#BUT BUT BUT MAYBE PERHAPS MAYBE IT'S ALREADY EVENING???

[muntitled]

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

[lizziesangel]

AN ANGSTY ASS REQUEST, I wanna cry and I know you are gonna do amazing. Love your writing. Kind of backstory: So.....Reader is the love of Rafe’s life and the only person who has shown him kindness and given him affection. They are kidnapped for some reason, perhaps kept on a boat, and she falls overboard. Rafe escapes. A BODY (not hers, but can’t be certain) gets washed up at some point and she is determined to be dead. So just kind of as back story....you don't need to write that part if you don't want to <3 So present/and well....the request really: Funeral is held and everything. He is walking around for about 2 months, mourning her, being an ABSOLUTE WRECK. He has nightmares constantly about her and when he’s awake, she haunts him still. He is drinking all the time because he can’t cope. UNKNOWN……she survived but was still held captive. She manages to escape and breaks into his house. HE THINKS HE IS OUT OF HIS MIND, DRUNK but it’s such a teary felt reunion when he realizes that she’s real. Maybe he gives her a bath (cus lets be real) and takes care of her (and again, let's be real, she is probably really weak) and is just shaking with relief, happiness and is so soft with her :(

wow, this is such an amazing request, i absolutely love this!!

the salty air was sharp and cold, biting against your skin as the boat rocked beneath your feet. it wasn’t the gentle sway of a calm ocean—it was erratic, violent, as if the sea itself mirrored the chaos that had unfolded in the past few hours.

rafe’s face was bloodied, his lip split and bruises already blooming along his jaw. his wrists were bound behind his back, the ropes digging into his skin as he struggled against them. he was glaring at the men surrounding him, his usual cocky bravado barely masking the sheer terror in his eyes.

“look,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous, though it cracked with desperation, “you’ve got me. i’ll get you your money. just let her go. she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

one of the men, a grizzled figure with a jagged scar running down his cheek, barked out a laugh. “you don’t get it, do you? you think you can screw us over and just walk away? nah.

“you’re gonna feel what it’s like to lose everything.”

the words sent a shiver down your spine. you’d known rafe’s life wasn’t clean—he carried the weight of bad decisions and even worse company—but you never thought it would come to this. the fear in his eyes, barely veiled beneath his fury, was enough to make your heart clench.

“please,” you interjected, your voice trembling as you stepped closer. “please, just let us go. we won’t—”

the sharp crack of a slap silenced you, the force of it sending you stumbling back. rafe surged forward, his shout of rage muffled by the gag they shoved into his mouth.

“enough talking,” the scarred man said coldly. “you want to play the hero, cameron? let’s see how much you care about her.”

before you could react, multiple strong hands grabbed your arms. you thrashed against them, your heart pounding as you looked back at rafe. his eyes were wild, his muffled cries growing frantic as the men dragged you toward the edge of the boat.

“no!” you screamed, your voice raw as the dark water loomed closer. the waves were fierce, crashing against the sides of the vessel, the moonlight glinting off their surface like shards of broken glass.

“rafe!” you cried, your voice breaking.

he was struggling so hard now that blood began to seep from where the ropes cut into his wrists. his muffled shouts were desperate, pleading.

“throw her over,” the scarred man commanded.

“no! please—” you begged, but it was too late.

the cold hit you like a thousand needles, stealing the air from your lungs as you plunged into the frigid ocean. the world above became muffled, the boat a distant silhouette against the black sky as you were swallowed by the waves. you fought to stay afloat, the current pulling at you like unseen hands.

above, rafe was a man undone. he thrashed violently, his screams muffled and his face twisted in agony. “let me go! i’ll kill you! i’ll kill you!” the men barely paid him any mind as they turned the boat, leaving the spot where you disappeared into the water.

“you better hope she’s a good swimmer, cameron,” the scarred man sneered. “and you’d better figure out how to pay us back.”

the funeral rafe held was a quiet affair, not because you deserved anything less, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of it being a spectacle. the small, secluded chapel was filled with the scent of lilies and a suffocating weight of sorrow. he sat in the front row, shoulders hunched, his trembling hands clutching the edge of the pew.

he couldn’t look at the casket, though it was empty.

the minister’s words were hollow, background noise to the storm raging inside him. “a kind soul, taken too soon…” “beloved by all who knew her…” every word made his chest ache. rafe clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, willing himself not to break down in front of the small group of mourners.

afterward, when the empty coffin was lowered into the ground, he stood motionless, staring at the fresh mound of earth. a few people offered condolences, their words shallow and meaningless. he didn’t respond, barely even acknowledged them. what could they say? no words could bring you back.

once everyone left, rafe stayed behind. minutes turned into hours as he sat on the damp grass, staring at the grave as though he could will it to undo itself. he whispered apologies to the air, his voice breaking. “i should’ve done something. i should’ve stopped them. i’m so sorry, my baby.”

the days that followed bled together into a haze of grief and self-loathing.

rafe couldn’t stand being at home. every corner of the house reminded him of you. the couch where you’d curled up with a blanket and a book, the kitchen where you’d danced with him to music only the two of you could hear—it was all too much. he turned to the only thing that numbed the pain: alcohol.

whiskey became his constant companion, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction from the ache in his heart. he barely ate, barely slept. the nightmares wouldn’t let him. every time he closed his eyes, he saw you falling, the cold water dragging you under while he screamed your name. he’d wake up drenched in sweat, his chest heaving, the echo of your voice fading into silence.

he stopped answering his phone. friends tried to check in on him, but he pushed them away. he couldn’t face their pity, couldn’t stand the thought of them telling him to “move on.”

how could he move on when the love of his life was gone?

the two-month mark came and went, and rafe was a shadow of the man he used to be. his once meticulously styled hair was unkempt, his clothes rumpled, his face hollow from lack of sleep and too many sleepless nights spent drowning in liquor.

he spent most of his days wandering aimlessly, haunted by memories of you. he would catch glimpses of you everywhere—in the stranger who had your laugh, in the perfume that smelled like yours. his heart would leap, only to crash when he realized it wasn’t you.

one evening, he found himself on the beach, the waves crashing against the shore. he sank into the sand, letting the cold wind whip against his face. he stared at the horizon, the sun dipping below the water in a blaze of gold and crimson.

“i don’t know how to do this without you,” he whispered to the empty expanse of ocean. his voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, the weight of his grief crushing him.

for rafe, the world had stopped the moment you disappeared. time dragged on, but he remained frozen, lost in a limbo of regret and longing. he didn’t know if he could survive without you.

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

his nightmares were relentless. every second he closed his eyes, he was back on that boat, watching helplessly as you were thrown overboard. the icy waves swallowed you, your desperate cries for help echoing in his ears. he’d wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he reached out for you in the darkness—only to find cold sheets and empty space.

you weren’t there, and the realization gutted him every time.

the only way he knew how to cope was to drown himself in alcohol. bottles littered the floor of his house, their contents his only escape from the crushing weight of his grief. the whiskey blurred the edges of his pain, but it never truly numbed it. instead, it left him hollow, stumbling through a life that felt meaningless without you.

the storm outside was fierce, rain pelting against the windows and wind howling like a wounded animal. rafe sat slumped on the couch, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. he stared blankly at the television, though he wasn’t watching it. the sound was muted, the images flickering across the screen as if mocking his apathy.

the sharp sound of glass shattering upstairs jolted him from his stupor. for a moment, he froze, his foggy mind struggling to process it. he shook his head, muttering to himself, “you’re losing it, rafe.”

but then he heard it again—a faint creak of floorboards. His heart began to race, adrenaline cutting through the haze of alcohol. grabbing a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon, he stumbled toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

he pushed open the bedroom door, his breath hitching at what he saw.

you were there.

at first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind. you stood by the window, your body bruised, your clothes torn and soaked from the rain. your hair was a tangled mess, your face pale and gaunt, but it was you.

“rafe…” your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

“n... no,” he muttered, shaking his head. his grip on the lamp tightened. “you’re not real. you’re not—”

“i am,” you interrupted, taking a shaky step toward him. “i got away. i—i’m here.”

the lamp fell from his hands, clattering to the floor as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. when your knees buckled, he lunged forward, catching you before you could hit the ground.

the moment your weight fell into his arms, he knew. you were real.

a sob broke from his throat as he held you tightly, his fingers digging into your sides as if afraid you’d disappear again. “you’re alive,” he choked out, his voice raw. “oh, my God, you’re alive.”

“i am,” you murmured weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. “i am.”

rafe carried you to the bathroom, his arms trembling with relief and adrenaline. he set you down on the edge of the tub, his hands shaking as he turned on the water, testing the temperature to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

“i... i need to—you need to get cleaned up,” he said, his voice unsteady. he avoided your eyes, his movements jerky and unsure. “you’re freezing. God, you’re so cold.”

you didn’t protest, too weak and tired to do much more than nod. he helped you out of your soaked clothes, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with guilt and tenderness.

once the tub was filled, he eased you into the warm water, his heart breaking at the way you winced. he knelt beside the tub, his sleeves rolled up as he carefully washed away the grime and salt from your skin. his hands trembled as they ran through your hair, untangling the knots with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.

“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i thought—i thought you were gone forever.”

“i almost was,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

tears streamed down his face as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your damp hair. “you’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “i’m not letting you go again. i promise.”

after the bath, rafe wrapped you in the softest towel he could find and carried you to his bed. he brought you water, food, anything you might need, though you barely managed a few bites. he sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours, as if reassuring himself that you were really there.

that night, for the first time in months, he didn’t have nightmares. Instead, he fell asleep with you in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound he needed to finally find peace.

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @diorstarkey

[crushpunky]

paparazzi interrupts drew and actress!reader's walk

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. warnings for harassment/body shaming and overall assholery from the paparazzi lol

The day had already taken a toll on y/n. First, she spilled her iced coffee she had pain painstakingly made all over her favorite shorts, then her lunch order was completely wrong, and last and perhaps most painfully, she’d gotten a call from her manager informing her that she hadn’t gotten a call back for the role she had been so excited for. Noticing this, Drew suggested the two of them take Charleston out for a walk downtown.

“I think I’m ready for it to be summer again.” Drew said as he held his jacket against him, Charleston trotting happily in front of the two of them. The two of them walked down the sidewalk arm in arm, the breeze gently rattling the changing leaves. It wasn’t a particularly heavy tourist season, the streets filled mostly with locals.

“Oh c’mon, it’s like 60 degrees out.” Y/n laughed, nudging Drew playfully. Drew looked down at her with a light grin on his lips, happy to see her smiling after the unfortunate events of the day.

“I’m a southern boy, I’ve—” Drew began, but was cut off when a lanky man approached them. Drew quickly pulled Charleston back, allowing the dog to walk between the two of them, and tightened his hold on y/n’s arm.

“Y/n! Drew!” The lanky man said, holding up his camera. Y/n flashed a smile and a small wave, adjusting her baseball cap as they continued down the street. Paparazzi weren't new to them by any means, it just wasn’t super often they really approached them, mostly opting to snap photos from afar.

“We saw the photos of you two at the beach the other day.” The paparazzi said, continuing behind the couple as they walked down the sidewalk. Drew’s jaw tightened, already annoyed by the sudden intrusion to y/n’s already shitty day.

“Looks like you’ve gained a bit of weight, huh, y/n?” The paparazzi jeered, pushing his camera in in an attempt at drawing a reaction. Drew whipped his head around quickly, his eyes furious.

“It’s— just ignore him. Please.” Y/n whispered, tugging on Drew’s elbow. Her heart was hammering, trying her best to not internalize the creep’s clear attempt at garnering a strong reaction from the two of them. They continued down the street quicker, even Charleston seemingly distracted by the man following them.

“All those sweets are really showing up on the hips, y/n.” The paparazzi continued with a snicker. Y/n took in a shaky breath, her eyes beginning to water as the man continued spouting off comments about her body.

“Y/n, I can’t ignore him if he keeps saying shit—” Drew growled, his hands practically trembling in anger as he noticed the glassiness in y/n’s eyes.

“Or maybe you’re pregnant? Hmm, Drew? You finally knock that bitch up—” The paparazzi jeered. Drew whipped around, quickly handing the leash to y/n as he stepped towards the man. The lanky man stopped, his eyes widening as Drew’s broad figure approached him angrily.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Drew said to the man, his finger pointing harshly. “Don’t you fucking say another word to her, a’ight asshole? Not another fuckin word.”

“Relax, man, I was just asking a question.” The man let out a nervous laugh. Y/n took in a shaky breath, tears falling down her cheeks. Charleston nuzzled his nose into her leg, his eyes looking up at her widely as she patted his head gently, her head buzzing with tension.

“You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat the shit out of you for saying that. Get the fuck out of here.” Drew looked down at the man, his cheeks flushed with anger. Y/n stepped forward, placing a hand on Drew’s shoulder, glancing around at the other people walking down the streets whose attention seemed to be focused on them. Drew’s eyes stayed focused on the man as he cowered back, his gaze only breaking when Charleston barked.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” Drew spat before, taking a measured step back, wrapping an arm firmly around y/n’s waist and taking Charleston’s leash from her. The two of them quickly walked away from the creep, not even sparing a glance in his direction, until they found a bench. Drew directed y/n to sit, immediately crouching down to her level.

“Baby, are you ok? I’m so sorry—” Drew said, tucking a strand of hair behind y/n’s ear.

“It’s— you didn’t do anything, it’s fine.” Y/n sniffled, wiping a stray tear away and straightening up, her hand resting on Charleston’s head and eyes avoiding Drew’s. As much as she tried to tell herself what the man was saying wasn’t true, she couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt. It hurt to hear the things that used to just exist in her head or in the comments under a post. It hurt to hear those things out loud. It hurt to hear those things out loud because it made them feel real.

“Hey, look at me, please.” Drew whispered, his hand moving to the curve of y/n’s jaw. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He gazed over her face, his heart clenching at the teariness in her eyes and slight frown on her usually grinning lips.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful—” Drew said, his thumb rubbing gently along y/n’s jaw, even as she shook her head and tried to look away from him. He held her still, keeping her eyes on him.

“Don’t shake your head, please, baby, you’re killing me.” Drew sighed, his voice nearly breaking.

“Drew, it’s fine, just leave it.” Y/n said, her voice barely a whisper as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“No, I can’t have you crying over bullshit some asshole who knows nothing about you is spouting.” Drew continued, his other hand moving to cup the side of her face. Her flushed cheeks smushed together slightly, her nose scrunching so perfectly Drew felt as if he was gazing at a painting.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful,” Drew whispered. “So beautiful it’s unreal. Everything about you is just… so perfect.”

“Your nose.” Drew pressed a kiss to y/n’s nose. “Your chin.” Drew pressed a kiss to her chin. “Your neck.” Drew pressed a kiss to her neck. “Your shoulders.” Drew pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Y/n said, a small smile spreading on her lips as Drew gazed up at her as if she were a goddess gracing him with her very presence… and to him she was. He never thought it’d be possible to be so completely and utterly perfect, every aspect just so quintessentially her. Even “flaws”, like the faint scars of acne on her cheeks or the way her hair would tangle in the morning were so her he found it impossible to see them as anything less than perfect.

