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communistkenobi · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking a lot about fandom recently, both as someone who has engaged with it regularly for over a decade on various platforms and also as someone who has increasingly become disenchanted with those spaces. Not only because of pervasive issues of (especially anti-Black) racism, misogyny, transphobia/homophobia, and the like, but the particular way those things take shape within fandom.

At the most basic level I think fandom has a fundamental methodological problem with the way it approaches texts, be they shows, books, movies, etc. What I mean is that people almost invariably approach fandom at the level of character, often at the level of ship - your primary way of viewing a text is filtered through favourite characters and favourite relationships, as opposed to, say, favourite scenes, favourite themes, favourite conflicts.

This is reinforced through the architecture of dominant platforms that host fan content, particularly AO3 - there are separate categories for fandom, character and ship, and everything else is lumped together in “Additional Tags.” You cannot, for example, filter for fics on AO3 by the category of “critical perspective” or “thematic exploration”. There is no dedicated space for fan authors to declare their analytical perspective on the text they are writing about. If an author declares these things, they do so individually, they must go out of their way to do so, because there are no dedicated or universally agreed-upon tags to indicate those things, and if your fanfiction has a lot of tags, that announcement of criticality gets mushed together in a sea of other tags, sharing the same space with tags like “fluff and angst” or “porn without plot.” Perhaps one of the few tags closest to approaching this is the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” which doesn’t indicate perspective or theme but rather that there is, broadly, some kind of “problematic content” contained therein - often of a sexual nature, frequently as a warning about “bad” ships.

Now this is not an inherent problem, as in, it is not inherently incorrect to approach a text and primarily derive pleasure from it by focusing on a given character or relationship. And I think a lot of mainstream media encourages (even requires) audiences to engage with their stories at these character- and ship-levels. The political economy of the production of art (one which is capitalistic, one that seeks to generate comfort, titillation, controversy, nostalgia, or shock for the purposes of drawing in viewership, one that increasingly pursues social media metrics of “engagement” and “impressions”, one that allows for the Netflix model of making two-season shows before cancelling them, as well as a whole host of other things) enforces a particular narrative orthodoxy, one that heavily focuses on the individual interiority of specific characters, one that is deeply concerned with the maintenance of white bourgeois middle class values of property ownership, the nuclear family, normative heterosexual sexuality and gender, settler-colonial ideas about community and environment, etc. If you do not care about the familial drama surrounding Shauna cheating on her husband in Yellowjackets, for example, because you think the institution of monogamous marriage and the nuclear family is stupid and violent and heternormative, then you will have a difficult time engaging with the show in general. We exist within a deeply normative (and frequently reactionary) media environment that encourages us to approach art in a particular way, one that privileges the individual over other narrative components (settings, themes, conflicts, ideas, political and moral perspectives, structure, tone, etc).

All of which culminates in priming fans to engage with art at these levels and these levels alone, even when that scope is deeply inappropriate. A standout example I recently encountered was browsing the fandom tags on tumblr for the movie Prey - a movie that recontextualises the original Predator film by setting it in colonial America to make the argument that the horrific violence of white colonists and imperial soldiers is identical to the violence we see the Predator do to human beings. It is a movie that makes the argument that, despite this alien monster running around killing people, the villains of the franchise are these occupying soldiers and settlers, an alien force who themselves have just as little regard for (indigenous) human life.

And when browsing the tags on tumblr, what I found was dozens upon dozens of horny posts about how hot the predator monster was. Certainly there were discussion of the film’s narrative, and these posts got a good amount of notes, but the tags were heavily dominated with a focus on the Predator itself. People were engaging with this film not as a solid action movie with interesting and compelling anti-colonial themes, but as a way to be horny about a creature that is, ironically, a stand-in for white settler indifference to (and perpetuation of) indigenous suffering. And if this is your takeaway from an extremely straightforward film with a very clear message, this is not merely a failure to comprehend the content of a text, this is something beyond it - a problem that I think is due in part to the methodological problem of approaching all texts as vessels for bourgeois interiority, individual but ultimately interchangeable expressions of sexuality, perhaps best-expressed by the term “roving slash fandom,” a phenomenon wherein fans will move from one fandom to the next in search of two (usually white, usually skinny) guys to draw and write porn of, uncaring of any of the surrounding context of the stories they are embedded in, and consequently dominating a large sector of fandom discussion.

This even gets expressed in the primary ideological battleground of fandom itself, the ridiculous partitioning of all fan conflict into “pro-“ and “anti-“ shipping compartments. Your stance on engagement with fandom itself historically was (and still is) always first filtered through one of these two labels, describing your fundamental perspective on all texts you engage with. And both of these two labels are only concerned with shipping, as if all disagreements about art can only be interpreted through the lens of what characters you think are acceptable to draw or write having sex. Nowhere in this binary is space to describe any other perspective you might take, what approaches you think are valuable when interacting with art, what themes or stories you think are worth exploring. It’s not just that the pro/anti divide is juvenile and overly-simplistic, it is a declaration that all fan conflict must be read through the lens of shipping and shipping only - the implication being that any objections raised, and criticisms offered, is ultimately just bitching about ships you don’t like.

Which, again, I think is a fundamental error of methodology. It leaves no space for people to discuss the political and moral content of a work, the themes of a piece of art, the thorny issues of representation not just as expressed through individual characters but entire worlds, narratives, settings, and themes. You are always hopelessly stuck in the quagmire of “shipping discourse,” and even rejecting that framework will inevitably get you labelled as either pro- or anti-ship anyway - and you will almost invariably be labelled an “anti” if you express any kind of distaste for the bigoted behaviour of fans or the content of the text itself, again reinforcing the idea that this is all just pointless whining online about icky ships you personally hate.

And this issue is best perhaps epitomised by reader insert fanfiction, circumventing any need for you to project onto a character by literally inserting yourself into fiction, primarily in order to write/read about a character you want to fuck. This then intersects in particularly disgusting ways with real world politics, such as reader insert fics about Pedro Pascal going with you to BLM protests. Even if this is (incredibly over-generously) interpreted as a very poor attempt at being “progressive,” it still demonstrates that many (white) fans are often incapable of thinking about anything outside of a character-centric perspective, quite literally centring themselves in the process, and consequently they think it’s totally appropriate to do things like that. The fact that this is also frequently a racist lens is not coincidental, because again, a chronic focus on (fictional) individuality prohibits any structural perspective from entering the discussion, which necessarily excludes a coherent or useful perspective on systemic issues, where people come to the conclusion that the topic of police brutality is little more than a fun stage to enact whatever romantic shenanigans you want to get up to with a hot guy.

I will stress, again, that it is not a moral sin to have a favourite character, nor is it bad to enjoy reading about two guys having sex in fanfiction. I enjoy and do those things, I engage with fandom often through a character-centric lens (see my url) - because it’s fun! But I think that this being the dominant mode of engagement inherently excludes and marginalises all other approaches, and creates a fandom space where the most valuable way to talk about media is to discuss which two characters you most enjoy imagining fucking each other

#media #effortpost #fandom discussion

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ohdeerfully · 4 months

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Requests? I got you 😌

Reader who made a deal with Alastor, be his informant, and he'll provide aid when needed. And reader was damn good at holding up their end of the deal, while Alastor hasn't really needed to uphold his since aid hasn't been asked for.

So what might happen when his dear little informant hasn't came back from gathering info on the Vee's?

EATING IT UP idk i love this kind of stuff thank you so much. im making this a two-parter! it was getting kinda long and i wanted to get something posted (:

Your Half of the Deal (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii part iiiTW: kidnapping, cursing, alastor is manipulative (per usual), alastor is in denial if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ═��════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Deals with Alastor were, for a lack of better words, a big deal. Not something to mess around with. His twisted nature allowed him to create so many loopholes for himself, forcing one to do more than what they bargained him for. It was unfair, but that’s what happens when you make a deal with the Radio Demon.

You weren’t as lucky as the other demons at the hotel, not receiving the typical advice Vaggie debriefed any newcomer. Alastor got to you first. He got you soon after you fell into Hell, before you even knew exactly what was going on or the whole ‘soul’ thing.

“My,” A light voice cooed from the shadows, causing you to jerk your head up. Your ass still stung from the tumble you took after falling down into god knows where. You were curled up in a dark, moldy corner, a brief respite from all the freaks that you kept running into. Your fingers–no, claws?--still aches after defending yourself from a pair of spiked thugs.

“What a poor sight. How dreadful!” He continued. You could barely make out the form of the speaker. You just knew he was tall. With blazing red eyes. His voice had a radio-like filter over it, with a general low frequency humming around himself during the silence.

He had seen you, a new fallen demon, fight yourself away from those two earlier, a wild look in your eye. How it pleased him, seeing that look somebody gets when they are desperate for their life. But you, in particular, piqued his interest. To be able to acclimate to a new body, in a new place, and fight for your life at the drop of your hat.

You seemed capable, and he liked that. He knew you were naive, fresh meat always was. And he liked that.

You had yet to speak, only looking up at him from your fetal position. But he could tell you were tense and ready to spring, if need be. He played a grin on his face and leaned down closer to you.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Alastor,” He held his hand out to you from his bent over position. You shook his hand cautiously. “I saw that scuffle earlier, and dear if I may say, you fight like a wild tigress.”

You quirked your brow at this comment. “Thanks,” You replied plainly. “(Y/N).” You didn’t want to talk right now. But, you were at least glad to see a face that didn’t immediately go through your throat.

Alastor, of course, didn’t go after those of the ‘fairer means,’ as he would put it. At least, not in a violent way. He was all for the typical manipulation.

“Even still, a fair lady such as yourself needs someone to protect her! And,” He stood up straight again, a dangerous glint in your eye. “For a price, I could be at your beck and call.”

“A price..?” You responded weakly. You had to admit, seeing this tall, confident man in front of you did seem to put you at ease. He seemed kind. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some help, if there were more creatures wanting to attack you.

“Your soul!” He said, all too cheerfully. Your mouth dried up at this. With everything that has happened to you so far, you had a hunch that the term ‘soul’ actually carried meaning in this place. But, how much..? Was it worth the protection he promised?

“More like a mutual contract, really! Mutual benefactors!” Alastor lied, seeing that hesitance in your expression. “I get your soul, you do what I ask, and I protect you! Simple enough.”

The expression he held, with that tall grin of his, didn’t do much to calm your nerves. As chipper as he seemed, there was something to it. Something more, but you couldn’t quite tell.

“Deal?”

His glowing eyes seemed to darken as he squinted them in anticipation, his smile somehow growing wider. The static in the air seemed to crackle with more energy, almost violently, as you considered his hand that he had held out. There was an ominous aura that made your skin crawl.

Ah, what the hell. Flashes of those thugs from earlier was enough to put you on your feet. You could only imagine the other shit that lived in this place, and had a feeling they were the bottom of the barrel. You had only just managed to get away from them.

You made eye contact for a couple of seconds, the prickling sensation on your skin becoming harsher and more aggravating the closer you stepped to him. You grabbed his hand.

You were thinking about your unlucky situation–which you often did in your free time–as you gave yourself a onceover in the mirror, black eyes examining your tight outfit. A little spy getup–a little stereotypical, something you would definitely see in the movies. But, hey, it never failed you.

Thinking back, you could tell now that his words and smile were filled with deceit and manipulation. You often got pissed at yourself for how naive you were. You hadn’t even called on him once since then, and you’ve been stuck as his little pet for nearly four months now. He runs you around like a doll in a big playhouse, sending you this way and that to get intellect from his various enemies.

“I’m much too popular to be roaming in those areas!” He had claimed when you questioned why he, the Radio Demon, couldn’t just do it himself. “Demons flee at the sight of me. The Vee’s would see me from a mile away.” You had a suspicion that he just didn’t want to be seen in public making such a petty fuss over his television rival.

There was no point in dwelling on it, but you couldn’t help the occasional feeling of regret that twinged your chest when you thought too long. You were stuck as his, whether you liked it or not.

Slicking back your hair, you finalized your sleek outfit. Another day of being thrown into precarious situations by that red asshole. It was becoming a weekly thing, with Alastor requesting more and more information, especially from those Vee’s he hated so much. In fact, now that you thought about it, they were the only demons you snuck by. How obsessed they were with each other.

It was no easy task, getting through the security of that place. In fact, it was nearly impossible, seemingly getting harder every time. You had a cautious feeling that they knew what you were up to, and kept falling short of catching or stopping you. There were cameras pointed in every direction, every angle, in the highest quality imaginable. Every trip left your heart racing with adrenaline.

“On your way now, are you?” Alastor asked coyly. He waited for you at the entrance to the hotel, a glint in his eyes. Oh, how he loved playing with you like this. Watching you bend and break for him. He loved it. And you hated him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get killed this time,” You said snidely, referencing the increasing danger of each trip. “Wouldn’t that be a treat for me.” You said this in a whisper, but Alastor still heard.

He bent at the waist to be eye level with you, that sinister grin of his lowering slightly. It seemed he had wanted to say something, his teeth parting for a moment before closing again. His grin perked back up and he straightened himself into a stand. He simply reached out and patted your head.

“Now, don’t go out with that kind of mindset! Why, you know our deal!” His lips curled in reference to the rather one-sided promise you made each other. To be honest, considering you never had to call for Alastor’s aid, you weren’t even comforted by the notion. Who’s to say he even shows up? How will he even know if you need help?

Alastor stepped towards you, his hands flapping as he shooed you out of the door. “The night is only so long! Go along!”

So, now you’re here. Tucked behind a corner near the Vee’s residence. There were cameras everywhere, obviously, and you swore you saw more than last time. What point does Alastor even have, making you come here so often? What more could he want? You knew him and Vox were rivals, but it wasn’t like Alastor didn’t know how to take care of the TV-head.

