cosmicmunsonwrites · 3 days ago
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i’ll drive, i’ll drive all night
bf!rafe cameron x fem!reader
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cw — alcohol, brief talks abt arguing, this is lowk short
summary — you drunk call rafe for a ride home from your friends house.
a/n — whipped this up in a few minutes so please don’t be too harsh. request!!
do not copy or post my work anywhere else.
you sat outside with the warm breeze as you waited on the steps to your best friends house for your boyfriend to pick you up. you were completely out of it, eyes feeling heavy, body all soft and feeling like jelly from the copious amounts of alcohol coursing through you.
you’d probably had one too many drinks and you were expecting a lecture from rafe when he arrived but you were too far past the point of caring. you just wanted to see him and go home after the terrible day you’d had.
the two of you had argued earlier in the afternoon which eventually led to you both parting ways and not speaking for a few hours. you were both very opinionated and you had attitudes that often didn’t mix well when you were frustrated. one of you usually apologized though and you guys moved past it.
this one was different though. you knew you’d been a little mean in your replies but you also felt like he deserved a little reality check. you currently couldn’t even remember why you were arguing due to your drunken state, but you knew it was something you guys could easily get over. you two would probably forget about it by morning anyway.
when you finally saw the big truck pull into the driveway, you quickly stood and almost immediately regretted the sudden action. your head began to spin and a pain accumulated behind your eyelids as you drunkenly stumbled to his car. he was standing on the passengers side waiting for you.
once you approached after tripping over your own feet, he opened up the door for you without a word and helped you up the big step to get inside. he shut it behind you and made his way into his own seat. he assured you had your seatbelt on and began reversing out of the driveway without a word.
“i’m sorry,” you slurred quietly, noticing the way both his hands held the steering wheel instead of one of them resting on your thigh. “didn’t know who else to call.”
you heard him sigh and begin to drive. “would rather you call me than anyone else,” he admitted honestly and spared a glance in your direction. his heart broke a little at the soft pout on your lips and the sad glint in your eyes. “‘nd i’m not mad at you, baby. ‘s fine.”
your eyes glistened with tears as you looked at him. “you’re not?” you mumbled under your breath, eyes feeling heavier and your head getting all foggy.
he shook his head with a shrug and gently rested his hand on your lower thigh just above your knee, thumb soothing over your skin reassuringly. “could never be mad at you,” he said before the car fell into a comfortable silence. the only sound being the quiet song playing on his radio.
you didn’t know when you fell asleep or how long it’d been since, but you began to wake to the sight of rafe standing in front of you looking extremely focused and a soft towel being dragged carefully over your cheeks. you were sat on the bathroom counter with your legs spread slightly and him standing between them with majority of your body weight leaning against his.
he was holding your jaw in one hand while the other hand did what you assumed was taking off your makeup. when you finally fluttered your eyes open for real this time, he scanned your face and placed the towel down on the counter. “you have fun tonight?”
you nodded and smiled softly. “mhm. morgan’s friends are really nice. the bar was so cool,” you replied, awkwardly rubbing your hands along your thighs not knowing whether or not it was appropriate to touch him. “‘m really sorry, rafe.”
he went silent for a moment but his eyes stayed fixed on yours. “its okay, sweetheart. we both said some shit we shouldn’t have. ‘s alright. people make mistakes.”
“i was bein’ a bitch earlier,” you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his chest.
he laughed softly and smoothed a hand down the back of your head comfortingly. “i think i can handle your attitude pretty well by now,” he replied just barely above a whisper. “c’mon. time for bed.”
you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands found the backs of your thighs, lifting you and walking you to your shared bedroom before dropping you down gently on your side. he was quick to pull his shirt over his head and crawl under the covers beside you.
you scooted closer to his side and sighed at the familiar warmth you enjoyed so much. his arm loosely fell to the dip of your waist as he scrolled through netflix to find a movie on, knowing you couldn’t sleep without the tv on. “i love you baby,” you muttered through a sleep-laced voice.
he smiled and pressed a kiss to your hair. “i love you more, angel.”
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moonlit-imagines · 2 days ago
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Preferences: Being an Avenger and an ex-Widow
Avengers x reader
warnings:
a/n:
prompt: anon 🥀: “hcs for how avengers would react to reader being an ex widow like natasha”
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when you defected from the red room, you rejected SHIELD
“why trade one corrupt organization for another?” -you (not aware shield was ACTUALLY corrupted by hydra)
you freelanced for a bit, avoiding recruitment at all turns and trying to keep control of your life
but nick fury wouldn’t let you drop from his radar
“y/n, meet natasha romanoff” -fury
“i know you…” -you
“red room, yes” -nat
“what are you two doing here?” -you
“trying to recruit you, actually” -nat
“like i told your boss a dozen times, i want no part in working for SHIELD, the notion bores me” -you
“well, what if i told you a new position opened up?” -fury, watching your brow raise “im assembling a team, one with the most skilled players in the game”
“spies?” -you
“not quite” -nat, smirking
thus started your induction into the avengers
and nat became probably your best friend
“i’ve never met another widow defector, it’s…nice” -you
“we killed him, you know…” -nat, hesitating “dreykov. barton and i got him”
it was the best news you’d gotten in a while
the rest of the avengers were a bit ragtag compared to the soldiers they recruited
the billionaire in a suit, scientist with anger issues, the asgardian god
then 3 assassins and a soldier from world war ii
but you all made nice eventually, especially after fighting side by side
being with the avengers instead of a lonely assassin gave you back some of that humanity you lost over the years
“y/n, want to go on a run?” -steve
“with you? what’s the point?” -you
“i’ll slow down for you” -steve
routine runs became a stress reliever for you
you traded war stories with nat and clint on late nights when you couldn’t sleep
and tony made you his “guinea pig” when it came to testing new technologies
“i didn’t mean it in a derogatory way! i know where you come from, bad choice of words. would you though? it’s a pretty cool gun…wouldn’t want it to go to waste…” -tony
and bruce, sweet bruce, bruce recluse….
i just wanted to say that actually
bruce and you didn’t have all that much in common but sometimes he’d sit with you and keep you company, maybe offer you some food
you’d have really meaningful conversations with the avengers, too
“so, what deterred you from joining SHIELD?” -steve
“a lifetime of being controlled by people with their own agendas and no regard for their soldiers’ lives” -you “sound familiar?”
“all too familiar” -steve
“then you understand that i was not going to work for the united states government, it was hard enough joining the avengers” -you
okay, okay. you might be wondering “wheres all the action scenes?” fine here they are
you and nat knew some pretty outdated moves pretty well. after all, you were taught the same
it was easy to fight with her, it was almost like you were telepathically communicating your next moves
“are we sure the red room didn’t give them some kind of mind reading chip?” -tony “hey, that should be my next project”
“absolutely not” -steve
clint got jealous of you and nat because the bond they had was similar to yours, but you suggested a group effort with him
so you and nat taught him some red room lessons (minus the horrendous abuse)
thor enjoyed your ruthlessness
“y/n, you never cease to amuse me!” -thor
“they just knocked a man out, thor” -clint
“yes! hilarious” -thor
“you don’t laugh when stark does it” -steve
“stark? well, he’s not too funny” -thor
“hey! im funny…” -tony
honestly getting really close with the team
and eventually welcoming wanda and vision
assuring wanda that coming from a less-than-friendly background didn’t make her any less than the avengers
“you know, i was pretty bad before i joined up. you’ll fit right in!” -you
the avengers went through a lot of ups and downs
and by the time they’d split, you already left
“i’m sorry, guys. i’m just not cut out for this line of work.” -you
“what do you mean?” -tony
“you know what i mean. i cant be an avenger anymore. i cant be idolized and i cant be associated with whatever mess is brewing here” -you
you wanted to go solo again, working for the group was never what you really wanted
it was nice for a while
and you watched as the drama between steve and tony unfolded, feeling grateful you didn’t have to pick a side
*pressing ignore on your phone for the fiftieth time*
freelance life just suited you better
until you found the red room was still operating
and for once you picked up the phone
“hey nat. are we freeing these widows or what?”
taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @mymelodymia // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //
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numberoneredriotfan · 3 days ago
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It makes me really upset that Kirishima and Bakugou's friendship wasn't highlighted too much after season 4 or the shie hassakai arc. And I don't even mean this in a shipping sense. Kirishima was a HUGE part of Bakugou's character development even if it wasn't shown that way.
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At first, Kirishima is introduced as one of the only people who can handle Bakugou and all his intensity- as well as his explosive (haha get it) personality. This is showcased more clearly in the sports festival arc.
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Kirishima offers to be Bakugou's horse, because he's the only one that can handle his explosions with his hardening (which is probably the only quirk in 1-A that really effectively deflect Bakugou's explosions, so nobody else could really be in that position other than Kirishima.) Also, he without hesitation called Bakugou a dumbass and told him to remember his fucking name, even after seeing how angry he can get when provoked. And this isn't even the last time Kirishima does this. So Kirishima becomes someone who can handle Bakugou, but their friendship doesn't end there.
Most this development probably happened off-screen, but overtime Bakugou started to see Kirishima as an equal. Not just someone who could handle Bakugou and put up with him, but as someone who is able to stand by his side unwavering while also understanding his perspective to some extent (which I assume is rare for Bakugou, considering most other's view of him is either "what a jackass" or "wow he's so cool").
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Which is why I really love this scene they added in the anime, which shows that Kirishima understands Bakugou, even if he seems like just an arrogant asshole. I think the only other character who understands Bakugou on that level is Deku (and of course his classmates learn to understand later on, but I'm talking about early on).
Kirishima was arguably the first person who Bakugou saw as an equal. Something I noticed about early Bakugou is that he either had a superiority complex or a inferiority complex with someone, and there was really no in between lol. That was, until Kirishima. Who came in as someone who neither above or below him. While Kirishima doesn't take any of Bakugou's shit, he also doesn't treat Bakugou like just a jerk.
This is of course, showcased best in the iconic Bakugou rescue scene.
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This scene was honestly just such a good show of their bond, and how Bakugou sees Kirishima. Because as Deku pointed out, Bakugou wouldn't have taken anyone else's hand. We know this for a fact, as this was the same man who would've rather been kidnapped by villains then accept Deku's help-
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So yeah. I fully believe if it was anyone other than Kirishima to reach out a hand to him, he would've straight up ignored them and would've tried to fight the villains himself. (Death is one thing but his ego is another apparently-).
It would be ignorant of me to say that Kirishima was the only one who understood Bakugou, because that's just not the case. Because as we saw multiple times throughout the series, Deku (as previously stated) understands Bakugou very well from the very beginning. However, while this opens up the gateway for a reconciliation with Bakugou in the future, Bakugou's complex feelings about Deku make it impossible for them to form a relationship based on that. Kirishima came in as a breath of fresh air, in which there was no lingering resentment or complexity involved. And of course, later in the series, we see the other members of class A understand Bakugou on that level as well. But in the beginning at least, Kirishima was the only person he could sort build that bridge of understanding with.
And even if it's never stated explicitly, I truly believe Bakugou wouldn't have opened up to relationships with his other classmates if it weren't for Kirishima befriending him. Or at the very least, it would've taken him a lot longer.
And the we have to take into accountability of how much their friendship has helped KIRISHIMA develop as a a character. As we can see, from the very beginning, Kirishima has a bad habit of comparing his quirk to the others of their class.
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This isn't his fault necessarily, as in their society it's probably drilled into your head from a young age that you can only be a good hero if you have a flashy quirk.
And because of this, rather than looking at his own strength, he pays a lot of attention to how he compares to others.
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So clearly, he's hard on himself and has a lot of self-esteem issues. (I am him. He is me-)
And it's clear he looks up to Bakugou a lot from just...Bakugou being Bakugou. Bakugou's a very forward person who jumps in without thinking (for better or worse), which is almost everything Kirishima wants to be. I honestly think that might've been- at least partially- what drew Kirishima to Bakugou. He wanted to be more like him, even if he wouldn't admit to himself. He, in a way, was putting Bakugou on a pedestal, even if he didn't realize that Bakugou sees him as an equal.
But then, Bakugou tells him this:
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Which in the end, pushes Kirishima to reach his full potential, which came in form of unbreakable. Bakugou, who was originally someone he looked up to and admired, eventually became his motivation. His drive, even. And it wasn't just Bakugou, obviously, but Bakugou still contributed a lot.
And after all this, their friendship gets pushed to the side so we can focus on Bakugou and Deku's reconciliation. Which isn't bad! I love Bakugou and Deku's friendship as well! And I will say it holds a lot more importance to the plot of the story, and it wasn't necessarily a requirement to have Bakugou and Kirishima's relationship showcased more.
But still, I feel as though one could assume that once Bakugou got his character development from Kirishima, he didn't need anymore. Like he was just a stepping stone in order to reach his redemption with Deku. Which is just a sad way to look at their relationship :( and I truthfully believe that that just isn't the case. We did get a few crumbs, but even then we never got to see them talk one-one as friends after a while.
This isn't supposed to be Kiribaku propaganda or anything like that, and some of this will probably fall into headcanon territory and is just my interpretation of their characters. This also isn't me saying that their relationship is more important than Bakugou and Deku's, or Kirishima and Mina's, this is just more of a vent on how I would've liked to see more of their friendship.
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mommywandas · 6 hours ago
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Pretty When You Sleep — W.M
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——
Pairing: Dark!WandaMaximoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: Nights are lot more dangerous than you think.
Warnings: noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, drugging, blood, murder, stalking, mentions of a knives, strap-on.
