?”

she looks up at you — and you swear her pupils blow wide. there’s heat there. longing. and restraint hanging by a thread.

“i like it too much.”

the silence hangs like fog. her hands are still on your thighs. you don’t move. neither does she.

then her voice drops lower, dangerous and velvet-soft:

“you ever wear something like this for that boy? connor?”

you shake your head.

“good.” her thumb strokes slow circles into your skin. “only wear it for me.”

your heart slams against your ribs. “why?”

vi leans in, closer, lips ghosting your bare knee.

“because i’ll take better care of you than any boy ever could.”

and then she kisses the bruise.

soft. tender. like a fucking promise.

you nearly choke on your own breath.

she pulls back, eyes unreadable now. but her hands don’t leave you. and her voice? still like honey and thunder.

“you scared, baby?”

you shake your head, barely.

“didn’t think so.”

she stands, ruffles your hair, and walks away.

but she doesn’t go far.

just into the kitchen. watching.

waiting.

like a wolf with her favorite thing finally in reach.

it’s late. the house is quiet. you’re curled on the couch again, knees tucked up, hoodie drowning your frame.

vi’s hoodie.

she notices the second she walks in from her run. her hair’s damp, her tank clings to every sculpted line of her body, and she freezes in the doorway like she’s been punched.

“you raided my closet?” she teases, trying to sound light.

you peek up over the collar. “didn’t think you’d mind.”

her lips twitch. “i don’t.”

she walks past you into the kitchen, muscles flexing with every step. you’re watching her too closely. she knows. you know she knows. but neither of you say anything until you do.

“you always act like you care,” you say suddenly, voice softer than it should be. “like you’re… watching out for me.”

vi’s footsteps still. she half-turns, beer bottle in hand, sweat glistening at her collarbone.

“i do care.”

you smile—bittersweet. “but not enough, right?”

she stiffens.

you keep going, reckless now. “i’m not a kid. i see how you look at me. and i keep wondering… why don’t you ever do anything?”

vi moves slow. controlled. sets the bottle down. then steps back into the living room with a silence that feels loaded.

“you really want to ask me that, baby?”

your heart thunders. “maybe.”

she stops right in front of you.

“you think i don’t want to do something?” her voice is a whisper and a growl. “you think i haven’t already played out every way i could ruin you in my head?”

you freeze.

“i come home to you wrapped in my damn hoodie, legs tucked up like you’re mine. you fall asleep on my couch like you belong here. and you ask why i haven’t done anything?”

her eyes are fire now. barely leashed.

“you’re nineteen,” she says low. “you’re sweet. you smile at me like i built the fucking sky. if i touch you the way i want to, i won’t stop.”

you breathe, but it shakes.

“then don’t stop.”

silence.

then, a curse under her breath. her hand goes to her jaw, tense. she paces back once—twice—then spins around and growls:

“say that again.”

you meet her eyes. don’t flinch. “don’t stop.”

that’s when she loses it.

her palm finds the wall beside your head as she crowds you into the couch, her body all heat and muscle and years of restraint cracking open like thunder.

but she doesn’t kiss you.

not yet.

just stares, inches from your lips, voice wrecked.

“keep teasing me like that, sweet girl,” she whispers, “and i swear i won’t be able to hold back much longer.”

and then she pulls away.

you’re trembling.

so is she.

she disappears upstairs.

but that night? you hear her pacing. her door never closes.

and when you fall asleep? you’re still wearing her hoodie.

still wanting her hands.

it’s late again.

you’re in the kitchen in nothing but a tiny tank and loose sleep shorts — vi’s sleep shorts, oversized and slung low on your hips. the fridge light casts your figure in a soft blue glow as you bend down for a glass of water.

you don’t know she’s there.

you don’t hear her come in.

but you feel it.

the silence behind you. the electric pause. and then her voice, low and raspy:

“you’re not wearing a bra.”

you jolt upright. turn too fast. she’s leaning in the doorway, all shadow and heat, her arms crossed, eyes burning as they drag down your body slow — slow enough that your skin prickles.

you try to speak, but nothing comes.

vi tilts her head. “you always dress like this when you're alone in someone else’s kitchen?”

you swallow. “didn’t know anyone was up.”