You had a sick feeling that Alastor just enjoyed making you do bullshit for him like this, and didn’t care much for the actual information. The thought drew a sneer on your face. If you weren’t literally soul bound to this guy, you would probably just let yourself get caught and likely killed on the spot. But, of course, your deal made that dream impossible.

With a couple hops on your toes, you began your brisk walk towards the back of the manor. You were hyper aware of all the cameras, and hoped that your dark outfit helped blend with the shadows.

However, the second you lifted a window and stepped foot into the building, lights flashed and an alarm rang. Fuck.

The television demon himself got to you surprisingly fast. As if he had been waiting. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have surprised you. You briefly wondered why it took them so long to have an alarm system in the first place, and began frantically looking for a way out. The window behind you had shut and locked. The hallway was incredibly narrow and Vox stood in the way.

Fuck it, you made a mad dash for the Overlord, hoping to catch him off guard. You raised a clawed hand and swiped at his television head. A pointless attack, you realize, as the screen nearly flickered for a moment; his wide, pixelated grin staring into you. Before you could move again, his arm tightly gripped at your throat. You felt an electrifying sensation, stinging through every nerve, and blacked out.

“Heyy, Al?” Charlie’s voice rang through the doorway of Alastor’s radio tower. “Have you seen (Y/N)..? She was supposed to help with some decorations.” She had opened the door without warning.

He paced back and forth in thought, gripping the top of his cane with one hand and tapping the end of it in his other. He didn’t respond to Charlie, but the question did ring in his head over and over. You hadn’t come back from the night before. You always came back before the day broke.

He didn’t know the feeling that stirred in his chest as he watched the minutes pass by. The hours pass by. All without a sight of you. He never thought to keep watch as you worked, refraining from sending his shadow to spy on the spy, as he always saw you as capable enough.

Besides, he thought to himself. What a waste of my time that would be. Fretting over a single demon.

“Alastor,” Charlie said again. He craned his neck to her, stopping his train of thought. His grin had a strain to it and his nose wrinkled in aggravation. Why was she in his space? He hated intrusions.

“What?” He said bluntly.

“(Y/N)?” She spoke your name again, hoping to prompt some conversation out of the Radio demon with the implied question.

Alastor composed himself, acting unphased by the… worry? That he felt. “Why would I know where she is? I take care of this hotel, but not so much the residents.” It was a true enough statement, as he preferred just watching the demons Charlie try desperately to rehabilitate and fail miserably every day.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” He interrupted Charlie before she could say anything, her mouth hanging open and words dying on her tongue. He briskly turned on his feet and walked towards her, standing at the doorway. “I would prefer you knock next time.” He shut the door on her.

He couldn’t handle the heavy feeling that threatened his lungs as he thought about what was happening at the Vee’s residence.

Did he really care to go out, risk a scene, risk the intel, just to get you? To make sure you were okay?

Yeah. He had to. He hated that feeling in his chest, especially as it just grew heavier and more overwhelming. He just chalked it up to the deal he had made with you putting a pressure on his own soul to hurry up and deal with it. But he couldn’t help the tightness that consumed him when he thought about what you were doing in that place. Or what they were doing to you. He brushed the emotion aside, trying his best to ignore it.

He argued with himself that yeah, he was only going because of that deal he had made. No, no way did he have a soft spot for you. No way in Hell. He was just doing this to hold up his deal. Yeah.

With a heavy sigh and a twitch at the corners of his lips, he brushed his talon-like fingers through the fringe of his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall into place again. He tried to maintain a leisurely composure, but a wild glint in his eye was proof enough that he was stressed out.

Best to get this over with. He had a deal to uphold. He opted for the faster route, melting into his shadow.

part ii part iii

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: kidnapping #kidnapping #alastor doesnt realize he Feels stuff

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elfwreck · 1 month

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I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

#Anonymous #ao3

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hitlikehammers · 4 months

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take the call

rating: t ♥️ cw: off-screen car accident (but EVERYTHING IS FINE), hurt/comfort, softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, married steddie, hurt/comfort, rockstar Eddie/teacher Steve, Steve's heart of gold is very possibly going to be Eddie's undoing one of these days, well-worn-soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day eighteen: Love is terrifying (@starryeyedjanai)

set in the 00s, with Steve and Eddie having two decades of loving under their belts, now ♥️

Eddie isn’t expecting a call, any call, really; he’s in the studio, like, if he gets a call someone takes a message or whatever.

And in fairness, Eddie doesn’t get the call.

He gets a message.

“Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes kinda automatically, kinda thoughtlessly at the cut of the audio track to let the mic system override from outside the booth.

“Okay, so, like, don’t freak out.”

He’s not thoughtless at all about the way he clocks the tension in Jeff’s voice even across the speaker system; it’s entirely automatic how he freezes, how he looks up and locks eyes with his friend through the glass and sucks in a sharp breath for the look on his face: pained.

Maybe, maybe scared.

Eddie’s heart drops somewhere near his knees, but beats there so fucking hard.

“This lady called, and she said she found Lainie’s card inside the case of a phone she picked up,” and okay, okay, that’s…that’s random but maybe it’s about their assistance manger, who just got her contract confirmed and got fancy new business cards for it and has been handing them out to everybody she sees, even gave Eddie extras to pass on to Steve, maybe he can share them at the school as if anyone at even a hoity-toity private 6-through-12 school would have a reason for a card from a record label but she’s excited, and Eddie’s excited for her, and Steve loves the people Eddie works with, and not just because they’re attached to Eddie and he loves the things that come with Eddie as a given—but that’s also true, and always has been, but—

“She, um,” Jeff’s voice is filtering through again, and Eddie clocks that there’s…there’s something more to it, more than his brain’s willing to grasp just yet but his body’s apparently picked up on because he thinks the slightest breeze would knock him over and shatter him into pieces, for the tightness in his body; he’s not focused enough to count the separate beats of his pulse but he can tell it’s quick enough already, still weighed down near his feet, that counting would be kinda hard, would take effort:

“She found the phone at a car crash?”

So: the more-to-it. The thing his body already knew.

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t even need to know what comes next to know he cannot fucking breathe.

“Sounded kinda like, uh, like it could have been Steve’s phone,” Jeff is trying to tell him, and part of Eddie hears it, part of him does but most of him is white noise, is pins-and-needles, is underwater and drowning and not even fucking thinking of fighting the pull because he can’t, he’s heavy at the legs and his lungs are seizing and there’s, he’s—

“Because it, umm, she found the card because the case was broken?” and just last night Eddie’d watched Steve pop off the case and slide the cards behind with a laugh and a promise to take them with him not today—because it’s one of those federal holidays that only schools notice happening, like the post office is still open—but definitely tomorrow, never knew which of the kiddos at the Rich People School might be a budding metalhead underneath their uniforms—

“And she said the case was, um, like bright—“

Green.

Electric lime neon fuckin’ green because after three times of Eddie taking Steve’s phone by accident he’d come home with that endearing eyesore, and a kiss to the bridge of Eddie’s nose and a soft hard to confuse that, babe nuzzled against him and—

“It could maybe have just been a coincide—“ Jeff’s talking but Eddie can’t fucking hear it, not really, not when he’s letting the door slam behind him and ripping off his headphones to drop to the groundnut when he’s gasping hard enough to crack a rib, not when the floor’s gone out from underneath him and his vision’s tunneled and nothing seems real, and everything feels too real, every world ending possibility shuddering through his foggy mind alongside every heartbreakingly perfect memory blossoming up unbidden just to serve as a reminder, an underscoring of what he stands to lose, what maybe he’s already fucking lost—

He meets Jeff’s eyes without the glass between them as he grabs his keys from his jacket on the couch and makes himself take the breath that’ll fuel the voice, that’ll give him words, just one word, he needs, he fucking needs—

“Where?”

_______________________

Eddie shouldn’t have driven himself, he knows that.

Like, on some other plane of existing, he’s sure he knows that.

But on this plane, he rips past his bandmates, all the extra people with them for recording, jams the close-door button before anyone can follow him into the elevator because he happens to know this one’s quicker than the stairs even on a good day, and this—

Eddie’s shaking so goddamn hard he can barely get one foot in front of the other, he really doesn’t think he can manage ten fucking flights of steps.

He burns rubber on the way out of the parking lot, and the nearest hospital to where Steve would have been—on his day off, because holiday, he’d have bene close to home, he mentioned food shopping, he thought he might make stir-fry but he wasn’t sure, they hadn’t made a vegetable haul from the Asian market downtown in a couple weeks and they need to, they need to but Steve wasn’t feeling like going on his own, because he might not say it out loud but they both know he enjoys Eddie’s excitability when new items hit the shelves and he can’t read the language they’re labelled in so he guesses frantically until the man who owns the place takes pity, only laughs a little and explains what this spice is for, or that that crazy looking thing’s a fruit, and they ultimately buy whatever it is because Eddie wants to try it now, because he got invested and—

Eddie should pull off the fucking road; his head’s a mess, he can’t see for the way his eyes are welling, streaming, the way he’s shaking with sobs that don’t exactly burst forth, just leak from his lashes as he trembles horrifically because…

Because they were maybe gonna have stir-fry, tonight. Even without the good vegetables.

They were—

Eddie thinks it’s fucking cruel, kind of unbearably so, that his brain’s dead-set on still processing the mundane little perfections of his life as if every single one of them might be dashed to pieces, might be hanging by a thread, might be entirely fucking gone, and he, he…

He can’t. He just, he fucking can’t.

Because that the thing, isn’t it: the scenarios he’s imagining aren’t hypothetical—they’re all memories, too. Steve bloodied, Steve bruised, Steve’s bones broken and flesh torn. Steve still, too still; Steve’s skin under Eddie’s hands when he can’t find a pulse because Eddie’s shaking, same as now how Eddie is fucking shaking—

Eddie knows all those things. They’re so long ago, now, so distant but his fucking cells will never forget every single moment he saw the man he loves bigger than his own goddamn life hurt like that; be risked like that. Be lost like—

And that’s the difference. That’s what is unravelling him as he speeds through the streets quicker than he should, probably breaking more laws than he could count and definitely more than he gives a shit to notice: it’s the losing.

Because the first times, even the times that came after Steve was his: they didn’t come with the loss of so much time, so much of themselves, so much glorious life that they’d built between them, the struggles and the triumphs, the hard choices and the easy things that weren’t choices at all: everything hand-in-hand, every night spent curled around each other, all of them, all of him, inside that chest since he was twenty fucking year old, and Eddie doesn’t just not know how to be outside of what he shares with Steve.

Eddie doesn’t think his own heart can survive, if if Steve’s isn’t next to him.

Eddie’s damn fucking sure no part of him would want to.

It takes him a minute to steady himself enough to get out of the car, once he finally reaches the ER. Steady his body, but more his fucking soul because the whole of him is shaking, is crying out, is wailing unfettered and breaking because he’s terrified, he is goddamn terrified of what he’s going to find when he walks in but he has to, he has to because whatever awaits him, that’s his husband, that is the love of his whole goddamn life and if the worst is going to come for him he’ll face it like he’s faced everything else: at Steve Harrington’s side.

If the worst comes for one of them, then it came for them both.

So he’s stumbling, shuddering, but resolute in his chest when he flies through the sliding doors, eyes still swimming, unfocused but he makes himself take a deep breath—it takes a few tries, and he doesn’t quite succeed, it’s still a tremorous thing and his lungs are still in revolt, but it’s something, and he’ll take something; he has to to take something—

“Eddie?”

He almost doesn’t register it, the voice from the sick-spiral of his memories, all the love on the table to be forfeit—

He almost doesn’t register that his name’s not coming from inside his head.

“Oh my god, what happened?” There’s a flurry over motion in front of him, and he blinks rapidly to try and pin it down because it looks familiar, it smells familiar, it aches familiar in his chest but:

“What is it, what’s wrong?” and fuck, it feels familiar when a hand reaches for his cheek where it’s still damp, tacky for the tears; when another hand slides itself into Eddie’s and draws him in, a hand that fits like no other hand in this world or any other, ever—

“Are you okay?”

And the hand on his cheek turns him and follows his eyes and it takes that long for him to clear his vision properly, but now he’s just blinking so much because that, that can’t be, even if it feels in every goddamn way like it really is, but it can’t…

It can’t be Steve here, whole and on his feet and looking at Eddie with so much worry, so much heart as he tilts Eddie’s chin a little this way, that way, squints to try and see…something.

Eddie’s breath tears out of him in a wet fucking gasp;

“Am I okay?”

Because Eddie’s really not the one to fucking worry about here, Steve had—

“You’re in a hospital, Eds, that’s not usually where you go when you’re okay,” Steve’s eyes widen as he he slides both hands now to Steve’s head, holding him still and assessing…something, maybe, Jesus: Eddie doesn’t know, but he does know that the touch on him now makes his…makes his heart feel safe and he’d been fucking terrified he’d never feel that again.

“Fuck, what happened, baby, did you hit your,” and fingers are dancing gentle across points on Eddie’s skull, so delicate and careful and he can’t fucking help it—

“Are you real?”

Because he needs to know, he needs to know with words because this feels…this feels right and warm and impossible but also true, so.

He needs to know. “Am I…?” Steve’s lips part and his brow furrows before his jaw clenches in that dependable way he has of squaring up to the monster at hand, no matter the kind.

“Shit,” he breathes out slow but then he nods: resolved; “shit, okay. Okay, let’s find—“

“You are real,” and it turns out Eddie didn’t actually need him to say it. He just needed to see the flash in Steve’s eyes when he was ready to take on the world for the sake of love, the way he positions himself a little different in front of Eddie as he keeps one hand at Eddie’s cheek but then slides to brace more at his neck, purposeful, like he’s splinting a wound or something, and then a hand grabs for Eddie’s own again and: oh.

