#Fucking please? I've already had one fatality

[deergirlslut]

this is a hell of a post to see literally the night after I thought I killed someone with my train

[hotvintagepoll]

LAST POLL OF ROUND 6

Propaganda

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is.

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

Lauren Bacall:

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

[apomaro-mellow]

Wrong Number 5

Eddie had been having a greatest time eating in his apartment that anyone could have. Because he wasn't alone. He was with Steve. And then he got to share one of his childhood favorite movies with him. Even though it was a first date, Eddie got the feel that casual was okay. So he'd started the video call with a red t-shirt and black jeans. He knew the odds of Steve seeing his bottom half but he wanted to look nice all the way anyway.

When Steve answered the call and Eddie saw him fill the screen with a very respectable "first date" shirt, he imagined the bottoms were probably a good pair of jeans or maybe even khakis. Steve looked like a khaki guy. What Eddie did not expect was to be flashed when Steve got up in the middle of the movie to get a drink.

But he got up, giving Eddie an eyeful of a bulge in navy blue lace. And then Steve turned and Eddie got to see it from the back. He had to have been hallucinating. There was no way he had actually seen that. It had to be an illusi-and he was coming back and those were definitely panties that Steve was wearing.

"....Eddie?" Steve looked at his wide eyes. The man hadn't spoken for a full minute.

"Baby...are you wearing something naughty?"

Steve bit his lip. "I wasn't trying to be naughty. Robin just thought that I could...well, use the confidence?"

"Don't tell me a pretty thing like you is insecure, I won't believe it", Eddie smiled.

"Well those were Robin's thoughts, not mine." Steve turned the movie down a bit and it was clear Eddie and lowered the volume on his end too. "Do you like them?"

"My brain went to moon. I think you're trying to kill me."

Steve's already high confidence jumped to the ceiling. It was nice to be appreciated.

"Can I see them again?", Eddie asked.

"I thought they were fatal?", Steve smirked.

"You know, I've decided I've lived long enough. And if I have my choice of how I go, I choose death by Steve."

"Okay, but if I have a choice, I'm keeping you alive. But if you insiiiist." Steve had returned to his seat on the floor when he got back from the kitchen, and now he rose up to sit on the couch. His legs were crossed, blocking Eddie's view.

The man on his phone whined. "Don't make me beg."

"Hmm, but what if I like begging?"

"Please, please baby, pretty please, lemme see you?" Eddie's hands were pressed together in prayer.

The way he was positioned (in the phone, on the coffee table) it was like he was kneeling before Steve. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs and even spread them a little, smiling when he heard Eddie's intake of breath.

"Shit...Were you planning on showing me this tonight?"

"If you were good...maybe", Steve teased. "What do you think? Have you been a good boy?"

Eddie nodded frantically, hair flopping, jaw dropped as Steve shifted and he got to watch the bulge between his legs move. He would do anything. Beg, kneel, bark, whatever Steve wanted him to do. Fuck, if he was really there, his head would already be in between his legs.

"I bet you could crack my skull with those legs, Jesus."

From his vantage point, Eddie could only make out up to the bottom of his mouth and while he liked his current view, that just wouldn't do at all.

"I've got an idea...What do you say to moving this to the bedroom?"

Steve grabbed his phone and started walking. Eddie straight up sprinted and collapsed onto his bed.

"You're not going to have anyone burst in with a 'code red', are they?", Steve asked as he got onto his own bed, laying down and holding his phone to his face.

"I have blocked out the entire night for you, Stevie. My crew knows that all Code Reds are to be handled by my second in command."

Okay, that made him feel a little special. Steve bit his lip. "I've never really done anything like this before..."

"What? Taking a date to your bedroom? Once again, I won't believe it. You're probably beating them back with a stick." Eddie was literally looking at him. There was no way he didn't have a line of admirers going down the street.

"I meant on like...video. So how do you want me?"

"Well I typically get a burger with my shakes", Eddie waggled his brows.

"Eddie", Steve laughed.

"Wait, I can do better! Can I get a split-top bun, since you've got a whole bakery in the back?" Eddie beamed as the screen shook while Steve was laughing. "Just get comfortable, baby."

Steve did just that, lying on his back, holding his phone above his head. Eddie was in a similar position in his own bed.

"Okay, I think I've done the whole 'teacher is secretly a model' bit before but Christ alive, it's like you've got no bad angles."

"Eddie, I think you're stalling", Steve grinned. At first, he had been nervous about doing this over video, but now it seemed like Eddie was the one who was anxious.

"If I stall by complimenting you, is it really stalling?"

"If you were here...what would you do to me?", Steve asked.

"I would kiss you so hard, you'd pass out", Eddie admitted. "Full on Pepe LePew treatment. I'd start on your hand and make my way up and then I'm not letting those lips go until they're raw."

Steve brushed his fingers against his mouth. It had been a while since he'd been kissed like that, but Eddie wasn't done.

"And don't think I haven't noticed how those moles go all the way down. I think if I get started kissing them now, I can be to your thighs by Christmas."

Steve didn't miss the strong implication of Eddie's physical presence. They hadn't really talked about meeting in real life yet, both of them aware of how risky it could be to meet someone like that. But as time went on, the dangers seemed to melt away.

Steve's hand trailed down his body. He made sure to angle his phone so that Eddie could see just that. "God, I've thought about your hands so much..." His hand came back up to touch his lips.

"I can tell you want to, baby. Go ahead and suck on them. Pretend they're mine."

Permission granted, Steve stuck two in his mouth. Enraptured, Eddie started to paw at himself through his jeans. Steve's mouth was so pretty and it was already so wet. It didn't hurt that he was already moaning. God, he needed to find out where Steve lived and buy himself a plane ticket. He needed to get his hands on him yesterday.

"Mmm, and you know, once my fingers are nice and wet, I like to put them elsewhere. Where do you want me to touch?"

Slowly, Steve pulled them out of his mouth. "Everywhere", he said, lightly panting.

Eddie's canines showed as he smiled. He unzipped his pants, purposely making it as loud as he could so that Steve would know. "I'd like that too. But let's narrow it down, beautiful."

"How's about I show you?"

Eddie's eyes got wide as Steve changed positions and even moved some pillows around and now he had a front row seat to the most prime ass he'd ever seen. Steve was on his knees and bent over slowly. He pulled his panties to the side with one hand and pushed one of his glistening fingers inside.

"Aaahh, Eddie", he moaned, bringing the other man back into it.

"Fucking hell, look at you." Eddie used one hand to pushed the band of his boxers down and bring out his cock.

Steve pushed another into him, pressing his forehead against the bed. He didn't know what he'd been so anxious about. He wanted nothing more than to have Eddie looking at him. Eddie getting hard and jerking off while looking at him.

"Eddie...I need, I need you..."

Eddie spit in his hand and kept stroking. "Tell me, angel. What do you need me to do?"

Steve whined and Eddie watched as his ass shook, fingers sinking in deep before pulling them out and pushing in again. He bet anything if Steve turned around, he'd see a wet spot on those panties.

"Don't worry, Stevie, I'm gonna tell you what to do. Is that okay?"

He saw Steve's head shake in what could've been a nod, but he was glad when he got the vocal confirmation. Eddie directed Steve and soon he had turned (Eddie had been right about the wet spot) so now he was facing the camera. The ass shot was hot but Eddie wanted to see his face when he came. He now also had a pillow under his hips to help with the angle.

And damn if he wasn't an absolute vision, rutting against the pillow, lips parted in a perpetual moan. Eddie had gotten some lube for his hand, but he knew his fist paled in comparison to Steve Harrington.

"Shit, I needa have you Steve. Wanna feel you, make you mine."

"I'm already yours", Steve said, making Eddie whimper. "I'm all yours, Eds, no one else's."

Apparently he was in a really possessive mood because that just put him right over the edge. This beautiful man was pleasuring himself and he only had eyes for Eddie. He made sure his cumshot was in the frame and watched as Steve's eyes glazed over. His licked his lips and bucked into his pillow, Eddie's name leaving his mouth on a sigh.

Eddie swallowed, his throat a little dry. "Can I see?"