“I wanna hear you say it.” Drew grinned, his eyes crinkling in the way that made y/n so weak in the knees she was glad she was sitting down.

“No, c’mon—” y/n groaned.

“We’re not leaving until you say it.” Drew sang, his hands resting on her knees as she let out another playful groan. She took a deep breath, her cheeks warming as she smiled back at him.

“I’m ‘so fuckin’ beautiful’.” Y/n said, Drew’s grin growing impossibly wider as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her temple before helping her to her feet. Charleston barked excitedly, his tail wagging as they continued their back towards their house.

“Exactly, Charlie, your momma is so hot.” Drew wrapped his arm around y/n’s waist, pulling her to his side. Y/n giggled, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s what he said. I think he said ‘hurry up and get home I’m starving’.” Y/n teased, elbowing Drew lightly.

“Mmm, me too… but something a little different.” Drew said, looking down at y/n with a quirk of his brow. Y/n’s eyes widened as she caught onto his hint.

“You’re such a dog.” Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes as she rested her head onto Drew’s shoulder again.

“Can’t help it my girl’s so fuckin’ hot.” Drew said, pressing a kiss to her head. Y/n grinned, her head spinning with Drew’s intoxicating presence, all doubts about herself disappearing under Drew’s loving gaze.

[heyysteven]

Cat and Mouse

Summary: The one where the salesman has feelings and doesn't know what to do about them, until he does.

Pairing: The salesman x reader

Warnings: Death, stalking, the salesman being the salesman .

“Attention please, the train from Busan is arriving shortly.”

Glancing at the station clock, he shut the week old newspaper and straightened his spine. He had been carrying the same edition he bought the first time he accidently bumped into you. It had unknowingly become his evening ritual; to sit and wait on the bench facing the train at platform number six.

At exactly ten minutes to four your train arrives at the platform and in exactly three minutes you walk past him. Every day since that fateful meeting he waits for you at the exact same spot. He wasn’t quite sure why he did so. Maybe in hopes that perhaps one day you would recognize him too. Though if you were to remember him, you would have noticed by now. It was near impossible to miss a man like him.

He sits and waits for the sweet scent that lingers after you. He waits for the soft chime from your anklet that rings as you walk your commute and faints into silence.

The salesman believed himself to be a man of strength. One who could easily fight off any urges for addictions. One who could puppet his way out of any situation no matter how challenging they got. He had always believed himself to be the one in charge, in complete control regardless of the outcome.

And yet there he was. Sitting aimlessly in a place he hates, reading about affairs he couldn’t care less about. All for the attention of a person he couldn’t get. It wasn’t like he didn’t try defying these emotions. But almost every time he wound up waiting at the same exact bench. Like the dog salivating at the sound of the bell.

If anyone were to see him right now, they would call him out for what he was.

A sad pathetically desperate loser. That’s what he was and that’s what he was doing wasn’t he? Playing this strange unnamed game and losing.

Something clicked inside him at that thought. He decided he couldn’t let this continue longer.

In that moment the salesman realized what he had to do.

He had only made a living out of it after all.  

Standing up he fixed the crisp fabric of his gray suit. The footfall of his squeaky polished shoe following as he trailed your usual path.

He already knew where you were going next.

The bold red letters of the supermarket blinked to life as he crossed the fairly crowded street. As the sun slowly set, cold breeze replaced the burning summer humidity that prickled sweat since dawn.

The salesman walked casually, in absolute no hurry as he strode behind a group of old ladies, who were headed inside the store. After reaching your station you would walk inside this supermarket, where they sold mini sized packets of cat food and feed it to the one stray cat wandering beside the alley adjacent to the store. In all these days he observed that you liked to browse the aisle one by one, even if you always ended up buying the same items.

He concluded that you liked doing monotonous chores; that having to do the same things for the rest of your life didn’t scare you. He wondered what you would think of the life he lived. Would it scare you or maybe perhaps you would understand him and why he did what he did.

Like clockwork he went inside and scanned the fluorescently lit store for any signs of you. The cold air blasting from the conditioner hit on his hair as he walked past the frozen items aisle. Walking through, he picked up a loaf of packaged bread and a carton of milk so as to not be caught wandering aimless.

He didn’t resist his smile that grew slowly as he found you.

There you were, right by the aisle full of cat food. Your head hung low as your studied the contents of the packet and though you faced the opposite direction he somehow knew that your eyebrows were furrowed in complete focus. Only you could be worried about the food ingredients for a stray cat.

When he had followed you the first time he wasn’t too surprised to see you feed the bony orange cat, because of course you fed that thing. Warmth raced down his body at the memory of that day. He remembered how lovingly your fingers had caressed its body, how you whispered sweet nothings, how the little cat so eager to trust you, devoured everything you fed it.

The sight had oddly irked him. He didn’t like the fact that a stray cat of all creatures had experienced your touch and words before he could have it. He missed an embrace he never even felt before.

He had thought about it more often than he would admit. He often wondered what having you close by would look like. Would you stain his pillows with your perfume? Would you look at him and smile if he made you happy? Would you let him dangle your feet on his shoulder as he devoured you? Would you wipe the blood off his face every time he came home bloody?

A triumph feeling spread through him the more he thought about it. He didn’t have to wonder about these things anymore. Because he knew what he had to do. He knew he was going to have you soon one way or another.

When you walked out the supermarket he didn’t follow you.

His eyes though, stalked you out until you reached the alley in search for the stupid excuse of a pet. As if sensing your presence the cat emerged from under the old rusting scraps of what used to be a parked car and stopped a few feet away. Coming to your feet it purred as it rubbed its head against your legs. The salesman almost rolled his eyes.

Ripping the packet open, you reached down and scratched him under his chin, talking about your day in glorious detail like the cat could ever comprehend anything you said. You adored the cat as he lapped up every single chunk layed for him. If it was up to you, you would have taken the cat home long ago but your landlord had a strict no pets policy so instead you came here every day.

You scratched his chin one more time before you forced yourself up and walked deeper in the alley to reach home.

The salesman made his move just as you left.  

His steps slowed as he approached the cat, hued under the orange glow of the street lamp. Bending to crouch, he placed his suitcase beside him and studied the cat as it continued to licked itself, as if he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the presence of the salesman to stop filthing its tongue.

He smiled almost wickedly as he asked, “Would you like to play a game?”

It devastated him to kill that cat.

It really did. Its screeches were loud and scratches painfully sharp but after hitting the brick third time it finally gave out. For a bony cat it had surprisingly a lot of blood in it. Pulling out a kerchief from his pocket he cleaned his fingers and swept his hair down. He didn’t like killing an animal who couldn’t speak for itself, but he knew he had to do it.

He knew he had to win again.

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

If there was one thing you could complain about endlessly it would be about earpods. You’re constantly worried about one of them falling and frankly the audio quality isn’t exactly better. The elders were right; there is no need to create solutions for problems that didn’t exist. If it weren’t for your sister gifting them to you, you’d be happily and proudly walking around with your wired earphones but instead you walked around with these excuse of a device.

“Good afternoon gorgeous!” you greeted your favorite cashier as you entered the superstore.

“You shouldn’t lie to an old lady like me.” She countered and immediately pretended to wave off your conpliment. But you knew she secretly enjoyed being called different versions of beautiful every day.

Placing a hand on your chest you feigned hurt as you said, “I would never lie to you!”

She just giggled as you walked further in and browsed through the aisles. You picked up fresh corns for dinner and went to grab dinner for the little whiskers.

You were dumbfounded when saw the completely empty rack that is usually filled with ten different variations of cat food.

When you enquired about it at the counter the old lady just shrugged. “It was strange but a man came in and asked for every single packet we had and left with them.”

“He took all the packs? What kind of pet is he sheltering?”

The prospect of walking home and not feeding your cat did upset you a little. You should have just bought the backup brand yesterday. With the brown bag on one hand you left the store.

Just as you were about to turn left for the alley, you caught sight of man. Well dressed in an expensive looking suit, with suitcase in one hand and a heap of cat food piled in a little mountain structure to his other. He was leaning against the wall of the building opposite the store, so smug and sure like he owned the entire place. His arms were crossed into each other as his suitcase hanged casually.

You had so many questions. What is he doing in a place like this? What is he going to do with that huge pile? Why is he just standing there? With a man as strange as him, you thought nothing could be too strange of an ask. You thought that maybe you could pay him a reasonable amount and buy some for yourself.

There is no harm in trying right? The worse he could say was no.

So with confident steps you walked up to him. You summoned the most inviting smile you could asked, “Excuse me, hello! I couldn’t help but notice the heap you have gathered there. If its not too much trouble could you possibly sell me one of those packets? I will pay you the full price I'm not looking for any discounts I swear.”

The man simply took two steps closer and towered in front of you. His tall frame casted a shadow that seemed to have drowned you entirely. Now that he stood to his height you couldn’t help but feel unsure of your decision. Maybe talking to strangers unprompted was not a good idea after all.

His entire presence felt alarming. The smart thing would be to just walk away but for some reason you didn’t feel like running at all.

He tilted his head as you felt him analyze you. “And what if I don’t want to sell it for money?” he said finally.

At your puzzled expression he clarified, “What if I demand something other than money? Will you be just as willing to give it to me?”

Your heart raced at his words. He probably didn’t mean for them to sound as instigating as they did. Maybe in another world where you were just a little braver you would have even used this as an opportunity to flirt with him. He was devastatingly attractive. The kind you see on billboards, the kind who seemed to be used to stomping on every woman’s feelings. But this was the real version of you who wasn't brave enough for any of that.

Not wanting to get into any trouble you said, “I’m sorry if that was a weird ask from me, I should just leave-”

“Would you like to play a game?” He asked and simply smiled like that smile didn’t jolt electricity inside you, like this wasn’t the most absurd conversation you’ve had in your entire life.

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of game?”

The salesman finally had his little mouse right where he wanted her.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Deadman shuddered as he watched King Phantom’s wail tear through their enemies. He knew they were allies in this battle and he didn’t have to fear him, but it was still unsettling.

Reminded him far too much of his meeting with Rama when he acted against her.

Her scream hadn’t been nearly as directed as Phantom’s, but even so, the power of a god is never something to scoff at. He’d thought his soul was being torn apart. Maybe it was. She’d already revived him once after his first death, who’s to say she couldn’t have done it again?

…did Phantom know Deadman was the product of another god’s meddling, that Boston may never have become a ghost without her intervention? It had occurred before Phantom’s ascension, and the pair had never directly interacted face to face yet. It’s possible he never found out. Even if his power included access to all knowledge about ghosts, gods didn’t necessarily consider all angles fully, so he could still have missed it.

If Phantom found out now, would he care? Deadman knew he wasn’t a normal ghost. Would the king unmake him for being an infringement on his domain? Would he try to “fix” Deadman and just lead to him being under Phantom’s thumb? Or something else?

Perhaps it would be better to avoid interacting with him at all. He was doing fine, it’s not like he needs the king (though a part of his soul rebelled at that thought).

[higuchisora]

Honestly, I was always under the impression that Vander parented them "indirectly", if that makes sense. Like, Vander parented Vi, and Vi took those lessons and parented the others with them, because Vander simply didn't have the time to do so himself, and Vi was basically his mini-me.

Even prior to season 2, when I saw how the previous League bio for Warwick, implied his only memory of his past life was Powder (it says all he remembers is a little girl screaming a name- aka Powder screaming for Vi), that kind of confused me. Because on one hand, yes they're both his daughters and it's his final on-screen moment in season 1, but on the other, it felt thematically odd.

Like, he's supposed to be "dead"/unconscious by then. So wouldn't it make more sense if his final memory is of Vi screaming and crying over him? Also, considering Powder wasn't even crying over Vander- it's weird to me that his final memory is about an experience he isn't really a part of. It's Vi and Powder's scene, not Vander's and Powder's or Vander's and Vi's, so why would we want that to be his only memory?

Safe to say, as much as I thought it was sweet that they had a moment of recognition in season 2 (though I do have to wonder why seeing him like that didn't trigger Jinx at all), it definitely felt off to me. Especially since we never got to see Powder/Jinx have any real positive relationships with anyone other than Vi (before Silco), seeing her and Vander being so connected after his transformation didn't feel earned. Any affection she might've had for her previous family (and them for her) prior to Warwick nearly killing her is left entirely up to the audience to infer, which isn't really a good choice for a scene that you want to be emotional for EVERYONE. If his return is supposed to be inarguably a good thing, why leave the context behind it entirely ambiguous?

Especially when they already have a character set up for this exact kind of bittersweet moment: Vi. The focus on Jinx in the Dad Rescue Arc would make way more sense to me if Silco was the one being brought back. It really should've been Vi taking the lead on this one, which would've perfectly handled the "we don't know what to do with her anymore LMAO" thing Linke was talking about. (Honestly, I'm personally of the opinion that we shouldn't have had a Vander-Returns-Arc at all, considering the lack of time and simultaneous lack of substance both this arc and this entire season had, but I'd do anything to give Vi something to fucking do). OP is 100% correct, Vi should've been the one to grab Jinx and hit her with the "he was your dad too" line. Could've especially been potent if Jinx was all, "why couldn't it have been Silco?" about the whole thing, maybe even making digs at Vi at first when she tells her Vander's back (doing a "looks like crazy runs in the family" line or something), leading to some conflict between them at first, before Vi dishes out that line and perhaps a heartfelt "trust me just this once, just one last time" (or something to that affect). Which would work on Jinx IMO, because as we've established, as angry as she is with Vi, her willpower might as well be wet paper when it comes to trying to "hate" her sister.

If anything, this arc probably should've centered more around how the sisters still love each other, rather than their dads tbh. Vi obviously loves Vander, just as Jinx loves Silco, but I feel it's pretty clear they BOTH prioritize each other over everyone else, even still. Yeah yeah, Vi hit Powder, Yada yada- but think about it for a second. If all of this still happened, but this time it was, say, Mylo that did all this, blowing up their family etc. Etc.- do you seriously think Vi would have forgiven him for it? Do you think she'd desperately chase after him the way she chases Jinx, if Mylo ignored her orders and gotten Powder killed? This would be entirely different story, because Vi would've probably beaten Mylo to death, actually. She wouldn't have held back and walked away the way she did for Jinx in act 1 of season 2. She wouldn't be crying and bargaining with Mylo at that dinner party- she'd be straining against the ropes so she could strangle him with them. I'd say the same goes for anyone that isn't Jinx. Even Vander- even if she couldn't kill him, she'd never forgive him. He'd be dead to her in all the ways that matter.