Oh yes. That is Steve Harrington, living and breathing and solid and real, because no one else protects like this.

No one.

Eddie’s heart stumbles, jackrabbits around a little, almost like a reset: like it knows as the implications sink in to Eddie’s mind that it’s not destined to break anymore.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees too easily, distracted as he tugs the gentlest bit at Eddie’s hand, toward the nurse’s station; “yeah, and we should—“

“And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve shrugs it off, but Eddie…Eddie’s vision is clearing. His pulse is settling. He can hear above the static and his limbs are getting lighter.

“You’re one-hundred-percent okay, not a scratch on you, not a single thing wrong,” he needs to make sure, like, so fucking sure.

“I am fine, Eddie,” Steve turns to look him straight on, exasperated and anxious and vibrant with it, so alive in it; “but you’re—“

Eddie’s hand moves almost without his conscious consent, definitely without a plan to grab at Steve’s arm and pinch his skin because Eddie was vaguely toying with the idea of pinches himself, and maybe with poking Steve a few extra times to make sure he didn’t disappear, but apparently his brain landed on: pinch Steve, avoid confirmation bias if your head wants to lie enough to make him real just you you, because you need him that bad.

Steve startles, and turns those beautiful brilliant bronze eyes on Eddie, stretches wide as he gapes a little at his husband.

Eddie…Eddie is here, in front of his living-breathing-gorgeously-aghast husband.

“Okay, oww,” Steve drops Eddie’s hand and pulls back, leaving Eddie’s head to its own devices as he looks a little shocked, shooting just shy of a glare Eddie’s way: full of questions.

Eddie—now that the biggest one’s solved, and solved so perfect, so gentle and sure and he doesn’t have to bury the soul of him; he doesn’t have to bury his soul—but now?

Eddie also has some fucking questions.

“Where’s your phone?” seems the most relevant to start with.

Steve blinks, frowns a little:

“It got lost in the crash—“

“Crash?” Eddie’s tone pitches up to squeak a little because: Steve’s here and whole in from of him, yes. But fuck, there was still a crash? He was—

“Not mine, my car’s still parked at fucking Jiffy Lube,” Steve adds with a huff; “I saw it happen so I stopped and—“

And Eddie knows his husband. He knows his husband better than he knows himself, and Eddie’s kinda made it a point of pride for how self-aware he’s grown to be these days, in living this life and loving Steve beyond the bounds of living at all. But he knows his Steve, and so he knows damn well what happened.

Car runs into car. Steve sees it and jumps out to help. Because Steve Harrington is a protector. Steve Harrington is a helper. Steve Harrington is the best man Eddie’s ever known.

Soon as he jumped into the fray, he wouldn’t have thought once about a fucking phone.

And Eddie, Eddie just, he needs to—

He grabs Steve’s hands and wraps them around his own waist, lets them go and then pulls Steve tight to his chest and buries his face in Steve’s shoulder as Eddie winds his way around his husband, feels him breathing, feels the tickle of his hair.

“You’re gonna kill me, Stevie,” Eddie whimpers, that going tight now all over again:

“You’ve got the biggest heart of fucking gold the world’s ever seen,” he moans into Steve’s collar; “and you’re going to fucking kill me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his hands move up to rub Eddie’s back, rote and learned and he might not wholly get, yet, what Eddie’s putting together, and where Eddie’s head’s been, what his heart’s been through, but the first thing he knows, and does like clockwork, is to love of his partner, to soothe him even if he doesn’t know what for.

“Someone found your phone, and they, umm,” Eddie licks his lips, takes a suffering breath and tries to straighten but he’s not ready, not yet: he slumps right back onto Steve’s shoulder:

“They called the studio.”

“Shit,” Steve hisses, bunches his hands in Eddie’s shirt and draws him tighter to his chest: “shit, they interrupted,” and oh, fuck no, fuck regretting the interruption—

“They told me they found it at a crash site,” Eddie grits out, the hurt of it still raw, like just saying the words no matter where they landed in trust, just recalling those minutes that felt like full nightmarish lifetimes, reopens the tender wounds it’d left in hims; “they found it with the case broken,” and Steve leans back, then, eyes saucers as he meets Eddie’s gaze, breath catches harsh.

“Oh,” Steve whispers, eyes darting back and forth between Eddie’s, taking the whole of him in and then he exhales so heavy:

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, fucking mournful before he takes his hands and links them behind the base of Eddies’ skull and draws him in to the center of his chest, envelopes him there whole: “come here.”

And Eddie falls into that chest—rising-falling-living—he falls into Steve so fucking fast

“I am totally fine, I promise you,” Steve breathes again Eddie’s ear, close and dear and real: “car’s fine—“

“I don’t fucking care about the car—“ Eddie tenses up, appalled at the implication that he gave one single goddamn thought to the car— “No, like, as proof,” Steve’s quick to correct him, to ease the hackles on him; “I wasn’t in the crash, but it was pretty bad and,” Steve shrugs a little then adds soft: “I keep my first aid certs up to date for a reason, I figure, right?”

Jesus; yes, okay. Steve’s savior complex had largely mellowed to a non-interdimensional-threat level with time but he’s meticulous about keeping every skillset he’d gone out of his way to learn from professionals before they’d gone up against the Upside Down for the last time sharp and at the ready for anything: even now.

Fuck, but this beautiful, brilliant, impossible man.

“I was helping, best I could, until the EMTs got there,” Steve tells him softly, fills in the gaps because he knows Eddie’s mind, all the pictures it paints for itself, and in times like these it’s always the worst possible pictures—he knows Eddie needs the slate wiped clean with the truths, blessedly softer, in this:

“Police wanted me to stick around for a statement but the girl who was driving the first car, she was so panicked and she didn’t want to go alone so, umm,” Steve huffs a little, shifts against Eddie gentle and solid and here: “she said she knew me, she was pretty desperate I think, so I rode here with her,” and of course he did, of course he did because he’s Steve; “now I’m just waiting to make sure she gets out of surgery okay,” he squeezes Eddie then, like a punctuation, and it feels so, so fucking good; “also still have to give the goddamn statement, but fuck knows that’s just hurry-up-and-wait,” he turns, and he kisses Eddie’s hair then and Eddie feels something snap in him, give way and the lingering tension spill from his frame as he gasp a little on a breathy exhale:

“I love you so much,” and he does, god: god, but how much he loves this man.

“I love you too, baby,” Steve mouths against his head and Eddie closes his eyes and nuzzles his a little closer as he puts it into words, because it feels like he needs to, it feels like in Steve’s arms like this, pressed up close to him to feel this undeniable life in him: it feels like the coast is clear enough to risk it, to confess:

“I was so fucking scared,” and the words only break a little, and that’s more than Eddie honestly expected.

“I am so sorry,” Steve bows his chin down to graze lips against Eddie’s hairline, delicate and intimate and shivery, trembly down Eddie’s spin for the best of reasons, now.

“Not your fault,” Eddie’s quite to counter, to make clear, because: “shit, you didn’t do anything, I just…”

Eddie makes himself pull back and meet Steve’s eyes, reaches out to frame his face, dear and desperate:

“I can’t lose you,” he moans a little, begs a little, says it with a bare line of something primal echoing in it, scraped straight from his bones: “I cannot ever lose you.”

“I know,” Steve turns and kisses one of his palms, and those two words hold the promise of five more they’ve said so many times, and held so true between them for so many year, through so fucking much:

It’s the same for me.

And to be loved the same as he loves is a fucking privilege; it’s heady and it’s wonderful and Eddie needs it, needs Steve, more than goddamn air.

“Sit with me?” Steve covers Eddie’s hands with his at his cheeks, and nods a little toward the blessedly-quiet collection of chairs by the windows; “while I wait?”

“Nowhere else I’d go,” Eddie says it like the given that it is, and pulls Steve close to kiss him full, to press his lips to Steve’s and drink his warmth, his breath, to feel it sink int past his heart and pump through his veins:

“Not ever, Stevie,” he speaks against Steve’s lips, all of him in it, every vow inside it:

“Not ever.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #established steddie #married steddie #rockstar eddie munson #teacher steve harrington #rockstar husbands #steve harrington's heart of gold #(will quite possibly be the death of his husband holy FUCK)#criminal levels of softness #steddielovemonth #love is terrifying #these two boys have been together for DECADES at this point and it FUCKING SHOWS #old married couple!steddie #stranger things

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decolonize-the-left · 8 months

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I've noticed a rise in radfems/TERFs in feminism tags and more specifically trying to rebrand as The Real Feminism or True Feminism since it's "for the girlies" or whatever.

I am begging you all to help me bury them.

Because as a teen who grew up during the peak of exclusionary "bi/pan/aces aren't vaild" and "kill all men" era where the concept of misandry THRIVED I'm telling you this feels extremely similar.

And radfem/terf ideology got mainstream from those sentiments being so popular and so easy to tap into. It was framed as being righteous since men were oppressors.

"Women are good and men are just mean oppressors! Look at everything they've done!" is such a common sentiment in those circles.

It also completely lacks critical feminist thought.

And we're STILL dealing with the affects of it over a decade later.

.....So let's talk about JKR since she's currently the Figurehead and favorite of the movement that's trying to rewrite feminist history.

It's 2023. It's a year before a US election where Project 2025 and Trump would happily create a road for trans and queer folks to be imprisoned if not worse.

Which is I'm sure why JKR has been photographed and interacting with multiple members from The Heritage Foundation, people whove spoken for them, and people who attended theyre meetings. She even enjoyed watching Magdalen, who who she credits for becoming a TERF.

But do you know who Magdalen is? Or what else she was saying? What about any of the other people in the photo? Do you know the scope of what JKR was internalizing and how bad it was? Do you know she has ties to conservative anti-abortion groups?

Do you know what The Heritage Foundation? Probably not and they're the worst so let me tell you why it's such a huge red flag for her and other so-called TERFs and radfems to be associated with them.

Because I can tell you right now she heard a lot of things from those people and there is no fucking way in hell that it was just about queer people or just some sex-specific concerns. And it wasn't just passive bigotry.

Anyone who doesn't conform to the idea of a white, straight nuclear family (re: single mothers, leftists, immigrants, gay couples, etc) is made out to be an enemy of the state.

Anyone they can justify as a "national threat." Yes, they call us all a national threat on their site, their book, and the pamphlets they pass out to politicians. The details are listed on their website including the Mandate For Leadership which is their instruction guide for the next president.

I'm not exaggerating when I say it calls for genocide, prison camps, and eugenic cleansing.

Several people in that photo don't even support abortion, a basic women's rights that JKR claims to care about deeply.

JKR was consuming white supremacist dogma under the guise of feminism.

And she's not willing to admit or correct it which is where the problem lies. She won't even admit to herself that she was fooled or that it's bad or hypocritical.

My concern is that she is not the only person who's fallen for it and there are more everyday.

So it's very important to me y'all learn how to filter out what Actual Feminism is in this age where literal fascism is attempting to take its place.

Firstly,

Real, actual feminism will be welcoming to EVERYONE

Because the patriarchy doesn't only affect women or cis people or white women and it's an insult to every previous feminist icon to say otherwise.

Feminists have been fighting for decades to unite people under the concept that Patriarchy is a system that will be brought down with allyship and solidarity.

They've been fighting so hard and so long to prove that everyone deserves the same rights as men.

That women are just as capable as men and shouldn't be stopped from entering fields of study and sports dominated by men. They've been fighting to prove that women are just as capable and smart as any man is, that men would benefit from it dismantling patriarchy too.

Women fought side by side with the queer community to get Roe v Wade passed in 1973. You know why? Because despite what radfems and TERFs will tell you trans women benefit from protecting and standing up for bodily autonomy.

Do not let bigots tear drive a wedge between two groups that experience gender based oppression and would benefit from the same exact rights.

We have changed history together and they're terrified we'll do it again.

A screenshot from the largest feminist organization active right now, The National Organization of Women.

Notice how the T is included. They even posted this video two years ago when LGBT and specifically trans rights started really coming under attack in 2022.

Trans women are women.

Trans men are men.

ALL women deserve rights.

Every gender deserves equality and fairness.

And feminism is for all of us or it is for none of us.

Because nobody deserves to be treated the way patriarchy treats us.

#feminism #feminist #equality #gender #trans rights are womens rights are human rights #trans rights #womens rights #human rights #intersectional feminism #solidarity #leftist

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vaspider · 1 month

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So I need a more adult persons take on this. Is it wrong to ask people to tag gory/graphic images from gaza? I'm not trying to bury my head in the sand. I don't want to block mention of palastine but god these images are triggering the shit out of me and it isn't making me more aware or more empathetic, I'm already angry and heartbroken and praying and donating what I can.

It is never wrong to ask someone to tag something for any reason. I've asked people to tag animals that I have a phobia of, and mentions of Laika (the first animal in space), because Laika was a good girl and she didn't deserve what happened to her. It was cruel and horrible and it upsets me in a way that I recognize is out of scope for the death of a single dog seventy years ago. That person may decline to tag things for whatever reason, and if that's the case, it isn't wrong for you to unfollow them, block them, add their username to a filter list, whatever you need to do in order to curate your online experience. Without talking directly about the topic you brought up, 'cause it's something I don't do, as I've said about ninety squintillion times -- I used to reblog/post pretty disturbing images of human bodies out of a misguided sense of justice. I have been online for a really long time, and a lot of the stuff that was posted as 'necessary education' Back In The Olden Times were images of police and/or mob brutality visited on Black & brown bodies. Out of a sense of white guilt and a feeling that I should be 'bearing witness' rather than turning away, I perpetuated some of those images, until -- very kindly and gently, I think, for the scope of what was happening -- it was pointed out to me that:

it is unkind to subject the people who have been or might be subject to that sort of racialized terror to images of bodies broken by it, and

it is almost invariably the exact opposite of what the families of those people want, and

it does nothing to actually make me a better person or to advance any sort of real justice, and instead

it simply acts as a grotesque sort of terror tourism or war porn for people who can simply turn off their computer or phone screen and go about their lives.

