#{trying to write lillian some more}

[welcometothevale]

Open Starter

She was taking a quick break from her booth for a much needed glass of water and few hits from her vape. Lillian's hair was damp with sweat. The azure blue waves ended just under her chin—curtain bands partly stuck to her forehead. It was already hot as hell in the club, and she wasn't one to just stand all corpse-like at the booth. She considered DJing at the club her exercise. No need to soulcycle when you're losing yourself in music.

After finishing one glass of water, forgoing a straw completely to drink faster, she asked for another. Lillian could feel someone looking at her and found the culprit to be sitting next to her. "What? Something on my face?" She asked. While her tone was thick with sarcasm, it wasn't unkind. On her face was a smile. But, one would need to have a loose definition of the word smile to consider the minute quirk of the left side of her mouth one.

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, graphic violence, injuries, blood, accidental domestic violence? Guns, possible ooc,

Part 20: fireflies

🔹🔹🔹

after that night in town you can’t focus on anything but.

there was no resting and recovering for you, your brain was locked in overdrive analyzing every detail of the night, from the way the woman first approached you to the exact symptoms of whatever the drug was. you wasted no time and went right to your phone as soon as your door shut behind you. dropping back on the bed limply while you get to work making a case file, there’s no record of a pam in your life online, but you quickly realize there isn’t any record of you at all before the wayne’s.

on the old wayne socials the other you mostly posted about the kids, the husband, various events and trips, but there's barely anything personal, there was reference of a college education, a social circle, family, but there's no actual evidence of any of it. it’s like that was all scrubbed from the web. this just makes everything pam said all the more suspicious, just what’s hidden in the other you’s past and how are the wayne’s involved?

going into the GCPD records shows nothing either, no criminal record, nowrite ups, not even so much as a speeding ticket, nothing before the gala incident. for days you sift and run through channels looking for something that tells you who’s body you’re in right now, but it just makes you more and more frustrated, one things for certain, someone’s scrubbed the other you’s life clean and did a damn fine job of it.

it’s like you’ve found yourself in the middle of a mission with no goal, no direction, and no idea what role you’re supposed to play in it all. where does this leave you? this time you’re withdrawn, not because you’re angry but because you’re researching.

two days after the encounter with pam, you find something. it had been a whim to check through the gotham university photos after the records were bone-dry, but there in one singular photoframe in the background of someone elses photo, there was a younger you standing beside the pam woman. you were putting some kind of ribbon around her neck while she proudly held up a potted plant like it was a trophy to the photographer, you couldn’t make out the writing on the ribbon so you don’t have context but you now have confirmation that you engaged with her in some capacity years ago. It's bare-bones, but it's something, you'll take any wins you can get here.

the next thing you do is sort through the GCPD systems for a red head named pam, which is obviously very tedious but you won’t risk running an AI program on their servers just yet. You thought you were lucky when you found her quickly, that is until you read her file.

Isley, Pamela, gendered, AFAB, pronouns, she/her, Caucasian, red hair, green eyes,

Isley, Pamela, charged with, eco terrorism, domestic terrorism, murder, suspected murder, theft, breaking and entering, assault, battery, manslaughter,

Pamela Lillian Isley, also known as alias, poison ivy, was last spotted escaping Arkham asylum at appr 3:48 AM on February 11th, during an insurrection wherein multiple squad cars responded to the scene, Pamela Isley is registered on the Meta database of America and is considered a threat to human life, do not approach on sight, report if suspected in area,

oh, fuck.

you’re not stupid, obviously this woman is trying to get you alone, regardless of motive you’re not walking into something like that unarmed and unprepared. even if the tantalizing call of offered info is like a sirens song through the fog. no you know better than to fall for free candy signs on vans.

🔹🔹🔹

the back gardens actually quite nice this afternoon, you’d hauled yourself out of your little hidey hole and wandered the empty manor until you’d found yourself out here soaking up a little bit of the rare gotham sunshine on a deck chair. you need a breather before you make any moves.

breathe in, hold, exhale, and repeat. you try to meditate for a while, though you’ve never been great at it even after all these years. you can never quite empty your mind and let go of your surroundings. it’s too ingrained in you that safety isn’t earned through lack of vigilance.

still you try, you focus on the sound of a gentle breeze through the trees and shrubbery around you, the gentle warmth of the sun hitting your closed eyelids, the rustle of the dog dashing around and the various wildlife sounds in the distance, and the sound of your slowly steadying breathing.

it’s nearly twenty minutes later when you also hear the sound of the backdoor slowly sliding open, you relax your entire body and keep your breathing slow and even.

something shifts, the quietest clack of shoes on the concrete patio grow closer to you, it’s too quiet, you’re sick of being snuck up on.

something quickly pokes you in the shoulder, probably a hand if you had to guess. it isn’t until something cold and clearly metal presses against your neck do you react.

you quickly grab at the object and yank it forward while twisting it, you’d rather risk your hands than your throat. just as you start to roll out of the chair do you see who’s behind you….. tim quickly backs away with a surprised look on his face, hands raised placatingly. looking down you see a metal pen in your hand….

“….are…are you okay?” tim mumbles as he backs away, eyes wide and wild while his hands quickly go up in a placating gesture.

the pen quickly slips through your fingers onto the chair and you quickly stand, rubbing the back of your neck tiredly while you stretch your neck, you just can’t catch a fucking break huh. “mhmm, yeah. Don't scare me like that kiddo, I haven't been sleeping well since the incident.”

Tim looks away in that you can only assume is guilt as his eyes drop to the ground, his jaw clenched a he rubs at the back of his neck for a moment before his hand quickly drops back down to bury in his cropped hoodie pocket.

“…sorry….”

he avoids your form, he’s clearly feeling awkward around you which makes you all the more curious what he came out here to bother you for then. also isn’t it a weekday?…. “Don't mention it, you're off early aren't you? I thought you weren't off until five or six.”

sure you’re a bit blunt, but you’re not in the mood to play meek with him these days. especially not after he’d jabbed you with a pen, it’s like he’s just begging to get stabbed on accident.

his weight shifts foot to foot but he finally looks at you and meets your eye, his words make you tense.“something's going down in the city so I made everybody go home early.”

“something's going down?” you quickly step around the chair to grab his shoulder, grip firm.

he looks down at the hand for a moment, brows furrowed and his jaw tensed, he’s mad? “yeah…. Something about those pyromaniac's.”

your grip quickly tightens on him as if you’re trying to squeeze the information out of him, he’s far too hesitant in your opinion, that’s not something to mumble around! “What? Right now?”

tim frowns at you and gently shrugs your hand off his shoulder and straightens his hoodie out as if you’d wrinkled it in your pushy questioning.

“right now, why don't you come inside and calm down a bit.”

you swear your eye twitches a bit at his near-condescending reply.

“hang on a second, where's everyone else then? Are they inside too?” you tuck your own hands into your sweatshirt pockets and mirror his posture, you’re really trying not to look as tense as you feel at the moment, you’ve got a bad feeling about this….

again he avoids your eye, the kid really needs to work on that. “No, well Alfred's here. Bruce and everyone else is…. Out.”

now you’re just annoyed with him, what’s with the fucking attitude? your argument was with bruce it’s not like you called the whole family idiots, he’s acting like he’s personally offended by you. “Define ‘out’?”

his eyes narrow at you and you swear he stands up a little taller, his body language is clearly challenging now as his tone becomes almost accusatory. “what're you asking for.”

“So I can smother them obviously, why do you think I'm asking where everyone is?” you don’t even hide the eye roll as you step around him to head towards the backdoor.

his expression doesn’t waver as he twists to face you when you brush past him. “…. They're out.”

unfortunately for him, you know how to snap him out of his little stand off and take the wind out of his sails.

“Tim I don't have time for this, if Bruce is having an affair or something that's his business, you don't have to make excuses for him.”

“Woah what-!?” his shoes scuff the patio as he nearly trips over his own two feet, he rights himself and quickly trots after you with clear disbelief in his body language. But you don't let up with the saccharine sweet tone as you sigh deeply and continue your speil. “I'm just worried about your younger siblings getting caught up in something bad out there, aren't you?”

“…..I always am.”

Just as you expected, he drops his gaze and buries his hands deeper in his pockets in a slouch. His voice a barely audible mumble while he purses his lips together tightly.

“Are they still in school or….” you kinda regret not talking to anyone for so long as an awkward silence falls over the two of you, you wouldn't have had to grill Tim for details if you'd been around and talked to the people you live with.

“Yeah, I was gonna go and pick them up with Alfred Actually-” you cut him off quickly before he can finish that sentence. “I'm going with you two.”

“what, really?” he sounds downright disbelieving, like he can't comprehend you willingly locking yourself in a car with him and Alfred after the fight you and Bruce had, it's kinda annoying how flighty the kid is with you.

“Mhmm, fill me in on what's happening on the way. yeah?”

You don't give Tim time to rebuff you before you're stepping around him to slide the back doors open, but just before you step through you remember the last time you did something impulsive, you pull out you phone to send a quick, curt text to a certain someone.

I'm going to town with A and T, don't freak out.-

🔹🔹🔹

You'd mercifully given Tim the front seat after all but forcing yourself into their trip, your fingers drum quickly and without pattern against the center console while you watch traffic moving in front of you. It's the off-work rush so not only is everyone in their cars in a bad mood, but there's an active attack taking place somewhere in the city. Clearly everyone's feeling the heavy tension, heads bowed and hands harshly grip steering wheels every which way you look.

“…. You didn't need to bother yourself with tagging along, master Wayne.” Alfred catches your eye in the rearview mirror after he speaks, his eyebrows raised in question or judgement as if you've committed some faux pas simply be being here.

You bite back any snappy remarks before they can pass your tongue, you know when you've earned a little harshness so you swallow your words. “I'm aware, but I'd like to see if the kiddos are okay myself.”

You glance out the side window just as two sets of eyes lock on your form, you ignore their heavy stares as you study the streets you're slowly passing through, memorizing Street names and signs just Incase.

The sidewalks are just about empty despite the early hour, and the few people you do see are clearly in a hurry as they quickly shuffle down the cracked concrete and avoid each other as much as they dodge the traffic, you watch as two men give each other wide berths and throw dirty looks at one another. whatever's happening must be bad.

It's Tim who breaks the silence this time, he's still studying you closely when you look forward. “…. So were you joking about the affair thing earlier?”

Tim's question gets Alfred to whip around to look at you for just a moment before he quickly turns back at the road, clearly he didn't like this conversation already. You just huff silently at the two of them and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “obviously, though I know it's not normal to be out all night every night, but whatever Bruce's up to isn't my business.”

You hope they can leave it at that and go back to the awkward silence, but they're clearly not satisfied with that as they both share a glance and focus back on you. Maybe they're finding entertainment in the potential drama of it all. The streets finally clear up a bit and the cars able to pick up a bit of speed since entering the city.

“…. He's definitely not running around with someone else…..” Tim's mumbled words nearly pull a laugh out of you, the kids clearly in the know about something judging by the surly tone and suddenly darting eyes, he can't even make eye contact while saying it. He needs to practice his lying a little more if he plans to stay in the world of business.

“Young Tim's correct, Bruce isn't that type of man at all master.” Alfred's better at it than Tim, clearly. he almost sounds scolding, he knows how to get you to doubt yourself a bit.

“I'll take your word for it-!” your words get cut off when something smacks into rear side of the car and jostles everyone, it wasn't hard enough for whiplash but that's not your concern right now as you watch the car that apparently t-boned you stop, and then it backs up so quickly their tires squeal. You already know what's coming when they back into a street sign to stop, and immediately start to pull forward again.

Apparently Tim does too as he shouts at Alfred. “that was intentional, They're trying to hit us!”

“I'm aware, Master Timothy.” Alfred mutters with surprising calmness as he throws the car into drive, you're slightly impressed at the man's composed tone and decent timing as he just barely avoids the car.

You lean forward into the center console to converse with the two of them, your nails still tapping on the damn wood. “just my fucking luck, you think they want us dead or alive.”

“most likely alive judging by how slowly they hit the car, maybe they want hostages or to kill us in person.” Alfred muses calmly, eyes locked on the rearview while you nod in acceptance of his reasoning. “Makes sense to me.”

Tim looks between the both of you with a panicked frown on his face, he keeps swiveling around to look at the car as it clumsily manoeuvers to follow. “Can you both not talk about dying so casually?”

“I'm quite old Timothy, part of my everyday is wandering when I'll die.” Alfred and you nearly speak over each other. “I already technically died at that gala, what's a little murder talk now, yeah?”

You watch the other car as well, how they seem determined to follow you through Gothams complicated streets. nearly clipping a firetruck pulling out of a grotto. You watch as a few pedestrians quickly run down alleys or into buildings to avoid the swerving cars. their panicked expressions blurring together in the light of the setting sun in your view.

alfred yanks on the wheel and takes a sharp turn when the car nearly runs into backed up traffic, narrowly avoiding getting stuck while you and tim are jostled and thrown about like rocks in the wash, you wince in sympathy when tim’s head smacks into the window and he quickly grabs at his temple. he nearly drops the phone he’d just pulled out of his pocket.

“don’t break something now.” you sigh out at him, turning around to watch the dark toyota sideline a stop sign but still manage to pull away and follow your vehicle, more distance between the cars now but it seems they’re determined.

“well there goes my evening plans!” tim’s sarcastic response would get a chuckle out of you if you weren’t watching the attackers speed up recklessly behind you.

“please, hang onto something!” alfred says quickly before slamming the breaks and turning the car around, you’re genuinely surprised he can drift.

both cars screech to a stop on opposite ends of the street, facing each other almost like some kind of game of chicken, your car, an SUV obviously has a little more weight in the frame so you know who’d win that. hopefully the other car isn’t stupid enough to try anyways.

“you think they’re part of the pyros?” you lean forward between the two front seats again to converse, you and alfred staring down the car while tim is quickly texting on his phone, hopefully he’s texting the younger boys to stay somewhere safe if they’re still at school. and maybe bruce and the police while he’s at it.

“i think it would be safe to assume so, (name).”

you go to reply but you quickly shut your mouth when the dark car suddenly throws itself into reverse and careens backwards down the street, you don’t really have time to question it when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. “shit-brace yourselves-!!”

You barely get the words out before something large and red slams into the side of the car.

Metal creaks like trees in a tornado as a firetruck hits the side of the car and rams it up against the face of a building, Alfred roughly smacks into the steering wheel gasping and Tim again hits against the door and window, he's lucky it was closed as all the doors are effectively pinned shut between the brick wall and the large vehicle. Your own bodies roughly smacked into Tim's seat at an awkward angle that immediately makes your neck ache at the force exerted on it.

