#the effect is cool if you look close but far away just messy lol

[xamaxenta]

eyesore

[let-them-read-fics]

Die For You

Requested by Anon: “hi :) can I request Jennie scenario based on The Weeknd’s song ‘Die For You’? I also wanted to say I really love your works, they’re really good”

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,705

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Fluff, Near-Death Experience, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Thank you anon! My schedule is getting busy again, so writings may take a bit longer to get posted; I apologize for the delay with this one, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Let me know what you guys think!

PS ~ This is my first time writing a song request, so I kind of just went with it lol. It’s a little messy, but I think it has charm. Happy reading!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Jennie Kim has a magnetic pull to her -- one that is relentless and unwavering once it takes control of you. It’s hypnotic in every way; sweet torture in its truest form; and you’re always left to pick up the pieces.

The arrangement that you share with Jennie has been clear from the get-go: friends with benefits, no strings attached. Neither of you have time for anything serious, and this seemed like a win-win: always having someone to come home to when you happened to be in the same area at the same time? Hell yeah. 

You hate that you want me

Hate it when you cry

You're scared to be lonely

'Specially in the night

Gradually, though, things got messy -- lines became blurred as feelings mixed into the equation. You did everything in your power to make them go away, reminding yourself time and time again of the agreement you had. But in moments like these, as you lay in bed with Jennie, her head resting on your chest as your hand runs through her hair, you can’t help how your heart swells. Pale moonlight traces patterns on the floor, wiggling its way into the room to offer a soft glow and ambiance. In here, you’re untouchable: no cameras or prying eyes; it’s just you and Jennie, free to be yourselves. Given this fact, you’ve grown to have a love-hate relationship with these four walls; they’re your haven -- your refuge -- but they serve as a brutal reminder of just how limited your relationship with Jennie is.

Nothing is certain: weeks turn into months -- especially when she’s on tour or otherwise occupied with her busy schedule -- and you’re left to your own devices, waiting on her return. Each day without her brings you closer to believing that you’re strong enough to move onto something better -- something more consistent; but then there she is, knocking on your door again, completely pushing that absurd idea from your mind. One smile from her is enough to reel you back in, and it only makes you feel more conflicted. 

Jennie stirs in her sleep, nuzzling her face closer into you as she brings a hand up to rest against your collarbone. Her body twitches lightly, lips pursing and pouting against your neck, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. She doesn’t seem to be distressed in any way, so you take the opportunity to get a good look at her. Within the next couple hours the alarm would be blaring that sound that you despise more than anything else in this world, signalling for her to get ready and head off to the airport to leave you all over again. Despite the circumstances, you're comforted by the fact that she always makes sure to set it for the very last second, barely giving herself enough time to catch her flight -- she wants to spend every moment possible with you, and she makes it a point to do just that. Tearful goodbyes in the back of your car would be too involved for your “relationship”, so you always try to seem unaffected (or, at least, as close to that as you can manage). You save your tears for when you arrive back home, where you spend the evening coming to terms with her absence. She would never tell you, of course, but her flights are known to bear witness to plenty of sadness for her as well; with each new mile added to the distance between the two of you, her heart breaks a little more.

~~~~~~~

It’s been 4 months since you last saw Jennie. The time apart had offered you a new perspective, something in the long nights without her affirming what you already knew to be true -- you weren’t capable of continuing on like this much longer. Nothing about your situation was ever simple; the instant you began catching feelings, it all became muddled. The one rule set -- the only principle you were tasked with following -- had been broken, and there was nothing you could do to repair it. 

A knock at your door echoes out across the empty apartment, and you quickly put down the food that you had been preparing. With a swift adjustment of the dial, you set the burner to simmer and make your way to the door. None of your friends had mentioned that they were coming by, so you’re genuinely clueless as to who it could be. 

“Jennie?” Surprise is inadequate in describing the feeling that courses through you upon meeting that familiar gaze. The metal of the knob is cool in your hand as you grip it, knuckles turning white while your emotions run wild. She had failed to let you know that she was coming back to town, neglecting even to text you recently.  

“Miss me?” How are you to answer that? Part of you wants to blurt out your thoughts, effectively ripping the metaphorical band aid right off, but another part of you wants to deny her: the past few months had allowed your feelings to become somewhat dormant as you attempted to see a future beyond this arrangement, one void of her presence. It’s completely normal to feel like that, you tell yourself. It’s strange, but as in love with her as you are, you’re almost as equally indifferent about it all. How many more times could you watch her walk away, only to string you along until she came waltzing right back in? 

The more important question of the matter is apparent: how would you even begin to tell her what you’re feeling? In the past, you’ve tried to make her aware of what you’re going through, only to be met by a change of topic. She always stayed reserved, opting to spend your time together talking about anything other than that.

Deciding that you were taking far too long to respond to her, she steps into the room, closing the door behind her. The time away from you had affected her more than she’s willing to admit, and she’s more than ready to embrace you. Her arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling your body flush up against hers, and she sighs at the feeling. “I’ve missed holding you, Y/N.” The sweet nothing does it’s job, making your heart flutter as the words register in your mind. You’re still tense, though, and she doesn’t fail to notice; before long, soft kisses are being trailed across your face -- her attempt at relaxing you. Sometimes you wonder if she knows your body better than you do: it responds to her, just like she knew it would, and you loosen up. 

After what feels like minutes of just standing there, bodies intertwined, her hands make their way to your hips. She leans forward and ghosts her lips over yours, her gloss smudging a bit in the process. A battle is being fought in your mind: should you allow yourself this indulgence? Or is this the time to be strong and finally put your foot down? The choice is made up for you by the way that she slowly backs you up against the wall, along with how her mouth brushes against yours as her warm hands steady you. Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance. 

Her lips move against yours in perfect time, a delicious rhythm being set in the process. It brings to mind the notion that maybe -- just maybe -- the two of you are meant to be. After all, you fit together like a puzzle, being complete in the presence of one another. 

As her fingers play at the band of your shorts, hands roaming further with each needy kiss she presses to your lips, you debate with yourself. Her actions tempt you to cave in and give yourself up to her, but you decide that you can’t go down that road again. At least not until everything gets sorted. Quickly -- as to not give her anymore time to change your mind -- you step back and run a hand through your hair. Hers is messy, lips red and pupils blown wide. She reaches out for you again, but you simply hold your hand up in response.

“I can’t, Jennie.” The words come out as a reluctant declaration, your tone sounding tired.

Her brows furrow, but you continue.

“I can’t keep doing this.” 

“Elaborate.” Her demand is clear, but you miss the effort that it took for her to come off that way. At your words, panic began to course through her; she can’t lose you. 

“Whatever this is,” you say, motioning between the two of you. “I can’t be someone who waits around for you all the time, just keeping your bed warm.” She wants to laugh at that one; it’s almost comical how far you are from the truth. Jennie knows she’s good at hiding her feelings, but she’s shocked that she managed to make you believe something that ridiculous about yourself. You mean the world to her -- she’s just too afraid to admit it.

“Y/N--”

“No, don’t even try to change the subject; I’m sick of it. Please, just listen to me for once.”

A subtle nod from her serves as your cue to continue.

“I never meant for things to get like this, Jennie, believe me. But I can’t pretend anymore: I like you, a lot. And after having you in the ways that I’ve had you…” you pause, allowing your eyes to trail up and down her body as you clench your jaw, “I can’t bear the thought of someone taking my place when I’m not around. Do you know how hard that is to deal with?”

Happens every time

I'm scared that I'll miss you

I don't want this feelin'

I can't afford love

She seems stunned, to say the least; she blinks a few times before gathering her thoughts and speaking up. “You’re all I think about, no matter what I’m doing.” For a second, you’re hopeful: your heart beats a little faster at her confession, and you finally believe you’re getting somewhere with her. Sadly, she continues: “But I can’t afford that. I don’t have time for a commitment like that, and we have something good right now. I’ve seen plenty of relationships go bad and end in heartbreak; why should we risk it?”

“Aren’t you tired of it? Sometimes I really start to think that you like me back, but then you’re as guarded as ever, pushing me away again. I never know where I stand with you. So unless you tell me how you honestly feel, you’ll have to take me off your list of fuck buddies.”

Your language catches her off guard, seeing as how it’s unexpected and unlike you. How are you so oblivious? You’re so much more than that to her.

“Fine, Y/N! I’m in deeper than I care to admit. I’ve tried to run from it, but I can’t. You’re the one person I can’t seem to forget, and I can’t stand you because of that. And yeah..” she pauses, a bit exasperated, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I won’t deny that I’ve been with other people when I’m away.” You close your eyes at her admission, that familiar sadness beginning to seep in -- it wasn’t anything you didn’t already know, but that doesn’t make its confirmation any easier to hear. 

“They’re not you, though. They don’t know me like you do… they’re not fun like you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I don’t want to. It terrifies me.”

“That’s kinda part of the deal, Jennie -- it’s a scary thing. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’m willing to try with you. What we have right now is wearing me down, and I don’t deserve it; so either listen to your heart and be with me, or you won’t be seeing me again.”

Following your ultimatum, she doesn’t dare speak. Her brows are slightly furrowed again, jaw set, and she’s looking at the ground. Out of habit, your arms cross against your chest -- being vulnerable is never something you particularly enjoy (especially with so much on the line) but you’re sick of beating around the bush with her. One of the first lessons you ever learned from Jennie is that she avoids her feelings at all costs; so, standing there, you wonder what it would take to make her finally open up. Would your absence be enough? Maybe you were foolish for thinking so.

With every second that passes, silence remaining unbroken by the words that you so desperately want to hear from her, your heart sinks more and more. Every insecurity you have is swirling in your mind, further clouding it. Her lack of a response confirms your fears, and you nod quickly, knowing what you have to do. 

“Okay, I get it. I’m gonna take a walk, but you can stay here and take a shower since you just got in. When I come back, though, I want you gone.”

She doesn’t even raise her head to look at you. Inside, her heart is breaking; every fiber of her being is begging to say something -- anything -- but she stays quiet. It’s hard enough for her to keep her feelings for you in check with the arrangement you have now; if you become official, she won’t know what to do with herself. She’s falling hard, but she’s fighting it all the while -- her lifestyle doesn’t have room for love. You deserve someone who can be with you whenever you want them, not someone who’s always a world away. Calls and texts only go so far, and she knows it wouldn’t be enough for either of you. She’s spent your latest stint apart attempting to come to terms with the idea of life without you; it’s the last thing she wants, but she needs you to move on and find someone better. For you, she’s willing to hurt, so long as it means you’re happy. 

After a beat, she accepts your words, confirming that she heard you by giving a simple nod. Any remaining hope you were clinging to fades away completely, and you’re left feeling empty. Now at the coat rack, you pull your jacket over your shoulders and slip your shoes on. “There’s food on the stove, by the way. Don’t let it burn.” You say over your shoulder, too sad to look at her again. Maybe that’s some sort of symbolism: the wonderful thing you had spent so long creating was fizzling out right in front of you, Jennie being the one who could fix it all. She can step up and repair things, but that doesn’t seem very likely to happen. Tears are brimming in your eyes, and her heart breaks at the sound of your sniffles. 

Even though we're going through it

And it makes you feel alone

With a thud, the apartment door closes, and Jennie finally breaks down. It all hits her in an instant, and soon she’s sliding down to the floor, her tears mimicking her actions as they fall onto her cheeks. Why did this have to be so hard? Seeing the pain etched so plainly into your features was definitely the hardest part to all of this; she’s being cruel to be kind… if only you knew that. 

I try to find reason to pull us apart

It ain't workin' 'cause you're perfect

And I know that you're worth it

I can't walk away, oh!

As soon as Jennie had realized her feelings all that time ago, she racked her brain for any and every logical reason to end things. She would pick fights over small things, praying to every higher power that you’d get tired of the stupidity and give up on her. So many other people had in the past, so why wouldn’t you? Knowing that you’re different from all the rest -- perfect for her in every way imaginable -- only scares her more. You lit a fire in her heart the day you met, and it’s only grown stronger ever since. 

~~~~~~~

20 Minutes Later

You have no real destination in mind; you’re content with just allowing your feet to take you wherever they wish to go.

Chatter from across the city makes its way to your ears, oddly offering a sense of comfort in your time of need. The night sky is full of stars, and the city bustles with life and activity. As you pass different businesses and shops, their iridescent lights shine just for you. Distant cars honk as they traverse the streets, and your mind begins to think of all of the different things those people might be doing right now. Surely some are having a great day, maybe on their way home, eager to be greeted by their loved ones. Others might be hurting just like you.

And you won't find no one that's better

'Cause I'm right for you, babe

I think I'm right for you, babe

Jennie fails to realize that all you want is her; you’re not naive -- you know how crazy her schedule is, but you’re more than willing to make sacrifices if it means she’ll be yours. No one makes you feel the way she does, and the thought of spending your life searching for something that can never compare scares you. 

A slight breeze rolls in, ghosting over your skin, and you’re reminded of all the times she would pull you in close to keep you warm. Her sweet perfume would fill your nose as you snuggled into her embrace, sharing the heat that her coat offered. Getting over her would definitely be a bitch.

It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold

But tonight I'm gon' let you know

Let me tell the truth

Baby, let me tell the truth, yeah

The peace -- if you can call it that -- is broken by a shout. “Y/N, wait!” Confused, you spin around on your heel towards the voice. It’s Jennie; she’s sprinting to you, her brown locks bouncing and flowing in the wind with every step. Conflicted, yet again, your feet appear to be rooted in their spot. What does she want now? It seems that every time you get your hopes up, she’s always letting you down. With this in mind, you slowly turn back around and continue your walk. Eventually she’ll catch up to you, but you need the extra time to gather your now-jumbled thoughts. 