I am really grateful to the person who took the time to gently shake me. They didn't owe me that, and I'm glad they thought I was a worthwhile investment of time and energy.

Whoever is posting images of bodies or gory images of victims from any injustice like that, especially without appropriately tagging the images so that people don't have to engage with that? They may be motivated by the best of intentions, but as long as they are engaging in that sort of casual, continual terror tourism, they're ... not helping.

There was a great article about this back during Ferguson that really flipped a switch in my head about the subject, where it basically said this is just another way that dominant cultures, Americans especially, seem to treat the bodies of people they view as Other as theirs to consume. There are ways to talk about whatever is going on which do not require people to utilize the bodies and blood of the dead as tools of persuasion (or emotional bludgeoning, tbh), as symbols to show how Righteous we are by "not looking away," and at the cost of those who have been or are more directly affected by the images.

Doing that sort of thing isn't a good idea in the first place, and you're not wrong to ask anybody to tag anything, or to disengage from those people if they find themselves unwilling or unable to tag that content so that you can care for your own mental health.

#gore mention

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twistedwonderlandshenanigans · 1 month

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Floyd's Only Fear

(Tw: Blood, (mild) gore, sibling angst)

Survival of the fittest. It was all the twins had known since they were little elvers, that ruthlessness was the greatest mercy they could grant themselves. It meant no enemy was left to enact revenge, it meant, theoretically, there was no motive to be had against them.

In theory, it made sense. But real life has all sorts of factors you have to be aware of, and the ocean and it's inhabitants rarely act on logic.

Floyd remembers what Jade was like before they had to learn that lesson the hard way. He looks at his brother now and wonders if the roles had been reversed, if he'd have ended up the same way he did.

They couldn't have been more than five. They had made it back home, the only two surviving elvers of the clutch. He remembered how proud their mother was of the two of them, but their father was rather detached still. They were loud, playful and rambunctious, constantly causing mischief to those who had the (dis)pleasure of meeting them. The only difference between the two of them when they were that young was which side of their face their black strand of hair was, and the shape and colour of their eyes.

Their mother's way of parenting at the time had been very laissez-faire, he understood now, was her balance between becoming too attached to them while also looking after them, two very opposite sides of her mind at war. He didn't blame her for it, at least not now that he was older. She had given them an area she deemed relatively safe to play, as well as an old shipwreck, not far from home.

Most days, he and Jade were fine to play in and amongst the wreckage, practicing their hunting, chasing each other and finding hidey holes to try and scare each other with.

Floyd remembered, neither he nor his brother could stay very quiet at that time, as they'd get too excited and giggle about the new spot they found to hide and wanted to show it to their other half. Even if they tried to stay quiet, usually they were the biggest creatures there, and the wiggles of trying to get deeper into their hiding place would cause disturbances in the water that made their twin find them.

Which was why the day Jade went silent, was the day Floyd learned what fear truly was.

His nightmare always started the same, a memory. He and Jade were excited as always to go play in the shipwreck. The sun was just starting to set, the light filtering through the water dappled red and orange - according to the humans, it was supposed to be a lovely day tomorrow.

Neither of them liked counting. It took away the surprise if you knew when someone was going to come looking for you. Not just that, but they were fast and honestly, waiting around was boring for both of them. Jade was a little smaller than Floyd, so Floyd would give him a five second head start, where Jade would give Floyd a three second head start.

Those five seconds always got Floyd excited, ready to hunt down his brother, tag him and then they could switch. He listened as Jade giggled, disappearing into the shipwreck they knew and loved.

Floyd wouldn't call it cheating, it was just a strategic means to an end if he peeked between his fingers. He knew exactly which way Jade went in, darting over to the hole in the hull of the ship, but freezing as he got to the opening.

The darkness felt...heavier than usual, and at first, Floyd couldn't place why. He felt his entire body go still for the first time in his life, the only thing moving was his hair in the gentle ebb and flow of the water. He could feel something watching him, something farther into the hole. He didn't know what it was. But he knew with certainty it wasn't Jade.

It felt like ages until it finally clicked to him that he couldn't feel Jade's movement, instead, at large intervals he felt water moving from side to side by something bigger than even their parents.

He felt a pit forming in his stomach the longer he looked into the hole. In his nightmares it felt like hours of just staring into the abyss, human clutter in the corners of his vision, but his eyes locked on something else much deeper. In reality, he knew mere seconds had passed. The smell of Jade's blood filling the water and the low growl that emanated from within the hole rattled Floyd to his core, his fear still locking him in place as he just tried to keep breathing properly. As his eyes finally adjusted to just how dark it was, he could see his brother's eyes bulging from the pressure the other mer was putting on his neck, the mers claws digging into his neck while his other hand had torn him open. The mer was licking his fingers clean, seemingly proud of himself before he would lunge at Floyd, and he would wake up.

He had blocked out most of what happened after. From what his father was so proud of boasting about now was the fact Floyd had gone in for the kill. He had lived up to the family name, acted on instinct and did as he was supposed to. His mother told him about how he had pleaded with the two of them to save Jade's life once he brought him home, nearly split in half, an act of brutality done for nothing, only for the other mer to feel powerful. His mother told him that if he hadn't killed the bastard that went after his brother, their father wouldn't have let her save his twin.

It may sound cold, but it wasn't the fact his brother had been harmed so badly that got to Floyd.

When it was just the two of them, Jade was the loud one. He was always talking, always giggling, always trying to scare him with 'boos' and growls and whatever other noise he could make up.

And Floyd would talk, laugh and be noisy in response. He always had. And he had adored it.

It was that unforgiving silence, that moment of uncertainty and terror, when everything in his body was screaming something was wrong, but his mind couldn't tell him what...besides the fact that Jade was quiet.

After Jade recovered, physically from the attack, Floyd remembered trying desperately to make him laugh. He remembered everything he did being met with little more than a small smile. He remembered how pissed off it made him that Jade wouldn't make noise, and at the time, being young as he was, he would do what he needed to warrant the reaction he wanted. He remembered how his brothers cries sounded when he prodded at his stitches, and how his mother ushered him out of the room, no longer trusted to be alone with Jade. Jade ended up being nursed back to health by their grandma, and Floyd spent most of his time with his parents.

By the time they were 12, Jade had become selectively mute. He refused to speak unless spoken to, would often seemingly appear from nowhere, and the only person he could speak directly to was Floyd, and even then, it was rarely above a whisper. Floyd wasn't entirely sure at the time if it was the result of their grandmother's 'training' for Jade or not, but he was old enough then that he finally understood.

Jade didn't want to be known.

He didn't want to be perceived, he didn't want to be the one caught off guard, he didn't want to be made silent by force again, he refused to fail as a Leech. His silence would let him be the predator rather than the prey.

Floyd understood it. He could get it, but it didn't change the fact that it bothered him, the sound that used to fill the space between them still bothered him now that it was gone, that it had been gone for so long. That noise and lack thereof would never be a liable way of knowing where his brother was, if he was even alive, not anymore.

While they still lived underwater, Floyd and Jade had their own methods of silent communication, the same tell tale movement in the water, subtle flicks of their fins, even just in the way they would meet each other's mismatched eyes.

On land it was harder, at least for Jade. Every step made noise, even as he practiced walking carefully, heel to toe, even with the best shoes he could get while at the boot camp, he couldn't be quiet. For Floyd it was reassuring, he didn't have any other way of telling when Jade was nearby, besides maybe smell, but outside of the water, his senses weren't as strong. Jade was still quiet, but Floyd could see behind his practiced mask, the mounting anxiety was getting to Jade as he unwillingly entertained theoreticals that would race through his mind.

Floyd remembered approaching a pensive Jade one evening, before curfew. He had just been looking out over the lake they had near the boot camp, sevens knew what was going through his mind. Floyd only realized just how jumpy Jade really was once he was within Jade's swinging range - only found out because the crack of branches beneath his feet had let Jade know somebody was walking up to him, though he admitted he didn't know who. It was only after Floyd's hand shot up to stop the bleeding from his nose and a dirty look shot at his twin that he saw tears streaming down Jade's face, his own expression changing immediately.

He kept holding his nose, mostly to try and stop the bleeding as he tried to power through the pain - at least underwater, his fist would have been slowed down, but that wasn't the point at the moment.

In that moment, their eyes were locked onto each other. One bleeding red blood for the first time, the other feeling real tears course down his face for the first time. There were no words to be said, not really. Floyd could see that this was not how Jade wanted to live...or could really continue to live, not on land. The hug that followed after the moment of silence was all the reassurance Jade needed to know his brother would help him, tears absorbing into the thin cloth of Floyd's top.

They never talk about what happened that night, but it was from that moment on that Floyd lived louder. From the way he walked to the skills he chose to develop.

He could keep the attention on him against every moray instinct he had, because the louder he lived, the louder Jade could live, even if it meant he had to scream just for Jade to whisper.

Because if Jade could finally live like a whisper, it meant that he was starting to heal...and it meant that if he went quiet, Floyd wouldn't fail him this time.

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

This post was inspired by a post I saw a While ago, please tag OP if you know who they are, (they mentioned Floyd's biggest fear being Jade's silence), also yes I'm a fan of EPIC shhhh

HAPPY MERMAY lskdjfhlksjdf

#v talks #twst #twisted wonderland #twst hcs #twst headcanons #twst scenarios #twst angst #jade leech #twst jade #floyd leech #twst floyd #mermay 2024

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dancingtotuyo · 2 months

Text

High Infidelity Part IV

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature Explicit

Summary: Joel goes on a date.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: pining, jealousy, masturbation (male and female), voyeurism, self loathing, emotional affair, boundaries crossed

Notes: Things are getting a little spicy hehe. As usual, shout out to my beta readers @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (special shout out to Ang for the ✨spicy✨ idea 😜) and @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Words: 4818

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

When Joel asks you to watch Sarah on Friday night, you don’t hesitate to say yes. Then, two minutes later you call him back and ask why. You’re surprised when he tells you he has a date. You should tease him, nag for details, but it’s none of your business. You find yourself wanting to know everything and nothing.

Joel is a grown-ass man. A single man at that, but it nags at you. Who is she? Where did he meet her? The two of you spend most of your free time together. In the six years you’ve known Joel, you can’t remember him ever mentioning a woman.

His sole focus has always been Sarah. You suppose Tommy is on that list too, and Nathaniel. The two of you have matching worry lines thanks to your husband, and you guess by default you’re on the list too. If there’s one thing Joel Miller is committed to, it’s family.

Joel comes down in dark-wash jeans and a simple button-down. You didn’t know he owns jeans that nice, hugging his thighs, leather belt cinched at his waist. Your eyes rake over him perhaps a moment longer than needed. He hadn’t looked that nice at your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding.

You raise an eyebrow letting out a low whistle as he enters the kitchen. “Lucky lady.” You take a bite from your apple slice. You point the paring knife at his jeans. “Those new?”

Joel knits his eyebrows together. “No. Why?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

“You keep tabs on my closet?”

“We’ve basically lived together for 3 years. You wear the same two pairs of work jeans and five ratty T-shirts in rotation. I wouldn’t be surprised if your shirts have the days of the week labeled on the inside.”

“Church clothes.”

You scowl. “We don’t go to church.”

“Speak for yourself, Darlin.” He chuckles, checking his watch, the one you gave him for Father’s Day. You shoot him a suspicious look. “The kids out back?”

“Yup.” You say, taking another bite of apple.

Joel’s fingertips brush across your shoulders as he passes by, the warmth of his cologne fills your nostrils as he rushes out. A pit settles deep in your stomach. You’re not sure where it stems from, but you don’t like it. You feel uneasy.

The back door shuts just as a tap on the front door echoes through the house. You sigh, not really wanting to answer it. The pit grows and you still don’t understand where it’s coming from. Sarah and Nathaniel’s muted laughter filters through as you open the door.

She’s pretty you think. Not someone you consider to be a show-stopper, but exactly what you would picture Joel going for. There’s something almost familiar about her. She looks taken aback when you open the door. You plaster your well-practiced Southern hospitality smile on your face.

“I’m Joel’s sister-in-law. Just here to watch the kids.” You hold out your hand. Relief floods her features.

“Tracy.” She takes your hand.

“Nice to meet you.” You can’t shake the nagging air of familiarity about her. It itches your brain, hanging on the tip of your tongue. Have you seen her at parent pick-up before? “Joel should be back soon. He’s just saying goodnight.”

Tracy nods, clutch held tight in both hands. Maybe it makes you an asshole, but you don’t invite her in, forcing her to stand at the threshold of an open door. She wears a solid dress. Her makeup is tasteful and leagues ahead of anything you’d ever be able to pull off, especially with a rowdy toddler.

For a second you miss it. The freedom that is. You wouldn’t give up Nathaniel for the world. Hell, you wouldn’t give up Tommy for the world even with the shit you’re going through, but the ability to go out at a moment’s notice and let the alcohol loosen your inhibitions, you miss that. Tracy couldn’t be much older than you. Maybe a year or two. Did you go to high school together? Is that why she looks familiar?

There’d been a couple Tracys in your small high school, but none that look like her.

“You have a son, right?” Tracy says. You nod. She smiles as if proud of herself for remembering the fact. “Joel mentioned that you two do a lot together- with his brother being in prison.”