Word count: 2.9k
A/N: This is a very dark and heavy fic, if you find any of the warnings triggering, please do not read. Happy Halloween! 18+ only. Men dni.
Beta read by @poulengp <3
——
It started off small.
All the shoes you left in a mess by the door now neatly stacked up, laces undone, just so they were easier to slip on. The lamp you'd accidently leave on before falling asleep, being off when you woke up in the morning. Clothes that were dumped on the floor, suddenly folded up in your drawer.
Then it got weirder.
Your purse being filled with fifty dollar bills on the mornings you worried you wouldn't have enough to afford your groceries. Some of your clothes, specifically underwear, going missing. Your phone being in the other room when you woke up. Waking up with different pyjama bottoms on.
As it got worse, you found yourself confiding in your friend. Well, a little more than a friend, but the two of you had never labelled it. The two of you sat in the corner of a local cafe, coffee warming up your hands. It was a cool autumn day, causing you to wrap up in a scarf and fluffy coat. This crimson coloured scarf had suddenly appeared in your closet, right when you needed it. It should have been wrong to wear something that had inexplicably appeared in your home, but it was cold, and what else were you to do?
"It's just getting weird. Even the leftovers in my fridge that were about to be mouldy are being thrown away. I see it in my garbage bag. And you know me, I don't even throw it out until it's literally gone blue."
Erin laughed, "You're quite careless. And disgusting." Yes, you were, but that wasn't the point!
"Shush. I'm actually worried here. I'm starting to think.. no.. no one can be breaking into my apartment every night, I'd wake up and hear them. God, I think I'm going mad." You mumbled, hand gripping tightly around the coffee mug. It reminded you of the time you'd left a cold cup of tea on the side, and had fallen asleep. When you woke up an hour later, the cup was hot, as if it had just been warmed up again.
"You've added another lock to your door, you don't even have a spare key for it. It's impossible for someone to break in. And you live on the top floor. Honey, you've been exhausted recently, it's not uncommon for people to get forgetful. You probably did those things while sleepy." Erin reassured you, placing a hand over yours.
You sighed deeply, downing the last drops of drink you had left, Erin doing the same. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just.. strange."
As you entered your apartment late at night, instead of throwing your keys carelessly on a table, you decided to tuck them in the nightstand by your bed. Just to be safe, even if it was just for your own peace of mind. You jumped into the shower, cracking open the window so the steam could be let out. You lived on the top floor of your block, no one could look in, which was always a good thing because your bathroom got very steamy, recently the ceiling paper even curling at the side from the condensation. Making a mental note to look up the prices for someone to redecorate.
You really needed a shower today, you and Erin had gotten a little.. excited earlier, and it always made you cringe not showering before bed after an evening of sex. Under the warm water, you hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all day. It was a song you didn't even recognise, in fact you weren't even sure you'd heard it before. All you knew was that it was in a different language, and it was comforting.
Once clean, you felt overwhelmingly tired, it had been a long day, so you decided to go straight to bed after having your usual cup of camomile tea, with two spoons of sugar. Then you got into bed. Before you could doze off though, you decided to read for a bit, opening up your latest novel of your favourite author. It can't have been too exciting though, because you fell asleep before the first chapter was over.
When dawn broke, the early sun breaking through cracks in your window, you stirred, blinking a few times. Something felt strange, like every morning for the past few months. You felt a stickiness between your thighs, and your pyjama bottoms were definitely not the ones you fell asleep in. You stared down at the light blue shorts, eyebrows furrowed. Were you a sleepwalker? No, your past roommates would have told you. Maybe you'd had a really good dream and just forgotten it? Fuck, this was weird.
Deciding there was nothing you could really do about the situation, you got up, opting to take another shower to get rid of the icky feeling.
It was when you were munching on your chocolate flavoured cereal that you heard your phone ping. Automatically, you put your spoon down, picking up the device you so heavily relied upon. It was a text from an unknown number, causing you to frown. Opening it, you saw there was a picture attached to the text. And when you examined it, your blood ran cold.
It was a picture of you, naked in bed. Your body spread out, intimate area completely exposed.
"What the fuck?" You whispered, reading what had come with it.
Unknown number: Three orgasms in one night, that's your record so far.
You didn't know what to think— someone had.. touched you while you were asleep? They broke in and did this to you? You shivered in fear, your shaky hands typing out a response before you could even think about what the police would say if you went to them; to not engage with a dangerous person.
You: Who the fuck is this?
There was no reply. Not when you left for work, not when you arrived home in the evening.
You were rigid with fear. A sensible person would have called the police, or at least called someone like Erin, asked to stay over, but you just couldn't. Every time you were about to dial a number, something inside you made you stop. You couldn't explain it.
So here you were, sat bolt upright on your couch. It was around eleven, and your eyes were growing heavy. Your camomile tea mug now empty, you blinked a few times, just aching to lay down and rest. No, you had to stay up! You had to see who had been breaking into your home. But.. you were so tired, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over you. Your eyes closed slowly, slumping down and falling into a deep sleep.
The next morning the first thing you did was check your phone, seeing if the stranger had replied, and they had. Two images attached to a message. And what you saw horrified you. The first picture, one of you in bed, with a.. strap-on, buried inside you. It made you feel sick, that someone had done this to you unwillingly. Though the expression on your face, clearly asleep but pleasure in your features. You could even see your own arousal dripping down the toy.
The second image quite literally made you throw up, You ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet bowl as the picture burned in your mind. It had been someone laying on a floor, covered in blood, a knife wedged in their chest.
You had to go to the police. There was no choice now. For some reason, you looked back at the picture, and your mouth dropped open. That someone was a familiar.
It was Erin.
You just knew, it was her jacket, her brown eyes wide open in fear, her blue dyed hair drenched in her own blood. It caused you to throw up again.
"I—I think my best friend has been murdered."
You whispered in a shaky voice to a police officer who had sat you down in a cold grey room. After seeing what you'd been sent, not even reading the message that had come with it, you rushed down to the local police station, practically screaming for someone to talk to.
"Why do you suspect this?" He asked in a gruff voice. He didn't seem to be all that serious about the situation, upsetting you even further.
"I've got pictures! And texts!" Your fingers fumbled around your pocket to retrieve your phone, opening your messages app.
It wasn't there.
"So?" The officer prompted, clearly unimpressed.
"It was.. it was right here.." You mumbled, opening every contact you had in case it had magically gotten messed up.
But no, the messages had vanished.
"Look, lady, I think you should go home and get some rest. You look tired. Our minds make things up when we're lacking sleep."
"But—"
"Listen, if something happens, come back in. But for now, you're making empty claims."
Hanging your head down dejectedly, you fought back tears. You knew Erin was dead. You just knew it.
Tonight you weren't going to fall asleep. Just to make sure, you downed two mugs of strong coffee instead of your tea. You hated it, but you couldn't risk falling asleep. The intruder— the murderer, was going to break in, you were sure.
The time ticked on. Eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, one o'clock..
Until your phone buzzed. Dread washed over you. There was no one else who would be making your phone light up at this time of night.
Unknown number: How am I meant to enjoy you when you don't have your tea? You look so pretty when you sleep.
This confused you. Why would they be concerned about what beverage you were drinking? You typed out a response quickly.
You: I'm not scared of you.
It was a stupid thing to say, you knew that really. But the only thing you could think of was to pretend you weren't scared. Maybe that would make them bored and leave you alone. All you could think about what Erin's lifeless body. The blood, god.. all that blood..
Unknown number: See you soon, sweetheart.
Your eyes widened in horror; what the fuck did that mean? This person was on their way? Sickness rose up in your throat, and you ran to your kitchen, grabbing the first sharp object you could find— a medium sized kitchen knife. You clutched it to your chest, running to your bedroom, locking the door and panting heavily. You considered pushing some furniture against the door, but you knew you needed to call the police. Then you realised you'd left your phone in the kitchen.
Fuck! Fuck!
You had put yourself in the worst position possible. But before you could panic over that, you felt a gust of cold air. You frowned, turning around to see the window wide open. You definitely hadn't left it like that before, but it was also impossible for anyone else to have opened it. You lived on the top floor for Christ's sake!
Not knowing what to do first; close the window, get your phone, block the door, or just curl up in a ball and hope it would all just go away. You opted for grabbing your phone. If you could call the police, they'd be on their way, hopefully before your stalker could arrive.
Cautiously unlocking the bedroom door, you stepped out into the hallway. The lights that had previously been on, were off, leaving the whole apartment pitch black apart from the moon shining through the windows and the bedroom light.
Your steps were slow, ears straining to hear anything, but there was silence. The only sound heard was the hammering of your heart in your chest.
Until the silence was broken.
"Seeing you awake is strange. But exciting nonetheless."
The voice came from right behind you. Spinning around in horror, you finally came face to face with the person who had been tormenting you.
"Tormenting? That's a bit harsh, sweetheart."
The woman was dressed in all black, a hood covering most of her face. Light from the bedroom accentuated her figure, but more importantly, the silhouette of a knife and a cloth in her hands.
"W—who are you?" It was an attempt at a shout, maybe to attract the attention of the apartment below you, but your voice could barely manage a squeak.
"I've told you before, baby. You're a forgetful thing when you're asleep, mhm?" She stepped forward, causing you to take a step back.
"You've been taking advantage of me! You've been breaking into my home! You killed.. Erin!" You whispered, backing up against the wall. You had no where to go. You were most likely to die, just like Erin.
"Sweet girl, I'm not going to kill you. I could never hurt you." The woman's voice was almost softer as she approached you, only two feet away now. Was she reading your mind?
"But you killed my friend." The images of Erin's body filled your mind, and how you were going to end up just like her.
"Your 'friend'? Please, she was begging for her own life, not for you to be safe." She let out a cold laugh. "It was so satisfying, the sound of my blade tearing through her flesh and tissue." It almost sounded like she'd gotten pleasure from it
Finally, you got some sense and energy into you as she expressed her fucked up feelings. You let out a shattering scream, "HELP! HELP!"
The woman sighed in disappointment. It took her less than a second to raise the cloth up to your face, covering your nose and mouth. The smell of chemicals was overwhelming. You fought against it, until you couldn't anymore. Body falling limp to the ground.
The noise that woke you up was the sound of a squeaking. Your eyes wouldn't open, wondering what was going on. You then felt something inside you, a pressure building up in your lower stomach. What—
Finally, your vision became clearer. You blinked a few times, looking around you. The scene became pretty clear.
The woman was in between your legs, a strap-on buried inside you, just like that photo. The squeaking was the bed as she thrusted into you.
You should have screamed, but the pressure in your abdomen was too intense. You let out a whine, trying to move your tired body, but it was useless. You didn't even want to stop it, it felt too.. good.
"You're awake." She stated, a slight pant in her voice. Her hood was down now, revealing her auburn wavy hair, pale skin and deep green eyes.
"Let me.." You trailed off, because you didn't know whether to say 'go' or 'come'.
She let out a chuckle, holding your hips firmly as she thrusted into you. The feeling was delicious. Something about the fact your body was sleepy, heavy, while being fucked by a woman so dangerous..
No! Why are you thinking like this? It almost felt like your thoughts weren't yours anymore. Were you going insane?
The woman grunted, wet noises filling the room, making it very apparent that your body did not hate this at all. "You can come for me, it'll be your third."
Your third? You couldn't even bring yourself to ask about it, your body just trembled, a pending orgasm taking over, making you whimper in delight.
"Fuck!"
Tears filled your eyes from the sheer pleasure, and the fact that you should have hated this. You were filled with so much shame and guilt. This was the person who had killed your best friend, who'd stripped you of your dignity.
"Shh, darling, you don't have to feel guilty. You're allowed to feel pleasure. And your friend, well, she was just in the way."
Her twisted words made you feel sick again, but you didn't have time to dwell on that because the woman's hand suddenly reached down and started to circle your clit while simultaneously thrusting into you. A loud groan escaped your throat, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head.
"You're going to beat your record, four times will be an achievement." Her accented voice was hot and heavy, turning you on even more.
"I— mhm!" You tried to speak, but you didn't know what to say.
"Let go, detka, show me how good I make you feel." She gripped your waist with her spare hand, red manicured nails digging into your skin.
Without warning, you came hard, spilling all over the strap. The woman moaned, slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling out, leaving you unbearably empty. She slipped the strap off and went to straddle you, leaning her head down to kiss your neck. You felt utter bliss, forgetting how incredibly fucked up and sick this was.
"Seeing as this is the first time we've met while you've been conscious, I'll introduce myself. I'm Wanda." She giggled, as if nothing had just happened, and had been happening for months. Your head spun, recognising that name somehow, as if it had been spoken in your dreams.
"Relax now, sweet thing. I'll be here when you wake up." Wanda said softly, lying beside you, wrapping the duvet around your naked body. Her arm laid loosely across your stomach, hearing her breathing slow down to something calmer than before.
You didn't say anything, too busy feeling a wave of satisfaction, as awful as that sounded. It was like your mind was used to this, and that it was something you'd always wanted.
The last thing you remembered was a soft lullaby, in a language you didn't recognise. You'd heard it before, in your dreams. And it brought you great comfort.
