#that can be faked around to make it seem like they’re sort of always “almost getting it” or “not quite there”

[livwritesstuff]

I've had a consistent thought in my head of the girls learning more about the upside down.

Like they know a bit: uncle Dustin still lives in Hawkins doing research on something, they've seen their dads and they know about the scars and their disabilities. They know something happened to their entire family and they know there was an earthquake that wasn't really an earthquake. But they've never learned more than that and they'll never know the details as long as Steve and Eddie have a say.

But at some point, each of them realizes that the monster hunter jokes that their dads make aren't really jokes.

In general, I think Steve and Eddie’s sentiment surrounding how they address the not-so-pleasant aspects of their past with their daughters is that they won’t lie (because that’ll only come back to bite them in the ass later), but they’re also only going to tell them as much of the truth as they literally need to.

Not that Moe knows any of this.

All Moe really knows is that her dads went through some scary-ass shit when they were her age and they don’t really talk about it.

Still, Moe has eyes. Maybe she didn’t realize it when she was little, but even just the sheer amount of scar tissue her dads have isn’t exactly normal. When she asks where they got them, though, all they ever say is that a monster tried to eat them.

Moe also knows that the reason Pop doesn’t usually join them on shopping trips at the mall is because they can trigger bad migraines, and she knows the reason he gets migraines in the first place is that he’d taken too many hits to the head in too short a time, but when she asks how he’d gotten a concussion and then a TBI and then two more concussions in the span of four years he always just says something like picked a fight with the wrong Russian spy, or something like that.

And it’s public knowledge that Dad was accused of murder when he was in high school and nearly died before the charges got dropped, but when she asks about what happened, he gives her some spiel about curses and demons and portals to alternate dimensions and monsters (again, with the monsters).

They’re kidding, Moe knows. They’re giving obviously fake answers because…well, for a lot of reasons, she can imagine– not wanting to relive whatever actually happened, not wanting to put their own trauma onto Moe and her sisters.

Honestly, Moe doesn’t really even bother asking about it anymore because they clearly don’t want to talk about it, and if it really was that bad, she can’t even blame them. Besides, she’s pretty sure that dads are supposed to be total mysteries to their kids, so…whatever.

The story of what happened in Hawkins, Indiana starts to gain some public attention again while Moe is in high school – one of those true crime conspiracy theory-type stories people make Reddit threads and YouTube videos about, and apparently (because Moe has no interest, but Robbie likes that kind of stuff) Dad almost always comes up in them, Pop sometimes.

Around that time is when Moe’s dads start to get all kinds of media requests – not that Pop had any idea. He’s basically chronically offline, so no one is really able to track him down other than finding his work email on Psychology Today, but he’s got filters set up to send that shit to spam so he doesn’t even have to see it. Dad, on the other hand, is (supposedly) well-known for his books or whatever, so he doesn’t have the same kind of anonymity. He got all sorts of calls and emails from people wanting his first-hand account, but he always refused to participate, told them to lose his number and never contact him or his family ever again.

That’s the kind of thing that really rattled Pop – Moe didn’t like that. He’s kind of an immovable object in that way, so seeing him rattled just seemed wrong.

They’d even needed to threaten legal action against one online tabloid who just wouldn’t leave them alone – not that Moe is supposed to know about that, but she’d eavesdropped on a phone call between her dads and Uncle Dustin, who seems to exist as a central point in it all even if Moe doesn’t know why (maybe it has something to do with how her dads always complaining about how he still works for that lab, whatever that means).

“Are you ever gonna tell us what really happened?” Moe asks one day, when it’s just her and Pop in the car on their way home from a basketball tournament in Connecticut.

He sighed, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Hon, can I ask you to stop and consider that maybe we have been?”

And for her dad’s sake, she does, she makes herself run through the mental log of all the lore or whatever she’s unlocked over the years.

Monsters, Russian spies, superpowers, demon-animals, curses, portals to alternate realities, government corruption, evil scientists.

Bullshit, she’d always thought, but…her dad had never bullshitted her before. Why would he choose to start with this?

Moe looked back at him, some kind of question on the tip of her tongue even though she had no idea what to ask, and this time, Pop spared a glance back.

“I’m not telling you everything,” he warned her as he looked back at the highway stretching out endlessly ahead of them, and Moe tried to keep any signs of disappointment off her face, “But I’ll tell you some.”

[doctorvictoria10]

A stressful admission: Part 2

Tags - ED admission, nervous patient, slight cardio, slight ageplay, medical trauma, comfort.

It felt like her heart jumped out of her chest. A flash of different emotions quickly cycled through her, firstly fear, then shock, and then embarrassment.

“Um, yeah, come in.” She spoke timidly, unsure of who was on the other side of the door. There were several doctors she worked with who she definitely didn’t want it and to be, only maybe one or two that she would actually feel comfortable with. Maybe this was all a terrible idea and she should’ve stuck with the rushed ED doctor. A tall, broad figure poked his head around the curtain and she was so surprised - it wasn’t who she was expecting at all.

“Chloe!” The familiar voice called out gently. “I’m sorry you’ve been waiting so long. I only just got the call to ask if I could come and assess you. All of the OB doctors were busy - a few are off sick so they’re covering each others clinics too! I know we don’t know each other that well but we cross paths every now and then don’t we!” He spoke cheerily.

It took Chloe a while to take it all in. Doctor Jack Canning, a pediatrician, stood before her. She’d been at emergencies where he was there before, he liased closely with her department as there was often an overlap between their professions. He was always smiling, calm and composed, but she’d never really had a proper chat with him before, or gotten to know him.

“Oh, hi. Um, thanks for coming!” She spoke timidly.

He took in her anxious energy and worried expression, she didn’t look her normal self at all. “Are you okay?” He asked seeming genuinely concerned.

She let out a light laugh “Yeah, apart from a case of extreme embarrassment at this whole situation, I’m fine. I just, I collapsed and got brought in. And then I woke up and two people were planning to poke me with needles, and I really hate being a patient, it all got too much and I guess I freaked out.” She admitted shyly, trying to explain why he’d been called out of his day looking after babies to deal with his 26 year old, definitely not a baby, coworker in ED.

He nodded slowly. “May I sit?” He gestured to the bed. Chloe nodded her consent. “Chloe, you don’t need to be embarrassed. I read your notes, I saw you told the doctor before that you had medical trauma from when you were a child. Your reaction to waking up and hearing plans of IV’s and finger pricks and all sorts is completely understandable. It’s scary for someone who hasn’t had the experiences you’ve had, let alone someone who’s also worked in the medical field and knows that not all professionals are kind and patient like we are.” He spoke seriously, and it made her feel validated in the strangest way. She nodded slowly, agreeing with everything he was saying, and she let her fake smile she’d forced herself to wear to downplay the situation slide away. And left was a scared little girl who was terrified of being put in the same situation as she was in seventeen years ago when she was rushed to emergency surgery in agony and fear.

Jack let her sit with that for a moment. Then he continued in a serious but gentle voice. “I agree with the plan the ED doctor has made, the tests and treatments he wants done. But that doesn’t mean you have to accept them, you have a choice, if you let me look after you or not. If you let me look after you, we can take it slow, do it at your pace. We can see how we can maybe make things easier for you. If you won’t let me look after you, I can get you a self discharge against medical advice form and you can sign that and leave whenever you want. It’s up to you, but I’d strongly advise the former option, and I think you know it’s for the best.” He spoke, so gently it was almost soothing. His words resonated with her and seemed to calm her right down. This was her choice, she was an adult now, not a little girl, she could leave whenever she wanted. Jack saw all these thoughts running through her head, her eyes focused.

“I can see you're getting lost in your own head there. Come back to me.” He said quietly. Her eyes met his and she was snapped out of her chaotic thoughts about the situation.

“Isn’t this weird for you? I’m sorry I’ve pulled you away from your work, you must think I’m really weird and silly. You work with babies and kids, and I’m just an adult who’s stressing out about something that I really should be able to deal with.”

Chloe blurted out, blushing in frustration at herself and her inability to keep her anxiety under control.

He pondered what she’d said, and then began slowly. “Looking after babies, they need constant attention and kindness. Precision and accuracy is imperative. I care for them, make them better and I nurture them. And I’d love to do the same for you if you’d let me.” He held her gaze.

Chloe looked at him shyly, she felt herself retreating inwards again, feeling cared for wasn’t a feeling she was used to, her cheeks felt like they were on fire. She felt so embarrassed at the situation she was in. He sensed her embarrassment and hesitation, so he continued.

“Don’t you think this is a little too unlikely? You’re here, sick. You have medical trauma from an emergency surgery when you were critically unwell as a child, and now you’re sitting here with another pediatrician who wants to help you not only in the present, but maybe I can help you heal that inner child, that scared little girl at the same time too.” He smiled gently.

She thought for a moment, this wasn’t a likely situation, and he did seem to genuinely care. The knowledge that she could leave at any time felt safe and reassuring. Slowly she nodded. “Okay. Yeah, if you think it’ll be okay.”

“I think it’s a great idea, and I’m really glad I can look after you and hopefully get you feeling better. Just keep communicating with me okay? I’m not going to do anything without your consent, so you let me know if you’re not feeling comfy and we can reassess together.” He promised.

Chloe nodded at him, and he nodded back.

“Okay then. Let’s get started!” He lightly clapped his hands together. “Can you undress and put this gown on for me?” He held up a pale blue hospital gown. Jack sensed her apprehension, “I’ll need to run some cardiac tests, and palpate your abdomen, this’ll make it easier for us both!” He explained.

Chloe slowly and groggily reached for the gown. She felt so weak still. She dropped it beside her on the bed and started trying to shimmy out of her dress.

“Would you like me to help you?” Jack asked her, seeing her struggle with the fabric in her feeble state.

He was going to see her top half bare anyway, if it was now or in five minutes, did it really matter? Chloe internally questioned herself. “Yes please.” She spoke quietly, lifting her arms up for Jack to assist lifting the dress over her head. He quickly had her in the gown and she was laying back against the pillows soon enough.

“You feel cold Chloe, can I get you a blanket?”

“That would be great, it’s freezing in here!” She rubbed her arms. With a gentle smile and nod, Jack was heading out of the room. He returned quickly with two beige blankets in his arms.

“These are from the warmer!” He draped one around her shoulders and one over her body. The warmth felt so comforting and she felt herself relax into the bed. “Now Chloe, where would you like to start?” He asked carefully. When she didn’t reply and just stared at him with wide eyes he offered, “If you’re happy for me to take the lead, I’d like to get an IV in so we can take bloods and get the results processing whilst we do the rest of the exam. I can also be giving you some fluids and if you like, a relaxant for your nerves?”

Chloe nodded slightly, eyes still wide. He watched her, concerned but also interested.

“Chloe, I can see you’re retreating into yourself, and that’s completely okay, but I’m going to need a verbal confirmation before I do this. I’m going to put in an IV, take bloods, start fluids and give you a relaxant medication. Once you’re relaxed, I’m going to check your blood sugar, assess your heart and feel your tummy. I’m going to look after you throughout, I’m not going to cause you any unnecessary discomfort or upset, I’m going to be as gentle with you as I can. Can you say ‘Yes, that’s okay’?” He looked at her for a long moment.

“Yes, that’s okay” Chloe spoke quietly, in a voice that wasn’t quite her own. It sounded childlike, vulnerable. Her little space caught her off guard. It was usually controllable, she could choose when to drop and when not to, but this situation and Jack were pulling it out of her.

Jack gave her a knowing look and smiled softly. “Okay then, let’s begin.” 🖤

[jaesqueso]

Golden Hour (m)

pairing: playboy!mark x female!reader

summary: you decide it’s your turn to have a slice of mark, but he’s the one who’s been cooking you up

word count: 2,075

warnings: teasing, oral sex, protected sex, some crack cause this is a mark fic after all

a/n: it’s been a long time coming but here it is! (I hope my mark era dies off a little bit now because I can’t take it anymore 🥵) I hope ya’ll enjoy it ❤

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

Your body sways to the music as sensually as you can. Between the sweaty bodies on the dance floor, you see him, surrounded by three girls that came out of nowhere. Cheeky smiles, fake laughs and not so innocent touches. You’re fuming, but you can’t blame them, Mark Lee knows what he’s got and has no plan to hide it. You can tell by those tight leather pants and half unbuttoned silk shirt showing a glimpse of his chest that has been teasing you all night.

From the moment he walked into the restaurant, half an hour late making everybody wait as usual, you knew tonight was the night you’d get your share of the playboy. As dinner went on you almost reconsidered your choice by watching him be so picky on the food and with the staff, like he is a chef himself. Hell, the boy couldn’t even cook an egg to save his life, for Gordon’s sake. Sometimes you don’t even know how you can be friends with someone like him, but somehow you try to remember the old days, before the lavish lifestyle, when he was just Dorky Markie.

When the party moved to the Golden Hour, the must luxurious club in town, you knew that’s where you’d make your move, but he sure isn’t making your life any easy. Clamming he needs him a “real freak tonight” and asking the ladies to wait for him as he steps inside, Mark hasn’t had one minute alone. But then the stars align and this one song starts playing.

Back in college, in a drunk game somebody ask him what was the hottest song to dance to and this one was it. Focusing your eyes on him, you start your one woman show, that you may or may not have rehearsed thousands of times in your room, lip syncing to every words like you wrote it yourself.

It takes him a while but he finally notices your impatient eyes and the way you move your hips. As if enchanted by your body, Mark leaves the girls rolling their eyes as he makes his way to you, quickly matching your moves. You dance as close to him as you can, guiding his hands to your sides where he takes opportunity to explore a little.

Turning around, you make sure your ass is glued to his crotch as you roll your hips. You can feel his heavy breathing on the crook of your neck, making you close your eyes with a smile as you feel yourself closer to your goal.

When the song changes into an equality sexy one, you wait to see if he moves on to another random girl, or girls, but to your surprise he doesn’t. His hands hold your body with desire, not showing any signs of letting go.

“I knew you’d eventually give in.” His lips gently touch your ear as he speaks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play innocent.

“Oh, we’re playing that game?” He chuckles. “Alright then.”

“I thought you already had company for tonight.” You nod at the girls who are clearly gossiping about you.

“Those those three?” He snorts, rolling his eyes. “They’re just an appetiser. When it’s all said and done, I want you.”

Quickly you turn around and look into his eyes. Is he serious or is this some sort or trick from the play book? His expression looks sincere, for a moment you see the sweet Mark you once met, the Mark you’ve been secretly crushing on all these years. For a moment you see the Mark you always wanted to kiss. So you do.

You’re not usually this forward but he definitely seems to like the sudden approach by the way his hands pull your waist to him, bodies impossible close as your mouths move in sync on a passionate intense kiss.