“Yeah, we do.” Your shoulders stiffen and your smile tightens. So this wasn’t their first date. They knew each other well enough for Joel to divulge your business like it was front-page news. Though, you suppose it had made the paper.

“Well, I got them both riled up for ya,” Joel says, walking through the house. He plays with the cuffs of his shirt before looking up. He seems startled to find the door wide open and Tracy on the other side. “Oh- Hi.”

“Hi,” Tracy laughs.

He looks between the two of you like he’s seen a ghost. You cross your arms, a faint smirk playing across your lips. “Just remember payback’s a bitch.”

“Yeah... I don’t doubt it.” Joel almost mutters it under his breath. He joins Tracy on the other side of the threshold, pressing a distracted kiss to her cheek. “You ready to go?”

You catch the weirdness of Joel’s demeanor, familiar with all of his tendencies by now. You raise an eyebrow in question, but Joel won’t look you in the eye. His arm wraps around Tracy’s waist, pushing her toward his pickup.

“Make yourself at home.” Joel throws his hand up in a wave despite his back being turned to you.

“Always do!” You call back.

You watch them until the truck is out of the driveway, confusion written across your face as you process the odd interaction. Why was Joel acting so weird- like you weren’t supposed to meet the mysterious lady he’d obviously been out with more than once, and why hadn’t he told you yet? And why did she look so damn familiar?

The moment the door clicks behind you, it hits. You freeze. The familiarity in her face is one you see every time you look in the mirror. She’s not your twin by any means, but Tracy could be your cousin, your sister even. Something you can’t place settles in your gut.

The kids are finally asleep. The TV drones on, but you don’t hear a sound of it. The whole interaction plays on repeat in your mind. You chew on your thumbnail. You can’t stop thinking about them, where they are, and what they might be doing.

You glance down at your watch. 10:30. You don’t typically go to bed this early, and you’re not tired, but you can’t get it off your mind. Sleep is your only option for relief.

Checking on the kids, you slip into Joel’s room. You’ve stayed in here more times than you can count as Joel always insists you stay in his bed. It’s automatic how you pull one of his shirts from the drawer. Not one of his five shitty work shirts but one of the well-worn ones he wears on the weekend after he showers. They’re soft. They smell like him, sawdust and old spice, not the cologne you caught on him this evening. You slip under the cool sheets, stretching out your bare legs and burying your face in his pillow. You’re surrounded by him here.

You thought it would turn off the thoughts, silence your mind, but it doesn’t. If anything they ramp up. You know there’s no way Joel’s had her here. He wouldn’t bring a strange woman into his home, Sarah’s home, that quickly. No, it’s all him in here… and you.

It’s just after eleven. You’re not asleep. Joel’s not home and your mind is running through the memories as it often does when you lay alone. You’ve spent more nights alone than with someone since you got married. You should be used to it, but you’re not. There should be someone next to you right now.

Tossing and turning, an idea sparks in your mind. There’s one surefire way to get yourself to sleep. The mere thought sets desire through your veins. Goosebumps prickle your flesh. Your nipples perk up under Joel’s soft shirt. It’s been a while since you’ve touched yourself.

Kicking the blankets off of you, you let your fingers skim over your bare thighs, moving them upward until your shirt is tucked under your breasts. Joel’s shirt. It has you pausing. This crosses so many lines. You can’t do this here, in your brother-in-law’s bed, in Joel’s bed where it smells like him. Where it feels like him.

Your cunt clenches and a soft groan escaped from your lips. You’ve barely touched yourself, not enough for that response. Your heart rate refuses to calm down, the flame of desire already spreading from deep in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, not here, but your fingers trace up and over your sternum again, slipping under Joel’s shirt. You brush your thumb over the hardened buds. You’ll change the sheets tomorrow. He’ll never know.

A soft moan tumbles over your lips. Your body moves of its own volition, pressing into your touch. Your hands move down and across your skin. You run them over your favorite places to be touched, everywhere except where you want to be touched the most. You avoid it, waiting until your panties start to cling to you, excess moisture soaking into them. A finger runs over the seam of your lower lips. Another moan falls from your mouth, hips bucking up.

You push down your panties, flinging them off once they hit your ankles. Your fingers slip between your folds. You’re slick, spreading it up and down, over and around your clit as need builds in your body. Another moan threatens to fall from your mouth, each one growing in volume. You bite down on the collar of Joel’s shirt. Another whiff of him overtakes you. Your cunt clenches as you finally slip a finger in and then a second.

The house is dark when Joel gets back. He feels like a dick. He’d been distracted the whole time. He saw it the moment he spotted the two of you together- the resemblance. He felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner, and even more when he couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole night. There’s nothing wrong with Tracy. She’s perfectly nice, but the bubble has popped. She’s not you. He won’t be seeing her again.

It doesn’t help that he knew he’d come home to a dark house. He knows you’re asleep in his bed right now in one of his shirts, and Lord help him, it kept him distracted all night.

He’s quiet as he walks up the stairs so as to not wake you or the kids. He stares at his bedroom door, taunting him. You’re in there and he knows what you feel like sound asleep in his arms. You haven’t talked that night. In fact, you’ve acted like it never happened and he’s followed suit. He wonders if he could slip behind you now. If you would let him hold you.

He lets out a long sigh, fighting with himself. He needs to slip in, grab a pair of sweats, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to pull himself out. He can sleep in his boxers, maybe find some sweats in the laundry. His hand drops from the door.

He’s going to walk away. He’s not going to cross that line again. That’s his brother’s wife. The woman Tommy told him to take care of. He has to stop this. He can’t- and then he hears it. Soft and quiet at first. A soft gasp that hitches, like it got caught on something.

He freezes. It’s probably nothing, a dream, his imagination. Then he hears it again, this time pitched lower, like it comes from a deeper place. He can’t discount that one. As much as his brain screams at him to go, run, his feet stay anchored to the floor. He’s desperate to hear it again, and he’s rewarded with another moan.

They’re intentional. You’re doing that to yourself in his bed. He bites his lip, hand falling to the door frame to stabilize him. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be envisioning you spread out on his bed, toes curling against his sheets. The blood rushes straight to his cock and Joel knows he’s about to cross a line he can’t come back from.

Another moan comes out of the room. He flips open the button of his jeans, hand slipping beneath the waistband stroking his already hard cock. Maybe it makes him a creep, but he’s never been more grateful for the thin walls in the house.

Your noises of pleasure grow. Joel bites back his own, nails digging into the door frame. Precum leaks from the tip of his dick. He catches the way your moans grow more desperate as you take yourself closer. He works himself to the edge with you, wanting to hold off until you’re there.

You’re so close to falling over the edge. Your fingers glide over your clit with ease, soaked with your slick. You’ve been pushing the images away the whole time, trying not to go there, but the closer you pull yourself to bliss, the harder it is to keep them at bay. Your eyes drift shut as you lean into the feeling, willing yourself over the edge. They flash in your mind, pictures of him over you, calloused hands running over your bare body, his deep baritone in your ear as he pulls you apart. The tension between your thighs breaks free. You don’t realize how loud you cry out, ears ringing with pleasure as his name effortlessly rolls off your lips.

You lay there, still, chest heaving. Not Tommy’s name. Joel’s.

Before you have time to comprehend what just happened, it breaks through the silence. A soft, bitten back moan on the other side of the door in a tone you can only recognize as his and the faint whispers of your name. Your eyes widen. Had he…?

Your brain races with the possibilities as you lay bare, tshirt pushed above your breasts. He could walk in. You hadn’t locked the door. You could open the door to him, take his hand, invite him into his own bed.

You cringe. When did you become this person? The one who lusts after another man while married? As much as you’re ashamed, you fight against the temptation. You want to give in. You want to be touched and desired again. You’d seen it in Joel’s eyes that night at the beach. He would give you what you needed. Before you can make a decision, you hear the steps creak. He’s walked away.

You let out a deep breath, not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved. You roll over, burying your head in Joel pillow, wrapping yourself in his comforter, cunt still slick and dripping.

Lucky for Joel, he’s able to find clean sweats in the dryer and then starts the washer with his jeans and boxers, washing away all evidence of his sins.

He settles on the couch with just the decorative pillow and throw blanket. It’s hot anyway so the blanket is quickly kicked to his feet. He can’t put it out of his mind. Any of it. You.

He tries not to think about the sounds you made in his bed, the things you did. He tries not to think about you asleep in his arms, but with all things, the more you try not to think about them, the more you do.

Joel has accepted that he’s not a good man. His intentions with you are no longer pure, but self seeking. Yes, he cares for you and your well being, but he wants you. He needs you near him. He needs you to realize he’s been here through it all. That Tommy has done nothing to be worthy of you. Joel has spent more of your marriage being your husband than Tommy has.

He clenches his fists. Anger surges through him. Joel doesn’t care if it makes him a bad person. If he had a way to go and turn back time, he would. He’d find a way to meet you before Tommy did. He would make you his. He would save you from the heartache of being Tommy’s wife. You would be his Mrs. Miller.

Joel wishes he’d kissed you at the beach. He wanted to. God knows how badly he’d wanted to. It took every last ounce of self control not to. His stores are depleted. Between that and tonight, Joel has no more restraint to offer this situation. If you ever give him the chance again, he won’t hold back. He doesn’t care that you’re married to his brother. You deserve better. You deserve the world. Joel believes he can give it to you.

You both sleep better than you have in weeks.

“I never understood back to school nights,” Joel grumbles, stuffing a store bought chocolate chip cookie in his mouth and washing it down with cheap faculty room coffee. “Want some?”

“You know I don’t drink caffeine after two.”

Joel shrugs, taking another sip. “It’s not that good anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “What about back to school nights makes you grumpy? It’s a chance for Sarah to see where she’ll spend most of her time for the next nine months.”

“Then where is she?” Joel raises an eyebrow. “Out on the playground because it only takes 5 seconds to see the classroom and she’d rather play with her friends.”

“You’re a grump.”

“Yeah, a grump who’d rather be watching the game.”

You roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder. “Have you at least talked to her teacher yet?”

He grimaces. “Haven’t worked up the courage yet.”

It isn’t that Joel doesn’t want to know the person responsible for educating his child. It’s the fact that Sarah has a knack for ending up with the young, single teachers as her educators, ones who seem very interested in her father as more than a parent. He’d been granted reprieve last year, but you’d caught the visible shudder in his frame the moment he’d laid eyes on Sarah’s teacher for the year, young and not a ring on her left hand in sight.

“Stop judging a book by its cover. You’re a grown up.”

“Fine.” He sets down his coffee with determination. “Let’s go.” His hand finds your waist as he propels you both toward the teacher.

“What are you doing?” Your eyebrows knit together. You have a sneaking suspicion you know what he’s playing at.

“We’re going to meet Sarah’s teacher.” He shrugs, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Miller.”

Your stomach does little flips. You’ve been mistaken for his Mrs. Miller more times than you can count at this point. You’ve attended Sarah’s parent teacher conferences when Joel got held up at a job sight, letting the teachers assume whatever they wanted. You are Mrs. Miller after all. But you’ve never done anything like this, not alongside him.

He introduces himself and you to Miss Holly as he tugs you in closer to his right side. Your left arm instinctively wraps around his middle and you see the moment she watches the glint of your engagement and wedding ring under the fluorescent lights.

It’s hardly the first time you’ve been mistaken for Joel Miller’s wife, but it is the first time he’s played into the assumption on purpose, with confidence. It’s the first time you let your mind forget it’s not true, even for just a few seconds, playing a part that doesn’t feel like playing at all. Joel lets his southern charm show now, protected by the guise of you as his bride. Before you know it, it feels too natural. Joel’s hand falls a bit, grasping your hip, tugging you closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You think maybe it is.

Joel leads the conversation. You’re too caught up in the feel of his hand on your hip and the breathing of his chest under your palm. The night you almost kissed, the night you crawled into his bed and he held you through some of the best sleep you’ve gotten in years flashes in your mind. You think back to just last week, his name on your lips, that strangled, soft moan, and your own name you swear you heard.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” Sarah’s teacher says, pulling you from your thoughts.

Joel offers his own goodbyes and you echo them, still fighting the haze inside your own mind. You wonder if there’s a world where this is your life, one where you and Joel aren’t playing make believe. One where you crawl in bed beside him every night instead of your empty bed. It’s an awful thought. Your husband gets released from prison in a few weeks. These thoughts will be gone by then. They have to be.

It was one night of indiscretion, two at the most, and you never actually did anything. You didn’t know Joel was on the other side of that door. Tommy doesn’t need to know. By his own admission, he’s actually crossed those boundaries. He’s broken your wedding vows. You glance at Joel’s profile as he leads you out of the classroom, a proud smirk on his face. The bastard enjoyed that way too much.

When you make it to the hall, his fingers lace through yours. Is he forgetting too? Giving himself a moment to linger in the unspoken what ifs that seem to crowd around you these days.

He drops your hand once you’re outside in view of the playground. He waves Sarah over, but you stay a couple steps behind, deep in thought until someone calls your name. Your head snaps in their direction. Julia and Micky Hall stand before you. Your eyes widen in recognition. Micky was one of Tommy’s Army buddies. They’d moved to Dallas after the group came back from their deployment.

“Hi,” the words fall from your mouth in shock. “I didn’t know y’all were back in Austin.” Your feet carry you toward the couple.

“Just moved back last month,” Julia says as you move to hug her and then Micky. “We’ve been meaning to call.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just good to see you both.” The smile across your face is genuine as you talk to your friends. You’d grown apart since their move. Other than Joel, Julia had been your closest friend during Tommy’s deployment. “How have you been? The boys?”

“Starting first grade,” Julia grins, pointing to her twin boys on the playground.