“Christ on a cracker…. Are you both alive?….” Tim groggily mumbles as he sits up and glances at both you and Alfred, you give him a thumbs up while Alfred slowly straightens up and runs his hand through his thinning dark hair, his eyes hazy for the moment but he manages a nod. you're definitely bruised and hurting, but breathing.

“Mhmm, just peachy. We need out of here about ten seconds ago…” you mumble as you shake yourself out of your stupor, throwing a glance at the firetruck that's apparently been put into park for the moment, the engine idling down. You're quickly unbuckling yourself and grabbing at the headrest of the passenger seat, Muttering to yourself under your breath in a focused panic. “Come on, come on don't be one of those stuck ones…”

Tim twists and glances at you in confusion as you wriggle the cushion off and start to climb over the console into the front with him and Alfred. “What're you doing?”

“getting us out, this glass isn't bulletproof right?” there's no way to comfortably position yourself sitting on the center console but you don't care at the moment, you're in survival mode now. “I don't think so!?”

You turn the cushion around and use the metal prongs to ram at the corner of the windshield repeatedly, the loud scratchy thumping nearly drowning out the sound of a car engine getting closer, probably the Toyota from before. it takes a moment but the glass starts cracking eventually so you turn your face away and close your eyes as you blindly continue. Trying your hardest not to breathe in pulverized glass, been there done that. Wouldn't recommend doing that again. “Cover your faces if you don't wanna eat glass!”

You can only assume they do as you say as you blindly smash part of the window open, the sound of a car door opening somewhere prompts you to quickly drop the headrest and turn your body to donkey kick at the fractured spot until you break out about half the windshield.

You see two coming around the parked firetruck, one holding a bottle and a lighter while another carries something else, something you desperately want at the moment, a gun.

“Wait don't do anything rash-!” You drown out Tim's words, only casting a quick glance at the two unbuckling their seatbelts on either side of you before you move forward to crawl out of the windshield on your belly, fragments of glass dig into your body through your clothes and gouge scratches down your hands and front, but it’s not deep enough to worry about at the moment as you roll off the hood of the car right as the two approaching men reach you and try to grab at your clothes to hold you still. the one with the gun points it at you and tries to bark orders at all the three of you.

“freeze! none of you move if you want to keep this one's head intact-”

you don’t have time to let him go off as you see the other one start to flick his lighter under the bottle, so you shove the gun away from your temple and headbutt him in the kidney, as soon as you get up on your feet again you throat-punch the armed one as hard as you can. Roughly snatching the gun out of his hands as soon as he stumbles and tries to clutch at his neck, you’re lucky they’re slow on the uptake.

Of course you waste no time in clicking the safety off on the gun and threatening the other man. “drop that bottle and i’ll kill you slowly.”

you’re straight to the point as you threaten the still standing man, he seems to take you seriously after glancing down at the struggling and wheezing man on the ground because he slowly lifts his hands up in surrender. now with the upper-hand at the moment you shift your hold on the gun to gesture over your shoulder at the people in the car to climb out, not taking your eyes off the two wanna-be attackers for a second. “Get out of the car.”

you’re slightly surprised at how quickly they both get out, you thought the older man would’ve struggled at the least but it seems he manages well enough with Tim's help to crawl out and climb over the hood of the near-crushed car.

“What's the plan here, Skippy.” you casually place yourself in front of the two men behind you as you attempt to question the man, you don't want him getting any ideas with that bottle and lighter after all.

He scowls at you but you can clearly see he's all nerves, he's spilling small drops of the fuel on himself with how bad he's trembling, the adrenaline must be wearing off. “i ain't saying duck, rich pig.”

You fight back a sigh, it's as if him and the man from days ago read the same book with the same points in it, you wonder if the arsonists have a recruiting pamphlet or something.

“You just did though, where'd the truck come from?” You sneak a glance at the firetruck, peeling scratched paint and cracked glass everywhere, definitely an older model too, you shudder to think what that thing could've done to the car if they got it going full speed.

“Didn't you hear me? I said I ain't telling you-”

You're yanked backwards and away from the man as the dark Toyota from earlier narrowly misses ramming into you all, instead it hits the wall where you were just standing while a car alarm instantly starts going off. The two men start shrieking at the driver, well the standing one does, the other one is still wheezing.

You're surprised to see Tim behind you, hauling you with him by the back of your shirt while he also drags Alfred by the arm further away from the yelling men. “I think we need to leave!”

You can't argue with that, you check the mag and pull the slide back to see if the Glock is actually a threat, this one's indeed fully loaded with one in the chamber. meaning someone was prepared to use it, possibly on an old man or a barely adult aged teen? You hear glass shattering behind you and when you glance back, the empty car you'd just been in is going up in flames.

“Oh God damn it I just had that thing deep cleaned too…dad's gonna kick my ass” Tim bemoans pitifully at the sight but keeps yanking you around like a puppy on a leash. He tries to pull both you and Alfred away from the panicked pedestrians further down the street but you don't let him, you quickly unzip and throw your sweatshirt off and yank Tim's cropped hoodie up over his head and toss both things down an alley.

“you’re too standout, blend in like your life depends on it.” technically it does, but you figure you should probably try not to freak them out anymore than they actually are at the moment. You're caught off guard when Alfred drops his black suit over your shoulders. as he willingly follows you towards the smallish crowd.

“Your shirt is bloody, you should probably cover it up if you intend to hide in plain sight.”

you look down at yourself as if surprised, with the adrenaline rushing through your veins you’d forgotten all about the glass scratching you already, you wince when you see the thin red lines seeping through your white undershirt in slowly spreading rivulets. you slip the overcoat on and tuck your stolen gun in one of the inner pockets so you’ve got two hands free. that’s gonna be annoying later…

tim runs a stressed hand through his messy hair (courtesy of you pulling the hoodie) and reluctantly sticks close to the two of you, it’s clear he’d rather not follow your lead right now, you wonder if he’d even still be here if it was just you and him with no alfred in the mix, guess you’ll never know.

“i can’t believe this….what the hell are we supposed to do on the street? just wait for the cops and batman to sweep in while we’re literally being targeted like fish in a barrel?” tim grabs at your wrist and studies one of the scratches.

“would you have liked to have stayed in the currently burning car? cooked alive but we could’ve done it in luxury huh.” you scowl at the young man after snapping back, pulling your arm free from his and quickly turning a street corner.

alfred is already gasping quietly so you stop to let him catch his breath in the shadow of a tall building, he nods at you in acknowledgement yet still gives you a scolding look after he leans himself up against the scratchy bricks behind him. “master (name), tim is young. leave it alone.”

you shoot a glance at tim and watch him worriedly peering around the building looking up and down the street while biting his lip, he’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet right now…you sigh quietly as you look away, awkward guilt curling in your gut like a parasite. goddamn it all.

“….yeah i know, that’s my bad. sorry kiddo.” you quietly call out to tim at the end of your sentence, you need to get a damn grip on yourself.

he glances over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows and quickly looks away, he’s quiet for long enough that you assume he’s not gonna reply but you just barely catch him quietly saying something after a few moments. “….don’t worry about it.”

some screaming down the street interrupts your little break so you sidle up beside tim to peek around the building corner, the orange glow getting brighter and reflecting off windows and metal signs let’s you know exactly what’s happening less than a block away. the gun feels all the heavier in your pocket when you realize the men are molotov-ing a storefront.

the infinity stone must have given you absolutely shit luck or something because how the hell do you keep winding up in situations like these here? if it’s not natalia pushing you to be a hero it’s your own stupid sentimental attachments to children and mean old butlers. you nudge tim’s shoulder with your own and gesture down the opposite street with your head.

“let’s go while we can, let alfred take point i’ll follow you both.”

alfred huffs loudly behind you and pushes off the wall to place a surprisingly firm hand on your shoulder. “this isn’t the titanic, mx (name). the elderly don’t need to be given priority. master tim doesn’t need to just follow us around as we want.”

in response you just pull the overcoat open and gesture at the gun handle poking out of the pocket. “i’m armed, i can give you two cover.”

you didn’t expect alfred to pull the edge of his shirt up and gesture at his belt. “i’m also armed.”

well shit, you had no clue he was a concealed carrier. you frown at him and cross your arms over your chest, is this really worth arguing about right now?

“well that’s all the more reason for you to take lead, you set a pace you can manage and we’ll both watch out for tim.”

tim loudly clears his throat and tries to step between the two of you before you get distracted. “i’m not a little kid that needs to hold someone’s hand, i’m literally a grown man! let’s just all try to find somewhere safe, i’m sure there’s police barricades everywhere?…”

you and alfred both shush him though, this ain’t about that.

“master tim, we’re simply just trying to deduce the most efficient way of traveling right now-” alfreds words are cut off by something shattering overhead as all hell breaks loose in the alley.

you don’t even have to look up to know what it is so you just immediately grab both of their arms and yank them out into the street, glancing them over for evidence of any glass or burning fuel on them. once you’re sure they’re probably okay you pull the gun out and point it in the direction the molotov was thrown from. catching sight of the familiar dark coat from earlier, guess you took too long figuring shit out.

the man’s lighting another bottle and there’s definitely more of his allies down the street if the various screams echoing between the buildings is anything to go by, you shoot one last glance at tim and alfred before you make the split second decision to shove them both the opposite direction before you throw yourself over a car hood and start running the other way.

you hear shouting behind you but you just hope the two of them aren’t stupid enough to play hero and chase you. After all you've got enough stupid for the trio, what the hell is your plan? You're not a costumed freak running around with a bone to pick with crime itself, you're just a killer with the wrong hands.

All thoughts of how stupid you are slip your mind as more glass shatters, this time just feet away from your shoes. Oh goddamn it! You go up and over another car hood and scowl to yourself, do they just have backpacks full of fuel bottles? Where the hell did they even get this much!? You force yourself to quiet down and breathe slowly and just focus.

This is what you're made for, you've gotta complete this just like any other mission you've ever been on. You're not allowed to fuck up. You listen closely, drowning out the other sounds of the city and wait.

As soon as the steps get louder you glance under the car and watch for them, glass crunches underneath a boot and that's when you move.

Throwing yourself over the boot of the car is easy, so is kicking out at the man and slamming your heel into his sternum and knocking him to the ground with a loud and pained grunt. You might've cracked something under your steel toe boot if the way he gasps and gags on air is anything to go by.

Someone rushes you and you just barely avoid the wildly swinging crowbar with a sidestep, you're not so lucky to avoid the first guys wild haymaker to the Gut though.

You have to fight the instinctive doubling over and only just manage to keep yourself upright enough to avoid the other man's attempt to smash a bottle over your head. You grab his wrist and twist it behind his back hard enough to sprain it and as soon as he drops the bottle you snatch it up and pull the rag out, the morons gonna light himself and his friend up waving an opened Molotov cocktail around all night.

“ow-fuck! Let go of me you cun-” you slam his head into the nearest wall to shut him up, you don't even feel bad about the teeth when you look around at all the lit up windows and screaming civilians around the block.

You're really in the middle of it huh, hopefully Tim and Alfred got the hell out of Dodge…

Fuck, fuck where the hell did the other one go!? Another bottles tossed nearby and the resounding burst of bright flame nearly has you doubling over squeezing your eyes shut, it's too bright, too hot. And now you're murderously pissed as well as panicking.

The other dark clothed attackers seem to be targeting windows and store fronts at the moment so you drop the knocked out man and let him pitifully slide down the wall so you have room to shred a part of Alfred's overcoat and make a makeshift mask, it won't protect you from smoke but it'll slow down inhaling some gas fumes at the least.

Another bottle thrown and you hear them whooping excitedly, you think you're starting to itch for your gun as you watch them target an apartment building next, you'd think a group seemingly targeting the rich wouldn't go after civilian life.

As soon as the closest one to you looks down to prep another bottle you dart around the corner of the building and throw another throat punch, if it works it works after all. He gags audibly as you pull him in front of you to avoid the second one swinging a knife at you, he awkwardly avoids his partner which gives you time to kick him between the legs, hard. Once he curls forward you throw another kick at his head.

A set of arms wraps around you from behind as the first man tries to bodily lift you off the ground, you're more surprised he shook off a punch to the Adams apple so quickly but whatever, you curl your legs up towards your chest like you're doing a crunch and then quickly kick out to throw him off balance with your weight, it works and as soon as he stumbles you plant your feet on the ground and drop all your weight, slipping out of his arms and stepping under his shoulder to get behind him so you can slap your hand over his ear as hard as you can. You know the stinging pain in your hand is nothing compared to what the now screaming man nursing his eardrum on the ground is going through.

The hell's that? Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of a barely-visible spotlight in the near dark sky. It confuses you enough to pause in your step for just a second for a doubletake, these people are so weird about bats.

You need to get out of here, more importantly you need to find out where the others are. You pull your phone out and unlock it so you can pull up Bruce's contact, just as your thumb hovers over the press call button you hear rustling above you, you barely catch sight of the cape before you duck you drop kick aimed at your face.

The surprise heavy fist that followed slams into your jaw so hard you swear you feel all your teeth compress into your gums, the pain is near-instant, a combination of down-to-the-bone aching and the sharp, almost cold sting of your lip splitting. You'll be feeling that for a long time.

Another ones aiming for you so you grab the arm and throw your leg over it, twisting your body around to throw all your weight into the man's shoulders, your thighs squeezing around his neck. The dark figure grabs at your calves and slams himself backwards into the wall behind him which knocks some of out of your lungs, thoroughly pissed off you throw your weight forward and slip off him into a roll, stopping in a crouch a few feet from him, he tries to move after you just as quickly, angling himself for a kick that might just cripple you if it lands on your back so you use the near-empty Molotov bottle you still have in your possession and splash the remainder of it in the open part of his cowl, aiming for the mouth and nose.

As soon as he chokes and wipes at his face you smash the bottle on his head and use the jagged neck if the glass to swipe at him, aiming for the gaps in his armor around his armpit.

He tries to disarm you, gloved hands prying your struggling fingers open so you let him, as soon as your hands empty you pull the gun and use the barrel to strike him in the jaw. A kick to the kneecaps gets him to buckle so you knock him down and pin him with the gun pressed to his head, you've just pinned down Batman.

“Fucking…. What the hell’re you doing…?” Your words are coming out weird thanks to the punch, bit he seems to get it well enough as he suddenly stiffens under you just as you cock the hammer.

“….(Name)?”

“Yes?!” his shocked tone would've been downright comical if you hadn't just kicked each others asses, you yank your makeshift bandana down so you can properly scowl at the masked hero, licking the blood off your teeth.