When you part, both of you are breathless, like you kissed for hours. Or maybe simply because you did something you both have been longing to do but too afraid to take the risk.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Mark suggests, clearly cooking something up.

“Really?” You hear it but you almost can’t believe it.

“Yeah. You see, I got a big… Hm…” Taking your hand, he places it right on the bulge growing on his pants. “I got a really big problem…”

“Oh my…” You gulp, it does seem like a huge problem. “I guess we better go fix it.”

“Good girl.” Rolling your eyes, you take his hand and lead him to the exit.

Once outside he’s quick to grab a cab to take you both to his place. You kind of feel bad for the driver that has to endure what’s happening in the back seat, but you can hardly keep your hands off of each other. The way to his apartment is equally troubled, but you don’t want to leave space for him to change his mind about what’s about to happen, now that you got a taste of him you just need more. But as you enter his place, you can’t help notice the peculiar decoration.

“I’m kind of obsessed with myself.” He smirks nodding at the several photoshoot posters of him on the walls.

“I can see that…” You cringe a little bit inside. “But how about we change the focus for tonight?”

Slowly you start to undo the dress you carefully choose for tonight. Blue, his favorite color. The thin fabric falls to your feet, leaving you bare in front of him. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Mark speechless, he always seems to have a smartass comeback to everything these days, but right now no words seem to come out of his mouth as he admires your body, jaw slightly hanging.

“What do you say, Mark?” You try to keep your cool, but suddenly wondering if you’re being too forward.

“I say…” His expression finally warms up back into a smirk. “Let the feast begin.”

Embraced again into a heated kiss, he lifts your body, that instantly wraps around his, and carries you to his bedroom. You get thrown into the mattress, landing perfectly in the middle, head on the pillows. Standing in the end of the bed, he licks his lips before diving into you.

A trail of kisses goes down from your lips down to your legs as his hands trace your curves. Gently he spreads your tights and lowers his face right in front of your throbbing core. Taking a deep breath you prepare yourself to feel his mouth on your wetness but nothing happens. Looking down you notice he has his eyes closed and hands together almost like he is… Praying?

“Mark?” You raise an eyebrow. “What are you-”

“You should always say grace before your meal.” He glances up at you with a smirk. “Bon appétit.”

His lips finally connect with your clit, licking and sucking like he hasn’t had a meal for days. Rolling your eyes, your hands grasp the sheets as moans fly out your mouth. His tongue traces intricate shapes between your folds making you lose your mind as you squirm in the sheets.

Holding your hips in place, Mark keeps devouring your pussy like he’s in a buffet. If only you’d known his head game was this strong, you would’ve made this happen a long time a go, he may be cocky but he sure knows what he’s doing.

When his fingers join the party, easily sliding inside your wet hole, you realise his mouth is not the only thing he’s remarkably skilled with. You wonder if he can fuck you as good as he can eat you out. But you don’t think about it for too long because with the way he massages just the right spot inside you along with the movements on your clit you don’t even sense your orgasm coming until you’re screaming his name.

After riding you off your high, he makes his way back up your body, mouths colliding with longing. Your hands wrap around his back and you notice he’s still fully clothed. Messily you ged rid of his shirt before your roll your bodies around, placing you on top of him.

“My turn.” You smirk as you take your time adorning his pecks and abs with kisses.

Slowly you undo his pants before your mouth reaches his happy trail. You miss calculated how hard it would be to get him out of those tight sexy pants, but after his help, in between laughs, he’s finally all in display.

You have no idea how the fabric didn’t give away trapping his big hard cock that stands tall in front of you, but you don’t really care about that now. Mark hisses when your tongue swipes on his tip, tasting the precum. Fuck, it’s delicious. He’s delicious.

Taking all of his length in your mouth, you almost choke once you reach the base, but the whiny sounds he makes give you strength to keep yourself together and start bobbing your head up and down.

Soon your throat gets used to the feeling of him and you fasten your pace on his dick. Your hands help out, one the base and another one showing his balls some love. Glancing up your delighted to see his face squirming in pleasure as his chest heaves.

You’re too enrolled on what your doing that you barely notice his hand tapping your shoulder to get you to stop. Releasing his dick with a pop, you look at him wondering if you’re doing something wrong.

“Come here.” He signals you to move up his body, which you quickly do. “I don’t want to cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Why not?” You pout, making him smile.

“There’s somewhere else you’d rather cum in.” Grabbing your hips, he pulls you right on his lap, cock rubbing between your folds.

“Even better.” Smirking, you give him a sloppy desperate kiss as you start to align him with your entrance.

“Wait, wait.” Stopping you, Mark reaches his bedside table to pull out a condom. “I’ve been kind of a whore. Better safe than sorry.”

“You’re gross.” You roll your eyes. “But at least you’re responsible.”

Snatching the condom off his hands, you open it yourself and roll it down his length. Adjusting your position, you finally let yourself down on his cock, feeling every inch of him fill you up. Once you go all the way down, you both let out a shaky breath.

Steadily you start moving your hips. He watches your breasts bounce through half lidded eyes and you take his hands placing them on top of your mounds. Instantly he massages them as you ride him, moans and whines filling the air.

Mark starts to buck up against you and you know he must be getting close. You try to bounce faster but with another orgasm just around the corner your movements are sloppy and uneven.

Needing more, he suddenly sits up, making you fall back just a little as his arm wraps around your back. In this position, he’s able to control the speed, thrusting harder and faster, desperately chasing his high.

When he cums, you can sense the warmness inside you as his movements slow down. You slowly roll your body to ride off his high, thinking that even though you didn’t get a second go, this was still amazing. But apparently he was not finished.

You gasp when you feel Mark’s thumb on your clit moving in circles, his tired cock still buried inside you. Letting your head fall back, you mumble about how close you are, begging for him to keep going. And he does. Only stopping when your body starts trembling, making him hiss at the way you squeeze around his length.

Gently, he pulls your torso against him, holding your face in front of his to give you one final kiss before laying you both back down. With a sigh, you move out of his cock, sprawling your body next to his as you pant, mind hazy with pleasure.

“You know,” he takes off the condom, tying it up and throwing it away, “we live in a world that constantly tries to take you away from you. Everyone is being everyone but themselves. Here but not around. Wait, but what does that mean?”

“I have no fucking idea, Mark.”

☽ ・・・・・ ☾

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unable to tag: @chenleyang @doahflix @criminalmindsz

[polyonymousboy]

Mine: 1

A/N: HI guys! This is my first time posting a fic of any kind! I hope you enjoy it. Y/N is a Slytherin, Y/N uses He/They/She pronouns Y/N is AFAB (Assigned Female At Birth)

Summary: Y/N and Mattheo have been hooking when they see each other at parties, this party goes differently.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, drugs, sexual themes, and angst.

Word count: 1,175.

[Name] walks into the party in the Room of Requirement, the room looks how it usually did on a Saturday night party; trashed, a bar with all kinds of alcohol to mix together. The room was dark, despite the flashing purple, green, and white strobe lights that moved different directions and flashed different times to the songs. [Name] is only there for one thing, really. Mattheo Riddle. She spotted him with his regulars. Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire, and Draco Malfoy. They’re talking, passing a joint on a couch. Through the beaming lights [Name] made eye contact with Mattheo. He takes a rip of the joint, the boy with black curly hair then opens his mouth, letting the smoke almost escape before sucking it back in. It’s… sickeningly hot.

[Name] walks to the bar, asking the bartender for a Glasgow Punch. Turning his back from the other Slytherin. Though, Mattheo didn’t waver, taking in what he could see. He looked to have on a mini dress, black velvet, black lace trim on the bottom. The dress was so tight to where there was hardly anything to hide. The stockings look like hell to take off and put back on. They are terribly distressed, not hiding much of the skin that seemed to shine through them. His thoughts ran right to their first night together. 

~

“Fuck,” [Name] said, breathily. Their hands found home in Mattheo’s curly locs, kissing their neck, as he was feeling up and down her thighs, pushing the same very black mini dress up. Their lips locked together, [name]’s legs wrapping around Mattheo’s waist. 

~

“Hey, mate, you ok?” Theodore awakened Mattheo from the trance. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Mattheo quibbed. 

[Name] sat at the bar, contemplating what to do at said party, it didn’t seem fun without their always reluctant friend, [Friend name]. He looks around, trying to find something, or someone, to take their mind off of everything. The ghost of Mattheo’s delicate hands roaming his body. He was snapped out of it when he felt someone pick them up off their seat, and set them down. 

“What the bloody hell…” [Name] was turning to see a boy in a suit. He slowly tilted his head up to see the face of Cedric Diggory. Who has a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“I see you’re here alone,” Cedric took a step back, making space between the two. 

“Yeah, [Friend name]  wanted to study for an astronomy test,” Spike says, slightly glaring at the taller boy. He went to take his seat back, offering Cedric to sit next to him. He took the offer. 

“I noticed you’re early,” Cedric comments, looking at the options for a drink, taking quick glances at Spike. 

“Yeah, thought I would be early for a change,” [Name] looked back to where Mattheo was sitting with his friends. Trying to get out of an awkward conversation with a drunk Cedric. Oh, but Mattheo was watching the whole thing. Once their eyes met, Mattheo knew. 

[Name] turns to see Cedric smirking at them, a sort of look in his eyes that had no pure intentions, “You wanna dance?” 

“Uhm..” [Name] started to look around the room, wanting to find an escape through someone, alas, no one close enough. 

“‘Uhm’ isn’t an answer,” He looks [Name] in the eyes, while he takes a swig of his pint. 

“Merlin, help me,” [Name] whispered under their breath, putting on a fake smile, “Yeah, we can dance.” [Name] instantly regretted that. Cedric chugged his drink, and pulled [Name] off of the stool. 

“Party Monster” by The Weeknd starts to boom over the crowd. [Name]s heart raced. “This isn’t right. I can’t do this. I don’t want this. What the hell am I doing?” [Name] frantically thought, desperately looking for a way out of this predicament she got themself into. Right when he looked forward, he saw Mattheo, blocking Cedric’s way. “Oh merlin,” [Name] almost sighs in relief, when Mattheo snatches you out of Cedric's grip. 

While Mattheo, almost harshly, tugged [Name] through the crowd of dancing people. The energy that radiated off of him intimidated [Name]. At that moment they knew [Friend Name] wouldn’t have approved. [Name] couldn’t help but be scared about what might happen when they get out of the Room of Requirement. Once they got out they walked in silence to the Slytherin common room, at a slower pace. All [Name] could do was think about what would happen, what could happen, what he would say, or do.

“Do you like him?” Mattheo spat, breaking the silence, lighting a cigarette. [Name] looked at him in shock. As if the two of them weren’t hooking up almost every party they saw each other at. “I- why would you think that? We’ve been hooking up almost every party we see each other at, and yet you have the audacity to assume that I like my friend?!” [Name] grew angrier at the end of her sentence, making the two stop in their tracks. Mattheo turned around, looking [Name] in the eyes, “Well, you accepted the offer to dance. Didn’t you?” [Name] looks at him in disbelief and laughs, “Do you really think I wanted to dance with anyone else other than you at any of the other parties, including this one?! Merlin, Mattheo,” [Name] begins to pinch his nose bridge. “Do you really think I came to this party without [Friend Name], my best friend, just to get shit-faced, dance with a couple of guys, and then get railed?!” All Mattheo did was turn around to keep stalking to the Slytherin common room. 

[Name] scoffs, starting towards the fuming boy. Once they got to the common room, [Name] had so much, yet could only say so little, “You- I- How?” [Name] is interrupted by Mattheo, “You’re mine. Got that? No one else's.” Spike’s eyes widen and his gaze shifts to a look of incredulity, trying to process what was just said to him. “... Yours? Yours? You call me yours, Riddle, yet I can watch you snog a girl in the Three Broomsticks, acting like we didn’t sleep with each other two nights before that. You call me yours, yet you let any girl come and sit in your lap at parties. You- you know what?! If I’m really yours, then you should convince me from going back to that party, and getting with Diggory, just to spite you,” [Name] inched closer throughout the whole thing, shoving Mattheo back, with his pointer finger, to enunciate his irritability. 

[Name] exited the Slytherin common room, leaving Mattheo. Instead of heading back to the party, [Name] went to find his best friend. He looked in the Astronomy tower first, spotting [Friend Name], from the silhouette with [hair color], a mess. The tears that had blurred their vision the whole walk from part of the lowest castle, to the highest, their nose sniffling, breaking the silence. [Friend Name] turns, and sees [Name], distraught. Standing up, and going to their friend, “What happened?” 

A/N: I hope you guys like it 😭

[deathfavor]

Ling Wen tends to have little to no connection with other goddesses or women as a whole in her time period. As we know according to the book, the Heavenly Realm has very few goddesses as it. Those that are are typically in charge of things like sewing , singing , flowers , etc. Those extreme few that are in deputy positions are never really in charge of anything but instead make ink and lay paper as Ling Wen herself tells us about in regards to the civil gods before she became number one.. They’re all described as gentle beauties and quote “ They weren’t considered Heavenly officials , more like objects to be appreciated. “ And Ling Wen hates their acceptance and seeming contentment in being an OBJECT rather than a PERSON , not to mention a heavenly official.

She has no qualms or bad views over women who prefer to stick to traditionally feminine roles rather than break into male dominated fields like she does. Raising children is hard and important work , cooking is too , caring for the home as a whole is. If they enjoy it , if they’re happy to weave & household chores then that’s fine. But be PROUD , make sure your status as a person is known. Don’t let men or society crush you underfoot or push you around. Your passions are valid , you can achieve what you want. If you want to be a scholar , be a scholar. If you don’t want to marry , then don’t. Don’t let your identity be destroyed , don’t let them destroy you. Ling Wen hates those who let themselves be stepped on , destroyed , and torn down for anyone. Which mean she tends to extremely dislike the other goddesses.

Ling Wen is undeniably beautiful. The books even mention that several times both in her female form and her male form. But she’s beautiful like a winter blizzard or sharpened sword. She isn’t gentle and passive like the other goddesses either in personality or appearance , she's harsh and cruel and heartless as so many say of her. She clashes with the other goddesses because unlike them , she won’t back down or let herself be treated like an object. She doesn’t want to just sit and look pretty and not understand what’s happening like they are happy to accept. Ling Wen is almost single-handedly in charge of ALL the main functions of the Heavenly Realm. And while she can’t just reject things like a man in her position probably could , Ling Wen has no problem snapping at people and putting them in their place. The other goddesses can’t imagine it and often are horrified to see it when she’ll verbally tear someone apart.