——
Tags: @rezwrites @hatdog96 @ion-news @esposadejoyhuerta @moimmmm @grimlygoblin @lizziesflower @yandereloverb312 @beggingonmykneesforher
——
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eu-nicola · 2 days ago
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arranged marriage part 3
and final
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part 1 part 2
sinopsis: after the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Rafe falls into a severe depression. His family offers him a family friend, Arabella, with whom he has always had a bad relationship, to marry him for the good of the family.
warnings: arranged marriage, barely named violence, mentions of possible pregnancy, etc
author's note: this story is very long, english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct
word count: 3148
mention: @rafegf-real
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The next morning, Arabella woke up alone as usual. She sat up slowly, still with the memories of the previous night replaying in her mind. She searched for her phone on the nightstand, hoping perhaps to find a message. Her fingers slid across the screen, and finally found it: a short message from Rafe, telling her that he had left early to take care of some business and would return later.
Arabella let out a sigh, neither upset nor surprised. She knew what Rafe was like and it was obvious that he was going to leave her alone after what had happened the night before. So, after reading his message, she got up, took a quick shower and dressed in a light robe. She went down to the garden, where she asked for breakfast to be served. The morning was cool, and the rays of the sun illuminated the freshly watered flowers. As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her, the other members of the family began to appear, still sleepy but with tired smiles.
The conversation over breakfast was quiet, Arabella didn't say much, she answered a few questions and made a few comments about where Rafe was. But Arabella couldn't quite concentrate.
When she finished breakfast, she retreated to her room to get ready to go out. She wanted to clear her head, see if Rafe would come back at some point. However, as she was going through the contents of her bag and choosing the last detail of her outfit, her phone vibrated again. This time, the message was from Sarah. She read it and her eyebrows immediately furrowed:
Sarah: "Arabella, Rafe threatened JJ. He told him not to come near you again. Do you realize what he's doing?"
Arabella felt a pang of discomfort. Had Rafe threatened JJ? The news surprised and irritated her, but at the same time a part of her understood why he would do it. Her fingers typed quickly before she even stopped to think.
Arabella: "Maybe he exaggerated, but I don't think he did it in a bad way."
A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again. Sarah answered almost immediately, and her tone seemed much more upset.
Sarah: "Are you really defending him? Arabella, he threatened JJ, don't you understand how serious that is? He shouldn't be butting into things like that!"
Arabella bit her lip, feeling a mix of emotions beginning to well up inside her. She knew Sarah was right, but she also felt loyalty towards Rafe, as if it was her duty to at least try to understand him.
Arabella: "I'm just saying that maybe he has his reasons. He cares about me, Sarah."
Sarah: "Does he care? Please, Arabella. Two days ago you said you couldn't stand the way he is and now it turns out that you're on his side. You shouldn't be so naive. Rafe can't go around threatening people who are close to you. That's not normal!"
Arabella felt frustration building up inside her, wishing Sarah could understand. Her words came out in the chat without quite measuring them:
Arabella: "He's my husband, Sarah. You may not understand, but I'm going to defend him."
Sarah: "Your husband? Until yesterday you said you hated him, that you couldn't trust him. And now you're defending him like he's the best thing that ever happened to you? Make up your mind, Arabella! You can't go from one extreme to another every time it suits you."
Sarah's last message hit Arabella like a slap in the face. She stared at the phone screen, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Was it true? She had been confused, yes. Her feelings towards Rafe had changed rapidly, but it felt almost as if she had no control over it.
Arabella left the conversation with Sarah hanging in the air, deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on. With her jaw clenched and her fists slightly tense, she finished getting dressed. Before she left the house, thinking she could at least clear her head a little, she heard the sound of a door opening. Looking up, she found herself face to face with Rafe, who had just arrived with a carefree, almost haughty expression.
The tension between them was palpable. Rafe barely glanced at her and seemed ready to ignore her, but Arabella couldn't keep quiet.
"Really, Rafe?" she snapped, her tone cold, though with a hint of vulnerability that betrayed her frustration. "After last night, do you feel like threatening JJ?"
Rafe let out a short, humorless laugh, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and disinterest. He seemed about to make a scathing comment, but instead, he just shrugged.
"You should be grateful," he replied in his arrogant tone, completely dismissing her words. "I'm doing you a favor by not having that Pogue on top of you."
Arabella felt a knot forming in her stomach, somewhere between anger and sadness, but she stood firm, trying to keep her voice from wavering.
“You're shit, Rafe. You treat me like I'm worthless, after last night, you left me alone again, like I didn't matter,” she whispered, no longer able to keep up the cold mask.
Rafe rolled his eyes, but instead of ignoring her, as he usually did, he realized that Arabella was ready to leave. Without thinking too much, he grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving forward. The strength of his grip surprised her, and she looked at him, seeing his eyes darken with a mix of fury and something she couldn't immediately identify.
“Where do you think you're going?” he asked, his voice low and charged with an intensity that made her tremble.
Arabella tried to break free, but his grip was firm. She looked directly into his eyes, searching for something that had perhaps ceased to exist a long time ago. Rafe held her without giving an inch, as if he really cared that she tried to leave.
“Away from you,” she replied, her voice barely audible, but each word resonated loudly. “If you don’t want me here, then I’d better leave already.”
For a second, Rafe looked at her with something that almost seemed like surprise. His haughty expression cracked, revealing a slight shadow of doubt before his mask fell back into place. But instead of letting go, he tightened his grip, pulling her even closer to him.
“And you think you can leave that easily?” he asked, challenging her. “You should know I won’t make it that easy for you.”
Arabella swallowed hard, feeling frustration and pain burning inside her. She looked at him, hurt and defiant.
“You’re the one who leaves me no choice,” she said, controlling the tremble in her voice. “Why do you want me to stay? To ignore me?” To remind me every day that I'm nothing but a burden?
Rafe let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, but he didn't answer. Instead, his eyes wandered for a moment, as if he were looking for a way to express something he himself didn't know. But, without saying anything else, he abruptly let go of her, as if by doing so he were reaffirming his own indifference.
Arabella decided she didn't want to spend another minute in that house. So her only plan was to spend the day at her parents' house, John and Margaret. Upon arrival, the hugs were warm and sincere, full of affection and the familiarity of those who don't see each other that often. "I missed you so much," he told them, smiling as he settled into the cozy sofa of his home, decorated in soft shades of blue and white.
During the day, Arabella and her mother enjoyed the warmth of the sun in the garden, where Margaret had prepared a small seating area with cushions and blankets. They caught up, her mother asking a thousand and one questions, most of which Arabella answered by lying. Margaret loved Rafe and truly believed he was the perfect son for her daughter and that their marriage was going very well.
As the evening fell, John decided that he would be in charge of dinner, a duty he had always considered a pleasure. He headed to the kitchen and began preparing Italian pizza, one of Arabella's favorite dishes, which filled the house with its comforting aroma. Meanwhile, Arabella and her mother took care of setting the table. The laughter and chatter continued as they arranged the plates and cutlery, and Margaret told him about the latest news in the neighborhood.
"I ran into Mrs. Thompson at the market today," Margaret said, smiling as she recalled the conversation. “She was so proud of her new pot of begonias, she almost convinced me that I should buy some for the garden.”
“She’s always been a bit over the top with plants,” Arabella laughed, enjoying the light, familiar atmosphere.
However, as night began to fall and dinner was almost ready, the doorbell rang, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Margaret hurried to open the door, excited by the arrival of a visitor. Arabella, feeling a pang of anxiety, tried to ignore the uneasiness inside her. “Maybe it’s a neighbor,” she thought, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing at the name the maid called.
“Mr. Cameron!” the maid announced, and at that moment, Arabella felt her blood run cold. Her face lost color and her mind began to spin. She didn’t want to see him, not in this environment, not after their last argument. However, her mother’s happiness pushed her to hide her discomfort.
“Rafe, what a surprise!” Margaret exclaimed with a bright smile, as she made her way to greet him with open arms. John joined her as well, completely oblivious to the tension between his daughter and the young man. Arabella stood still, almost paralyzed, watching as Rafe entered her home, with his characteristic confidence.
“Arabella,” Rafe said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but with a tone that made his words seem more like a challenge than a greeting. Arabella stared back at him, trying to keep her composure, even though inside she was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions.
“Come, dinner is ready. John has made his famous Italian pizza,” she said excitedly. As everyone sat down at the table, Arabella knew the evening could get complicated. Rafe took the place next to her, and even though she tried to focus on the food and her parents’ conversation, her mind was stuck on Rafe.
As dinner progressed, the table was filled with laughter and lively conversation. Arabella's parents couldn't help but ask questions about their daughter and Rafe's marriage. Margaret beamed proudly as she asked, "So, Rafe, what's our little girl like as a wife?"
Rafe, trying to keep his composure, replied with a smile. "She's very good, I couldn't have asked for better."
Arabella, sitting next to him, felt a slight tingle in her stomach as she listened to him. As the conversation continued, John turned to Arabella with an inquisitive look.
"And you, daughter? How do you feel about this new life you're building together?"
She smiled, aware that she couldn't let the awkwardness show on her face. "It's a new beginning for both of us."
The words seemed to hang in the air, but as the questions continued, Rafe and Arabella glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, sharing nervous smiles that tried to hide the underlying tension. Rafe's ability to maintain small talk was becoming an art.
Finally, dinner came to an end and John stood up to pour drinks. Rafe took the opportunity to approach Arabella, placing his hand on her waist naturally, as if it were something he had done all his life. However, for Arabella, the sensation was strange, almost uncomfortable. The touch of his hand caused her a mix of confusion and curiosity.
As John poured a drink, Margaret joined the conversation. “We know that the first stages can be complicated, but you always have to keep communicating. How do you guys handle that?”
Rafe, taking a sip of his drink, turned to Arabella, hoping she could add something to the conversation. She, feeling his gaze, replied, “Yes, we definitely have to talk about what we feel. Honesty is key.”
John nodded, satisfied. “That's what we want to hear. The foundation of any successful marriage is trust.”
Rafe, noticing how John approved of Arabella's response, felt he could relax a little more. His hand slid back slightly, making sure she was comfortable, though the gesture only intensified Arabella's discomfort. There was a tension in the air that they could both feel, and at the same time, there was a strange connection that was forming in the midst of the familiar conversation.
The night was growing thicker as John and Margaret said goodbye, noticing the tiredness on their faces. They approached Arabella and Rafe, telling them that they had prepared a room for them in the back cabin so they could have some privacy. They both nodded silently, and after a few words of farewell, they headed together towards the small shelter, not speaking along the way, surrounded by an awkward tension.
The awkwardness between them seemed to fill every corner of the room, making even the smallest noise feel amplified. Arabella, not wanting to start a conversation, walked around the room taking off her jacket and shoes, while Rafe stood in the doorway watching her with an unreadable expression. The awkwardness seemed to morph into something else, something neither of them could quite figure out.
Arabella removed her clothes with slow but determined movements. She didn't bother to look at Rafe, or to cover herself in any way; she had reached a point where embarrassment seemed a distant concept, and with a few too many drinks, her inhibitions had disappeared. When she was completely naked, she approached him without saying a word, her eyes holding Rafe's in silent defiance.
Arriving in front of him, she raised her arms, inviting him to touch her. Rafe hesitated for a moment, but then took her in his hands, running his gaze over her, as if trying to understand the unexpected display of bravery. Without warning, he kissed her intensely, capturing her lips in an almost desperate gesture, as if through that kiss he wanted to resolve all the silences and accumulated tensions.
Arabella, however, moved away a few centimeters, looking at him with a mixture of defiance and frustration.
"Why didn't they choose another woman to marry you?" she asked, her words resonating with a resentment that went beyond simple words.
Rafe did not avoid the intensity of his gaze and, without hesitation, he answered her with a low voice loaded with a sincerity that surprised her.
"No other woman could have put up with me like you do."
Arabella closed her eyes for a moment, processing those words. The resentment continued to burn inside her, although little by little she felt that something else was emerging between them, something that confused her.
“So… is our marriage always going to be like this?” he murmured, whispering the question into the air. “Torturous?”
Rafe watched her in silence, and after a moment, he raised one of his hands to gently caress her cheek. There was something unexpectedly tender in his gesture, something Arabella hadn’t seen in him before.
“We can make it work,” he told her, his voice so low it almost seemed like a shared secret.
Arabella felt his words seep into her skin, calming something inside her. She didn’t know if she could trust his promises, or what her own emotions were telling her at that moment, but in that instant, she decided that none of that mattered.
Rafe kissed her again, and this time the kiss was slower, deeper. Without words, they both let themselves go, allowing the barriers that used to separate them to fade away in the darkness of the night. Between kisses and caresses, they shared an intimacy that went beyond words and silences, allowing themselves, for a moment, to forget all doubts and resentments.
They spent the night together, giving themselves over to an act that seemed to be both a fight and a truce, a way of getting closer and protecting each other at the same time. Amidst sighs and caresses, they abandoned themselves to a closeness they had never shared before, as if that night were a promise of what their life together could be, or perhaps just a fleeting moment in the midst of uncertainty.
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After that moment, Rafe and Arabella's relationship definitely didn't turn into a fairy tale. They both had their quirks, and their character wasn't easy, to put it mildly. However, something had changed between them; the tension that had once separated them began to transform into a genuine connection. They began to understand each other, and that compatibility that had been so hard to find emerged in the most unexpected places, especially in the warmth of the bed.
Rafe, who had never thought too much about ties or commitments, now found himself being fiercely protective. He had lost a woman in the past, and the wound was still there, latent. But with Arabella it was different; the fear of losing her was eating away at him. He had come to realize how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. Only she managed to disarm him and expose his vulnerabilities, and although that terrified him, he accepted it because he knew he wanted her in his life forever. Arabella was the woman he wanted to build a future with, the only one with whom he could imagine children and a life in peace.