Steve didn't need to ask what he meant. He picked up his phone and rose up on his knees, showing Eddie the tip of his cock peeking out of his panties, cum cooling on his stomach as his shirt had ridden up.

"Mmm, fuck. What's that rule in your classroom? About not wasting good food?"

"If you were here, I'd let you lick it all up", Steve said.

"Yeah, about that...can we...?"

"Talk? How do you feel about morning afters?", Steve asked.

"Usually they're pretty awkward", Eddie admitted with a shrug. "But considering I don't need to worry about you kicking me out..."

"Are you free for breakfast?"

"You mean brunch?"

Steve smiled. "It's a date then. Good night, Eddie."

"Good night, my darling."

Part 7

Tag Team (CLOSED)

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface @fromapayphone @justmeinadaze @hbyrde36 @queenie-ofthe-void @resident-gay-bitch @bestwifehaver @dangdirtydemons @ellietheasexylibrarian @perseus-notjackson @pyrohonk @holysteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @mrsjellymunson @geekymagicalpotato @notaqueenakhaleesi

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Damn Me - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Unless it's a punch.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

He unfolds from his stool. With the sunrays angled over him, his silhouette holds a magisterial menace that blights Vi to the marrow.

Blut is gone.

Only the Monster remains.

"I've had time," he says, "to reassess the gameboard. You're not at fault for last night. I am. But for my weakness, none of this would've happened. I'd have dealt with you the way a real monster deals with threats. Fast, fatal, final. Instead I got sidetracked. I let you stay. Instead of shutting your mouth with a fist, I let it run wild, and now it's talking me in circles. Instead of crushing you under my heel, I let you get under my skin, and now you've left scars." A hard breath. "Instead of hating you, I let myself care. And now, like with Vander... I'm paying the price."

Vi’s eyes go wide as plates. Her jaw, a little wider.

"Silco…"

"I wanted you to be part of Zaun, Vi. Part of it, as Vander never could be. I wanted us on the same side. All because I was foolish. Because I craved the farce of family." He shakes his head. "Old habits die hard. The past's a harder bitch to bury." 

Vi is trembling. She cannot stop.

"Silco," she tries again. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry, Pet. Truly."  A single blink, and a ruthless seal closes over the softness. "You're a good girl. Strong as Vander. Clever as Lika. But too good, for the path I'm walking. And that path's forward. You? You make me look back. Make me remember things better left buried. And only dead men belong in graves."

Vi rises; her hands seize his shirtfront.

It's not a threat. Only a precarious bid for balance. The room's pitching like the sea.

"Don't," she says. "Don't send me away. If you do, you're a coward. You're running from me. Running from everything. The Eye of Zaun—scared of his own reflection."

Silco smiles. Slow, sad, utterly vacant.

"I've faced many demons, Vi. You have yet to face yours."

"So you're just gonna toss me back? Toss me at 'em?"

"You'll survive. That's your art. Same as mine."

"Art, my ass! I'm not letting you off the hook!" Her fingers knot in his shirtfront. "I'll tell the Council everything. Everything you're planning. Everything I've heard. I'll sing like a fucking canary!"

"I'll count on it." His hands come up, a tender cage for her face. Her heart pounds against its cold bars. "All the tales of debauchery. All the backroom deals. All the trade secrets. Use that brain of yours, Pet. Spin it into a narrative and save your skin. Consider it my gift." 

"But—the Four Horsemen! The Shimmer! The harbor!"

"All true. All too late."

"What?"

"The gears are already in motion, Vi. Topside's interests are twined with ours.  If the Council dares to turn your intel into a preemptive strike, they'll shoot themselves in the foot. And even then, they'll never believe that one man can orchestrate such a wide-scale overthrow." He tilts his head. "Sunk Cost Fallacy, remember?"

"Try Gambler's Ruin!" Vi erupts. "You're so hell-bent on taking down the Council, you'll destroy Zaun and everything else with it."

"It's the Council who've set us on this road. I'm not destroying. Only course-correcting."

Vi’s trembling worsens. She is a child again, small and frightened. Her family, gone, and her world a burning ruin.

"I won't go!" she cries, hating the wobble in her voice. "I won't leave Jinx!"

"She's beyond your reach."

"You're not beyond hers!" She shakes him hard. "She'll never forgive you! Not a second time!"

"I'd rather have Jinx's hatred than her death."

"Silco." Her voice breaks, a raw ruin. "Please."

"Don't beg, Vi. Vander would never. For you, he was stubborn to the last." The smile dies, and Vi's hope with it. "I'm no better. For Jinx, I've slit throats and sold souls. What's one more, when a man's already damned?" 

He leans in, and kisses her forehead. His lips are searingly cold. His body, an armature of bone. Yet the touch is tender. Blut’s touch. He still remembers her, as he does his own vestigial self. But he has only one way of expressing the memory.

Violence.

"Go on, Vi," he breathes. "Damn me."

And Vi is crying.

Crying as hard as the night she'd lost Mom and Dad. As the night she'd lost Vander and her brothers.  As the night she'd found Powder—only to lose her to the warped inverse of Jinx.

"You bastard," she chokes, tears streaming hot over his palms. "You fucking bastard."

"I know."

His hands fall. He steps back. They're still toe-to-toe, but a lifetime's distance splits them.

"Love, Vi," he says. "It's the ugliest monster of all. It's bitten me before. But I was a boy then: soft and toothless. This time, I'll cut the wretch out by the throat."

Spots burst behind Vi's eyes. She can't feel her body. Can't process anything beyond the loss. His confession's no better than an epitaph. The end of a bitter, bloody road that's crumbled into a precipice.

And Vi's on the edge of freefall.

"Look out for yourself, Pet," he says, and the smile returns: unearthly cold. "Kiss the Kiramman for me."

And Vi is falling.

Right into the old rage, with nothing left to catch her.

Fists popping, she lunges.

[quixoticall]

To Hell I Go

MASTERLIST

Suggested Listening: Anything Zach Bryan but particularly, "Something in the Orange", “Open the Gate”, and "I Remember Everything"

Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, injury, some light death ideation, Billy is here, death of an animal

WC: 2.8K

Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while! Please know I'm working on TCGU! But I've been really inspired by Zach Bryan recently and this concept of the Final Girl of the West which is how this idea was born. I hope you like it!

_______________

“Sheriff Hopper’s after us. Has his new Pretty Boy deputy with him too.” 

The sun is high and bright and bothersome but you’ve been on a job for the last month, which paints everything bothersome,  even Max’s warning. 

“Didn’t know Hopper was working with anyone,” you muse, as you dismount your horse, Calliope, and hand the young girl the reigns. Your muscles are stiff and achy from riding so long and you smell like a manure pit. You desperately want a proper bed—or a shallow grave—to fall into. 

“He’s new. Hops probably needs the help on account of his leg being fucked up since you shot him,” Max responds, admiration tinging her voice. 

You scoff, “I didn’t fuck up his leg, he’s just old and fat.” 

You had barely even grazed him. 

“Pretty Boy, huh?  I’m sure your brother is seething about that.” 

Max glares at you through her lashes, “he’s not my brother,” she warns. 

You know this, of course, you’re just in a bad mood and looking for a bruise to poke. You should probably apologize but Max’ll get her lick back soon enough—it’ll be easy with you, too. You’re all bruise. 

“Billy hates him, already ran into him and the Chief in Amarillo. Came home all black and blue from their scuffle, ended up running him off the trail and he fell off his horse.” 

You whistle lowly, knocking Billy Hargrove off his horse is no easy feat. He must’ve been angry after that.

“He said that they had a list of all the gang’s members. Not our names or nothing, just descriptions, I guess. Apparently, Hopper has you on the list as ‘crack shot girl’. ”

You drink this information up, eyes scanning the horizon, half expecting Billy or Hopper or even Creel to spring out any moment.  Nothing but the wind through the grass, though. 

“What does he have you as?” You probe. 

Max nearly pouts in response, “Red.” 

You’re trying not to laugh, and instead grapple to change the subject. 

“What about the ‘Pretty Boy’ deputy? Does he have a name?” 

You don’t care too much, you want to keep the conversation going, it’s the only real one you’ve had in weeks. 

“Heard it was Harrington or something like that,” Max shrugs, quickly losing interest in favor of brushing Calliope’s mane. 