Just know that I would die for you

Baby I would die for you, yeah

It all happened in a blur. As you began crossing the street to put more distance between Jennie and yourself, the high pitched sound of tires squealing against the pavement rang out. The car came out of nowhere, barrelling straight towards you with no signs of stopping; they had run a red light. Your eyes locked with the driver’s, both of you donning an equally terrified expression, and you had no time to react. Just as the bumper was about to come into contact with your body, you were instead forcefully shoved out of the way. Another person -- your savior -- comes tumbling with you just in the nick of time, and the driver swerves around you.  

“Are you okay?!” It’s Jennie; her voice is ripe with worry, her thoughts focused solely on your wellbeing. She doesn’t even notice the cut that she received from the fall. You bring your hand up to her forehead to assess the wound.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. But you,” you say, touching her injury and eliciting a pained hiss from her in the process, “...are not.” The two of you are breathing hard as adrenaline courses through your systems; once it has died down a bit, you stand up and check each other for any more sore spots.

“Thank you, Jennie. I don’t know how to repay you for something like that.” 

“I’d do it again a million times, Y/N. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I came to tell you that I love you, and that I’m done running. Seeing you leave really put things into perspective for me.”

“Am I supposed to believe that, or will you change your mind again?” The words are harsh, your voice laced with the bitterness that you still hold onto. You can’t find it in yourself to cushion the blow much; you’re still hurt by what’s happened in the past, and rightfully so. Beyond that, though, you’re trying to be cautious; after hearing her confess like that, you know there’s no going back. 

“Okay, I deserve that one. But I mean what I said. You’re the best thing in my life -- the best I’ve ever had -- and I just want you to be happy. I’ve always been afraid that I can’t give you that if I’m so far away all the time.” 

“Oh, baby,” you start, cupping her cheek and running your thumb across it soothingly. She leans into your touch, and your expression softens. “All I’ve ever wanted is you. You’re everything to me, you know that? We can do this together, so long as you’re willing to try.” 

“I am.” She utters before pulling you in, sealing your new agreement with a kiss. Her lips move against yours gently, taking their time as they attempt to make up for her previous behavior. It’s soft yet urgent, a million different things passing between you without words. 

Suddenly, you pull back, and Jennie panics for a second. 

“Did you turn the burner off?”

“Oh shit!” She exclaims, a look of pure fear gracing her features. 

Just as that cold, prickly feeling of dread begins to spread throughout your body, she grins. 

“Yes, I did.” 

You roll your eyes and huff loudly at her, delivering a rough shove to her shoulder. 

“Don’t do that to me!” 

She responds by pulling you in again, kissing away your frown. “I love you, too, if you didn’t catch that earlier.” You declare, feeling her lips turn up in that beautifully iconic smile of hers. She hums at that, pulling you in closer just as the chilly wind blows again. Huh, maybe the universe had been listening all along.

[dragonherder2030]

Smaugust Day 9: Galaxy

I’m leaving tomorrow morning, my sister is going to look over the farm while I’m away. Echo Bel and Kory are coming with me, they can help with transportation and have separation anxiety. Xandra is showing me her camp, she has many followers, I’m going to be the first lizard to join it. That fact will be kept secret from the rest of the “humans” as to not cause hysteria, she has done the same with herself, hiding herself as an amphibian. I’m bringing my journal, I need to be able to write my thoughts

See you soon, Niki~

*we find out who the narrator is 👀. Another first person written segment, hopefully this one won’t be as long XD. Also, if by the end of Smaugust I feel there are some odd unintended plot holes or threads that need to be resolved I’ll make sure to do so. Ik it’s confusing right now, but I will continue right where we left off on the last writing segment for easiness*

Half my tea was gone in under a minute, it was jasmine green from what I tasted and was made very well.

“Please do explain what you mean by non-lizard kind though… Are you talking Amphibious sentience?” I ask, leaning back on the couch I had been placed on.

“No not sentient Amphibians that walk like us, I mean a species on another planet called Humans. They are a scaleless race with no tails, and can grow fur at an alarming rate. They can be dangerous to us, but not all of them. If you join me you can meet them, but many of them do not have the best interests of the dragons in mind.” Her creature tightened itself onto her neck. Has it experienced these “humans” before?

“Does that planet have dragons too? Also how do you, uh, go to another planet? Do you have access to a rocket?”

“No, I have something much better and easier to fuel… but you have to commit before learning of that. Keep your questions to a minimum till I finish explaining please, it will be easier.” Saying with a small hand wave. I nob in agreement.

“The planet is called earth and is very similar to ours. But dragons do not live naturally there, and have been brought there by a lizard who wanted a new environment for sport hunting, and didn’t get them all… They ended up breeding and creating homes for themselves, few and far apart. I used to monitor and catch some of the dragons to bring them back when I could along with my brother. When he passed I couldn’t do it by myself anymore, so I seeked the assistance of other lizards to return the dragons to their natural habitat. Not many believed me, and those who did I knew didn’t have the intentions of the animals in mind. So, I decided to start recruiting humans using my magic-“

“Wait wait wait, you have magic abilities?” I ask, needing to know more about this.

“Yes I possess magic, I’m no lizard, but we don’t need to know about that for now. All you need to know is that I can give objects the ability to transform a human into a lizard or amphibian sentient if worn, that’s what I can do,” Xandra says with a sigh. I speculate what she could be, and remember a legend about the creation of our world, something similar to that happening, where a being gave sentience to all of the lizards, and later some of the amphibians. There was another part of it where they wiped out a different race beforehand but I couldn’t remember it too well.

Xandra continued her explanation, “I chose humans because they would do the best capturing dragons in the human planet, since they are not killed on sight when seen… The humans I choose were specifically selected by my familiar, Davey here,” She pointed to the amphibian around her neck, it seemed to smile in admiration of its role.

“They are small enough to avoid detection from the humans, and not popular enough to be sought out, and they are very fast. Easily able to escape a human. I’ve gotten quite the following from animal lovers around earth, and luckily most of them speak English or know sign language, Davey doesn’t go far from our camp.”

“What do you guys Uh, do? Do you go to the human world and just, catch the dragons? And why don’t you just tell the humans that the dragons are an invasive species and, I guess take them back?” I ask, confused what I would actually be doing and why the humans are a problem.

Xandra’s calm demeanor shifted, and her eyebrows furrowed, “Most humans want the dragons, but I know they aren’t safe there. They would be hunted for sport and put in cages. I’ve watched them for thousands of years, they will never accept the dragons as any more then a fantasy creature for decoration. And for some reason now there are more being found, species that weren’t brought to earth from that initial leak. There’s another source, someone from this planet that has access to Earth and is exploiting it to bring dragons there. You can help me find them, and allow me to have more allies on this side. Plus the place I’m keeping the dragons isn’t safe anymore, I need somewhere here I can put them with someone to take care of them.” Her voice had raised slightly, this is a subject she is angry about. She must have witness terrible things. I think it’s an amazing idea, I have the whole farm I could keep the dragons. Acres of land I’m not using right now could be put to this. I didn’t care if she was legit or not, I believed her.

“Ok, I’m convinced… I want to help. I have a farm that can serve as a holding place for the dragons until we can bring them to their rightful places,” I say, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. She smiles at me, looking satisfied.

“My camp, it is all humans, they do not know of our reptilian existence, to them they are the last of the reptile kind. So to them, your just another new human recruit. That means,” Xandra gets up, walking towards the closet I had noticed before, “that means that you have to pick out an accessory to simulate the effect of you being a fake lizard.”

I stand up and walk to the closet as well. Xandra escapes into the inside of it, I follow closely. The inside wasn’t meant to hold more then one person, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Along the walls is an array of shirts, jackets, pants, hats, bracelets, necklaces, etc. in every color imaginable.

“Take your pick, it doesn’t matter what it is, other then u will need to be able to wear it for long amounts of time,” she says, picking up a hat and dusting it off, then hanging it back up.

I look around the room, spinning in place, then think of something, “Do you have a piece? How do you hide that your not a lizard?”

She thinks for moment, “Davey helps me with that too, as you know they are my familiar, and they aren’t just any normal dragon either. They become a wonderful necklace whenever I need them to. And when I wear that, I become what they would be if they were a sentient Amphibian,” she explained to me. So far she has shown me no proof of the magic she claims to have, and this seems like a simple test. Even if I was all for the cause, no reason not to speculate.

“Could u show me?”

“Of course,” Xandra said, glancing at Davey. The creature climbed to the front of her neck, then sitting still right there for a few seconds. I await the transformation. Then, they stiffen and fall loose, a small chain connecting to their mouth and tail holding them onto Xandra’s neck. Her body poofs into one of an sentient Olm, her body much longer then previously. I stare up at her in awe, it all must be true.

“Wow…” I say, stunned by the display. She smiles down at me and quickly exits the closet, since she had taken up most the room.

“I need to show u our transportation tomorrow, since it is getting late. You will be seeing the camp, and meeting the members. You may stay for a couple of days to get familiar with them,” she says, looking out the window. I understand her reasoning, my sister can watch over the farm while I’m gone, I’ll be returning there soon with suitable dragons.

I return to looking at the room and behind a puffy jacket is a bronze glimmer. I walk towards it and grab it, it’s a tail ring. A dragon spiraling around a few times. And it’s adjustable, I try it on, tightening it to my liking. I decide it would be to heavy to stay on, and I don’t really like these kinds of jewelry. Placing it back in it’s spot, I try on a few other things, including a puffy jacket(after taking my shoulder armor off), a muzzle, and a necklace with an odd diamond like pendant on it. Then another thing caught my eye, a blue bandana with a cool looking pattern on it. I tie it around my neck, I think this one will work very well.

Exiting the room I look around for Xandra, spotting her on the couch reading a book. Davey was wrapped around her wrist and she was back in her original state.

“I have chosen this bandana!” I announce, walking towards her. She looks up from her reading and smiles brightly.

“Oh wonderful sweet pea, I only ask one more question of you before you go home to rest up for tomorrow,” she says, putting her book down.

“What’s that?” I ask, holding my shoulder armor tightly.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh- oh yeah you don’t know me very well yet. I’m Niki,” I say with a smile. She smiles back at me.

“Thank you hun. One more thing though, if you have any drakes I would recommend you bring them with you, they would help with the travel aspect. Tomorrow won’t be a walk in the park,” she says, picking her book back up. I nod, looking to my left and realizing the door is right next to the couch. I mentally scorn myself for not realizing this sooner, and exit the house. I know these woods, and have seen this cottage before. It looks worn down on the outside, abandoned… but making my way home is easy. It was evening by the time I made it back.

I call my sister, “Hi Bryn, I need you to watch the farm for a few days.”

—————————

This was fun, writing wasn’t the best, I was kinda zoned out while writing it lol. My main focus was to explain stuff and set up character motivations, sorry if it’s a bit messy, and like, long dang.

[slasherholic]

request: Now my friend, what if we got another drunk Michael but the reader gave a shot at snuggling against drunk Mikey boi?

synopsis: Michael gets himself drunk off his ass. You take advantage. This is technically an epilogue to this nasty little piece right here, but reading it is not required (or recommended LOL)

warnings: mentions of abuse, reader has a female body, angst with a helping of fluff

All the Way Down | Michael Myers x Reader | NSFW

The concept of mercy, you think, as Michael’s bloodied fingers alight again on your skin, dragging up the front of your tender throat, drawing another unsteady, shuddering breath from your lips, can go fuck itself—because compared to last weekend, Michael’s play tonight has been dreadfully merciful.

Evening has fallen. The suburbs are quiet. The sky outside burns a brilliant orange and the light that drowns your bedroom is blistering. You sit entangled between Michael’s legs like a statue overgrown by vines. Since the sun began to set, he hasn’t allowed you to move an inch from his lap.

You do not want to look ahead at your reflection in your standing bedroom mirror. You do not want to glimpse your naked body or your tired eyes or the ugly reality of Michael’s markings, and though it seems a stupid thing to be grateful for, you are grateful your eyes do not have the option of straying anywhere but the ceiling; Michael’s busy hands are making sure of it.

His fingers clamped around your jaw force your chin upward at a painful angle. He traverses the flesh of your neck tirelessly, exploring your throat like territory he has yet to claim—as if he hasn’t done so a hundred times over already. The lazy sweeping of his calloused fingers across your skin stings like salt in an open wound, and you grit your teeth tightly together to keep the whimpers from escaping. They dribble out anyway.

You hate that sound. You hate that it is coming out of you. Most nights you wouldn’t dare try to stop your wounded little noises, but right now, it doesn’t matter. Because Michael isn’t trying to hurt you.

You know the ache in your jaw would be a splitting pain were that the case, a shocking sensation, unbearable. You know the disobedient tears escaping your squeezed-shut lids would not be trickling down your cheeks in such bitter silence.

Michael’s invading fingers do not poke and prod so much as sweep lightly over your rawed skin, tracing back and forth along the rope markings worn into your flesh like divots into soil. Cruelty is not his intent—he’s just being curious.

You blink softly as another set of tears slips down your face, and think to yourself that there does not exist a better feeling in the world than when Michael is holding you, and not being cruel.

And you are seized up stiffer than a corpse against his chest despite it.