Arabella, for her part, was satisfied, but more than satisfied, she was happy. At last she could get along with her husband in every possible way; there were no more secrets or nights when he disappeared. Every night, Rafe stayed by her side, enveloping her with his presence and warmth, and every night, she silently prayed that from that love and desire, a child would grow in her womb. She longed so much for that dream: to form a family with him, a stable and happy family, something she had not always had. She was going to achieve it, because Arabella knew that Rafe, with all his faults, was the man she loved. He was still the same, arrogant and haughty, that man that all the girls wanted but that only she had the pleasure of calling HERS.
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kimberleyjean · 2 days ago
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Good Omens S1 Parallels - 1/?
Saturday Morning Funtime is a particularly interesting episode for me, because it suggests something about the structure of parallels Season One. Also, it's easier to start with a single episode than trying to cover the whole show at once. I'm going to show you six different scenes from Saturday Morning Funtime and how they link together.
Let's start with the pun pointed out by Danny Motta in his video (link here to relevant timestamp if you haven't seen it). Danny made the link between this scene near the start of E4, where Aziraphale gets exercise:
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And this scene at the end, where Aziraphale was exorcised (according to Shadwell, at least):
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Cool, seems like a funny pun. But there's no way to know it was intentional right? Well, I think I can argue it was. Let's look at another scene.
We have this scene where Hastur destroys 3 Erics on the plains of Megiddo. Since each demon has a corresponding animal, I'm going to go ahead and place bets on the Eric's being rabbits, and Hastur destroys 2/3 of them.
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And then later we have this scene where Hastur again destroys 2/3 rabbits, but this time they're cartoon bunnies - the first one he beheads like a costume, the second he rips out it's throat.
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Ok, but again, why am I linking these two scenes? No deep character insights, or thematic elements are being displayed here... Except that's a key reason I'm pointing them out - they're seemingly pretty pointless, so why bother to make them? Well, maybe the sum is bigger than the parts. One more example and then I'll show you how this comes together.
Here's a scene which I think is pretty good foreshadowing of something that will happen later in the episode - Hastur and Ligur talking about the dripping pipes down in Hell. Hastur has a little bucket he's collecting water in, which he uses in a toast:
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And later, we have this particularly gruesome scene of Ligur becoming toast at the hands of a bucket full of (holy)water:
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Ok, so six scenes, three sets of parallels... now's where the magic happens... I take E4 as a whole... loop it over on itself like a piece of trick rope from Goldstein's magic shop and....
Tada! Here's the episode laid out in 2 minute increments.
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Some pretty interesting places to have parallels, no? That two minute block at the start is a lead in before the opening credits, so the Exercise and Exorcism scenes are coming directly before and directly after the open and close sequence (shown above in blue).
I'd be lying if I said it didn't remind me of the overall chiastic structure that some people have worked on, such as this one by @drconstellation, just on a smaller scale.
It's also interesting to note that each of these parallel pairs relates to someone getting discorporated - Eric, Ligur and then Aziraphale.
What's the point?
So, I promised that I would share a little on why this might be important. In my opinion? It appears like there is some detailed structure to Good Omens, at least in S1.
It should also be noted that these scenes were added only for the show in order to produce this effect - Aziraphale exercising with Gabriel, Hastur and Ligur talking about the pipes, the three cartoon rabbits in the theatre - they were all newly created for the show.
Why go to the bother of creating these little parallel moments at corresponding points along a mirrored structure? Especially when these don't necessarily have ramifications for characters or plot? Is it just good story telling or is it something more? These are all questions worth asking in my opinion. I think it relates to how this show treats words and language in a very Pratchetty fashion. The whole show is a dedication to Terry, after all.
Of course, if things were so simple, I think we would have figured it all out long ago. Parallels, puns, wordplay... they're all quite slippery things. There are things I would consider to be parallels which don't line up with this same structure. For example, the scene from earlier with Gabriel and Aziraphale exercising? The "lose the gut" gut-punch foreshadows this other gut punch scene in E4 too:
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Despite examples to the contrary, the presence of parallels and wordplay that do line up along a mirrored structure makes me want to explore this further. If you're also interested in this and want to collaborate, please let me know.
This will be a continuing series, as and when time allows, because parallels seem to be absolutely everywhere. Future posts will look at parallels at different levels (within scenes, across episodes, and across seasons).
Let me know if you spot any others - I'd love to hear about them. They might be hidden in the visuals, wordplay, puns and more...
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With thanks to all the detectives for keeping me clue hunting @embracing-the-ineffable, @theastrophysicistnextdoor, @noneorother, @somehow-a-human, @komorezuki, @maufungi, @lookingatacupoftea, @havemyheartaziraphale, @251-dmr, @dunkthebiscuit, and @ghstptats <3
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sunonyoreface · 1 day ago
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He Knows - Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 24
An: This is it!
Word count: 2134
Warnings: none :)
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The curtains in my living room window look different than I remember them last. Like someone moved them ever so slightly to see a better angle of my driveway. I sit here now, the car in park, but still humming with life because half of me believes if I turn it off now, I’ll foreshadow my own death.
The other half of me considers the advice from an online therapy forum I read a few weeks ago. Advice I doubt is from a real medical professional or has been proven to be true. Advice that should be prescribed in person and by a real therapist: The chances of a “once in a lifetime” event happening more than once in your life are so slim it isn’t worth worrying about it happening again.
Sometimes it’s enough to ease my mind, but not tonight.
However, with a deep breath and a certain heaviness settling on my shoulders, I twist the fob and observe the silence that falls over the car as the radio shuts off and the cool air vanishes.
By all means it’s a beautiful evening. The sun is setting and a sweet floral breeze brushes the hair off my shoulders. It’s an early start to the season with the crocuses done blooming and the lilacs having already started. The house I rent is in a small southern town occupied mostly by the elderly and a few young families who wanted to escape city life. Children are expected to be home right around now. It’s a safe community where most people are comfortable occasionally forgetting to lock their doors, or they simply don’t bother to begin with. I will never be one of those people. There’s a reason I had to change my name and move halfway across the country. Once you enter the protection program, there is no forgetting to lock your doors.
My hand clenches around the switchblade as I step through the side door. Inside, it’s quiet and the room takes on the golden hour’s warm glow. I walk through the house, sparing a quick glance inside each mostly empty room. Nothing stands out.
As I approach the kitchen, the tension in my back starts to ease. The bag drops off my shoulders and onto the table. I set the knife on the vinyl countertop and flick the kettle on. See? Nothing to worry about. It’s nice enough to take my drink out on the back porch and watch the rest of the sunset.
My attention switches once again to the vibrant sky out the window before I tear myself from the sight for a tea bag and a mug. The rumble of the water grows, yet when I hear the click indicating it should shut off, it doesn’t. It hasn’t even boiled yet. My breath catches in my chest as I freeze in my tracks, still facing the pantry. That wasn’t the kettle at all. It wasn’t the fan in the room over or some other appliance coming to life. That distinct sound, that click, belongs to one thing and one thing only. That was the safety taken off a handgun.
My knife is out of reach, still on the counter. I glance for anything I could use to defend myself in the pantry, but there’s nothing but boxes of cereal and cans of soup.
“I figured this would happen at some point,” I say to the figure in the corner of my eye, pointing the gun. “You people don’t tend to leave loose ends.”
“We don’t,” the dreadfully familiar voice confirms. I was hoping to never hear from him again. Especially not in these circumstances. His tone holds the same seriousness as the last time we spoke, after my father’s death. He told me then that I’d be lucky to never see him again.
I’m still not sure I understand what that means. Maybe I’m about to find out. For some reason, I don’t feel nervous. I’m ready to accept my fate.
Nothing’s felt real the last several months. My life has been stuck in limbo and despite my futile attempts, I’ve been unable to find any sort of meaning. Everything feels hopeless in the grander scheme of things. So if he’s come to take my life, I might even welcome it.
“Good thing you’re not a loose end,” Captain Price spares a small smile as he steps out further from the corner. Had I passed him on the street, I don’t know that I’d recognize him. From his worn jeans to his black windbreaker, the man completely blends in as a civilian.
“Put the gun away and I’ll try to believe you,” Price tilts his head to consider, then nods. The weapon slides easily back into its holster. It’s not like he’d need it anyway. I’m not exactly a formidable opponent.
“Fair enough,” his attention drifts to the box of Earl Grey in my hands. “Are you making tea?”
“Want a cup?” I offer, sliding the lid off the box.
“I would. It was a long trip to get here,” I know what he’s talking about. The few hundred people that live here, chose this place because its hours away from any of the neighbouring cities. People come here to get away from the city life. It has the bare necessities and that’s all they need.
“It’s a long trip to anywhere down here,” my voice feels empty. Void of the passion and desperation that once fueled every decision. Steaming water covers the teabags and fills the cups. “Milk or sugar?”
“Black is fine, thanks,” Price grunts as he settles into a chair at the kitchen table. In the time I’ve been here, I’ve used the table maybe twice. “Do you like it? The peace and quiet?” he muses.
“It’s different than New York,” I hesitantly offer as I set the cups down and take the seat across from him.
“Ah, but do you like it?” Our eyes meet and he knows the answer. “I didn’t think you would. You took well to the chaos of our world. Despite having no former training, you adapted in a way that most couldn’t,” I didn’t realize Price paid that much attention to me. I always assumed he was too preoccupied with the rats and the Russians.
The sweet tea dampens my dry mouth. I take a second sip to buy myself more time. What kind of answer is he looking for? Why is he here of all places? “I always like the business of New York. I guess that’s one thing I found similar between it and 141,” he ponders my response for a moment and a heavy silence blankets the room.
“Do you miss it?” his question feels redundant. Price has had the time and practice to become more patient than I will ever be.
“Yes – look as much fun as I’m having here, you know with you breaking into my house, pointing a gun at me, and drinking my tea. Why the hell are you here, Captain?”
“I’m here to offer you a job,” I blink. A job? There’s no way they want to hire me after what I did. How can they possibly look over the fact that I killed one of their highest-ranking prisoners before they could get any information from him?
“What kind of job?”
“Well I was thinking in our translations department,” Price says. “You’re fluent and have prior experience in this setting. And your history with the Ultranationalists gives you an edge. You also held your own incredibly well last time with no formal training. Give it a couple of months and you will become incredibly valuable to our team.”
Once the shock wears off, I’m almost flattered by his last comment. That’s high praise coming from Price. However, I’m also slightly amused. There’s no way he genuinely expects me to say yes. Does he really believe I’d just drop everything and work for 141? Surely not.
Yet, what is there to drop? My admin job at the town office and the zero friends I’ve made since moving to this place? The only people I talk to are those I work with and they aren’t allowed to know any real information about me or I risk exposing my true identity.  Everyone I once knew back home is off-limits. If they knew I was alive, I would be in even more danger than I was before. Even my mother doesn’t know of my existence. I was dead to her as soon as I killed my father. She would never want to talk to me again. She might even give up my location to the Ultranationalists herself.
Then there’s how I left things with Ghost. The last time I saw him, I was in a pool of my father’s blood. I don’t want to think about how much trouble he got in from letting that happen.
“I don’t know that your head interrogator wants anything to do with me,” I say assuming he doesn’t know Ghost willingly gave me the knife I used to kill my father.
“Whys that?” he says with raised brows as though he’s clueless. Price plays the role well, however he’s anything but.
“I lied to him and used him to get to my father. I’m a thief and a murderer.”
“Those were extreme circumstances, y/n.”
“If I work for you there will always be extreme circumstances,” I respond. “What makes you think you can trust me anyway? I betrayed you all.”
Price shifts in his chair. He takes a moment and gets a real good look at me, like he’s making sure. The shadows around his face have changed slightly. The sun’s gone now, but a fading blue hue falls over the horizon.
The windows are closed, but even if they were cracked, you wouldn’t hear any outside noise. This town is uncomfortably quiet. The wood creaks as Price leans forward again. “Time after time, y/n, you had almost every opportunity to betray us. There were the interviews, the ambush, the rats, the exchange, and even the death of your father. His killing was not a betrayal. None of the information he had would have made a difference,” Price’s list stirs unsettling memories. He notices and adds, “The only betrayal was that of a father to a daughter. You deserved better: loyalty, trust, truth, to be wanted.”
That last word finally cracks something in me. My heart falters and I take a sip of tea in an attempt to hide the effect of his words.
“Yeah, well…” the words trail off. I’ve got nothing else to say.
Something scuffs along the floor in a room over. Had there been any other noise I wouldn’t have noticed it. The sound was unmistakably human. Like someone was leaning against the wall and could no longer wait. I thought I cleared the rooms, but I was already wrong once. Nothing else follows for almost a minute until the floorboards whisper at the edge of the room. My head turns just as the shadow emerges around the dim corner.
“We want you, y/n,” Simon Riley’s coarse voice fills the room. When our eyes meet, I forget how to breathe. My joints stiffen and my feet turn to lead. His demanding presence completely fills the room and even in civilian clothes, Ghost looks like he belongs on a battlefield.
For a moment it truly feels like I am looking at a ghost, at someone who was as good as dead to me. Someone who, an hour ago, I would have guaranteed I would never see or hear of again.
All the memories I’d been trying to forget over these past months begin to surface. I remember the heat of his rough hands on my skin and the pressure of his arms wrapped around me. The brush of his breath past my ears and down my neck. The stability he provided when my whole world was collapsing around me. The way he risked his life for mine countless times. The way he trusted me to make the ultimate decision when it came to my father and my future. He has always wanted me. He has always chosen me. Now, it's my turn to choose.