It has to be “something like that”, you decide, because you knew for a fact there wasn’t a single Harrington west of the Appalachians. There hadn’t been in years. 

_______________

Steve Harrington was the first in his family to leave Wyoming in thirteen generations. It wasn’t by choice. 

Steve’s daddy had been a cattle rancher. He hadn’t owned any land like yours had but he was the best bull rider in all the West. That was, until his fatal fall off the saddle when Steve was barely old enough to ride himself. 

The heartbreak of her true love’s death had made a ghost of Steve’s mama, effectively making him an orphan. 

He was thirteen when he had come to your Daddy’s ranch, threadbare hat clutched tightly in his fists nervously as he asked for work. 

You were twelve then and watched the whole exchange from the top of the stairs with your sisters, the three of you drinking him in with an odd curiosity. He had been all limbs back then, thin and awkward but as tall as a man. His face was uncreased and fearful, giving away his true age. You listened, unseen as the young boy stuttered through an explanation of his pitiful circumstances. 

He wasn’t looking for charity, he made a point to specify, but work. He could ride and wrangle and he knew how to work the land, too, he explained, chest puffing with pride. He would earn his keep, he propositioned. 

The ranch was always in need of hands, and your father was always benevolent to necessary causes and in circumstances that made him seem like a better man than he was, so it was a done deal before night’s end. 

_______________

“Son of a bitch,” you exhale through gritted teeth, desperately trying to reload your goddamn shotgun. 

It was supposed to be an easy enough job—a little stagecoach stick up right outside of Tombstone. You had been scoping the target for days, a miner and his family making their way back East after striking it big in the mines. They were obnoxiously flagrant about their wealth—just like all New Money—and it was obvious that they were traveling with their coffers full of that fine California Gold. The plan was that you, Billy, and Tommy would ambush their stagecoach sometime around twilight before they reached Tombstone proper but then Max had decided to tag along and, while she was your favorite member of the gang by miles, she had no place at an armed robbery.  

The whole operation was slowed down to accommodate the tagalong and suddenly it had become too dark and late to hit them before they arrived in Tombstone, so you had to adjust and hedge your bets on ambushing them when they left the small town the following morning. Someone must have recognized the crew that night and tipped off the sheriff, though, because next thing you know, the four of you are about to run the stagecoach off the trail when you hear gunshots and Hopper’s gruff demands for your surrender.

There goes that easy $800, you sigh to yourself, steadying your aim over your shoulder. You’re a lousy shot at this angle especially while riding a horse, but you’re not hoping for a miracle, only to distract long enough to give Max a chance to get away. She’s the slowest of the four and you refuse to leave her behind. (Even if all of this is kind of her fault.) 

On the opposite side of the road from behind the stagecoach, you see a sharp movement— the deputy, you’re sure. From the corner of your eye you catch fragments of familiar hair, eyes, lips and suddenly your finger slips on the trigger, a stray bullet flies behind you, spooking a horse and causing some commotion. You hope it’s Hopper’s but you can’t bring yourself to check. You can’t bring yourself to do anything. At all. Because there, on the other side of the road, all tan skin and freckled-faced is Steve Harrington, alive and older and looking at you with an expression of shock matching your own. 

“Sunshine?” He shouts over the gallop of hooves and in hearing his voice you’ve lost all doubt that this was some sort of joke you managed to play on yourself. 

It’s him. Truly. 

What you say back is lost to the wind as a lone shot rings out and suddenly you’ve lost your balance on your horse and you’re sent tumbling down, fingers fighting for purchase along your reigns. 

Steve’s stunned face and the smoke from his gun are the final things you see before hitting the ground. 

Son of a bitch.

_______________

You and Steve became fast friends, being close in disposition and most importantly, age. 

While you loved your younger sisters they were just that: younger. At six and eight respectively, Hattie and Lottie were far too preoccupied with dress up and tea parties, hobbies that you had also adored at their age, but at the mature age of twelve, no longer stimulated you. In Steve you found a confidant and an accomplice. 

You snuck him extra portions at supper and spent your spare moments following him around reading aloud from one of your many books. He had a penchant for war epics and horror while you liked romance and mystery. Both of you could agree, though that Westerns were the best. 

In exchange for your generosity, Steve taught you how to ride and shoot and lasso.

He was the best teacher truly and would often outdo men of twice his age and size when it came to rearing and riding. He learned everything from his daddy, he had told you.  Steve talked about his father a lot. About what he was like and everything he was exceptional at and how the crowd had gone stone silent when his broken body hit the dusty ground. 

“That’s how I’m going to die too, one day,” he had told you, grim but not sad. “On a bull in Cheyenne. Probably the same one, he’s the only one that could take me out.” 

“How do you know how you’re gonna die?” You awed at him.

“Just a feeling in my gut. Sometimes you just know,” he shrugged sagely. 

You nodded along and tried, desperately so, to will your gut to give you a precognition about the circumstances of your own death.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna die,” you admitted to Steve after a long moment of self-assessment, “but I know you’re gonna be there.“

You had no clue what possessed you to say that other than the fact that you knew it to be categorically true. 

Steve smiled in response, pleased. 

_______________

You wake up under a sky of pinprick stars. Dreams of childhood vows and muddy fields filled with promise fade as you take in your surroundings.

There’s a fire burning next to you and a sharp pain running along your entire body, burning to match. Max suddenly appears by your side, looking equal measures relieved and frazzled. 

“What happened?” You ask weakly. 

“Pretty Boy shot Calliope and you fell into the ravine. Had to fish you out of there and find a place to lay you down.” 

“What about Billy and Tommy?” 

“They left us.” 

Of course. 

“Bastards.” 

“Bastards,” Max agrees. 

“And what about the sheriff… and the deputy?” 

“Sheriff fell off his horse when you shot him and his deputy went after Billy. Didn’t see where though, but I’m sure he didn’t catch him.” 

“Probably not,” you croak before accepting the canteen Max brought to your lips.  Billy was a menace on a horse, agile and quick in ways most men could only dream and he already had too much of a head start. 

You try to stand up now, too fast evidently, since Max rushes to your side to help you along when you waver.  Eventually, you’re on your feet, stumbling forward with only Max keeping you upright, your whole body screaming at you to stop. 

“Come on then, Red, let’s go back home.” 

Your whole body aches so much your vision blurs and there’s a pain along your ribcage that may hint at a broken bone. The ride back to the Creel House on the back of Max’s scrawny horse is utter agony but at least Max has gifted you a mercifully silent journey by not trying to make conversation.

“You know him,” Max murmurs. It’s nearly morning when she finds enough courage to bring it up.

“Pretty Boy called you ‘sunshine’,” she continues, “I heard him.” 

You freeze. 

“You must’ve heard wrong then. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

You leave it at that.

_______________

By the time you were sixteen, you felt like you knew Steve better than you knew yourself. You could read him like a book—every crook of an eyebrow, every sideways glance, and their meaning were neatly categorized in your mind. Part of that was the familiarity bred by endless idle hours together and part of that was the burgeoning ache that had been festering inside of you in the past months; the soft, comforting ember of friendly affection had given way to something hotter, something you couldn’t bring yourself to define yet but singed your skin at the sight of him and made you want to chart his every mood like sailors charted the stars. 

This was exactly why you could tell he was upset even though he denied it. Something about the way he clenched his jaw while he aimed his gun at the row of cans sitting on a broke down fence a little too hard indicated that he had something weighing on his mind. 

“You’re meant to hit the targets, you know,” you goaded after he had missed all of five shots. 

His jaw clenched harder. 

“You can’t be cross just because I’m the better shot than you,” you needled further. 

“I’m not cross,” he argued back, crossly. 

“Yes, you are! You’ve been sullen and cross three weeks now even though you say otherwise and it’s driving me mad so, why don’t you stop being stubborn and tell me what it is that’s making you act like this and we can fix it and be back to normal. I don’t want to spend my last week here watching you pout all over the ranch.”

He sighed a drawn-out, guttural thing, and then suddenly, it hit you. 