Hence, this arc (imo) should've looked more like the sisters lowkey using Vander as a vehicle/excuse for their reunion. Like, Vi being so eager and happy to have Vander back because yes, she loves him and missed him, but also, it's one less reason for her to be mad at Jinx. One less reason her sense of duty would have to pit them against each other. If Vi could wave her hand and bring them all back, I'm convinced her first thought would be, "now we can move on, now I'm not obligated to oppose her." Because I genuinely believe the only thing really holding her back at this point is this idea of "I have to do what's 'right'." She was ready to move past this even before Vander came back as a furry, now she just has an excuse to show up unannounced at Jinx's door. And Jinx, too, being as obsessed with Vi's affection as she still is, would probably make some jabs and generally be distrustful, but the entire time she's still going along. The opportunity is too good to pass up. The chance to have Vi back is too tantalizing, is quite literally exactly what she's always wanted, even now, even after all this time. She'd take it, and as soon as she got a taste of that affection again, the soft smiles and the fond gazes, maybe even an instinctual pat on the shoulder, done before Vi even has time to consider if she should do that or not- it's a done deal. She'll still be insecure, in need of constant reassurance- but she'd be too eager to really be cautious, desperately seeking more and more of it.

As would Vi, who'd be over the moon to be able to hold a conversation with her sister again that wasn't laced with constant insults and hostility. It'd be almost like they're kids again, before everything went to hell in a handbasket, just them (and their dad) in a dingy old bar. As long as they ignored all the fur, of course.

TLDR basically I hijacked this to say I agree 100% with OP and think this arc was emotionally/thematically dodgy in several ways, which I explore a little in this reblog.

Jinx just never really liked Vander that much.

One of the things that, to me, seemed like a main theme in Jinx's arc in season 1 was the contrast between her two families, and how her switch from Vander's daughter to Silco's drastically changes the way her personality takes shape.

And I hate that the fandom, and now the show, too, has reduced Silco to an unhealthy influence in Jinx's life, pushing her towards her "bad" side (being Jinx) when, for all his flaws... he gives her a better childhood than she ever had with Vander. The first three episodes of the first season, to me, when I watched them, illustrate quite clearly that Powder feels unhappy in her family life. She is the most mal-adjusted of Vander's kids. Her older brother constantly berates her, and it's quite clearly having a big effect on her self-image. She later takes up the Jinx name and persona once she feels like she has become irredeemable as a person. Her other brother never defends her. Vi is the only one who is there for her, and they care for each other, but at the same time you can see there's still a little insecurity in their relationship. Vi is worried that maybe Powder is indeed too weak, and Powder worries that maybe Vi does indeed see her as a Jinx like her brother does.

And when it comes to Vander... he's just not really all that present in her life. And I don't blame him, the man has four kids to take care of, on top of keeping things running in the Undercity. It's clearly not his intention. But it doesn't change the fact that he's not there for Powder, not as much as she needs. To me, when I watched the first season, it seemed like Vander was a figure that felt far away to Powder, someone that she admired but also feared being completely herself around, and someone that she ultimately wished to be closer to than she actually was. It's worth mentioning that Jinx never says his name post time skip, and he is not a hallucination for her, not until Vi brings him up in the finale. Hell, Claggor is somehow a hallucination for her and he never even speaks. Vander was just not an influential figure in Jinx's life.

I always found the scene at the end of ep3 of s1 fascinating, because Powder never once mourns Vander. She never once cries for him and never once says his name. When she sees his dead body, she becomes shocked and starts crying, but it's not actually what breaks her. What breaks her is Vi's rejection. Had it just been that she accidentally caused the deaths of her brothers and adoptive father, she would not have crumbled mentally. It's Vi's rejection that destroys her. Now, of course, a little girl that cares more about her sister's affection towards her than the lives of her family members is kinda messed up, but that's what makes her character interesting. And we can see that that little girl doesn't go anywhere, as Jinx displays the exact same one-mindness about her sister. Because Jinx and Powder were never really that different, after all.

She is quite clearly placed with her back to Vander's body, that she never turns to, barely looks at, only enough to recognize him and see he's dead, and never says the name of. She's turned towards Vi, calling for Vi, crying because of Vi, and no one else. Heck, Vi had just been crying over his body a few moment ago. Vi is clearly distraught over his death. Vi is devastated, she literally punches her sister and curses her in the exact worst possible way she can, in the way she know it will hurt her sister the most. But Powder... she just honestly dgaf.

So to then hear Jinx say this line in season 2...

...is just straight up jarring. I was pulled out of the story when I heard this. This is Jinx saying this to Vi. This kinda makes it seem like it was Jinx who was most attached to Vander, or at least that she was just as attached to him as Vi was. Which is just not how things seemed in the story at literally any point until this one. And then season 2 continues this way, and somehow makes Jinx seem like the closest daughter to Vander. Flipping Warwick literally acts more attached to Jinx than Vander ever did to Powder. Like literally. Season 1 clearly sets up that Vi is the favorite daughter, and then they just... flip it?? Warwick cares more for Jinx and responds better to her than to Vi. It's actually insane. It's true they sanitized Jinx's character to hell and back this season, but this is a straight-up rewrite. I can't wrap my mind around why they did this. Plus, the entirety of act 2 they set up this weird and pointless arc of Jinx rekindling her relationship with Vander or something... and like literally her story was genuinely never about that.

(This COULD have been Vi's story. And that might have actually been cool, and made sense. Maybe Vi is the one who finds him, and she is the one who helps him calm down. And then she brings Jinx, and maybe Jinx is terrified because she was never that close to Vander, and then she literally killed him, so seeing him again is the last thing she wants. Maybe VI is the one who tells Jinx that "he was your dad, too", which would make A LOT more sense, and maybe that's the first time that Jinx thinks that oh, yeah, he was... And then maybe they have a cute moment where Vander forgives her. Or maybe she sees the state he's in right now and loses it completely. Or maybe they look at each other and they both see the monster each of them has become. And then maybe Vi looks down at the enforcer uniform she's wearing, and, privately, sees it too. Idk. The things we could have had.)

Silco was actually a good dad to Jinx, in all the ways that Vander wasn't. He gives her all the attention that she never had before. He not only listens to her, but actively asks for her side of the story. He never insults her, and he defends her against Sevika. He trusts her and gives her opportunities to prove she's capable. She goes from being one of four siblings, and getting lost in the shuffle and often ending up feeling forgotten and alone, to being the most important child, always taken into consideration and almost put on a pedestal by her dad (this, like, has to have cured some inner wounds, i think).

Silco understands Jinx better than any other character in the show, and I'm genuinely sad that we didn't get to see any flashback of Jinx growing up with him. Because their relationship was so unique, and so integral to Jinx's character and to the rest of the story, that the fact that we never get to see any other glimpse into their bond is just...

As a final note, I'd also like to add that I dislike when people say that Silco "groomed" Jinx. I think a much more realistic analysis is that he enabled her. And as for all the times he tells Jinx that Vi "betrayed her", that's just a reflection of his own trauma, and also because he fears that if Jinx knew Vi was alive, she would go back to her and leave him (which, considering what goes down in the s1 finale, not an unfounded fear). It's wrong that he does that, but it's not out of malicious intent (also tbh Jinx never really seems to believe him anyway).

And for all the people who say that Silco "turned Jinx into a terrorist" (dumbest people in this fandom fr, im sorry), that's just straight up not true. Powder was already like that. That is quite literally why Silco adopts her. Because he sees that she's like him. Silco would not have taken Powder in if he thought she was just a cute, innocent kid who was orphaned (to, what, raise her for years so that, MAYBE when she's older, she MIGHT be useful to him? when they meet he doesn't know she's the one that caused the explosion, he just knows that she's been abandoned by Vi). This is the kid who thought playing around with explosives was a fun hobby. This is the kid who giggled at the thought of hurting others. This is the kid who already suffered from explosive emotions. This is the kid who saw her father and her brothers dead, because of her, and all she cared about was whether her sister was mad at her because of it. This is the kid who throws herself at the first person she sees, someone who her sister hates, who is the cause of all this destruction, and with an anger that shocks most viewers, declares that Vi is not her sister anymore. She is livid in that one moment.

Powder already had it in her from the beginning. And it's also ok to like a character (and to write one) even if they are not 100% morally pure in every single way under the sun, cause that is quite literally what stories are for.

[starrrlights]

Maybe in this universe...

Warnings: fem reader, soft/sweet!reader (for alt!universe and kinda for Arcane universe). Mentions of dying (almost dying), you almost die but ekko saves you last minute. You = alt!you. You = Arcane you. BLOOD and ANGSTY AT THE END.

☆○☆○

When Ekko traveled to the alt!universe, he was in shock by most things; Zaun seemed peaceful, Jinx was still Powder, everyone besides Vi was alive, and the cherry on top was you.

You were, softer, in a way. Like you were the calming wind after a harsh storm or slow ocean waves on a crowded beach. Something that his universe's you didn't give.

His you, well, you were the harsh storm or that crowded beach. After being taken in by Silco with Jinx, it altered your life completely. He made you harder, stronger. A stranger in Ekko's eyes. One that he had fought countless times with, one that he had a fair share of her blood on his hands with.

There was something so wrong bit so right about you, something that gave him comfort after the harsh realities of his own world. He knew he couldnt give in to you, this you. He had to go back home, if he could call that home.

Your touches, words, worries, and the way your eyes would linger with his; made him want to force himself to look anywhere but you, and move forward with Heimerdinger, and make that damn machine or whatever to get back home. Just so he couldn't fall deeper for you more than he already has.

The more you hung out, the more he reflected on you, the one where you were loyal to Silco, would fight until your hands bled, where your anger bottled up too much. He almost felt bad, bad that this could've been you. All sweet and soft. That made him reflect on Jinx/Powder, and Vi, and everyone else that he had lost and gained over the years. The ones no matter how hard he tried to deny, he still cared for.

He pushed himself harder to got back home after that thought. Maybe he could make things a little better back home, just a little. Just enough to know whether or not you still cared for him there like you are here.

The building part of the time machine was a success after a while, and manipulating the hex crystals went great, better than he thought even, with how many hours of work? He could finally go back, to Zaun, to the Firelights, to you.

But he couldn't leave you behind without a goodbye, so he made a (favorite flower) necklace (one basically like the one he gave to powder but different). Hoping that when you figure out that he wasn't supposed to be here, that you'll still cherish the memories you made like he will.

The travel back felt as weird and as uncomfortable as the trip to. Like every atom and speckle of the body was being torn apart and molded back together. He landed back where he first started, the room with the Arcane in it, and he made sure to get out of there as fast as possible.

He traveled down the streets of Zaun as fast as he could, zooming through with his hover board and watching the ground below him, watching for anyone familiar. (He had to ask a few people, no luck there, however)

You were in an alley way, not far from the Last Drop, but couldn't move yourself for the life of you. Every bone and muscle ached and screamed in pain from the punched and stabbings you've received. Even breathing was becoming harder to do now, how long had you been out here anyway? Not like you've been paying attention anyway.

One hand layed on your stomach and the other on the dirty ground, no doubt had some of your blood on it. This wasn't too bad, everything was subsiding with numbness and the thought in the back of your head that said that you've finally found peace in the ruined city made everything almost worth it.

But perhaps you did go too far with the fight how many hours ago, chewed off too much and now you had to deal with the consequences.

Shouting could be heard from all over, but one voice seemed to get louder, almost as if they were getting closer. You weakly looked over and saw a blurry figure of someone run to you, saying your name. They came in front of you and the image became clearer. It was Ekko.

You couldn't be cocky, or mean, or anything else towards him right now, just staring at him almost stupidly as he said some things you couldn't understand.

"...If you've come to finish me off, or whatever... just do it. I'm not gonna fight back..."

Ekko could feel his heart drop at the sight of you, worse than what he would leave you in after a fight. You just... layed there. Practically waiting for death to take you. What happened when he was gone?

"...im not gonna do that tonight. and never after."

You felt his hands moving around you, wrapping something around your midsection where the nasty gash was still bleeding out, making you hiss in pain, and dragged your body up, rushing you somewhere. But that all was long after you passed out.

Maybe in this universe, he'll still be by your side, if you'll allow him.

☆○☆○

👹👹 don't worry I'm gonna make a part two

This probably sucks but is midnight so whatever.

[vaguely-concerned]

do you ever think about how, when we get lucanis' ossuary mind note on what he was thinking during the fireplace scene at the end of his recruitment mission... what's implied to be his instinctive internal reaction as he's saying "you'd have to kill me" out loud sure isn't 'and I don't want to die'. it's '(and spite would die)'. do you think spite's gremlin-y candle-hungering give-me-FIRE! >:D presence has maybe saved that guy's life even more times and in more ways than are immediately obvious at a glance. do you ever. cry.

it's also very. him that the thing that would stay his hand on killing himself partially might be that he just isn't willing to visit the same cruelty or harm on spite as zara, even when accepting his passenger spirit as collateral damage would at least offer a chance to put an end to his own pain, which at that point he seems unable to see any other way of truly escaping or find real relief from than to die. there's so much resentment and fear and other understandable fraught emotions in spite and lucanis' relationship early on, but it's just as clear that deep down lucanis conceptualizes spite as fundamentally innocent in what's happened here -- perhaps, indeed, more innocent than he manages to conceptualize himself until someone else can help him get in there and start to untangle it with him. he's protective of spite in some subtle ways right from the start, taking pains to point out several times on the jog through the ossuary that the spirits here were just as much victims in what was done to them as anyone else. when spite acts out during the fireplace scene... how much of lucanis brushing it off the way he does is about the '*actively bleeding from the eyes* don't worry about me' avoidant side of it all, and how much is him trying to shelter spite from the eyes of people he does not know well enough yet to predict how they’ll react in response — towards himself or spite. (additional idea to really bring on the heartache: do you think he has maybe intervened in pretty much the same way between illario and caterina over the years and that’s how he does it so smoothly and automatically; it’s basically psychological muscle memory. Haha. ow.) 

Between that and the pretty consistent language he uses that frames spite as child-like, even when he means that in frustration/enfant terrible flavoured terms lol, you get the sense that regardless of how much Lucanis is aware of this on the surface, there is a deep instinctive protectiveness in him for spite. I think that even comes across in the scene where lucanis tells you he’ll continue to pursue a way to separate him and spite on the minrathous route. So I was kind of picking up on/working with that already subconsciously, but when I found that note it hit me like a sledgehammer that clearly in some part at least, the reason lucanis is still here is that he knows now that spite would die with him and doesn’t find that price acceptable. Spite thinks that lucanis mentally locking himself in his (torture :() room and refusing to speak to him is an act of rejection or trickery, but to my eyes taken with everything else we know about how lucanis’ brain tends to work… as much as it’s an expression of avoidance and fear and overwhelm and trying to get away from the voice pushing him towards action when the mere prospect of action fills you with despair to even contemplate (“There’s nowhere to go”), I think it’s also a mark of lucanis’ affection and protectiveness of spite. The guards along the way make it very clear that more so than to keep the outside world from coming in, this place is for protecting people from what might break out. 