Nothing has been the same after learning about the Ultranationalists. It’s impossible to be happy when you know the truth. Part of me feels responsible for the horrible things my father has done. I also know I will never be content here. I can’t keep hiding, but I can help. I can work to remedy the evil that has corrupted my family.
“Do you want tea?”
The end, for now. Thank you for the kind words and support throughout this story. If you are a returning reader, thank you for your patience.
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shinidamachu · 1 day ago
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Do you think Kikyo should’ve been nicer to Kagome and thanked her for all those times she saved her? Some of the fandom even thinks she owed her Spiritual training as well, what do you think?
To me, the thing about Kagome and Kikyo's rivalry is that it felt very one sided. Obviously, they both had extremely valid reasons to hate each other's guts at first — reasons that go beyond Inuyasha —, but Kikyo was the only one actually acting on it.
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And she kept doing it even after Kagome has proved, time and time again, that she can be trusted and that she is in no way deserving of Kikyo's hatred.
I think that was a great dynamic because Kagome and Kikyo parallel each other so well: while Kagome was strugling with her own feelings in order to understand Kikyo's and accept her as a part of Inuyasha's life...
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...Kikyo was fighting to do the exact opposite and hold on to her grudge. You can tell it by the way she can recognize what Kagome's true intentions were but still belittle her for it and refuse to say anything nice to her face.
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It's a extremely compelling "yin and yang" sort of thing that worked very well at the start. What happened was that, at a certain point, Kagome has done so much for Kikyo that any ressentment towards her just felt a little ridiculous.
And I'm not even saying Kikyo should've been nicer and thanked Kagome. I think it's perfectly okay for a female character to dislike another. They don't have to be friends just because they're women, especially when there's so much bad blood between them.
In fact, I don't think there's room for a canon friendship there without it feeling awkward and forced — even though Kagome was obviously trying. I also think Kikyo being nice and thanking Kagome would be out of character and honestly a little underwhelming.
After everything that happened, a simple "thank you" doesn't even begin to cover. And as much as Kagome deserved to hear it, she didn't do anything because she wanted to be the better person or for Kikyo to be in debt with her. She did it because she's a good person and therefore will always do the right thing.
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In my opinion, it wasn't exactly to Kagome that Kikyo owed anything, but to the narrative, as a way to earn her so called redemption by being held accountable for her actions, which she never really was.
Rather than Kikyo being nicer to Kagome, I think it would've been much better for both characters if Kagome was allowed to tell Kikyo off every now and then without it being an illusion.
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And rather than Kikyo thanking Kagome, it would've been way more natural and meaningful for her to die saving Kagome's or Inuyasha's life instead of Kohaku's. It would've shown more regret and gratitude than any words ever could. Everything would come full circle — since she tried to kill them both while they were only trying to save her — and her closure would feel actually earned.
As for the spiritual training thing, I see where people are coming from and in another universe I think it would've been totally cool for them to have a dynamic like Aang and Roku had in Avatar, but again: it doesn't really work in canon.
More importantly: it goes against a theme that was introduced very earlier in the show, which is Kagome being her own person, doing her own thing, aside from Kikyo.
We literally see her trying to channel Kikyo's powers and failing...
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...Then just being herself and succeeding:
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If anyone was obligated to train her, that's Kaede, but particularly I like the idea of Kagome being self taught and making the moves up as she goes even better. I think it adds a lot to her character, I just wished Takahashi had explored it properly.
Plus, let's be honest: Kagome was doing a fine job on her own. Kikyo was the one making her life a thousand times harder by coming up with those nonsensical plans. In the end of the day it wasn't Kagome who needed Kikyo to defeat Naraku, but rather Kikyo who needed Kagome.
That being said, if Kikyo were to be nicer and thank someone, I think that person should've been Inuyasha and I will die on this hill. He was risking everything he had because she guilt tripped him into thinking he owed it to her.
"You came for me, that is enough" was not a thank you nor an apology. I can understand her reluctance when it comes to Kagome, but I can't justify her treatment of Inuyasha. Not when she was supposed to love him.
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kryptznnn · 2 days ago
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♡/♛- It's Been A While
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➸ INTERESTS; -mha!shouta aizawa x quirk-using!freader
➸ BACKGROUND; - after an attack at the high school you studied in, you were requested by your work firm and the firm of that school to work as a teacher there for extra security, incase an attack were to occur again to protect the students (and teachers). Unfortunately, it won't be as easy as you expected when you rekindle with old friends, and a specific someone.
➸ WARNINGS; - wc. 2.1k uu slow burn, second chance, ex-lovers, medication/pill usage, dissociation, anxiety mentions.
➸a.i; - omg new category!! im working a lot guys brace w me!! ill be working on other masterlists and stories and such trustttt, also this is going to be a fanfic!! no more one-shots sorry for the torture
౨ৎ⋆˚。⋆౨ৎ⋆˚。⋆౨ৎ⋆˚。⋆
"Please, there has to be some other way. I'm already busy enough here, this is way out of my league." You complained, tossing your hands up in the air.
"There is no other way" your supervisor responded, you sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"There's no one else available to take on this job?" You asked your boss, who only nodded as he sat at his table with crossed arms.
This was unbelievable, you of all people in this city and they choose you. You're one of the busiest women out there, especially outside of your so called 'once in a blue moon hero duty'. You're part of a government organization for fuck's sake, your entire job is to stay under wraps. You had people who depended on you, a firm to carry on your shoulders as second in command to your chief, just to give it all up to become a teacher back at your high school.
"As of now the school could use all the extended help they can get. You have connections to the school and have learned there before, plus all other heroes with solid quirks that would work in their favor are either already working there or are too busy to be there for hours on end, but you can." He said in a cool tone, handing you all of the paperwork and pointing to the amount of damage and casualties that happened during the accident, you only closed your eyes and shook your head.
"Okay" you said softly, picking up the papers and stacking them in order, placing them in your folder and shoving the folder in your work bag, not wanting to argue. He thanked you for your cooperation and told you you'd start the beginning of next week, Monday. Today was Thursday, giving you a little time to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come.
Of course, as any normal person you were curious, thousands of questions running through your mind which you were sure you'd get answers to during the tour and explanation that was awaiting you over the weekend.
You weren't too concerned about working or teaching students, you'd already knew all about them and had also known you'd cover a chemistry class, you were concerned about using your quirk.
The last time you had used it in the face of danger, things didn't end well for you. It's a great quirk yes, but the aftermath and side effects of it always left a heavy toll on you.
It truly was an accident, well not really. It was ruled out as a case of self-defense and your firm was to cover the damages. You were out with a friend from work until a large commotion was heard outside, where you two had stepped out, ready to leap into action and help whoever was in need.
Apparently, it was a hijack situation on a train in the city, that was now approaching downtown at an insane amount of speed. Your friend had already agreed she'd help escort people out of the way and into safer zones, in case the bus had crashed in the area you and hundreds of other people were in.
You nodded in response, quickly thinking what around you could've been useful to possibly slow it down or bring it to a stop in time to call for reinforcements.
Unfortunately, a child had wandered off into the middle of the road ahead of you without realizing it, and without thinking you ran up, covering her with your body and you held out your hand to shield her, shutting your eyes tightly and using your quirk.
Unintentionally, you had now turned the train into water, wetting you and all other people downtown that were trying to avoid the train crash. Thankfully for you the train was a rather medium sized one, so the water produced from the train by your quirk hadn't caused any damage downtown.
You quickly stood up with the little girl by your side, who quickly ran to accompany her mother once she spotted her in the crowd. You stood there in awe, looking at everyone else and turning back around, seeing the hijackers now sitting on the floor, dripping from head to toe in water.
You were slightly relieved, thankful you hadn't turned them into water. Soon after your friend accompanied you to, tying up the three troublemakers and leaving them off to the side and awaiting law-enforcement to arrive.
Having the powers of matter transmutation meant the world was your canvas, all you had to do was touch it. Creating any matter, you had into something you wanted to, but the only downside being that you weren't able to convert things to people or animals, whether living or not.
You didn't necessarily see it as a bad side, it honestly could be a blessing in disguise, especially since you had such a wild imagination when you were younger.
As you grabbed your belongings from your office and made your way back to your car you began to think about your first day working at the high school.
You loved children, well... most of them. Teenagers now were such pains in the ass, and you've had your fair share with a few, either being rude, weird, or just freaky horn-dogs that obviously weren't loved enough by their parents.
Hopefully things wouldn't go back when you start, and you didn't have to use your quirk as often as all other teachers in the school do.
Unlocking the door to your car you opened it and placed your bag inside as you sat in the driver's seat, starting your car and driving off back to your apartment.
After around 5 to 10 minutes of driving you stop at a red light, resting your head back onto your seat with a sigh, mentally drained for the day. As you waited for the light to change color you felt as if a pair of eyes were on you, before you were able to turn around and see who it was the light had turned green, you only shrugged it off and drove off, keeping your mind on how Monday would be.
Maybe it was the students or the teachers, but an uneasy feeling rested in your stomach, making you feel wheezy. It definitely was the thought of the teachers, more or so your new colleagues.
Well not new colleagues, more like old friends and companions. You knew them all well enough, being classmates and close friends back in high school and distancing after graduation and everyone else focusing on going professional in the hero department.
You had always envisioned yourself as a hero there, waiting to fight side by side with everyone, but towards the end you realized that without having proper control of your quirk you were probably safe enough to not do so. Protecting yourself and everyone else in case of an accident or any immediate dangers.
Guilt slowly began to eat you alive as you arrived in the parking lot of your apartment complex, parking and shutting your car off before taking a deep breath and exhaling sharply.
This was not going to go your way, and you know it.
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It was now Monday morning and honestly, that 3-day weekend wasn't enough to prepare yourself for what was to come. You hadn't gotten any sleep from the night before out of overthinking, and honestly you weren't even tired.
Your brain's constant buildup of stress has been keeping you up for a while and was the right amount of motivation you needed to get this day over with. You had gone to the small training practices and tours of the school over the weekend, seeing new buildings and practice rooms that were extended from when you previously attended.
You had decided to get ready 2 hours in advance, showering and now doing a small amount of skincare before doing your makeup. Even with your quirk and all of the stuff you'd bought for your skin, even the thought of stress makes you begin to breakout, you sighed as a pimple appeared on the upper left corner of your forehead. You only shook your head and began to apply your makeup, finishing a little later than you expected because you couldn't decide if you wanted lashes on or not.
You made the decision to wear them, first impressions are everything. You fixed your hair in a style you liked, deciding to keep it down instead of a ponytail with a side part and gathered your things and looked in the mirror one last time before exiting out the door.
The closer and closer you were getting to the school the more your stomach churned out of anxiety. It could've been anxiety, or maybe the fact you skipped out on breakfast just to be here early, as all teachers must arrive before the students. Whatever it was you didn't like it at all, and you felt your head begin to spin.
"Not again" you whispered to yourself, now opening your glove department looking around for your prescribed medications, pushing past the other 3 you didn't need now until you found one that read 'Valium', opening the capsule and taking a pill, realizing you had nothing to take or drink it down with.
You sighed heavily as you took the bottle with you, grabbing your coat from the back of your driver seat along with your bag and shoving the pills in your coat pocket. Soon locking your car and placing your keys in the bag as well, beginning to walk your way over to the building.
You needed to find something to drink so you could take this pill, before your anxiety gets the best of you and your quirk gets out of hand. You reached for your phone in your pocket and checked the time, barely 7:30, perfect. It's too early for classes to start when everyone gets situated at 8:00-8:10, where could you kill time with a cup of water or anyth-
The teachers' lounge, oh yeah, it's shocking how quickly you forgot about it when you were here not even 48 hours ago. You walked inside taking a left, praying your memory wasn't playing tricks on you as you walked over to the supposed teachers' lounge, hearing small chatter and commotion.
The last thing you wanted to do was draw attention onto yourself, you quickly entered and made your way to the back, walking slowly praying your heeled boots didn't make too loud of a noise.
You quickly spotted a large fancy water dispenser, clasping your hands together as you looked up and mouthing the words 'amen' before grabbing a small white silicon cup and pouring some for yourself.
In one swift movement you dug into your pocket, pulling out your pill bottle and opening it, taking one and placing it on your tongue as you closed the capsule, putting it back in your pocket. Your cup that was now filled with water you chugged down and refilled it to take another to attempt to flood out the aftertaste, until you were stopped.
Before you could lift the cup up to your lips you were immediately lifted into the air from behind, listening to a familiar voice cheer your name. You immediately went into a panic, turning your previous cup of water, now into nothing but sand, pouring over you and the arms around your lower waist.
"Hizashi!!" You shouted, now trying to pry yourself out of his grasp, your feet swinging in the air as he laughed, quickly putting you down. You immediately scoffed and dusted yourself off, rolling your eyes at his comments and horrible jokes, bending down to the small sand pile you created, forming it back into a silicone cup before throwing it away.
"It's good to see you again seriously, I'm surprised you agreed to come here seeing why you left, with your new fancy job and all." He said, placing his hand on your shoulder and pretending to wipe a fake tear, you only shook your head and smiled at him.
He hasn't changed at all since you last saw him nearly a decade ago, it warmed your heart honestly. You only responded in agreement to his saying, hugging him as he did back to you.
He wasted no time in bringing you to the other side of the teachers' lounge, where you reunited with old friends and shared a few laughs and nice memories before you were all abruptly stopped by hearing a loud slam of the door opening.