Can Ling Wen be gentle ? Yes , but with selective people. To many she’s harsh. Plus , Ling Wen doesn’t enjoy singing or sewing and she can’t dance so it drives a deeper wedge between Ling Wen and many of the other goddesses. Ling Wen is most likely to be found with the martial gods ( normally Pei Ming if not with Shi Wudu but if not , then any martial god ) or Jun Wu ( pre-ending of the book ) than she it with any other female goddess. The Civil gods all explicitly are said to hate her and she doesn’t want to spend time with the goddesses , so it the martial gods that she stays with and they at least show her more respect than the others do. Her determination and drive and toughness matches them better than any other group of gods.

Of course Ling Wen doesn't just decide because its another female that she doesn't like them. She always gives newly ascended gods and goddesses a chance, an unspoken trial if you will. She would be happy to. It's just that many of them are so vastly different than her in values and perspective that there's nothing there for any sort of connection. And she does not have the energy to waste to faking a common ground nor any interest in it.

[scorpiongrassfield]

Theo is Spooked... Again

Start | Prev

Pat laughs it off. 

“I mean. It’s not really for us to decide, kid. Either it was or it wasn’t, factually. We have no say in the matter when it comes to reality,” they ramble. 

This leaves Theo looking pensive, but less afraid. 

It sounds like a distraction to you.

“Anyway, to answer your question, usually. Ghosts made from traumatic events are usually either angry or like. Sad and lost. Or both I guess,” Pat shrugs. 

They gesture for you to eat more of your food.

You sigh, but dutifully comply.

Once you’ve eaten a few more bites you ask: “What kind of ghost is the shadow?” 

“Dunno I’d have to meet them,” Pat say’s flippantly. 

You give them a flat look. 

A quick glance at Theo shows he’s doing the same.

Pat heaves a comical sigh. “Alright, I guess I can give you a hint this time since you’re having brain trouble,” they say, over dramatically. 

Theo is trying not to laugh. 

Pat winks at you. 

“So. If I had to guess, I’d say this shadow is the sort of ghost with Unfinished Business,” Pat says. 

“Oh?” Theo says, looking almost impressed.

“Yeah. This sort of ghost is usually pretty at peace with their own death, Except for they still feel like there’s something they still need to do. Look after their friend, feed their cat, tend their garden, stuff like that,” they explain. 

That all makes sense to you.

But you aren’t sure it all adds up. 

You can accept that the shadow is a ghost. And it does seem friendly and interested in helping you. 

But you can’t reconcile that with the ghost you’re supposed to be looking for. 

Your head kind of hurts as you think about it. 

Theo and Pat both lapse into silence as you think, Pat chowing down and Theo simply staring off into space. 

He fiddles with the glasses sticking out of his shirt pocket and its like something snaps inside your head. 

You and Pat aren’t here to investigate a ghost. You’d forgotten that. 

You still aren’t sure why Pat feels the need to lie to Theo to this extent, even as they begin to befriend him. 

Maybe they’ve also forgotten? Memory issues do seem to be going around like the flu these days. 

You run back over the conversation again. You can’t guess Pat’s motives for telling Theo his house is haunted. 

It feels more like you’re the one that’s haunted. 

“Oh. Myo-“ Theo cuts himself off. “Excise me, I misspoke. Sylv. It wasn’t your shadowy friend that lead you to my house today, was it?” Theo asks. 

He suddenly seems… different. Like someone opened up photoshop and turned up the contrast and saturation on his very presence. 

It seems that he remembers your earlier visit now. Had he been faking it before? 

Pat wipes their mouth with a napkin before piping up. “I was wondering the same thing. I said you should stay in the cars since you… had a migraine,” Pat hesitates on the lie this time. 

You realize you forgot to tell Pat about the woman. 

Oops. 

You could always lie. 

It’s not like Pat doesn’t do it literally all the time. 

But Theo is giving you this expectant look. 

Like he knows what you’re supposed to say. 

You sigh. 

“I met this woman in the woods. She freaked out when she saw me and tried to attack me. So I went inside to get away from her,” you summarize.

Pat looks like their blood pressure just shot through the roof. 

Upset would be an understatement.

“This Cannot keep happening,” they mutter.

“Patience,” Theo says reproachfully. 

Pat deflates. “Okay. You’re right,” they nod, seemingly to themself. 

They turn to you and look you right in the eye. “I’m not mad at you, especially since you don’t remember any promises you’ve made me about this. I’m glad you’re okay, good job getting to safety. We’ll discuss this further after I take a smoke break.” They say, like they’re checking phrases off a list. 

Theo hands them a lighter on their way out. 

That was… odd. 

Now you’re alone with Theo again. 

Except…

“You aren’t Theo, are you?” you say to the person who looks like Theo, but has entirely different body language from him.

“Oh. You’re observant, but are you connecting the dots?” says not-Theo. 

“I’m trying,” you say. “Why’d you bring that up? You knew Pat would freak.” 

“Ah. Pat cares about you though… They want to keep you safe,” not-Theo placates.

Something dawns on you. 

“You’re the one that told me not to be alone!” 

Not-Theo gives you a small smile. 

“She’s a danger to all of us. There’s only so much I can do, off-script. Please go easy on me,” not-Theo pleads. 

Then Pat is sidling back into the booth smelling of tobacco.

Next

[knifesxedge]

1, 4, and 12 for jet and 19 & 22 for party

1. Why are they Like That™? What makes them tick ever so slightly off? — Jet Star

jet’s formative years were spent with loving parents in a big community of kids and a few other adults who helped take care of all the motorbabies in the caravan. it takes a village, you know? and that is why jet is…more emotionally balanced? than a lot of other desertborns. her parents gave her a lot of love growing up and made sure they knew they could always come back to them for help even after she found her own crew. that’s what makes jet so open, outgoing, friendly with other ‘joys, which is consequently what led to the fab four forming in the first place!

4. Thoughts on vampires? (not dracs. very different) — Jet Star

weeeell…i think jet is only like…VAGUELY aware of the concept of vampires outside of draculoids. as a concept she’s pretty indifferent to them, i think. jet’s not the type to really think they’re interesting, especially since dracs have sort of warped the idea of vampires and tainted them for ‘joys, particularly desertborns. jet doesn’t really think that blood-sucking creatures of the night are particularly appealing, when it comes to things that may or may not actually exist she’s much more interested in “positive” or benevolent kinds of entities (the Witch and Destroya included). that is, of course, unless we’re talking about very specifically my supernatural creatures AU, in which case “present company excluded” is her stance on things.

12. Who did they have the hardest time trusting from their crew/friends? — Jet Star

HM. that’s a really hard one, because jet is so open and trusting by nature. she’s really willing to extend an open hand and take a chance on folks, hoping that if she shows kindness to people she’ll be repaid in kind by their trust. that being said, i think out of her crew, the person she had the hardest time trusting was actually kobra. party, to jet, was easy to read — they were shy and awkward but weren’t threatening, despite their posturing, and they would just lurk around jet until eventually they got close enough that party started to open up. kobra, however…he was polite enough, but he’s pretty stoic and closed-off. hard to read. he can almost seem emotionless, and even for someone as willing to extend their trust as jet, it was just…really hard for her to get a read on him. obviously they eventually learned to trust each other, to the point where when ghoul started to come around jet had no qualms about trusting him, because kobra vouched for him. but for a while there, when jet had just met party and kobra and obviously didn’t know anything about either of them yet, kobra was definitely a hard nut to crack and that made it take longer for jet to warm up to him.

19. What’s something they’ve never quite got over? — Party Poison

tw for grooming of a minor: party’s supervising ‘crow in the city when they were a scarecrow trainee was korse. they were right at the top of their class, and got “special attention” allegedly because of that. at least, that’s the reason korse told them. they were pretty young — between the ages of eleven and fourteen — and didn’t really realize that what was happening was bad, even. they just thought they were special. it took them until they were already out in the Zones to realize that they had been groomed, and it made them feel…violated. scared. they can put on a brave face, fake a lot of confidence in a firefight, but…they’ll never be over it. and they’ll always be scared of korse, even if they refuse to show it.

22. Do they ever want to return/go to Battery City? If not, is there something that could make them change their mind? — Party Poison

no. party hates the city the most out of everyone in their crew. they hate who they were in the city, they hate the things they were complicit in (and they hate the things that happened to them), and they would never want to return to Batt City, especially once they realized they were nonbinary, and once they’d fallen in love, they were entirely aware of the fact that they would never have been allowed those things if they’d stayed. i honestly don’t think there’s anything that could make them change their mind…i don’t count the underground as “going back to batt city” so i think if worst came to worst they could maybe be convinced to go back to the city in that sense. and of course, they’ve gone back to Batt City to rescue the girl, and to get ghoul back from reconditioning. however, they would never, willingly, return to Battery City as a citizen.

ty for the ask, marz :]

send me killjoys asks HERE

[mint-berry-crunch]

Why I Think Tweek and Craig are Actually Dating and not Faking It

So, today I rewatched the Tweek x Craig episode of South Park. And while everyone knows they’re canon (he calls him ‘honey,’ IN PRIVATE for god's sake) there are some people who are still like “oHHh, well ackshually, they were never explicitly defined as canon!” And while they’d technically be right, they were never EXPLICITLY said to ACTUALLY be boyfriends and NOT just faking it to please everyone, just- COME ON! While the ending of the episode “Tweek x Craig,” can lead the viewer to believe that they really did just decide to fake being in a relationship just to get the town off their backs, in pretty much every episode after, if one of them is seen, the other is usually with him. I have compiled a list of evidence that they ARE actually dating, and not faking the relationship. Obviously this list won’t have energy single Creek moment, in fact, it only has a few. HOWEVAH, I DO DECLAH that each piece of evidence SHALL be UNDENIABLY GAY1!!!!11 Not even the STRAIGHTEST OF THE STRAIGHTS will be able to deny it!1!!!1!

Reason 1: Like I mentioned earlier, when Craig and Tweek are at Tweek’s locker, and Tweek is freaking out, Craig casually calls Tweek “honey” and neither of them make a big deal about it, implying that they say stuff like this all the time! And like I also mentioned earlier, they were in private! Sure, there were a couple kids walking through the halls, but none of them were looking at them and likely didn’t even notice them. Why would they call each other terms of endearment when no one was listening unless they were dating? I mean- do you REALLY think they were just practicing or something? Like, do you genuinely, TRULY believe that?

Reason 2: Craig goes to Tweek’s house to try to calm him down in “Put It Down” while no one else, seemingly not even Tweek’s parents, are around to see them. He is seen being very supportive of him throughout the entirety of the episode and even buying him things such as fidget spinners and tickets to an amusement park. He seems to be genuinely concerned for Tweek and is trying his best to figure out how to help him. When he finally figures out to just listen instead of trying to fix everything, causing Tweek to sort things out and feel better, he seems very happy to have helped him. Obviously friends can be happy to help friends, but this paired with the other reasons on my little list should help prove that they’re more.

Reason 3: Tweek and Craig (especially after the Tweek x Craig episode) are almost always shown together. Like I said earlier, if one of them is seen in the background, chances are the other is with him. I know that could easily be chalked up to “Yeah, but they’re in public, they want people to see them together!” And I’d say to that, “Yes, they want to be seen, not because they’re faking, but because they’re PROUD.” I think they just aren’t ashamed of their relationship. And why would they be?? It is one of, if not THE healthiest relationship in the whole damn show after all!

Reason 4: And the most damning piece of evidence of all… THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER 40 GODDAMN YEARS LATER. Honestly, ‘nuff said, but I’ll elaborate JUST in case someone needs it spelled out /lh. I want you to look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you truly believe two people could or would pretend to stay together for oVER 40 YEARS to please a town that, as crazy as it is, would have gotten over them breaking up in that huge amount of time. 40 years would have been PLENTY of time for them to move on.

GOOD representation matters literally so much. ESPECIALLY in a show like South Park. I love South Park, but let’s be honest, they make fun of everything in sight. That’s part of what I love about the show! But there are some things that just really shouldn’t be handled as JUST “jokes and that’s all they are.” Of COURSE, you can (and probably should, in South Park’s case) make jokes about the situation, but never make fun of the people you are representing unless it’s in a satirical fashion. (Such as the jokes Cartman makes. They’re the most despicable jokes you’ve ever heard, but you know Matt and Try don’t mean them; that’s a character speaking, not them.) I believe South Park hit the nail on the head when it comes to finding the perfect mix of representation and jokes in MOST cases. Tweek and Craig are, in my opinion, the best example of this.

And 6 paragraphs later, we’re done! Wow, that’s like the number of paragraphs a 6th grader is asked to write about how the population of bees is going down. But in conclusion, Tweek and Craig are dating and you can’t change my mind. Good day, stay gay, and be slay.

[cowboyhorsegirl]

omg evren please say more about tonynat on some sort of mission where they need to fake date!! <3

@meidui, you've never known this because i have unfortunately never gotten around to answering any of your asks before, but you always send the best ones <3 I started writing this response back in May and couldn't ever figure out how to write the last scene between tony & nat, but I've taken a crack at it now in the hopes that you can enjoy this insane infodump of meta & a bit of fic before you move on to healthier and happier things :)

!!!!!!!!!! ahhhh yes gladly !!!!!!!!!!!!

(and sorry this took so long i hope you don’t mind that I wrote you a novel lmfao)

((Also I’m going to talk A LOT about IM2 but bear in mind that it's been about a decade since i've watched it so if I misconstrue anything please let me know!))

First of all, I absolutely adore Tony and Natasha separately, and I think had they been able to interact more in the MCU canon they would have served to ease each other’s insecurities and curb their more self-destructive tendencies. There’s undoubtedly a lot of parallels between their histories and their motivations for choosing to be heroes: 

they’ve got a lot of red in their ledgers, so to speak

they’re trying to even out the scale of all the harm they’ve done

they place the blame of those harms squarely on their own shoulders even though they are both–to varying degrees–victims of the systems they were a part of when enacting that violence (I will say I feel this is much more true in Nat’s circumstances with the KGB than in Tony’s with the US military-industrial complex, but the case can be made for him too what with Tony’s enduring addiction and mental health issues stemming from his relationship with his father who expressly expected him to take over the company [sidebar: i would make the case that tony does not and has never liked building weapons as these are not things that he chooses to do with his engineering prowess in childhood or at MIT, and while he is leading SI he acts out in ways that in my view indicate he’s deeply unhappy with his life and is trying to numb the pain] + the way he was manipulated and ultimately almost killed multiple times by Obadiah)

traumatic medical experiences involving painful, life-changing surgeries AND loss of bodily autonomy

But! There’s also some similarities in how they try to cope with these burdens. For example, they’re both extremely competent at what they do and in a perpetual state of trying-to-prove-themselves (this tends to function more internally for nat and more externally for tony) so their default mode is often to obscure what they feel/think in most situations from everyone but an extremely select group of trusted friends as a means of concealing emotional vulnerability. They are also both prone to throwing themselves into an unhealthy work/life balance because there’s always something more they specifically could be doing to help and it seems as though neither of them can bear to forgive themselves for inaction if their involvement could have saved even one more life regardless of the personal cost.