His closeness is suffocating. His dangerous body presses in all around. His heat against your spine is a smothering inferno, and pin-pricks that feel very much like ants crawl all up and down your naked body, across your arms and legs and breasts, compelling you to break away from the raging fire that is Michael. Your instincts scream at you to writhe, to thrash, to struggle, to fight him.

You don’t. You wouldn’t dare. Because a struggle is not what he is after right now—a struggle might cost you your life. Michael’s presence alone is not what you fear; rather, it is the dreadful, heart-stopping state of his sobriety.

Or his tragic lack thereof.

He reeks of alcohol. His slow exhales sweep across your cheeks and invade your nostrils, hot and sour, grossly-sweet. The dark hunger in his eyes, that familiar coldness you have grown so accustomed to, has dulled as though buried. What brief glances you have dared to exchange with him in the mirror have not had the usual effect of halting your racing thoughts in their tracks nor frozen you like a deer caught in the headlights. What you see in his languid stare instead is unfocus, a dullness that borders on shocking. Michael is not just drunk; he’s shit-faced.

And now you find yourself captured in the arms of a man who could kill you with as little thought and effort as one squashes a bug on the sidewalk—and any lingering shred of self-control that existed in his primal mind has just been stolen away by a pint of alcohol.

Your evening Mimosa was what had done him in.

The bottle of champagne had been an impulse buy at the store; a tempting offer that you were in no position to refuse. The intrusive thoughts flared up anyway as you set the bottle down in your cart, eager to hound you—Champagne? Really? Tonight of all nights?

You swept them eagerly under the rug. This was to be no celebration, no commemoration of having survived another seven days of Michael. The opposite could not be truer. It was a Saturday evening, and college is shit, and you wanted nothing more than to get drunk off your ass and forget where and who and what you are for a while.

The pitcher had sat filled to the brim on the counter. The phone rang in the hallway, then. Your mother was on the other line.

You stayed on the phone with her while she talked herself to tears. She told you all sorts of things which, in truth, you only vaguely remember—you hadn’t been very present. You think she was calling to congratulate you. To tell you that she’s proud of the person you’ve grown up to be. She mentioned your schooling, and that had you crying, too, because college is no longer something you can be proud of. It hasn’t been for a long, long time. It is just an excuse to get away from Michael for a while.

Never had you come closer to spilling your awful, dirty little secret than during that phone call. How sickeningly easy it would have been to interrupt your mother’s praise and to let the messy truth about the monster in your house trickle out.

You maintained your fragile composure until your mother hung up the phone. The moment the line went dead you went back into the kitchen to chug and chug and chug.

Your heart plummeted. The pitcher was gone. Where it had gone was hardly a mystery.

You sprinted up the stairs by twos. You snatched your keys from your purse in your bedroom. You had nearly made it to the front door, and then Michael had ambushed you from the downstairs broom closet, and it was over. You’ve been his lap accessory ever since.

Your soft sobbing has long since waned, the runaway tears drying into salty stains on your cheeks. Now is not the time for crying; now is the time to be still and silent and to pretend with all your muster that you are an oversized doll, lifeless, incapable of hurt. You know that if you do something to excite Michael’s violence in this state—if you make him want to hurt you—you will lose your life.

Beneath you, Michael shifts his weight clumsily, tucking one leg under his body, as if the stiffness from the floor has just now crept into his bones. At some point his coveralls had fallen away from his shoulders to pool around his waist. As he tosses you in his lap you snatch up handfuls of the loose fabric, bracing against him.

He’s hard again, you realize, as the heat of his arousal sheathed in your body pulls out and away, leaving you uncomfortably empty. His cock is hot and velvety between your slickened thighs, the throbbing head of it poking and prodding at your cool skin as he realigns himself with your hole, doing so with obvious difficulty. A little sound escapes you when he pushes in again—the stretch of him is unusually forgiving. You slide easily back down his length, glued once more to the skin of his bare pelvis, stuffed full of him.

Michael’s second unintentional mercy is that the sex tonight had been everything but painful; your mimosa had turned the act into a sluggish, lazy crawl.

He had all but collapsed onto your bed, content to let gravity drag you right down on top of him. You had waited against his chest for minutes, breathless, shuddering at the breeze sweeping across your bare nipples, as he struggled to solve the puzzle of how to get his coveralls down past his hips. Upon his rediscovery of the missing piece—his zipper—the rest of the picture fell into place.

His hot hands clasped beneath your armpits to lift and lower you onto his waiting cock. He filled you at a languid, merciful pace. You had shuddered and heaved and braced for pain as he eased himself into you again, again, again. The stretch was snug but never splitting; the dreaded pain never arrived. Relaxing around Michael’s cock became all-too natural, and when he spilled himself inside of you, it was more than not-painful. It was tight and close and warm, warm, warm. It was good.

The goodness made you cry.

The tears might have been gratitude, or relief, or joy, if only Michael was sober, and not tremendously shit-faced. Instead they were just tears. For all his tenderness, you had only the alcohol to thank.

Michael had migrated from the bed to the floor soon after, and there his inspection of your body began. His hands have been all up and down your skin since—but his cock hasn’t left its place inside you.

For better or for worse, you suspect you no longer register in Michael’s numbed mind as a living thing; not as prey, not as a toy. You are simply a hole. Tight and wet and warm. He wouldn’t rather stick his cock in any other hole, and he most certainly doesn’t plan on leaving this one anytime soon.

Your thoughts snap back to the present as Michael’s hand comes suddenly free from your jaw. His hot fingers disappear from your neck, and they don’t return. The ghost of his careless pressure still lingers, an ache that penetrates deep into your cheeks; but it is far from the worst ache Michael has ever given you. You bear it in silence.

He grabs you around your waist. You feel his core muscles tightening up against your stomach, his thighs stiffening beneath your bottom, and you know before he does it that he is going to try to stand. Your heels dig against the small of his back. You capture desperate handfuls of his shirt.

It doesn’t feel right to touch him this way. It doesn’t feel natural. It doesn’t feel allowed. Even so, Michael’s hands don’t leave their place around your waist—he makes no effort to stop your advances. His solid chest is a more familiar resting place than any pillow and you settle into it with a hesitancy that gives way to utter uncaring. Thudding up through layers of deadly muscle throbs his dark heart, pounding against your cheek, rhythmic as a metronome, hideously soothing.

It occurs to you that you could stop that beating heart tonight.

On any other night you would not have dreamt it; but Michael slipped up. You can be free of him. Your life is still salvageable.

Only half believing it, you promise yourself that if you are given a chance, you will kill Michael before the sun comes up.

You marvel at how efficiently the alcohol has sucked away all his deadly grace as he staggers to his feet. Planting a hand on the corner of your dresser to steady himself, he begins to shuck his sagging coveralls the rest of the way down his legs with one foot, leaving him naked from the waist down. The coveralls slump into a heap on the ground. You utter a little cry when he nearly trips on them.

You hope that Michael will carry you to bed now. You hope he will collapse onto the mattress and pin you hopelessly beneath his body. You hope that he will not give you the chance to take his life. As he teeters past the bed, your hope droops. As he steps out into the hallway, it withers and dies. The nightmare charges down its tracks with no end in sight.

When Michael begins to descend the stairs it occurs to you that he is most likely going to stumble and fall and break both of your necks. You turn your face into his chest. You shut your eyes. You pray that it will happen.

By the cruelest of mercies, it does not.

He sways off the final step and rights himself on steady ground, and you are still alive to feel his forceful hands absently groping and kneading the flesh of your hips, his steamy breath beating down against your scalp. You are still alive to fulfill your promise to yourself.

He turns sharply into the downstairs hallway, away from the front door, and the relief now churning in your gut is just as cold and sickening as the anticipation had been. He’s not going to try and take you somewhere—he’s just hungry.

In the kitchen, Michael snacks with no regard for how you still cling to his chest. When wrappers litter the tile you suspect you’ve been forgotten. You peek over his shoulder as he finishes, watching the cold air billowing out from your open fridge as he begins a wobbly zig-zag in the vague direction of your couch.

Michael melts into the cushions. The couch may as well be on fire with the quickness you draw back your legs to avoid being crushed by his weight. He settles, his breaths filling out his frame deep as ever, even deeper. Your eyes are squeezed shut tight; You can’t look at him. You are afraid to look at him. You’re afraid that you will see something other than the cold, unfeeling face of your monster, that you will see something passive and unassuming and human, and then you won’t be able to do it. You won’t be able to kill him.

Michael’s heart thrums away beneath your cheek, utterly unassuming, unaware that its timer is ticking down, down, down.

The friction of your legs shifting against him seems to remind him of you all at once. He is quick to restrain your waist again. The back-and-forth effort of his cock rocking between your legs is sluggish and absent. He fucks you slowly, and it is good.

Michael’s thrusting slows to a lazy pistoning and then stops altogether, his tremendous heat spilling deep inside your core for the second time tonight. With his release, his powerful body softens like clay beneath you. You mold easily against his form. A minute passes, then two, then three—then more than you can keep track of. Michael’s cum oozes between your thighs and makes a mess on his own lap, but if he is aware of the wetness he is no longer present enough to care.

You open your eyes for the first time in a long time. You peer up at Michael’s face. His dark lashes are pressed shut now, drawn together gently in a delicate balance that you suspect might be offset by something as faint as a draft. He is not asleep.

You can change that.

Your right arm is numb and tingly from disuse as you reach up for Michael’s neck. You bury your hand delicately between the couch cushion and his nape. Your nails meet the base of his neck to stroke and knead between his curls which fit like rings around your fingers. You pet Michael like you love him.

What remains of Michael’s alertness dissolves into your tender touch.

His eyes twitch beneath their lids as you trace his scalp. Your breath catches in anticipation of those icy eyes snapping open, latching onto your face with a penetrative stare. Michael’s eyes are hypnotic in the most draining way. His fixed gaze reminds you of your place in the universe; of how tragically far down the food chain you sit. It would perhaps be humbling, if it were not so terrifying.

You are not surprised by your dry eyes as you pet Michael. You had not been expecting any tears, and you still don’t. Not even as it occurs to you that this will be the last time you ever touch him. Not even when you repeat those words in your brain. Not even when they become the syllables on your chapped lips.

Even when you are mouthing your unheard goodbyes to Michael, you find that you have no tears to cry for him.

You try anyway.

You dry heave silently against his sternum for a time. You gasp and shudder. If not for Michael, then for yourself.

The tears do not come out.

Soon, Michael’s head tilts back against the couch.

And his rosy lips part faintly, gently,

and you know that he’s asleep.

You test how deeply. You cautiously snap in his ear—and are met with no reaction. You clap this time, waiting for his eyes to snap open and focus on you dully. Still nothing. The alcohol has claimed him.

Some tiny thought sears through your mind; it’s time.

You slide cautiously off his thighs. Your brain is running on automatic now.

You go into the kitchen. You retrieve a knife and come back. You stand over Michael’s head, gripping the handle with both fists, hovering the blade over his perfectly bared neck, preparing to plunge it swiftly downwards. Your mind is racing. Your hands are quaking. You could put an end to so much suffering here and now; you could spare so many lives from the disaster that is Michael. He would be gone within a minute. He probably wouldn’t even feel it—not while he’s like this. It would be a quicker, easier, and more merciful death than he deserves, and it is a nicer thought than the image of what they’ll do to him when he gets caught, which just by having thought, you fear you might be sick.

You have the power to put Michael down gently tonight. You can do it. You can. You just have to want it.

You recall the ghost of his fingers sweeping across your rawed neck and you tell yourself you want it. You take a deep breath in and out and find that your body aches deeply, bruised and sore all over, and not just from last week. The months of weathering the calamity that is Michael seem to weigh on you all at once. You shudder and shake and tell yourself you want it. You heave and gasp silently. The knife in your hands trembles so hard that you fear you will drop it and wake him.

You want it; you want it like you have never wanted anything. You didn't know what hate was until Michael choked and sliced and squeezed his way into your life and smothered your mind and took yourself from you. You want him gone. You want him out. You want him dead.

Your dangerous fantasy runs rampant for ten more heedless seconds.

Then, with a silent wheeze, you double over and sob quietly into the upholstery.

You could never kill Michael. You could never. The desire to do so is an invasive, unwanted menace. You despise him down to your marrow; but your sick yearning for him is rooted even deeper than bone.

With trembling hands you return the knife to its block in the kitchen. Sinking back down into his lap is a risky endeavor, and you do it anyway, slowly, with the utmost of care. Michael does not wake. You press your face against his chest and grab greedy handfuls of his shirt and heave big wet sobs into his pectoral. You are not going to hurt Michael. You are going to punish his slip-up with just the opposite.

You are going to shower his body with affection in all the ways that would get you bloodily murdered during his conscious moments.

As your eyes roam openly over Michael’s sleeping form, you decide that his exposed skin humanizes him in an uncomfortable way. You do not consciously associate his coveralls with his illusionary identity as something predatory, as something more than human, but the association is there nonetheless. The coveralls cover his skin like the mask covers his face. Neither conceal Michael’s truest nature—both expose him for what he is.

For such a predator to shuck away his coverings and bare his human skin seems almost slanderous to you, a poetic injustice, a violation of the natural order of things, a disturbing display of humanity which he has no business dabbling in.

And what you think does not matter. Here is your monster: Half-naked. Drunk off his ass. Woefully vulnerable. It is a grotesquely human fate, one he wears like an ill-fitting coat. You despise how humanity looks on Michael.

And you despise how quick you are to drink it all in.