As luck would have it, you had another cup in your hand that had coffee in it as the incident occurred, but thankfully your medication had kicked in. You panicked as you nearly spilled the coffee onto yourself, taking a sigh of relief as you moved in time, spilling partial of it onto the floor. Smiling to yourself slightly as you felt the dosage of your medication now starting to affect your mind, making you disassociate.
As everyone paid their attention to the door and expressed words with one another you had bent over, using your quirk and making your coffee spill on the floor a small tissue.
You picked it up and turned to throw it away, completely blocking out the sounds of everyone's voices and small laughter as you made your way to the same trashcan as before, bumping into someone.
"I'm sorry" you said, snapping out of your small trance and zoning back into reality, turning your head to the side to see whose shoulder's you had hit, only to lock eyes with them instantly.
"Shota" you said, nearly breathless as if at a loss for words, he looked at you in shock,
No this wasn't shock,
It seemed to be sadness
maybe sorrow?
"Y/n" he replied, quickly looking away from you and walking away, your eyes trailed his figure as he left.
Out of everything that had happened this morning, and the effects of your medication, you completely forgot that your past lover worked here, and you'd be working alongside him.
He only went over to the coffee table, grabbing a cup and exiting the room, you only looked over to Hizashi and Nemuri, nibbling on your bottom lip. They glanced over to one another, then looked back at you, each placing their hand on each of your shoulders as the bell rang for everyone to get to class.
You were right, this wasn't going to go your way, at all.
౨ৎ⋆˚。⋆౨ৎ⋆˚。⋆౨ৎ⋆˚。⋆
✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn
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anomaly-hivemind · 2 days ago
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Beg for me ☆ Goddess! Nico Robin x Reader
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Summary: You may have said a few things that hurt your friend's feelings, but they were true. If they were so wrong, the goddess herself could come and strike you down. You actually didn’t want to be struck down, so put on your worshipping shoes and beg for forgiveness, maybe prove your “newfound devotion.”
Word Count: 2010
Tags:  Goddess Nico Robin, slight jerk reader, Dacryphilia, god complex, is it a god complex if you’re actually a god, sacrilege? Femdom, begging, pussydrunk, mind break, mind control, cunnilingus
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You looked around looking for your friends outside the library and they waved excitedly when they saw you and called you over. You greeted them and headed inside. It wasn’t any ordinary library you were in but the library of Ohara, dedicated to the supposed homeland of the goddess Nico Robin, you thought the stories they told of gods and goddesses were a bunch of crap, but your friends didn’t and you weren't going to pass up the opportunity to go to a nice fancy library.
You looked over as your friend, Pomji, called your name.
“Hmm?”
“Look, isn't this so cool?” They began talking about a picture of Nico Robin and how lovely her image was. All you could think of was how unrealistic it was. Multiple hands with what small frame? Such a drastic ratio of measurements? All it is is some horny men of the past created their ideal woman and made unrealistic standards for women for the rest of time. 
You were pulled out of your thoughts by your friend calling your name.
“Are you even listening? If you don’t care just say you don’t care,” They said, frowning. 
“Well I don’t care,’ You said, honestly,  That seemed like the wrong decision, your friends' frown deepened and they turned back to the book. The leaned over to your other friend, Chika, and said something to them, the smiled. and went back to what they were reading. You shrugged your shoulders and turned back to what you were reading. You chuckled and the ridiculousness of it all, you were reading the legend of the sun god Nika, or Monkey D. Luffy. Stretching every part of his body? Human skin certainly did have elasticity, but was it made out of rubber because he ate gum gum fruit? The whole thing was laughable, and that’s what you did… laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Pomji asked.
“ Oh just what I’m reading, it’s so silly, I mean who actually believes this crap?” You laugh while Pomji grits their teeth.
“Um me, I believe in this ‘crap’. This is a religious library, why did you even agree to come if you’re just gonna laugh at what I believe in?”  They whispered harshly and their eyes narrowed as they looked at you incredulously.  
You rolled your eyes, “Come on, you have to be honest with yourself, One Piece gives people insecurities and is just a way to manipulate the scared and ignorant masses. Monkey D. Luffy isn’t going to rise from the dead as the god of liberation and save you, You’re being fooled.” You said, when you looked at Pomji after your lengthy speech they had tears in their eyes. 
“My religion may be a joke to you but it’s serious to me. You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” they stormed off leaving you alone.
You blinked for a moment,... Did that really just happen? I mean it was true, there was more evidence pointing to One Piece being false than being true. 
“How dramatic,” You groaned, looking back at Chika; you were surprised to see that they were packing their things. “Wha- Chika, come on, you can't be serious; you don’t believe in this One Piece shit either!” A few others in the library looked at you incredulously; you didn’t even realize that you had raised your voice.
“Be quiet, this is a library. And I may not be religious but I'm not going to say that someone else shouldn’t believe in it either. I’m going to find Pomji, later,” Chika said gathering up their things, the few items Pomji had left, pushing in their chair and walking away without sparing you another glance.
You were left dumbfounded. You can’t believe that both of your friends left you with a simple comment. 
“That wasn’t very nice you know,” you looked back to where the voice came from to see a tall beautiful woman. She had long black hair with soft waves to it, tanned skin, and eyes as blue as the ocean.
“And who are you to say anything, it doesn’t concern you anyways,” 
The woman smiled politely before speaking.” Well, it does concern me you see because you were talking about me, Nico Robin,” 
“Huh?” Before you could even comprehend what was happening hands sprouted from the table and chair and grabbed hold of you. In an instant you were somewhere else entirely, it was strange it still looked vaguely library-ish but nothing like the one you were just in.
“Wha- what’s happening, Where are we? Who the hell are you?” You stuttered, looking around where you were.
“I already told you, I’m Nico Robin, and this is my holy domain, I brought you here so you wouldn’t cause a scene.”
“The Strawhat Deities are just mythology, lady hates to break it to you, you may be pretty, but you ain’t no goddess. I think all these dusty old books are getting to your head.” You said, her expression changed, but you still couldn’t place the emotion. 
Your eyes widened in shock as hundreds of hands bloomed around her and eyes of varying sized popped up around the room all staring at you. It made your skin crawl. The never ending star of all those electric blue eyes filled you with unease.
When you tried to get up, more hands popped up from nowhere and grabbed hold of you, keeping you seated.
“P-pease-please don’t k-k-kill me, I believe you! I-i promise, I promise!” You stuttered, eyes wide and dread filling your being.
She huffed in amusement, and all the extra body parts disappeared just so that her hands could spring up from the ground and make a large throne. She sat down and crossed her legs, looking down at you with a calm smile on her face.
“Why shouldn’t I? You have quite the number of sins racked up, you know. You do know what happens to sinners, right?” Your blood ran cold at her words; You didn’t want to think about what she would do. Based on what you did know, Nico Robin was also called the Demon Child in One Piece. In the Book on Enies Lobby, it says that she destroys three ships full of innocent marines and citizens of her home country. Why would someone worship such a violent goddess? You can't fathom, but you didn’t wanna die, so for once, you decided to keep your mouth shut.
“So…? I guess you're ready to die then?’ She asked teasingly.
“N-no, please don't kill me I’ll do anything, I promise,”  You feel a sense of dread, and your heart is beating what feels like a thousand times a minute. You feel your eyes almost welling up and you hold back your pathetic display to have your life spared. 
“Maybe if you beg, I’ll consider it,”
“Please, oh great goddess Nico Robin, please don’t kill me; I don’t wanna die; I‘ll do anything, anything at all; please forgive me,” You said, kneeling in front of her.
“I’m sorry if I offended you in any way necessary, I mean necessary; I'll find a way to apologize; just please don't kill me,” Tears were falling down your eyes, and you tried not to sniffle as you cried. Then you try to whip them away as to make yourself look less like a little bitch.
“Show your devotion to me, and I’ll accept you turning from your life of sin”
“Don't you want a taste of me,"  her words were hardly a question,  bring your hand to her wet cunt, then guide your hand that was wet with her juices to your lips. 
You let out a slight noise as the sweet taste hits your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut as you savor it.  You breathe, his mouth watering as you want more. You looked up at her, waiting on your head to partake in her mystic. 
"Want a taste from the source?" She watches you with an amused expression opens your eyes, and your gaze darkens and intensifies as she looks at you. 
As you slurped on her juices, you looked up into her glowing blue eyes. Beautiful…  You can't deny your hunger anymore, even if it was a feeling that seemingly, the desire coursing through your veins and making your skin tingle with want and a desire to please and obey. 
 "I want to taste you from the source."  You lean towards her with an eagerness.
"Down down and dive in," Robin tells you, and you don't hesitate to do as she says. Your hand carefully runs up her leg, bringing your lips into her heat.
Your eyes are dark with lust, the look in your gaze almost feral, giving you a blown look. You bring your head forward, your nose skimming along her inner thigh, getting closer. She lets out a pleased breath as she feels your hot tongue. You groan against her as she grips his hair, the sensation adding to the pleasure you're already experiencing. You go straight to her source of pleasure. Your tongue then flicks out, tracing circles around your clit before ducking under to find her entrance.
As soon as he touches you, you let out another moan, her fingers grip and start to tighten on your hair almost painfully. But you don't care as long as you make her feel good. That's all that matters; it's the only thing that should matter, and it does. It's the only thing you need and want. You can't get enough of the sounds she's making. You hum happily against her folds, still exploring her pussy with your tongue.
Robin was letting out sultry, sweet sounds that felt like the closest thing to a form of salvation. You slide your face in deeper, finding that wetness that's making you go crazy. The taste of her is intoxicating, the scent of her arousal hypnotic driving you wild. You pull away before starting to move his tongue again. This time he swirls it around slowly, and slurps at her entrance, knowing all you can fantasize what it feels like being in her.
“Doesn’t it feel better, all your sins washing away?” She pulls you more against her cunt, almost getting rid of your ability to breathe. 
You smile into her sex, It only encourages you more; knowing how much she turns you on just by licking some puss.  You begin lapping at her faster now, using small licks and quick sucks interspersed between long strokes of your tongue up and down her slit as an attempt to tongue  fucker her a little bit while focused on pleasing you orally.  You could feel her getting closer as your tongue pushed on her hole, which was closing against nothing but the tip of your tongue. 
You feel her rock her hips into your face as she falls into her orgasms. The sound causes of her falling close to her peak made you feel the neglected arousal that you were also feeling right now.  You drink up her climax as she releases her grip on your head, and you finish eating her out through it. 
Nico Robin stood up and fixed you up a bit. She cupped your chin and wiped off your mouth with a swipe of her thumb.
“I was never going to kill you, by the way; take care of yourself, apologize to Pomji,” Robin said before you appeared outside of the library. You looked around, a bit dazed. Did… did that actually happen?
You looked over at the sound of Chika’s voice. They did a double-take before speaking, with a slight frown on their face. “Where the hell did you get here?” Pomji turned around at Chika’s comment.
“Sorry for what I said earlier, Pomji; I believe now,” You said, shocking both of your friends, 
“What the hell happened in there?” Chika said, looking at you. 
You shrugged, not really knowing what to say. “The ONE PIECE! THE ONE PIECE IS REAL!”
“Shush, we are still outside a library,” your friends shake their heads at you.
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giveafike · 20 hours ago
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kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭
TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.
Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).
Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)
Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...
I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...
Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!
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Shattered - B.T.S.
In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.
He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.
He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.
Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”
It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”
Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.
When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.
People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.
But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.
As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.
Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.
It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.
Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:
If only he cared.
You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?
A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.
Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.
But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.
“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.
“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.
“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.
“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.
Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”
“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”
He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”
“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”
He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”
Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”
“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”
“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”
He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”
But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”
He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”
“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.
He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”
You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”
He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”
The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”
“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”
“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”
He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”
You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”
His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”
A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”
You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”
He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”
The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”
He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”
“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”
You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”
Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.
With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.
“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”
Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.
But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.
By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.
When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.
As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.
Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.
But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.
You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.
In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.
But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.
And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.
Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:
“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”
Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.
Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.
In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.
One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.
Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”
You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”
Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”
You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”
She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”
Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.
But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.
It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.
“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”
Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”
Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”
Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”
Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”
Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”
Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”
Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”
“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”
Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”
Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”
Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”
Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”
Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”
Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”
Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”
Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”
Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.
Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”
Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”
“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”
Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.
As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.
A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.
But then, that voice broke through.
"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.
Ben.
Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.
Almost.
You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.
Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.
He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.
Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.
"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.
You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."
“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.
Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”
Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”
You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"
She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."
Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.
Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”
You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”
Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”
Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.
"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”
Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”
Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”
Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”
Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”
“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.
Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”
Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”
“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”
Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”
Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”
Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.
You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.
As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.
Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”
Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.
You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”
Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.
Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.
As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.
But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.
You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.
But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”
The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.
With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”
As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:
me n Ben talking outside. brb.
You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.
Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.
“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.
You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”
He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”
“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”
He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”
You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”
His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”
You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”
His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”
You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.
“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”
There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.
“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”
A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.
“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”
You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”
He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”
You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”
There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”
You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.
He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”
You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”
He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.
“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”
The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.
“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.
He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”
You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.
The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.
He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.
You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.
You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.
“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.
Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”
You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.
Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”
You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”
The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”
In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.
“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.
You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”
His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.
“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”
You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”
As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.
You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”
Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.
“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”
You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.
“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.
He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”
You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.
Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”
You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”
He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”
You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.
Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.
“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”
You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.
Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”
You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.
The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.
But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.
The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.
“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.
"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.
"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”
Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.
“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”
You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.
He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.