“I…what are you doing out here?” he pushes you off him, though his hand stays on your shoulder as he seems to be examining you closely.

“Trying not to get set on fire that's what, my car got firebombed…. Well technically it's my husband's car.” you stand up, ignoring his offered hand of assistance even as your body protests the movement, damn your head hurts…you lean up against the brick wall and pocket the Glock before wiping at the blood dribbling down your chin.

He clearly takes the hint and gives you your distance for the moment. “I thought you were…the mask and the bottle didn't…how bad is it?”

He wipes at his mouth again almost awkwardly, his body language clearly conveying guilt as he leans towards you subconsciously.

“Dunno, my face is going numb. If I lose teeth you're paying for it.” your words are more reflex than anything, the type of thing you'd say to Natalia or Captain Rogers after a harsh training session gone a bit bruised and bloody. It happens.

Surprisingly he nods quickly at that, good. You selfishly almost hope he feels bad. You'll probably feel that way until your jaw stops aching.

“I'll take care of it, anything actually. I'm just…. I'm sorry.”

“I'll live, shut up. Barnes punches me a hell of a lot harder than you anyways.”

you don't even realize what you've done until he suddenly grabs your shoulder, masked head tilting as of he's studying ever inch of your whole face. His voice drops deeper and gruffer than you've heard him before.

“who the hell is Barnes?”

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: I'm so tired y'all IDK if there's any mistakes in this, I'll spell check tomorrow✌️ hopefully it's not too long, hope y'all have a good day/night and enjoy a little treat for yourself today ❤️

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444 @br33zy-blizzardz @lunarapple @findingjaxx @4rachn3 @buckturd @tsxukikami @paastaboi @duskeras @ibelyss @1abi

[ellealyssum]

well-read ✦ zayne x reader ✦ fluff/smut ✦ 2.6k words

You knew better, but the little terror that lives in your brain that loves sowing seeds of doubt tells you that your loving boyfriend is actually keeping his distance because he thinks you're into tentacle porn now. Zayne likes to know what you're reading. It's not what he was expecting.

p in v sex, fingering, established relationship, yes they use protection, bookworm!reader, fem!reader, not suitable for readers under 18

okay so i'm like halfway through 'stalked by the kraken' by lillian lark and that's what inspired this. plus i need zayne immediately. (also if you're into tentacles that's cool they're just not my cup of tea personally)

also on ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 If Zayne were to write a list of things he loves about you it would be miles long. Just one of the things on that list would be your love of reading. 

 Zayne was a reader himself, although he spent most of his time with his nose in medical texts. As important as it was for him to keep up with the latest research in cardiology, he often wished he had the time to sit down with a different genre occasionally. Honestly, he was a little envious of you. You somehow always found time to read. Whether it be during lunch breaks, before bed, or even just for ten spare minutes while you were waiting for dinner to cook, you most likely had a book in your hand. And your library was vast. You devoured everything from epic fantasy to poetry to non-fiction on any topic that caught your interest. Zayne adored your intellectual curiosity. He was a firm believer that making time for reading was a good habit of self-improvement. So naturally, he took an interest in your current choice of book.

 It was later than he would have liked, bordering on 9pm. The smell of stir-fry and rice hits him as he walks through his front door. He spots you, curled up on his couch with a cup of tea and an open book in your lap. Flipping the volume closed with a satisfying thump, you meet his gaze with a bright smile.

 "Welcome home, love. I left some dinner for you on the counter."

 God, you were so good to him.

 "Thank you," he murmurs, making his way over to give you a chaste kiss. "I'll go and wash up first. Go back to your book."

 You don't need to be told twice. You were still in the exact spot he'd left you once he returned, donning a comfortable shirt and sweatpants with a contentedly full stomach.

 "Thank you for cooking, sweetheart. It was delicious."

 You don't close your book this time, used to a quiet after-dinner routine of flipping through your respective literature. 

 "No problem. I had to cook for myself, anyway, so I just made double of everything."

"Well, I still appreciate it," he adds, sinking into the sofa beside you.

 His eyes fall to your book. He couldn't tell what it was from the cover. You often covered your books with a simple strip of craft paper to ward off curious looks from your coworkers when you read on breaks. You simply didn't think they needed to know what you were reading about every day. You preferred to be inconspicuous, so a blank cover on one of your books was not an abnormal sight.

 "What are you reading?"

 It was a question he had asked hundreds of times, and that you had always been more than happy to answer. So the blush tinging your cheeks and the nervous twitch of your fingers was very odd, indeed.

 "Oh, it's just more paranormal fiction," you explain, conveniently moving the book away from him and placing it on the side table.

 "Just paranormal fiction, huh?" He strokes the backs of his fingers along your pink cheek. It was blissfully warm.

 "What has you acting so suspiciously then, hmm?"

 You huff and roll your eyes at him, the way you often did when he'd caught on to something you'd rather him not know.

 "It's..." Your brow furrows as if trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. He gestures for you to keep talking. "It's a romance. A paranormal romance."

 He was a little underwhelmed by your response. You were known to enjoy a romantic film when you watched movies together, so why would reading a romance be a source of embarrassment?

 "Sweetheart, we've been together for months. We see each other almost every day. You think I don't know you enjoy a little romance?"

 You let out an exasperated sigh. 

 "It's just that... it's not a normal romance. It's... explicit."

 He couldn't help but chuckle. 

 "You don't need to feel any shame about reading erotica, my love. Especially not around me. You know, the man you're sleeping with?"

 "I know that." You turn in your seat to look at him now. "It's not exactly normal erotica, either."

 Oh, now he's intrigued.

 "How so?"

 He swears he sees a glint in your eye before you reach behind you and hand the book in question to him.

 "See for yourself."

・・・・・

 It had been two days since you'd last seen Zayne. Not for any particular reason, you were both just busy with work and hadn't had the time to communicate much outside of a few quick texts. This wasn't out of the ordinary, but you can't help but feel anxious.

 You shouldn't have given him that damned book.

 You didn't even care that it was your only copy and that you couldn't keep reading it. You knew better, but the little terror that lives in your brain that loves sowing seeds of doubt tells you that your loving boyfriend is actually keeping his distance because he thinks you're into tentacle porn now.

 That wasn't even true. Yes, the book you were reading was a romance about a woman who falls in love with (and fucks, multiple times) a kraken. Yes, it was pretty hot. But tentacles have never been something you've sought out and that wasn't about to change. This particular book was highly recommended on the few online forums you browsed, so you had decided to give it a shot, just out of curiosity.

 You think about your sweet, mostly-vanilla Dr. Zayne reading the sex scenes in that book and you wish time travel were feasible so you could go back in time and snatch it away from the version of yourself that for some reason thought it would be a funny idea to give it to him.

 But for now you needed to stop spiralling, because said sweet doctor was set to arrive at your apartment with dinner any minute now.

 Another five minutes and he was standing in your doorway, take-out in hand and looking surprisingly... relaxed? Changing into the house slippers you kept for him, he greeted you with a sweet kiss and began serving the food onto plates.

 Strange. You thought for sure he'd have at least some reaction. Maybe he hadn't read the book at all and you'd been worrying yourself to the point of being nauseous over absolutely nothing. Yes, that was probably it. He was a busy cardiac surgeon! Of course he hadn't had time to read your silly book.

 You managed to reassure yourself enough to enjoy a relaxing meal, the both of you filling each other in on your busy work days. Being the gentleman he was, Zayne followed you into the kitchen to help wash up once you were both done. He'd just handed you the last of the utensils to dry when he softly cleared his throat.

 "I read some of the book you leant me." You immediately freeze, not knowing what to expect. "I didn't realise you were into... that sort of thing."

 You bury your face in the towel you were holding. Oh God, he did think you were into tentacles now.

 "I fear I may lack the equipment necessary to act on such desires though."

 You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His brow is furrowed. He looks almost disappointed that he doesn't have tentacles. Oh God.

 "I'm not into tentacles." Your voice is quiet. Embarrassed. 

 His relief is immediate. You might have laughed if you hadn't been so mortified. 

 "Well, what is it you do enjoy about the book, then? You were quite engrossed in it the other evening."

 You sit yourself on the countertop with a huff. There was no avoiding the topic now. When Zayne wanted to know something, he was going to find out.

 "It's not about the... appendages," you explain earnestly. "It's the emotions. It's about trusting someone so much you can show them your entire self, even in an intimate situation.

 He nodded, considering your words, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Speaking of intimate situations, fuck this man was hot when he was deep in thought. It was unfair.

 "Very insightful, love." He steps closer to you and you squeeze your thighs together a little in anticipation.

 "It seems I need to revisit the story."

 And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves you sitting on the counter all by yourself, stunned.

 Now you really regretted giving him that damned book.

・・・・・

 It had only been fifteen minutes but you were getting desperate. Fifteen minutes of using scrolling on your phone as a front for staring at him as he read. His foot was balanced on the opposite knee and is long fingers were splayed over the cover, occasionally coming up to readjust his glasses. You cross and re-cross your legs for what must be the tenth time. You can feel your clit throbbing, begging for some attention. You weren't even the one reading smut and somehow it was you fast approaching becoming a writhing mess. How was he so unaffected? He looked like he could be reading through medical files he was so nonchalant. What did he need to re-read this book now for anyway?

  "Zayne?" you ask in a feeble attempt to break his concentration.

 "Hmmm?" He doesn't even look up.

 Fuck this.

 Before you can chicken out you're striding over to him, taking the cursed book, knocking his foot to the ground and straddling him on your couch.

 "Enough reading." You let the book drop unceremoniously onto the carpet behind you.

 His shock only last for half a second before he's digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you closer.

 "Thank God, I didn't know how much longer I could last."

 You look down at him quizzically. "How much longer you could last?"

 He groans and pulls you in even further. He's already hard under you.

 "Thinking about you reading those things. Getting all hot and bothered. Touching yourself." Each sentence is punctuated with an open-mouthed kiss to your neck and collarbones. "I've been hard since I left the kitchen."

 "And so you sat down and read for twenty minutes? Silly man." You start unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to have your hands on his skin.

 "I wanted to give your very considered response to my question the thought it deserved." You ran your hands down his bare chest, enjoying the feeling of the ridges of his muscles against your fingertips. 

 "And what is your conclusion, Dr. Zayne?"

 His hands slide back to grip your ass. "You're the smartest, sexiest woman I've ever laid eyes on. I am in awe of you."

 You cup his cheeks in both hands, losing yourself in his beautiful eyes. No matter how many romance novels you read, no one could compare to this man.

 "You're perfect," is all you manage to get out before you bring your lips to his, so overwhelming is your need for him.

 You could kiss him forever and it still wouldn't be enough. Your hips have a mind of their own, rubbing your pussy along the ridge of his cock, the friction of the clothing between you adding to the heat between your thighs. You break apart to work off his shirt and he pulls your dress and bra down in one swift movement, baring your breasts to him, your nipples peaked and dusky pink. He immediately latches on, sucking one of the sensitive buds into his warm mouth. He's always been a sucker for your tits. Literally. 

 He works both your nipples, teasing and pinching whichever one is not in his mouth, being grazed against his teeth. Your arms are trapped at your sides under the straps of your dress and all you can do is moan wantonly and grind against thighs before he releases your tit with an audible pop.

 "Fuck, Zayne, more." You're begging him. Your pussy is dripping and so, so empty.

 "I know, darling, I know." He moves your dress up this time, removing it completely and leaving you just in your drenched panties. "Here or bedroom?" he asks.

 "Here. Can't wait." 

 He lifts you up slightly so you're hovering over him and moves your panties to the side, sliding two long fingers between your lips. "You're drenched," he notes, with a reverence to his voice.

 "Zayne, please."

 He doesn't make you wait, pushing both fingers into your cunt. You lean your head on his shoulder, mouth open, panting. His fingers pump in and out slowly, the soft squelching sounds they make driving you closer to the edge. His thumb rubs little circles into your aching clit, just the way you like it. And then he stops.

 You can't help the drawn out whine that leaves your throat.

 "Love, I'm sorry, but with you whining in my ear like that, if I don't get my cock inside you right now I'm going to come in my pants."

 You move quickly, unzipping his trousers and pulling out his dick, slightly curved and pink at the tip, shiny with his precum. He reaches into his back pocket for a condom and rolls it onto his length with swift strokes. His hands grip your thighs and he lets out a groan as you drag his tip along your swollen pussy, wetting him with your slick. He looks up at you, eyes dark with lust. "Ride me, sweetie."

 Your moans tangle together as you sink down onto his cock, taking him to the hilt. The perfect fit, every time. He's watching you with pure love on his face. "You're so gorgeous." His hands spread across your ass, helping you slide up and down along his length. "Touch your clit, baby. I want you to come for me." You think you could orgasm from his voice alone in this moment, but you do as he asks, your cunt clenching around him as you roll the stiff bundle of nerves between your fingers.

 "Close," you pant, eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. His cock feels so good inside you, stretching you just the right amount. "Come with me, Zayne, please, I need you." You're babbling, but he must hear you because he thrusts upwards into you, mouth on your tits again, chasing his high along with yours.

 Your orgasm rips through you, your head thrown back as you body twitches in pleasure. After a few more thrusts the spasms of your hole around his length has him pulling your bodies flush together as his cock jerks inside you while he comes.

 It takes you a moment to collect yourself, becoming aware of the sweat covering you and the wet mess you've left on Zayne's pants beneath your thighs. He pulls you in for a deep kiss before slowly pulling out of you. "I love you."

 You smile into his kiss. "I love you, too, my big snowman." 

 He runs his fingers through your hair as you rest your head on his chest, waiting for your breathing to regulate.

 "We should get cleaned up." You grunt in agreement but make no move to do so. Your eyes wander around the room, landing on the book you'd so carelessly tossed to the floor.

 "How much of that book did you read, anyway?" 

 He glances at where it landed. "Only up to your bookmark. I figured I should read the same amount as you as to properly gauge your thoughts on it."

 Always so thorough, your doctor.

 "How about we read some more? Together?" you suggest.

 You shriek as he stands up, picking you up with him, and starts carrying you towards the bathroom.  

 "An excellent idea as always, my love."

[phasecornnuts]

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

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

It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats. 

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat. 

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.” 

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies. 

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned. 

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead. 

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking. 

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer. 

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.” 

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

 “Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.” 

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego? 

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off. 

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair. 

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had. 

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

 “But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space. 

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.” 

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him. 

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad. 

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him. 

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you. 

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.” 

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you. 

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip. 

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow. 

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together. 