“Wait, are you mad I’m leaving?” Your tone wasn’t accusatory as much as it was curious. Truthfully, when your parents had share the news that they were sending you to a finishing school, you had been devastated at the prospect but you tried your best to keep your true feelings from view. Your father had made it known that he had gone to great lengths to secure your spot and your momma got misty eyed when she spoke about how many doors this opportunity would open for you.

“No, I’m not mad you’re leaving,” he argued back and flinched at how unconvincing he sounded. You knew deep in your bones that you'd miss Steve the most when you were gone. No matter how fair you'd go or how'd long you'd be apart, you're sure you'd miss Steve.

“Steve, you know I’d rather be here, shooting cans than anywhere else, even that fancy school,” you cajole. It's a simple, earnest statement but as far as you could trust yourself saying without confessing your devotion.

“You say that now,” he petulantly threw himself down on a tree root and you moved to sit next to him, “but as soon as you make friends and meet new people, I’ll be dust.” 

You laughed at the uncharacteristic display of self-pity. “You really think I’d find someone I would love more than you?” 

The idea of it was so ludicrous you didn’t even realize the carelessness by which you threw out such hefty claims of affection. Of course, you loved Steve and he you, and while you were never scared to voice that to each other before, now the word meant something different—at least to you it did. 

Your eyes shift down to your boots, hoping he didn’t pick up on the change in your heart. 

“Not more, just different.” 

“Different how?” 

“You're going to find someone,” it was his turn to get flustered and glanced at the ground, “... someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” 

“Well, I want that to be you,” you responded, not thinking and far too quickly. 

“No, I mean, someone you want to marry,” he spits out, exasperation being quickly replaced with embarrassment as his words sank into place.

You stalled at the implication your heartbeat becoming almost deafening. Steve was afraid you were going to go out and find someone else to marry and leave him behind. Was it possible that he was equally consumed by that same burning affection that had been sieging your heart for months?

Out of the two of you, you had always been the braver one. The one that always jumped in first, the one to take a risk on a whim. And, while it terrified you and made your voice small and wavering, you couldn’t help but say right back, “I want that to be with you, too.” 

Steve beamed in response. 

_______________

Tommy and Billy had beaten you and Max back to the Creel house. At least the bastards had the decency to look a little ashamed as they watched Max support your limping form through the threshold. Mostly, though they looked surprised. 

“Thought the deputy had gotten you,” Billy whistles lowly through the toothpick that is perpetually resting in the corner of his mouth. 

“He killed my horse,” you bemoan. “ Max had to fish me out of the ravine on her own, no thanks to you two.” 

The blond man shrugs in response, “We couldn’t go back. Thems the rules, you know that.” 

You do know that but you are miserable and tired and just looking for someone to blame for the life you had fallen into so you glare back. 

Billy is unfazed by your glare and in a rare moment of kindness, offers to acquire a horse for you during his next round through the nearby ranches.  This uncharacteristic show of pity makes you realize you probably look as bad as you feel and for a brief moment wish that Max hadn’t pulled you out of that ravine. 

You manage to stumble onto your cot, body raked with pain and you lay there, unmoved until night comes and it’s not until the dark has truly settled and you are sure that no one could possibly see, that you begin to cry.

Silent tears stream down your face for your companion, your horse, the last thing you called your own. One more thing stolen away--and this time, by a ghost no less. A gift from your daddy when you had turned seventeen, her name plucked from one of your books on Greek mythology she had been your companion when you had felt most alone.

Calliope was the final reminder of a life long gone and now she’s just another thing you’re left mourning.

Next

[wannaeatramyeon]

Could you please make another unhinged reader piece but this time with her going against Charles Choi? (I really love the one you did on Vin Jin!!)

Anon, so so sorry for the delay and tysm for reading! I've been putting off Charles in the first place cos it just seems big y'know?

Unhinged F!Reader links here (or check masterlist): Gun Park | Goo Kim | Samuel Seo | Samuel Seo Part 2 | James Lee/DG | Jinyoung Park | Eli Jang | Tom Lee | Ryuhei Kuroda | Eugene | Vin Jin

Charles Choi with Unhinged F!Reader

"Huh," Charles wonders, "Why do I hear final boss battle music?"

How long has it been since Charles has felt this?

An overwhelming, crushing helplessness.

To think his downfall would come from a nobody. Somebody so insignificant that their existence was completely unknown to him.

An easy, fatal mistake.

"Elite?" the sound of your mocking tone reaches his ears despite the blood trickling out. "Elite compared to what?"

Silly boys and their silly nicknames. They're all the same. Elite, Big Daddy, Rabid Attack Dog, the Legend.

Compensating much? Pathetic.

Some little boys just never grow up, having tasted an ounce of power and thought that was all there was. Such big fishes in a tiny putrid swamp.

Your fingers scrape along Charles' once carefully groomed beard, now smeared with blood and spittle.

"What a silver fox. Guess that's a benefit of you being so past your prime."

The words should hurt, but Charles can face reality. He's no longer the young man he once was. Not sure he would even be a worthy opponent for you if he was.

How strange that in these moments it is Gapryong that he thinks about. How he wasn't really a worthy opponent for Gapryong neither, needing to secure his way to the top with underhanded dealings and James Lee.

Charles drifts in and out, thinking about the Pre-Generation, about Tom Lee and Jinyoung Park.

About how nobody has warned him about you, how he didn't see you coming until it was too late. Swaggering towards him in a deserted street with soulless eyes and a chilling grin.

"Charles Choi?" you had asked, tucking away a slip of paper into your breast pocket, "Or should that be... Elite?"

And that was the beginning of the end.

Or maybe it was the beginning of the end years ago, and now his chickens are coming home to roost.

Charles felt your first lethal attack before he could see it, remaining arm snapping and the heat of blood gushing and pouring out. Voice screaming on reflex before he could register it was his own.

Now, even with you easily in touching distance, Charles can't bring himself to move. He has nothing left to give. And was there ever a time he ever felt truly depleted? Not trying to brute force or scheme his way to the very end?

All fight has left him now.

In his delirium, words escape and leak unhindered under his breath. Some names that ring a bell with you.

You chuckle. "Tom Lee? Jinyoung Park? Oops, I got to them too."

Then you lean down, closing the gap between your bodies, lips ghosting over his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"Gapryong Kim though? I heard you got to him years before I could." You look Charles square in the eye, your words landing and his eyes widen in panic.

His final secret out.

With that you throw your head back laughing, uproariously and deranged. That is what he's worrying about now? What a wretched man.

"I'll give you anything you want," Charles pleads.

Your laughter abruptly stops and replaced with a scathing look. How fucking predictable. Ugh. This whole thing is starting to bore you.

"I've heard it all from that that twink already. Eugene or something. It didn't end well for him."

"Maybe," you think outloud, examining your hands caked almost completely in red, not remembering if you actually painted your nails that colour or if that is Charles' blood too-

"I want your other arm."

"...I see." are his final words to you, recognising any further pleas will fall on deaf ears. Tone calm yet all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

The last thing Charles see before he closes his eyes is the quirk of your lips and bloodlust etched all over your face.

In the darkness, he waits for you to decide his fate and for his empire to crumble.

[stuckinmoilalaland]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: "So basically I'm going to get married to a cult leader in Japan?" 18 year old!Cult leader!Suguru x 18 year old/aged up!Sabrina Spellman! reader

SUMMARY: You read about cursed energy, techniques and found out they only exist in Japan. So you go to Japan with your aunt Zelda acting as a non-sorcerer sponsor and giving her daughter to marry Suguru Geto while you went undercover and discovered more about this so called 'cursed energy' you've read about.

A/N: Hiii Anon!!!!!!! This story starts during the starting of part 3.(After Nick comes back from hell and before the coven gets to know about the Pagans. Also, Sabrina's powers are still cosmic level in this AU bc of Lilith.)

"Ambrose! Ambrose! Look here!"

You call out to Ambrose excitedly. Your coven's powers have been depleted and the coven is in need of a power source. You just found something perfect. It's called 'cursed energy'. Apparently everyone has it, but most people don't have enough to see beings called 'curses'. The people who can't see them are non-sorcerers. But the ones that can see and exorcise them are called sorcerers.