(That last point especially *COUGH endgame COUGH*)

So in my opinion they would’ve come to be able to recognize these habits in each other at a level of familiarity that Rhodey and Pepper do for Tony or that Clint does for Natasha, but in a shorter time period. Furthermore, because they see themselves in each other, I think they’d be much more discerning over when is the appropriate time to push the other hard to treat themself better because a coping mechanism is becoming overly destructive and when they should give the other a bit more leeway because, yeah, what you’re doing right now probably isn’t the most healthy way for you to process things in the moment but I understand where you’re coming from and I know that if I try and get you to work through things too quickly or in the way i think would be best I might accidentally end up pushing you farther away. I’d rather you be overworking and/or emotionally distancing yourself in my orbit so I can be here for you when you come up for air.

I’m going to put the rest of this under the cut because i haven’t even gotten around to the point of your message lmfao (thank you so much for the ask btw !!!)

However! The crux of the issue is that, for all of their similarities and potential compatibilities, Tony and Natasha first met when Tony was dying (stressful in its own right but in Tony’s case, it specifically ties directly back to the aforementioned medical trauma + previous near-death experiences) and Natasha was undercover on behalf of SHIELD collecting intel on him for a superhero initiative that he did not know anything about and did not know he was being considered for. They don’t really get the chance to engage and interact in good faith because of the inherent nature of “Natalie’s” mission, but I think that the sources for potential long-term mistrust go a bit deeper than that superficial subterfuge. 

Natasha in this situation is manipulating tony to gather information on him and denying him full control over medical decisions, and he is not privy to this prolonged, imbalanced dynamic until much later. Plus, Natasha’s own assessment of Tony is that he is not fit for the Avengers, but that Iron Man is. I feel this could be interpreted by Tony as Natasha suggesting that SHIELD reassign someone else to pilot the suit, further digging into those previous harmful thought patterns for tony that he’s only as worthy as the weaponrymachines he builds, no one values or wants him as he is, people are going to force him to relinquish his creations if he doesn’t give them up voluntarily and with a smile with the now added bonus of: this suit makes me feel like my life is worth living again and now they want to take it away from me because I’m not good enough for it.

As is, this setup makes total sense for their first meeting: Natasha is an agent and a damn good one and Tony is a very powerful man who people are regularly trying to pry information/resources/technology/expertise from by any means necessary.

The problem lies in the fact that these two are then tasked with being on an elite superhero squad where they have to place very complete trust in each other and I just don’t really see that happening without some intense heart-to-hearts about what went down in IM2. Now, as we stated before, these are two people who are very reluctant to open up and share their internal strife even with the few people they’ve developed trusting relationships with over the course of years, so I don’t imagine they would willingly offer that painful transparency to each other.

It seems that the ideal conditions for this sort of conversation to take place would call for a mission requiring only Tony and Natasha to work in an extremely close capacity with each other that involves high stakes and high emotions and in which the success of the mission lies critically in their ability to improvise off each other in order to hide in plain site using the cover of an innocuous personal entanglement.

I sense a fake dating mission!!!!!!!

(Bonus points if the context of the mission harkens back to the one or both of their previous traumas.)

So, to FINALLY get around to the point of your ask, my ideal tonynat fake dating mission would serve the primary purpose of allowing tony and nat to work through the events of IM2 and develop their friendship. This would have to involve recognizing the many similarities they share regarding their motivation to undo the violence and harm that they both wrought in their previous lives and then using that foundation of recognition to build trust and eventually camaraderie and understanding! 

And because this is my personal dream tonynat fake dating mission story, the secondary purpose would be to make steve jealous and have an early-onset Feelings Realization™️and/or tony-induced Gay Awakening© because i have perpetual stevetony brain rot and I simply cannot engage with any story without figuring out a way to shove a stevetony plotline into it🤪

The time: the nebulous space after AI/IM3 but before CA:TWS. 

The place: a foreign nation with a highly advanced technology sector (I’m thinking either Singapore or Japan or Germany). 

The mission: identify and infiltrate a corporation that is suspected to be funneling technology and product to [INSERT VILLAIN ORGANIZATION HERE] [PROBABLY DOOM LOL].

I imagine it would start with Fury assembling the Avengers to brief them on the situation and the long and short of it is this: a weeks-long mission that will involve Tony and Natasha attending a technology expo abroad to figure out who is supplying [VILLAINS] with their tech, infiltrate their operations, gather intel, and collect evidence. There should be no reason to expect any flashy shootouts, Fury insists while leveling a one-eyed glare at Tony, but Clint and Steve will rotate 4 day surveillance shifts on the helicarrier which will be hovering nearby over international waters and Bruce and Thor will be on call in case they do need back-up. 

One last thing: undercover identities. Trying to conceal Tony Stark’s identity would be like trying to sweep an elephant under a carpet–Hill has to talk quickly to cut Tony off from reminding them all again how he managed to stay under the radar in Tennessee for a week and if it’s so damn hard for him to go undercover then how come the powers that be at SHIELD couldn’t find him in Buttfuck Nowhere, USA?–but it doesn’t matter because he’ll be able to blend in effortlessly at this conference under the guise of exploring new opportunities for SI to diversify its ventures in the tech sector.

Natasha, on the other hand, will need something a bit more involved. She’ll be attending as Nadine Roman, an aspiring model and Stark’s latest conquest, Fury explains while Hill drops a file detailing the persona in front of Natasha.

At this, the energy in the room shifts a bit as Steve, Bruce, and Tony all have subtle, but undeniable reactions to this news. Bruce frowns slightly, as if trying to imagine what this scenario would even look like. Tony’s eyes slip over to Steve and his smirk falls for just a moment before snapping back into place, albeit looking a little bit more forced than before. As Steve tries to clumsily disguise his own surprised expression, he remembers seeing a story in the news recently about Tony and Pepper’s split as he had been flipping between the international news section and sports. 

“So…I’m going to fake date Triple Imposter over there?” Tony finally offers into the silence.

Fury considers him for a second, and is just opening his mouth to respond when Natasha–still studying her file to get the rundown on ‘Nadine’–says “Yeah, if you can handle it,” eliciting an unapologetic snort from Clint where he sits beside her.

Cut to the actual mission, and by all appearances ‘Nadine’ and Tony are technically pulling it off with no issues. Not like it’s hard, really, Red is a literal pro at undercover operations as Tony is quite well aware of having been on the receiving end of one of them. She slips into the role of harmless arm candy flawlessly, batting her eyes and smiling coyly over her bare shoulders at egotistical corporate executives with an almost surgical precision. Her flirting and the prestige that accompanies her temporary status as Tony Stark’s companion gains her access to secret meetings and lowly-lit offices where she fades into the background, making herself known and forgotten with equal efficacy.

For his part, Tony is providing the perfect cover for Natasha to work off of. He parades her around the first day, every bit his ostentatious self to make sure everyone gets the image of her on his arm cemented in their minds. He pretends to be too tipsy to notice when his date seduces men right behind him while skillfully avoiding the drinks that keep getting shoved into his hands. He schmoozes with global industry leaders who make him want to tense his body in disgust, but he forces himself to relax, fielding unwanted touches and unearned familiarity all while trying to pry information out using his own forms of deception and sleight of hand.

It’s strange Tony thinks playing this game again. It hasn’t been all that many years since this was his real life, though it feels like it’s been lifetimes. Considering how many near-death scares he’s had in the past few years, it may as well have been several lifetimes since the last time he’s flounced around one of these conferences with some nameless darling of the night on his arm and one too many drinks in his blood and a desperation to be outside of himself, even if just for a moment, even if he had to kill himself oh-so-slowly to do it.

Oh right.

In all the madness that’s been Iron Man, the ecstasy of building something to do good for a change coupled inextricably with the immense mental toll of his recent heroics, it had been easy to let himself forget what it had felt like to live with the shackles of a duller but more persistent type of misery around his neck. 

It unnerves him, too, how easy it is to slip back into this life, but he supposes he had been born and built for it. It’s practically muscle memory or an instinct hardwired into his DNA, so deeply ingrained in him he couldn’t cut out the rot no matter how badly he might want to.

Tensions build as the days pass, until one day while Natasha is off trying to uncover potential industry connections to [VILLAIN ORGANIZATION], it happens. Tony’s in the middle of a conversation that he hates about the merits of private-sector civilian surveillance. But, because he’s Tony Stark and he’s smarter than all of these sleazy business fucks put together, he finds himself dominating the discussion. And, because he’s working this goddamn mission right now, undercover in plain site, he’s arguing for it. Arguing the merits of private sector civilian surveillance. 

He finishes the point he was making, met with painfully unsubtle nods of approval and he can practically see the rusty gears in the brains of his so-called contemporaries trying to figure out how quickly they can relay what Tony’s just said to their own company boards. 

He knows he’s lived this exact scene at least a hundred times before at no less than a few dozen past expos. He’s never been able to observe the charade so clearly before, though.

As he’s turning away from the crowd of executives surrounding him, Tony doesn’t register that instead of sipping at the glass of water he’s been nursing all night, he’s raised it to his lips and forcefully thrown his head back to drink until his brain realizes that the burn he expected to light a path down his throat hasn’t come yet. 

Muscle memory. Just like all the worst parts of him, the parts he will never be without.

Horror dawns on him as he slowly lowers his arm, and the breaths start coming fast and shallow while the cold, cold weight of hysteria begins to settle in his chest, freezing him from the inside out.

I need a drink he thinks for the first time in a long time, and that… That scares him. Because he could do it, it would be all too easy to start again here, now. Someone would no doubt be thrusting another drink innocuously into his hands soon enough because of course they would, he’s Tony Stark and Tony Goddamn Stark is a drunk. Ever since that first drink in the dark of Howard’s office when bourbon branded his mouth with its awful liquid fire and his father branded his soul with a taunt Tony never stopped repeating Stark men are made of iron Stark men are made of iron Stark men are made of iron.

The next few seconds seem to collapse and stretch simultaneously around Tony as if he has suddenly found himself suspended in the middle of a black hole. There’s a slight tremor to his hand as he sets the now empty glass down. The conversation is still moving around him: attention snaps back to him and predatory smiles greet him in excess before he’s even finished turning to face them again. A thought passes through the haze in his oxygen-starved brain that he’s about to be eaten alive, consumed whole and used up so thoroughly that there will be nothing left. It’s so asinine that for a brief instant mounting distress gives way to sharp disgust at the momentary lapse of rationality.

A light hand settles on his shoulder, and Tony’s entire body tenses under the phantom weight of a much heavier grip. Someone else used to know how to spot the onset of his little outbursts once. A friend, a desperately trusted father figure, or so he had deluded himself into thinking once because he had wanted that, had wanted anyone to notice when he was trapping himself inside his own brain again and maybe even to care enough to bring him back down to earth when he did.

Panic seizes Tony’s heart in an iron grip, and it feels like Obie’s hands inside him.

Natasha looks up at him, but he doesn’t catch the expression on her face, eyes zeroing in on the spot where he had just set his empty cup down. On the table, someone has helpfully cleared the glass and set down a complimentary martini on the corner of a napkin.

It’s all a blur of a crashing martini glass and his own breath and blood loud in his ears and his body on autopilot getting him the hell out of there because yes, yes this is bad but if he doesn’t leave now it’s going to be worse. Vodka drips down his hand as he practically runs out of the hall back to the refuge of their hotel suite and he hasn’t even thought about the consequences, the damage control until he hears Natasha’s voice light and unbothered and a second later a round of raucous laughter from the crowd he’d just had eating out of the palm of his hand and then the door slams shut behind him and all he thinks about is the path back to the hotel.

When Natasha slips into their rooms later that night, Tony doesn’t waste any time deploying his own damage control strategy, but not so he can manage appearances in front of the men waiting to pounce on him once more on the expo floor. He can’t really bring himself to care less about keeping up appearances with them, and it won’t matter after tonight, anyway.

“I’m going back to the helicarrier. I’ll be much more useful there running surveillance and the suit is always available in case you need it.”

Natasha tilts her head and raises one eyebrow pointedly as she silently considers Tony’s words for a moment. 

“No.” She says firmly, with a tone that would have ended the discussion before it even began were she not talking to a man whose stubbornness was outmatched only by the magnitude of his lack of self-preservation.

“Excuse me?” There’s just the slightest edge of panic to Tony’s voice, but even that small crack is threatening to collapse the entire facade. 

“I need you here. There’s no other part of this mission where you’d be more useful.”

“That really isn’t your call to make,” Tony says brusquely, getting up from where he had been sitting in their lounge and walking over to face the view of the nighttime city skyline as it shines through the massive windows.

“It’s not yours either. I wouldn’t have taken this mission if I didn’t know you could do it, Stark.”

“Why?!” Tony bursts out, expression crumbled when he spins around to meet her head-on. “What changed Natasha? Two years ago, YOU said I was a liability, so what exactly has changed?” His chest is heaving with the effort of catching a breath, eyes wild and body frozen still against the backdrop of the city lights, held captive under Natasha’s assessing gaze in a way that’s so much more restricting than even the bounds of social convention he broke to escape the expo floor an hour ago.

For a few, awful seconds, Natasha’s face is totally blank as she stares back at Tony and he wonders desperately for a moment if she’s evaluating him in real-time, if she’s writing the mission debrief in her head right now about how Tony Stark has shown himself unfit for espionage, unfit for combat, unfit for superheroics, unworthy of so much more than just the Iron Man su—

“I did.” Her voice shatters the spiral he had just begun to fall into, sympathy written in the downward tilt of her mouth and the way her eyebrows draw towards each other, wrinkling the skin between them. Tony is so abruptly, acutely aware that this is an emotion she’s choosing to let him see, but unlike the way she had laughed airily at the jokes made by the businessmen at the conference downstairs or their first interactions together when she had still been Natalie, this is not an act. The masks have all dropped.

“What?”

“ I changed. I made the wrong call about you.” She slowly makes her way over to him.

Tony breathes out an incredulous laugh, one hand coming up to rub his face. “You’re really going to try and convince me that I’m not everything you wrote in your report to Fury? After what you saw down there?” The words are quiet in the still air between them.

“What did I see? Tell me why I was right.” She raises one hand to lower his from his face, not letting it go once she does. 