Your eyes catch them, running around. “They’ve grown so much.”

“How’s Nathaniel?” Julia asks.

“Good, growing like a weed as I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

“Too familiar,” Julia laughs.

“Nathaniel isn’t going into Kindergarten, is he?” Micky asks.

“Next year. I came for Sarah’s back to school night. Joel’s daughter.” You point to where Sarah is just rushing over to her father. You feel the ghost of Joel’s touch when you utter his name. “We’ve been helping each other out a lot with everything.”

The couple nods, an awkward silence forming between you as if they don’t want to address the elephant in the room. The heat has let up a little bit as the sun begins to dip behind the trees.

“I’ve written to Tommy a couple of times,” Micky says, hands tucked into his front pockets. “Haven’t heard back much.”

You force a nod, feeling the tension grow in your limbs. “I haven’t been able to get much from him.”

You catch the way both their eyes widen. They were there the night you and Tommy met. They’d seen the way you fell, both of you. How inseparable your bond is, or was.

“Shit,” Micky says, running a hand over his face. “How are you holding up?”

“Not sure I am most days. Joel’s been a big help to us.” It feels like you’re concealing the whole truth. Joel’s been the crutch keeping you going most days. Julia’s brow furrows with concern.

Micky nods. “I’d like to go see him if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“And we should get the kids together,” Julia adds. “Catch up ourselves.”

“That would be nice,” you smile at her as you catch Joel and Sarah waiting by the truck, laughing about something. “I should go, but you should call. Number’s still the same.”

“I’ll use it.” Julia smiles as you wave at both of them before crossing the parking lot with a weird feeling in your gut.

Seeing Julia and Micky was nice. It brought back a lot of good memories. The four of you. It’s another reminder of how lonely the last years have been. How much you’ve depended on Joel. How much he’s been there.

As you join Joel and Sarah at the truck, Sarah catches you up on all her friend’s summer vacations and updates, mouth moving a million miles a minute. She doesn’t stop as you climb in or for the click of your seat belt. You stay quiet, watching Austin wiz by out the passenger side window.

When Joel pulls into your driveway, you let out a sigh staring at the door. He leans over the center console, keeping his voice low. “You okay, Darlin? You’ve been quiet since we left.”

“Just tired. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” You fling the door of the pick up open.

“Darlin?”

You bristle, smoothing out your skirt as you turn to face him. His brows knit together. “I’m fine, Joel.”

“You’re coming over tomorrow, right Aunt Bonnie?”

“Of course, Sarah Bear.” You blow her a kiss, shutting the door before Joel can protest. He makes sure you’re inside before pulling out of the driveway.

Nathaniel is already asleep thanks to an afternoon at the playground and the magic your sitter works. You pay her extra tonight. You’ve never been more thankful to come home to a sleeping child, too distracted by the run in with your friends and Joel’s hot hands on you, the way he held you as if to tell the world to back off, you’re his.

You pull the bottle of Tequila out of the cabinet. You’re tempted to pull straight from the bottle but you pour a finger or so into a glass instead. Your mother raised you better than that. She also raised you better than to pine after your brother in law.

You throw back the whole glass. The cheap liquor burns your throat. You ran out of the good stuff last week with Joel and hadn’t made it to the liquor store yet. Joel had drunk you under the table, your tolerance not what it used to be. Not that you had ever been able to keep up with him. You fill the glass with another finger and toss it back. You can’t think about Joel. Can’t think about the way your wedding bands burn against your skin as if they are punishing you for tonight, for last week, for Father’s Day and for everything else.

You pour more tequila into the cup, but you add ice and margarita mixer this time, knowing the first two shots will catch up to you soon enough. You fall onto the couch with a sigh. Three weeks. Just three weeks and Tommy will be back. You won’t see Joel everyday. Your husband will take care of you, satisfy you. That’s all this is. The deprivation of the last two and a half years. You can make it three more weeks.

You try to reason it away. It makes sense. You and Joel have been so close in all this. He’s been your partner, not your husband, but partner. He’s an attractive man, thoughts were bound to pop up, lines were bound to get blurry, but all will correct itself when Tommy’s home. Yes, it all makes perfect sense.

You take a sip of the margarita. Condensation trickles down your hand and ice rattles in the glass. Even as the numbness of the tequila shots begins to take over your body, the reassurances feel weak.

Even if you can’t admit it, something has shifted. You and Joel are playing with fire.

Three more weeks you push. Tommy will be home. You’ll have Your Tommy back.

But you can’t erase the last two and a half years. Tonight, with the ghost of his hands on your body, you remember all the ways Joel has been there for you over these past years, filling in the gaping caverns Tommy left.

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love

@justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal @mellymbee @sarahhxx03 @lizzie-cakes @sixhours

@duckybird101 @anoverwhelmingdin @nervoushottee @caitlynsixxx @kaykay0315 @stevie75

@millercontracting @cals-laundry @jessthebaker @noisynightmarepoetry @vickie5446 @mewantpeepaw @tulips2715 @leggtostandon

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @lotusbxtch @ravenn-darkholme

#em's fics #joel miller #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #high infidelity (joel miller)#pedrostories #pedro stories

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 5 months

Text

Soft Launch

luke hughes x actress!reader

note: please don't look up the date of kick a ginger day cause it does not line up but please let me have this

y/n_l/n

liked by jackhughes, sabrinacarpenter, and others

tagged: @/sabrinacarpenter, @/naileadevora

y/n_l/n: spot the difference, level impossible

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july 9

max1989: you even have the twilight filter over both this is level impossible

jenna_: wtf is ethan edwards doing in y/n's comments??

SueMe_13: more importantly why are him and y/n so buddy-buddy

e.edwards.stan: isn't she dating luke?

zebra_zegras_11: WHAT?! 😲

julien.bakers_wife: i ain't never seen two pretty best friends cause i see three

naileadevora: we look so hot 😍😍

y/n liked this comment

edwards.73: what does the redhead have on her face?

y/n_l/n: ..a face mask?

edwards.73: no i know that i was talking about the other redhead

y/n_l/n: your just sour i rejected you cause i have a bf

enchanted.by.y/n: YOU HAVE A WHAT???

edwards.73: idk what you see in that kid

danelle1989: possible her and jack are dating? like are we sure it's luke

steph_43: that's what i'm saying because she's like the same age as jack

all_too.unwell: jack in the likes and ethan in the comments her and luke are not being very subtle

y/n_l/n

liked by miagoth0, lhughes_06, and others

y/n_l/n: photo dump.. also taking new friend applications because all my 'friends'' kicked me today #keepinggingerssafe

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september 6

pheobe.86: he got her flowers 💕

emma.loves.y/n: the bar is on the floor

drysdalelove_: i still think she's dating jack 🤷‍♀️

conner_mcdavid_fan: can't believe luke picked out those gorgeous flowers

matilda_styles: someone cooked there

_inlovewith.caufield: someone = y/n

alex.turtle: looking like a date..

tswift_1213: your kinda right

marauders.fans: it could just be a friend like Sabrina or Billie or Dove

brina.and.y/n_fan: she would have tagged them if it was a friend

snow.lands.on.top_ofME: how do i apply?

billiebosanova: don't know who would want to date her

your-so-gorgeous: those flowers are y/n if she were flowers

jackhughes: i wonder who bought those flowers..👀

burrows_darling: he love causing a little chaos

bedard_lover: proof she's dating jack not luke!

hannah.montana_stan: quick y/n look out! there's a man in that car!

cold_as_youuu: chaotic y/n photo dumps are my favourite!

lacy_: luke liked!!

im_a_mirrorball: who?

lacy_: 💀

y/n_l/n

liked by _quinnhughes, taylorswift, and others

y/n_l/n: when i get my paris by taylor swift moment>>>

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september 25

the.c0ck.22: more flowers, where do i find a man like this

loving_lhughes: that is just so obviously jack to me

nico.13.wife: its okay to be wrong 😊

laurieandamy: that cuddle position>>

kaylor.ships.13: she's so overhyped

y/n.dani_: his hands holding her thighs like that 🥵

gerwig_film_fan: that dress is so pretty

y/n_l/n

liked by lhughes_06, dylanduke25, and others

tagged: lhughes_06

y/n_l/n: the rumours are terrible and cruel, but honey must of them are true... so this is my man, ya'll been wondering thought i should show him off and show off how much i love him

also have to address this. am i okay?? i went to a football game and a hockey game this week, someone please check on me.

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october 7

y/n.alltoowell: girl you don't have to hide his face you tagged him

carmen_lana: y/n is getting too unhinged with that last pic

trevorzegras: still don't know how you pulled this off lukey

jackhughes: it is a fucking mystery

y/n_l/n: have you seen him?

jackhughes: thats gross

hughes_love: she's so absolutely real for that

inlovewith.hughesbrothers: luke keep it pg!

loverofdogs: no clue what luke sees in her, he could do so much better

trevorzegras: could you introduce me to taylor now?

colecaufield: me too!!

_quinnhughes: so happy for you and lukey i mean he's been in love with you since he was 15

lhughes_06: dude shut up

y/n_l/n: thank you for being the only one to actually say their happy for us!!

jackhughes: you know im happy for you both i just still can't believe it

wes.and.libby: they are so hot in the last pic 😍

jackhughes: lukey! watch those hands

edwards.73: still don't know what you see in this kid

dylanduke25: it's insane he pulled her

y/n_l/n: let me say this again have you seen him?

lhughes_06: thanks gorgeous

jackhughes: 🤮

potter.wife: i don't know who i want to be more

nai_my_girl: no i know i want to be luke

wonderland_stan: his hand placement 🥵 everyday i fall more in love with this man

lhughes_06: you're so gorgeous

y/n_l/n: you're perfect 😭

never.a.god: y/n and taylor in their wag era

ethan.e.wife: luke hughes, king of manifestation

lhughes_06: i love you too

y/n_l/n: i love you more

lhughes_06: i love you most

y/n_l/n: 💗💗💗

#luke hughes x actress!reader #luke hughes x fem!reader #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes #luke hughes x famous!reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #jack hughes #quinn hughes #hughes brothers

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willalove75 · 6 months

Text

Alcina's New Maid Pt. 23 Lady Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: You and Alcina spend a cozy morning in bed before going to pay the prisoner a visit.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI.

Tags: some smut, dash of sub!alci and a little soft!dom reader

Notes: Part 23!

I am SO sorry this has taken LITERALLY over a month for me to finish!! But I think I have a pretty valid excuse, for those of you who didn't see my latest update - I'm pregnant!! And it's a boy! The first trimester was ROUGH, I wasn't vomiting but I was so sick. I'm 17 weeks and am feeling much, much better! (Aside from hip/lower back pain, according to the old wives tales that's common when pregnant with boys lolz) anyway I'm hoping to update much more regularly now that I'm finally feeling better!

Click here for the rest of the series

The morning sunlight filters in through the window, gently waking you from your slumber. The feeling of a heavy arm draped across your stomach let you know that Alcina was still in bed with you. Turning over to face her, you come across a sight you don't see very often - if you've seen it at all. Alcina asleep on her stomach, one arm under her pillow under her head and the other keeping you close. Her usual pristine and perfect curls are sprawled out across the pillowcase with a few rogue strands hanging down into her face.

She looks so peaceful, if not for her size you would think she was human in this moment. Your eyes dance across her sleeping features. Her skin, riddled with scars and marks that she covers up with makeup, her over-plucked eyebrows that she also corrects with makeup are on full display. You notice how long and dark her natural eyelashes are as they rest on the tops of her cheeks. Her full pink lips, the laugh lines that rest at the corners of her mouth, everything about her is so beautiful.

You delicately tuck a strand of hair hanging in her face behind her ear, hoping you don't wake her up. But of course, Alcina is one of the lightest sleepers you've ever met - honestly you're surprised that turning in her arms didn't wake her.

Her eyes flutter open and beautiful gold irises look back at you.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Don't be, I am surprised I fell back asleep."

"Did you get up at all last night?"

"No," she says, shaking her head and pulling you in closer. "I laid here all night with you in my arms. I considered getting some work done but I couldn't bring myself to let you go."

Alcina nuzzles into your hair, taking a deep inhale and exhaling with a content sigh.

It wasn't until her hand rested against your bare back did you realize you were still naked from the events of the night before. You tuck yourself under her chin, trying to get as close as possible. Alcina kisses the top of your head and holds you against her chest. An audible purr rumbles through her as she buries her nose into your hair.

You can feel her purrs vibrate through your body and you can't help but lightly chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" She asks, nuzzling into you more.

"Nothing, it just seems like both you and the dragon are enjoying yourselves this morning."

Alcina huffs into your hair and shakes her head.

"I suppose we are. It does seem to enjoy your company." She mumbles.

"I have a feeling I am going to enjoy her company as well. As long as she doesn't try to kill me again." You joke.

Alcina pulls away and narrows her eyes at you. You can see the hurt in her eyes, the regret she stills holds onto from that day.

"That is not something to joke about." She says with a deadly serious edge to her voice.

"I'm sorry. I only joked about it because I've been able to move past it. I don't want you to keep blaming yourself for what happened."

"I will because it was my fault."

Bringing your hand to cup her face, you brush your thumb across her skin.

"It was Miranda's fault, not yours. And I am going to remind you of that every day for the rest of my life if I have to, Alcina. I love you. I forgive you. I want you to forgive yourself."

Alcina closes her eyes with a sigh. She places her hand over yours and presses it into her skin. When her eyes open again they're glassy with unshed tears. Alcina opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to find the words to respond with.

Instead of waiting for her response you lean in and press your lips into hers. Her golden eyes flutter shut and she kisses you back. The kiss turns from one of understanding to one of passion. Your tongue grazes her bottom lip and she parts them, allowing you in. The hand she had against yours on her cheek moves behind you before she rolls onto her back, pulling you on top.