"Yes Sabrina?" replies Ambrose as he approaches you. You excitedly show Ambrose the book. After a few minutes of going through it he closes the book and says "Sabrina, this... This could be a potential source of power! Good job cousin! It's a good thing that witches are considered a more powerful version of these 'sorcerers'. According to this book, us witches can access it, but we need some help. Once that is done a witch can be all powerful with this 'cursed energy'. Perhaps even hide it and act like a non-sorcerer."

Sabrina looked excitedly at Ambrose "We have to tell the aunties!". "There is one problem though cousin. See, if we try and learn how to access this cursed energy without somebody who knows how to use it already, it could be fatal." "Right" Sabrina responded as she pondered "So we can get help!". Ambrose replied "Exactly! But before telling the aunties, lets do some research."

After an hour or 2 of research, you and Ambrose found out about a young cult leader in Japan; the country with the most cursed energy. "So we both know that this Suguru Geto dude won't JUST teach us about cursed energy." said Sabrina. "Well Sabrina, you and this Suguru Geto are off the same age. So I just had, a crazy idea." "Well that's a first." replied Sabrina as she snickered. "I was thinking, why don't you go undercover as a non-sorcerer daughter of a non-sorcerer sponsor, which would perfectly be played out by Auntie Zee. You can then get offered as a spouse" "Good, now let's tell them about it." says Sabrina.

"What?!"

Zelda exclaims as she almost chokes on her cigarette while Hilda just looks at Sabrina and Ambrose like they'd gone crazy. "This is way too unsafe! NO! You will not do this Sabrina!" says Zelda. "Oh c'mon Auntie Zee! I promise you I'll be safe! We've survived so much and you know that I can't die anyways!" replies Sabrina. "She has got a point Zelds." interrupts Hilda. "UGH! Fine! I'll act as a 'sponsor' and I'll do some stupid acting. But only because you can defend yourself and for the coven's sake!". "Also, you both will need to learn Japanese. Thankfully, I have a potion recipe for that." says Hilda. "Perfect Aunty! Now, let's do this.".

"Please, please help me get rid off this heavy weight on my back! All of them, I've tried all priests but they're all charlatans!" said your Aunt Zelda. She was not enjoying looking so... weak.... "Hmm, what all can you give me?" asks Suguru. Zelda stoops low and bows, touching her head to the floor. "Money! Fuck it, I'll even give you my useless daughter to marry!". Sabrina acted as if she teared up with that and acted as if she was trying to hide tears.

"Ok. It's a deal. 10 million yen and your daughter's hand in marriage."

Yes, yes, YES!!!

He agreed! This is great!

After a week, you were married off to Suguru, by that time you had assumed your position as the queen of hell as well. You had also learnt your husband is a cruel man behind his undeniable charm. You learn he hates non-sorcerers and calls them 'monkeys'. He calls you one as well. One day, you see him training on his own and using his cursed energy to combat with one of the curses he swalowed.

"Hey!" you say to him. He looks at you with a heavy scowl on his face. "What, you monkey?". "Can you.... teach me how to do the thing you were doing just now?" you ask. He bursts into laughter. "Ah ha ha ha, no. A monkey can't do what I just did now because you all are such lowly fucking creatures."

Oh. Oh... So this is how he wanted it to be, huh?

Oh well, you can always seek some help from a book or two.

Then you can't wait to see the look on his face when you use cursed energy in front of him.

[flutt3rb4tz]

i hate when people who dont have marfans make/headcanon characters with marfans as some quirky trait. i really do, i've seen it a lot in my life as someone who was diagnosed at 3 with the condition and it honestly grinds my gears they always do the most stereotype-y traits, or ignore how much of a struggle it is to live with marfans, or how marfans can fuck up your body further by just how much shit it causes.

to put it into perspective, i got tagged like a fucking animal at school because they didnt want to take too much care into explaining that i needed extra care if something happened, or that people should be gentle with me because i could die on school grounds. ive sat cooped up in my home most of my life, i've only been on a fair ride once because getting on a roller coaster could harm me as well. i need help walking or getting around because my body cant always handle it, i have other problems due to marfans that have hurt me greatly for my entire life.

i'm slowly going blind from marfans and theres nothing a doctor can do that will stick. i risk aortic dissection simply by being hit in the chest, i used to be afraid of going to bed because if anything hit my chest too hard i could literally fucking die then and there, because my heart would fucking collapse on itself and theres a decent chance that i wouldnt make it to the emergency room.

it's not just some trait, it is a disability. and it's not quirky!! it was never fucking quirky!!! getting discriminated against for being disabled by the age of 4 wasnt fun! it wasnt silly! it was traumatizing!!!!

if you're going to make a character or headcanon a character with marfans take into account how much of a stereotype you're making them. there are short people with marfans, fat people with marfans (like myself), poc with marfans, there are people who cannot walk or function because of marfans, people with marfans arent scary or shy or weak all the time. we're human people! we vary!

talk to actual people with marfans. look up posts about the condition from people with the condition. dont confuse marfans with EDS. just have common sense!! its exhausting trying to look at content from people like me and either seeing headcanons, EDS posts, or people telling everyone with marfans that they have no hope (this ones common on reddit, but it applies).

people with marfans dont immediately die either, btw. i saw a post recently that was just "haha this character better have had amazing doctors or his marfans would kill him in 2 seconds!!!" and that's not how it works. of course it can be fatal thats with all things, but dont act like its an immediate death sentence, please. i'm sure a lot of us have heard it enough already

[melishade]

Attack on Prime New Age Anthology: Return to that Sick Mind IV

Main Story

Return to that Sick Mind I

Return to that Sick Mind II

Return to that Sick Mind III

"What nonsense is this?!" Skybite demanded as he pointed at the screen while Jetfire's mouth hung open.

"Megatron's got feelings! Apparently!" Jazz declared incredulously.

"It's...incredible!" Cyberwarp confessed.

"It's disgusting!" Cyclonus shouted.

"Ultra Magnus, this is madness!" Windblade addressed the Commander, but she saw that he was already looking nauseous from the amount of high grade energon he had been drinking.

"I think Ultra Magnus is going to out of commission like the rest of us if we keep watching this," Ratchet proclaimed, "Knockout, please pull Bumblebee out before I lose my sanity further."

"Negative," Knockout denied.

"Knockout, why are you defying an order?" Windblade demanded.

"We still need to gain information on a few things," Knockout explained as he tapped the keyboard, "I've been recording Megatron's memories for later, and he's been explaining information about the power of the titans, and these humans that have also been advocating for him. But I haven't heard much about her."

Knockout showed a picture of Mikasa. "And this person keeps showing up on the screens, but I haven't seen him amongst the humans." Knockout showed another picture of Eren in his human form. "He's shown up quite a bit in these memories."

"You wanted to apologize to the humans?" Bumblebee asked in disbelief.

Megatron realized what he had said and grimaced.

"To Armin, Hanji, whoever's still alive, and...what about that girl that you were comforting when I first came here. I've been seeing her a lot. Who is she?" Bumblebee asked.

Megatron was confused at Bumblebee's statement. "Mikasa Ackerman. She should be with you and the other humans."

"We...we didn't find her after the battle," Bumblebee answered.

"What?!" Megatron exclaimed, "She was still alive and as far as I'm concerned, no fatal injuries!"

"Look, I don't know!" Bumblebee insisted, "Everything was in a tailspin, and Optimus was critically injured and then Armin asked us to save you-!"

"What?" Megatron demanded. The memory changed into that of Bumblebee's, immediately after the power of the titans had disappeared. He saw Bumblebee hear someone calling out for help and ran towards the sound, with Miko following close behind and Wheeljack limping to the cry for help.

Bumblebee then skidded to a stop when he realized that Armin was directly in front of Megatron's damaged body.

"You have to help Megatron!" Armin begged.

"Are you fucking nuts?!" Miko screeched at him, "He's tried to kill us and take over our planet!"

"And he helped to save mine!" Armin retorted.

"You think for one second that we're just going to-!"

"I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL, BUT I JUST CAN'T LET HIM DIE! NOT AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH! PLEASE HELP HIM!" Armin screamed.