And that’s why I think this is also such a good case study to look at lucanis' internal freeze logic and why it has been so adaptive for him up until now when faced with completely impossible emotional situations to which there are no good answers or causes of actions available, even though it's inherently and unavoidably one of those 'what's worse, the medicine or the disease' solutions a brain cooks up. lucanis by the point of inner demons is facing this conundrum: 1) I can't live like this, it hurts too much. I've been in pain so long I’ve got screams where my blood should be and it just keeps getting louder, and nothing really touches or helps that. 2) I can't die to escape this, because that would also kill spite (and also I've got a job to do I guess *working 9-5 slowed with reverb and with underwater sound distortion effects is playing in the background*). those are of course not actually his only options, but in the state he's in they are the only options he can conceive of. (that's not infrequently how it works, when the suffering is that intense and unrelenting. Nothing gives you tunnel sight quite like ‘I just need this to stop’ agony that has gone on long enough to add sheer soul exhaustion to the mix)

so what happens in the end? his freeze brain -- honed, I'm sure, through many long years of attachment trauma and abuse and loss for exactly this kind of 'uh-oh. Incoming FUBAR situation alert let’s go' -- kicks into action and makes him do nothing except what's externally required of him, so he can stay just functional and momentarily distracted by a plethora of avoidance behaviours enough to get through his daily life, if like not particularly happily so... and otherwise, as it were, locking himself in his room deep inside where nothing can touch him, where nothing gets in and nothing gets out, no harm allowed to either escape from within nor allowed to pierce through and get inside. numbness isn't actually a cure for that kind of suffering, but it's the closest thing you're likely to get with any immediacy and if you’re desperate enough by god you take those. It’s how he survived his upbringing, and it’s how he survived the ossuary — as he tells Davrin straight out, the trick to just shut down every part of his soul he can to get through intolerable pain, loss or helplessness. I don’t think that mechanism came to him in the ossuary the first time, I think that blueprint was deeply embedded in his neurons and went ‘ah. My time again. Not to worry I’m a bit of an expert at this I’ll get us through this yet (though you may not thank me for it by the end of it all)’. 

In that state he's unable to himself reach out and meaningfully ask for help (and also like... why would his inner world have any framework for that as even being on the table? this has never been an option before in his life, not in any safe or consistent way; he's fucked up the way he is because the same things/people that should have been and partially, comparatively, were the sources of help and relief and safety growing up are also the sources of pain and abuse, that eternal irreconcilable ambivalence, the double edged sword of unpredictable insecure attachment), but it also keeps him from doing anything uh drastic the other way too, on acting impulsively in ways that can’t be taken back. (that seems to be more illario’s role/dubious privilege in the family lol.) at many points in his life and especially growing up, freezing and going numb around the pain is as close to having control of anything as there was any hope of. 'harm will be inflicted on me unpredictably, but fuck you I don't have to truly feel it as long as I shut all this other stuff down as well, that's what I can control' nervous system logic. (it'll get you every time.) for what it’s worth I’m not so sure his nervous system judged that one incorrectly, I think that is the kind of rebellion you would have to cling to while being raised by someone like caterina, because look at illario if you want to know how much she respects and rewards anything more overt or active. (I mean, if you don’t succeed, at least. swing at Grandma Dellamorte you’d better not miss or you’ll meet that cane swinging at you the other way and she will not miss)

I say all this because I think it's as easy to demonize the freeze response as it is to demonize anger, to conceptualize it only as an obstructive force that, as bellara puts it, is one of the purest forms of a heart not seeming to want to let you be happy, or a mindless byproduct of trauma. But in my experience, the brain doesn’t generally come up with ‘stupid’ defense mechanisms. Even in the most maladaptive of coping mechanisms, there is at the core of it some part of you that once meant to save your life, no matter what trouble it is wreaking for you today. when you look at the setup of Lucanis’ soul, as it were, you can see the dual and in some ways genuinely noble and even tender qualities this response has in him, however misguided: it does imprison, but it also protects, and it means to protect; for all the pain along the way it has sheltered all the parts of his soul that are most precious and breakable, the most vulnerable parts that want to live and so so importantly love completely and freely. Lucanis thinks he’s protecting not even primarily himself but everyone he loves by staying where he is. (“It would be better for me to stay here than to risk losing you”) A child’s logic, to be sure, but logic of a kind and clearly one that caterina has encouraged in him because that’s a conception of love it’s been very useful for her for him to have. Freeze looks like utter hopelessness on the surface, but in some ways I think it’s the utmost triumph of hope — a spare and unrelenting winter that exists because it thinks one day spring might still come, and the things too precious and fragile to thrive in your life as it is now might bloom then. 

He is an adult now, and Caterina no longer controls his entire world, physically and emotionally. There’s finally room for other things, other people, himself, in his life, without everything having to defer to the gravitational force of what Caterina wants from him at the end of the day. And while I think her jumpscaring him with the First Talon position is partly her attempt to wrangle him back into the status quo of control she once had, I’m not sure it’s going to work quite the way she might hope — at least in the Treviso saved route, there are just too many fresh spring shoots in his life at that point that could grow into something new, it’s too late to trample all the saplings growing up through the cracks in time (and indeed some of them might also fight back). (The outlook on the Minrathous saved route is um. Perhaps less convincingly immediately hopeful to me and the prospect of actually getting around to healing further down the road, but I refuse to give up on him that’s my little guy and he’s above all incredibly smart and stubborn and not a quitter and all the rest of this still remains true beneath it all, just like. Give him a moment here.) His hopes and dreams have diversified while she had her back turned lmao he suddenly keeps them with so many more people than just her and Iillario now. She doesn’t hold the monopoly of meaning and connection in his life the way she used to. And whether out of love (you know. Hope is every man’s prerogative I suppose) at seeing him really happy for perhaps the first time or sheer pragmatism, I think she’s going to have to accept that and adapt her ways of doing things with him accordingly, or else have him drift even further away from her.

Spite is the urgent impatient voice that starts to break through to go ‘that moment is now it HAS to be now. We need to shake off the shackles and illusions and face what’s actually here so we can learn to properly live now, or this winter will starve us to death as surely as anything Zara could do to us’. And he is right! As crucial as this soul-starvation landscape has been in survival, it has clearly reached the end of its sustainability, you can’t survive permanently on frost alone. I just also want to recognize the credit Lucanis (and his fucked up but valiant nervous system <3 pour one out for a real one) also deserves for stubbornly holding on in any way he had to until Spite’s true escape project is even an option for either of them. Especially since Lucanis seems to harbour a lot of self-loathing and frustration over his own propensity for freeze — “You know him. You can open the door, but he won’t walk through it”  (still one of the saddest most painful things I’ve ever heard. In case you were wondering. He knows. He knows what he’s like, and he despairs of it, he thinks it means it’s his own fault he still feels like this. Augh.) The real point at the end of the day is not that spite saved lucanis or vice versa, but that as traumatic as it was to get there and against all cultural expectations, it is ultimately their enmeshed condition, their togetherness, that saved them both. (which, again, when you consider the cultural narrative of possession and spirits most andrastian nations are working with…what a radical conclusion to come away with haha. Not unprecedented at all, if you look at Wynne and her spirit, but on a deeper and more psychological plane than ever and even more impactful for it, to me.)

[rhiannonsknife]

── SHATTER YOUR ILLUSIONS OF LOVE

— summary: lucy finds something interesting in an abandoned store. it’s not what she thinks it is.

— warnings: fem!reader. implied lesbian!reader. nsfw content. mdni. strap-on usage. for the sake of the fic, we gotta ignore the sanitary aspect of this.

the wind howls through the cracked windows of the abandoned storefront, rattling the metal grates hanging half off their hinges.

you’re leaning against the weathered brick wall right outside, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, and your eyes scanning the empty street for signs of trouble.

traveling through the wasteland was a gamble already, and stopping anywhere for too long only upped the odds of drawing unwanted attention. but lucy had insisted she needed to check inside, claiming she’d seen ‘something interesting’ through the remains of grime-streaked glass.

that had been ten minutes ago.

“lucy,” you call, raising your voice over the wind. “are you done yet?”

her laugh echoes from inside, light and carefree, followed by her reply: “almost” lucy calls. there’s a long pause, then the unmistakable sound of something heavy clattering to the ground.

you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. this wasn’t unusual; lucy’s curiosity was perhaps simultaneously her best and worst trait. she had a knack for finding weird, useless junk and being way too excited about it. not that you minded. most days, her by wasteland standards unique disposition was the only thing keeping you sane. not today though, today, you’re cold, tired, and running low on patience.

finally, the door creaks open behind you.

“hey!” she calls. “look what i found!”

you push off the wall and turn to face her…and immediately feel your brain short-circuit.

lucy stands before you, beaming like she’s just stumbled upon the wasteland’s greatest treasure. she’s wearing…something: leather straps crisscross her chest, looping around her shoulders and down her torso in a series of buckles and loops. the centerpiece, an empty ring attachment, sits just below her chest. clearly not where it’s supposed to be, but it’s not like lucy knows that. nor does she seem aware of what she’s put on to begin with.

it’s a strap-on harness.

“oh my god,” you choke out, heat rushing to your face so fast you feel dizzy with it.

“what?” lucy looks down at herself, tugging lightly at one of the straps. “pretty cool, right? it was just lying there in the back of the store! i think it’s some kind of…uh…” she frowns, tilting her head as she spins to give you the full view. “tool belt? or maybe armor? either way, it’s really sturdy! feel this leather!” she grabs one of the straps near her shoulder and holds it out to you.

you don’t take it. matter of fact, you can’t. you’re too busy trying to remember how breathing works, because all you can think about is the way the harness fits snugly against her body, though entirely wrong, the leather gleaming faintly in the dim light, and how absolutely oblivious she is to what it actually is.

“lucy,” you manage, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “that’s not- it’s not- oh my god, take it off!”

she blinks, startled by your reaction. “what? why? did i put it on wrong?”

“no, i mean…yes, but that’s not the point!” you gesture at her frantically, as if that’ll somehow distract from the mortifying situation. “it’s just- it’s not what you think it is, okay?” you try to explain, pointing at the leather “that is not a tool belt!”

lucy’s brow furrows in confusion as she adjusts the straps around her shoulders. “then what is it?”

you gape at her, torn between laughter and sheer disbelief. how do you even begin to explain this to her? clearly, she hasn’t seen those in her vault.

“it’s- it’s a-“ you cut yourself off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. there is no way you’re explaining this to her. absolutely not.

“what?” lucy presses, her curiosity clearly piqued. “what’s it for?”

“nothing!” you yelp, your voice cracking. “it’s for nothing! just take it off before-” you gesture vaguely at the very much empty street. “…before someone sees you!”

she glances around, perplexed, following your outstretched finger. “but no one’s here…?”

“that’s not the point!” you can feel your cheeks burning hotter by the second. “lucy, just- just trust me on this, okay? please?”

lucy hesitates for a moment, clearly not understanding but willing to humor you. “alright, alright,” she finally agrees, reaching for the buckles. “but i still think it’s a good find! i’m keeping this!”

you turn away as she starts to unstrap herself, both to give her privacy and to avoid spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment. despite all the dangers of the wastelands, you’re pretty sure traveling with lucy maclean is what’s actually going to kill you.

by the time lucy gets the harness off and stashes it in her pack (for some unfathomable reason), the sun is starting to dip low on the horizon, painting the scenery in streaks of amber and rust. after a full day of walking and scavenging, this crumbling storefront seems as good a place as any to settle down for the night.

“well,” you say, clearing your throat and trying to move past the initial awkwardness, “i guess this place’ll do. better than sleeping out in the open, at least!”

“it’s not bad,” lucy says cheerfully, looking around the store’s interior again.

the place, from which you can only assume that it is the ruins of what once was an adult store, is mostly empty, save for a few rusted shelves, a broken counter at the far end and a few boxes left in the old shelves.

there’s no sign of wildlife, which you consider a plus, and the building’s thick walls provide decent protection from the wind. “way better than that place we stayed last week. remember that weird smell? ugh…”

you hum in agreement, busying yourself with clearing a space on the floor. truthfully, it isn’t the worst spot you’ve camped in.

“you take first watch,” lucy says, dropping her pack with a soft thud. “i’ll take a quick nap and take over in a few hours?“

she’s adapting to how sleep works out here, at least, and you nod your head. “i could use some quiet time anyway,”

lucy nods, satisfied, and stretches out on the ground, rolling up her jacket like a makeshift pillow. “wake me if anything weird happens,” she says, closing her eyes.

you lean back against the wall, rifle propped an arm length away, trying to ignore the ache in your muscles and the stubborn heat still lingering in your cheeks.

now, the image of lucy in that harness races unbidden through your mind. it comes in flashes; pictures of her, with a strap now firmly attached to her body. lucy, on top of you, her face pressed to the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips. behind you, with her fingers curling up in your hair as she forces you back against her. above you, with your lips stretched around her-

you shake your head violently to banish it. you need to focus. there are bigger problems in the world than your ridiculous crush on someone who might not even swing your way at all.

but, of course, lucy doesn’t make it easy.

after barely twenty minutes of silence, she stirs and sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

“couldn't sleep?” you ask, raising a brow at her.

“nope,” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather harness again. “i keep thinking about this thing…” she mutters, running her fingertips over the ring.

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “lucy, just drop it! it’s-”

she doesn’t. of course she doesn’t,

instead, she flips the harness over in her hands, fiddling with the straps as she examines it from every angle. instinctively, you reach for your rifle just to have a distraction.

“i mean, it’s pretty well-made,” she muses, tugging on one of the buckles. “whoever made it must’ve known what they were doing. and it’s got this…ring thing? maybe for carrying tools?”

“it’s not for tools!” you blurt, louder than intended. lucy looks up, startled. “well, then what is it for?”

you sigh, setting your rifle aside.

“can't you just let it go?”

you stare at her. lucy is watching you with those wide, curious eyes, completely oblivious to the mortifying reality of the situation. a part of you wants to lie. to make up some ridiculous story about it being part of a long-lost survival kit. another part of you knows you’re a terrible liar, and that she won’t drop it until she gets a real answer.

“well, i could,” lucy shrugs, “but you're being…weird about it, which makes me think it's actually kind of important! and now i really want to know!”

you glance at the open doorway, down rows of shelves, the faint breeze stirring the dust on the floor, as if hoping for some kind of divine intervention to save you. it doesn't come.

“fine,” you mutter, standing. “come on!”

lucy grins triumphantly, bouncing to her feet and following as you lead her to the far corner of the store.

she trails after you, harness in hand, until you crouch down by one of the dusty shelves, brushing aside cobwebs before pulling out one of the few remaining boxes you passed by earlier. it’s heavy and battered, but the faded label on the side is still legible and it is still sealed shut

“alright,” you say, placing it on the ground before you. “this,” you tell lucy as you pull a knife from your belt. “is the counterpart to what you're holding!”

without another word, you cut the plastic open and, after some more layers of carefully sealed packaging, pull out the bright neon-pink silicone dildo. you hold it up just long enough for her to get a good look before tossing it back into the box.

lucy blinks, eyes wide, and for a moment, she says nothing. then her mouth opens in a soft “oh,”

she kneels beside the box, staring at its contents with an unreadable expression. “wait, so...” she picks up the dildo again, and turns it over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she connects the dots. “this goes with the harness?”

“yes,” you say quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “and that's why i didn't want to talk about it. can we move on now?”

lucy, on the other hand, doesn't seem remotely embarrassed. if anything, she looks intrigued.

she puts it back in the box and stands, holding the harness up to her hips as if testing its fit.