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody. 

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.” 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide. 

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered. 

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?” 

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things” 

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath. 

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood. 

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers. 

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again, 

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.” 

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again. 

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.” 

And so he did. 

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce. 

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears. 

The last part was what sent him over the edge though. 

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come. 

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon. 

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking. 

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully. 

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.” 

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh. 

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

[domnorian]

Just discovered your page, and love your work. As far as Lex Luthor's family goes, I've always imagined a legacy (that ironically they are mostly unaware of), with 'Golden Age' Luthor (Blofeld before there was a Blofeld) as the grandfather (with Lilian as his daughter) trying to start a world war to profit, followed by Lionel (sleazy businessman Luthor), and Lex getting to be the modern version (who encompasses scientist, arms-dealer and businessman - and even politician).

Thank you!

I love your take on the Luthor fam, honestly!

I gotta admit I take a lot of inspiration from the Smallville TV show for most of Luthor’s backstory. In my AU, Lionel’s dad was a drunk crook who beat the crap out of his wife and kid. Lillian came from a rich family and Lionel basically married her for the money.

I wanted to keep that 'poor guy who clawed his way up' kind of Lionel because I’ve known people like that, born poor ended up rich, and honestly, they were some of the most toxic and manipulative people I’ve ever met. Weirdly enough, the ones born rich were usually more chill. Not saying it's a universal thing (my own grandpa was a born poor ended up rich guy... before he lost everything because he was too nice) but I like slipping little bits of my own experience into what I write.

[liquid-bonhomme]

Lily's Harley Quinn Show video is Garbage (and here's why)

We all know Lily's media hottakes are BAD. But, I feel like critics have mostly focused on her hottakes on media she hates. I've personally become more interested in what media she actually LIKES . . . Because her rational is often times even more nuts.

Well, this video made me mad enough that I'm gunna write a post about it now. Prepare your assholes for the death rattle of this DC fanboy losing his shit:

To be clear, I like this show, for some of the same reasons Lily does even. . . But that's not going to stop me from taking the piss.

(I encourage you all to watch the video in full beforehand so you can get the context of the quotes I'm pulling. Timestamps will be included though.

I just told people to watch your stupid video Lily-- can't cry copyright here.)

-0:19: TWENTY SECONDS IN, STEVEN UNIVERSE IS REFERENCED. GG LILLIAN.

-0:36: BITCHING ABOUT HOW VICTIMIZED SHE IS. 30 SECONDS IN.

-0:55: "I dare say it's the best thing to come out of the Batman franchise in a long time."

It seems like the last thing Lily watched/played/read in "the Batman franchise" was The Dark Knight. You dare boldly, Lily. Ironically I feel like she would at least like the Lego Batman movie, if not all the other good shit that's come out since 2011. Also, this is one of the first of many times she calls the entire fucking DC Universe "The Batman Franchise."

-1:00: "If you're watching this show for at all you're watching it for the romantic arc between Harley and Ivy. Don't lie."

I know this is a joke. I'm not an idiot, but. If you're familiar with Lily's general media consumption, you'll be well aware she watches shit a lot of the time for the ships and the ships ALONE. I feel like this really highlights how she views media in general in a way that's rather revealing. This video is two years old, and I wouldn't be surprised if Lily's opinion has soured a bit given the direction the show goes after this video was released. Put a pin in this comment. 📌

-1:15: "I mean it's a post-joker Harley Quinn show what else are they going to do.

Put a pin in that comment.📌

-2:00: Lily goes on to summarize the plot of the show . . . Completely ignoring all the plot beats that have nothing to do with the romance.

Put a pin in that one too.📌

-3:30: Lily indicates she identifies with Ivy.

Another pin.📌

-4:10: Lily starts talking about how near the end of the second season, Harley has now confessed her feelings to Ivy, but Ivy turns her down because she's going to get married to Kite Man (enjoy the insanity of that sentence if you haven't seen the show.)

Though I don't think she's nessesarily making any real poor points here yet, I want to point out that she really flattens the complexity of the emotions going on here. The problem is that Ivy and Harley's relationship has reached a level of intimacy where they really can't just go back to being friends. Ivy is happily in a relationship with Kite Man at this point, he's been a much more stable and reliable partner to Ivy. Though it's implied her feelings for Harley go a lot deeper. During Joker's confrontation of Harley, Lily frames it as a "go get 'er" pep talk like it's a fucking 80s rom com. He's trying more to get Harley to emotionally resolve things with her-- regardless of outcome. Ivy did say no once already. The audience expects she isn't going to say no a second time since that wouldn't be a narratively satisfying conclusion, but in the real world equivalent, she could have. The Joker wasn't telling Harley to harass Ivy until she gives in.

-5:16: Not really a mark against Lily's video persay, but in a season that aired after Lily made this video the prospect of Harley and Ivy breaking up is explored. Lily must have been seething, lol.

-5:28: "I love a good fluffy romance. I'm so fucking done with people's obsession with the nasty stuff [Flashes Catra and Adora on screen.]"

Honestly this comment has me wondering if Lily decided to check her phone or just skip through scenes where Harley and Ivy weren't being lovey-dovey. I don't know what fucking show she apparently watched (foreshadowing is a narrative tool wh--.)

-5:48: "Poison Ivy has always had the same problem a lot of female characters in DC comics have had in despite being an actual doctor they always just put her in a skin tight leotard [ . . . ] About the only notable exception to that was in The Batman [the 2005 show] where she was a teenager [classical Lily goonery inserted here.]"

Ignoring the goon comment, in isolation I don't have a grievance with this comment persay. As a generalization, it's more or less true about Ivy. She's unfortunately one of the lesser well-used characters in the various DC canons as a whole. However, Lily is going to start implying she's more familiar with DC in general, especially the comics, than she really is. I have strong reason to doubt Lily would know Ivy canonically has a doctorate in botanical sciences if this show didn't call so much attention to it. You'll see why in a moment.

Also the 2005 Batman show is far from the only iteration to reimagine Ivy as a teen. I like that show's take on Ivy too, but that's not a fucking unique spin on the character.

-6:57: "Clayface was always a random D-list monster like Carnage, but here he's reimagined as a struggling actor."

In a show that had the balls to feature Queen of Fables, she's calling Clayface a fucking "d-lister." Nevermind Carnage. But no Lily, Clayface has been a struggling actor since his first appearance in Detective Comics No.40. It's literally the first thing in his bio on his fucking wiki page.

-7:09: "There's one episode where [Clayface] assumes the identity of Stephanie to get into Riddler's college [ . . . ] Seriously I'm convinced he's been moonlighting as Stephanie a lot. The other girls on campus call her 'Steph.' She's been there for a while. This is Clayface's secret identity and you can't convince me otherwise."

LILY THAT'S NOT SUBTEXT THAT'S THE FUCKING JOKE. IT'S TEXT. IT'S CANON. YES. CLAYFACE HAS BEEN FUCKING AROUND ON RIDDLER'S CAMPUS THIS WHOLE TIME. CONFIRMED IN THE SHOW. LILY. LILLLYYYYYY.

Worth pointing out too, she'd totally call Clayface's Stephanie character transphobic if she hated the show.

-9:00: "The writers though 'okay, what do we use to fill our quota of the sad misguided villian this arc-- oh I know fucking BATMAN!'"

Lily what the fuck are you doing when you sit down to watch a show for your channel? Are you playing Candycrush the whole time? Are you screaming at Mikaila that often you miss like . . . Almost everything!? What are you doin' sweaty!?

Lilian, Bruce is not the primary antagonist of the 3rd season . . . IVY IS. Or really, Harley and Ivy's emotional dysfunction is the antagonist of basically this whole series, and it's Ivy's turn to be the main driver of conflict. The person destroying Gotham is Ivy. Not Batman, IVY.

Bruce and Selina's relationship is supposed to be a conceptual foil to Harley and Ivy's. Bruce is having an emotional breakdown the entire series has more or less been building up to.

-9:15: [In reference to Batman getting sent to prison] "I want him to get some nice and comfortable therapy."

. . . Lily is that what you think happens in prison?

-9:35: Lily is talking about the Joker's step-dad arc, and this is as good a time as any to stop for a sec to talk about how Lily doesn't seem to get what The Harley Show is doing with the characters.

The thing that makes the show an exceptionally brilliant take on the DC universe is that virtually all the characters (with some exceptions, that were tweaked for the better mostly) are actually faithful to their comic book/generally established characterization. To an impressive degree, down to even just minor details. You can tell the people who made this show are genuine fans of DC comics. Their personalities and character arcs are exaggerated for comedic effect, with specific interesting angles teased out to draw focus to them. Some elements of their personality are recontextualized to create a more engaging dynamic, but regardless. Even most of the plot elements are at least loose adaptations of storylines from the comic, or other DC media. It's really impressive how the show both works as a functional take on the DC universe by itself, and as a parody of it. Lily demonstrates she's totally oblivious to this multiple times in the video, but her section on the Joker best exemplifies this.

The Joker has taken over and/or become mayor of Gotham multiple times in the comics. Lily thinks for some god forsaken reason in the 70 something years Batman comics have been printed, nobody's thought of that. THEY HAVE. The gag with the second time Joker takes over Gotham IN THIS FUCKING SHOW ALONE is . . . He's actually a really good mayor. Gotham is a perpetual capitalist nightmare shithole of a city. The most insane, radical anarchist thing for The Joker to do is . . . Be a socialist who actually gives a shit about the small folk. That's the joke, Lily. That's the joke. That's the mother fucking JOKE. THE FUNNY HAHA, THERE IT IS LILY. I FUCKING EXPLAINED IT TO YOU.

And Lilian. The Joker being at his most normal and stable while he has a family. Is. A. Direct. Parody. Of. One. Of. The. Most. FAMOUS. BATMAN STORIES. EVER. WRITTEN.

SHE IS LITERALLY FUCKING SHOWING THE EPISODE WHERE THEY DIRECTLY VISUALLY REFERENCE THE KILLING JOKE ON SCREEN. LILY YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A FUCKING HERNIA.

-10:10: Lily calls Sam Raimi a "douchebag."

Fuck right off.

-10:25: "It's a return to wacky hijinks that uses to define The Joker back when he was a gangster in funny makeup."

NO IT ISN'T LILY.

-11:00: Lily bitches about Harley Quinn for the 7 minutes in the remaining runtime.

Okay, the play-by-play is over, I'm going to address this section all at once because it will be quicker and more comprehensive if I do. This is the point where all the aformentioned pins come in.

Though I'm going to have to be ignoring some bullshit Lily says here in order to stay focused, I will mention first, Lily doesn't seem to realize Batfleck and Nolan's Batman were MASSIVE departures from the comics and don't pull much from the storylines. I don't think that's nessesarily a bad thing, even though I'm not the biggest fan of either of those interpretations, but for the record-- no. Those adaptations have almost nothing to do with Year one, The Dark Night Returns, The Killing Joke, or The Long Halloween outside of superficial elements. Lily just googled "famous Batman comics" and picked the four she probably vaguely heard of before. Again, she didn't even recognize the in-your-face impossible to miss Killing Joke parody episode she used as footage for this video. SHE'S JUST PRETENDING SHE'S READ COMICS SHE HASN'T.

Now to the point:

Lily's rational for not liking Harley's portrayal in the Harley Quinn show is honest to god brain damage. I'm not even sure how hard I need to go into explaining this because . . . It's pointing at the text itself and calling it a flaw. Harley's entire journey as a person is TRYING TO DISCOVER WHO SHE IS outside of the toxic codependency she had with the Joker. Her arc is both a meta commentary on the nature of the character conceptually and her journey to redefine herself. THIS ISN'T FUCKING SUBTLE. THIS IS STATED IN THE SHOW. Harley's identity crisis over whether or not she's even a villan anymore STARTS IN SEASON 3. Harley's lack of inhibition is what DRIVES THE PLOT IN SEASON 2. Harley's struggles to emancipat herself IS THE PLOT OF THE FIRST FUCKING EPISODE. This is also honestly the ONLY DC property I can think of that actually bothers to do something with the fact that Harley is a psychologist. Almost on that basis alone, it's one of the most refreshing takes on the character. That actually means something when I say it, because I've actually read a fucking comic in my life. LILY WHAT FUCKING DIMENSION DO YOU SLIP INTO ANY TIME YOU SIT DOWN TO WATCH A SHOW.

That question is rhetorical-- Lily tells on herself several times throughout this video. Remember those pins? Go read em again. Lily identifies with Ivy, so Lily decided Ivy is the "real" main character-- and wants Harley to be Ivy's loving kissy huggy gf. She genuinely thinks the show is actively making a mistake anytime her smut ship fanfic is interrupted. Lily wants porn. LILY YEARNS FOR THE PORN, ALWAYS. Every single fucking time.

She's decided Ivy has done nothing wrong to create tension in the relationship. She has deemed the character flaws Harley has that creates tension in the relationship a mistake in the writing.

Because Lily has not actually read a comic, but probably has seen Batman: The Animated Series-- she's missed all of the other references and spoofs in the show except for the ones involving Harley. That was the show she was originally created in.

Case-fucking-closed. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Lily Orchard is talking out of her ass.

Kill my parents and call me the world's greatest detective, I guess.

[smoft-demons]

If you aren't busy could you try writing about an mc that looks identical to Lilith and maybe even has a similar name example: lily, Lillian etc. (If you can, maybe mc that has a similar personality with lilith) And Ofc its platonic. (sorry if you don't understand, I barely ask on tumblr(⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

Also! It can be fluff or angst (if you can't write all of the brothers lucifer, belphegor and Beelzebub would be fine(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Mc can be gender neutral! (You can choose whatever format you're comfortable with)

Ofc if u don't want to its fine, i just saw your requests open

Sorry if this is too long(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Sure! No worries about it being too long, it gives me lots to work with :)

First request yay! Hope you like it

MC’s name is Lily

Lucifer:

Lucifer double-takes when he first sees you. He knew your name in advance, but looking at you, seeing the resemblance… it shocks him.

He keeps a straight face, however.

It becomes increasingly obvious that he has a soft spot for you. It grows softer and softer as he gets to know you.

When you harmlessly disobey him, he can’t help but let you off. Lilith was a bit of a rebel too, and you look just like her when you’re trying to be sneaky

He loses it when you put yourself in danger! You remind him so much of his baby sister, who he gave everything he could for… and he’s supposed to keep this blasted human alive, so help him he will succeed! It’s a matter of pride—and also trauma.

All that is there, but still Lucifer makes an effort to pay attention to the differences between Lilith and you. Few as there may be, he will not cloud his own judgement by thinking of you as the new her.