The tears linger in your eyes as you reach for his neck and envelop as much of its thick circumference as you are able. Your thumb settles lightly over the bulge of his Adam’s apple. As he draws breath, swallowing against your hand, his cartilage bobbing beneath your fingers, you shudder. Michael’s neck is not a place you are allowed to touch. To do so is to flip your dynamic of predator and prey on its axis—to do so is to upset the balance of nature itself.

You explore his throat as eagerly as he had done yours.

Michael’s pulse pounds against your fingers like an animal determined to break free of its cage. Powerful, unstoppable. You feel foolish for even having considered trying. You let it throb against your hand for a time, hypnotized by the fact of his living, his warmth, his momentary vulnerability, his sheer existence.

You become braver, then. Your second hand moves to join the first, and you cup Michael’s neck with a tenderness that he has never offered you. He is gone, you tell yourself, buried in sleep, and you need not fear him. You can have your way with him.

With this confidence you begin to knead Michael’s shoulders. Your touch is slow and your squeezing is careful. You move from his clavicle to his bicep, working your thumb over the knots wherever you encounter them with the deftness of a potter. You gauge Michael’s reaction as you work; you wait for that flicker of awareness on his restful face that would halt your massage in its tracks. Instead, his head slumps deeper into the couch cushions. His eyes roll beneath their lids, but his awareness never comes. He is entirely yours.

You touch Michael everywhere. His shoulders, his chest, his obliques, his naked thighs. He is sore in many places; you can always tell where because his lips part slightly in response, exposing his glinting teeth for an instant, then falling into restfulness again as you ease the knots of tension away. You know that you are playing with the hottest fire as you massage Michael without his permission. You are also too far along to quit.

As you bundle up greedy handfuls of his worn undershirt, rolling it slowly up and over his hips, over his ribs, his pectorals, you know your curiosity is reaching stupid heights. Come down now, you tell yourself, before you plummet and splat on the sidewalk; in other words, before Michael wakes up and strangles you into unliving.

Then your eyes glue to his exposed torso and your rational thoughts are swept away like a paper boat in a flood.

Rarely have you seen Michael naked. Even when you tempt him into the shower he does not bother to strip, finding it fit instead to unzip himself down to his cock and drench his coveralls until they sit slick against his muscles, hinting at his form—but not revealing it in its entirety.

It occurs to you that Michael is beautiful.

You allow your gaze to linger on the wide muscles of his torso before pressing your hands flat against his steadily rising abdomen, shuddering at his too-warm skin, drinking in his strength and power with your fingertips. You note a few things about his body to satiate your curiosity; his belly button goes in instead of out. His dark pubic hair is as curly as the hair atop his head. And he has more scars than you had ever noticed.

The ones littering his arms and abdomen and chest are glossy and round and pink and you know, somehow, without knowing for sure, that they are bullet wounds. You feel around the perimeter of one rubbery scar on his oblique, and think, this gun did not stop him—this did not put him in the ground. It did not even take him off his feet for long enough to be captured and contained. What Michael is will never be contained; not by walls, and not by bullets. He will follow his dark instinct until he breathes his last.

The thought has tears springing to your eyes all over again. Michael is hardly human; and yet, he is bitterly so. He is nature’s harsh truth. Michael, you muse, is the part of humanity that we have stuffed deep down over countless millennia and denied a voice. He is a force of uncivilized, wild, primal nature. He is the inevitability of the Earth. When the rest of us are gone, he is what will prevail.

You decide all at once that you would like to know what it is like to hug Michael. And now your head is tilting forward to rest against his sternum, and you are wrapping your arms around his thick middle, and without really thinking about it you are hugging him, as tight as a lover, and though you know he’s worlds away from that, you can pretend.

Michael’s chest grows and shrinks against your embrace. You hug him until he begins to shift agitatedly against the couch, until you can feel his muscles twitching at your confinement, eager to break free, eager even in his unwaking to regain control. You don’t press your luck. Your arms come undone and you let go of his body.

When you pull away from him, your heart stops.

His eyes are open. Staring at you.

You woke him up.

His face is dull and blank, as blank as an empty canvas, completely unreadable. You shiver. In just a moment his gaze will fix on your face and harden like steel, and that dark hunger will creep back into his features, and his suffocating intensity will roll over you like a thundercloud. You wait for Michael to see you.

He blinks like a cat. Watching, considering. But not acting.

Panic spikes your pulse as his hands come suddenly up from the couch. He grips your arms just below your shoulders. You exhale unsteadily, trying and failing to keep your breathing even. You know better than to hope and yet you can’t help yourself; please don’t hurt me, you beg him wordlessly. Please don’t ruin me this time.

Moisture pricks at your eyes as his fingers tighten around your skin, holding you fast.

Your world pitches sideways as he rolls side-down into the couch and for a moment you are breathless. His startling strength is the only thing not subdued by the alcohol—he sweeps you right down with him.

The claustrophobia is immediate. Behind you, Michael’s head comes to settle on the armrest, and you realize all at once that you are sandwiched now, crowded between the couch cushions and the bulk of his body, crushed against him. His method of restraining you is incredibly escape-proof. He will suffocate you this way.

You breathe and breathe, your ribcage rising and falling snugly against his arm. You suck in air and wait for the precious commodity to run out.

It never does. To your utter dismay, to your sweet relief, you have been spared a little pocket of breathing room between the armrest and the couch cushion.

Michael’s fingers wrap suddenly around your throat. Your heart beats loudly in your ears. When he doesn’t squeeze, you realize that he is not going to hurt you. He only means to hold you. The gesture is a possessive one: you are his, and you are not going anywhere.

Michael does not move after that, and soon he is gone again. You listen to his thumping pulse for a while. You feel his breath, and his heat, and his weight. You know with all your being that your life is not in any danger tonight.

Your eyes droop. Soon, you follow him down, down, down.

[forevfangirlwrites]

This is another actress Annabeth au prompt in so sorry please feel free to put this off for as long as you want or not write it lol but like a fic about how Percy gradually gets more comfortable being affectionate with Annabeth and not even physically but like the first time he calls her babe and is mortified that he overstepped or that she’s think it was weird but she liked it and basically just how he becomes more comfortable around her and how his love grows. I’m sorry I love this au.

Part 1 and on

“Babe?” Annabeth’s voice echoes through the hall as she shuts the front door behind her.

His head snaps up at the sound of her footsteps, tossing aside the towel he’d been using to wipe the counter in favor of greeting her.

“Hello gorgeous,” he responds, poking his head out into the hall.

And she does look gorgeous, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun that just serves to show off the wide smile on her face as she speeds up to meet him.

Within a second, he’s got her enveloped in a tight hug. She presses her face against his shoulder and visibly relaxes in his arms.

“I missed you.” Her voice is muffled but he hears her loud and clear.

Squeezing her a little tighter, he threads his fingers through her hair.

“I missed you too.”

She’s only been gone for three days, some photoshoot in Chicago, but it was way too long as far as Percy is concerned. Ironically, the screen doesn’t do her justice, and he ended every video call upset that she wasn’t by his side.

(So maybe he’s completely and irrevocably gone on her.)

They stand there, holding on to each other for a few more moments before she pulls away to look at him.

It’s moments like these, where she’s just staring at him with a soft smile on her face and eyes that seem to pour out something he still can’t believe, where breathing becomes a struggle.

He might even say these moments are better than her kisses, but then her lips are on his after so goddamn long and he’s melting.

She sighs when she pulls away, not letting go of him as he tries to get his bearings. Every time he thinks he’s used to it, he learns that he is, in fact, not. The loud ting going off helps though, and he leads her into the kitchen.

“Blue cookies!” she exclaims excitedly, clutching his arm and looking at the oven where the timer is going off.

He can’s help but smile at her excitement, the whole situation giving him a sense of déjà vu.

“Blue cookies?” The confusion on her face is evident as he tugs open the oven.

(Cheap rent means ovens that stick a little.)

“My mom makes them even better,” he says as he takes the tray out of the oven. “But I guarantee you’ll like these.”

He sets the tray down on the stove top on the right and slides off the baking mitt, Annabeth peering over his shoulder. She reaches out a finger to touch one and he grabs her hand midway to stop her.

“You’re gonna have to wait for them to cool, baby.” The words slip out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. And when he does realize, he freezes.

Did he just call Annabeth baby?

The chocolate chips poking out of the cookies seem to be rolling their eyes at his ridiculous freak out.

It’s not that dumb to question a pet name you called your girlfriend. Right? Especially if it’s the first time.

It’s a staring contest that he loses, for a multitude of reasons, one of them being that they’re chocolate chips, but he thinks it was Annabeth looping her fingers through his that really broke his concentration.

“But I want them now!” she complains, carrying on the conversation as if her boyfriend didn’t just face off with a bunch of cookies after calling her baby.

(To be fair though, he still hasn’t quite processed the whole dating-Annabeth-Chase thing.)

“Percy?” Annabeth’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?” He responds, opening up the oven door. She’s leaning against his shoulder, arms wrapped around him from behind, as he carefully maneuvers the tray out.

“I lost you for a sec there, what were you thinking about?”

He sets the tray down and slides off the mitt. “The first time you had blue cookies.”

She lets go of him at the words, and he turns around to face her.

“I remember that,” she recalls. “They were so good I truly didn’t know how I’d gone my whole life without having them.”

“Yeah…” he tugs her close to him, remembering her excitement. (And her face after taking the first bite had been priceless).

She rests her hands on his chest as he loops his arms around her waist. Sue him for missing his girlfriend.

“It was also the first time I called you baby.”

Annabeth, who had been leaning into his touch, leans back to meet his eye. “Really?” She pauses. “Oh yeah, I guess it was.”

“I was so worried,” he confesses, cheeks lighting up at the just the thought.

She frowns. “Why?”

He shrugs, keeping his hands firmly on her waist. “I don’t know…I thought you’d be weirded out or something…”

It’s a lame explanation, but thinking back, it had been a lame worry.

“Percy.” She stops him by firmly pushing a hand against his chest. “I definitely didn’t think that was weird. On the contrary…” her smile morphs into a smirk.

Oh god.

“I love hearing you call me baby.”

The hand on his chest, run downward, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. But it’s enough to send tingles through his entire body.

“Oh?” It comes out a little choked and maybe, despite how far they’ve come, some things don’t quite change. Like the effect she has when she pulls shit like this.

“Maybe we should move this?” she suggests, smiling innocently, like her touch isn’t sending flames through his entire being.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

The cookies end up being breakfast rather than dessert.

A/N: Thank you so much for this prompt! It was exactly the kind of fluffy, sweet prompt I needed to write for this series! I appreciate you sending this in, and I hope that this is what you were looking for with the prompt! Thanks again! :)

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found - Chapter 15

So this story is turning out a lot longer and more intense than I ever planned on, so I hope y’all hang in there lol

Warnings:  talk of unrequited love (sort of), anxious moments

Tagging: @alievans007  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy

Nik had failed to get them a private flight. Unable to secure a chopper or jet on such a short notice. Proving that there are indeed things not even her svelte touch and magic reach can procure.  

She is stressed; eyes constantly scanning the crowd,  lips set in a terse line, her body constantly swaying or rocking back and forth on her heels.  The airport is crowded; larger than usual crowds for that time of the year.  And it has put her on edge. Everyone looks suspicious. Any unfamiliar or louder than normal sound causing her to jump.  Unusual for her, Tyler thinks. She isn't usually that skittish.  She'd garnered quite the reputation of being unflappable. Stone cold even. Yet he knew there was more to her than that. Layers she never let anyone see. Except for a select few.

“I can't believe I'm going to say this to you of all people, but you need to calm the fuck down,” he says, as he pays for the coffees they'd grabbed at the nearest concession stand. “You're even making me nervous.”

“This is a bad idea,” she responds, running the palms down the her thighs. Those dark eyes usually wild and shifty.  “It shouldn't have come to this.”

The cashier hands him his change and his receipt with a cute smile. And he smirks when he notices that's scrawled her name and phone number on the strip of paper.  He balls up it up, tosses it into the nearest trash, and then picks up the coffees, holding one out to Nik.

“I'm married,” he informs the obviously embarrassed cashier. “I'm flattered. I am. But no. Just no.”

“Tyler Rake...friend of the ladies...” Nik snidely remarks, as they fall in step alongside of each other. “You haven't lost your touch.”

“I don't know about it being a touch. Or if girls like that have some fucked up daddy issues.”

“You're not that old.”

He snorts.”I feel like I'm eighty.”

“Knee?”

“Knee. Back. Shoulder. What doesn't hurt?”

“You still medicating?” she's watching him out of the corner of her eye, coffee cup pressed against her lips.

“Not the way I was before, if that's what you're asking.”  

 When she'd showed up at his place in the outback with the Dhaka job a year ago, he'd fallen into dangerous habits: ignoring doctors' orders and popping pills like candy, always chasing them down with booze.  It had become his way of escaping.  A way to numb both the physical and mental anguish.  He hasn't touched a bottle since he was released from the hospital. His wife deserved a husband that wasn't an addict. Or a husband that was dangerously close to being one.

“I just want to make sure you have your head on straight. After what I heard this morning...”

“Water under the bridge. Nik. I thought I was making the decision that was best for my family.  It made sense to me at the time. I didn't take everything into consideration. I should have thought about what it would to do to her. Being separated like that.”

“She needs you, Tyler. I don't think you realize just how much. You can downplay it all you want, but she needs you.  Maybe before all of this, she would have been able to just walk away and get on with her life.  And maybe she should have before things went as far as they did. Maybe you both should have.”

“With all due respect. Nik, that's none of your business. What went on between Esme and I...behind closed doors...had nothing do with you.”