“so it's, like... for, uh... intimacy stuff? sex?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

“yes, lucy,” you say, your voice tight as you force your gaze away. “it's for ‘intimacy stuff’,” then, after a beat of silence, you decide this might be your only chance to get your truth out as well: “specifically for people like...like me, i guess?”

she looks at you then, her eyes softening slightly. “like you?”

“yeah,” you shift uncomfortably under her gaze, heart pounding. “you know? people who don't really, uh, like guys…that way…?”

understanding dawns on her face, but instead of recoiling or making a joke, she simply nods. another pause, then: “so, like, women who…prefer other women?”

your throat feels dry. “yeah. something like that,”

lucy looks back at the harness, a thoughtful expression on her face. then, to your utter horror, she starts fiddling with the straps again, this time more deliberately.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising slightly.

“trying it on,” she replies matter-of-factly, stepping into the harness and pulling it up over her hips. she tightens the straps with surprising ease, the leather settling snugly against her body. “it's comfortable,” she says conversationally, running her fingers along the waistband.

all you can do is stare at her dumbfounded. “lucy,”

she glances at you, her face the picture of innocence. “what? you said it's for people like you, right? i just want to see what it's like!”

“people like me using it,” you practically hiss. “not people like you…wearing it around like it's a pair of pants!”

lucy laughs, but there's a glint in her eye now, something playful and teasing that wasn't there before. she shifts her hips slightly, the leather creaking, and you have to fight the urge to look away. or worse, stare.

“calm down” she says. “it’s not a big deal, right? just a harness!”

your heart pounds in your chest as lucy tilts her head, watching you with that same curious gaze. there's no judgment in her expression, nor is there discomfort. just a quiet, steady interest that leaves you completely off balance.

“look,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “you...you don't understand what you're doing right now!”

“don't i?” her tone is light but her eyes are searching yours. lucy steps even closer, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “you're blushing,”

“i'm not-” you take a step back, bumping into the wall behind you. “i'm not…blushing!”

“you totally are. is it the harness?” she pauses, her voice dropping just slightly. “or is it…me?”

your breath catches in your throat. for a moment, you can't think. you can't move. the tension in the air suddenly feels electric, heavy with the weight of everything you haven't said and everything she might not even realize she's doing.

“lucy…” you manage. “you should- uh- you should probably take it off now, yeah?”

she only grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. “why? am i making you nervous?”

yes. absolutely. but you don't tell her that. instead, you stand frozen as lucy leans just a little closer, the leather harness shifting as she moves. the air between you is stifling now, charged with something you can’t quite name. she hasn’t moved back. if anything, she’s standing closer, the faintest grin on her lips, her eyes locked on yours.

“lucy,” you say again, but her name catches in your throat, sounding more like a ragged plea than a warning.

“yeah?” she asks, her voice teasingly playful.

you glance down at the harness, that stupid harness, and then back at her, hoping she’ll take the hint. lucy doesn’t. instead, she shifts her weight again, the leather creaking softly. you swear she’s doing it on purpose now.

“why are you…” you trail off, biting your lip. “why are you doing this?”

her smile falters slightly. “i don’t know,” she admits. “i guess i just…like seeing you like this,”

your breath hitches. “like what?”

lucy tilts her head, her eyes searching yours. she pauses. then, her gaze flickers to your mouth and heat floods your face. you try to think of something -anything- to say, but the words won’t come.

“do you want this?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper now.

you nod your head slowly, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

her smile softens, and she takes another step forward, close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body through the faint chill of the room. “good,”

and then she kisses you.

the shelves behind you clatter as your body is forced back against them by lucy’s own, trapping you against the metal.

it surprises you how fast her mouth is moving. how desperate and hungry. in all the times (more than you’d ever openly admit) you pictured yourself kissing her, she’d been the careful one. you should’ve known better than that. way better.

now, she is all over you, eager hands cupping your cheeks as she presses you against the cold surface. your whole body shivers as lucy licks into your mouth experimentally, humming when you gasp in response.

“for the record,” she mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking away from you enough to get those words out. “you want to have sex with me?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question, would lucy not force one of her thighs between yours, keeping you on the tip of your toes with a strangled gasp. it doesn’t occur to you to question where she knows all this from. instead, you just nod, panting as she pushes her knee further up.

pleased with all those reactions she’s getting from you, lucy hums. “and you want me to use…that?” she nods towards the now unsealed box at your feet.

“uh huh,” is all you can manage. it seems enough for lucy, who flashes an excited smile before walking over to pick it up from the floor. for the first time, you dare to breathe.

she fumbles with the box momentarily, struggling to free the toy from its plastic packaging in her excitement. before you can offer your help, she has figured it out and carelessly tosses the container aside, leaving only the dildo in her hand.

“hm,” lucy hums, taking it in from all angles under the dim light.

“this goes through the…” you start breathlessly, nodding toward the ring that sits right above her still fully clothed pubic bone.

it’s not often that you find yourself longing for a life a little more like lucy’s. this is one of those rare moments though. the things you’d do to have her in an actual bed, in a place that belongs to just the two of you. somewhere where you can actually take your time to undress her, see her fully, and not just rushed glimpses in the barely lit space around you.

“okey dokey,” she fumbles with the toy, experimentally tracing the buckles and straps before pushing the dildo through its designated hole.

then, it’s just you, her, and the shuddered breath you exhale into the small space left between you when lucy steps closer again.

you briefly wonder if it would overwhelm lucy if you’d go down on your knees before her right then and there. if you’d force her down your throat and show her just how much of her you’re willing to take. but then you turn to look back at her and decide that this is not the time.

lucy is watching you attentively, her eyes darting between yours and the strap attached to her body. there seems a newfound sense of pride in the way she carries herself as you feel her press against your inner thigh. it draws a gasp from you, an expression on your face that lucy instantly mirrors: mouth agape, eyes slightly widened.

it is your hushed, shaky “lucy, please” that sets her into motion.

her fingers, once resting on your hips, jump into action before you know it; roaming all over your body. into your hair, over smudged, dirty clothes, underneath them…her nails briefly scrape the expanse of your stomach, the fabric of your shirt riding up your torso, and lucy seems satisfied with the way you exhale into her open mouth. then, she drops them lower.

it doesn’t take her long to unbuckle your belt and pull it free from your pants. the setting doesn’t allow any slower, more sensual undressing. instead, you push your pants down your legs until they’re polling around your ankles and you can easily step out of them, leaving you exposed from the waist down except for your underwear -which is doing a terrible job in covering the arousal there.

you’ve been wet from the moment you started fantasizing about her, and your little make out session has only made matters worse. lucy, who’s pushing her fingers past the waistline of your underwear, notices too when she’s met with your wetness once they slide through you.

“fuck-“ you mutter, your head falling back.

lucy studies you attentively once her fingers find your clit, rubbing it in clockwise circles underneath the fabric until your thighs are trembling and instinctively closing around her wrist.

“sit,” she orders, jerking her chin towards the shelf pressed against the back of your thighs.

stunned into silence, you hop onto the cool metal, your legs spread enough for lucy to stand between them. her palms stroke along your thighs as she bites her lip, now able to see the wet patch your arousal has left in the fabric of your underwear.

“can you take it?” she whispers, immediately earning herself an eager nod from you.

lucy pulls you forward until you’re sitting on the edge, then forces your legs apart further with a sudden motion. only once she’s reached out and pushed your underwear aside, does it seem to occur to her that she’s never been on this side of things before.

nervously, she glances up at you. “i’ve never-“ lucy begins, gesturing downward.

“that’s okay!” you interject instantly. at this point, you don’t care what she does, as long as she does it inside of you.

“okay,” she echoes, before focusing on the matter at hand.

absentmindedly, though it sends another wave of arousal down to your center, lucy uses what’s left of your wetness on her fingers to coat her length in it. you watch breathlessly as she pumps her fist along the silicone shaft until it's glistening with the makeshift lube.

immediately, you wrap your legs around lucy, closing your ankles behind her and urging her closer. she complies gladly.

her eyes flicker up to your face when she lines herself up and moves forward. your fingers reach around lucy’s back, desperately grasping for something to hold onto as her cock sinks into you inch by inch. her nose nuzzles against the side of your neck as she fills you up slowly, her breath warm against your skin, until she’s pushed it in as far as it’ll go and your bodies are nestled flush together.

“good?” lucy whispers, slowly pulling back just enough to look up at you.

“mhm” you hum, struggling to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head.

her hands fall to your waist again, squeezing you gently as her eyes remain fixed on where she has pushed into your body, where the toy is pressed against your walls just right.

“can i move?” lucy husks, looking like she’s barely containing herself from doing so.

for a moment you wish that her impatience was actually justified. not that it isn’t already, you are dying to see her in a similar position, but you wish she could feel you too: all around her, taking it greedily, sucking her in deeper.

once again, you nod.

pressing your palm between her shoulder blades is about all the bracing you get to do before lucy starts to move. she pulls her hips back slowly as if she’s testing the waters, before slamming into you faster and deeper than expected.

“o-oh!” you gasp, your mouth falling open over lucy’s shoulder. the relief of finally feeling her against your g-spot is immediate and has you seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

you arch your back against her, involuntarily searching for more as lucy starts thrusting into you more confidently. you meet each of her thrusts, gently lifting your hips from the shelf to rock back onto her strap. like this, she’s fucking you properly in no time, falling into an easy rhythm.

the sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the otherwise abandoned store, accompanied only by your occasional ragged moans. you don’t bother to hold back anymore, not when you’ve spent half of your travels fantasizing about her like this.

it only vaguely registers that lucy’s mouth is pressing against the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin there as she keeps fucking the strap into you. she’s reaching depths you could never quite find with only your fingers during your rare attempts to find some sort of relief, depths that have you trembling already.

“lucy please!” you cry, unsure what you’re even asking for as one hand holds onto the back of her neck whereas the other grips the edge of the shelf for dear life. “please,”

“does that feel good?” she asks, her voice genuine and amazed despite her relentless pounding.

“mhm, so good!” you nod. your legs are shaking around lucy, trembling more with each thrust that makes you gush around the strap.

the longer lucy moves like this, the more confident she gets in her own movements. despite the occasional grunts of exhaustion, she does not let up. it doesn’t take her long to find the perfect angle either, your cunt throbbing once you feel her right where you need it the most.

too eager for your own release to feel embarrassed, you drop your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace that matches the one lucy has set.

the space around you smells of sex and her hands are carefully holding your legs apart, keeping you open for her. the shelves creak under the force of her pace, slamming against the wall so loudly you will have to check if the noise has attracted any unwanted attention once she’s done with you.

for now, all you can focus on is the pleasure in your system, which only intensifies when lucy starts talking: “god” she groans, eyes narrowed down on your body to watch the way you take the full length of her strap over and over again.

she pulls out almost all the way once, the motion agonizingly slow so she can see the way you part for her as the silicone slides from your body. the toy is glistening with your wetness in the barely lit room.

“fuck-” she grunts, before snapping forward and sinking back into. there’s sweat collecting at her temple from the efforts of her constant rolls of her hips. “are you close? tell me!”

your weak whine seems to sound agreeable enough for lucy to double her efforts. not once does she falter, her hips thrusting forward effortlessly and desperate cries of her name are all you can manage. they're your only prayer as she gets you closer and closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” she praises absentmindedly, her eyes glued to what she can see past the fabric of your underwear and the frantic movement of your wrist as you rub yourself to the rhythm of her thrusts. “that’s it!”

lucy seems almost as eager to make you cum as you are yourself, panting: “are you gonna cum?” as though she can hardly believe that she’s the one to get you there.

“oh my god, are you gonna cum on my- on my cock?” the distant realization dawns upon you that she doesn’t even know the proper words, but the way she’s put it -albeit clumsy and unsure- works. it is what you ultimately need to be pushed over that edge.

a breathless “oh my god!” is the only response lucy gets before your orgasm rips through you. with a prolonged moan, you slam your head back, only vaguely aware of the dull pain as your body convulses around her strap.

your hips are still rutting back and forth uselessly, grinding against your hand as she stills inside of you. when the pleasure finally subsides, your body goes slack and you fall against lucy with her strap still buried inside you.

her arms wrap around you soothingly, pressing you as close to her chest as the current position allows. you stay like this for a while, just enough for you to catch your breath and ground yourself. the stillness of the night settles back into the store as the two of you adjust in the dim light. she pulls back gently and you pull your jacket tight, brushing stray bits of dust from the sleeves, while lucy fumbles with her gear.

the wind that blows through the creaks in the wall seems louder now, as the silence between you stretches on. finally, lucy dares to speak. “well,” she begins. “this has officially been my favorite pit stop so far!”

you can’t help but laugh, your cheeks heating up all over again as you carefully reach down to push your underwear back into place.

“and these?” she jerks her thumb down to the strap that’s still fastened to her body. “these are definitely coming with us!”

you freeze mid-motion, “lucy, you can’t just carry that around like it’s-“

“like it’s what? a perfectly good survival tool?” she interrupts. “come on, think about it! it’s sturdy, lightweight, multipurpose and-”

“multipurpose?” you cut in, raising a brow.

she shrugs, unbothered. “sure. you never know when you might need something to hold up supplies!”

your lips part to protest, but no words come out. instead, you watch as she unbuckles the harness. this whole situation is ridiculous. it’s so lucy. you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight.

she glances over at you, her head tilted when she catches you staring. “are you alright?”

you nod quickly, forcing yourself to look away before your face betrays you again. “yeah,” you swallow audibly. “yeah, i’m good!”

but you’re not. not really. because she kissed you. she kissed you, and then she fucked you, too. and now, instead of brushing it off like another one of her impulsive experiments, she’s acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like it’s you that’s natural to her.

“alright,” she says, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. “let’s set up camp for the night. i’ll try to get some actual sleep this time!”

you nod again, following her toward the back of the store where the shadows are deepest. as you lay out your bedroll, you glance at her from the corner of your eye. she’s humming under her breath as she secures her pack.

this wasn’t just a one-time thing, you realize as she packs up both the harness and its counterpart. it wasn’t just a kiss or a moment or something you won’t speak about in the morning, otherwise she would not be keeping this.

it was lucy, and it was you.

and whatever comes next on your travels, you know there’s no going back from this.

— a/n: my first lucy fic!! you can thank @lottiesgrl for this, they helped me turn my silly little idea into…something!!

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Content Warning: Description of death, blood, pregnancy

Something was off.

The daily walk home from the shop felt like a marathon, everything just felt so exhausting lately. This earned many concerned glances from Khargaad as the two of you reached the end of the season’s harvest. You spent many a moment slumped on your knees, hands folded in your lap.

“You haven’t seemed yourself lately.” He tilted his canteen to your lips, letting you take a sip of his water. You wiped your brow, “I know, I’m just… so tired all the time.”

“Hmmm...” He stroked the back of your head, ignoring how sweaty and gross you were from working, “Let’s finish up for today, does that sound good?”