And he will not do you the disservice of acting like you’re someone you’re not.

When the ancestry reveal happens, he’s not exactly surprised. It’s still great news, but… not shocking!

He’s already had his crisis about not being unfair to you by acting like you’re a replacement, so he’s actually pretty good about not saying anything hurtful along those lines.

Beelzebub:

He can’t bear to look at you at first

I mean really, how he’s grieving his sister plus how he’s missing his twin… what’s he supposed to do? You’re in Belphie’s spot, and you’re called Lily, and you’re even acting like her… his heart aches

Good news tho, he definitely won’t eat you

He feels AWFUL for scaring you that one time, about the custard

And that conversation when he opens up to you about that impossible choice he had to make about who to save? He won’t admit it to you or to himself, but a big part of why he asked you who you would have chosen is that he hopes you can give him some insight into what Lilith would have chosen. If she would have made the choice he did.

Once you’ve become good friends with him, he does make an effort to not confuse you with his sister… but it’s hard for him, especially if you look and act like her. He’s really trying!

He would want to hug you for hours after having nightmares of falling. It helps him feel like maybe he’s not a total failure of a protector

He’s giving Mammon a run for his money in terms of being protective of you.

Beel finds himself conflicted after the big reveal. He’s overjoyed to have Belphie back, but he’s so angry with him for hurting you, and also he’s so upset with himself for not realizing Belphie was trapped in the attic the whole time, and ALSO he’s struggling with keeping you separate from Lilith in his mind, similar and genuinely connected as you are, and that makes him feel even more guilty because he genuinely does love you just for yourself. He feels like it’s very mean to you if he lets himself be distracted from that.

This is further complicated by you naturally falling into the role of his baby sister. He loves having you in that role, but it’s hard. A bit triggering. He’s working through it!

All in all, he’s a good big brother. He’d be overjoyed to hear it if you tell him that.

Belphegor:

Learning your name sends him spiralling. He was thinking of this exchange program as a betrayal to Lilith’s memory, he thought Lucifer had forgotten about her, he thought Lucifer didn’t care, but he chose a human named LILY?? Is this him being manipulative, is this coincidence, does it mean he HASN’T stopped caring, does it mean he’s trying to replace their lost baby sister with some human?

Belphie can’t figure it out.

He hangs onto his hatred. He carries out the first steps of his plan

When you meet him, he just… stares. You look like her…

He refuses to cry about it! He sticks to the script, lying to your face as planned, summoning all the hatred and resentment in his fallen heart.

But… you keep coming back. Not just to update him about your pact collecting, but also… just to chat? Checking on him, bringing him small snacks and things that fit through the gaps in the door, telling him about what his brothers are up to, reminding him that Beel misses him terribly and no one has forgotten about him

He’s finding it hard to keep hating you. In all honesty, he’s grown fond of you! But he has a plan and he’s sticking to it! You’re NOT his sister, and nothing short of a miracle can convince him to let go of his resentment!

In timeline A, after the first jailbreak, he never gets around to harming you. He can’t figure out if it’s due to laziness, lack of opportunity, fondness for you on his part, or not wanting to make Beel sad. This becomes irrelevant of course, after Diavolo imprisons him

In timeline B, you’re sent back in time to see how he got released. You open the door, he offers you the hug, you accept.

It’s… nice, for a long moment. Gentle and warm and comfy.

And then he regains his determination, going ahead with his plan to kill you. He gets as far as “Finding it hard to breathe?” before he looks at you. Expecting to feel sadistic satisfaction at seeing a human face screwed up in pain like that. But… you look like his baby sister.

You look just like his baby sister, and you’re scared and hurt. His baby sister… panicking and tearful, because of HIM

He can’t do it

His grip relaxes. He doesn’t let you go, but he’s no longer hurting you.

He’s shaking.

You feel… moisture in your hair. Your throat is bruised and bleeding from his claws digging into your skin. You’re wheezing through your crushed airway. Your brain is flooded with adrenaline. Your prey terror hasn’t let up, as the demon who was threatening your life is still holding you, and he’s CLEARLY still unstable. But, maybe crying from guilt is safer than cold determination to murder you…?

At this point, the others rush in. Mammon tears you away from Belphie. Beel is frozen in horrified confusion. Belphie is having a breakdown on the floor.

Diavolo and Barbatos fill everyone in. Belphie can’t even look at you, he feels so awful.

As you both heal, you get closer. You become real friends. You learn what aspects of the Belphie you knew from the attic were lies, and the surprising amount of things that were true. With everyone’s help, Belphie really digs deep and commits to finally unpacking his trauma and his survivor’s guilt and his grief.

Once you trust him enough—and he trusts himself enough—he takes every opportunity to spoil you. He’ll cuddle you whenever you want, he’ll make sure you don’t get any nightmares, he’ll share his food, he’ll even let you wake him up for dumb things without getting mad at you.

______

I didn’t have many ideas for the rest. I had some for Mammon, but nowhere near as many as for these three. I might add the Mammon ideas as a short bonus later, if I have the energy or any more inspiration.

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

~pinned post~

Name: Kale Pronouns: None* Joined: Dec 10, 2022 Favorite color: Greem tbh i'm not sure what else to put in this section. this whole post is a mess. i'm also aroace Worth mentioning: I don't care how far back on this blog you manage to scroll, none of it will be weird to too old to like or reblog, ESPECIALLY if it's art. spam likes and reblogs are more than welcome

I'm a silly fanartist who gets way too invested. I also sometimes write (so far only for kotlc, i have 2 fics i'm working on and 1 i abandoned) and make headcanonons, memes, and incorrect quotes!

Send me an ask! if it's an art request please specify that it is. makes things a little easier for my brain

angst and fluff and bittersweet and silly are all things i enjoy for The Characters. I ship things not because they are healthy or perfect for each other or even cause they like each other but because of their story and what happens and yes the angst and fluff and bittersweet and silly

I don't choose the hyperfixations, the hyperfixations choose me

I post mostly about fandom, and I'm trying to be better at reblogging less random stuff that clogs up the dash. I don't post about original characters often, but here they are because i feel like it

I HAVE NOT READ BOOK OF BILL! i have the collector's edition preordered but I'll likely read it this summer

Fandoms:

Gravity Falls

KotLC

The Amazing Digital Circus

DDLC

Death Note

Some mcyt

Vocaloid, sometimes

more that i'll think of later

Masterposts:

Relativity Falls

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OCs: Ask me about them! pleasepleaseplease

Zero - KotLC oc, Neverseen technopath

Maple Laurier - KotLC originating, mentally unwell Empath

The Rosils - Ryuna, Milo, Norelle, Aster, Lillian, and Torrin, KotLC ocs related to the Songs, noble family with lots of problems

Jamithaniel Twinkerton - Gravity Falls originating, twink femboy with blue hair and he/him pronouns

Zyti Folend - KotLC oc, Vespera's older sister

Fallon's friends - Keryth, Oriane, Ena, and Talmai, KotLC ocs who helped him invent light leaping

Also find me on:

Instagram

YouTube (art and edits)

GF and KotLC wikis (@Keeper of the Forbidden Cities)

AO3

Discord (DM to ask)

*i know that with grammar and repetitiveness it can get clunky (i get annoyed by my own lack of pronouns when writing in the third person, that's why i don't do it) so they/them is cool with me. i'm a chill guy

[sincerelyyadere]

Match made in mana/Lillian of Turin review [no spoilers] 6/10

reborn in a novel theme, male Yandere, two yanderes, soulmates, dependant on each other, Weak x Strong, submissive top, submissive yandere, fluff, miscommunication, hurt n comfort, slowburn, tbc

recap: MC was reborned as a character of a Novel she knows by heart, taking control over her life and changing the destiny that awaits her. But it seems the ML who was supposed to ignore her, does quite the opposite...

Plot: ★★★☆☆

Storytelling: ★★★☆☆

Characters: ★★☆☆☆

full review [no spoilers] ->

I almost dropped this one because realistically the real plot starts only when the MC finally meets ML, so if u want to read it, just bear until then.

This is a typical reincarnated into a book styled manhwa, but with how quickly the MC changes the decisions of the previous owner of her body, the story goes in completely different direction.

Okay, let's try to unpack this.

Firstly, some plot points were stretched unnecesserily and while some parts bothered me less than the other, the frustration of the people in the comments was more than visible, although i did not always agree with them.

Another thing is the MC's character. While i understand that she wants to change the future that awaits for her, in my opinion she tended to be a bit overly virtous and perfect, to be realistic. The character writing lacked here, seemingly leaving MC with no flaws, except maybe her not communicating her feelings and needs with others.

The 2nd season is out now, with a changed artstyle almost EVERYONE was complaining about in the comments, as well as the storytelling changes a bit. It didn't bother me that much, but i hope with next episodes it will come back to the level it established in the 1st season.

ALSO, THE FIRST TITLE WAS BETTER, IDK WHY THEY CHANGED IT TO LILLIAN OF TURIN

To really deep dive into this manhwa i would have to unpack every arc and choice made by the author, but i'm not here to do that.

So let me review it like this: This is a manhwa for those, who don't have high expectations for manhwa, just want to have a good time. There's no nsfw, usually fluff with some hurt n comfort and miscommunication. It's not special, but i read it whole which means it's pleasant to read either way. It's this sort of manhwa you need to build your own opinion on, cause the choices the author made leave so many things to discuss the opinions will vary very much so.

This manhwa is not for people who want some quick action, realistic characters or deeper themes. It's pretty superficial and flat in that matter.

To summarize: Good for some unbraining, bad for braining.

Peace out.

[karie-on]

Skye Russo (Brently after her bilogical father, but she took Jay’s last name/ Irving for a short period of time)

Skye is the daughter of Olive and Stephen and the older half-sister of Sage. Skye is a loving person, a bit shy and withdrawn in social contacts. As a result, she never had many friends, nor a best friend. As a teenager, she was more of a loner, going through a rebellious period. Skye's fondest memories of her childhood were spent on her dad's ranch. Skye always loved being close to nature and being around farm animals. She also had a beloved horse named Clover. During her visits to the Hestnut Ridge Skye met Adriel (their love story started here) it was a childhood love that lasted all these years until as adults they decided to get married and have children. Skye gave birth to twins Lillian and London. However, their dream life didn’t last for long, when Adriel decided to join the army he was often on a deployments leaving Skye alone for long periods of time. Then Skye cheated on Adriel and he found out. That led to the end of their marriage, Skye moved out from Hestnut Ridge with twins to San Sequoia. Now she’s a single mother of two teens and trying to figure out what to do in life as she never had any career, nor went to college. She recently got engaged to Farzan, a writer she met on Cupids Corner.

Adriel Irving

Adriel comes from a large family in Chestnut Ridge. He is a farmer at heart, he loves his ranch and the simple life of it. Adriel is very proper and decent man. His family places great emphasis on tradition and respect for family and its rules, which is why Adriel knew as a teenager that he would have to join the army just like his father, grandfather, great-grandfather and brothers did. This unfortunately ruined his marriage to Skye as she couldn't handle the long distance relationship. Even though Adriel moved on, Skye will always be the love of his life. He is currently engaged to Amina, a woman living next to him. Adriel is no longer in the army, he settled down and is taking care of the ranch with his parents.

Farzan Darbandi

(Note: this sim is not made by me, I gave him a makeover but he’s originally by SakuraLeon from her Writer Career Townies)

Farzan is an upcoming writer, it’s something he dreamt of since being a teen. While others were partying, he would hide away in the library and devour book after book. He loves to write and read, enjoys thoughtful walks, and any physical activity. He is very close to his family and is what some would call a mama's boy. Farzan hasn't had many girlfriends in his life because he believed in meeting the one and only. Well that's exactly what happened, he proposed to Skye and his family and friends couldn't be happier. Now on to planning a wedding and future kids.. :)

[ierofrnkk]

So Much More Than Everything

Llewyn Davis x reader

Summary: Llewyn needs your couch for the night. Some unspoken things linger between the two of you. (~3.7k)

Content: 18+, gn!reader, smoking (Llewyn and reader), swearing, you make out with Llewyn but nothing more, angst, Llewyn is so, so depressed.

a/n: this sad wet cat of a man has captivated me. I can’t write anything but angst for him sorry lol. title is from ‘pictures of you’ by the cure

-

You knew Llewyn from the way he never put the pillows back on your couch, from the way that he always made himself breakfast in the morning with your eggs. From the way that he always remembered to lock your door when he left.

You didn’t mind the visits, nor did you mind the way that you always seemed to be his last resort when he needed a couch to crash on.

You like to tell yourself that you’re doing him a favor, helping him out after Mike’s death.

You know that it’s not the entire truth.

The Gorfeins were nice, and welcomed him into their home probably more often than they should, but sometimes he was too much for even them. When they send him away, you’re usually up next on the roster.

Which is exactly why now—at such an ungodly hour—he’s standing in your doorway, guitar case and bag in hand, looking at you with those big, tired eyes; he’s desperate.

There’s a Llewyn-shaped dent in the couch, carved into the material from how often he’s slept there.

You have the space, and he needs the sleep.

It’s late—you’re not even sure what time it is—but the heavy blanket of silence that’s settled over your apartment and the streets below indicate that it’s pretty late.

You consider chastising him for showing up at your door in the middle of the night, for backing you into a corner as far as letting him stay; you know that if you turn him away, you’ll be an ass for doing so.

You don’t have any choice in the matter.

You stand in the doorway for a few beats, debating if being a good Samaritan is really worth losing sleep over.

Unfortunately, you’re vulnerable to those soft, tired eyes of his.

He’s in luck for tonight.

After another beat, you step aside, allowing him entry into your apartment, which he immediately accepts as he steps inside.

He’s been here enough times now that your place is familiar to him, so he needs little help in getting himself situated.

—

You watch as he sets his things down beside the couch, taking extra care to make sure his guitar care is put down carefully—he’d probably be on the wrong side of inconsolable if anything happened to it.

Once everything is put away safely beside your couch, he takes a seat, running a hand through messy curls—you can see that he’s tired, and something about his demeanor says that a good night’s sleep probably won’t fix it.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he murmurs, his tone soft as he breaks the silence in the room.

“Gorfeins couldn’t take me anymore; I needed an escape route.”

You shake your head—a knee-jerk response to his apology—you’re a little surprised that the Gorfeins have sent him packing, considering the way that they’re usually bending over backwards to accommodate him.

It’s apparent that something happened—probably some argument that’ll be forgotten by morning—but you won’t mention it unless he does.