Bumblebee was extremely conflicted. This random human was trying to save Megatron?! He was asking them to save Megatron?! Before Bumblebee could even make a choice, he heard Wheeljack groan in defeat before hobbling over to Megatron's unconscious body and pulling him over his shoulder with his remaining arm.

"Wheeljack?!" Bumblebee exclaimed.

"Wheeljack, what the fuck?!" Miko demanded.

"Look, scrap is really weird on this planet!" Wheeljack proclaimed, "We'll lock him in the Nemesis, get the dark energon out of him, and figure out what to do next!"

"No way! I'm not doing that! Bumblebee!" Miko snapped her head to the warrior, "Bee!"

Bumblebee's attention was on Megatron's flickering optics and the dark energon leaking from his chassis. He then turned his attention to Armin, and saw that his eyes were filled with desperation.

"Please," Armin whispered.

Bumblebee grimaced in frustration before running over to Wheeljack to help support Megatron.

"Bee?!" Miko exclaimed.

"Tell Knockout or anyone to prepare a place on the Nemesis for Megatron!" Bumblebee ordered.

"Dude, he killed you!" Miko emphasized.

"For frag's sake, just do it!" Bumblebee shouted at her.

Megatron shook his helm at the memory. "I don't understand. Why would Armin do that?"

"I guess...you changed enough for Armin to want and try to save you," Bumblebee relented.

Megatron looked to be deep in thought, stepping away from the memory to think. Bumblebee could see Megatron contemplating something, like he was putting the pieces together. A memory flooded the area, and Bumblebee saw that they were in Hizuru...at the top of a palace. Megatron's holoform was standing next to the same person he saw at the beginning of the memories.

“All of this could be yours,” Megatron declared, “You could rule all of this. An Ackerman, a descendant of the royal blood line, a powerful soldier. If you took the crown, you would be unstoppable. So why do you not want it?”

“…If I were to take this title, I would never be able to lead a normal life,” Mikasa declared.

“The Queen has the title on Paradis,” Megatron retorted.

“But Historia’s not living a normal life,” Mikasa reminded, “Levi made her go along with the coup and become the queen. She knows nothing about actually running a nation and had to learn at a fast rate.”

“You could learn faster than her,” Megatron retorted.

“She has to hide her relationship to Ymir,” Mikasa declared, “The only ones who know were at their wedding. If the public found out, there would be chaos. On top of that, Ymir has less than six years to live as well. They can’t live normal lives.”

Mikasa rested her hands against the railing. “I don’t want power. I don’t want this crown. I just want a normal life.”

Megatron stared at Mikasa and saw the upset expression on her face. “What would constitute as that ‘normal’ life?”

Mikasa lowered her arms against the railing, watching the birds fly away. “I live in a small cabin, maybe in the woods, or maybe in a cottage. I do remedial tasks like housework, chopping up wood, washing clothes. I would probably grow vegetables like my mother, or hunt like my father. When I come home from hunting, I…I have a family. A family waiting for me. A child runs up to me, and I would give them the biggest hug in the world. My husband would greet me and we would share a kiss. We would have dinner together. I would tuck my child in and kiss them good night. I would go to bed with my husband, and we would fall asleep in each others’ arms.”

“…What a boring, mundane life,” Megatron declared.

“But it would still be my life,” Mikasa smiled bitterly, “A normal life. No orders, and no titans. No Marley or Eldia. I just want that, but I will never be able to have it. So the only thing I can hope for is just to have the people I love by my side as long as possible.”

Mikasa rested her head on the railing. “This world is so cruel, but…it is truly beautiful.”

"She doesn't want to be found," Megatron declared, "Mikasa Ackerman is a formidable soldier and the first human I respected."

"I don't blame you," Mikasa admitted, "As a species, we're rather pitiful and cruel against each other. Praying on the weak to survive. Sometimes I wonder how Optimus is able to see the good in us if he's willing to sacrifice his time here."

Megatron was rather surprised by her response. "I didn't expect that kind of response."

"I've experienced it firsthand," Mikasa explained, "This world is cruel, but...it is beautiful."

"An odd thing to say," Megatron admitted.

"You don't really think that way," Mikasa assumed.

"See the world through my optics and you may understand," Megatron stated.

Mikasa looked at Optimus' holoform and back at Megatron. "So then...do you hate Optimus?"

"It's complicated," Megatron merely answered, "But regarding what you said about your own kind. Would you really be willing to kill them, even if they are not your designated enemy?"

"I have to," Mikasa declared, "I have people I need to protect, and I don't have time for mercy."

"What if your comrade turned out to be a traitor?" Megatron asked.

"Dead men tell no tales," Mikasa answered.

"What is your name?" Megatron asked.

Mikasa was confused but answered anyway. "Mikasa. Mikasa Ackerman."

"Well then, it will be interesting to see what you are capable of, Ackerman," Megatron stated.

"But she never wanted the life of a soldier or even a ruler," Megatron continued, "She wanted a peaceful life free of conflict, and she wanted to show me what that peaceful life was like playing games and seeing the lanterns at the Hizuru festival."

Bumblebee saw memories of the two of them playing games at the Hizuru festival. He saw both of them put on different masks.

"But her greatest desire was spend that peaceful life with someone who was marked for death," Megatron declared.

“There was some…questionable information,” Megatron admitted, “And I say that lightly. The Ackermans are said to have a fierce loyalty to someone they care about. Other information described it as the Ackerman trying to find a host. Trying to find someone to serve like the King. The data I found said that it was inaccurate; that the Ackermans were just naturally loyal passionate. But this world doesn’t have the best technology, so I wouldn't take that information at face value.”

“What are you implying?” Mikasa demanded.

“Mikasa, your devotion to Prime’s pet was something I was never fond of,” Megatron told her bluntly, “It’s the one glaring flaw about you. If he is ever in danger, you would be willing to throw away the mission just to ensure his safety. But now I question that devotion. Is it because you genuinely care about him, love him even? Or is it because you’re an Ackerman that need to serve her master?”

Mikasa grew angry. “You don’t know anything about me. I grew up with him. We’ve been through so much together. We survived the titans, we survived the king.”

Mikasa tightened her hand around her scarf. “He taught me how to live. He wrapped this scarf around my neck. He-,”

“Will die within seven years,” Megatron interrupted.

Mikasa felt like cold water had been dumped on her.

“Whether or not the information I’ve gathered is accurate or not, that is something that you will have to come to terms with,” Megatron declared, “If this Ackerman devotion is real, are you going to let it affect you when he dies? Are you going to try and find another host? If not, how will you move on from him? Your love for him affects your actions? What happens when he’s gone? Because I know for a fact you’ll outlive him because of your power.”

Megatron saw the conflicted and scared expression on Mikasa’s face. She tightened the grip on her scarf as tears almost came into her eyes, and Megatron felt...conflicted with what he said.

"And no matter what she did and gave to him, he always drifted farther and farther away from her, causing her nothing but grief," Megatron continued.

“I…I made a mistake,” Mikasa whimpered as tears formed in her eyes.

Megatron raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What?”

“Eren asked me, what I was to him, and all I could think about was what you told me about the Ackermans that I told him I wasn’t sure,” Mikasa explained as the tears fell, “Eren looked so…horrified by my answer! I don’t-! Did I drive him away? What if I had given a different response?”

“Mikasa, I am certain that your response had nothing to do with Eren going off the rails,” Megatron told her, “Now leave so I can-!”

Megatron froze when Mikasa clung to the holoform fabric and rested her head on Megatron’s chest. Megatron could feel her body tremble, but he could not see her tears.

“Please, I’m begging you. Please find Eren,” Mikasa begged him.

“Mikasa-,”

“He and Armin are all I have left of my old life,” Mikasa sobbed, “I know I’ll lose Eren, but what if I lose Armin? I-! I can’t! I’ll be all alone again. I don’t want to.”

“Why…are you even asking me?” Megatron spoke.

“You’re the only one who can,” Mikasa answered, “I’m begging you: please fix my mistake. Please fix it. Please.”

Megatron placed a hand on Mikasa’s shoulder, but didn’t push her away. “I…cannot promise I will yield results,…but I will do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Mikasa weakly mumbled, “Thank you for trying.”

"She probably disappeared when no one else was looking," Megatron declared, "She...no longer wants to be part of the fight."