“It became my business when you crossed the line, Tyler. You were there to protect her. Not fall into bed with her. It was a job. And that's all it should have been. Both of you should have known better.”

“Maybe we should have. Maybe we should have stopped when we still had the chance. But we didn't.  That's a year ago now. You're always on Esme about letting her shit from the past go. Maybe there's some shit you need to get rid of too.”

“If you're talking about you and I...”

“There was no you and I, Nik. I told you at the start there never would be. We've had this conversation many times.  And I'm sorry if you've got issues with Esme and I being together. Or us being together hurts you in some way. But I never made any promises to you. I was straight with you right off the hop. And you were okay with that. Or at least you said you were.”

“You've made yourself clear time and time again, Tyler.  But you seem to forget who was there for you before all of this. Who had to pick up the pieces every time you fell apart.”

“We're friends. That's what friends do.”

“The things we were doing went far beyond what normal friends do for each other,” she points out, and he sighs. “And I don't have a problem with you and Esme being together. I have a problem with how it happened.  With how you both crossed a line that never should have been crossed. You both should have known better.”

“Maybe. And I know you want to hear me say that I regret it. Handling the things the way I did. Not walking away when I could have. But I don't. I don't regret it.  I don't regret falling in love with her. I regret what I put her through. But not for loving her like I do.”

“You're forgetting that this wasn't something that just had ramifications for the two of you. I wouldn't worry about it so much if it was just the two of you. But you brought a baby into this, Tyler. A child. Who didn't ask to be dragged into any of this.  This isn't just you and Esme you have to worry about. I don't even worry about the two of you. You can handle yourselves. But a  baby, Tyler.  An innocent. You don't want to admit it, but you're the one that put that target on her back.  You may not have meant to do it. But you did.  It was bad enough that you crossed that line. But it was damn foolish to not be more careful when you did.”

It's a hard, painful truth.  But not one he hasn't come to on his own. Especially within the past couple of days; those haunting thoughts in the middle of the night that he'd been the one ultimately responsible for the threat upon his family. The guilt that came with knowing that if something did happen, it was entirely his fault.

“I'm not saying it's not a blessing that she's here,” Nik continues. “Because it is.  And I'm not saying you're a terrible father. Because you're not. I know how much you love her. How you'd lay down your life with her. I'm saying that this all could have been avoided....the threat against her...if you'd just at least been more careful.  If anything happens to her, you'll never forgive yourself, Tyler. You'll never get over it. You won't be able to forget. You'll never be able to rest.  And I won't be able to let you.”

****

When the nausea comes, it hits hard and fast. Bringing with it cold sweats and dizziness and leaving behind a wicked headache. A dull, throbbing ache that settles behind her right eye and the base of her neck. Even now, as she stands at a sink in the hotel bathroom, she can feel it; the room spinning around her, the bile still sitting in her throat, the sweat that beads on her forehead and gathers at at her temples. She closes her eyes; tightly gripping the edge of the sink, the porcelain cold and smooth against her palms.  

It's stress, she tells herself.  Just stress. You're nervous, Scared.  You're going back to the last place on earth you want to be. Look what happened there the last time.  

She knows it's more than that. Nothing life threatening, but something that had life altering ramifications.  Something totally unplanned and unexpected. Terrifying, even.  Not a place she'd wanted to find herself at this point in time. With all the uncertainty and the worry and the very real threat that she could lose everything.

She swallows back the sting of bile, clears her throat, looks at herself in the mirror. The dark circles under her tired eyes,  the lack of make up, the messy hair. She no longer recognizes herself. She'd lost herself a year ago.  The second she'd stepped out of that helicopter in the Australian outback. She'd been strong, confident, in complete control of her own life and at peace with her own decisions. At war with her past but satisfied with her present. Looking forward to her future.  It all begun to change the moment she'd stepped into the run down shack.  She hadn't known it at the time; the enormous effect that one man would have on her life. Or the nightmare that waited for them on those streets in Dhaka.  

But she'd known there was something different. About him, About herself. Something that she couldn't resist, even though everything had told her she should.  That little pilot light  that flashes in the corner of your eye, warning you about incoming danger.  She'd ignored it. In that little shack and in that disgusting Dhaka hotel room. Losing a little more of herself with each passing minute.

It wasn't regret.  She didn't regret what had happened. That she had given herself to him; mind, body, soul.  She had discovered the love of her life within the confines of those four dirty walls. She didn't regret him. Choosing him. Or the live that she had to give up in order to be with him. Or that she'd...despite all the mistakes of her first failed marriage..decided to become his wife. And she most certainly didn't regret their daughter. The greatest gift she'd ever be given.

Love is a fickle beast.  Being satisfied with the life you have...the love you have...but still missing the past.

No. Not regret. Sadness. A sense of longing for simpler times.  For a better ending than what happened on that bridge. Thoughts of what it would have been like to be in that little shack. With him.

And that damn chicken.

***

She turns on the cold water and cups some in her hands; sipping at the cool liquid before splashing it into her face.  Eyes closed and head forehead as she allows the droplets to plop into the sink. She blindly reaches for the power towel holder; ripping off three sheets and then drying her face.

She jumps when she sees the figure behind her. The bathroom had been empty when she'd wandered in. And she hadn't heard the door open or anyone walk in the entire time she'd been in there. But there she was. A young woman in a cotton sundress; her skin gloriously tan and her long blond hair pulled into a messy up do.  Neither woman moves. Their eyes locked one another through the mirror.

“You scared me,” Esme says at last, unable to ignore that uneasiness that settles in. Not the nerves of travelling, or of what she knows is happening within her own body, or the worries of the upcoming job. But the unsettled feeling  that sinks in when your gut is telling you that there is something wrong. Something very wrong.

It's only when she speaks that the woman behind her finally moves. An apologetic smile on her lips as she steps to the sink beside her. Esme immediately takes two steps sideways, driven to put distance between them.  

“I didn't mean to startle you,” the blond says, never turning the water on but fixing her hair in the mirror, using her baby finger to smooth out the gloss gathered at the edge of her lips.  She is young; twenty five at the oldest.  Pretty in a conventional way. All blond hair and impeccable make up and well manicured nails. Someone that others would consider a  non threat.

Esme had learned long ago that threats didn't come with a look. And it was usually the people you'd least expect.  In the confines of her hoodie pocket her cell phone vibrates. Tyler. Asking where she was. If she was okay. Always protective. Sometimes to a fault.

“Nervous traveller?” the young woman asks.

“I don't like to fly,” Esme concedes, and moves towards the exit.  

“I saw you out there. With your baby.”

She stops, fingers curled around the door handle.

“How old is she?”

“Two months.”

“Still a wee one.  She's adorable. Your first?”

“And only. So far.”  Her cell vibrates once again. And she knows she should answer it.  That she let him know what's happening.

“Well she's beautiful. Congratulations.  Enjoy these times.  They end quick. And you never know what might happen.”

The nausea threatens again. She manages to ignore it. Needing to flee. To get to out into the open. To a safer place. And she yanks the door open and steps out into the busy airport; the sights and the sounds and even the smells a welcome relief from the suffocating uneasiness of the bathroom.

And that's when she sees him. Watching her. A hundred meters away. Same ball cap. Same red sweater. Same backpack. Her fingers tighten around her cell phone, ready to make that one text that could make this all go away.

“Wondered where you'd gotten off to.”

The familiar voice makes her jump. Her insides lurch. And she places a hand over her uneasy stomach.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she scolds, frowning at Jason as he sidles up beside her.

“I thought something had happened to you in there. Thought maybe you'd fallen in.”

“I just needed to take a breather. Get my shit together. Do you see that guy. The one with the...” she glances over her right shoulder, where the young man from this morning had been standing. Watching her with cold, emotionless eyes.  “What the hell...” she furtively scans the crowd. Searching the sea of faces. “...he was just there.”

“Who?”

“The guy from this morning. The one Tyler talked to on the street. He was just there. Watching me.”

“That would be a little too much of a coincidence, don't you think?”

“Too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence,” she reasons, frowning as she fails to spot the face.

“Maybe it was just someone who looked like him,” Jason offers.

“No,” she insists, her voice rising. Frantic. Confused. “It was him. It had to be him. He had the same sweater. The same hat. The backpack. It had to be him.”

“Probably just someone that made you think of him. If it's been playing on your mind since this morning, you probably just thought you saw the same things.”

She feels like she is going crazy.  She tries to piece everything together. From the strange encounter that morning on the street, to the woman in the bathroom, to the man she just saw.

“I'm sure it wasn't him,” Jason says. “It's been a long day. Your brain is playing tricks on you..”

The old Esme would have told him to go fuck himself. That she knew her instincts. That her gut was never wrong.

But that girl had ceased to exist a year ago.  

[pomegranate-belle]

Fic or treat - Matt and Foggy during that one Halloween ep of Spiderman where people turn into the monsters they dress up as for the night (doctor strange helps sort everything out if I recall correctly)

I guess this is a recurring Halloween Thing (Buffy, Halloweentown, and now apparently Ultimate Spider-Man) and honestly I love it with all my heart and soul. So this got... Long. Also I just sidestepped the actual plot of the episode because Baron Mordo sucks eggs and I don’t care about him, lol

—

Foggy’s still adding the last touches to his costume and hasn’t put it on yet — that’s the only thing that saves him. But the second a blast of orange light radiates across the city, he knows something fucked-up freaky is going down.

“Oh jeez,” he mutters to himself, watching through the window as the energy continues to spread like ripples on a pond. “Matty, you might wanna go get your other Halloween costume.”

There’s a groan of pain from behind him. Foggy whirls around.

“Matt, what—”

But Matt doesn’t answer. Can’t answer, more like. He’s staggering around, hands clutched to his head. Foggy has no idea if it’s a direct effect of the freaky magic flooding the city or if whatever that magic is doing is overloading Matt’s supersenses, but either way he can’t just stand by and let his boyfriend suffer. He rushes over and wraps Matt in a hug — takes as much of Matt’s weight as he can, tries to cocoon him so his senses have time to settle or acclimate or whatever they need to do.

“I got you,” he murmurs nonsensically. “I got you, Matty, it’s ok, it’s gonna be ok, just breathe with me, buddy, just breathe—”

All Foggy’s reassurances are choked off when a clawed hand closes around his throat. He’s shoved backwards, into the wall, and Matt’s...

Matt’s gone.

In his place, the figure Foggy had been holding — that not a minute ago had been the love of his life — is otherworldly and terrifying. Its skin is cold to the touch, and flecks of gold freckle its face, creep down from its ears to the familiar arch of its cheekbones. It has Matt’s messy, dark hair but his eyes, still unseeing based on the way they don’t track, glow ice blue. It still wears the white tunic Matt had put on, but the cloth is clearly of finer quality. What was once a sparkly golden pipe-cleaner halo is now an aura of radiance so bright it makes Foggy’s eyes water. Oh yeah, and this thing’s got a pair of fuck-off enormous white wings instead of the tiny, goofy-looking faux-feather ones Matt had strapped on like a backpack not five minutes ago.

When it opens its mouth — Matt’s mouth — and speaks, the words are unintelligible and so powerful that Foggy instinctively stops trying to remove the hand from around his throat and claps his palms to his ears instead. He has an alarming thought — that he’s going to die here — and the very distant realization that Matt would be completely enraged about him giving up. But even if this... Angel. Thing. Even if it’s not Matt anymore, it was him. And Foggy has to believe the magic that changed him is going to be undone. There’s like a hundred fucking superheroes in Manhattan alone so like, it had god damn better be undone. And when it is, who knows if any injuries sustained will carry over? Foggy could never risk hurting Matt like that. He just couldn’t.

Jessica Jones does not have this problem.

Foggy learns that the second she comes bursting through the door of the apartment and discus-throws her unconscious vampire boyfriend right at Angel Matt’s unprotected back. Not that Foggy actually sees any of this — because, again, fuck-off big swan wings — but once he’s able to breathe again he’s also able to put the series of events together thanks to context clues. Flattened angel plus unconscious Hero of Harlem with an open, snoring mouth and especially pointy canines plus panting, disheveled Jess? The math’s not hard. He and Jess stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“You ok there, Nelson?” she asks at last, gruffly, before stepping forward to sling her enormous boyfriend into a fireman’s carry.

“Yeah? I’m good, I think. Mostly. Um...” Foggy points at the knocked out form of Luke draped over Jess’s shoulder. “How did you...?”

“Vulcan nerve pinch,” she says flatly, but doesn’t give Foggy the necessary space to determine if it’s a joke or not. “Now come on, you’re the one who knows every-fucking-body, who do we need to stomp to fix this?”

Good to know you saved me because you were concerned for my safety or something, Foggy thinks but is smart enough not to say.

“I don’t know who did it,” he admits, now that he has the time to think, “but that guy Strange who lives in the Village is supposed to be a wizard or something. Maybe it’s one of his baddies.”

Jess slams a fist into her open palm, murder in her eyes, then immediately has to break the pose to stop Luke from slumping onto the floor.

“Well he better fix it or I’m gonna kick his ass,” she insists, clearing her throat and straightening up again.

Foggy does not dignify this with an answer, and to further pretend he didn’t just witness Jess fumble Luke like a football he crouches down to check on Matt. He doesn’t seem to be unconscious, although at first it’s a little hard to tell based on the ethereal, retina-searing glow around his head. But upon inspection, the prone angel is in a pose Foggy knows well — Matt’s ‘I’m suffering and I refuse to move’ pose. Often adopted whilst sick or otherwise mildly inconvenienced, and never done while seriously injured. Which is good, Foggy supposes.