“It’s no trouble,” you offer, tone matching his as you speak—as much as his appearance was unexpected and a little inconvenient, it doesn’t bother you as much as it probably should.

“They’ll come around.”

He gives a soft huff of a laugh, leaning against the back of the couch as he listens to you speak.

Deep down, he knows that you’re right. Within a day or so, they’ll be over the moon about having him over so that he can try Lillian’s “famous“ moussaka, or whatever it is that she makes the next time he comes to stay.

He lets your words linger in the air for a moment, glancing from the coffee table to the windowsill, searching for his pack of cigarettes.

You watch as he searches briefly for the pack of cigarettes that he absolutely did not bring in with him; it’s only a matter of time before he asks you for one, so you beat him to the punch.

There’s a pack of Marlboro Reds that you keep in one of the drawers of your kitchen. You’ll never outwardly admit that you keep them there for him, but you know that he’s the reason.

Quickly retreating to the kitchen, you return a moment later—having retrieved the pack—and hand it to him like you’ve been listening to his every thought.

“Here,” you say as you give him the pack, and he takes it with a degree of gratitude that you scarcely see from him.

You can see the questions behind his eyes: Why do you have this? How did you know? So, before he can spiral, you elaborate.

“I keep them for emergencies. Never know when someone—“ your gaze briefly flicks down to him where he sits on your couch “—might need one.”

He gives a silent nod of understanding, taking a single smoke from the pack and holding it lightly between his lips as he fumbles for his lighter.

With that familiar click, he lights that silver lighter of his and brings it to the end of his cigarette; the warm orange glow of the flame lights up his features in a way that is just unfairly pretty.

You try not to stare.

It doesn’t go very well.

His eyes are closed as he takes a drag; dark, long lashes stark against his skin. You wonder if it was even worth it to have offered him the smokes in the first place.

He exhales, and then extends a hand to you, lit cigarette held loosely between two fingers.

Definitely worth it.

You take a drag just as he did, and the two of you bask in this silent exchange for a few minutes.

A part of you considers talking to him, asking him what happened at the Gorfeins’, but you decide against it.

He doesn’t seem much for words at the moment anyway.

Llewyn takes another drag from the cigarette, reaching over the coffee table to flick the excess ash into the ashtray.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he chimes in after a long stretch of silence.

“I can tell you’re just dying for me to get the fuck out of here.”

Llewyn is the uncontested king of beating himself down; you’ve had the passing thought that he should make that his career instead of music.

You accept the smoke when he offers it back to you, taking a drag as you try to find the best thing to say to him.

“Don’t put words in my mouth; I never said that.” Is what you decide on.

That gives him pause, and it suddenly becomes hard for him to meet your gaze.

He reaches for the cigarette quickly once you hand it to him, immediately taking another drag. You should probably open a window. You decide that you don’t care.

When he exhales, you watch the way the smoke rises towards the ceiling, dissipating into nothing. He looks like he wants to float away and dissolve with it.

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, eyes trained on the wooden surface of your coffee table.

You don’t really have a response to that.

If you deny it, he can just insist that you’re lying to him, and if you accept it, you’re just hurting him further.

Changing the subject seems easier than trying to hash out your feelings about him.

“How long do you need to stay?” You ask, and it’s almost sweet.

He immediately seems grateful for the change of conversation, the slightest bit of tension releasing from his shoulders.

“Few days,” he starts, not as timid as he was before.

The usual rounds, then.

“Gonna see if Jim and Jean can take me in for a day or two.”

You know this game by this point—couch roulette—Llewyn will go through his address book, calling every number he has and praying that at least one person in the five boroughs isn’t pissed at him.

It’s got to be tiring.

“Doesn’t Jean hate you?” You ask, though the tone is much more lighthearted than the words suggest.

He scoffs, a sort of dry laugh that’s accompanied by a shake of his head.

“Probably, but it’s not like she’s going to kick me out,” he flashes you a smile, and for a moment you forget about everything else but him.

He offers you the cigarette again, but you turn it down politely—the ash has burned down close to the filter—he takes one last quick drag before putting it out in the ashtray.

You’re only the slightest bit embarrassed by the way your gaze lingered on his hand for a moment too long.

By this point in the night, you’ve silently decided that you’re not going to be going to bed anytime soon, not with the way he’s looking at you.

For as long as you’ve been letting Llewyn crash on your couch, there’s been a sort of something between the two of you that’s never quite been figured out.

You know that he’s had his fair share of problems with partners in the past—Jean, Mike, Diane, the list goes on—but that doesn’t deter you.

Maybe it’s that self-deprecating, sad puppy demeanor that draws you in.

That probably says something about you as a person, but you try not to dwell on it too much.

After a long beat of silence, he shifts on the couch, giving you a slight nod of his head, gesturing for you to come closer.

“Sit,” he requests, the tone of his voice the farthest thing from demanding.

You oblige, because it doesn’t hurt to sit near him every once in a while.

He looks pensive; though, when doesn’t he?

You watch as he brings a hand up, carding his fingers through those dark curls. Self-soothing, you think. The notion of having a serious conversation with Llewyn isn’t completely out of the question, but you know that it must be serious if he’s willing to talk about it.

He eventually breaks that silence again when he speaks, even though he’s not looking at you directly now.

“I appreciate you dealing with all of my bullshit.”

You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him; tell him that it’s not bullshit; you’re fucked just like the rest of us. You decide against it for now, instead settling for a polite smile and a lingering glance.

You’re only a little hopeless.

He sees right through that smile, knowing you have more to say, but thankfully doesn’t pry.

It seems like neither of you are much for words tonight.

After a few beats of sitting side-by-side on your couch, shoulders pressed together, he leans against the back of your couch, letting his head fall against the cushions.

As if compelled by an external force (definitely not your own deep-seated desires), you follow his lead, leaning back against your couch and settling perhaps a bit too close to him.

You can feel how warm he is beside you, and for a moment, you’re convinced that you should be condemned to hell for even entertaining this—whatever this is.

All of that is forgotten when he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

You only feel a little like a middle schooler with their first crush.

“Llewyn,” you start, unsure of where you’re headed.

He seems to understand, interjecting before you can get any further.

“I know, I know. Indulge me for a second, would you?”

And you can’t say no, not when he’s so close, and god, it’s been an embarrassingly long time since anyone’s held you this way.

You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that this can all be explained away by the late hour.

He turns to look at you, and it doesn’t take much effort in the small space that’s left between you. From this close up, you could probably count every one of his eyelashes; he’d probably let you, but you’ll save it for another time.

He leans forward slightly, enough that his nose brushes yours and you can feel every breath—warm and soft—against your lips.

For the briefest of moments, you’re convinced that you’ve fallen asleep, that this is some sick dream, but you can feel him so close to you, and you’re reminded of the reality of it all.

His words from a few moments ago echo loudly in your ears—just indulge me for a second, would you? All you can think about is how you’re indulging him simply by letting him stay the night—you don’t owe him this—but his nose brushes yours, bringing you back to the present, and you’re not thinking about who owes what anymore.

You don’t even register when exactly his hand ended up at the side of your face, palm cradling your jaw in a way that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

You know it’s been impossibly difficult for him, from his music to Mike and everything in between—it’s been hard. That’s what you’re using as your excuse when you let him draw you in closer, and the brush of his lips against yours is all the convincing you need.

He kisses you softly, but there’s a tinge of desperation behind it, like he’s a man starved.

Knowing Llewyn, he probably is.

He’s holding you carefully, though, like you’ll break apart if he holds you with any sort of real weight. It’s only when you bring a hand up, encircling his wrist with your fingers, that he comes to his senses.

The hesitation melts away, and he finds his confidence, which is only usually reserved for his six minutes onstage at the Gaslight.

The kiss deepens, but in a way that you really wouldn’t have expected from Llewyn. It’s hungry, like he’s been waiting his entire life for you to give him the go-ahead.

His beard is a little rough against your skin, but you don’t mind; it’s grounding you to the fact that he’s the one you’re kissing. No one else, not someone who’s going to leave the second he’s gotten what he’s wanted.

Llewyn can’t leave. It’s not like he has anywhere to go if he does.

It’s not long before you stop him, hands finding gentle purchase on either side of his face, pulling him away from you and creating that space between the two of you.

He goes willingly, giving no resistance when you move him.

Llewyn may be an idiot, and impulsive, but not that much.

“Is..are you..” he manages, seemingly unsure of where to look; your eyes, your lips, the clock on the wall.

“I’m not doing this, Llewyn.”

For the briefest of moments, he looks utterly dejected, his eyes going round and his brows pinching together slightly, before the expression fades away into something more neutral. He nods, and before he completely shuts off for the night, you quickly do damage control.

“Not tonight,” you emphasize, brushing a gentle hand through his dark curls.

He seems to accept that a little bit better, nodding again in acknowledgment and leaning into that slight touch of affection.

You hold him in that half-embrace for a while, something he seems to deeply appreciate. You don’t quite realize how much, until you meet his eyes once again and see that they’re glassy, wet with tears that threaten to fall.

“Llewyn..” you start, though not really intending to finish your thought.

He gets it, blinking a few times and sniffling for good measure.

“It’s sad, I know,” is the first thing he says, as self-deprecating as he’ll ever be. “Crashing on your couch and then crying like—like some fucking kid.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, fingers resting gently on the skin. You give him space, leaving the floor open for him to continue, if that’s what he wants.

“I feel totally fucked, you know? Like- like if I don’t get it together right now, I’ll end up—I don’t know—selling ballpoint pens, or some bullshit.”

You bite back a laugh—only because the example he gives is a little ridiculous—but you still listen intently, nodding along as he talks and gets his frustrations out.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he settles on, leaving it vague—intentionally or not—whether he means music, or life as a whole.

You decide to ignore it for now.

“I’m not making any fuckin’ money off of this new solo-record bullshit, my sister keeps telling me to just…hang up the guitar and go back to the merchant marines.”

He shifts in his seat, staying close to you but needing just a little room to breathe.

“I don’t even have my own place—“ he scoffs, the sound dry and bitter. “I don’t even have a fucking winter coat.”

You avert your eyes at that. You feel bad, obviously, but you know that it isn’t his goal—he’s not trying to make you feel guilty, but you do. It’s in your nature.

You let his words marinate for a few moments, settling like a warm blanket over the chilled night air.

For a brief period, the only sound in the room is Llewyn’s breathing, and the occasional noise from your radiator, fighting to keep your apartment warm from the cold outside.

“This just…feels like a fight I’m always going to lose.”

It’s hard, hearing him talk about himself this way. Not like it’s anything new, but it’s still hard to hear; you care about him too much to think that he likes himself so little.

The sad part is, you know that it’s true.

“You have a lot of fight left in you, Llewyn Davis.”

You don’t even think about the words as you say them, just knowing them to be true and thinking no further than that.

He nods, sitting on your words for a few moments. The glassiness in his eyes is back—a shine that’s subtle in the dim light, but present nonetheless. It doesn’t take a genius to know that your words have struck a chord deep within him, but this time there’s no apology necessary, no damage control to do.

He needed to hear that, and you both know it.

There’s a little bit of pressure from your hand on the back of his neck, and in a surprising act of vulnerability, he leans with your touch, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

You hold him like that for a little while, focused on the sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart.

“Don’t sleep on the couch,” you start, speaking without thinking once again. “My bed’s big enough.”

You can hear the way his breath catches for a moment, before you feel him nod against your shoulder—he’ll gladly share your bed with you any day.

There are a few more beats of silence before he speaks up.

“I’m sorry for trying to sleep with you,” he murmurs, his tone dancing a line between being serious and joking.

You laugh softly, and you swear that you can feel the way the tension lifts from his very bones.

He laughs with you, and you’re convinced that his voice has never sounded better.

For the sake of his sanity and his career, you decide against telling him that.

Eventually, he pulls back from the embrace, his eyes still a little red and watery, but he’s clearly done crying. You’re just happy that he got it all out of his system.

He doesn’t go far, staying close enough that you’re able to feel his breath against your cheek, and it’s not very long before he’s leaning in for another kiss.

You let him kiss you. It’s different this time.

It’s soft, and vulnerable, and everything that Llewyn never allows himself to be. He tastes faintly of cigarettes and mint, but you find that you don’t mind it all too much.

It’s him.

You pull away eventually, just enough to press your forehead against his, your nose brushing his every now and then.

“Come to bed with me, Llewyn Davis,” you tell him, saying his name with more reverence than you’ve had for anything you’d ever said in church growing up.

He nods briefly. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You stand, and he follows, looking both out of place and fitting in perfectly.

He’s occupied little corners of your life for longer than you’ve realized, until this moment, at least.

The extra blankets you keep behind the couch. The spare key that you’ve left with your super “just in case he comes”. The pack of cigarettes that lives in a drawer in your kitchen.

He leaves his things on the couch—he’s not sleeping there tonight, so for once, it’s going to just be used for temporary storage.

As you head to your bedroom, he follows close behind, kicking his shoes off somewhere along the way.

Your bed isn’t anything impressive, but it’s big enough for the two of you.

He seems grateful for anything better than a couch. You bite back a tease about how your couch “isn’t good enough” for him.

The covers are pulled back, you settle onto your bed like you do every night, and after some very light persuasion, he joins you.

He all but melts into the mattress, and you briefly wonder how long it’s been since he’s actually slept in a proper bed.

The thought is pushed aside when the weight of his arm settles around your waist, and you can’t imagine being anywhere else. For a moment, you ask yourself why it took you so long to get him here.

Everything happens for a reason, you figure.

“Sleep,” you tell him gently, still feeling a vein of tension in him as he holds you.

“We’ll figure something out.”

It’s an offer, laid out on the table. You don’t mind him being here, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It just makes sense.

He’s not going to be one to turn down such an offer, so you feel him nod behind you, his arm tightening around your waist minutely.

“Okay,” is all he says, and it’s enough for you.

Llewyn is like a cat that no one really owns, but that everyone kind of cares for. You’ve taken him in, shown him that there is some semblance of hope left for him.

Maybe you just have a soft spot for the strays.

[faelynwrites]

Suddenly remembering that I said I'd use this blog as a place to put updates for my Supercorp fic. So, here's a progress update!

Roughly halfway through my final pass on Part 1, up to Chapter 22. Most of these are just general tweaks to fix awkward wording, and correcting typos. Also adding translation footnotes whenever appropriate, and reworking a couple descriptions to make locations more canon-accurate.

First few "episdodes" of Part 2 are plotted out with rough outlines, and a number of scenes already written. Including the first chapter, the rough draft of which is mostly finished at this point.