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bogkeep · 1 day ago
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i remember the shift, when i went from being "some random kid online who likes to draw" to "popular fanartist within a small community". it was on the fan forum for a webcomic nearly a decade ago. i had been posting my art on tumblr for a couple years already, usually getting between 0 and 15 notes on each, with a couple exceptions here and there. as you can probably imagine, being an awkward queer and autistic teen had never made me feel particularly popular before. i wasn't really lonely, personally, though many of my peers are and were, but the idea of many people actively wanting to be my friend and thinking i was genuinely cool - that was incredibly novel.
i have always loved getting attention for my work and find people interested in what i have to say. like, who doesn't? it was a very fulfilling and inspiring experience when it started happening to me on a regular basis, to the point where i could expect it. i went from being constantly apologetic about how annoying i imagined myself to be to others, to feeling confident that at least some people were excited to have me around. absolutely revolutionary to realize that people weren't just pretending to like me, they liked me for realsies, and that putting myself out there and being sincere and genuine in my enthusiasm and interest was actually a positive trait many people valued. wild!!!!!!!!
when you come from a place like that, of course you try to be everyone's friend. that's the scarcity mindset. you have to hold on to every friendship ever offered to you because it's such a rare and precious thing and you don't know when or even if it might happen again. but if you get Popular, well, at some point you learn that you can only nurture so many friendships at once, and that you can't click with everyone. like, it only makes sense. but it sucks!! learning the necessity of rejecting people and letting them down is a harrowing journey, but one that must be made.
there's many deeply lonely people out there, especially online, a space of Connection. connections to other people are so good and necessary and being lonely is an awful thing to be. this means there's a lot of people who can't even imagine not wanting more friends, let alone not be constantly looking for some. it's always a bit of a tragedy when a Very Lonely Person tries to attach themselves to someone Socially Overencumbered, as that's highly unlikely to end satisfyingly for anyone involved.
anyway, i think capital f Fame is like that, but times a hundred thousand. it's deeply fascinating to me how Fame is treated as this deeply aspirational state when it's proven again and again to be a cruel and abusive mistress. like, i understand - don't we all want some attention, some validation, for someone to recognise us on the street with stars in their eyes, like OH you're the COOL PERSON who did the COOL THING and i want nothing more than a HUG and a SELFIE and also i made you this HAND MADE GIFT and PAINTED A PORTRAIT OF YOU... that's the dream, isn't it!! to be recognized for your skill, to be admired, desired! THAT'S WHAT EVERYONE WANTS, ISN'T IT.
but it isn't.
there's a limit to everything. there's a whole spectrum of Getting Attention and Validation between "literally everybody ignores you and everything you do" and "paparazzi follow you everywhere you go" - and i can promise that you can find a lot of fulfilment and joy on the lower end of that scale. it's difficult to explain sometimes, especially to people who get No Attention - it's like telling someone who is starving that the most expensive restaurant in town isn't really worth the hassle, a good affordable sandwich will make you so much happier, trust me. like maybe it's just personal preference and what i can personally tolerate! but i had merely a whiff, a crumb of what they serve at that place, and it's Not That Good. easy for me to say huh!!!!
i'm basically a nobody on the wider web, but i've still had my fair share of unpleasant stranger interactions both of the rude and overly familiar variations. i've been treated as a commodity rather than a person. i've been put on a pedestal and dragged through the mud by the same people. it kinda sucks!! and i don't want to tell people that they should never ever put themselves and their art out there because people might be cruel, because that shouldn't be the expectation! yet for some reason, it is!!!! people experiencing Fame have to deal with all kinds of inhumanely horrible things literally no human person is equipped to experience. many people say that's the price people pay for fame, but that's said by people who haven't experienced even a Fraction of the stochastic terrorism an Audience can do to you if they choose. not all attention is good attention.
i know none of this is a fresh new hot take. i know we all know stalking is unethical and traumatic. but i am still so fascinated by the divide between people who don't understand why anyone would reject any form of adoration and those who have to work very, very hard to keep their boundaries intact.
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reidingandwriting · 2 days ago
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1989 (Peter Parker’s Version
Chapter One: Welcome To New York
“Welcome to New York! It’s been waiting for you”
Word Count: 2.2k
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings/Contains: Gender neutral reader (no pronouns, no use of y/n, no descriptors mentioned in this chapter), mild language, likely some OOC moments but whateverrrr
A/N: Going back to my roots and writing some Peter Parker content! I struggled for ages deciding if I wanted to write for Tom’s Peter or Andrew’s and this is based on Tom’s but trust, Andrew’s Peter Parker will get his time in the spotlight. Also for all my Deadpool & Wolverine people, I PROMISE that next installment will be out soon! I’m at 4k words and not even at the Good Part yet so I hope to have her up by the end of this week 🫶🏻
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You were lost. So lost it would’ve been comical if it wasn’t your first day of class at Midtown. You clutched the schedule in your hands, looking at door numbers as you passed them. If 305 was right here, 303 across the hall, where in the hell was 304? You turned to look around the hallway, hoping to see someone who could help you and then you saw him.
Warm brown eyes met yours and you set your shoulders back before you walked over. He looked as anxious as you felt, but you hoped he would be able to help. “Hi! I’m so sorry, but I’m so insanely lost right now and you look really nice. Do you know where 304 is? I found 303 and 305 but I can’t find 304.”
“Uh, yeah! Yeah, sorry. Can I see your schedule?” You handed your schedule over to his outstretched hand and tried not to flinch when your fingers brushed his. “We have the same schedule, so you can follow me around today.” A pause. “Only if you want to! But it may be helpful. Having someone you can stick with today.” You watched as his cheeks grew slightly more flushed. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, like he couldn’t help but fidget.
“That would be really nice.” You smiled, hoping you came across as grateful as you felt. He ducked his head but you caught the faintest glimpse of a smile before he looked back at you.
“So, 304 is all the way down the hall. I don’t know why they did that, but.” He shrugged and together, the two of you walked down the hall.
“Thank you,” you trailed off and he introduced himself. Peter Parker, he said. You told Peter your name, feeling yourself smile as he said your name. “I’m glad I found you, Peter.” Nothing else was said as you two walked into class and after a moment of hesitation, you took a seat beside him. A minute later, someone else took a seat on the other side of you. Peter introduced him as Ned, Ned introducing himself as Peter’s best friend, and the three of you made light conversation as you worked on a writing assignment.
“Where did you move from?” Ned asked and you hummed.
“Portland. My mom got a new job at the city hospital, and we moved in a few days ago. Thursday, I think? The days have all blurred together at this point.” You chuckled. Your apartment was a labyrinth of moving boxes, having barely unpacked anything over the weekend. You just barely had all of your school things unpacked before you left for school this morning. “I need to finish unpacking, do some actual exploring. I’ve never been to New York before and now I live here.”
“Trust. Stay with us, you’ll be like a native in no time,” Ned said and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.
“Thanks.” You got through the rest of the day fairly well, even if you felt like a lost puppy trailing behind Peter. You felt lucky to have the same schedule as him, and Ned was pretty cool too. You also met a girl, MJ, who kind of intimidated you in the best way. At the end of the day, you parted ways from Peter and his friends, beginning your own walk home.
Hours later, you sat on your fire escape, sketchbook in your lap until a shadow swung past you. Was that…? There’s no way.
-
Peter didn’t mean to see you on his patrol. He had perched on a rooftop, watching over the people on the street below, and he felt a pair of eyes on him. Peter looked around as if his head was on a swivel, and then he saw you. You had a sketchbook in your lap, now dressed down in a simple t-shirt and black sweatpants, and you offered him a simple wave before you returned to your drawing. Peter found himself watching you for a few moments, watching your focus return to whatever you were drawing.
Come on, Peter, get a move on, Peter thought before he was off. He just missed you looking up, watching him with a curious gaze.
Every day for the next week, Peter saw you while on his patrol route. And every day he passed you, he couldn’t help but pause for a moment. He’d perch on the rooftop across from yours, taking a minute to just breathe and watch you. You spent a lot of time on the fire escape, he noticed. Some days drawing, some days reading. Always doing something. Today, he watched as you taped a piece of paper to your fire escape and he tilted his head. Your eyes met his (well, where his eyes are under the mask) and you tapped the paper and waved before climbing back through your window. A few moments passed before Peter moved and he swung over to your fire escape, landing quietly as he took the paper.
Peter smiled as he studied the drawing. You had drawn him as Spider-Man, perched on the rooftop he frequented. You colored the sky to resemble the setting sun, and the drawing looked as if it was glowing. Peter looked up into your window, frowning when he didn’t see you. With a soft sigh, Peter swung off to tuck the drawing into a safe place and continue his patrol route. Later that night, you noticed a sticky note stuck to your window that simply read ‘thank you’ with a drawing of Spider-Man’s mask on the bottom. The sticky note now lived on the side of your bookshelf, it being the first and last thing you saw every day.
-
You had been in the city just shy of a month before you properly met the web slinging hero. You were walking home from the library, and admittedly, you had gotten distracted and now you had no idea where you were. Everything looked somewhat familiar, but it all blended together into vaguely familiar blurs. You had no idea where you were at this point and you had started to panic when a familiar masked hero landed in front of you. You screamed, jumping back a few feet and Spider-Man frantically waved his hands.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I thought you heard me.” Spider-Man sounded as panicked as you felt and you held your hand to your chest as you willed your racing heart to settle down.
“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man my ass, almost gave me a heart attack,” your sentence ended in a laugh as you composed yourself. “I drew you such a nice picture a few weeks ago and you repay me by scaring me.”
“In my defense, I kind of rely on my stealthiness. Can’t sneak up on bad guys if I’m noisy,” Spider-Man said and you rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“What can I do for you, Spidey?” You shifted from one foot to the other, studying him. When he was swinging through the air, fighting off muggers or even worse bad guys that you had seen on YouTube, he held an air of confidence. He came up with quips just as fast as he shot webs, blocked hits, and threw punches of his own. Talking to you though? He seemed fidget-y. He rubbed at the back of his neck and rocked up on the balls of his feet before settling back down. And that voice. That voice was familiar.
“Just happened to be in the area, you looked a little lost. I’m near the end of my patrol route for the day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted an escort home.” You obviously couldn’t see his expression, but he sounded sincere- if not a little amused.
“That would be… really nice, actually. I usually know my way home better, but I went to a different library today and I thought I had only lost focus for a second, but.” You gestured around yourself. “No clue where the hell I am.”
“Welcome to New York,” Spider-Man said as he started to walk the opposite you were going. “Come on, you just missed it by a few blocks.” Together, the two of you walked back to your apartment, and you made conversation as you walked. You talked more than he did, understanding there was a lot he couldn’t share with you without risking his identity being revealed. You talked about your homework, a group project you had, and your mom’s hectic work schedule. Spider-Man spoke a little, talking about things he had seen on patrol today, and asking questions where appropriate as you talked. You thought it would feel awkward, talking to the superhero, but it didn’t feel like you were talking to a stranger. It felt as if you were talking to a friend.
Your apartment came into sight soon enough and you were relieved, but also disappointed. You had enjoyed talking to him and you were sad you had to go inside and do physics homework.
“Thanks for walking me home. I’m sure you have more important things to do, so I really appreciate it,” you said and Spider-Man shook his head.
“Like I said, I wrapped up my patrol a little early today. Got some superhero business to attend to.” He saluted and you couldn’t help but laugh. The eyes of his mask squinted and you tilted your head, surprised by how expressive his mask was. “Need a lift to your window?” Spider-Man made little hand motions, resembling how he shot his webs, and you shook your head.
“Maybe next time,” you said and he nodded. “If you’re ever around and have a minute. You know where my fire escape is. Just knock on the window if I’m not already out there. I’m home alone a lot,” you admitted. Your mom was home as often as she could, but as a doctor who worked in the emergency room, she worked odd hours. You were a pro at being alone at this point and you couldn’t fault her for it. Chasing her dream even after having you, it was commendable.
“I’ll be on the lookout for you.” Spider-Man’s head shifted slightly, looking up as if he heard something. “Duty calls. I’ll see you around.” He waved before he shot a web at a nearby building, then he was off. You couldn’t help but stare at where he stood not too long ago, thinking about the interaction you had, before you walked inside your apartment building. Odd.
-
Peter sat on your couch, working on homework when you scared the absolute shit out of him.
“Can we talk?” It only took three words for his heart to stop and he hoped he didn’t look even half as panicked as he felt.
“Yeah! Yeah. What’s up?” Peter struggled to meet your gaze and you ran your hand through your hair, a nervous habit.
“I’m gonna sound batshit crazy, but it’s been driving me crazy for a while now and I have to ask.” A deep breath. “Are you Spider-Man?”
Many emotions filled Peter at once and he picked panic as the primary emotion to feel. His hands shook and he felt frozen, yet the need to run at the same time. You already knew his secret, what was stopping him from jumping out the window and swinging away? He could probably convince May to let him stay home for a few days, avoid you a little. Instead, Peter let out a shaky breath.
“What- what makes you say that?”
“Your reaction for one. But I noticed some similarities, your behavior mostly and your voice. Come on, Peter, you’ve gotta look into a voice modifier. But what really sold me? Welcome to New York.” Peter thought back on how not even a few days ago, you were talking to him about the almost friendship you had developed with the spider hero.
“Is this normal for people here? Being friendly with superheroes?” Peter had snorted in response and said, “Welcome to New York.” You had paused for the briefest of moments, Peter almost missed it, before you laughed in agreement.
“I think that connected the dots for me,” you finished. “So… are you?”