“Up and at ‘em, Matty,” he mutters, slowly and gently closing his hands around the angel’s and noting that Matt’s newly clawed nails are tipped in gold.

Matt gets to his feet without a fuss, just tilting his head to the side curiously. He sniffs. Once. Twice. Then flips their handhold so his fingers are circling Foggy’s wrists and pins him to the wall again. This time, though, instead of strangling him, he buries his nose in Foggy’s throat, sniffling at his pulse point like a weirdo.

“Hey! Murdock! Don’t make me come over there!” Jess snaps.

“It’s good, we’re good!” insists Foggy shrilly. “He’s um. He’s just. Sniffing me.”

“Fucking weirdo.”

But there’s no thud of Luke being used as a blunt weapon again, so at least she’s listening to him. After another ten uncomfortable seconds, Angel Matt pulls back. Slowly and gently, he lets go of Foggy’s wrists before combing the fingers of one clawed hand through Foggy’s hair. Then he smiles and speaks.

The expression, combined with the musical but incomprehensible words, is so beautiful that tears begin to streak down Foggy’s face. Angel Matt brushes them away with the side of his thumb.

Jess ruins the moment by groaning in frustration.

“Ok, we get it, gay love conquers all, can we get a move on before my boyfriend wakes up and tries to tear out my throat again?” she demands.

Which, to be fair to her, doesn’t sound like a great time. Matt’s wings flare angrily and he spits more crazy angel language at Jess that sounds like a threat, but Foggy is able to soothe him easily enough. After that, he tows Matt along by the hand like a particularly docile six-year-old and they set out without further incident.

—

The problem with having a huge city-wide curse fucking up everyone’s night is that getting a cab is impossible. On the bright side, Jess is one of the few people Foggy knows who actually owns a car. Then again, it’s usually hard enough fitting everyone inside that car without a potentially-murderous vampire and an angel with a fifteen foot wingspan to consider. They’re still trying to figure out the logistics when a horde of monsters descends upon them. Foggy counts two zombies — and there’s a frightening thought, are those guys contagious? — a werewolf, a ninja, and some kind of terrifying... Fish person. There’s lots of snarling, howling, and gnashing of teeth. Foggy really wishes he hadn’t been so preoccupied with Matt and had the foresight to grab his baseball bat on the way out the door.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got like, a tire iron in there or something?” he asks Jess as they’re backed up against her car.

“What do I look like, a mechanic? I’ve barely got gas in this piece of shit car.”

“Cool, great,” Foggy says, too strained to be as sarcastic as he wants since this is about as far from cool and great as it’s possible to get.

Then Matt squeezes his hand and lets go. Foggy scrambles to try and pull him back to safety, but his strides are long — too long for any normal human, like he’s gliding instead of walking. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing squarely between them and the monsters, and then he flares his wings wide enough to block them all from view. Foggy can still hear snarling, but he has to squeeze his eyes shut as the luminance around Matt ramps up about a thousand percent. There’s hissing, yelping, and the slap of feet on concrete, and the light turning the back of Foggy’s eyelids orange only fades after the sounds of retreat abate into silence.

“Holy shit, Murdock,” Jess mutters. “Maybe we oughta keep you like this.”

“Jones,” Foggy scolds. “Rude.”

He opens his eyes to find Matt now facing him as though waiting for something.

“What, Matty?”

“Fuck’s sake, Nelson,” says Jess, “he just saved our bacon — you gonna thank him or what?”

Matt continues to stare — for a certain value of stare, Foggy supposes — in his general direction expectantly.

“Um. Yes, thank you,” Foggy says, and probably because he’s gone completely insane, reaches up to pat Matt on the head. “You, um... Did good? Yes. Good job.”

Matt leans into the touch, beaming, and honest to god the expression is almost brighter than the glow of his halo. Jess makes a very rude gagging noise as she stuffs her still-snoring boyfriend into the trunk. Matt and his wings, even folded up, take up the whole back seat, so Foggy rides shotgun. With monsters of all shapes and sizes roaming the city streets, what would otherwise be a pretty boring car ride ends up feeling like a chase scene in Jurassic Park, but at last they make it. Foggy wasn’t a hundred percent on the address but Strange’s place is pretty hard to miss. It’s enormous and scary-looking and it’s got a big skylight in the shape of some round symbol that probably has magical significance.

There’s no answer when they knock on the door, except for a “doctor is out” sign that flickers into existence, along with a huge padlock — you know, just in case they weren’t getting the message. Foggy’s torn between being weirded out and being amused that the creepy mansion has a sense of humor.

“He’s not even home?!” Jess kicks the door, hard. “This is bullshit!”

She lets out a wordless, frustrated shout, and Luke startles awake. He’s on his feet almost immediately, eyes glowing blood red. Matt wraps his arms around Foggy from behind, casting huge shadows with his flared wings. But Luke? There’s no recognition of Jess there, except as food. None of the half-domesticated sentience Matt’s been showing, just snarling animal hunger. Luke’s such a chill, reasonable guy that the contrast is shocking and even if he hadn’t been held back Foggy wouldn’t have been able to do more than freeze in terror as Luke pinned Jess to the wall of Strange’s mansion and lunged for her throat. Jess, thankfully, is more of a fight instinct person than a freeze instinct one. Also she’s got superstrength. She catches Luke’s wrist and flips him like a pancake. Once he’s on the ground and winded, she really, genuinely does Vulcan nerve pinch him back to sleep, which is wild. Foggy had been leaning sixty-forty towards her being joking about that.

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “That was impressive.”

“Impressive? Impressive?!” Jess is laughing, but the sound is sharp and bitter. “It should’ve been me,” she growls, stomping back down to the sidewalk and kicking a stray soda can so hard it embeds itself in the wall of a building across the street. “Fuck. I hate seeing him like this. I’m already— half fucking feral, and he’s got that unbreakable skin. It should have been me! He’d probably just sit there calmly and let me try to bite him while he worked out how to fix everything, and all I can do is be a, a panicked fuck-up!”

“Jess!” Foggy scolds sharply, extricating himself from Matt’s arms to confront her. “You’re not a fuck-up. You kept Luke safe. You didn’t let him hurt anyone. You got us here. Look, if Strange isn’t home then maybe that means he’s out fixing this. That’s a good thing. You just need to take a deep breath. We‘ll rest here a little bit, then we’ll start driving back — dollars to donuts whatever big fight is probably going down right now is in, like, Times Square or something, because it literally always is with you super-people.”

Jess makes another frustrated noise that Foggy hopes isn’t going to end with him going through a wall, and then plops down on Dr. Strange’s porch. He settles in beside her, and Matt perches beside him. Luke’s still sprawled in front of them, snoring again. They wait quietly for a good ten minutes, and the tension fades from the air.

Foggy’s just about to suggest they get up and start heading back the way they came when there’s another blast of orange magic — this time running in reverse, moving in towards an epicenter instead of out from it. It washes through them with a disorienting whoosh and leaves behind two dazed boyfriends in simple, cobbled-together costumes.

Foggy’s never been so happy to see a lopsided pipe cleaner halo in his life. He kisses Matt full on the mouth. Matt kisses back eagerly but is also the first to pull away.

“Not that, not that I’m, um, complaining but... What was that for?” he asks, baffled but clearly amused. “And... Where are we?”

So then Foggy has to explain, while watching Jess rip the cheap plastic fangs out of Luke’s mouth and stomp on them repeatedly, exactly how the four of them ended up in front of Dr. Strange’s creepy magic mansion.

“So anyway,” he finishes lamely, “I guess somebody saved the day or something, but we didn’t do much.”

Matt shakes his head.

“You did wonderfully.” He takes a deep breath, the way he always does when he’s gathering himself to say something emotional. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Foggy says, and the flush of embarrassed pleasure that colors Matt’s cheeks in response is sweeter than any candy.

[dominicvail]

Hey! Random question for you: How do you decide if/how you're gonna crop the gifs you make when putting together a set? I struggle so bad with the aesthetic elements of building a set it ends up discouraging me from finishing them most of the time.

I get the feeling anon, i struggle a lot with certain types of sets Still, which affects what i end up making A Lot. And i’ve only been making gifs for lol, 6 years, yikes? I tend to stick to what i Have learnt these days. But, anyway. 

I mostly think that the aesthetics of what you’re giffing depend heavily on how you should decide to crop it to fit on here.

I don’t know what kind of sets you make? Because I make like, gifs of scenes  very differently to something i make just for the sake of it being pretty.  

I personally have preferences for what dimensions i think look best for certain types of gif sets on tumblr, i do not Usually ( i make exceptions) stray from these, and the dimensions have an effect on your cropping.

Say like, [This] set, the dimensions i used were 268x180 which is my preferred choice for either 6 gif set or an 8 gif set formatted like this and if i don’t use those dimensions, it’s because i had a good reason not to.

Typically, face close ups in sets like this look Far better than like, a shot in the first gif of that set with half of granger’s body in the shot. This isn’t because head shots look better in gifs, it’s because head shots remove a Lot of the background which is what, 9 times out of 10, is what is messing up the aesthetic of a gifset. Also, an aside, try not to have dialogue cover anybody’s face, sometimes with already close up shots it’s impossible to avoid, but if your text is obscuring somebody’s face, you’ve cropped too much off. 

------

Backgrounds are often messy, busy, and eye drawing. If you’re making edits just for the sake of being pretty, negative space is your best friend, i really can’t emphasis that enough. I think people think it’s what’s In your gif that will make an aesthetic set look pretty, but i personally think it’s in how you use what it Not there. 

'what is not there’ also applies to shadows on negative space backgrounds, you Really need it to look as plain as possible, imo, take this gif for example;

Without edits, the plain wall behind the height chart was heavily shadowed, i used brightening techniques to remove the harshest shadows and also cropped it so the gif was thinner b/c the shadows were darkest at the far corners of the gif. It’s not a major edit, but the effect it had on the set it was in was Massive. It went from ruining the look of what was a ten gif set to fitting in perfectly and it was such a small, simple thing to edit. 

Also, for examples of how different a seemingly plain background shot can look with and without editing, This;

and

(the over exaggerated white was for Aesthetic reasons, i wanted it to look weirdly coloured, the bg was empty anyway) but this same shot looks totally different when i remove the small lines from the elevator he’s in that i left there in the top gif. His malevolence levels shoot through the roof. Just simple things like that can entirely alter the look of something. 

I don’t have an example of this next technique with that specific G shot, But with some scenes like the above it would be possible to crop it in as close as the second gif has been, then increase the canvas size again and just paint on the same bg colour as the bg behind him and you’d have a panoramic gif with an entirely negative space bg without it even looking like you’ve even edited it.

i did that here, kinda:

I cropped the bottom of the gif off because originally there was a Lot more mountain on it, and added to the canvas at the top of the gif, and just coloured the blank canvas the same colour as the rest of the sky and presto! i have a Ton of more negative space and it took me like a minute. You can use the same technique for width as well as height, this was just the first gif i’d found. 

----

anyway i went on a tangent, but dimensions;

for 2 gifs in a set, if they’re face close ups i’ll for them side by side and like, rectangle, you can do them square but i just think it looks better if they’re higher than they are wide, i don’t always use the same dimensions for the height of these types of sets, just what i think looks best for the scene.

if it’s more of a view than a close up for 2 gifs, i’ll do one gif on top of the other, Usually if i do it like this it’s specifically to showcase a view, so i probably won’t crop the scene at all for this type, and just resize for tumblr, but if i do it will be to crop out a network logo but i’ll leave the gifs as large as i can do so while taking it off. If possible i will paint over a logo, so if the logo is over a bit of screen that’s just one plain colour it’s easy to obscure, but otherwise its a crop. If i ever leave a logo on, it’s b/c i had no choice because i Hate leaving logos on. 

for sets of 4, like, dialogue scene gifs e.g. this one [here] the traditional square 268x286 is best, tbh. However, for that set there, not sure if this counts as cropping but it is aesthetic, in the show the shots were eric, nell, nell, eric. Because, in that format, doing it that way would have had them looking Away from each other in the bottom two gifs, i switched them around in the set and it looked So much better. When possible, always have people physically speaking to each other  in gifs actively face each other. Sometimes this involves flipping the whole gif which i Try not to do because our brains are trained to look at these people through a backward lens, so when you flip it over we think it looks weird because very few people Actually have perfectly symmetrical faces so like, they look Wrong to us. But looking a little wrong normally looks less weird than having people insets face the totally wrong direction. 

for 10 gifs, displayed 2 by 2, i will not make them as high, 10 gifs of 268x180 is too long, it looks weird, and even shaving 10px off each gif makes it look more aesthetically pleasing. 

for gifs displayed one on top of the other with text over, where you have a lot of them, they look better thin, i usually use somewhere between 230-245px for each gif’s height. Like this one. 

if you’re making Huge gifs like... 540x440px for Aesthetic reasons, that Can work really well but is Exceptionally difficult imo and i really can’t offer any advice or tricks because i am hopeless at it. 

On of my other tricks of the trade is, when i see a scene i think will make great gifs in the caps i’ve taken for something, i will save the caps. Like, that G moment of him looking into the camera, i took caps of the scene for a specific reason, deleted the rest of them when done, but saved those ones away. Scenes with minimal background that Also contain a look into the camera are Rare, exceptionally good looking on edits, and u will never remember where they are in the show if u delete them lol. So if you find shots you love, keep the caps! reuse them! to this day, i’m the one one to ever call myself out over excessive reuse of the same shots over and over. 