I have character arcs for Winn, J'onn, M'gann, and Mon-El planned out, while continuing the arcs I started in Part 1 for Kara, Lena, James, Alex, and Maggie. Mon-El specifically is probably gonna take up a lot of the spotlight in Part 2—like Alex did in Part 1—but the focus is still of course going to be Kara and Lena.

I have plans for how I want to finish up the Cadmus storyline, and make room for the Daxamite Invasion arc. This involves the issues of Jeremiah, Lillian, Henshaw, and the remaining two Cadmus bases established in Part 1 (and possibly a way to syncretize it a bit with the comics version).

Did a bunch of behind-the scenes worldbuilding, to hopefully add some more depth and help with internal consistency. Including a rework of Daxam's history and it's relationship with Krypton. Basically just trying to make them less two-dimensional as antagonists.

On that note, I'm currently working on how to adapt the Daxam Invasion storyline. I have some ideas on how I want to resolve it, but first I need to figure out how to lead into it. Probably just need to rewatch the relevant episodes for inspiration.

Not sure how much longer I'll need before I'm ready to start writing (and posting) in earnest, unfortunately. My sister's wedding is in a couple weeks, so that's taking up an inordinate amount of my time. Hopefully it won't be too much longer, though!

[miss-revy-1412]

A letter to Tumblr fans of 7 Brothers

I'm gonna manifest Queen Megaris in me to actually read to the filth to some of you people regarding 7 Brothers. You may see I'm going all out that I'm about to say.

You know it's really toxic and pathetic when fans are forced by some people here to write a long arse essay to explain that : "Hey I may not romance Grant but, I'm not racist."

Few days ago, I read a blog done by someone and I felt really sad and uncomfortable for the user (I'm not taking name to save her privacy) imagine the fandom putting you in such a position where you have to explain yourself why you don't like certain characters. No, it's not racism if you don't romance Grant. Grant lacks an arc or something going on with him.

Let me explain it to you: Tristan , Lillian and Chloe are romance options yet they got some arc going on with them: hacking the rich guys for ending capitalism is Tristan's arc, fighting against addiction and recovering her true self again is Lillian's. Trying to break off from her toxic dad, spying and put the criminals to jail is Chloe's arc but, What about Grant? He doesn't even have a proper arc nor his tensions with dad is ever noticed which itself is saddening. I romance all these people and heck it's really sad what is going with Grant even the new branch has issues and drama given his parents are literally involved in smuggling and corporate capitalism.

Same applies to Chloe and Lililan. I haven't seen any rude comments or mockery for them but, no these two are actually good branch and just because, people aren't romancing them doesn't make the fans as homophobic nor racist respectively. This fandom has majority of girls who are straight, it just people want to aggresively use these things rather than addressing the real flaws and issues with the story. Not everyone will love the cup of tea that you are having!!!

Let fans love their characters please, like stop being such a moodkill or toxic. This is FICTIONAL it's not so serious.

Moving on : we wanna just f*ck white men, we don't give a f about Langley's story. Oh look they forced her to do this, we are begging for James, shaming the fans. This is peak toxic behaviour.

No, there are people who didn't played 7 Brothers because the plot didn't clicked to them, the FBI kidnapping thing was seen to be absurd especially a barely legal girl investigating her seniors not many people liked that aspect and that was the highlight for not getting into this story secondly while, the plot was called 7 Brothers people thought we would sleep around with every guy or something but it didn't sure this part might be a nitpicking but, honestly because of people criticising some aspects besides the LI made please for once do look at from others view too rather than putting these victimhood mentality.

Langley improved her story by 3rd and 4th update respectively. We stared having more interaction with other brothers and people who weren't LI. I mean Simon should be a Li Only came into debate when we started getting more scenes with him and all (Hypocrisy)

Now, moving on to the biggest elephant of this room. Jesus Christ!!! Can I understand why there was so massed up pent up aggression the very day Langley announced back in September that James' will be a fling.

I swear so much attention and confessions were bought who would romance this dude, he's so sh*t and all. I understand your confessions but, some of these literally forgot we have Mehmed, Amrit, Zain, Deigo and Masked Man as love interests who actually were killers (not Zain) , potential r*posts and even the hell were sleeping with MC whom they would qualify to be their uncles, cousins? You people don't have seen this? Not ya all seeing James worse than Amrit , Mehmed or Deigo

James literally said one freaking scene at stables also, can I ask for snippets where he shows r*cism openly or call certain Jaynies as by racist tags, or scenes where he humiliates Logan and Grant or maybe wearing an offensive outfit or putting a theme at Halloween to target certain people of race?

Also no, I don't believe in I can fix him mentality. He can look for a therapist rather than asking me to do so. Never I asked for that

He's a classist asshole that's the thing I see. He atleast didn't try to r*pe Jaynie (Mehmed) nor undressed her while unconsciously (Amrit) or decided to go trying to murder Ray. That whole estate thing was his dick parent's doing and he tried to take fun of this sufferings because he's an asshole

but, I pray for you haters that you get a scene to kill him off and even get satisfaction and all for that. Killing him with an axe , Poisoning him or pushing him from Bahamas Cliff or even Dr*gging him to death , etc etc and I'm pretty much sure Langley will deliver that!

Imagine getting blocked because, saying: "They will make a hot/interesting/ dynamic couple." That's just so be fr. I would hear everyone's fantasy rather than being a d*ck because, freedom of speech and expression is a basic thing for all.

Also white cis man 💀 ya all would really take it if we go call other POC guys as Greg and Vincent like this? No that be racism. They got a name you know, etc etc. Seriously give them a nickname God or just call them by name labelling them for skin colour is a hypocrite behaviour if you believe racism and colorism is wrong.

7 Brothers is literally a story about from Rags to riches either you wanna do it unfairly or on your own merit or wanna use the money for humanitarian goals (this is the theme)

Also, we are here for the romance and drama. The drama is about exploitation of the hard working citizens by the rich people. It's about classism not politics. If It was then this book would had been called : "Vying for Whitehouse" instead.

Also, this is romance club a game that sells you romance and love interest . No one here begs. It's a customer's request and RC can do where money talks. Could be a slap at the wrist but, if RC sees a certain character bringing them fans, money and all they can do that. Langley was never forced.

There are scenes where James follows Alexandre's path and even Jaynie saying in "I" not certain that I like James, her trying to change her wardrobe in Episode 5 to look classy after that James remarks. Like why do you care what that asshole says??? Alexandre was a scumbag too and his first s*x scene also had no strings attached thing .

Some of you also want XYZ character to be a LI yet, you go mock others for doing that (hypocrisy!!). Mocking someone for loving James or even trying to silence them isn't very liberal thing to do. People were scared? Hello. please learn to take other people's liking rather than blocking them off or just mocking behind their back.

Finally, coming to the conclusion no, we don't want bastards like him as a lover in real life. This is ficition also stop wasting your time hating on others or Fictional pixelated character they won't make a change to society or to others. Go out and fight for social justice and wrongs in the society.

Yours unruly,

MRZ

[butchseiya]

Twig 5.5 so far-

At request of a few users on here, i need to start writing down my longer impressions on the Twig live-read instead of just tweeting random quotes here and there... going to keep the livepost rhythm at twice every arc bc i spend most of my time listening to the audiobook crocheting stuff for my next artist alley.

Currently at 5.6, this arc has had some of my favorite Lamb interactions so far! Lillian kissing Sylvester was a fun bit and its interesting to see how many of Sylvester's plans (or plans where he's involved in some way) involve kisses or fake romance while he also insists that it is not for him.

Some really fun Helen moments in this chapter too. Seeing the kids manipulate adults and act out scenes is so fun and especially if it involves her creeping somebody out. It's tense to wonder if the other people in a scene will get the message and act along to escape out of a situation.

Listening to Sy Jamie and Helen compare their ideal worlds was also very interesting, I hope we can get to hear more of the viewpoint from the other Lambs too... I especially want to know what's up with Gordon after the events of the last arc...

I just know Sy and Jamie are going to be the end of me... got to Sy's flashback in 5.6 and had to pause a bit because those two were making me emotional.. the imagery of them trying the best to stick around with the other during their appointments is stuck in my brain, hopefully i'll do a doodle good enough to post.

Didnt expect to be interested in the enemies for this arc but as it advanced I was intrigued by the concept of them being a team based around the senses. Looking forward to see how their fight goes.

I love their bits together 😭

Bonus of the bunny ive been working on for this arc

[factorialsotherfandoms]

as always i am not late at all. ship writing you say... gotta ask for my dearest guys ever how about a little bit of dangal? ^_^ maybe as teenagers at the orphanage or as older, whatever you choose

You're all good! My inbox has a whole you in it. I shall do my best with your guys! Not overly confident with them but I shall try

"Stop teasing Lillian like that, you know she cannot handle it."

Gal looks up, seeing Gaspar framed by the doorway. He is standing there, watching. Gal does not bother to get up, remaining sprawled over the couch.

What is Gaspar going to do about it? Drop dead?

"She's stupid anyway, can't even handle a little teasing."

"Letting her be locked up again is not just a little teasing."

Gal flips his wrist into a sort of hand wave, "details."

"Gal."

"Gaspar."

"I'm quite serious."

"Fiiine," Gal sighs with all the drama available to him, swinging himself up and into a seated position. "Just your Lillian?"

"Jasmin can handle herself just fine."

Oh, she definitely can; it's not /Jasmin/ that Gal was asking about.

"Fine. I'll not tease Lillian for at least a week. You have to speak to Henri yourself, though."

Gaspar flinches, and yet still says "thank you, Gal."

"You should thank me properly."

At some point, Gaspar has come very close. He freezes, now, but Gal still grabs his shirt, and pulls him down until their faces meet. Gaspar comes, of course, too worried about damaging his shirt and being in trouble with a nun who will never be kind to any of them.

"Gal?"

Gal takes the opportunity; he smashes their lips together. It's not the first time - Gaspar always pulls away before he can truly get a taste- but if only Lillian is off limits...

Predictably, Gaspar pulls away.

This time, there is no scolding, however; Gaspar hesitates for a moment.

"Hm?" Gal tilts his head. "You want more?"

Maybe, maybe not.

Either way Gaspar presses a short but messy kiss to Gal's cheek, before retreating as quickly as one can without it being called a 'run'.

Got him.

[angelforstyles]

Lonely (together) Chapter One

Lillian’s POV

My stomach hurts, I should eat something, but I can’t move. I can’t open my eyes, I took painkillers, but I still feel the pain come and go in sync with my heartbeat. I have a migraine every month routine, and if i was very stressed every two weeks for four days. That life, right? My phone is buzzing, and it’s making me feel sick. Shit, I try to reach the bathroom,just two more steps. Done. Throwing up with tears all over my cheeks. So dizzy, i stayed for fifteen minutes than wash my face. Simple tasks just do it. Return to my bed, then incoming call. Jolly, one of my best friends. Answer, don’t. I pick up. “Haaayyy, you didn’t answer, are you in?” What she’s talking about, her voice makes my head hurt more. “What?" “Damn girl, are you sick?” "No, just woke up." “Great, we’re going to celebrate with no occasion, coming right?” “I don’t think i feel good. Sorry, Joll," “please? Been while since we've all been free." “Sorry, I can't, my period coming I don't feel very good” , “shit sorry, do you need me to came?” “No i got it, thanks though”, “i love you if you need me just text me okay?” “Okay” “promise?” “Promise, have fun”.

My phone fell from my hand. My eyes hurt, and I’m so hungry. I set up until I can stand I walk to the kitchen, pull a water bottle, and drink it. It’s Friday, and I have to go work tomorrow. I already took two days off. I eat leftover pasta. Disgusting, since when has this been in the fridge? I went back to sleep. Tomorrow the headache should be less painful.

I woke up with a painful body. Did I kill someone in my past life, and I’m being punished? Already got my period and my stomach hurting; the headache seems gone, but my body is hurting "uugghhh.” I need to go to work I can’t skip three days straight. I took some painkillers. Shower, dressing, crying. My chest hurts from crying. It’s fine, just a couple hours. I put on concealer; nobody wants to see Banda at work; my hair is already dry. I don’t want to wear a lot of makeup so I can sleep faster when I come back. I need coffee or I will die. I have no coffee at home and need to buy it. Put shoes on “just couple hours hold it.” I wore comfy pants and a hoodie. It’s Jun, but damn, I'm so cold. Live in D.C. and wear hoodies? Crazy.

I work at the newspaper and do nothing at the same time, they don’t use what I write but keep me writing, stupid. I walk it’s just 20 minutes walking. I could use some fresh air. My head hurts a little, not much, but my body is killing me. I need to find stronger pills.

Slow day, and I hate it. I went to buy some groceries, and I need to eat. I feel like I’m going to faint. I grab grips, strawberries, berries, slices of bread, cereal, milk, pasta, and heavy cream. I need to come back for water and coffee. I opened my apartment door, put them, and went out again to grab coffee and water. I can’t make anything at home; I’m so tired, and I can’t eat something heavy now. I stopped and think a bit. I just don’t know what I want to eat. I give up and go back home. I took a water bottle and went to my room to wash my body, face, and wear panties and a t-shirt. Trying to sleep since I couldn’t think of something to eat. I feel a little safe, my tears so hot on my face. My chest hurts so bad. I don’t know why I have to live like that; there is no purpose to live now. I graduated college this summer. I moved to a new apartment. I have friends when I never thought I would. But I still feel nothing but pain. I can’t even contact people properly without freaking out and want to cry and hide. I still got panic attacks. I still have nightmares. I will never be normal. I’ve never been one.

Something grabs my hand and covers my mouth; I can’t see it, i can’t scream. It hurts, but I don’t know where.

"Angel, help me.” I try to move. I need to help my sister; she’s in danger. "Angel, please, it hurts me. Help me.” I need to tell her to run. I need to—I wake up in heavy breathing with a little scream. I couldn’t help her, and now she’s gone. "No, no, no, please," I hug my pillow and cry harder. I need my inhaler. I need it. I can’t breathe. I tried to find it, but it’s too dark, and I am crying. I opened the flashlight, and I inhaled, one, two. Breath breath. I looked at my phone. It’s just 7:18. When did I come home? I only slept two hours. I got up and washed my face. I pull the sheets out; I need to refresh. My bed looks painful on the eyes; I put them in the washing machine. I heated the milk and put cereal. I need something and I can’t figure it out. I eat on the couch and I'm still crying. I heard my phone I get up to my room. The girls are going out to have dinner. Unusual. Should I go? I need to go out; it’s been three weeks since I got somewhere else, then work and grocery.

Jolly : I’m hungry and still have energy to eat out, let eat together

Meiie : I’m free too!!! Let’s go

Jolly : anyone else?