You nodded weakly, shouting no protest as he scooped you up in his arms. Before you knew it you were sitting in the grass outside of his tent. You almost fell asleep right there before you heard the lighting of a fire, and sloshing of water from the creek. You opened your eyes, seeing him filling a large washbasin.

Before long steam rose from the surface of the basin and you felt hands pulling at the strings of your tunic. “Let me take care of this.” Khargaad’s voice cooed in that special way that could melt you. He undressed you and led you by your hand to the basin, letting you step in to the deliciously hot water before undressing himself. He settled behind you in the water, pulling you onto his lap.

There was nothing sexual or suggestive about the way his touch landed on your skin. Just tender and caring. He lathered you in soap and massaged your muscles, eventually letting you sink your back into his chest. He rested one hand on your tummy, rubbing therapeutic circles into you.

“Maybe you should take it easier?” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder. You huffed, “I’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” His tone did not sound entirely confident in your statement, but he accepted it nonetheless. That night he walked you home, clothed in his shirt that fit you like a dress. Tucked into bed, you could hear him and your mother chatting outside but their words were undecipherable.

-

It wasn’t just you that was off now. Every day of the following week you found your mother waking up before you to making breakfast.

“Oh my darling, I don’t want to hear it. Sleep in and get some rest.”

Khargaad now consistently walked you to and from the town square, making sure to come and give you a kiss on the cheek in the mornings before leaving to hunt.

Today, you were clearing out a junk closet in the shop, too busy to hear the door open behind you.

“Now this really is low, y/n.”

You hadn’t heard that voice in ages. Not since Khargaad had scared Milo out of your shop all those weeks ago. You shot up, looking behind you to see Milo with a rather sickened look on his face.

“Surely you haven’t been fucking that orc?”

You clenched your fists, wrapping a tighter grip on the pocket knife you already had in your hand. “Get the fuck out of my shop.”

“Won’t be yours for long. You won’t make it through winter.”

“Guess you’re right because we’ll be long gone by then.” You retorted with a cocky confidence.

“Excuse me?” His eyes narrowed.

Perhaps you should shut your big mouth now. “Nothing.” Your voice wavered unconvincingly. He took a step towards you.

“No, not nothing. You have something planned. You and that mother of yours. Maybe even that big stupid orc, whore.”

You raised the knife threateningly, “Milo, you need to leave now.” You tried your best to put on an air of confidence, but you had quite possibly put all of the plans in jeopardy. Milo lacked the honor and dignity which would stop a regular person from doing a terrible thing in the name of vengeance.

He huffed, turning around to leave. On his way out, he slammed the door with such force that it shattered a pane of glass on the door. You turned your head just slightly, seeing Khargaad standing on the other end of the square. It seemed as if he had just returned from his hunt to catch Milo storming out, and based on his heaving shoulders he was fuming.

It was a tense walk home.

“Are you… angry with me?” You were bewildered by his demeanor. He stopped in his tracks, getting down on one knee to get on your level.

“No. No no no. How… could I be angry with you?” He was so sweet, so calm. You sighed, cupping his cheek, “You’re just so tense, so angry-“

“I’m scared, y/n.” He cut you off. You didn’t like seeing him like this. He was shaking a little bit, “I’m scared of him. Before I met you, we happened to frequent the same taverns every now and then. I’ve heard him say things that frighten me. I don’t think he would hesitate to hurt you or your mother.”

You knew this just as well as he did. Khargaad had brought his hand up to your waist, thumbing over your stomach. It seemed soothing to him.

“We need to develop a plan. Now.” You pulled on him to follow you. The sooner you were out of town the better, and didn’t like the idea of Milo possibly being clued in on that fact.

-

“Within the next two weeks, at the very least.” Your mother proclaimed at the dining table. Khargaad nodded, crossing his arms satisfiedly. You just sat there dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry. two weeks? Why does it seem like you two had this worked out before we even sat down!”

They were shooting nervous glances at each other.

“Well-“

“You've-“

They had both started at the same time, stumbling over each other’s words. There was something going on. You shot up, pointing two accusatory fingers at them, “Ma! You start first. Then Khargaad. Go.”

The woman stared down at her hands twiddling her thumbs, “Well… what I was going to say was… you sure you’ve been feeling alright lately sweetheart?” You stood there baffled, did they think you were about to be on your deathbed or something? Khargaad breathed out,

“You’ve missed a period.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but as you wracked your brain you realized, by the Gods, the orc was right. You disregarded the fact that he had seemingly been tracking your cycles in secret. A lot of things began making sense as the reality set in.

How daft did you have to be for these two to figure out you were pregnant before your own self. The bottom of your lip quivered as you tried to figure out a rational response to the situation. Maybe… maybe it was just a random fluke in your cycle. Maybe it was something else. This wasn’t a part of the plan. You hadn’t accounted for a baby at all.

A warm hand slipped around yours. Khargaad was staring at you with unbridled adoration, tears running down his face. You were so lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed your mother leave the room.

“Talk to me.” His voice was shaking, it almost sounded like a plea. As if waiting for you to break your silence on this was his own personal form of torture.

“I- I- What are we going to-“ The words tried to clumsily fall from your lips. You lifted the edge of your tunic, staring down at the bare stomach, and sure enough there was the slight bump that hadn’t eased on its own. It was so subtle that you had been writing it off as merely bloat. But now, you looked down and couldn’t see it any other way.

“Oh my Gods.” You began to cry a confusing mixture of happy and scared tears. Clearly the pull-out method was not entirely dependable. You looked back at your lover, still with tears streaming down his own face.

“When I realized you might be… oh merciful gods I was terrified too.” He laughed weakly, squeezing your hand, “I can’t speak on how you must be feeling right now. But…” He sniffled, “…You’re not alone.”

It started with a low chuckle, then you broke into a full laugh. Khargaad looked at you, bewildered, as if maybe this was the (giant) straw that broke the camels back.

“We need to leave. Not even in two weeks. In one week. In a couple days. I need to close up the shop, we need to pack-“ You were rambling frantically.

“So… so you want to keep it?”

You almost choked on your own words, looking down at Khargaad who was still sitting in his chair. He was afraid to admit how thrilled he was, his worst fear was making you feel pressured by his own feelings. After all, it was your decision in the end.

“Oh Khargaad,” you took his hand and placed it on your stomach, “all I’m thinking is what kinda person they’re gonna be. Will they be an artist? A hunter? An explorer?”

He giggled through his tears, pulling you close to nuzzle his head into your stomach. The dull ends of his tucks grazed over your skin. “Whoever they may be, they will know the overwhelming love of their mother and father.”

This was surreal. You had been so caught up dealing with life, the thought of a baby was completely foreign to you. Yet here you were, being confronted by the idea in the most literal way possible. Then a thought struck you.

“Khargaad, we’re going to your home, right?”

He nodded, still practically purring into your stomach like a cat. “They won’t be… angry that you’re with a human?” He shook his head, “‘Course not, my brother Vakgar’s been with his husband Thierry for six years now. We love that guy.” His voice was muffled into your skin.

You sighed, coming down from the emotional high of this entire situation. “We’ll need a wagon, a big one. Probably one? No, two strong draft horses. And then-“ your mind was already picking up from where it left off, you scrambled for a piece of paper and quill to write it all down.

“Hush my love. Me and your Ma have it handled. Just say the word and we can be packed and ready in three days.”

“Well consider this the word. Let’s go. I… don’t want to stay around and wait for it to start showing.” He knew you were talking about Milo. The last thing you all needed was him finding out about this.

“Yes we agree. Definitely.” Khargaad replied, making his way to the door. “Will you need to go back into town again?” It was clear he wanted the answer to be no, but he would be disappointed unfortunately. “Just one more day.” You responded with a sorry look in your eyes. The two of you came to a compromise, you would do what you needed to do for that day, only if you didn't leave his sight for even on second. And you could only go into town once the lot of you were good and ready to leave. In case you needed to make a run for it.

He marched over to you, pulling you into a long deep kiss.

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold chain. Hanging from it was an engraved gold ring.

“I’ve been holding on to this for… uhm. Hehe. I bought it a couple weeks ago. And I thought… I thought had gotten a good fit but then I slipped it on your finger in your sleep and it was like hilariously large and then all of this started and I didn’t want you to think I was only doing this because you’re pregnant. I was always going to-“

You cut him off with a giggle, letting the ring fall into the palm of your hand.

“Yes, I’ll marry you Khargaad.”

-

The next three days felt like a whirlwind. Khargaad FINALLY had a valid excuse to stop you from lifting heavy things and he was being entirely greedy about it.

“Don’t over-exert yourself love.”

You were carrying a basket of jars, probably not more than 15 pounds. You rolled your eyes playfully, “I can’t just sit around-“

He gently took the basket out of your hands, kissing you atop the head, “Now, this evening we’re gonna be in and out, as fast as possible right?”

You nodded, cradling your stomach. With a dress on it as impossible to notice.

As the sun began to set, Khargaad followed you into town. All you needed to do was put your remaining merchandise outside the door, writing a sign that said “free, please take.” It wasn’t much anyways, you could live without the small amount of coin you were gonna lose.

With the job done, the two of you hurried off. The path back to your cottage was a long dirt road, and eventually he just scooped you into his arms to pick up the pace. As a skilled hunter, Khargaad was very aware as to how vulnerable the two of you were right now.

And then he heard it. A clicking noise, frighteningly similar to the mechanical sound of someone loading a crossbow. Most would have never been able to distinguish the difference between this noise and any other normal forest sound.

He was reacting before you could register the sound of something whizzing through the air. You screamed, feeling yourself falling on your ass in the dirt. Khargaad clenched his shoulder, his dark thick blood beginning to bubble through his fingers. The two of you reeled around, seeing Milo standing in the middle of the path struggling to reload his crossbow.

The following moment which occurred felt like slow motion. Like one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you run, you can’t get your feet to move faster than a snail pace.

Khargaad hadn’t been directly hit, but the thick iron arrow from Milo’s weapon had grazed him leaving a nasty gash in his shoulder. The orc had a frenzied look in his eyes, like he was stuck in some sort of waking paralysis, unable to move his feet.

You looked back at Milo, still struggling and now yelling curses, and back to the serrated bowie knife Khargaad always kept on his waist.

As the classic saying goes: kill or be killed.

-

There were things you were always going to remember about this night, like the whites of Milo’s eyes as you hurled the knife into his thin sinewy neck, the heat of his blood spurting on your face, the taste of iron when it got into your mouth. His strangled final breaths, understanding leaving his eyes.

You were yanking Khargaad in a jog behind you, seeing the lights of the cottage ahead. The covered wagon was set to go, horses bridled. You thanked the Gods for his foresight to insist on having everything ready like this. Your mother was standing outside, lantern in hand. She nearly fainted when the two of you were close enough for her to register the scene.

“You’re bleeding!”

“He is.” You insisted, climbing into the back, “Ma, you need to take the reigns, we need to go. Now.”

She snapped her senses, clambering onto the front and balling her fists around the leather. If there were two things you could thank your father for, it was teaching your mother how to steer a horse-drawn wagon, and the years of practice you got out of dressing his wounds after bar fights. You pulled Khargaad into the back, drawing the folds closed and hanging the lantern above the two of you. The bottles and supplies in your first aid kit glinted menacingly

“This will be unpleasant, my love. I’m sorry.”

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786 @sadsilver @shellyyyyy0000 @thecreativeblueberry-blog @lovingbadguys

[yourloyalwatchdog]

hey, you. yeah, you reading this on your feed right now. stop scrolling and give me just a moment of your time, can you do that?

i know you can, sweetheart.

read the tags if you want a little idea of what's coming next. otherwise, let it catch you by surprise ;)

so go ahead and open this.

aww, what a good pet!

DROP now.

i don't care what you're doing. i don't care where you are. you didn't have to open this. you had no idea what was gonna be below the cut and you opened it anyway, so i know you can

DROP deep into trance for me.

let your head hang. let your eyelids flutter, so, so heavy. just allow all your muscles to go limp except for those needed to keep reading this and scrolling, ok?

good pet. you know you want to. you know it feels better when you give in. you know everything is better when you've surrendered your mind to me.

DROP for me, pet.

each time i tell you to

DROP

you go deeper.

you want to go deeper.

you want to follow.

you want to obey.

and so you will.

DROP.

such a good plaything.

each DROP rings through your mind like a snap of my fingers. you focus. you listen. you obey.

good job.

and you don't want to go back up now, do you? you'd rather stay like this all day long, all floaty and happy and blank. and perhaps just a little bit horny. maybe even more than just a little bit. maybe the heat of arousal is coursing through your body and you itch to touch yourself, or maybe you already are. whatever you feel, whatever your needy hands are doing, that's okay. this isn't about me, it's about you, and i want you to enjoy this.

DROP.

DROP.

DROP.

DROP.

DROP.

well. if you want to wake now, that's up to you. you can easily wake up feeling refreshed and relaxed and continue with your day.

... or, if you want to stay deep and keep

DROPPING, like i know you want to.

you're welcome to for as long as you'd like.

i imagine it could be fun to mindlessly scroll down, down, down and see who else might just want to toy with your mind, and you can go even deeper for them. i mean, you let me do it. besides, you're cute when you're all drooly and dumb and obedient. why wouldn't you want to go deeper?

so whatever you decide, i hope you enjoy it. thank you for letting me play with you, my pretty hypnotoy. it's always a pleasure.

[lynnie-ee]

Paint the roses red.

╰┈➤"In which the Prefect makes a portray for Hearstlabyul's Housewarden in hopes that he'll realise their feelings for him.”

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 1.1k words. Non-established relationship. Reader is mentioned to be good at drawing and painting.

╰►Note: English is not my first language, so feel free to tell me if there are any grammatical mistakes!

╰►Masterlist. (requests open)

⤿

⤿

The warm softness of the sun envelops the gardens of the Heartslabyul Dorm on a calm Saturday morning. Riddle hums quietly, enjoying the silence, an uncommon occurrence, even rarer after the enrollment of two certain freshmen in the dorm. Still, he decides to just bask in the moment, a cup of tea in his hand as he enjoys the peace brought by the early hour, when everyone else was sleeping.

“Riddle.” His name is called softly from a near distance, and he’s quick to recognize the owner of the voice, who promptly appears before him, a bag on their hands as the approach his seat.

“Prefect.” He greets with a similar demeanour, gesturing for them to sit down in front of him, his expression stern as usual but his voice softer, maybe due to the quiet ambience, maybe due to the presence of the magicless student. “What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to see you.” The explanation falls gently from their lips, as they reach for the cup of tea that Riddle extends towards them, which they use to mask the smile on their face as they observe Heartslabyul’s Housewarden blushing slightly at the honesty of their words. “You’ve been awfully busy due to the final exams, haven’t you?”

“Indeed, studying and tutoring members of the dorm takes a great amount of my time.” He nods, his gaze drifting momentarily towards the small bag the Prefect carried, before looking at them once again. “I trust you’ve already done plenty of studying for the upcoming tests?”

“Haha, of course…” They answered with a nonchalant voice, although the slight fidgety movement of their hands could betray that their statement was perhaps, not at all true, which didn’t go unnoticed by the second-year student.  