As the kiss intensifies you bite down on Alcina's bottom lip and tug at it. A moan escapes from her and you bring your lips back to hers to swallow it. Your hands travel down her neck, past her shoulders to the tops of her breasts. She arches into your touch and you take as much of her massive breasts into your hands as you can - the only thing separating you from her skin is the thin fabric of her nightgown. Another moan slips past her lips into yours when you begin to massage her breasts. Taking her nipples between your fingers, she whimpers into your mouth causing to you moan in response when you roll them.

Last night she worshipped you, now you get to return the favor.

Releasing her breasts from your grip you grab the thin straps of her nightgown and pull them down. Alcina slides her arms out and you pull the silk down to her waist. She groans when your hands find her breasts once more and you start kissing down her jaw towards her neck.

She threads her fingers through your hair as she guides your kisses further down her body. As eager as the both of you are, you still want to take your time to try and kiss every inch of skin you can so you fight against Alcina's pushing a little. She groans at your silent protest and you respond by nipping at her collarbone, causing her to take a sharp inhale. Of course the mark immediately disappears but you're pretty sure you got your point across when you feel her grip loosen.

You kiss across her other collarbone before slowly making your way down towards her sternum and between her breasts. Her nipples harden in your hands and your own patience begins to wear thin. In one swift motion you pull away from between her breasts and take one of her hardened peaks into your mouth. Alcina's groan quickly turns into a moan as you circle your tongue around it and suck. Just before it becomes too sensitive you release her nipple with a pop and latch onto the other one, repeating your ministrations.

Moans pass through Alcina's lips as you suck on her. She certainly wasn't expecting this to happen this morning but now that you've started, she might go crazy if you stopped.

The silk of her nightgown is soft under your touch as you run your hands down her stomach. As you reach her hips you gather the fabric and begin to bunch it up before releasing her other nipple from between your lips.

Alcina's legs fall open and her hand rests on the top of your shoulder. Looking up at her you take in the sight before you. A true goddess, with her head thrown back into the pillow, her usual perfect and pristine curls splayed across the pillowcase. Her eyes are closed and her lips parted in anticipation for you to reach your next destination. She gently pushes down on your shoulder, giving you a not-subtle hint to where she wants you to go next.

Sliding between her legs, you leave open mouthed kisses on the exposed skin of her stomach as you make your way down. You place one last kiss above the band of her underwear before getting settled. Taking in the sight in front of you you see the large wet patch in the middle of her lacy underwear. Reaching out, you run your fingers up and down the wet spot, causing Alcina's breath to hitch with a groan.

Her hips begin to gently roll against your touch. Placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh, you rest your hand on top of her mound and let your thumb circle her already swollen clit. She lets out the softest whine that causes you to smile into the skin of her thigh as you continue to pepper it with light kisses.

It surprises you how sensitive she is until you realize how long it's probably been since her last release. Jealousy begins to set in when you realize the last person to touch her was that maid. The last person to unravel Alcina was that maid. Right then and there you make the decision to make sure no one will ever be able make her feel as good as you can. It becomes your mission to make sure no one else's touch but your own will ever be able to unravel her again.

Abruptly, you pull your hand away and she lets out a groan of frustration. Before she can protest any further you grab each side of her underwear and practically yank them down her long legs, throwing them aside.

You kiss your way back up the inside of her thighs before settling between her legs once more. Looking up at Alcina you see that her eyes are squeezed shut but you want her to see you pleasure her. You want her to see that it's you driving her into bliss.

"Alcina," you say as you plant kisses into her soft, muscular thighs. "look at me."

Alcina hears your request but can't bring herself to open her eyes. Last time she did it crushed her that it wasn't you between her legs. She's terrified that if she looks it won't be you there. So she shakes her head "no".

Nipping the inside of her thigh, she whimpers.

"Look at me." Again, she shakes her head no. "Alcina, my love, look at me."

The smell of her arousal is intoxicating, it's so tempting for you to say "fuck it" and feast on her as she's spread out before you, but you stay strong.

"My love," you say as you kiss the inside of her thigh again. "look at me, please."

Alcina rolls her hips towards your mouth but you do your best to push them back down, and much to your surprise you're able to - she doesn't put up much of a fight.

"I want you to look at me Alcina. Look at me."

The throbbing between her legs begins to surpass the fear she has. After taking a shaky inhale, she opens her eyes and looks down at you as she props herself up on her elbows. The air in her lungs stalls when she sees that it's you between her legs. Relief washes over her and she melts into the mattress as her body relaxes.

A smile pulls at the corner of your lips as your eyes meet her golden ones. You see the look of relief, of passion burning in them. There's almost a look of desperation, a silent plea for you to continue.

"Good job." You say. A wave of arousal courses through Alcina, she definitely wasn't expecting you to praise her and she definitely wasn't expecting the praise to turn her on even more. "Now keep your eyes on me. Can you do that?"

Alcina silently nods her head "yes" and you lower your mouth down to her. You lick a broad strip up her dripping slit, just barely brushing over her clit. Her moans fill your ears as you moan from her taste on your tongue.

Looking back up at her, you notice her eyes are closed and her head is thrown back. You nip at the inside of her thigh to get her attention and her head snaps back towards you.

"Eyes on me." You say.

Alcina goes to protest but before she can utter a word you dive back in and the words die on her tongue. Anything she was about to say was replaced by a string of soft curses and moans. Your eyes flick up to make sure she's still looking at you and you see her golden irises staring back. You smile into her and swipe your tongue over her clit before capturing it between your lips.

A large hand grips the back of your head and Alcina cries out as you lick and suck on her throbbing clit. Every time you check to make sure she's still looking at you, you see her eyes trained on you.

Doubling down on your efforts you flick your tongue over her clit faster as it throbs between your lips. Alcina's legs begin to shake and just as they start to tighten around your head, just before she's about to fall into bliss, you pull away.

Her fingers holding onto the hair on the back of your head tighten almost painfully as she cries out at the loss. Looking back up at her, her eyes are glowing with frustration and she growls at you.

"Shh," you say, kissing the inside of her thigh. "let me take care of you. Trust me my love." The grip on the back of your head loosens and her eyes soften. "Good, keep looking at me."

She nods her head and you lick up her slit once more before bringing three of your fingers to her entrance. After you coat them in her arousal, you part her lips and slowly push in. Alcina moans above you as you push your fingers in and pull them out before pushing them back in once more. You repeat this motion a few times before thrusting down to your knuckles. She lets out a moan when you start fall into a rhythm and curl your fingers into her velvety walls. Three fingers may feel good for her but you know it's not enough so after a few more thrusts and curls you add a fourth finger.

Alcina moans grow louder and you feel her clench down around you as you continue to thrust and curl your fingers. With her eyes still focused on you, she begins to rock her hips to the pace you've set.

"Oh, draga." She moans.

"Am I making you feel good my love?"

"Yes." She says with an exhale.

"Can you take more of me? Do you want me to fill you baby?" You ask as you thrust hard into her and curl your fingers.

"Yes!" She cries. "Please my love, give me more!"

Folding your thumb across your palm, you slide your whole hand into her and you feel her walls stretch around you. Alcina lets out a filthy moan yet her eyes never leave you.

"Good job, I know how much you love feeling me fill you. I know you missed this, didn't you?" You ask as you pick up the pace.

"Yes! I missed you inside of me, I missed you so much draga mea!"

Your thrusts become faster and harder as you feel her walls flutter around you. The tips of your fingers feel that spongy spot deep inside and you push further into it before your fingers curl. Alcina lets out a scream as you start to pound against that spot.

"Oh fuck, draga! Right there!" She cries as her hips rock harder against your hand.

"Right here?" You ask as you curl against that spot again and she cries out as she stares down at you. She couldn't pull her eyes away from you even if she wanted to in this moment. "No one knows you like I do, isn't that right? No one else knows exactly what spot to hit to make you see stars, do they?" You ask as you continue to fuck her.

Unable to form words, Alcina shakes her head "no" as more moans leave her lips.

"That little maid could never fuck you the way I do, could she?" Alcina's mouth hangs open and she shakes her head "no" again. "Answer me." You say before swiping your tongue over her clit.

Alcina's hips buck into you and she cries out.

"No! She could never fuck me the way you do! No one could ever fuck me the way you do!"

"Good girl." You say before latching onto her clit and sucking on it.

Alcina's moans and cries grow louder and you feel her walls beginning to clench around your hand. She's getting close but you want to drag it out as long as you possibly can.

"Not yet." You say before flicking your tongue over her clit again.

She lets out a frustrated groan and throws her head back.

"Uh-uh, look at me." She rolls her head forward and her half-lidded eyes lock onto yours. You can see in her eyes how close she is. "Not yet baby, not yet."

Alcina whimpers as she tries to hold off her orgasm. You push her further and further, her legs begin to shake around your head as she does her best to stop from falling over the edge.

"Almost, not yet." You mumble into her.

"Please." She whimpers. "Please my love."

Your eyes snap up to hers and you see the desperation in her eyes, a complete submission you've never seen before. The look in her eyes spurs you on as you thrust faster and suck harder on her clit.

"Draga, I - I can't -"

"Cum for me baby."

Alcina's body trembles and you can see the explosion behind her eyes before they roll into the back of her head as she lets out a scream. She clenches tightly around your hand as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. Her clit throbs wildly in your mouth and you flatten your tongue against it as she bucks against you, letting her use your mouth as she rides it out.

Her cries soften and her walls start to relax. You swipe over her clit once more with your tongue - causing her to whine - before pulling your soaked hand from her. Alcina's chest rapidly rises and falls as she continues to come down from her high, trying to catch her breath. Aftershocks cause her hips and legs to twitch around you.

Crawling up next to her, Alcina opens her eyes and looks deeply into yours. Before you can say anything she pulls you into her and kisses you with an explosive passion.

When your lips part she buries her face into the side of your neck as the last of the aftershocks course through her. You run your fingers through her hair and kiss her head as she holds you tight.

Alcina has never relented control like that before with you. Even when you were pleasuring her in the past she was always in control. You wonder if she's ever let someone else take control before. Maybe before she got the cadou, but you're almost certain that she's never let someone else have control after.

She pulls away and looks into your eyes. You notice how watery they are and you cup her cheek and smile at her.

"Thank you." She says softly, holding back her tears.

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you, draga mea."

When your lips meet you feel a warmth flood your body. There's no hunger or desperation in the kiss, just pure love. She kisses you slowly for some time before your lips finally part. Alcina rests her forehead against yours and holds you tight.

"I love you so much. I am never letting you go ever again." She whispers.

"Good. Because I never want to let you go." You say back.

The two of you bask in the afterglow for a while longer, just holding each other in your arms while exchanging soft, slow kisses. It's moments like these with her that are your absolute favorite. Moments where the rest of the world disappears and it's just the two of you cuddled under the duvet. Your fingers trace her larger ones, in awe of how much bigger her hands are than yours. How soft her skin is, how strong they are. For the first time you really get a good look at the tips of her fingers and her fingernails. It fascinates you that her near perfect manicure can become such dangerous, beautiful claws in an instant.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No. It was rather uncomfortable at first but I grew used to it over time."

"Was it hard to control?"

"I wouldn't say it was hard, but it did take some getting used to in the beginning. There were plenty of instances where a poor maid was in the wrong place at the wrong time and she was accidentally sliced to ribbons."

"What happened?"

"They were more difficult to control when I was in fits of anger - which happened often back then. They seemed to have a mind of their own."

"Like a defense mechanism?"

"In a way, yes. So if I wasn't careful about my movements or how close I was to someone when I was angry, well, lets just say it didn't often end well."

"How long did it take you to control them?"

"Not very long, a few years perhaps. Although still to this day I can feel them itching to come out when I'm upset or angry, but I have much better control now than I did then."

"Do you file them?"

"Every so often, yes. But the wear and tear of my everyday work naturally wears them down so they're not as sharp."

"Is this the shortest they go without you having to trim them?"

"You are so full of questions this morning." She says with a smile as a light blush dusts your cheeks. Alcina kisses the side of your head before answering. "This is their natural length, but when necessary I can retract them further. It can be uncomfortable but it's worth it so I don't injure my partner during certain... activities." She says with a smirk.

You thread your fingers through hers and cuddle into Alcina with a giggle. Alcina nuzzles into you and kisses you on the head before letting out a sigh.

"Nooo." You whine, knowing what her sigh meant.

"I know draga, but we've been in bed all morning. I have a long list of things that need to be done today, including speaking with our prisoner."

Grumbling into her shoulder, Alcina lets out a laugh before pulling you close and kissing you one more time before throwing the covers off of the two of you.

You try with all of your might to hold Alcina down but she quickly overpowers you and flips you onto your back. She clicks her tongue at you as she leans down.

"Valiant effort my darling, but unfortunately you do not have the strength to overpower me just yet." Your bottom lip pushes out into a pout and she clicks her tongue at you again. "Oh, what's the matter my love? There is no pouting after such a wonderful morning." She says before leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

Alcina sits up and gets out of bed, not before tapping you on the thigh, prompting you to get out of bed as well.

"Come now draga, we have many things to do today."

The two of you get dressed and make your way down to the dining room for breakfast. During your meal Alcina goes over what she has to do today with the girls and discusses what she wants to happen with the prisoner.

"After breakfast we will pay him a little visit. Draga, if you would like to join us you are more than welcome to, but you are under no obligation."

"I would like to come, but I can stay out of sight. I just want to see if he tells you everything."

"What do you mean by that?" Cassandra asks.

"Y/n here went and visited our prisoner yesterday."

"You went into the dungeon alone?!" Bela asks.

"And you didn't die??" Cassandra asks.