“Isn’t it obvious? This… all the— the schmoozing and the grandstanding and the— God, the weapons. It’s like I never even left the industry, it all comes back so easily. That’s who I am, who I was raised to be. You saw it down there, I know you did. Please don’t— don’t lie to me.” He swallows heavily around the last admission, the unspoken again echoing louder than if he had just said it.

“I don’t know,” Natasha starts, a small smile forming on her gorgeous red-painted lips. The shade matches the color of the tie Tony wore today. She had hidden a microphone in the knot before they left earlier this afternoon. “Doesn’t seem like it comes all that easily to you. I imagine we’d still be down there schmoozing and grandstanding together if it did.”

A beat of silence passes before Tony breaks into a startled grin, Natasha’s smile growing in response to his. “I always forget that making jokes is something you do,” he admits, chuckling softly.

“Looks like we’ve still got a lot to learn about each other then.”

“Guess so,” the words just shy of a whisper as he finally pulls his hand from Natasha’s gentle hold and breaks their gaze to look away. 

“Tony,” she says, resting one hand on his cheek to gently guide him back. “The man on this mission? That isn’t you. Maybe it was, once, but I know it isn’t now because I see you choose to be better than him every day. To do better than him. That’s who you are: the choice you make, over and over, every day, to be better.” Her eyes flicker away for just a fraction of a second, almost imperceptibly, if Tony hadn’t been hanging on to her every word, eyes fixed on hers. “And I… I wouldn’t hold yourself responsible for the person you were raised to be.”

He takes in a shuddering breath, unsure how he found himself here without any of his social armor. How Natasha disarmed him of his usual tactics, avoidance and distraction and redirection, he isn’t quite sure. But there’s a trust he feels blossoming in his chest as she cradles his head in her hand that pushes fear at bay, and he knows he should be wary, trusting the spy, but there’s a haunted edge to her expression that makes Tony think that, for once, perhaps he isn’t the one who stands to lose the most if he falls headlong into trusting.

“It’s too much,” he admits, “pretending to be who I was. It— it reminds me of Obie, and drinking, and… it’s just a lot. A lot to deal with alone.” 

The corners of her eyes wrinkle tenderly as she smiles warmly at him. “It’s an act, Tony. You know this. You’re the only person who can do it, exactly because you’ve done it before, for so long. You fooled me didn’t you?”

His lips quirk up at the quip, he imagines that he’ll never quite get over how bizarre it is to hear Natasha banter with him like this, but it doesn’t much matter as long as he gets to experience the delight of her humor again.

“And Tony?”

“Yes?”

“I promise you, you’re not alone anymore.”

—

as far as the steve b-plot goes i’m thinking that steve would initially be feeling a sort of vague discomfort that he can’t quite pin down a reason for so he eventually just decides ‘oh you know what Nat is right and i’m probably feeling lonely and should try dating again after this mission is over’. but then he starts to see tony and nat acting more and more comfortable and affectionate and intimate with each other during the expo in a way that feels…. not so fake anymore and discomfort intensifies into a weird sort of frustration and anger and ultimately he realizes it’s jealousy and he spends a few days stewing in the helicarrier watching tony dazzle natasha in front of god and probably some villains and everyone else on the expo floor and he’s like this is so weird am i jealous of tony?? I don’t like nat like that she’s a great friend but i only see her as a friend and then one day on the ninth day of his latest shift because he’s started insisting to clint that he extend his rotations (clint is very on board with this bc as far as missions go this is literally a cakewalk to him & Nat and he promptly peaces out to go raise his secret family) steve’s watching the surveillance footage of the expo and he sees tony laughing so genuinely as he and natasha demonstrate an iron man gauntlet and he’s so enamored by tony’s joy and the way he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips together into a smile because he physically can’t contain his amusement and his laugh lines deepen so beautifully and he’s like oh. OH. i’m not jealous of tony i’m jealous of NATASHA. Because she gets to make tony laugh like that and touch him and be his and it’s all for a mission of course it is but what if it isn’t?? Because steve’s never seen tony laugh like that before and that was all for natasha and cue steve-centric shenanigans as he works through his gay pining for tony stark while simultaneously convincing himself that tony and natasha are now in a real relationship and angsting over that too. i feel like this would eventually resolve itself by nat and tony somehow getting themselves in danger as they finally hone in on their target and steve has to go save them and he’s carrying a bruised and bloodied tony stark out of his makeshift prison and tony is so delirious with gratitude that he kisses steve and steve feels guilty about THAT bc even though he’s elated he’s like ‘oh naur :( tony is cheating on my best close friend natasha with me and how could i do this to her’ meanwhile natasha is completely oblivious to this whole pity party steve is throwing himself and tony has literally been asleep in a hospital bed for 17 hours and thinks he dreamed that kiss when he wakes up steve thinks he’s in a love triangle but it’s literally all in his head bc he’s an emotionally constipated idiot but damn it if he isn’t tony’s emotionally constipated idiot

[mai-universe]

➳ twst oc — jewell.

❝ a-are you…an int-intruder too…? i-i need to get rid of you… ❞

jewell is a second year in terrovania. despite his small and timid nature, they’re a capable worker who’s extremely determined and loyal, almost to a terrifying degree…

warnings for brief mentions of implied abuse.

➣ technical information ;

name: jewell

“jewell” - plaything, delight.

japanese: ジュエル

romaji: jueru

other names:

▆▆▆▆▆

➣ biological information ;

gender: genderfluid | any pronouns

age: 17?

birthday: october 1st. not their actual birthday, that’s just when they entered night raven college.

star sign: libra

height: 150cm / 4’11”

eye color: pale teal

hair color: light green-grey

homeland: [this information is unknown.]

family: [this information is lost.]

species: human

➣ professional information ;

dorm: terrovania (@terrovaniadorm)

school year: 2nd year / sophomore

class: 2-b | seat no. 25

occupation: student | cafeteria assistant cook / butcher

club: science club

best subject: p.e / master chef

➣ fun facts ;

dominant hand: right

favorite food: chili | pork

least favorite food: vegetables

dislikes: disappointing others | “intruders”

hobby: making masks | pretending / acting like other people

talents: sewing

➣ appearance ;

jewell is a very pale and petite person. her messy greenish hair is a little bit past her shoulders, normally put in a low ponytail held by a black scrunchie. there’s light bags under her eyes and scars spotted all over her body. in a way, she looks rather unhealthy.

at school, he wears the typical nrc uniform with a dark orange waistcoat and the terrovania crest on his armband. the only difference is that it’s a tad bit oversized.

inside the dorm, jewell wears the regular black uniform; the only differences are the shirt being buttoned up with a dark blue tie around the neck, and a yellow apron wrapped around the waist instead of the multiple belts. there seems to be a few bandages underneath as well, most likely from injuries. the mask they wear is sewn together and oddly feels like dried skin.

➣ personality ;

jewell is a very paranoid person, if their seemingly-permanent confusion and scared expression is to say anything. they’re usually seen alone in silence or with other terrovania members, never interacting with anybody outside of their dorm unless an outsider comes up to them first.

however, as seen with his fellow dorm mates, he can be very cheerful and genuinely happy once he gets to know you. you just have to be nice to him! …even if it’s fake. as long as you can calm him down and give him affection, he’ll be right at your feet, like a dog. just a warning however, he gets attached to people rather easily. really easily. it’s borderline obsessive.

she is extremely loyal to a fault; she follows the orders of whomever she considers her current “family”, or just anyone that she feels attached to—and i do mean anyone. because of this she is also very gullible, thus easy to manipulate. nature and nurture coexist so well, doesn’t it?

jewell isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, as he was never taught anything school-related before nrc. hell, he never even got homeschooled. because of that, he’s still learning how to write, read, and even properly speak; aside from the fact that he stutters a lot, sometimes he starts speaking gibberish when rambling too much. in addition, he has a hard time studying.

she seems to have some sort of memory loss going on, as she doesn’t remember much from her past before she arrived at night raven college. she has tried to remember, but it always sends her into some kind of panic or it gives her a headache. at this point, i don’t think she even wants to remember anymore.

it’s best to stay away from them when they’re playing around with chainsaws and hammers. their violent tendencies seem to come out the most when they have their hands on those…

➣ skills and magic ;

determinator

“finishing my orders come first, otherwise i’ll get hurt”. that’s what jewell has been taught, hammered into her head just like her victims. she’ll do anything to accomplish her task no matter what gets in her way…unless her family orders her not to, but that’s rare anyway.

due to his determination, he’s very sturdy and is able to take many hits whether they’re physical or magical, despite his small frame. he’ll keep pushing no matter how severe the injury is, i wonder if he even recognizes the pain? it’s the same with his brute force; he may not use his bare hands that often, but he has an extremely tight grip and can drag or lift someone to a certain location if anybody asked for it. if his chainsaw doesn’t break something, then he’ll crush things with his feet.

general magic

for some odd reason, their family valued them being the “brute force” of the family, so they’ve never been trained when it comes to their magic. as a result, jewell’s magical abilities are generally very weak and not that effective—but, if they were to recklessly throw their magic out without thought, maybe it can hurt someone pretty severely.

unique magic

jewell’s unique magic is “dog will hunt”. it allows him to summon a chainsaw that can be used to attack people. it starts out as a normal chainsaw, but the more that he revs it up using his magic the more it becomes powerful. at the ultimate stage, the chainsaw can cut through anything, including space. he can switch it out with a hammer too.

she can also summon meat hooks that assist in the hunt. it’s most useful in tight spaces.

however, as a side effect, the more jewell revs the chainsaw up, the more that they themselves become weaker because of how much magic they’re using. they won’t be as durable, strong, or as fast as they normally are. they’ll get tired more easily too.

➣ trivia ;

twisted from leatherface / bubba sawyer from the texas chainsaw massacre.

their “birthday” is the release date of the 1974 texas chainsaw massacre film.

the type of amnesia they have is dissociative amnesia, which is where memories are deeply buried into a person’s brain but cannot be recalled unless specifically triggered.

she has made masks for when she’s acting; a mask with makeup on it, a clown mask, a fur mask, etc. they look a little…fleshy, just like her main one.

her unique magic name is a reference to texas chainsaw massacre 2, where chop top says “dog will hunt!”

he has insomnia due to constant nightmares.

❝ he don’t mean you no harm. such a sweet boy… ❞

[menalez]

Honestly with these netflix dating shows it feels like there are racial micro aggressions against any woc on the show? Like even from moc. Idk if you watch love is blind, but I especially feel bad for any woc on there bc they always seem to have the worst experiences. And then tolu on perfect match, it seemed like she was just tolerated on the show and none of the men were genuinely interested in her

alara is a woc (turkish cypriot) and got treated decently enough tho honestly i thought she was white with a spray tan so perhaps she’s not a good example. but yeah dominique for example was also treated like shit by the men. and they ESPECIALLY treated black women terribly. i remember back when i would watch love island how the black women were almost always alone and there were so many articles criticising how dating shows will cast black women (often times for diversity points) but wouldn’t make sure that the men they cast actually like black women. for love is blind i cant think of clear cases of black women getting the worst but i can think more recently of AD… the men she had to choose from were genuine garbage

but yeah for tolu she rly was treated like a constant second choice, even chris who seems to be genuinely into black women ended up making it clear that black women r more of a side thing for him and he’s moreso interested in white women (christine talked about how he actually was flirting w brittan and saying she’s his type & saying similar to another white woman too, kept saying he’s not into tolu etc…). it’s fucked up too bc these are beautiful, charismatic, funny black women and they get treated like they’re unlovable and unattractive. tolu even talked about how much it fucked w her self-esteem the way these men kept treating her as some sort of last resort.

in general tho, there’s one consistent theme w these dating shows & it’s that the men are overwhelmingly garbage & assholes & frankly often downright abusive. clay from love is blind was a walking red flag and AD seems to have low self-esteem bc she must’ve seen that yet she stuck around & tolerated it. or like mentioned chris, harry, bryton, or kaz… all garbage men. even stevan was garbage and faking it for the cameras, he ghosted alara as soon as filming ended! in love is blind the men are also garbage and same for love island and too hot to handle n basically every dating show i’ve seen.

[cherries-jubilee-parlor]

Teehee. Not me making this blog a month ago and then totally abandoning it only to come back later with a small writing piece. Anyway, here's a snippet about me and A.manda.

Length: 1.4k

The Garden is as it ever was. Rustic dirt paths leading weaving through garden beds and hedges, small alcoves of statuary and fruit trees, arbors laden with heavy roses and other climbing flowers, and the house on the hill absolutely smothered with all sorts of greenery. The fake sun shines down with vague warmth, but Amanda finds herself sighing in relief regardless.

It was a good day, it seems. Or it’s been a stretch of okay days and the Entity is feeling merciful. It’s never a good idea to question why the Entity allows a visit to the Garden. One must simply bask in it while it lasts.

Amanda is especially eager to get deeper into the realm and to who she really wishes to see, but knows that there’s special protocol to follow. The Pig takes just one step onto one of the dirt paths and stops. Then, she stomps on the ground with force a few times.

Hopefully the other is in the system, as they’ve both come to call it. It seems like she is more often that not these days.

A twitch from the innards of some bush with pastel purple flowers. Slowly, a dark green vine twists its way out and into the air like a snake. It waves around idly, feeling for her as it creeps ever forward. Another joining it slithers along the ground towards her foot, finding purchase around Amanda’s ankle and coiling around it to hold her snug. The air-vine creeps ever towards her face, and she grants it the mercy of reaching for it.

The vine tip weaves through her fingers and holds it gently, wriggling around and trying to discern just who it belongs to. Amanda traces it softly with her other hand, causing it to still. Then, she taps. Tap, tap, tippy tap-tap-tap. A secret code for just the two of them.

The reaction is instant. The vine around her ankle snaps away and retreats, the other giving her hand a firm squeeze. Hello, hello! She can almost imagine the cheery voice saying. The vine around her fingers untagles itself and gives a firm point to the house on the hill before returning to the bush where it came.

The Gardener knows who she is and that she’s now on her way up. Amanda smiles ever so slightly beneath her mask and reaches to the bush to break of a quick sprig of whatever this flower is to bring along.

Smells only get sweeter as she gets deeper, nearly noxious when the porch is in sight. Aromatic lilies and roses, other flowers that Amanda has no idea what they’re called. The Gardener has tried to teach her many times, but it always gets pushed to the wayside for more important idea of traps and tactics for Trials. The Gardener never minds, just smiling and huffing fondly.

Amanda climbs the steps to the run-down porch and sees her there. The corpse is sat on the porch swing completely still, slumped against stained cushions and dead to the world. It has a gaping stomach wound and a split head, both overgrown with plant matter that weaves in through ribs and no doubt around the remaining brain left in the skull. It would be a ghastly sight if it wasn’t known that this is someone who’s actually still living.