“…If you were to be in need of assistance on any subject, please don’t refrain from seeking my help.”

“Oh, don’t worry! You’re already busy enough handling your students, I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother, Prefect.”

Silence reigned once again between the two of them, as the Prefect took a moment to recover from the natural way in which Riddle’s words made their heart flutter with delight, only fuelling further the nervous sensation they had before they arrived at his dorm.

‘This may be the best moment to do it.’ They conclude after a brief look at Riddle’s peaceful expression, clearing their throat to catch his attention as they pick up the bag that was previously resting on their lap.

“Drinking tea with you wasn’t the only reason why I came here, I must tell you.” They mumbled, taking a small canvas out of their bag, glancing at the inviting expression of the Housewarden, who quietly encouraged them to continue. “I wanted to give you this.”

Riddle picks up the canvas carefully, his expression stern but his touch gentle as he holds it and allows himself to examine it attentively. His face quickly burns in bright red as he recognizes his very own features captured with delicacy on the fibres of the canvas, accompanied by flowers that surrounded his frame with the same artistry.

“Do you like it?” The Prefect breaks the silence, their impatience growing further as they observed the lack of comment from the Heartslabyul student. He coughs discreetly on his palm as to mask his bashful state, his gaze drifting away from the canvas towards the person in front of him.

“It’s a marvellous work.” Is all he manages to say, before realizing how tactless he sounded. “I…I really appreciate it. Deuce and Ace had commented before that you were skilled at painting, but I might have underestimated their words.”

“Well, I’m still learning a few things, so there may be some mistakes on the portrait-”

“It’s perfect, I assure you.” He interrupts quickly, a faint smile on his lips. “May I ask what led you to choose me for the painting?”

“I just felt like drawing you.” The Prefect blurted out, their gaze avoiding Riddle’s eyes as they could feel the heat rising toward their cheeks.

“I noticed there are flowers on the portrait, too. I’m not familiar with them, what are these?”

The Prefect sighed to shake away the anxious feeling on their chest, thinking about the inspiration for the painting, while refuging themselves behind the cup of the tea that had been sitting forgotten on the table for a few minutes now.

“Well, at first, I wanted to paint red roses. It was the most obvious option for me.” They explained carefully, glancing at the flowers that surrounded them in the middle of the dorm garden. “But I’ve been reading about flower language lately, and I wanted to look for something more fitting. A flower that represented my feelings better, you could say. These flowers-” They pointed them out on the canvas. “-are red tulips.”

“How interesting.” He mumbled, curiously observing the painting, looking at the detailed illustrations. “I’m not really familiar with flower language. What do red tulips mean?”

“That’s something you’ll have to investigate by yourself, I’m afraid.” They got up from their sitting, picking up their bag. “After all, what’s the fun in telling you directly?”

“I suppose you’re right, Prefect.” Riddle smiled softly, carefully leaving the painting on the table, allowing him to walk towards the magicless student to bid them goodbye properly. “Thank you for the portrait, I’ll treasure it accordingly.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” They mumbled, ready to go back to their own dorm before Grim woke up. “I’ll see you around, Riddle.”

“Of course. I’ll inform you as soon as I look into the meaning of the flowers.”

“…Take your time, don’t worry.” Their voice was tinted with embarrassment before they turned around to leave the Heartslabyul dorm. Riddle kept their gaze on them until they disappeared out of the garden, his cheeks tinted red as he looked once again at the portrait on the table, a reminder of the thoughtfulness of the Prefect.

It didn’t take long before he found himself walking through the corridors of the library, a book about flowers in his hand, his curiosity piqued as he searched for the specific kind of plant among the pages.

“Red tulips, red tulips, red tulips…. Oh, here they are.”

His fingers suddenly dropped the book on the table in front of him. Riddle nervously glanced once again at the words printed on the piece of paper as to make sure he didn’t read incorrectly, his face painted on a bright red that seemed to put the colour of a red rose to shame.

‘ Red Tulip: passion, romance. “I declare my love.” ‘

⤿

⤿

⤿

[greyeyedmonster-18]

Five Times Sirius Black Fucked James Potter and One Time He Didn't

(somewhere in a slytherin!sirius au inspired by @arliedraws...

part 2/5. read part one here.)

Sirius Black had already turned the lights off for the night. He had already changed into soft flannel pajama bottoms and had gotten into bed. Soft summer blanket over his legs. Everything was quiet in his cottage on the side of shore, aside from the waves crashing against the rocks outside. Just as he liked it. Preferred it.

Until there was a knock.

No.

A knock was an understatement.

Pounding. Banging. Punishing. His front door.

Sirius instinctually grabbed his wand, though he knew it was probably a drunk muggle who had wandered a touch too far down the road from the neighboring shore town. Or his cousin, had forgotten how to use the floor for some reason and desperately needed a cup of sugar for a cake she was making.

It was wartime.

Of course someone was baking.

Sirius tiptoed down the stairs, wand in front of his face, and paused before the front door.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“What in the name of Merlin’s wrinkled—” Sirius started, swinging the door open roughly, ready to give a firm dressing down to whoever was on his doorstep at this hour, for being so damn rude, but lost his train of thought.

Even in the dark, only lit up by a wand, Sirius could recognize the shape of James Potters messy hair. It had been nearly a year since they had graduated, and the last time they had seen each other, and that was across a crowded train platform. Of course, Sirius had heard his name circulating among talk in the wizarding world, and he mostly stifled eye rolls. Out of school and people were still worshipping the ground James Potter walked on.

Such a lovely boy.

“Put your wand down, Black,” James said, his hands attempting to shield some of the light.

“Excuse me?”

“Just put it down, okay?”

“You’re at my doorstep and you’re making demands?”

“I’d prefer to be in your home, but I don’t want to invite myself in. Didn’t your mummy teach you manners? One of your nanny’s perhaps?”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, wiggling his fingers around his wand, “Prove it.” Sirius said, attempting to get control of the situation again. Though he knew no one impersonating James Potter on this Earth would’ve thought to find Sirius. Mistake one. But even so. Sirius was buying time.

Time to collect himself.

Time to trying to figure out what James could possibly be doing here.

“We got detention together fourth year because we raced to the front of the room in Potions to get Professor Slughorn’s attention first, and I tripped on my shoelace—that you untied—and accidentally spilled two vials of Shrinking Solution onto Peter MacMillan.”

Sirius snorted, “I did not untie your shoes.”

“You’re still going with that, are you? And here I thought, now that we’ve graduated and moved on a bit, we could let bygones be bygones and go about our lives like mature adults, and maybe you could admit to untying my shoe, and I don’t know, dying all my robes pink second year and—”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. Showing up to my home, making demands to enter and now accusing me of sabotaging your Potion’s grade. I ought to shut the door on you.”

“If you were going to do that, you would’ve already done it,” James said, voice losing some of the lightness it had moments before, and calling Sirius’s bluff in a single breath. “Can I come in?”

It was almost embarrassing, how quickly Sirius stepped aside and lowered his wand to let James walk into his home. He already knew to take off his shoes, leaving beat up trainers by his front door next to Sirius’s dragon hide boots. Sirius prided himself on always having an answer. A plan and a protocol in place. His parents used to chastise him, because he always had something to say and always had to get the last word in. But at this moment, with James Potter in his foyer, Sirius hadn’t a clue what to do.

Because it had been months and James was wearing jeans, and he had swapped out his thin wire-rim glasses for smarter, squarer ones that suited his strong jaw, and Sirius—

“I like your jammies,” James teased, looking down at Sirius’s flannel pajama bottoms.

Sirius wanted to disappear, following James’s gaze and remembering he was also wearing slippers. Pale blue slippers.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Sirius offered as means of an explanation, “And it’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s barely eleven.”

Sirius made a noise from the back of his throat, “You’re the rudest house guest, Potter. You know that?” he said, walking down the short hallway, hoping, knowing James would follow. “Calling at odd hours, making fun of my attire, and the time I go to bed….”

“I said I liked your jammies.”

“Fancy a pair?” Sirius responded, all too aware of how juvenile he sounded. If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it? Ha, ha, ha. James made himself at home instantly in Sirius’s kitchen, unphased and uncaring. What a confidence, a power to know you were welcome anywhere in the world. James didn’t have to question that. Whether he was wanted in spaces, he just knew. Sirius busied himself with the tea kettle, watching with a raised eyebrow as James looked around the kitchen, slouching back in the chair at Sirius’s circular kitchen table.

James had been sitting for approximately fifteen seconds and the tablecloth already had a crease in it.

And Sirius knew he’d spend all of tomorrow doing is very best not to straighten it out again, the same way Sirius would leave his curls loose in school after a…meetup with James.

“How do you take your tea?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?” Sirius mimicked, trying his best not to smile at how quickly James scowled. Eleven and Fourteen and Nineteen were one in the same. “How do you take your tea?”

“Just milk,” James said, attention returning to Sirius, “This isn’t where I imagined you would live.”

“Pray tell, Potter.”

“I dunno,” James shrugged leaning forward onto the kitchen table, another crease in the table cloth, “Some place sterile…dark. A hospital ward, perhaps. A cave. This is actually charming.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the counter, “It was my Uncle’s and I chose it—”

“Chose! Of course you had multiple options of houses available to you. What, you didn’t want to go to France? Or Croatia, I’ve heard it’s lovely there.”

“Thought about it,” Sirius shrugged, heart squirming in his chest and smirking as the familiar banter infiltrated their conversation. Especially as James shook his head, always eager to poke at Sirius’s blatant privilege. “I preferred the quiet over here. Don’t get too many visitors. In fact, there are wards, and I’ve not given out my address to the Daily Prophet, so I am wondering how it is you found me.”

“Lucky guess?”

“Not quite.”

“My…mother knows your cousin. Andromeda, that’s her name, right? And I…told her I—”

“Lied.”

“Okay, well, yes, I lied to my mother—”

“Shame on you.”

“--and told her to ask because I wanted to send a birthday gift and we had lost touch—”

“How sweet of you to remember. What did you bring me?” Sirius asked, flicking his wand to magically pour the steaming water from the kettle into two mugs. One with milk, one without. And walking over to sit across from James in the soft, dimly lit kitchen.

“I uh..didn’t…” James fumbled, “That…was the lie.”

Sirius clicked his tongue in mock admonishment, “You’re on very thin ice here, Potter. Infractions adding up one by one.”

“…Sorry?” James offered, large hands wrapping around the cup of tea, thumb neatly sliding under the handle. He still bit his nails.

“Hm,” Sirius responded, and took a sip of his own tea slowly, eyes never leaving James. This was more like it. Sirius liked to see James squirm. Stammer. Forget himself. And if Sirius waited just long enough, James would fold, and Sirius would let him. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here, Potter? Or should I start guessing? Make it a…game. I recall you being fond of those.”

James nearly choked on his swallow of tea, not all of it making the way down his throat, a small dribble leaking out of the corner of his mouth. James covered his mouth in search of a napkin, but Sirius was quicker, summoning one over to the table and into his hand. Sirius stretched his arm across, carefully wiping the corner of James’s mouth, tilting his head to the side.

“Careful,” Sirius said, “It’s hot.”

“No games.”

“I’m not playing one. Are you?”

“I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“Congratulations.” Sirius had known, of course. There was no wizard or witch in London who didn’t know James Potter and Lily Evans were getting married. The wedding the gossip around pubs and shops. The silver lining, and the only good bit of news in recent times. Dark times. Sirius knew. He didn’t know it was so close.

“It’s my stag party tonight…actually. Right now.”

“Should I be expecting those…charming friends of yours to show up as well? What’s that dodgy blokes name, the small one you walked around with? Pettigrew?”

“He’s not dodgy,” James corrected, and Sirius nonchalantly took a sip of his tea, in lieu of saying anything further “I…they’re not coming here. I stepped away, lost them and walked around that town down the road for about two hours before deciding to make it to your door.”

“And why would you want to come to my door,” Sirius asked, hand under his chin pretending to think, “I’ve got it. You want me to attend your wedding. Well I deeply apologize, Potter, I’ve simply nothing to wear on this short of notice.”

James groaned, head tilting backward to stare up at the ceiling, “I forgot how irritating you were.”

Sirius laughed softly, taking another drink of his tea, watching as James’s fingers tapped on the top of the table, still staring up at the ceiling.

Game. Set.

“Cold feet?”

“I love her,” James said firmly, before looking back to Sirius, “I love her.”

“I would hope so.”

“It’s not cold feet, I want….I want to marry her.”

“What else do you want?” Sirius asked, resting his forearms on the table and leaning forward.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” he repeated, perhaps hoping Sirius would heed the warning. Push him away, kick him out of his house.

In which world?

Sirius just smiled softly, “So you’ve told me. What else do you want?” he asked, bringing a hand up to Potters face, caressing his cheek softly.

“You know. You know why I’m here, Black.”

“I do…” Sirius said, standing up from the table and walking to stand to the side of James, tilting James’s head up to meet his gaze, “But you should know…I’m still going to make you ask.”

Match.

James’s tongue poked out to went his bottom lip, hazel eyes blinking. Sirius’s heart rate was beating faster and faster, even as he wedged himself between James’s legs.

What a scene.

They were two people absolutely desperate for one another.

“This is the last time,” James said finally, breaking the silence and standing up so quickly it knocked the kitchen chair backwards. His mouth crashed into Sirius’s, and Sirius didn’t need further permission. His hand palmed the back of James’s head, the other hand pulling James closer to him by his belt buckle.

“Play your cards right and maybe you will end up with a pair of my pajamas you liked so well…” Sirius smirked into James’s mouth, lips brushing against his as he spoke.

“Shut up.”

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

[garden-h0bbit]

𝕊𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After getting a terrible grade on your Charms essay, you finally gather enough courage to ask Remus to tutor you, but your much worse at Charms than he thought.

Warnings: Light swearing

———————————————————————

Dreadful… of course you got a Dreadful for your Charms essay, you could hardly ever preform the incantations correctly. You can feel the pitiful gaze of professor Flitwick on you and avoid his gaze, instead you look around the classroom, your gaze landing upon Remus Lupin, chatting wildly with his hands as he talks to Lily. The redhead was eagerly nodding along and you smile subconsciously at how excited Remus was, if only you were half as good at Charms as he was, perhaps you would get an Acceptable or maybe even an Outstanding. You were pretty sure he got an Outstanding for every single grade.

“Ahem-“ professor Flitwick clears his throat and calls your name. “May we have a word after class?” he quietly asked you over the loud murmuring of students and you nod. “Right then. On with the lesson,” professor Flitwick’s voice droned on and you look back over to where Remus sat, only to find him looking at you, he offered a small smile and turned his attention back to Flitwick.