Seconds, possibly minutes passed, before Peter spoke again. “You know you can’t tell anyone, okay?” You nodded quickly before sitting back into the couch, relaxing against the cushions.
“Thank you.” Peter tilted his head. “For trusting me. I promise, you never have to worry about me saying anything.” The two of you fell into a comfortable silence until you groaned dramatically. “Do you get number nine? Because I keep getting the wrong answer.”
“Come here, let me see.” Peter scooted closer to you and looked at your work. “Right there.” As Peter explained what you were missing, you were grateful nothing felt different between the two of you. As if the conversation never happened. You ordered pizza for dinner later than night before Peter had to go home, and you watched as he swung into the distance, waving him off. Friends with a super hero. Only in New York.
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shinesurge · 2 days ago
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I think it's a side effect of having a slightly bigger audience than before, but this year I've been getting a LOT of questions about offering digital editions of the KC books so I wanted to talk about it out loud for a bit.
There are a bunch of complicated reasons I've never offered the volumes as digital downloads, and I think they mostly boil down to concerns about the pretty embarrassing lack of significant internet presence Kidd Commander has accumulated over the 11 years it's been running. The audience I DO have is very enthusiastic, and let me be clear that I appreciate how unique and cool that is, especially in the era we're in where I really have no business running things the way I do lmao
The problem is, in refusing to do any of the predatory social media bullshit that tricks people into doing advertising for my comic while pretending it's a fandom, and by taking initiative to build fandom spaces for people to hang out in myself, I've created an extremely insular community where folks don't really feel any need to help it grow. "If you build it they'll come" is true, but the other half of that is people going "hey neat this thing builds itself!" and you end up with dozens of fandom posts, hours of discussion, and even fanwork locked away in inaccessible spaces while the pages on the site consistently get no comments or interaction and the public tags are empty.
WHAT does this have to do with digital editions lol
The idea was, a thing that helps set KC apart is the webcomic thing where you're not only checking a site regularly as a routine, but you're building some impression of the author as well. My little news posts are bundled with the pages, the site gives a sense of Environment in way static editions don't. In return for offering nearly a thousand pages of completely free content the reader has to Encounter Me at some point, and be made aware that this is an operation being run by a single person, and that its survival is entirely dependent on other people reading it and supporting it. Going to the site ALSO at least lets people know a comment section /exists/, and there COULD be a community to participate in. You don't get that with the books as much, but the books are almost exclusively going to folks who already read the comic, I don't think they're floating around out there to many people who didn't buy them directly from me after reading it online.
It is objectively easier for people to binge an archive they can carry around offline with them, I completely get it. But I've watched SO many new readers fall in love with this thing in real time as they leave comments behind them through the archive, and even just forming the habit of checking the site regularly really goes a long way towards forming enough of a connection with a reader for them to stick around for the long haul. If you just read it all isolated on your phone, it stops there; it's easy to forget it's an independent operation that desperately needs your support, /I/ have no idea whether you liked it or if people are even reading, and when you're finished you'll move on to something else because there's no visible fandom to engage with.
I don't WANT to think this is what will happen, but it's already been happening here for years even without proper channels. I sort of feel like this would just be facilitating my own demise lmao. All the comics who run the way I do were ALREADY popular back before the landscape shifted to fast-fashion sensibilities, so Girl Genius offering digital editions doesn't really harm them, you know? By the time forums died their community was already so stable and self-sufficient they could quit updating the main story for a whole year and not even feel it. Gunnerkrigg is signed on with fuckin Dark Horse now. People doing the things KC does got in early and stabilized before I even got started, fandom is a different world now and I'm already barely keeping this train running on my own as it is.
But on the other hand: accessibility!! HOW many times have I wanted to engage with something but they WONT LET ME PAY THEM FOR THE THING I WANT so I just leave!! The alternative here isn't "oh if i FORCE THEM to read it online they'll stick around" it's "if i can't read it how i want then i'm skipping it". That makes total sense, /I/ do that! What about people who want the extra content in the books but can't pay international fucking shipping!! It's also an Archival issue, which absolutely kills me, but that's a whole other post lmao. There are extremely good reasons to offer another option for reading my work, but I am so anxious this would just be putting a nail in this stupid coffin I've been building already.
I've been having this conversation a lot, mostly with Lee, but it came up again this morning in an email and regardless of my own feelings: this is a thing people want, a very reasonable thing, and if I fail to provide it that's just bad business. Do y'all here have any thoughts about all this? I would like to give the people what they want and y'all are The People.
Anyway buried way down here so far I'll make another post about it: I /am/ going to offer the specials as digital downloads, permanently in the shop. They're old books by now, I'm having issues keeping them in stock anyway, and they DON'T exist online anywhere, so this isn't technically any skin off my back outside of piracy issues, which. would be a stupid thing to fret about lmao
thanks for reading all this! I'm gonna go sort through pdfs for a while
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gorbalsvampire · 3 days ago
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D'you have any player-facing or secret ST-eyes-only systems that you like to use for tracking SI exposure in your games? Or (shunting you a soapbox here) for seeding and making good on consequences generally?
So in general, my absolute favourite way to generate The Quencies is Succees At A Cost. "I'll offer you a devil's bargain," to quote the Master, Mr. Carl.
Kick enough Successes at a Cost down the trail and you can have them escalate into something quite spectacular, whatever that turns out to be. The same for Messy Critical consequences. "There's been a Masquerade breach, but I need to work out the details, so it'll be with you in a couple of sessions' time." That sort of thing.
I also like to frame story beats as poison chalices and sadistic choices. Yes, you can have the Dunsirns' help in covering up the assassination attempt on that Baron you murdered, but they want her property, her territory, and you to know exactly who took the fall for you and what that's worth.
What else? Every chronicle needs a character who's talked about more than they are seen. Telegraphy is key, but don't go too hard on it - we don't want players going "we've got a BADASS over here" about them. I think the trick is having other SPCs be afraid of them, or answerable to them, or clearly dependent on them.
In my Glasgow game, Miss Drake the scourge didn't appear very often, but she was mentioned in the context of "what keeps this praxis running?" and "why doesn't anyone hunt in the West End?" Sir Thomas Dunsirn - Big Tam to his family - was the unseen hand of the nocturnal economy and, more to the point, the hand holding Alistair's leash.
There's this horrid old man who somehow gets you to do whatever he wants. You first met him when he physically and psychically assaulted his way into your turf and your crime scene. You owe him your continued liberty. And he has a boss. At that point, player imagination is doing the work.
But while we're here, I'm also going to talk about Nemesis Points. I took these a late-series Fighting Fantasy gamebook, Night Dragon, and I love them. As you quest to find the location of the titular Night Dragon and prevent its resurrection by the cult who worship it, you have various avenues of investigation to pursue, some of which are of course dead ends: you also have various bits of side business, in accordance with custom. Every prevarication, every attempt made, even the successful ones, adds some Nemesis Points to your tally. If you haven't found the Night Dragon's lair by the time you reach a given Nemesis score, Your Adventure Is Over in a sense far greater than "you got mugged by three pirates and died again."
When I was running face to face games, I'd sometimes put one of those spindown - or in this case spin up - life counters from Magic on the table. Whenever my players prevaricated, overthought, faffed about or otherwise didn't make the most of our time together, the die would spin up a little.
I think something like that could adapt to Masquerade cockups very nicely. People love a meter.
I find the Response Algorithm and Institutional Conflict systems in the Anarch and Camarilla books are a bit of a headache, but they're there if you need them. Of course, Second Inquisition also has a chapter explicitly for doing this, for running your SI presence as an active and hostile force with its own goals - almost a solo side game for the ST.
This isn't something I've used - yet - as Wild Roses was very much me finding the transitions I needed to make out of Revised era thinking, and one of those was vampire-focus, less interest in what mortals want and are doing. The SI there was a cool threat that warmed up in the third story when I wanted to raise the stakes and do a cool bank heist opening session, and again when a returning player gave me the opportunity to tell a story about collaborators and how they should die in shame. I had ideas for how they served the vampire story and they were only developed in so far as they did that.
I'm not actually very happy with how I characterised and played my SI characters, and I'd like to do them justice with another outing. One where they actually have a project. It'll be more work for me, but if I'm going to do this Spy vs. Spy chronicle concept justice, I'm going to have to do that work, aren't I?
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gavillain · 20 hours ago
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Agatha All Along season finale discussion because AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Spoilers on the road ahead!
So a LOT happened in this two parter, so I'm just gonna hit the major points in order...
So despite my thinking that two of the Salem Seven survived because of the number of sword fall sounds last episode, they are apparently all dead. Which, y'know what, I don't mind. They weren't really meant to be actual characters, mostly just Nazgul-esque opponents to add some extra stakes, and having Lilia successful destroy them all with her sacrifice is the most earned ending for them.
When we get to the final trial, it's more or less the three remaining witches stuck in a room having to resolve their purposes on the Road. For Jen, we had her unbinding herself and the reveal that Agatha was the one who bound her. Admittedly, I kinda feel like that reveal was underdone, and it mostly just seemed like a quick asspull to resolve Jen's storyline at the eleventh hour. However, I really felt for Jen and the catharsis of unbinding herself, so I can't complain too terribly much.
Secondly, we resolve Billy's ambitions to restore Tommy, and this one, I was generally more favorable about than Jen's. Billy basically helped put Tommy into the body of another boy who died prematurely, one who was being drowned in an apparently very toxic environment. In the comics, Tommy was in and out of juvie all his life, and the Young Avengers find him in a supermax prison because of his powers. So, I'm assuming Thomas Shepherd, the boy whose body Billy hijacks, is in juvie or some correctional facility, and that's where we're gonna pick up with him in Vision Quest. Also, Agatha's line about "sometimes boys just die" was a fucking ARROW TO THE HEART, especially with the backstory in the following episode.
Then for Agatha, she completes the road's test by growing a sapling that she finds in her locket holding Nicholas's hair and emerges from the road back in Westview, where Rio is waiting for her. And DAMN was the final battle against Rio one of the coolest in Marvel. With Billy going FULL Wiccan mode and Agatha siphoning off his power but not enough to kill him. It was your standard Marvel final battle, but I really enjoyed the spectacle of it and how insurmountable of a foe Rio felt like. Agatha almost betraying Billy so that she can live but then changing her mind and sacrificing her life for his was such a powerful moment of full circle for her. After everything she's done to other witches and to Billy's own mother, for her to finally embrace death (and LITERALLY embrace the kiss of Death) was super powerful and showed how the road genuinely did change her. Personally, I usually hate redemption arcs, but this one, I actually really liked and supported because it wasn't about Agatha giving up her sense of self to be someone else, it was about making a choice out of love in the moment. I thought it was a beautiful way to resolve the story, and I was wondering what the heck else they were going to do with the last episode.
And then we got the reveal that I saw a few people guessing that Billy created the Witches' Road and that Agatha had never been on it, and I think that was a really well deserved reveal that hit for me exactly as it was intended. I loved that Billy created it because he has "the same tell" as Wanda with WandaVision. He made this grand fantasy adventureland, and that's SO cool! He, too, apparently is capable of spontaneous creation like Wanda, and I'm curious how they're going to tie this in with the MCU lore about the Scarlet Witch. In the comics, Billy is the Demiurge, and I'm interested in finding out if Marvel is going to bring in that concept or if they're going to do something new with the prophecy of Scarlet Witch. Maybe a secret hidden verse to the prophecy? We saw Billy's statue in Mount Wundagore in Multiverse of Madness, so maybe old Chthon knew a lil' somethin' else. I also liked the reveal that the Witches Road was a con that Agatha used to lure unsuspecting witches into giving her their powers. That was clever, as was the way that it tied in with her backstory.
SPEAKING OF, that backstory with Nicholas Scratch was the most heartbreaking thing, and I loved every minute of it. Her bond with Nicholas and the way that she showed genuine humanity to him was a side to Agatha we only saw the periphery of in her relationship with Billy, so seeing it fully realized was SO powerful and so well done. Rio giving her a good seven(ish?) extra years with Nicholas also speaks volumes because in Rio's mind, she was doing Agatha a HUGE favor that violated the cosmic order and to some extent, she DID because it showed Agatha a purpose beyond just power. However, it also probably hurt her worse than just taking Nicholas upon birth. She gave Agatha years to love and get attached to her son, and that, I'm sure, made the wound of losing him that much deeper (and Kathryn Hahn's acting with those screams of anguish upon finding Nicky dead were SOUL CRUSHING - she KILLED it). So, yeah, interesting that it was such a double edged sword. I also thought the twist that Nicholas and Agatha wrote the Ballade together as their little song and it eventually spread because of him singing it to other witches was REALLY clever and REALLY powerful.
And, finally, Agatha is back as a ghost, and she's sticking around Billy as his spirit guide/mentor, which I really like. I'm sure some people are going to take umbrage at Marvel cheating death again, but this is a show that racked up bodies of major characters left and right, and Agatha being dead and a spirit I'm sure is going to have big changes for her and her power and characterization going forward. Plus from Evanora Harkness, it's an established part of the lore. So, for me, it works, and I like it. I also like the touch of her looking more like her comics counterpart with gray hair in ghost form, and I'm honestly REALLY excited to see Billy and Agatha as a dynamic duo continue on in future Marvel properties.
Overall, I LOVED Agatha All Along. It was an incredible journey, and it was the most I've enjoyed a Marvel property in awhile. I feel optimistic about the future of this particular corner of the MCU, and I'm so glad I got to go with everyone down the Witches Road :)
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