"...you seem shaken up about that," Bumblebee remarked.

"It is her decision, and she's been through enough. I'm not going to impose," Megatron declared.

"...he never gave us a choice," Cyclonus had spat out.

"Bumblebee, this is Windblade. I need you to inquire about the human this Mikasa Ackerman is fond of," she ordered, "There are multiple reports and people referencing him by name."

"Seems that...Eren is the cause of everyone's problems," Bumblebee remarked, "But Optimus cared for him enough to hesitate to kill him. Even the humans cared for him...how in the Pits did someone like him decide that genocide was the best option? Who even is he?"

"...my opinion on Eren is negatively biased," Megatron admitted.

"Show me," Bumblebee requested.

"...Eren Jaeger was someone that was given the powers of the Attack Titan by his father, Grisha Jaeger," Megatron explained, "Before I arrived, he was placed in a much more compromising position because of his newfound power and the fear that came with it. Optimus decided to start training him as a result."

Through Megatron's optics, Bumblebee saw Optimus in his bipedal mode, quietly addressing Eren and the teen looked on with concern.

"He was impulsive, reckless, selfish...a reflection,...and he adored the ground that Optimus walked on," Megatron continued.

Megatron raised an eyebrow as he looked back. "So you have an unreasonable anger towards me? I haven't done anything wrong to you or your friends. Fear, I understand."

"Look, Eren's just being a little shit because he's going through puberty," Hanji interrupted.

"Don't defend him," Megatron ordered, "I know rage when I see it. Now tell me: why do you hate me so much?"

"Eren don't fucking answer-"

"Because you made Optimus suffer," Eren declared.

"I said things that day I've come to want to take back," Megatron confessed, "Because it led to this."

"YOU WERE RIGHT!" Eren screamed, "YOU WERE FUCKING RIGHT, OKAY?! I WAS NEVER HUMANITY'S HOPE AND MY EXISTENCE WAS A JOKE!"

Megatron took a small step back as Eren's arms fell to his side.

"I took power that wasn't mine," Eren began was tears began to fall, "I couldn't use my powers correctly, letting my friends die. Thomas, Mina, Hannes, Levi's squad, I couldn't do a damn thing. I put all of my friends in danger. I put humanity in danger, and wasn't even able to help figure out the secrets of the titans. I ate my own father, and I wasn't strong enough to save my mother."

Eren hung his head and covered his eyes with his hands. "You were right. I wasn't needed. I always ended up preventing humanity from moving forward. Armin and Mikasa worry about me too much, while Optimus is just wasting his time on me. I'm just…I'm just some stupid kid and everything special about me came out of a fucking syringe! Historia won't take the power so there's no point! There's no point in me having this power! I might as well just end my life since that would benefit humanity more than me being around!"

"He tried to take his life many times, and I had stopped on a few occasions," Megatron continued, "Looking back on it...I should have let him perish."

Bumblebee was taken aback by the rather cruel statement, but with everything that he had been seeing in Megatron's memories, there had to be a good reason. "...Because he caused the genocide."

"...I don't know when Eren started to divulge or think of enacting the Rumbling," Megatron explained, "Maybe it was when he learned that humanity wasn't extinct. Maybe it was learning of the thirteen-year lifespan. Maybe it was when he started seeing memories into the future. I tried everything I could to stop him without killing him, simply due to the fact that I had to considering Optimus and the Survey Corps."

Bumblebee saw Megatron make multiple attempts to stop Eren in anyway that he could, from using a team that freely chose to help him stop Eren from taking the Survey Corps, to sabotaging Eren from taking a titan power during an attack on a town, to tag teaming with Arcee to stopping Eren's plans.

"But it still wasn't enough," Megatron relented, "He still followed the same path that I did, of his own free volition. I wasn't able to get him to stop in time."

“Wait…” Megatron whispered as Eren walked away from him.

“Wait!” The cry got louder, but Eren didn’t stop.

“STOP!” Megatron screamed out to Eren, forcing the titan shifter to stop in his step. Did…was Megatron…begging?! Was Megatron pleading with him?!

“Listen to me! Eren!” Megatron begged as he tried to free himself from his prison, “It’s not worth it! No matter what you think or believe now, it won’t bring you the satisfaction you want! You won’t be able to live with any of it! YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO LIVE WITH WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”

Bumblebee saw Eren consider it. He saw that Eren looked like he was considering to stop, but he continued to press onward.

“No! NO!” Megatron yelled as Eren continued walking without looking back. “STOP!”

"And neither was Optimus,"

“Eren, NO!” Optimus yelled as he leapt for Eren. However, Optimus was horrified when a shot rang out and Eren’s head was blown clean off. Megatron turned his attention to the direction of the attack, and saw the smoking canon of the Marleyan weapon on the ground. Magath looked so hopeful at his action, but something unexpected happen. A glowing centipede like creature erupted out of Eren’s titan body and reconnected with his head. Eren then let out an unholy scream as blue lightning came down from the sky and struck the titan shifter. The force almost sent Optimus flying back; he had to force himself to stand his ground. 

"And now we're here." Bumblebee saw the hot, barren, and desolated landscape before him. The indents of the Colossal Titan feet were present and massive, hot steam radiated throughout the area from the Colossal Titans, and the ground was littered with crushed bodies and smeared blood.

"If I had killed Eren during every single opportunity that I had, I would have done so," Megatron declared, sitting down on the edge of a Colossal Titan footprint, "I might have been hated by them, but...I could have handled that hatred. I could have and should have done everything to prevent this."

Bumblebee couldn't help but sit right now next to Megatron. "You feel remorse for what you've done."

"...All of it," Megatron admitted.

"I never would have imagined," Bumblebee declared.

"Neither have I," Megatron agreed, "I don't know why. I don't know what made this world so different. I should despise the being I've become...but I can't."

"...It would have been nice if you had actually become better and stopped the war before it got too far," Bumblebee stated.

"...I know that the apology means nothing considering who I am. Even so, I'm...sorry...for all the pain and suffering I put you through." Bumblebee snapped his helm towards Megatron, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.

"...I-!"

"Bumblebee, we're pulling you out!"

"Wait, what?! Don't pull me out yet!" Bumblebee placed two digits on his comm. link, "I still need to know more! What about the Eldians?! What about the-!"

"By the Allspark, I almost forgot." Megatron shot up to his pedes, "Knockout, I need you to record this information!"

"What info?!" Bumblebee demanded.

Megatron grabbed Bumblebee's shoulders. "The power of the titans might be gone, but the Eldians are still not safe!"

“Attachments make us humans,” Calvi proclaimed, “Compassion makes us different from the Eldian devils.”

“And yet you treat Eldian children like dirt even though they’ve done nothing wrong at all,” Megatron retorted, “Blaming it on their ancestors even though they wouldn’t do the same acts now.”

“How can you be so sure that they wouldn’t?” Calvi asked.

“How can you be so sure they would?” Megatron countered.

Calvi sighed. “Even if they didn’t want to, that doesn’t change the fact that they can turn into monsters that devour humans. That fear will always be there, and the resentment will remain as well. The only way for there to be peace in this world is if the Eldians are gone forever. Once Eldians are no longer useful, the world leaders have a secret agreement to execute them all. They signed it and everything. So no matter how you treat them, it won’t change the fact that they will be killed. Don’t bother wasting your breath on them.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Megatron asked.

“Because you’re nobody,” Calvi answered, “You’re in no position of power to change the way the world thinks or feels. It’s pointless to try to change anything. And if you told them, they would most likely freak out and we’d have to turn them into titans for the war.”

“You’re a rather cruel man,” Megatron proclaimed.

“It’s more realistic than cruel,” Calvi retorted as he walked away from Megatron, “The world will never accept Eldians.”

Bumblebee watched as the memories began to collapse and turn into dust, floating towards an glowing exit back into his mind. Bumblebee could feel himself getting pulled in, but Megatron adjusted his hold to grab onto Bumblebee's arm.

"Whatever you do, make sure to get that memory to Optimus if he's still alive or anyone else in the Survey Corps!" Megatron ordered, "If there are enough world leaders left on that planet, they will enact that plan out of anger and vengeance! The Tybur will choose to keep his mouth shut out of preservation! But the world will come after the Eldians! Please, please get that information to any of them!"