Also, zig zags and diagonals are more attractive visually. like, this is from my main but i can’t fine one off this blog atm, but [this] You see how i’ve made this so your eyes flow in a seamless diagonal downwards? You eyes don’t flit back and forth in 3 different directions, it has a flow to it. The first shot on that set isn’t actually like that in the show, her face was on the right side of the screen, i cropped off everything on the left, added to the canvas on the right and used the wall she was standing next to to make it less obvious i cropped it so dramatically to achieve that. You can only really tell if you’re looking for it in that one. But like, if you can crop something so the gifset has a decent flow to it, so your eyes slide over it rather than attempt to look in 6 directions in jerky moments, it helps a lot. I did the same thing with this one, [here] every gif on that is cropped into a different angle as it was on the show. 

This works specially well when you have a lot of gifs in your sets, which is where the zig zag thing comes into it, like, those 2 i linked two didn’t last long enough to zig back, but if i’d done another 2 gifs on there, i’d have put it back so your eyes slid back to the left side again. Can’t find an example rn, it’s Hard to do the more gifs you have, but pull it off and it looks really good. 

however, if you Can make each gif centered perfectly it looks Really cool but it’s really hard to do b/c show content just.. isn’t great sometimes. But it looks so cool. 

tldr: Negative space is Super Important!!! backgrounds can be super eye grabbing and you don’t want that, choose your dimensions well, make sure you make peoples eyes flow across your work rather than dart. 

idk, i hope this made sense, but making things look aesthetically pleasing is Really hard and takes a lot of work, it just looks like it should be easy, it’s not you finding something hard that other people seem to find super easy, it’s not easy, it involves a lot of tricks and editing that you Have to obscure because if it’s too obvious it doesn’t look attractive. A lot of work goes in, if i had my way i’d make mostly aesthetically pleasing edits but it’s too hard and i don’t have that kind of time. I hope this helped in some way? 

[haircolic-blog]

10 messy hairstyles for short hair - quick chic!

Messy hairstyles for short hair are a great, easy care option and a trendy fashion Look, all in one! In the Indeed, in the Usually short hair, The fashion trends are leading and the current popularity of disheveled and 'windier' ​​styling means that You only need to fix your hair once a day. Today's beautiful gallery of modern, messy hairstyles for short hair also presents many new, face flattering hair colors. So do it get comfortable and enjoy the show!

Chic beige looks on messy hairstyles for short hair

This short bob head with natural looking beige and ash-blond Strip is just perfect for softening dark hair without losing your 'roots' to lose. LOL! Of course, beige is not really a natural blond shade, but it always looks more sophisticated than bright blonde nuances. This asymmetric bob has a side parting with a casual look in the hair behind one ear. And there's height over the forehead to add length to a round face, or to minimize a broad forehead on a heart face. It fits the petite nose piercing and subtle make – up – Style of the model nice!

Cool ash-white blend adds depth – messy hairstyles for short hair

This clever mix of gray roots, with ash and narrow beige balayage is a wonderful artistic creation for fine hair! This highly skilled colorist shows exactly how texture and volume add to fine or medium hair, with optical illusions! I can count four balayage shadows that are all very close on the color chart, not counting the gray roots. And as bright colors seem closer and darker colors appear farther away, you get a 3-D effect. 3-D Marking has been around for a while now, but this year almost all balayage styles use 3, 4 or even tighter shades. 3-D is perfect to show messy hairstyles like hair strands part of course the depth, as well as length!

Soft ash blonde brightens brunette – messy hairstyles for short hair

If you have thick hair, this short bob haircut is a super, business-like hairstyle that will stay in place during a busy day at work. And with a little extra tousled volume added, to break the strong, smooth lines, you'll look casual and ready for after-hours relaxation. And although the model is a brunette, she is posing with the image of a blonde, professional woman using expertly applied balayage in beige and ash blonde. Thick, dark hair often loses its color earlier than other hair-colors, and with this clever technique – your gray hairs will be all blended into a modern hair-color design!

Muted silver & pale pewter hair color on brass hairstyles for short hair

This totally fresh hair color blend will mark you out as a luxury lover with good taste – and the cash to get the best colorist in town! The casual long bob has ultra-modern, disconnected layers floating around the sides, which are deftly highlighted in pearl ash-blonde. The roots are a soft shade of gray, which transitions gently to medium-ash blonde with a touch of beige. The angle of the bob is rounded and gently waved sections add volume, texture and movement. These ethereal colors suit blue and green eyes and pale skin with cool undertones. This is a fantastic piece of creative hairdressing and the true definition of 'effortless elegance'!

Playful tri-color stripes on punky windswept short haircut

And now, as they say, for something completely different! This exciting hair-color design is as far away from the 'cool-blonde' image as you can get, but it's just as adventurous. The short haircut is truly avant-garde in its unstructured shape and disregard of the usual rules. The black section is cut in a strong, horizontal line along the side, leaving the ear uncovered. And eye-catching long, disconnected layers create an asymmetric feature with black, red and gold streaks. The back is coral-beige and the slender fringe frames the eyes in an unconventional and fun hair design!

Snazzy two-tone black & beige pixie cut with quiff – for round faces

Black & white patterns in fabrics and decorative paper have been popular for thousands of years. They create a clean style and elegance in even the most prettiest multi-colored designs. And this high-fashion hair-color design in black and light ash-beige, adds a new twist to a firm favorite. Like many blond shades worn this season, the use of beige creates a softer and more 'forgiving' blonde. In this modern, pixie haircut the lines are strong and the textures contrasted, from buzz-cut to long, curvy quiff. And the trendy, two-tone color design adds the perfect finishing touch!

Pretty pearly blue-green balayage on ruffled pixie cut

I was delighted to find a contemporary cut and fantasy showcased on a model from the over-30 age-group. Many of the styles we feature in PoPular Haircuts are suited to women of all ages, but it's hard to find showcase pix to reflect that. Anyway, this is a super-cute pixie cut for fine and medium hair with gorgeous, ruffled texture just below the crown. I love this straight haircut for the clever use of curves to add texture and lively movement. The U-shaped nape highlights the neck-tattoo, and a curved side-point is always soft on a profile line. Gray roots complement muted blue and green shades that are ultra-modern, but beautifully blended!

Extreme messy boy-cut with shaggy bleached bangs

Here's a great messy hairstyle for the ultra-fashionable who want a totally unconventional take on current hair trends. The short-back-and-sides is becoming a mainstream fashion style for women and getting more popular every week. So you need something pretty radical if you want to get out of the fashionable boho styles. This is a version of the 'bed-head' hairstyle, with layers swept into a 'comb-over' for a strongly asymmetric look. The hair's been bleached to light-beige with strands of white balayage framing the face and profile. The finish is rough-dried with shaggy tips and lively movement from the reverse wave styled to show the ear!

Casual chin-length angled bob – suits most face shapes & hair types

Looking for a short haircut that's fashionable, without being too way out? Maybe this easy-care, angled bob is just what you need! It's modern and feminine, with a flirty peek-a-boo beach falling seductively over one eye. It's a fairly natural shade of blonde, with vertical highlights in just two shades, so it will not cost the earth to keep up the color. The nape has the latest, horizontal line and medium-lowlights match the roots. And there's just enough edge in the crimped wave and straight, textured tips to be totally on-trend right now! No wonder this highly stylish cut-and-color is one of the most requested short haircuts again this season!

Casual glamor of white-blonde with lilac roots

There is a refreshing, fun atmosphere of this hair design, which rejects the same old color conventions as brown or black roots. This playful hairstyle moves us into a whole new dimension. But not so far as to be a total fantasy that could cause difficulties for an employer. The chic and fashionable chin-long bob fits fine – medium hair and flatters the most face shapes and ages. Request long layers (as above), so it's easier to 'fluffed-up' volume on the top with fine hair too to get. But the joy of this youthful hairstyle ray comes from these beautiful purple roots against delicate, dual-blonde nuances. And the hair colors complement the dark model eyebrows, eyelashes, pale complexion and soft pink lip color perfectly!

via #Hairstyles, #Messy, #Quick, #Short, #ShortHairstylesIdeas, #TrendShortHairstyles #SHORTHAIRCUT

via https://www.haircolic.com/short-haircut/10-messy-hairstyles-for-short-hair-quick-chic/

[anxiety-trademark]

The week in review:

Raw 09/28 NXT 09/30 NXT UK 10/01 Smackdown 10/02 Takeover 31 10/04

Raw:

*bell rings*, *Asuka runs straight at her opponent*, *gets punched once by some weak ass looking shot*, *collapses uselessly* PPPFFFFTTTTTTTT

I hate that elbow kick off thing Zelina does. Becky used to have a hold like that in nxt. Hated it then, too. Awful.

That hurricanrana where Zelina fell on her ass, though. Wow. Okay.

Is it just me that thought the modified grounded octopus took awhile to cinch in? That was in for so long lol.

Why are women barely jumping for these german suplexes lately?

Omg that one-armed suplex by Asuka was great.

That kickout by Asuka was incredibly well done. What a perfect stretch with perfect timing. Zelina even tucked the left arm. Points.

Oh nice didn’t know Zelina could do a moonsault. And right onto the knees so the Asuka lock can be set in. Nice. Good ending.

That was better than their Clash match, and Zelina showcased different things, even if I wasn’t a fan of some of it.

Ah the debut of Mandy and Dana as a tag team.

I really like Lana and Nattie together.

Oh wow decisions that make sense and are building toward something. What alternate universe have I stepped into? Please bring back GMs and stop being so lazy, please.

I really don’t understand why they moved these women like weeks before the draft.

Alright let’s swap momentum... it’s time Dana gets some comeback before tagging Mandy.

That full 180 flip Mandy did to Lana was really cool. Not sure if Lana was meant to land on her left knee or flat, but I think it was supposed to injure her left knee. Beautiful.

Points to Lana for the kickout, negative points to Nattie for jumping in after the three.

I wish Dana had hit a bigger move against Natalya at the end.

The pump knee strike by Mandy was a little messy, I would’ve ended it with her other finisher instead. Good match though. Glad to see Dana and Mandy pick up some sort of momentum, especially on their Raw debut.

Also good for Lana not having to go through the table for a week *applause*

Mandy is fine on the mic. It’s not awful, it’s not super compelling; totally serviceable. Dana though... always comes off like she’s acting rehearsed lines or reading off a script.

Nice transition into the next segment. Quarter point.

Whether I like the Bianca video packages or not, it’s always a pleasure to hear her song.

LOVED the incorporation of the hurdles. That’s what I want to see, that shows me an actual challenge. I have no doubt in her strength or speed; I in fact do believe she’s the strongest and the fastest. They just aren’t showcasing that right lol. Give me something more convincing. Girl was jumping over fucking hurdles, that’s convincing.

Highlight: Dana & Mandy vs Lana & Nattie

---

NXT:

Shotzi has too long of an entrance imo.

Dakota Kai is such a spoiled little shit lmao. She’s so annoying. Big fan.

Really didn’t like Shotzi trying to do her ballpit line so early. I really wish she didn’t take so long to set it up as well.

Wow I hate that submission move Shotzi, I’m sorry. Dakota sells it like death though, so she gets a point.

Dakota’s style is way too fast for her to play a slow, methodical heel in the ring. 

A one count lmao ballsy. Love Dakota’s reaction too.

Such a fan of Dakota’s selling.

Chicken wing german suplex into a pin? That was beautiful Shotzi, I agree. Great near fall. 

A common complaint I have with women - even on the main roster - is how they go to do like a spear halfway through the ropes just to set up some counter to their move (kick, a pump kick, the rope hangup Bayley does, Charlotte shooting through the middle to roll you up) and that’s fine, but it’s always easily telegraphed. Step up please @ everyone.

oof that landing by Dakota; hit her face right on Shotzi’s knee.

What does Dakota call that kick, Scorpion or something? On the apron? Awesome stuff.

Holy shit that... flipping backdrop - (?) I don’t even know what to call that - on the apron was amazing, but holy shit Shotzi that landing was terrible. The concept is there but man you might wanna practice/modify that one a bit more.

Cool Rhea came down to fuck with Raquel, distracting Dakota, but the rollup was weak. Also weak that Rhea merely pushed Raquel into the steps once before walking back. Good match though.

Stalemate after a bunch of pin attempts with zero offense. Could live without these spots tbh.

Very close range kick, could’ve been set up far better.

Li rolls out of the ring, heel 101.

Kacy you can’t just yell at Kayden to get up lmao plz.

This is the first time I’ve seen any personality from Xia Li.

Ballsy one counts, what’s with the one counts tonight lmao.

Kacy is a bad cheerleader, just getting that out there.

I love that roll through + side kick combo Kayden does.

Whoa idk how Kayden pulled that win out of her ass, but good for her. I can see this is pushing Xia deeper into frustration every loss. Won’t complain about it, love to see Kayden win. Good, short match. A rollup works here.

Highlight: Dakota vs Shotzi

---

NXT UK:

I love Xia Brookside’s music, but not with her or her entrance.

Now Jinny’s entrance/wardrobe/demeanor matches her music.

Sure Xia Brookside’s rolls were quick, but I’m not understanding why she rolled sideways lmao it’s like Link in Zelda.

If you’re not going to add an actual crowd or monitors, get rid of the hairdryer fans. If I can’t see them, and more importantly they don’t exist, then I don’t want to hear them.

Too many wrist locks. Also refs getting involved for no logical reason, just so the heel can take advantage, is annoying. 