“Hey,” She calls plainly.

The corpse all of a sudden springs back to life, a deep breath raising its chest and the eyes fluttering open. The good eye looks over to where she idles at the steps before the Gardener’s face stretches into a brilliant smile.

“Hello,” She chimes sweetly, “You got here faster than usual. One moment, please.”

“Of course.”

It’s always fascinating to see the Gardener unwind from the Garden. The plants slowly withdraw from her, leaving her body only with the peonies that have taken residence up in her permanently. One or two stray branches stay attached to her organs, but a guiding hand tugs them away and shoos them back to the rest its comrades. Soon it’s just the Gardener lounged lazily on the swing, stretching the life back into her muscles and yawning.

She finally finishes, rubbing her face and smiling once more.

“Hello, dove,” the Gardener speaks with absolute affection dripping from her voice. “Sorry about that, I was finishing up some planting.”

“No problem. Not really in a rush, anyway.” The Pig is all too willing to take the sweaty mask off in order to reveal her face to her beloved, smiling herself and walking the rest of the way to the swing.

Amanda sits rather ungracefully next to the Gardener, sighing deeply and letting her head fall back. The swing jostles and creaks at such a harsh intrusion, but holds fast for the two of them. She doesn’t worry that it might collapse, the Gardener has assured her that it’s plenty strong despite the run-down look of it.

(“If it can hold Yamaoka-san, I’m sure it’ll hold you just fine.” Amanda had chuckled at the thought of such a large man crammed onto the seat. How the Gardener manages to placate him, she doesn’t know.)

The corpse snuggles up to the Pig’s shoulder, making her throw an arm around the Gardener to pull her close. The two lean on each other and just take a moment to enjoy the peace before even attempting to talk. Amanda, because she cherishes these rare moments, and the Gardener, because she’s still trying to get back into her body after having her roots in the whole realm.

Eventually, though, the Gardener lets her head loll onto Amanda’s shoulder and she murmurs the start of conversation.

“How was your day?”

“Long,” Amanda admits. Trials are never easy, even for the Killers. “But I’m here now. Must have done something right, yeah?”

“Must have. I’ve also been waiting on you, so maybe the Boss picked up on that.”

The Gardener does indeed have a little sway on the Entity, but it’s not very much. Only enough to convince it to keep certain people out and inviting some people in ever so slightly more.

“I missed you,” Amanda admits with a small kiss to the Gardener’s head.

The other hums, content, answering right back, “I missed you too. I’m glad you’re here.”

“You were a bit tight on the ankle, though,” Amanda jokes, nudging her with her shoulder ever so slightly.

“Oh!” The Gardener pulls away with concern in her eyes before apologizing immediately, “I’m so sorry about that. I was expecting someone else, and-”

“I’m kidding,” Amanda laughs. The corpse stares blankly for a moment before sighing eyes and punching her ever so lightly on the thigh and snuggling back up.

“Jerk.”

“It’s what I do.”

Just like that, all is forgiven. Her curiosity is piqued, though, so she can’t help but ask:

“Who were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Had a case of some minor vandalism a while ago. Nothing major, mind you, but still a pain.”

“Huh. You know who it was?”

“Not for sure, but I have my suspicions. Legion, most likely.”

“You want me to talk to them? Can’t have anyone fuckin’ up my girl’s garden.”

The Gardener giggles. Amanda smiles.

“No, don’t bother. Just kids being kids. I just have to be really careful about knowing who’s coming and going for a while.”

“If you say so. I’m sure I could rough ‘em up real good, though.”

“I bet you could! But they’d also just make fun of you for being so soft on me. I can hear it now; Big, scary Amanda Young being ushy-gushy with the Gardener.”

“Well, if they say that, I’ll just hit them harder. Problem solved.”

“No. No terrorizing the teenagers.”

Something cynical wants to speak up and remind the Gardener that these teenagers are cold-hearted killers just like the rest, but something about the notion of protecting the youth is sweet. Always her little Gardener being the one to look out for those stuck in the Nightmare.

And so, the two of them are content to sit on the porch, gossiping and chatting, hoping by the grace of the Entity that this will be a longer visit. All is well for right now. The sun is fake, but it’s warm enough. The porch swing is rusty and stained, but plenty comfortable to seat them for hours. The Garden is a sweet solace away from it all, and the Gardener its warden. The Gardener, Amanda’s girlfriend and dearest companion in this wretched hellscape. Though the pleasures are fleeting, she’ll cling on to them with every ounce of strength she has.

[missterwild]

Be proud, you little green bean

Summary: Amaeka and Gwydion have a small chat Word count: 710

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amaeka opened the door of Kassja’s flower shop, the Rose Thorn, and came in, hooking two fingers on her scarf of shifting green hues to drag it down from her face. 

The February cold was still here. Good.

She hung her coat and scarf on the coat rack behind the counter, scanning the room with both her gaze and her telepathy. Kassja didn’t seem to be here, which wasn’t exactly surprising, she was most likely at the conservation laboratory, her second work location. However, someone else was there, out of sight but they’d probably heard her coming in.

The professor’s ear twitched when she heard shuffling steps coming from around the corner of the shop to reveal a flurry of dark hair dyed in the colours of a rainbow and the curious amber eyes that came with it. Gwydion greeted her with a small wave of their hand, putting on a small smile.

“Nice to see you, Gwydion,” Amaeka told them, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You look good today.”

“Thanks, ‘Eka,” they said, eyes sparkling, before turning back towards the many rows of potted plants, absentmindedly tapping their foot and drumming their fingers on the nearest ceramic pot. “Any particular reason for coming?”

“Not really. Nothing urgent at least,” she shook her head, running a hand on the counter. “But I’d be pleased to help if I can.”

“Well, it’s not really busy today, at least for now, but I’m sure that there’s something you can do,” they told her, shrugging one shoulder. “There are still some plants that need to be watered and there shouldn’t be any harm in checking the soil again, just to be sure that everything’s fine.”

“Great,” she nodded, a friendly smile on her face. “Where may I start?”

“You can grab the watering can and go around to the plants that aren’t marked with a little green flag, those are the ones that haven’t been watered today,” they explained, pointing to the floral watering can on a nearby shelf. The woman addressed a thumbs up to them before going to comply. The two worked in silence for a while, both very focused on their respective tasks, but Gwydion eventually broke the comfortable silence.

“Can I ask you a question, Amaeka?” they inquired, still working.

“Of course, you know I’m always willing to satisfy your curiosity,” she answered, glancing back to her young friend before turning back to watering the plants.

“I was just wondering, do you ever feel like you might be faking being aroace? Like you might have been misreading your attraction to some people? Or maybe that you haven’t found the right person? That you’re too young? Well, maybe not, you’re pretty old. But still…” they trailed off, chewing their lower lip. “I don’t know if it makes sense, maybe it’s just me.”

An empathetic smile drew itself on Amaeka’s face as she let out a quiet sigh. “It does make sense, don’t worry. Intrusive thoughts are things that happen. They’re nowhere near fun, of course, but they still happen. The human brain is weird. But I can assure you that even the most crippling self-doubts do not make you any less aroace. I don’t really have them, but I can still understand. And don’t worry about ‘being too young’, or ‘faking it’. Those who fake an identity know they are, and I know for a fact that you’re not doing anything of the sort. Besides, if the label feels right now, there’s no harm in using it, even if it doesn’t fit later on in life.”

Gwydion couldn’t hold back a small smile as they turned towards her. “Thanks… it means a lot to me, really.”

“I know. It almost always feels good to have someone who can understand your experience,” she told them and, in a flash of golden light, materialised a hand fan and unfurled it to reveal an aromantic flag. “Be proud of yourself.”

Gwydion, half-stunned, froze for a moment before exploding into clear, relieved laughter. “Do you just have one of those laying around?” He asked when they started calming down.

“No, actually,” she said as she shrugged one shoulder. “I have many of them. Because they’re colourful and fun to have.”

[spctrsgf]

the moon boys get jealous

(established romantic relationship)

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first post and i expect this to get nowhere but please bear with me as i figure this app out &lt;3

Steven

- Steven doesn’t get too jealous, much to your and even his surprise

- He knows that you would much rather spend time with him then anyone flirting with you

- and frankly he knows that he’s awesome and that no one could top him

- but, he does get jealous, especially around people he knows you’re comfortable with

- he tells himself it’s irrational to think of you so lowly, to think that you would cheat or leave him without an explanation, but it still gets him every time

- when he’s jealous, his face falls and his eyes lose that sparkle that they usually have around you

- he’ll come up to you and you’ll pause to greet him as he slides his hand into yours

- if you continue talking with the person, he’ll stand there and listen, acting as a facilitator in a way

- he doesn’t have the heart to cut in and tell the person to leave because he feels that it is unfair to cut into something you’re enjoying when he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to leave you alone

- actually: let’s rephrase that. he doesn’t want to be left alone with his deprecating thoughts

- you tend to notice Steven’s slightly pained expression that looks like a clash between holding in tears and hiding a scowl (which is exactly what is happening)

- you always always try to end the conversation somewhat soon

- Steven can see that look in your eye, the one where the sparkle dims and your lips frown slightly, and knows to help

- “hey, love, I just remembered, your friend told me she wanted you to give her a call. make sure you’re okay.”

- “ah, thank you! i really gotta go, I’m sorry.”

- the faked sadness about ending the conversation and the sigh of relief that comes after you two walk away melts Steven in a pile of goo on the ground

- he’s still getting used to having a stable relationship with someone who doesn’t share the same body as him

- but, on the occasion that you can’t get away or don’t recognize his discomfort, he’ll get snarky like he did with his ex-boss

- you personally think it’s adorable and you’re honored that he wants to protect you

Marc

- Marc gets jealous easily

- i mean easily

- he, like Steven, isn’t used to trusting someone other than himself and Layla

- but Marc is good at hiding these emotions because he knows if he gets too angry something bad might happen

- he knows that you’re attractive and he knows that a lot of people would love to get a piece of you

- his confidence is also shit when it comes to this type of thing, so he sort of just mellows into his own personal space as he watches

- he tells himself that he’s watching to make sure your okay, but deep down he just wants to watch you and see if you seem happier with the person you’re talking to than you are with him

- but, Marc also knows that you care a lot about him and there’s a very good chance you’ll end the conversation once it goes past a casual one

- and you almost always do, going back to him

- you tend to be slightly shaken by the attention, but being with Marc tends to help you calm down

- the proximity also helps him as well, it reassures him that you aren’t going anywhere

- you two usually leave slightly after that to watch a movie of some sort

- but, on occasion, there is a time where you can’t distance yourself from a pursuer

- then Marc will react

- he usually likes to just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, placing a kiss on top of your head

- he’ll then try his best to greet the person as calmly as possible

- “hi, I’m Marc. their boyfriend.”

- yeah. he tries real hard

- he hates watching you squirm in front of the person annoying you, so he tries to lead you away as quickly as possible

- this is usually efficient and nothing goes down

- but if the person keeps pushing after all that effort? then they’re fucking screwed

- all that I’ll say is that you guys get kicked out of wherever you are and the person ends up with a shit ton of nasty bruises

Jake

- Jake also gets jealous really easily

- but this man has restraint

- he knows that you’ll never go anywhere and he doesn’t doubt it in the slightest

- but Khonsu is constantly screaming at him in his head

- it’s a chorus of “break his windpipe”

- Khonsu’s taken a liking to you since Jake has (copycat much??)

- and, despite his attitude towards Steven and Marc, Khonsu doesn’t like anyone messing with the system and anyone he’s protective of

- anyway, Jake finds that when Khonsu is present, it’s is hard to hold to his restraint

- what stops him from going over and shooting the living daylights out of your pursuer is the way you handle it

- like the girl boss you are, you smack talk yourself out of the situation

- you’ve even kicked a guy in the balls once (you may or may not have been kicked out of the bar you were in)

- but people can be persistent and not take your no for an answer, and that’s when Jake steps in

- usually when you turn to look at him and you have that look in your eyes, he knows it’s his time to shine

- mans strolls over in Spanish, smirking the whole way

- you’ll be halfway through saying “this is my fucking boyfriend” when he grabs your face and full on kisses you

- the person flirting with you tends to go away after that, but if they don’t, he’ll turn to them and glare

- “you done standing there, amigo?”

- yeah. Jake is sassy and possessive when he feels threatened and you love it

[staysaneathome]

Faking Dating For Dummies (And Other Avatars of the Stranger)

The being currently known as Sasha James cards her fingers through her hair as she waits at her table.

It’s an odd habit, one that’s more likely to get her stares rather than let her blend in with the lunchtime crowd, but she can’t quite help it. It feels so good to be able to straighten her hair again, luxuriating in the gentle heat and methodical styling, the weight of the straightener like an old friend even in her new hands. If she’s careful enough with her touch, she can pretend the warmth of her fingers is actually some residual heat left over from this morning.

It’s an indulgence, certainly, like when she’d bought that yellow cake for her “birthday” and eaten every slice while riding the nearest ferris wheel she could find, or slipping several tins of the nice Marks & Spencer shortbread into the break room cupboards at the Magnus Institute alongside the worn packets of rich tea biscuits, hobnobs, and jammy dodgers.

But she’s been stuck in that table for so long, unable to even struggle or scream against those awful, choking threads of the Web, with only the taste of dust and table polish for company. Even now, she can feel the most of her still held there, pinned like an insect on a corkboard under the glare of that hideous Eye.

Nikola may not entirely approve, but she’s not the one risking her skin to monitor the Eye, now is she? Sasha James is.

(Or, well. Was.)

So all in all, the being going by Sasha James feels she’s entitled to some little idiosyncrasies, just for herself.

The Stranger doesn’t let her have too many of those.

But still, she has work to do, and they can’t go attracting the Eye’s attention just yet. So she’s meeting up with someone outside of Madame Tussaud’s and the Trophy Room to be on the safe side.

She won’t know them, but that’s never been an issue for the Stranger. In fact, some would argue it’s the entire point.

Nevertheless, when a slightly-too-pretty person with a smile that couldn’t be more camera copied slides into the seat across from her, Sasha can’t shake the feeling of…recognition that suddenly strikes her.

“Here we are again.” The person says, voice a lower tenor that suggests masculinity.

“Here we are again.” Sasha returns the password blithely. She peers closer. “…Have I seen you perform?”

The way this person startles is lovely, all fluid starts and sharp stops, like a dancer following the line. “Oh. Uh?”

“Petrograd, 1916? Nikola was going through her ballet phase?” She hazards, lighting up when the backing dancer nods hesitantly. “I thought so! You were wonderful, I always thought it was a shame the audience wasn’t fleeing in terror sooner…Ilona?”