“oh, i’m up,” she murmurs, voice like gravel. “very up.”

you freeze.

and she grins — slow, predatory, dangerous.

“you’ve been playing with me, baby. wearing my clothes. giving me those eyes. whispering things and walking away like i wouldn’t do something about it.”

she steps forward.

you take a breath. “i didn’t mean to—”

“bullshit.”

now she’s inches away, towering over you, breath brushing your lips.

“you know exactly what you’ve been doing. and i’ve been good, haven’t i? so fucking good.”

you nod — barely.

her hand comes up — hovers by your cheek — doesn’t touch.

“but tonight, sweet girl,” she whispers, “you’re wearing my boxers, no bra, in my house. you tell me what that means.”

your knees go weak.

she doesn’t wait. doesn’t blink.

just says:

“tell me to stop. right now. one word.”

silence.

she leans in.

“i said, baby… one word.”

you whisper, “don’t.”

and that’s it.

she has you pressed against the fridge in a second, one hand braced above your head, the other gripping your waist like she owns it.

she doesn’t kiss you.

she hovers.

lets your breath tangle.

lets your lips brush hers once—twice—before she pulls back and growls:

“next time, i’m not stopping at the fridge.”

and then?

she steps back. walks out barefoot, tank clinging to her back.

leaving you alone.

throbbing.

shaking.

and completely hers.

it starts at the party.

your best friend’s birthday — packed house, cheap drinks, music shaking the walls. you shouldn’t even be there this late. shouldn’t still be wearing that little backless dress that hugs your hips and clings like sin.

vi’s in the kitchen, talking to some guy you don’t know. laughing. smiling in that tight, polite way she always does when she’s bored.

you can’t look away.

and then she sees you.

her eyes drag up your legs, slow and burning. her smile dies.

you smirk.

you sip your drink.

you keep talking to the boy beside you — cute, college-age, hand resting just a little too high on your thigh.

vi’s across the room in seconds.

“hey.” her voice is low. controlled. too calm. “can i talk to you?”

you blink. “now?”

“now.”

you excuse yourself. follow her out to the empty hallway.

she doesn’t say anything at first. just stares.

then?

“you think this is a fucking game?” she growls.

you flinch — not in fear. in thrill.

“what—”

“that dress. that boy. sitting there all sweet like your thighs weren’t on display. i’ve been good. i’ve been so good. but you keep testing me, baby.”

you take a breath. “maybe i wanted you to fail.”

that does it.

she pins you to the wall before you can blink.

one hand on your waist, the other at your jaw, tilting your face up like you’re something delicate. but her eyes? they’re wild. burning. ravenous.

“you want me to ruin you that badly?” she whispers.

you don’t answer.

you can’t.

so she kisses you.

finally.

like a dam breaking. like lightning in your blood.

it’s not soft. it’s years of hunger. months of restraint cracked wide open. her mouth is hot, claiming, tongue licking into yours like she’s starved for your taste.

you moan against her. she swallows it whole.

her hand slips under your dress, resting on your bare thigh. “you wore this for me, didn’t you?”

“yes,” you gasp.

she bites your lower lip. pulls. “say it again.”

“i wore it for you.”

she presses closer, her hips against yours, grinding just enough to make your head spin.

“you’re mine now, baby,” she murmurs. “say it.”

you whisper it, eyes fluttering shut: “i’m yours.”

she kisses you again.

harder.

like you’ve just signed your soul over.

and maybe you have.

because when she finally pulls back, breathing hard, lips swollen, eyes dark?

you already know—

there’s no going back.

you’re not just her best friend’s daughter anymore.

you’re her girl now.

and god help anyone who tries to take you away.

#vi x reader #violet x reader #vi arcane #arcane

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