That back drop onto Jinny’s knee was ugly, hated the collapse. Took the impact out of it for me.

Nasty Irish Whip, points to both.

Nice flip off the hurricanrana.

Botched monkey flip. Perhaps Jinny didn’t think there was enough room for her to comfortably land; had she went for it and tucked her legs she definitely would’ve been fine. Feel like that was an amateur mistake, plenty of women would’ve just sold it with their legs getting caught up.

That was weird. Xia Brookside goes through all that trouble just to make sure she hit the monkey flip, just to lift Jinny’s head so Jinny could punch her. Weak.

Kick out was sloppy.

Xia Brookside is gassed and isn’t even doing any offense. Or selling. This match is odd. This would get booed on the MR.

Jinny stops to talk too much while wrestling. Obviously stalling. The dialogue isn’t even good for all of that noise.

Whatever. A match I could’ve lived without.

Lmao bow down? Queen of NXT UK?? Girl.... uh uh. Nah nah nah Go sit down.

Highlight: There was an Irish Whip into the corner that looked impactful

---

Smackdown:

Alexa’s pyro was better timed than last week, but it could use improvement. This is important to me damn it.

You know Alexa, my spine feels cold and my body goes numb every time I smoke my weed. Has anyone asked this girl if she’s on drugs? Could just be drugs.

Kevin/wwe, I don’t need you to tell me she’s brainwashed. WE CAN SEE that she’s brainwashed. This has been escalating for like... 2 months lmao.

The hairdryer crowd being piped in kinda ruins this. This is set up like a scene from a horror movie and the noise is taking away from it. A live crowd probably would’ve stayed silent for her, you could’ve lessened the mass effect.

Love how she just sits there watching Kevin pace around. That’s good. She’s good. Love how Kevin knew she was calling to the Fiend with that line. That’s good. This is good.

She sits there poised and unafraid, yet intrigued with him. Like his queen.

The power of this angle and the fate of it succeeding lies solely on Alexa and her selling of it. If she doesn’t sell this or believe in it, or fucks up once, it shatters the entire mystique. Man I’m a huge fan of this story rn.

Glad I didn’t bother guessing who this mysterious woman was. The glitz and glamour has got nothing compared to the moonwalking, trashtalking, Princess of Staten Island.

Love the rainbow on the polaroid camera though.

Decent enough promo but that music was awkward.

Why did y’all make Sasha just stand out there shifting her feet staring at the hard cam lol.

This is all solid Sasha but like Bayley already admitted all of this lmao.

Yes, we know you saved her title like 15 times, we ALL agree with you.

I actually like the emotion written all over Sasha’s face that comes across as ALMOST awkward.

What I don’t like about this feud: Sasha’s still an asshole, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to buy her as a babyface in like 3 weeks. She has the sympathy vote in a meta sense, sure, and I’ve been saying I want her to run SD on her own since November 2019, but that doesn’t mean she’s automatically a babyface within kf. Also annoying that they haven’t had a brawl that ends on equal footing, via interruption by officials or something. Also not sure how much I buy the character of Bayley being “too scared” to come to SD. If I could’ve gotten a quick interview by her, even if it’s her leaving the arena just as she finds out Sasha has arrived, that would’ve tied this together better.

Why she still staring at the hard cam lmao. Walk away. Leave. Make your exit. Alright whatever.

Highlight: Alexa becoming the Fiend’s queen

---

Takeover 31:

Man true, I forget Io has beat both Charlotte and Sasha this year. What a big year for her.

Love how this entire “arena” is set up, but my covid-paranoia does not approve.

Lol that one single guy trying to start a chant, goodbye.

BEAUTIFUL corrected monkey flip by Io

The attempt at the springboard by Candice was there. Could’ve been cleaner.

Good transition having Candice counter Io into a backstabber in the corner, cuz that offense was taking way too long to set up.

Commentator attributed Candice being slow in the beginning because she’s sad Johnny lost. Tired of the Garganos being tied to each other.

Why is every female heel on every brand dragging people’s eyes/face across the ropes all of the sudden?

It was not a nice move, she needs to stop doing her poor woman’s version of Natural Selection. Done.

Y’all are losing me, give Io some momentum plz.

Every single heel wants to go slow and methodical. Ridiculous. Where’s Sasha.

This was not paced well, ESPECIALLY compared to their first match. Their first didn’t breathe enough and was a sprint with not enough selling, but it was still really good. This is paced on the complete opposite spectrum. And not good.

Io has the best dropkick in the division, especially when you consider how safe her landing is for her own body’s longevity.

Totally no sold that powerbomb, Io. That’s a yikes.

Lmao Io kicked out of Candice’s springboard moonsault. Haha.

Got a meteora, 2 backstabbers, and a crossface... again, where’s Sasha???

Lmfao 2 ref bumps and a fake referee. GOD I HATE HOW WOMEN’S MATCHES ARE BOOKED THIS YEAR. The first bump didn’t even look legit.

Io took a title shot to the face yet kicked out, and y’all out here calling Becky “Cena” for kicking out of a chair shot to the midsection? Annoying.

I’m now convinced Charlotte has the best Spanish fly in the entire women’s division.

Rich having Toni do a promo directly aimed at Io, considering Toni beat her to win the MYC. Also rich how unbothered Io seemed lmao.

Ahhh the nxt women’s champion that should’ve won her title by defeating Asuka. We remember her well. Injured herself chasing the 24/7 title back when they were running the Becky/Charlotte vs Sasha/Bayley feud. Good times.

Highlight: Io’s theme song

---

*NXT shined the brightest out of all the other shows, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t give major props to specifically Alexa Bliss.

[such-a-common-girl]

“I Don’t Get Jealous”  Lucifer x Reader

Word Count: 1,754

Lucifer x Reader

Request from Anon: Jealous Lucifer x reader please! Maybe where reader helps another Angel groom their wings and doesn't understand how intimate it is or why Lucifer is so jealous.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst

A/N: omg I’ve never wrote Lucifer before, I hope you like this, I was very nervous to write it lol. also i prefer mark pellegrino as lucifer better so i’m gonna use him for the gifs

Being in a relationship was hard.

Being a human in a relationship with an angel, let alone Lucifer himself, was even harder.

When you and Lucifer had met, you knew who he was, what he was. You’d been helping Sam and Dean hunt him down for god’s sake. You hated him to his gut, and wanted him back into the cage. That certainly didn’t change when you had first met.

He had taken you captive to hold you as bait for Sam and Dean, as you were their cousin and he knew that they would do anything for you. He kept you locked away in a room and only visited a few times a day when he would be giving you food. Those few times a day turned into several times a day, and the two of you started having meaningful conversations. You realized that he wasn’t as bad as everyone made him out to be- he just wanted to be loved by his dad, and he was honestly just hurt by the situation.

Lucifer eventually let you out of captivity, but you didn’t want to leave. You chose to stay there with him, much to Sam and Dean’s liking. But you couldn’t leave Lucifer. You felt like you had a connection with him, like you understood each other unlike anybody else.

Lucifer felt the same about you. When he had first taken you, he didn’t see you as anything but a piece of meat. You were beautiful, but you were nothing. Just a way to get Sam and Dean crawling into his lair so he could kill them, and then you. But once he started talking to you, he grew a liking towards you. He started to feel like he could trust you, which was something huge with him. He didn’t trust anybody. Eventually, when he realized that maybe his hiding place was too far out of reach for the boys, he decided he was going to let you go. He was genuinely sad once he realized that this woman that he had grown to like was leaving him, but that was immediately gone once you told him that you were staying.

But this was all a while ago. Since then, you two had grown into being in a relationship. Lucifer was quite a proud boyfriend, despite all the shit that was being talked on him for dating a human. He didn’t care- he’d killed anyone who he heard talking about it. That made everyone shut up quickly.

“Y/N, babe, come here.” Lucifer called out to you. You walked over to him, sitting on his lap as he looked up at you.

“Yes?” You asked.

“I love you. Don’t ever leave me.” He kissed you, you immediately kissing back. For being an angel, he certainly knew how to kiss. Amongst other things.

“You know I couldn’t.” You say. This was for many reasons, the most prominent being that he would probably literally never let you leave him. Even if you had left him, he would never let you date another guy. He would probably kill any other guy that even got near you. Lucifer is a very jealous man. You don’t mind though, not really. You had no plans of ever leaving him. Despite being the actual devil, he was the sweetest guy to you, and treated you very well. He was the best boyfriend you’d ever had. And a part of you loved that you’re the only person that he acts like this with.

“I’ve got to go out today, unfortunately.” He sighed. “You should come with me.”

“I’ve got school.” You frowned. You were a senior in college, graduating soon.

“Skip it.” He starts kissing your neck, bringing you in closer to him.

“I can’t, you know that. I have midterms next week.” You try to not let him effect you, but the quivering in your voice lets him know that he is.

“Skip that, too. I want to spend time with you. You’re always doing school or working.” He frowns.

“Fine, I’ll skip today, but next week I have got to go.” You give in.

“Good.” He kisses you before lifting you off of him, setting you on the floor.

“Where are we going, anyways?” You slide your shoes on.

“I’ve just got some personal business to take care of, nothing to worry about.” He puts his arms around you before transporting the both of you to the outside of a tall business building in New York City. You glance around, and no one seems to notice two people randomly appearing in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Nice change of scenery from where we were before.” You laugh. The two of you had been hiding out in some small town in Washington before, staying low. He didn’t want to be caught and you wanted to be able to attend college. It was a win-win situation.

“I thought you might like it.” He smiles at you. “I’ll only be a few hours. Have fun.” He kisses your forehead before walking inside of the building. You sigh, looking around at places to go. There are so many opportunities in New York.

You decide to just walk down the street and see what you find. You chose to get some pizza, walking into the shop. Your slice is huge and greasy, but it’s perfect.

You’re sitting at the windowsill eating when you see a familiar face walk past. It was Abraham, an angel that you used to talk to all the time before you settled down with Lucifer. You used to work with him on cases and he was close to what you would consider your best friend, well as friendly as an angel could get. But after you got with Lucifer, the two of you hadn’t spoken.

“Abraham!” You called out, running down the street. He stopped slowly, turning around and giving you a quizzical look.

“I thought you died.” He looks shocked.

“I am very much alive.” You smile, hugging him. He goes stiff at your touch, and you pull away, forgetting that he’s not very good with human contact.

“I see. Well, I have to go.” He looks nervous and desperate to get away from you.

“What?” You frown.

“Lucifer will not be happy to see you with me.”

“Well he can deal with it. I haven’t seen you in what feels like years.”

“I do not want to get you in trouble with him.” He looks like he’s trying to be careful with his words.

“I’ll be okay.” You smile, happy to see your friend again, even if he looks terrified to see you.

“I cannot take us anywhere right now, my wings need groomed so they are not working well at the moment. Only short distances. I have not had the time to groom them yet.” He blushes, looking down at the ground.

“Do you need help? I’ve done it before with Lucifer, I know how.” You suggest, trying to be helpful.

“I do not think that is a good idea, but thank you for the offer.”

“Oh, shut up, Abraham.” You roll your eyes. “Do you have a hotel room here or somewhere I can help you?”

All of the sudden you’re inside of a room, presumably an apartment from the looks of it.

“Why do you have an apartment? I thought you lived inside of Heaven.” You ask.

“I have been spending more time down here lately. I enjoy it here.”

“Took you long enough.” You smile at him.

He spreads his wings out, making you take a step back. You hadn’t ever seen his wings before, but they looked really cool. A little messy, but it was a cool sight to see.

You hesitantly walked towards him and started running your fingers through his wings, Abraham instantly relaxing at your touch. You begin to fix the feathers, making them look nice. You take your time, losing yourself in thought before the door swings open.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Lucifer growls, walking angrily towards you. Abraham puts his wings away almost immediately and looks terrified.

“Who the fuck are you?” Lucifer spits at him. For a moment, you thought he was going to kill him.

“Abraham.” He looked guilty.

“Abraham, hm? Here’s your first and only warning. The next time I ever see you near my girl, I will rip your throat out.”

Thankfully, when Abraham didn’t say anything, Lucifer just grabbed your hand and rushed you out the door. You really did think he was going to kill him.

“What the hell was that?” You asked him as he dragged you outside. He doesn’t respond, just grabs onto you tighter, and then all the sudden you two were back inside your house in Washington.

“Do you love him, Y/N?” Lucifer asks you. You can’t tell what his emotions are. It looks like a mixture of hurt, jealously, and anger all mixed in one.

“No, you know I only love you.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It’s not like we were having sex, Lucifer! He mentioned that his wings needed grooming and I told him I could do it. I don’t know what the big deal is.” You scoff. He is being ridiculous.

“Y/N.” His jaw line clenches. “Do you realize how… intimate that is?”

“Obviously not.”

“Let’s put it this way- you’re the only person I have ever let touch my wings, let alone groom them.”

“I don’t get it.” You were still confused.

“Wing grooming, it’s… Well, it’s sex. It’s a very, very personal encounter.”

“Oh.” You stayed quiet. “I didn’t know.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He pulls you into him.

“So that’s why you were so jealous?” You look up at him.

“Please,” He scoffs. “I don’t get jealous.”

“Keep telling yourself that, babe.”

“I don’t need to, because I don’t.”

“So, if I were to go find Castiel and groom his wings you’d-“

“Don’t talk about that.” He is getting angry again. You laugh and scoot your body as close to him as possible. He tenses up but eases once he realized you were kidding.

“Told you that you get jealous.”