"Why would you do that?!" Daniela yells.

"Girls, that's enough. We already spoke about it last night. There is no need for you to interrogate her about it, but I appreciate your concern for her wellbeing." Alcina says before turning back towards you. "Draga you are more than welcome to stay within earshot if you would like and if you want to make an appearance you may do so."

"I just don't want to see him get hurt."

"We will make sure you are escorted out of the dungeon before any of that takes place."

"Thank you." You say with a smile.

"Of course, my love."

The rest of the meal flies by and as the time to go down to the dungeon gets closer, you slowly begin to lose your appetite.

The girls finish their meals and Alcina swirls the rest of her wine in her glass before downing it in one gulp.

"Alright girls, I believe it's time to go visit the prisoner."

"I can't wait to take a bite out of him." Cassandra says with hungry eyes.

"And you say I'm always hungry." Daniela mumbles.

"Because you are! You insatiable beast!" Cassandra snaps back.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Girls. Enough. I need you to either take this seriously or you will not participate. Do you understand?" Alcina says with a stern look.

"Yes mother." They reply in unison.

"Ready, draga?" Alcina asks, reaching her hand out towards you.

You nod your head and take her hand in yours.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Then let us go."

Alcina leads you from the dining room towards the dungeon door. The closer you get the harder you feel your heart pounding in your chest. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela swarm down the stairs in a fit of excited giggles and Alcina stops at the top of the steps before kneeling down to your height.

"Are you sure you want to come, my love? I don't want you to feel pressured to be there."

"I know, but I want to. I have to. I just need to know-" you take a deep breath and Alcina nods at you, not needing you to finish your response. She knows why you feel like you need to come, that you need to see for yourself if he was as innocent as you thought he was - as you wanted him to be.

Alcina looks deeply into your eyes before pulling you in for a kiss. Immediately, your body relaxes into her touch and you smile into her. When your lips part Alcina stands back up and takes your hand in hers. She guides you through the dungeon door and you know there's no turning back now. You can only hope he tells them the truth - the whole truth. Not only does his fate hang in the balance, but so does the remainder of hope you've been clinging to.

"Well, here goes nothing." You say to yourself as you take the final steps towards the cell.

#willalove75 #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #wlw fanfic #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x female reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #re8 #re8 fanfiction #re8 alcina #re8 lady dimitrescu #re8 village

319 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 1 month

Note

Okay I had a fic idea and rushed to tumblr to see if your requests were open I'm lowkey shaking rn.

Anyway can we imagine hobie and reader who are friends but secretly having feelings for each other, and one night reader gets a little too drunk at a party and sends a confession text to hobie ?! And the way he would come to pick her up right after this and confess in return AAAAAAAKFODJODNXODBF do you think you could write something about it ? No one can write Hobie fics like you 💕❤️

Hi hi I combined both of your requests bc they were similar hope you don't mind. Changed it up a bit but it's basically the same! Thank you for requesting!! 😘❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW alcohol, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Getting wine drunk is a bad idea, getting wine drunk alone is an even worse idea. Your vision swirls whilst you watch the most mind numbing reality tv there is. Mind hazy, the smell of stale popcorn filtering in the air, blanket comfortably on your legs. You look at your phone right next to you like it owes you money.

With a narrowed glance, the screen blinks open like you commanded it in your mind. You don't miss how you quickly take it in your wobbly hands despite the alcohol warming your insides. Huffing, you're immensely disappointed to see a notification from one of the games you play to pass the time.

‘Your castle is under attack!’ it says in bold letters, and you wish it was him texting you instead. Your wallpaper doesn't help much with your pining, the picture’s a bit blurry but even the blurriness can't hide how deeply in love you are with your best friend. You remember when the photo was taken, and you remember how fast your heart was beating in your ribcage when Hobie yanked you towards him. Sweat still clinging to him from his energetic performance, adrenaline still flowing in his veins as he squeezes his face close to yours. He gives the camera his signature smirk, whilst you could only manage a lopsided smile. Eyes shimmering under the spotlights, arms bravely wrapped around his middle.

You still can't believe you fumbled that day, you thought you had your confession in the bag, but when he stared at you with those brown eyes you loved so much since year eight, the words got stuck in your throat. With alcohol in your system, flooding your nerves with courage, you open your phone to finally tell him your feelings.

> Heyyy boo thang <3

You giggle whilst you hover your thumb at the send button. Backtracking and drunk off cheap wine, you add more to your message.

> Heyyy boo thang <3 just messaging u how ur doing and also I love u so much like a lot ever somce you held my hand during pe when that ball hit my face I loveee u and not just a friend muah <3

Eyes scanning the message, a sudden realization hits you like a truck, as if sobering you immediately. The thought of sending a love confession to *your best friend has you sitting up right on the settee, moreso via text message. But before you could erase it and forget about it, a sudden scream startles you, jolting, the sound making you drop your phone on the carpet.

“Shit!” You glare at the fallen phone then at the telly where the reality stars are now pulling each other's hair like they're in the playground.

With an annoyed click of your tongue, you take your phone from the ground to check the damage. Sighing in relief, you see no cracks in the screen, but your heart falls on the floor once you see that your drunken message has been sent. “No! Motherfucker—!”

Hobie’s head is pounding from the combined powers of the pints he chugged and the loud music banging on stage. The old leather seats of the booth scratch at his jeans, the smoky and musty air entering his lungs, and the warm lights shining in his blurring vision. He usually doesn't mind it, he thrives in the environment. But his band mates basically dragged him into the pub when he was supposed to be hanging out with you tonight.

“Mates before chicks!” James said, earning a loud slap from Yuri a second later. “You hang around her too much, we miss our guitarist.” Ned mumbles with his puppy dog eyes that Hobie never thought would actually work on him. “Just one round with us! And you can come back home to your girl.” Riri added with a teasing grin. Hobie didn't even correct her at this point, and he knows it’s not just for one round.

After sending you a heartfelt message using Ned's phone, he rescheduled the weekly hangout where you and Hobie would watch the crappiest show you could find airing on cable, and whoever leaves the couch first owes the winner dinner. To which Hobie always sees as a win/win, he gets to hangout with you more, and he gets to see you smile when he purposely loses. Hobie invited you to the pub, even though he knows you'd reject his proposal, simply because he knows you hate the place, and how the carpet sticks to your shoes.

He knows you more than he knows himself.

It's hard enough to find the time to see you with all his responsibilities. He hates it when he could only settle with a quick phone call every night to check in on eachother. Especially when just a few years ago you were hanging out with him almost everyday.

He never thought he'd miss you this much when he agreed.

Hobie loves his friends, he really does, but you just have a very special place in his heart that he wishes he was in yours too.

Nursing a pint, he drowns his feelings with the amber drink and loud chatter with his band mates. Riri grumbles something about her landlord, while Yuri replies back with a ‘mine’s always open for subletting,’ she says in a singing tone. A minute later, the entire table looks at him with similar glints in their eyes.

“What?” He asks a little too roughly.

“You should get your own phone, mate, because I don't want to see your bloody messages.” Ned scoffs, his phone in hand. “Seriously, this one is sweet and all but this could take a turn real fucking quick, and I don't want to see that shit.”

“What the fuck are you talkin' ‘bout?” Hobie doesn't think he's that drunk yet, even though he doesn't notice how his words slur together, or how his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.

Riri and Yuri giggle amongst themselves, while James takes a peek at Ned's phone before making a dramatic shocked face.

His nerves shoot up when James mouths your name. Are you hurt? Are you mad at him? “Y/N, texted? What’d she say?” Hobie tries to snatch the phone from Ned, to which his friend pulls it away from him playfully.

“Oh I'm gonna need some popcorn.” Yuri snickers.

Ned, being equally drunk, clears his throat dramatically while leaning away from Hobie, who is too drunk to even win against James who's currently holding him back. James laughs like a hyena in Hobie's ear, while Riri takes a picture of the chaos.

“Hey! Boo thang! Heart emoji.” Ned reads unabashedly, the girls laugh louder at Hobie's expense. “Just messaging you how you're doing, and also I love you so much!” Ned tries to copy your voice, “Like a lot—!” Hobie has had enough, cheeks hot (not from the alcohol) he uses his spider strength to push past James, then grabbing the phone so quickly that not even the owner processed what happened until he sees it in Hobie's hand. “You're no fun, mate.”

“Has anyone ever told you not to read someone else's messages?” Hobie hides the screen on his chest.

“It's my fucking phone!” Ned gestures wildly.

Hobie glares at his bassist, he peeks down at the bright screen, your name up top and caller ID smiling at him. He can't help but smile back.

He might be drunk, but he's not drunk enough to hallucinate you confessing your love to him. Via Ned's phone nonetheless.

He feels bodies crowd around him, Yuri's chin is pressed on his left shoulder while Ned on his right. Riri pushes James away to get a closer look at the screen while James settles to loom over everyone like some muscle-bound shield.

“What the fuck are you lot doin’?” Hobie asks, hands gripping the phone like it's about to be snatched from him.

“We're dying from anticipation here, bruv.” James says above everyone.

“‘Anticipation’, that's a big word, James.”

“Eat a bag of dicks, Yuri.”

“You first—”

“Would you all shut up?” Hobie hisses, eyes glued to the tiny dots at the bottom, indicating that you're currently typing.

“She's typing.” Riri whispers.

“We can all see that, Riri.” Ned whispers back.

Hobie shushes them both when the three dots disappear without a new message. His heart hammers at his chest, he feels like he's back in high school, way back when you could just smile at him and his day will be made better.

“Just tell her, mate.” Ned says a lot softer than Hobie thought he was capable. “We all know you love her, just bloody tell her because I'm gonna need my phone back to call a cab real fucking soon.” And he ruined it.

“D’you have a curfew, Neddy?” James asks teasingly, earning a scowl from Ned.

Ned rolls his eyes. “I'm just saying, she might appreciate it if you actually reply to it.”

“I think she's drunk.” Riri pipes up, everyone looks at her. She roams her eyes towards each of their faces. Rolling her eyes she points at the message. “Look, there's so many mistakes there and I've texted with Y/N before, she doesn't text like that.”

“What's wrong with texting with spelling mistakes? I do that.” James smiles.

“Because it's just you, you ding dong.” Yuri teases, and James fakes a deep frown.

“Being drunk doesn't mean she didn't mean the text. The alcohol might've just helped her send it.” Ned reassures Hobie.

“I did it.” Hobie half exclaims, bleary eyes repeatedly reading his text. I fucking did it, shit! He thinks to himself. Hobie's suddenly incredibly sweaty.

“Oh shit! That's my guy!” Ned punches Hobie's bicep. The rest look at him with bewilderment.

“What did you even say?” Riri scooches closer to read.

> I love you too I might be drunk right now but I wasn't when I first realized it I have loved you since you gave me hot chocolate when I was freezing my ass off trying to win that stupid selling contest

“Holy fuck.” Yuri pats Hobie's cheek. “Can't believe you're capable of being sweet.”

“Shit, bruv,” James sniffs, his tears falling on the screen. “that shit is awe inspiring— don't even start, Yuri”

“Wasn't gonna,” she shrugs.

Ned pokes Hobie's side when he realizes his friend hasn't moved an inch from his position. “You okay, Hobs?”

Hobie inhales shakily, a smile slowly spreading across his lips once your message pops up. He swears that fireworks suddenly lit up inside him.

“Oh my god—” Riri tears up, but before the rest of the band reads the message, Hobie jumps out of his seat, even forgetting his own jacket in the process.

“Hobie—shit! Wait!” Ned tries to call him back, but Hobie's already out of the pub, sprinting fast. “My fucking phone.” He could only scratch his head.

The wind nips at his bare arms, lungs heaving whilst he runs at full speed. He should've brought his web shooters with him, but he unfortunately left it in his jacket pockets. If he had them he'd be swinging to your place so he could get to you faster.

Hobie's glad that it's late, or else he'll be dodging people left and right. Boots thumping loudly across the pavement, hand gripping Ned's phone, getting closer to your familiar street, he curves around the corner, almost bumping into you.

He stops your momentum with his arms. He feels his own jacket against his arms, you wear his hoodie well. Your chest heaves, grin slowly appearing on your wind whipped lips.

“Hobie?” You ask and everything clicks together in his mind.

All the tentative touches you two shared, all the hugs that lingered a few seconds longer, all the times that you looked at him like he fished the moon out for you. And all the times he looked at you like you're made out of stars. It all comes together in that dusty street corner where you both have crossed a thousand times before.

“Looks like we had the same idea.” Hobie softly says, clammy hands sliding down to your own sweaty palms. He doesn't mind, it's you, so he would never mind it.

“I guess you read my message.” You hold him close, hands squeezing at his hands that you've mapped out in your mind.

He chuckles, sliding his hand out from yours to show you the screen. “‘Say it to me in person and I'll say it back,’ doesn't give me much leeway, love.” The streetlight above perfectly aligns above you, giving you both a spotlight.

You mirror his smitten smile. “What are you waiting for then?”

Hobie pockets the phone, then he holds your face gently, eyes staring at you like he always has. “I love you.”

You pull him closer by his collar. “I love you too, Hobie Brown.”

“Since when?” He rags you on.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Ever since I got hit in the face with a basketball and you deflated it with your spiked bracelet and then called the jock who threw it a wanker.” He smiles wider at every word you utter. Leaning closer, he smells the wine on your lips. “The hot cocoa, really? That—” you fight the tears from flowing. “That was years before we became best friends.”

“And I've continued to love you since then, and will love you as long as you let me.” Hobie presses his forehead atop yours, a kiss would suffice better, but for now, he'll settle for this.

You know him better than you know yourself. “Save me a kiss once we're both sober?”

“They're all reserved for you, love.”

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