“It’s, it’s Tom now, actually.” The very pretty ex-dancer says, rubbing the back of his (?) head bashfully. “Nikola let me choose this one, as a promotion of sorts.”

“It’s about time. You always were too good to just be backup.” Sasha smiles, trying to ignore the way blood is circulating to her cheeks.

That makes him(?) laugh, which has the oddest aftereffect of making her palms go gently clammy.

“Well enough about me.” His (?) eyelashes are long and soft looking as he (?) flutters them at her. “We’re here to talk about you. How is it going at work?”

She groans, burying her face in her hands.

“…Is that a good sound?” Tom asks, hesitantly.

“They’re just—” She waves her hands around. “How can they be so. Weird?? I mean, I know they’re Eye avatars, but come on.”

And then she’s off, ranting about Tim Stoker and his constant jokes about invading people’s privacy and seducing civil servants for their public and personal secrets, about the person whose life she’s living who apparently thought everyone’s private lives and social media were merely another puzzle she was entitled to solve and get the answers to, about Martin Blackwood and how he looks soft and scare-able but he seems to have committed a new crime almost every time she enters the office and he somehow got ashes of the Hive to please the Archivist when she hadn’t, to Sasha’s knowledge, ever been burned??

And that’s not even getting Archivist and his paranoid little breakdowns, constantly muttering about how since Gertrude was murdered, of course it must mean that he’s going to be murdered too, when he’s not even half the strength she used to be?? Like wow, Jonathan, maybe the murder’s not about you, did you ever consider that? Like she might murder him, but that’s besides the point. And he keeps trying to break into these tunnels under the archives, with just his skinny little noodle arms three times this past week alone, and recently she saw him going through the rubbish?? To find Martin’s poems and record himself verbally tear them apart, as if that will hide the blatantly obvious crush the two of them are nursing on each other?? Honestly—

And through it all, Tom is an avid listener, gasping at the appropriate points, sputtering with helpless laughter at others, particularly when she describes Martin’s growing grudge against this policewoman investigating the Archivist for Gertrude Robinson’s murder, seemingly for spending too much time talking to him.

She finds she particularly likes his (?) laugh, a throaty chuckle that grows louder and makes people at the tables around them look over and then quickly look away.

This is the most fun she’s had since she was released from the table for this assignment, and she feels herself relaxing, leaning in closer, able to ignore the lingering itch of being Watched for just a moment.

So of course, it can’t last.

“Sasha.”

She nearly jumps at the sound of her new name, looks up to see the Archivist glaring down at her.

She plasters on a fake smile. “Oh, hi Jon. It’s not already the end of lunch break already, is it?”

“It’s close enough.” He lies, poorly. She can see on the face of his battered watch that she still has half an hour left. His eyes are fixed unsettlingly on her, as if he’s trying to peel the layers of her apart with his gaze alone. She’s not sure whether he’s blinked at any point during this exchange.

Sasha has been alive for a long time, can very faintly recall pale masks and groups singing from her earliest memories, so she doesn’t flinch under the Eye’s gaze. Instead, she begins picking up the wrapper for the sandwich and hula hoops she was eating before Tom got here, starting to stand. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll get back to the Archives now—”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here? You’ve certainly been talking to him long enough.” The Archivist’s tone is a solid weight, curling around her like chains, like nets, like webs. “Who is he?”

Sasha doesn’t thrash, doesn’t shriek like she so dearly wants to, even as her tongue fights the rest of her to obey the Archivist’s demand, to tell all if it will just make that awful scrutiny stop.

“This is Tom.” She grits out through an increasingly plastic smile. The Archivist might be flush and clumsy with the Eye’s power, but he’s still untrained enough that even if he can make her answer, she can avoid giving any more than the bare minimum. “Tom, this is my boss at the Magnus Institute, Jonathan Sims.”

This clearly doesn’t satisfy the paranoid little weasel of a man, because he opens his mouth again. “And what—”

“I’m her boyfriend.”

Sasha takes a moment to goggle at Tom.

He’s standing up from the table, chest out and trying to meet the Archivist’s gaze head-on, as if his tentative connection with his new skin doesn’t make him the more vulnerable of the two of them.

She feels an odd protectiveness as the Archivist’s head cocks, studying Tom. “Since when?”

“Since we met in the group therapy that Elias recommended I go to after Prentiss.” She lies, praying the Pupil still considers her infiltration diverting enough to support this. “This was before any of us came back from leave, and when Tom and I met we just…hit it off. We’ve only been going out for a few weeks now.”

The Archivist doesn’t look as placated as she’d hoped he’d be, clearly gearing up for another interrogation—

Something warm and plush covers her hand. Part of her wants to compare the sensation to the softest linens, the smoothest mahogany.

Tom is frowning at the Archivist, the very picture of a concerned partner. “Excuse me for saying so, but do you usually get so involved in your subordinates’ love lives? Only, I don’t mean to pry, but Sasha mentioned something about you and a coworker, Martin—”

Jonathan Sims splutters. “Wh—! N—why, what, what are you even talking about?! What about me and Martin?! There’s nothing about, I don’t—no. No. Martin is just—! And it is none, none of your business, anyway! I do not have, have any interest in what my assistants do that doesn’t concern the Archives. None.”

“My mistake.” Tom says, sitting back down. He hasn’t removed his hand from where it’s curled over hers. “Well. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Sims.”

“A shame I can’t say likewise.” The Archivist mutters, turning his attention back to her. “I’ll see you back in the office, Sasha. Soon.”

“Soon.” Sasha replies, watching as he turns and speedwalks away. A few small, green leaves flit down in his wake—was. Was he hiding in the bushes across the road, watching them?

She and Tom seem to deflate at the same moment once the Archivist is out of sight.

“Now do you see what I mean about them being weird?” She asks wryly, gratified when that startles another throaty laugh out of him (?).

“And here I thought you were exaggerating.” Tom grins at her and Sasha grins back, heart pumping hard from residual adrenaline.

But then the expression falters, Tom’s eyebrows drawing together. “Was. Was that okay? The, uh, boyfriend thing. It’s just, he was right there and I didn’t want him doing—doing that thing again, and it was the first—”

“Hey, hey.” She places her hand atop Tom’s this time, “That was excellent thinking on your part, and you acted the role brilliantly. We needed a cover story in case any of the others noticed us meeting up, and a boyfriend is better than just an out-of-work friend or a family member. More reasons to contact each other regularly, if you know what I mean.”

Tom nods, even if he (?) clearly doesn’t. His gaze is fixed on their hands, and Sasha realizes with embarrassment that she’s just been absentmindedly stroking his knuckles with her thumb.

She removes her hand and places it under the table, clearing her throat. “So, um. Is boyfriend, alright with you? Not, not the idea of being, being my romantic partner, but, being, well. He/him.”

“Hm? Oh, oh yes, I like those.” Tom has pulled his hand back towards himself, gently rubbing it with his other hand. “But I’ve never been a, a boyfriend before. And we need to really sell this role, otherwise the Archivist will Know, right? For the good of the assignment.”

Sasha nods tentatively, “The good of the assignment. Right.”

Tom continues. “So who should I ask about it? About how to be a good boyfriend? Would Nikola know?”

Sasha can’t help the face she pulls at that. Nikola’s never going to let her live this down once she hears about it, is she.

“I’d ask Breekon and Hope, myself.”

[jedimaster3000]

Pride in secrets

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Soulmates universe

Rating: 18+ (NO MINORS)

Fluff, some angst, smut.

Warnings: Language, infidelity, men being idiots (misogyny), explicit smut (fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie). It’s just a lot. Let me know if I missed anything please!

Word count: 4.9k+

A/N: No summary this time! I decided that I’ll create some sort of “universe” for soulmates. Basically, it’ll be a series of one shots, I highly recommend you read it chronologically, so if you haven’t read part one, the link is up there! Thank you so much for interacting and for reading!

Masterlist | Part 1

All the liquid went down your throat in a matter of two seconds. The champagne bubbles lightly tickling and the distinct flavor lingering on your tongue. 

Drinking five bottles of champagne could have never helped to make everything seem a bit more fun. The party your fiancé was hosting was full of businessmen and women, all talking about the God-forsaken stock market and how much it affected them, there were a few housewives that knew each other and were probably talking shit about you in a corner of your own house; saying something about how Ethan should marry a more “decent” woman, one whose dad already owned at least three mansions, one who didn’t get too much unwanted male attention. The three kids that played in the backyard were the loudest people in the “party”, their screams making the classic music playing almost inaudible.

But Ethan had been talking about this thing for about three weeks, and the least you could do was fake a smile and try to look the part for these people. At the end of the day, he was your fiancé and you had to put in some effort.

The blue dress made breathing more difficult because of the belt that hugged your waist, the slick ponytail gave you a slight ache from how tight it was, and directing all the waiters and chefs would definitely add a wrinkle to your forehead before you could turn another year.

And to top it all, your three best friends that usually got you through this kind of event couldn’t make it tonight. Lucky bitches.

You left the glass of champagne on the tray and walked across the living room, smiling at everyone who would look in your direction while you internally wondered what their names were.

“Honey!”

Ethan’s voice called for you from the back of the room. Standing with three men you knew and two you didn’t, his smile and hand gesture let you know he wanted you to meet the latter two.

You prepared yourself while striding to meet all of the men. Big smile, nice words, stand only on Ethan’s right side, only say things the strangers want to hear.

Do not die of boredom, you’ve got this.

“Gentlemen, this is my beautiful fiancé,” he said before he introduced you by name.

The two strangers looked exactly like any other co-worker of Ethan that you had ever known. Straight, boring, starting to bald, and definitely smelled of a too-strong-too-much cologne which they probably thought would enchant women. These men could walk into a bar and make the whole place a bit drier. Just by hearing them talk to each other one could be turned off, including people with weird and incredibly specific fetishes.

Maybe they’re not that bad, maybe I’m just exaggerating…

“So, can I guess a diamond like Ethan’s woman knows everything about Victoria’s Secret liquidity?” The shorter one said and let out an annoying laugh. “Ya know what I mean?” He elbowed the man to his right.

Oh dear God, they’re worse…

Ethan’s hand wrapped around your waist as he chuckled, and you uncomfortably smiled at the interaction of which you understood absolutely nothing.

“She’s not really into it,” he said and shook his head, “She used to have a career, you know?”

“Career?” The taller one talked, “My lady doesn’t even remember the meaning of career since I bought her first designer bag,” he started laughing with the other one again.

These types of younger stockbrokers were always mean to their partners when they were not around, always laughing too loud, always making stupid jokes, always patting in each other in the back as if they were in some contest. The misogyny contest, maybe. Who’s the biggest idiot? Find out after 5 minutes of meeting them.

You tried not to roll your eyes and instead insisted on keeping the smile on your face.

“I used to be an English teacher at a local high school,” you started, “before I met Ethan, of course.”

The two assholes with the one shared brain cell nodded uninterested and avoided your gaze, drinking from their glasses to show their clear un amusement at the situation.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the door open. The familiar dark brown locks made you turn your head to the person that had just walked in. And when your eyes met his you wanted to push Ethan’s hand aside in some instinct that rushed through you.

Frankie smiled at you from where he stood and raised his right hand to wave it.

You didn’t actually think he would show up, he hated this kind of thing just as much as you did. Trying to make small talk with boring people, the anecdotes that never made a single person laugh, and the dressing up… God, the fucking dressing up.

Putting on a suit was just so annoying for him, he had to be careful in a way that he didn’t have to worry about when he was part of the army. Back then he only needed his uniform clean and ready, it was comfortable, practical, and didn’t bring all these social situations with it.

So he didn’t bother to put on a suit. Black trousers and shoes, a white shirt that let everyone see his neck, and his hair was free of the baseball cap he usually wore. He looked fucking dreamy without even trying, and you weren’t the only one who thought so, because suddenly the housewives’ gossip turned into a game of guessing who was the hot stranger.

In a bit of a rush, caused by some jealousy you didn’t pay too much attention to, you grabbed Ethan by the arm.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” you said.

His eyes returned to you, a mix of confusion and disinterest in them when he realized what you had said.

“Who? I thought your friends weren’t coming?”

“Yeah, the girls couldn’t make it, but—“

“Hi,” you got interrupted, “I’m Frankie.”

Frankie’s hand was in front of your fiancé before you even got to give him a heads up. Ethan looked at his hand and then his face when he finally shook it, the condescension that came with it was so rude, you gave him a killer gaze even though he couldn’t see it.

“Frankie?” He repeated.

“Francisco Morales,” you added, “My best friend from high school,” you lowered your voice, “Remember? I told you about him a couple of weeks—“

“Ah, yes! Frankie!” He said, nodding his head, “The navy guy, right?”

“Army…” you whispered.

“Army, actually,” Frankie said, slightly looking at Ethan up and down, “I’m retired now, though.”

“Really?” Ethan said, “I have a story about the army. You know, one time…”

In less than a minute, Frankie understood every complaint you had ever had about this man. He tried to keep his focus, he tried so hard he was constantly shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He stole moments to see you, standing there, trying to stop Ethan and always readjusting the strap of your dress when you didn’t succeed.

You looked beautiful, you always did. But that blue dress you were wearing made him want to take you right in front of all of these guests, the only thing stopping him from admiring you was the idiot in front of him. The man he hated before he even met, the one who had everything and took it all for granted.

He had to press one of his hands into a tight fist behind his back while he heard Ethan talk about himself and nothing else for about four to six minutes. The vanity of that man was obvious from a mile away. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he would do in his place, with all that money, with the enormous house, and most importantly, with the best woman in the world by his side. And the asshole didn’t care about any of those things.

“Yeah. Honey, I think Frankie would like to see the place…” you interrupted.

Your voice brought his focus back to you and he checked your cleavage with as much subtlety as possible. When he thought it was too much, his gaze returned to your angelical face and he just went into the same trance of taking in every feature and every gesture you made, all of them making sense and coming together like some puzzle. It was all you, all beauty, all perfect, and secretly all his.

“Sure, he can take a look around,” Ethan said without giving it a lot of thought, “You come with me, we have to show the Robinsons the new…”

Frankie had been ignoring the fact that this guy, was your fiancé. In all his hatred and critiques he had ignored that he was standing in the presence of the man that was supposed to care for you as he did, the one who should ask about your day first, the one whose hands should roam all over your body and make you scream in delight, not his.

And even though he wasn’t a mean person, something inside of him smirked with some malice at the current situation.