Sarah : YES, I need distraction

Amielia : I’m sooo in

Me : I’m in too.

Jolly : location.

I return to the couch grab the cereal and eat it. My apartment is just a one bedroom and living room with an open kitchen. I need my privacy even when the rent is a bit expensive. I graduated, Jolly and Amielia took house and lived with each other next to Meiie and her boyfriend. Sarah too lives with her boyfriend. They told me to move with them but I couldn’t live with anyone anymore. We were roommates in college. Basically i moved with them when they already on their second year. They were already friends so i felt out of the place all the time. It was just a month then they invite me whenever something happens. Until we become friends. I graduated early. I took summer classes because there is nowhere to go and I have no place to stay in the summer except the camp.

I decided what i wanted to wear, black shorts and a red tight t-shirt. I looked at the mirror. “What..” white pale skin, high cheekbones, sleepy blue eyes, my dimples are slightly visible since I’m not smiling, it’s been a while since I saw them, fully pale pink lips and so black so long curly hair with a bang around my face. but since when is my body that skinny? I don’t eat much but there is no way i look that horrible. I change to black buggy pants and white long sleeve shirt. This is better. Concealer and blush and gloss. I wanna put eyeliner on but i have no energy to take it off. I wore high heels and took my red bag, i put napkins, gloss, powder, inhaler, and knife. I feel unsafe, just in case. The restaurant 15 minutes. Good. I arrived at 9:15. Good.

The girls already have drinks, and the boyfriends are there too. Amielia’s boyfriend is Rayan, her brother's best friend. Jolly’s boyfriend is Jack Amielia’s brother. Mess. There was a war between them but they made it. Sharah’s boyfriend, William. And never forget Meiie with her boyfriend Loca, he’s Rayan’s and William's friend.

All of them businessmen except Jack working with his father. They are so rich and powerful. Make my stomach shiver. I wish I could be that independent. I slowly walk to the table. I want to go home. I love them, but there are a lot of people on the table I want to throw up. “Hiiii finally, I thought you would never come,” Amie said while she’s hugging me. No, please don’t touch me. So close. “I said I’m coming.” Sarah hugged me too. “She’s joking, baby.” Sarah always brings me back to reality. “I miss you; it’s been ages since we saw you,” Meiie said. Jolly, hold my shoulders and look at me in the eyes. “How are you feeling now?” “I’m good, don’t worry, thanks.” I’m not good at all, and I want to cry. She hugged me so hard, and I think she can feel my heart beat going crazy. I smiled at the men. They all in their early 30s except Jack, who’s 29? I set between Joll and Am.

“Wanna order a drink first?” I don’t drink, but Joll always asks me like the answer is going to change. “No, food." "Yeah, let’s order. My palms sweating, I don’t know what to order, and I don’t think I can even eat. my turn so soon. “I want pasta,” my voice so low. "What, Ms?.” “Pasta,“ I said so loudly. I don’t think it was loud, but I don’t ever raise my voice; I think I always mumbled. I’m not sure what the normal voice is. “Anything else, Lillian?” Joll voice pulls me out of my head. “Huh?” “He asked you, do you want anything else?” “N-no thanks” “drink?” The waiter asked me, and I shook my head no. I need my bed. I want to hide. I want to cry. “You okay?” Sarah asked me. No, “Yeah, I need the restroom.” I push back my chair, I need to close my eyes, they hurt. I lock the door. I can’t cry. I supposed to be having fun. Why am I always like that? I set in the ground while my back was on the door. I heard a soft knock on the door. "Busy,” my voice shaking. “It’s me" Am voice. “give me a minute.” I washed my hands, put some powder under my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the door. “Hey baby,” why do they always call me baby? I hate it. “Hi, you okay?” I asked, “Yeah, wanna make sure you okay?" “I’m, don’t worry, let’s go back.”

We get back to the table. I don’t really know what they are talking about, but I smile and shake my head until the food arrives. "Liliy,” Ame calls me, “hm?” “How is the work going?” All the eyes on me, silent. Why are they looking at me? I can’t talk shit. “Um” I smiled and shook my head. Yes, what the hell is that? "Good,” my eyes on my food. “is there drama?” Joll now, "hmm,” shook my head no. Can’t you talk? weak. Stop please. My head plays games with me at the wrong time. “Have you seen a cute guy? If not, you know there is blind date” Sarah said and winked. Nooo, I don’t want anything blind. “No, and no thanks." I love them, and I’m happy for them. in 23 and fond the one? Wow. I’m 21 but still never ever date anyone. A lot of reasons, number one: boys love and like my look, but when they try to talk to me, I run. Yes, I physically run. The girls know I never dated anyone, and they are trying with me to make my love life exciting. But I am so scared and can’t trust anyone except myself and the four girls at this table.

“Maybe you are lesbian." Joll said, “I’m not,"  “we will love you always. You have my word.” Sarah now said, “I. am. not." I really don’t know why they always push me with that. “Okay, but if you want someone, tell me, and we will help you get him,” Mia said. "Okay,” I mumbled, wanting to end the conversation. They get into another conversation. I have never wanted someone else more than the charming characters in my books. I will give anything to have one of them I’m basically in love with them. I always swim in my book’s world and put myself in a really unenviable state of mind, it’s makes me float and cry and laugh like I’m really living in the book. Wired. My head is always telling me that it must be true. “Why you’re not eating?” Ame said. Shit, I forgot I’m even out of my apartment. “Wait for the food to get a bit cold,” seriously? “I think it’s so cold now. Do you want to order another?” What no, I can’t afford it. "No, it’s fine." I eat a little and almost throw it up. What's wrong with me? It’s just pasta. I love pasta. I ate a little more, but I couldn’t make it to the half. We paid and said goodbye, and I walked home. A year ago, there were stalker who always sent me messages about how close he is and how I would fit perfectly with him. I was living with the girls, so one day someone tried to come inside our room, and the police came and arrested him. I couldn’t sleep for days, and when I slept, I was getting nightmares. So since then I can’t walk normally without looking like a choked cat. I arrived at my apartment. Go to sleep.

I couldn’t sleep, so I took my sketchbook and I drew some butterflies and raver. Always wanted to live around a raver away from the city. I came from London, I didn’t want to stay there, it makes me sad and scared.

I finished and took a book I already read, but I need to do something since I can’t sleep. It’s 4:30 and I need to go to work by 9. Long time to waste. I opened Amazon to order some books, but why don't I go and buy them? “Tomorrow after work” Okay. Okay. I need time to sleep. I went to work, I went to buy books, and now it's 9:30 and I’m dying to sleep, but too scared. How can I?. I went to bed eventually. I wish I sleep in peace.

“Leave my hands, Angel, please. I have to go."  “Please stop doing this, Hop. I need you” I said, and I can’t see anything. “He will stop doing that to us if I do that” she dropped my hands. "No, please, Hop Please” I wake up screaming and sweating. “Why” I cry while I hug my pillow. I need her, and I can’t reach her.

I get up, wash my body, and face drink coffee with chocolate. Get ready to go to work. Simple task.

Shit day at work, I walk for an hour. I don’t want to go home yet. I need to breathe, and I can't. There is something in my chest, and if I keep mys—ugh, that hurts. What the hell? Something hit my shoulder. "Oh, sorry, I’m really sorry, are you okay?” British accent? What if someone fallsows me from there? I need to run. I didn’t look up, I just needed to run. I started breathing heavily, but I couldn’t move. “Are you okay?" No, I don’t know that voice. I looked up and saw the prettiest eyes, green eyes, pink lips, beautiful noise, and long brown curls. Breathtaking. “You look pale, are you okay?” He’s an Ang—no, no, no one an Angel. "Yes, sorry” I say. “Can I ask you something?” He said while he’s fallowing me, What if someone sent him to kill me? I opened my bag and held the knife. “Please?” I turned around and stopped. “Who sent you?” “What?” “Who?” my eyes full of tears. “No one? I just wanted to apologize and ask you about your name, you look familiar."  He knows me shit. “I’m not” "what’s your name?” "what's yours?"  "Harry.” I looked at him, but no, I definitely don’t know him. He looks like a dream, gorgeous and tall, and my neck hurts because I’m looking up. "Lillian” I mumbled, “beautiful name.” Yes i chose it. He’s so beautiful i wanna touch his cheeks and sketch his face.

I looked down, he was wearing a black suit and black shirt unbuttoned from his chest a bit down. There are tattoos peeking, but my tears make my vision blurry. I turned and walked. I actually ran until I arrived at my apartment. I opened the building door, small hallway, stairs, then my apartment. I set on the stairs with my head on my hands and crying without a voice.

There is no one else in this building, I don’t know why. Meiie's boyfriend rents it to me. Luca tells Meiie I go to his office and sign whatever. It was crowded (wasn't)—maybe 8 men? Don't know. I literally interrupted a meeting in Luca's office, I didn’t look around, I was terrified. Luca told me to wait outside, then he sent someone to hand me the papers that I couldn’t read because of my tears. I take pictures of it though.

Good job embarrassing yourself.

I opened the door and looked around. Is there someone else here? I have my knife in my hand, and I look around. Nothing. Just the bathroom know, I opened it and looked around, nothing, the bathtub, nothing. I stripped, opened the hot water, got inside, and cried myself until I felt my head start hurting and my vision so blurry. I went out, put on some lotion, did my hair, and wore panties and a t-shirt. Eat pancakes and drink coffee. Its just 7 p.m. I went to bed even though I’m not sleeping.

Harry’s POV

I open my eyes to turn off the alarm, wash my face, I don't bother getting dressed except for my underwear, I go for a run around my house in the garden for an hour, shower, breakfast, get ready, go to my first meeting of the day with Loca, I own a security company and everyone in the meeting even Loca is waiting for me to provide security for their next deal, it's not the first time I do it but it will be a good return for the company (not that I want more money I have enough to buy half the earth), I park my car in the parking lot, I go to Loca's office, I really don't want to be here all I want is my office. I open the door and they are waiting for me. Loca tells his assistant not to interrupt the meeting.

They start the meeting and I am just there to listen without participating. Suddenly the door opens and silence falls in the office, all eyes are on the door because no one opens the door of a CEO's office like that let's be honest. White shoes with pink socks, shorts that reach halfway down the thighs, and trembling hands holding the red bag as if it were the only source of oxygen, a red top with a jacket? It is the middle of May, tired eyes filled with tears, she did not look at anyone in the room except Loca, for a moment I thought she was Loca's girlfriend but he shouted at her to wait outside. The meeting ended and they all left. "So this is the girlfriend huh" i said.

"Her best friend", "why in earth your girlfriend's best friend coming to you crying" i said dryly. "I think her eyes always like that. She needs a place and I'm renting her my old building, Meie asked me to rent it to her." He said looking in my eyes.

"Doing good things" i said then i got up and took the elevator. I drove to my office and couldn't stop thinking about her.

It's 6 pm and I didn't get out my office. The picture of her all over my head. It's been a week and i still couldn't take her out of my mind and there is just an idea flying around my head and I couldn't not catch it. I start digging about the girl. Her name Lilian Halford. No middle name nothing before age 18 not even one information. My head hurts l've never ever not found what I want. She studied English literature, worked three jobs at one time for two years, took a summer school and finished early. No relatives. No social media accounts. No personal public photos not even in her friends accounts. Never traveled just one time and it was from London to D.C. at 18.

"What the fuck" my head in my hands I can't find anything else. I went home but couldn't sleep. I need to see her again or my head gone explode if i keep thinking of her.

After two weeks of trying to find any information i went into some Files from the British government, it was the only thing left to me to try since she's coming from London.

My hands sweating, it 2 am and I'm at the couch, took me 6 hours to have access to those files. I typed her name, there is her name— "what? No way" her real name or old name Angel Jezebel Rose, her father.. everyone knows her father. The one who killed his wife and his little boy then shot a bullate on his head and left his 18 year old son with two 13 year old girls. That was all over the news back then. "Went to fosters?" When she turned 16 went to foster, not that but her big brother and twin sister died? Her brother overdosed and her sister— "shit shit shit" my eyes hurt I didn't notice that my tears were falling.

"What the fuck" I can't keep looking my chest hurts. I tried to sleep but i couldn't. It's 6 am and I'm still up, I opened my laptop and looked again. Her parents were addicted and she had three siblings, her parents were arrested for assaulting their children, twice. There are photos? Shit / can't click on it.. no I can't no. i did. A little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes her face was red from crying with bruises all over her, the other picture was a little girl— my chest hurts so much how can I kill somebody already dead? A black hair with bruises on her face, chest, neck brace, and broken arm. The record says the blonde girl who called Hop was getting insulted by her father and her mother for no reason, when the black hair girl who called Angel tried to defend her sister. The sister hid and called the police,

the other girl kept getting beaten by her parents. The girls were 9 years old, and the mother was pregnant, both the parents were using drugs for 24/7. The police released them after they signed a pledge. I closed my laptop and walked around the living room. I need something strong to drink, i looked at the clock but it's 7 am i will go for a run.

It's 9:15 and I'm in my office i need to sleep and work. But I can't stop thinking of her and I can't work, i pulled her location and drove to. I sit in the car in the front street. The building door opens, and there she is. So beautiful face with black long waves and curls, hoodie and black pants. "Who the fuck wore hoodies in the middle of summer?" Her face looks so delicious to touch and kiss— "what the fuck I'm thinking of" she looks around then walks, stops in front of coffee shop but she didn't go inside, she start biting her lip, and look down to her shoes.

She walks and stops again and looks at the coffee shop again.

So fucking cute, she walked again then stopped and looked back and got inside the coffee shop "finally wasn't so hard to decide whether to take or not a fucking cup of coffee" she starts running until she stopped in front of her work building.

I stayed in my car until 3 pm, I want my bed so bad. she come out and walking to grocery store then to her apartment, she stumbled and fell on her ass, got up and turned around to clean her pants but her face was full of tears, and my heart sank i wanna hold her.

I'm in the middle of fucking business dinner and i wanna sleep,

"so Harry, have you looked at my new offer?" No i was looking at my girl. " yes and I don't like it's, if you need my protection you gonna give me what i want" I didn't even bother asking what his offer was. And what the fuck with my girl? Really?

Two weeks later, I couldn't hold myself back, I want her now.

Trying to keep everything normal as I followed her after her work, I didn't plan to hit her shoulder that hard but her body was too delicate for my touch. Her face was filled with fear, it made my stomach flip and regret rise up inside me. She even thought that someone sent me? Is someone following her? It wasn't the first time so she was asking me if I was sent by someone?

Please tell me what you think :3