The clocktower bell rung and suddenly all the students began packing away their belongings. You stood up and waited for every student to leave and then approached Flitwick. “You wanted to speak to me professor?” you asked timidly, “Ah, yes, you see I’ve noticed that you sometimes struggle to preform the spells I teach in class and that you struggle with both the practical and theoretical aspects of Charms. I would never want one of my students to struggle, so I wanted to give you some friendly advice. I was wondering if maybe you would want try some tutoring? We have many students that are amazing at Charms, like perhaps Miss Evans or Miss Meadowes or maybe even Mr. Lupin? I wouldn’t want you to fail the year just because of one class.” he warmly advised and you nod. “Now off you go, go enjoy lunch.” he insists and you grab your belongings and leave the classroom.

Failing Charms… you sigh, you couldn’t fail Charms, what wizard fails Charms. But who would ask for help? Dorcas? No, you barely know her. Lily? You sigh, also no… you’ve only briefly exchanged smiles in the hall. That only leaves Remus, amazingly good looking and sweet Remus, the same Remus that makes you stumble over your words like an idiot. That wouldn’t end well… but you desperately needed help and he was amazing at Charms. Fine, you would asks for him to tutor you.

Walking down towards the Great Hall, you spot Lily, Mary and Remus all talking. You take a deep breath, this was it, you speed up a bit, trying to catch them. “Remus?” you ask quietly once you were close enough, and all three turn to face you. “Could I talk to you privately? Just for a second it won’t take long, I promise,” you ramble and he nods, waving bye to Lily and Mary as they walk away.

“I was just wondering, since I know you always do amazing in Charms, if there was any way that you would help tutor me? Just this once!” you add nervously, your cheeks a soft red colour. You were too nervous to meet his eyes but you could feel his hand on your shoulder, he gave it a soft squeeze and he nodded, “Of course, I’ll tutor you, why wouldn’t I?” He asks with a warm smile, but you didn’t miss the faint pink colour of his ears. “Would this Saturday be fine? At around ten thirty at the Library?” He proposed, you felt like you couldn’t speak so you just awkwardly nodded and then excused yourself to go have lunch, leaving him alone. Curse your awkwardness, you finally speak to him and all you could get out is a bit of rambling and a nod.

Early Saturday morning comes and it’s a perfect day, it was softly raining outside, covering the Scottish mountains in a thick layer of mist. Most of your roommates had left already, but you had slept in a bit, since you were tired from staying up late last night practicing some spells, hoping to get some of them right to impress Remus, but it took longer than you would like to admit. Yawning you look to the clock on your bedside table.

Shit.

Oh shit.

You scrambled out of bed, it was almost 10 am, you not only missed breakfast but at this point you were gonna be late to your study date- no, study session with Remus! You hurriedly dress, trying to at least pick a somewhat decent outfit, you still wanted to look nice for Remus. As you finish you quickly grab your wand and Charms textbooks and take off running.

You were running as quickly as you could, trying to avoid as many teachers and prefects as to not get told off for running in the halls. You reach the castle kitchens and tickle the pear on the painting and it swings open, revealing the kitchens that was filled with many house elves now starting to prepare lunch, you grab some breakfast for yourself as well as a sweet treat for Remus to make up for being late and you leave in a hurry and nearly sprint to the library.

Heaving you reach the library and open the giant doors, inside there were many students lounging about, reading a book or studying. You scan the library hoping to find Remus, but you can’t seem to find the boy. You start walking through the library to try and find him and after a bit of searching you find him at one of the tables in the far back corner of the library, one where you had a perfect view of the bits of sunrays highlighting his features, wait no, you meant where you could perfectly see the beautiful autumn landscape and hear the soft rain.

Clearing your throat you walk closer, he looks up and gives you a smile. He was wearing one of his classic sweaters, that highlighted his face so well, his hair was unruly but he looked perfect in your eyes, you could stare at him forever- Remus awkwardly clears his throat and your cheeks go red, damn it, he caught you staring, hopefully you could play the flush off as it being cold.

“I am so sorry I’m late! I overslept and missed breakfast and had to run to the kitchens all while trying to avoid any teachers and-“ you ramble, trying to explain yourself hoping that he wouldn’t be too upset with your tardiness but you were cut off by a soft chuckle coming form him. “It’s okay don’t even worry about it, I was actually worried I was gonna be the late one. I had to help the boys with something last minute and well, it took longer than expected.” he says kindly and accepts the sweet treat you offer to him. “Another prank?” you ask, hoping to make small talk to make this less awkward. He merely shrugs and gives a mischievous smile, you narrow your eyes at him but decide not to bug him about it.

Sitting down you take out your textbooks, “So what do you need help with, any spell in specific or just overall?” he inquires as he takes out his wand, you sigh “Just… everything really, I’m really bad at Charms for some reason. Can’t get the stupid spells to work right!” You complain and he listens carefully nodding as you speak.

“How about we start with something simple then? What about Descendo?” he asks while you flip to the page containing the spell, taking a deep breath, “Descendo!” You say confidently and a faint blue light comes out of your wand and hits a bookshelf, causing all the books to come flying off the shelves and hitting the ground with a large thud. You go red and sink into you seat, wanting to disappear as Remus softly chuckles and you look across the room to meet the angry glare of Madam Pince. Remus being as sweet as ever quickly waves his wand and all the books levitate to their original position. “Sorry,” you say quietly, avoiding eye contact with him. “Nothing a bit of practice can’t fix,” he insisted warmly.

You and Remus spent the next two hours, working on many different spells, also telling a few jokes and stories in between, the hours flew by and you were dreading having to say goodbye. “Can I try one last Charm? Professor Flitwick said we should study up on this one,” you show him the spell you are referring to in your textbook. “Disillusionment Charm? Of course, but it’s quite tricky to preform,” he cautioned. He quickly preformed the spell, causing himself to almost completely disappear, you could only notice his outline if you looked hard enough and then he transformed himself back. “Hard you say? How come you can do it perfectly then?” you tease. “Had some practice with the spell,” he shrugs with a smile.

Taking a breath and focusing you quickly preform the spell, the white light coming out of your wand hit the table and went rogue, bouncing off the walls and finally hitting a fourth year student’s head. In an instant their head disappeared, their friends gasped and started freaking out and screaming, and your eyes went wide. Looking to Remus he was toppled over the table laughing, and that was enough to ease your nerves and you soon joined in on laughing.

“Out! Out of my library! Now!” Madam Pince’s shrilly voice booms. While laughing you had missed the angry glare of Madam Pince and you hadn’t noticed her stalking her way towards you. Looking up at the sound of her voice, you look to Remus and you both quickly grab your belongings and leave the library still giggling about the situation.

Once the library was out of sight and you both had calmed down you turn to him, looking up at him and noticing the small smile he had on his face. “Thank you for all of your help, I really appreciate it!” he only nods and the starts speaking, “When are you available again?” You frown at his words and he must notice your puzzled expression because he starts explaining again, “I still need to help you with the Disillusionment charm, and we haven’t practiced all the spells yet,” his ears were turning a faint red colour. “Next Saturday? Same time?” you asked and he nodded. “Sounds good.” he assured and you smile back, and in a haze of confidence you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek, his eyes widened and his ears went redder. “I’ll see you later then.” You say and quickly walk away from him, cheeks flushed, surprised at your own confidence but giddy at the prospect of another study session with him.

[muiitoloko]

Could you please write an imagine bring Alan’s gf and he has a meet and greet with a photo op and you surprise him. At first he doesn’t really notice who’s next in line, perhaps he’s preoccupied with something? Maybe checking his phone between fans because you haven’t been answering him and he looks up to see you’re waiting for him

Title: The Queue for You

Summary: Alan Rickman is thrown off-guard when his girlfriend secretly joins his fan line, proving that even celebrities aren’t immune to playful surprises.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your request!

Also read on Ao3

The bright lights of the venue reflected off Alan Rickman’s distinguished features as he adjusted his scarf and prepared for the next fan to approach. The meet-and-greet had been planned weeks in advance, and despite his love for his fans, today his heart simply wasn’t in it. His mind was somewhere else—on you.

The line of fans extended far out the door, each one holding books, DVDs, and memorabilia from his long and celebrated career. Alan did his best to keep his charm intact, smiling warmly as the next fan, a young woman clutching a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, stepped forward.

“Oh, Mr. Rickman! It’s such an honor to meet you,” she gushed, her voice trembling with excitement. “Your portrayal of Professor Snape was... it was just so perfect. No one else could have done it like you.”

Alan forced a polite smile, his baritone voice steady. “That’s very kind of you to say. Though I must admit, Snape’s wardrobe wasn’t exactly designed for comfort. I often wondered if he secretly wanted to join Gryffindor, just for a lighter wardrobe.”

The fan laughed, clearly enchanted, and Alan dutifully posed for the photograph as the professional photographer clicked away. He tilted his head slightly, ensuring the fan was framed in the best light.

“Thank you so much!” the fan said as she stepped away, clutching her autographed book like a priceless treasure.

“You’re most welcome,” Alan replied, his tone gentle, though his heart wasn’t entirely present.

As the next fan approached, Alan glanced at his phone on the table beside him. Still nothing. You hadn’t replied to his good morning message, and now, by the afternoon, he was nearly unraveling with worry. He told himself he was being irrational. After all, you’d only been dating for a short while—just a few weeks. But Alan, ever the private romantic, had fallen for you faster and deeper than he cared to admit. And your silence gnawed at him.

The next fan was a middle-aged man holding a well-loved DVD of Die Hard. Alan immediately slipped into his professional charm.

“Yippee-ki-yay, I assume?” Alan quipped, his wry humor drawing a laugh from the man.

“Yes! You were the best villain in film history,” the man declared.

Alan chuckled softly, though it was slightly forced. “Hans Gruber was certainly... resourceful. Though, between you and me, I think he overcomplicated things. A good cup of tea would have solved many of his problems.”

The man beamed as the camera clicked, and Alan shook his hand firmly before gesturing for the next fan to step forward. His gaze flickered back to his phone for a brief moment. Still no message. His stomach tightened.

Another fan, this one dressed as Snape, approached with an elaborate costume and a wand in hand. The fan dramatically flicked the wand, reciting a spell with a mock serious expression. Alan smiled faintly, playing along. “I see Severus is here to make sure I haven’t forgotten my lines. Very kind of you.”

The fan laughed, and Alan posed for the photo, his mind wandering back to you even as he maintained his composed exterior. What if he’d said something wrong? What if his feelings for you were already too much? Too fast? He chastised himself silently.

As the fan moved on, Alan reached for his water glass, taking a small sip to calm his nerves. The meet-and-greet continued, a parade of enthusiastic faces, heartfelt compliments, and eager requests for selfies. Alan appreciated every one of his fans, but today, their energy couldn’t pierce the fog of his anxiety.

Finally, during a brief break, he discreetly checked his phone again. Still nothing. His fingers hovered over the screen, tempted to call you, but he resisted. He didn’t want to appear overbearing. He placed the phone face down on the table with a sigh, forcing his focus back to the line of waiting fans.

The next in line was a teenage girl clutching a framed photograph of Alan as Colonel Brandon. “This is my mum’s favorite movie,” she said shyly. “She couldn’t come today, so I’m here to get this signed for her.”

Alan’s expression softened, his natural warmth breaking through his worry. “A thoughtful daughter and good taste in films. Your mother raised you well.”

The girl blushed, smiling as Alan signed the photograph and posed for the picture. He noticed how her hands shook slightly, and his baritone voice softened further. “Do tell your mum I said hello. And thank her for her love of Jane Austen.”

“I will!” the girl said, her smile radiant as she stepped away.

His attention wasn’t on the fan waiting nearby or even on the polite thank-yous that rolled off his tongue. His focus was on the cell phone in his hand. He glanced at it for what felt like the hundredth time, still no reply from you. His thumb hovered over your contact name.

Would he seem pathetic if he called you now? It wasn’t even midday.

The murmur of the line shifted slightly, a fan stepping forward to stand before him. Alan only registered her presence when she spoke, her tone enthusiastic but warm. “You looked amazing in Gambit, Mr. Rickman. That movie is one of my favorites.”

Alan thanked her absentmindedly, his voice kind but distant as he tapped out a quick message to you: “Just checking in. Hope your day’s going well.” His attention was so split that her next comment hit him like a rogue gust of wind.

“And I must say,” she continued with a playful smirk, “your ass looked great on the big screen.”

Alan froze mid-message, his thumb hovering over the send button as her audacious words registered. Slowly, deliberately, he put the phone down and turned his full attention to the fan in front of him.

His hazel eyes widened slightly in surprise as they landed on you. There you stood, smiling mischievously, an amused glint in your eyes as if daring him to respond. Alan’s mind scrambled to reconcile the casual, flirty line with the image of his girlfriend standing in a fan queue.

“[Your Name],” he said, his baritone voice tinged with disbelief. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Your smile grew wider, the glint in your eye softening. “I thought I’d surprise you. Spent hours in that line, too. You wouldn’t believe how many fans tried to cut in front of me.”

Alan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as his initial shock gave way to a chuckle. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned that my own girlfriend stood in line with my fans to see me.”

“You should be both,” you teased, stepping closer to the table. “I’m serious about that Gambit comment, though. Never thought I’d see my boyfriend’s backside with a whole audience.”

Alan laughed, a deep, genuine sound that turned a few heads in the queue. He shook his head in disbelief, his signature wry humor kicking in. “If I’d known, I might have reconsidered the scene entirely. Though I suppose the film had its moments.”

You leaned on the edge of his table, ignoring the curious glances from nearby fans. “Its moments? Alan, it was art. The whole scene was practically Shakespearean.”

Alan’s lips twitched into a sly smile. “I think Shakespeare would roll in his grave if he heard that comparison. Though, I admit, this is the best review I’ve had all day.”

The fans behind you began whispering amongst themselves, some even recognizing you from your own work. Alan noticed but didn’t seem to care. His attention was locked on you, his hand brushing over yours as he leaned closer.

“I don’t believe you waited in that line,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a more private register. “You could have just called me.”

You shrugged, grinning. “And miss the chance to surprise you? Where’s the fun in that?”

Alan tilted his head, his hazel eyes warm and full of affection. “You do have a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps we should find you a role in one of my next projects.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you replied, leaning closer. “Now, are you going to sign my photo or not?”

Alan laughed again, shaking his head as he reached for a blank headshot. “If I don’t, I imagine I’ll never hear the end of it.”

As he signed, he glanced up at you, his eyes filled with quiet gratitude. “Thank you for this,” he said softly. “For waiting, for showing up. I needed this more than I realized.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Anytime, Alan. Always.”

The fan queue began murmuring more audibly, some snapping pictures of the sweet exchange. Alan ignored them, his focus entirely on you. For the rest of the day, his mood remained noticeably lighter, and he couldn’t help but glance toward the spot where you now lingered nearby, a supportive presence amidst the whirlwind of fans.

Later, as the event wrapped up, Alan made a point to slip away and find you. Together, you walked through the quieting venue, his arm draped over your shoulders as he murmured, “Next time, don’t stand in line for hours. Just come straight to me.”

You smirked, leaning into him. “And miss the chance to tell you in front of all your fans that your ass is great? Never.”

Alan chuckled, shaking his head as his grip on you tightened. “You’re insufferable,” he said affectionately.

“And you love it,” you quipped, earning another laugh from the man who hadn’t stopped smiling since you arrived.