Sure, he could take you to Paris. But Frankie could take you to heaven without a dime being spent. You could put on fake smiles for looks and nice designer dresses all bought with his money, but you would only scream his name as if nobody would hear, you would always whisper in his ear how you were his. It was all a façade. Frankie and you were real. The relationship between you, although invisible, was real.

He puffed his chest at the small victory in his head and then said, “I’ll walk around,” he nodded.

And your reaction to his words reminded him of that 15-year-old girl who got mad at him for telling your mom you had homework to do before you could go out on a date with some guy he didn’t like. He wanted to pinch your cheeks in a playful manner like he used to do every time you gave him that look, one of those looks that said: “Thanks for that, you idiot” and only he could understand. But instead, he chuckled and grabbed the first drink he could see, not determined to actually see everything in the house, but curious enough to see what your father always talked so highly of.

Frankie knew your dad wasn’t his biggest fan. From the moment he turned 15 and laid his eyes with a lot more interest in his daughter than before, Frankie knew your dad could notice. And the worst was, he couldn’t do anything to stop him, because Frankie wasn’t a dick. He never disrespected you, he never hurt you, he never had bad intentions. Frankie knew how much your dad cared about your future, how much he wanted you to stop worrying about all the jobs he had to take in order to keep the lights on, how much he wished he could give his daughter more. He drove you home when your dad couldn’t pick you up, he was nice to your mom, he always talked to your dad with the same respect he used later in the army to talk to his superiors.

He had seen all the worries in the eyes of your father, some days shining brighter than others.

All of those worries right now away from his eyes, as Frankie looked at the backyard where your dad was leading a conversation with another man, your mother’s hand on top of his left one.

He turned around, deciding it was not yet time to meet them. He walked around the living room, making his way between all the rich, boring, and disinterested people. The kind of people you did not fit with, the kind your fiancé was. He saw all their expensive jewelry, the watches, the necklaces, the rings, and earrings. But nobody offered a smile to him, let alone look at him for more than 3 seconds.

All the money in the world couldn’t buy manners.

He stood in front of a painting, a large one that showed a beautiful landscape, probably some field in the Netherlands. Full of red and orange flowers, a purple-ish sky and green leaves spattered around the flowers. An expensive-looking painting, probably from some known painter he couldn’t remember the name of. A few steps away there was another painting, and then another one, the art seemed to continue. Bringing some life into the off-white colored walls, not even them could make the place a bit more enjoyable.

Maybe he was being an asshole, he thought. Maybe the place wasn’t so bad, the large tv, the tall lamps, the soft sofas, the chandelier, the waiters, the huge backyard, the overall insufferable ambiance weren’t so bad. Maybe he found it all just worse because he couldn’t imagine you liked this.

It certainly bothered him, he wanted to talk to you about it.

Suddenly the ego he had built when talking to Ethan wasn’t enough, suddenly Ethan and his money were winning, making him slightly paranoid when he saw you laugh at one of his jokes.

His hands closed into fists. The jealousy settled all over him, he regretted the walk he had just taken all by himself, he should have let you show him around.

When you finished forcibly laughing at the joke another stranger had made, one of the waiters tapped your shoulder.

“Ma’am, sorry to bother you. The chef seems to have run out of some spices he needs,” he informed.

Finally, an excuse.

“I’ll be right there,” you said, a bit too enthusiastically, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to the chef inside.”

Nobody paid attention, Ethan just mumbled an agreement and you were quickly on your way back inside the house. Your eyes scanning the place, looking for Frankie amongst the guests, hoping those women hadn’t got their hands on him. Actually, the jealous one was you.

“Nice house,” said Frankie joining you on your way to the house.

You didn’t know whether you wanted to jump into his arms or push him aside for sending you away to listen to more of the same conversation.

Maybe you should just be happy he was there. And you could, if only you didn’t have to deal with something new every 30 minutes. More napkins, more champagne, more bread, more spices. The high heels were starting to hurt your feet and the alcohol you had previously drank was not working to make the night go faster. At this point, you wanted to sit down and just dig your fingers into Frankie’s hair. He just came in so handsome and you couldn’t do anything about it in public.

“Spices! Cumin! Paprika! Important!” The French chef exclaimed with a thick accent.

“On it, sir,” you said walking past the kitchen.

Frankie had been following every step you took, admiring every curve of your body now more evidently since fewer and fewer people were around. He licked his lips when contemplating the sway of your hips, hypnotizing him with every delicate and feminine move. 

“Who bought you that dress?” He asked while walking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You said turning right in a corner.

“It looks expensive.”

“Into fashion, eh?”

You finally opened the door to the medium-sized pantry, the room was dimly lit because of the tube light that needed changing. The place was neatly stacked with everything, snacks of all sorts, grains, spices, condiments, there was even a small desk with markers and tags for everything.

Frankie instantaneously recognized you had done this, you were organized and enjoyed spending time in tasks like branding stuff. You had once organized his “library” not once but twice in one day since you didn’t really like how it looked the first time.

He smiled at the memory and then returned his gaze to you, frantically looking for the things needed.

“Did he buy it for you?”

“Yeah, sure,” you said not giving it too much importance.

“Does he buy you more things?” He asked, looking for your eyes. “Designer bags? Invaluable paintings? Like the ones you have back there.”

You fumbled with another basket and sighed because of exhaustion and his annoying questions. You had started to hate any sort of money talk.

“Why does that even matter?”

Frankie closed the door behind you and quickly pressed himself against your back, trapping you between the cupboard and his body. His hands pressed your hips firmly.

“It matters because I don’t want him to think he can buy you…”

The heat of his body radiated right through you, the comfortable feeling distracting you from the task at hand. He was fucking addictive, one taste, one single touch, and he had you losing your mind. When he pressed his lips to your neck you gripped the basket with more strength.

“You live in this house, you have all this fancy stuff…” he said in between kisses, “but I know you, right?”

His hands began their usual travel all over your body, slowly caressing you. You closed your eyes at the nice feeling and warmth began to pool in between your legs.

“He can buy however many of these he wants,” he fisted the end of your dress in the middle of your thighs, “I’ll be the one who rips them off and take you… and I don’t need a fortune to do that…”

His right hand crept under your dress, feeling your soft flesh and bringing that sense of calmness with every passing second. His own body was burning not only with the need for your own but with the need to remind himself who you were, who you belonged to, whose name you moaned and cried when you were so close to your climax.

This ego was the one he was proud of, the ego that made you feel good. The ego that took some weight off of your shoulders and instead made you feel like floating. The ego that kissed you so softly and took you so roughly, it was mind-numbing.

You turned around, in a desperate look for his lips and your fingers dug into his hair when you pushed him into a kiss.

A little whimper was muffled with his mouth molding with yours so well, your tongues met and danced with hunger. Once again, everything was gone. It was only Frankie. He tasted the sweet champagne in your mouth and somehow found himself even more attracted to you, as if it could be possible. He didn’t want to break the kiss for one second, his lips continued to devour yours in a show of how much he wanted you. The possessiveness he felt over you was uncommon but very welcoming from you, only because it was him.

His hands slipped under your thighs to pick you up and sit you on top of the small desk, pushing the markers aside he spread your legs open and positioned himself in between them.

You separated and looked at him right in his eyes. You didn’t say anything, because you didn’t have to. His hands went straight to the straps of your dress, he pulled them down gently enough to not rip anything, but desperate enough to let a low groan when he felt that soft skin of yours he never wanted to stop touching.

His mouth returned to you, kissing any part available to him. Your face, your neck, your chest, your shoulders, your breasts. Biting softly to not leave any marks but still firm enough to make you whimper.

You could be caught at any second, any waiter could come in looking for you, your fiancé could come in looking for you. The door certainly wasn’t locked and the ambiance back there wasn’t loud enough to hide the loud moan you let out when his fingers first brushed your pussy.

“Shh,” he whispered in your ear, continuing to lift your dress until your lower half was completely revealed.

Naked, not even underwear on. Glistening and ready for him, he looked at your cunt with a hunger in his eyes, he prided himself in this. He had you like this in just a moment, his effect on you was so evident it put a grin on his face.

You’re my muse, my sin. I wrote a forbidden prayer and then worshipped you with it.

“You walk around this place like this, beautiful?” He said running his hands up your thighs.

“I thought,” you unbuttoned his shirt, “Well I had the slightest hope… that you’d come.”

Just what he wanted to hear.

Your hands traveled in between his shirt and his body, touching his torso and then pulling him closer to your body. His covered length pressed against your entrance, making another groan come out of your parted lips.

“Do you want this?”

He took your hand in his, guided it down his body until you covered his cock. His eyes closed at the friction, so sensible and ready to be inside you. He knew he didn’t have too much time but he still wanted you to come, to relieve all the stress he knew you were going through right now. He allowed you to keep handling him through his pants for a few more seconds, every passing one making it more difficult for him to stop you.

You caught his lips in between yours, giving open to another making-out session. Messier and even more hungry, your lipstick was definitely ruined at this point. Not like it worried you, Ethan could never notice the fucking difference.

Who the fuck cares about Ethan?

You took Frankie’s hand and brought it up to your breast. His palm first felt the weight of it and then began circling your nipple with his fingers. That feeling combined with the sounds coming out of him was only making you wetter and wetter.

He inserted one finger into you without notice, you jumped back a bit at the sensation with a hiss and grabbed onto the desk with both hands. When he let out a low hum of approval, he also added another finger. The perfect pressure and curve of his fingers inside of you made you drop your head back in between your shoulders, and a moan of his name left your lips.

Too loud.

“Don’t make a sound, baby.”

He covered your mouth with one hand, bringing you back to face him and your eyes met. The lust inside of his was revealing just how much he was enjoying this. He pumped his fingers in and out of you while he kept your gaze, making you shudder at the perfect pace he kept. He stimulated every single nerve in your cunt perfectly, the sensation making you roll your eyes and then focus on him again to try and plead for more when you couldn’t speak. You began meeting his fingers with a roll of your hips.

His thumb began rubbing your clit in slow and meaningful circles. You flinched in your place, making one of the items in the desk fall.

“Do you want them to find us?” He asked and you shook your head quickly, “Good, ‘cause I can’t stop this.”

It was true. He couldn’t stop, he wasn’t sure he could stop even if someone walked through the door. Your response to his actions was so addictive once he began, he couldn’t go back. He needed to be inside you.

“I’m gonna take my hand off,” he announced, still fingering you. “When I do, don’t make loud sounds. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You nodded without really processing anything, the pleasure he was generating inside of you was clouding most thoughts. The roll of your hips didn’t satiate your needs anymore, his fingers coming in and out were calling for your orgasm. But you wanted more, you needed more.

“Inside me, Frankie,” you mumbled, “Please, I want you— fuck… I want you so bad.”

Frankie got his pants out of the way as soon as he could. Your raspy tone was like a siren song, he couldn’t wait one more second.

And just like that, he directed himself inside of you. Replacing his fingers with something bigger, something better, his cock. You had to bite his shoulder with the first thrust to make sure you didn’t straight-up scream. His right hand soothed your back slowly while he pulled out, just to bottom out once again, making another of those little whimpers come out of you.

His cock was splitting you open just perfectly. Sending shivers up your spine and making your vision blur with pleasure. The friction inside of your cunt was perfect.

Frankie panted as his pace went up, he put one hand on the desk to keep himself anchored. He knew by this point you were out, completely oblivious to anything else happening around you. He had to keep himself here, alert and paying attention like he was trained to do. But it was so hard whit your walls hugging him so tight. You were still so tight and so fucking good. It just made him lose his mind, made it harder to focus.

“Shit,” he panted, “Your pussy feels so good baby, so fucking good…”

Another whine.

“Do you like it like this?” He whispered in your ear, “Do you like me to fuck you in your own house? With that man just outside?”

Fuck, you did. You never thought cheating was a good thing. But it was impossible to deny how good this felt, fucking Frankie and giving everything to him when your fiancé was just out the door felt fucking good. It was wrong, probably. But you didn’t care. You’d do it thousand times more.

“Y-yeah…” you muttered.

He grabbed your hips and pushed himself even harder against you. You leaned back until you were resting on your hands behind you, biting your lip so no sound could come out.

Frankie took it all in. The picture of you taking his hard cock at a brutal pace and your tits bouncing just on top of that dress that made you look like a goddess, your eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. He felt himself getting closer and closer.

“Come for me, baby,” He asked.

He kept thrusting in and out, every vein pulsing inside of you. A moan came out of you when your lips parted and he introduced a finger into your mouth.

“Quiet baby, quiet for me…”

You sucked on his fingers, needy. Your eyes found him again and the groan he let out might have been the one that was too loud this time.

You were spent, you came undone and let his finger fall out of your mouth when your orgasm hit. You put one hand on his chest, just asking to slow the pace so you could work through the overstimulation.

“That’s it,” he whispered, putting his hand on top of yours, “Good girl, just like that.”

He knew when you opened your eyes and looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes that he could continue. He grabbed onto the desk with his right hand, and the left one he kept on top of yours, his thumb brushing it softly. He wouldn’t last much longer, not when the aftershocks of your orgasm were pulling him in tighter.

The picture of your spent body, a slight sheen, your soft flesh tired and languid, when you grabbed your tit and started massaging it to soothe yourself Frankie thought you were better art than what he had seen outside. He spilled inside of you, grabbing your hand and pressing it into his chest. You felt his heart thumping with the same intensity as his pants.

He kept his cock inside of you, regaining his normal breathing pace while you silently watch him. Your right hand went up to brush some curls out of his handsome face, and your eyes connected after that.

“You did so good,” he kissed your hand, “So good girl…”

He felt tired, he needed a bed to fall asleep with you. No one had ever worn him out like you did every time he fucked you. And he still wanted more, every time. He would usually lay down beside you long enough to recover and then continue.

But time was running.

He pulled out of you and gave you a slow and reassuring kiss. Sweetly sealing your secret once again. Finally sure of how much you wanted him again, and how important he was to you. Sure that no matter what was waiting outside, you were his, and you’d be ready for him anywhere, any time.

He was the “nobody” who could make you see stars. He didn’t care about the people outside knowing that, he was just happy with you. Fuck everyone else.

“We should go back,” you whispered on top of his lips.

He nodded and quietly put the straps of your dress back into place.

“Thank you, Frankie.”

When you both had finally dressed correctly again, you let out a big sigh. Mentally preparing yourself, and he noticed.

“Hey, come on,” he patted your shoulder softly, “Do not die of boredom, you’ve got this.”

You smiled and he responded just as sincerely. Fuck, so goddam handsome.

The event was fucking boring, the people were the worst, the night was still young. But you had Frankie, here, and in the living room. Things weren’t so bad, not when you had each other.

You walked out of the pantry with all the spices the chef had asked for, and Frankie’s cum slowly dripping out of you.

- - -

Part 3