Bumblebee felt his servo slipping out of Megatron's own.

"OR ELSE HISTORY WILL REPEAT AND EVERYONE WILL HAVE DIED FOR NOTHING!" Bumblebee screamed as he was pulled away from Megatron and back into his own mind. The Warrior gasped as he sat up from the berth, panting heavily. His vision adjusted to the room, and he saw the Autobots and the Council staring at Bumblebee in shock.

Knockout quickly checked the monitors and sighed with relief. "Thank Primus, Megatron didn't follow."

Bumblebee rubbed his optics as he felt the patch get disconnected from his helm by Ratchet.

"Bumblebee, how do you feel?" Ratchet asked.

"I...I...I feel like I'm going to be sick." Bumblebee covered his mouth.

"Join the club," Cyclonus seethed as Bulkhead grabbed Bumblebee a bucket.

"...So what are you going to do with this information?" Smokescreen asked the council.

"I think...we need to sit and think about this," Windblade decided, "This is a lot to take in."

(Alright! Four parts! Hooray! We'll return to the humans in the next part of the anthology).

[somethingsomethingwords]

Hello everyone. New year, new story. This one is kind of a niche one. It's a PJO!AU, and also keep in mind the myth of Achilles and Patroclus. I wanted to write about destiny and tragedy, and maybe succeeding in escaping them. As always, comments are more than welcome. Enjoy💜

When Charles enters the room, he knows that this is where his battle starts, still miles away from the actual battlefield.

He gently pushes the door to the infirmary open, and is not surprised to see the other sat on the bed, looking as though he had tried to stand up but failed, with his head in his hands and a bandage already stained with blood on his left thigh.

The blonde looks up, and in his eyes he can see the red hue, but not because of his father's powers. They are bloodshot and puffy.

He'd like to kneel in front of him, rebandage his wounds and comfort him, but he can't. He has to be strong. For the camp, for their friends, for him.

So he just walks until he is in front of Sebastian, gathering enough courage to pose the fatal question.

Everything seems to vibrate with the sound of the incoming tragedy, history repeating itself, never ending sorrow.

"Seb, where is the armour?" That's it, quick, simple, clean.

Many emotions cross his face, and then they all disappear, leaving behind a blank mask.

"No" he says, final.

"Seb, you know I have to. I'm the only one that's left to do it" he can feel the fear starting to make itself known, but he can't let it win, not today.

"Charles, you are not doing it. We'll find somebody else. Hades, I'll do it myself"

Even if his tone is low, his words are firm.

"Seb, there is literally nobody else. It's either me or we lose" And just as he says it, the desperation is starting to feel like something solid.

"I said no. Give me some ambrosia and nectar and I'll deal with it" As he says the words, he pushes on the bed to stand up. It's not even a half step later that his legs give out, and his knees dropping on the wooden floor.

Charles could see it coming, but he did nothing to stop his fall or help him up.

"Sebastian, look at you. You can't even stand, and other ambrosia will kill you, we both know it. Just give it to me, and then..."

"And then what, Charles? I watch you leave camp to never come back? Because you and I both know how this story ends"

"Thanks for the vote of trust" But even as he says it, he knows it's not about trust. It's about prophecies, about destiny, about eternal returns.

But Charles has to raise his temper, so that this will be an angry goodbye, not a sad one.

And, just like he always does, the son of Ares sees through his strategy, and the fury quickly fades.

But without anger, all that's left is shaky voices and wet eyes.

"Charlie, please, listen to me. Stay here, at camp. Defend the children. Let me go" he says as if it's the most logical thing in the world. Or, even if it were, as if Charles is going to listen to logic. He never has. He is not about to.

"Seb, we could fucking see your femur through the beast's slashes like two hours ago. Nectar is not magic. I believe in you more than I've ever believed in them, but even you have your limits. We are still human, Seb" he keeps talking while helping the other on his feet, leaving one of his hands in his and intertwining their fingers.

"So help me put on your armour, then let's go doing what we can to save as many lives as we can" This time he doesn't stop the shaking, doesn't stop the tears, but keeps looking straight into Sebastian's eyes, trying to express all that he can't say through them, trying to impress the colours there into his mind for the last time.

Even as Seb shakes his head, Charles knows he has won. Not because of the power of his words that he will use to rile up every remaining fighter towards the battlefield, but because he can see the despair, hopeless and cruel and inescapable.

He presses his free hand to his cheek, and slowly kisses him as if they have all the time in the world. One last kiss, one last shared breath.

When he pulls back, Seb uses their connected hand to lead him to his cabin, limping slightly.

It's dark and empty, all his siblings guarding the still too young kids.

Gods, they all are still too young for this. But they don't have a choice, it's either this or failure, and failure is not acceptable, for neither of them.

Sebastian's bed is the one nearest to the front. His evident need to always protect makes Charles smile, and it also makes him fall even more in love with Seb.

From beneath it, the blonde takes what looks like the sturdiest armour of all times: the Celestial Bronze culrass shone into the low lights, the helmet with its red crest, the wooden aspis.

Charles accepted all of it, except for the xiphon. He will not leave behind his Bronzen spear, nor his Stygian Iron dagger.

Dressed in Sebastian's armour, with the long cheek guards hiding his face, he knows he can get the other campers to fight. He has to.

Sebastian stares at him, maybe thinking this is the last time they will see each other. But Charles knows it is not. Even if he were to die today, he knows his soul will find Sebastian's. Even in another life, they are predestined.

When he begins to turn, Sebastian gently raises his still tied hand to his lips and he kisses his wrist.

"We will meet again. I swear it on the Styx" he professes in ancient greek.

With a final smile, Charles turns towards the door, towards where all the other campers are bundled.

He isn't Charles Leclerc anymore, Monegasque son of Aphrodite with the most powerful charmspeak of the last 3 centuries.

He now is Sebastian Vettel, German son of Ares, ready to lead his cabin towards the battle, ready to win it.

[artificialqueens]

🎁 Lonely This Christmas (Bitney) for Cheetah - Lita

SECRET QUEEN 2022 by @artificiallita, for @opalescent-cheetah

A/N: When I got the list of tropes etc to possibly explore from Cheetah, one thing that really stuck out to me was the idea of exploring aromanticism or atypical relationship dynamics - and if anyone knows my writing, you know that I've never exactly written 'normal' Bitney (I can only apologise to all victims of the San Junipero AU lmao) so this was super super fun. Loosely inspired by V pointing out that I write Bianca in the Femme Fatale AU as somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, although she herself might not have found the words for it yet, I wanted to explore that a little more while also writing some silly festive fluff (a month late lmao.) 

Cheetah, I hope you enjoy this <3<3 Hope your holiday season was magical, and thank you for inspiring this fic since I had a ton of fun with it. Much love!!

(Full A/N restored! -V)

*****

“We’re sorry, the person you are trying to reach is unable to take your call. Please leave a voicemail after the-”

“Fuck…” Courtney ends the fourth attempted call, and drops her phone into her lap. Her head sinks into her hands. It’s the middle of the fucking night in Australia - of course her mum isn’t answering her phone, she’s probably asleep. So is Kim. So is…well, it’s more likely that Vanity is shitfaced and in the middle of a club with no service, but either way she’s unreachable. Stupid fucking New York and its stupid fucking shitty winters. 

It had been snowing heavily when she woke up that morning, and hadn’t stopped all day. She’d gotten the news via a Twitter notification in the cab to the airport - all flights bound for NYC were being diverted, and all scheduled to leave it had been grounded. She’d hoped for a miracle, but the odds of one occurring had dwindled into the single digits as she’d arrived in the airport to be told her flight was delayed by five hours. It had been outright cancelled twenty minutes ago. 

 She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her suitcase, staring down a never ending line of closing check-in desks - the departure boards above them, bright red CANCELLED labels next to every listed flight, feel like they’re mocking her. Adore was right, she’d left it too late. Court makes a mental note to listen to her roommate more often. Adore had fucked off home for the holidays a week ago, of course - blissfully unaware of the current mayhem in JFK Airport and probably stoned halfway to a coma with her mom. Lucky cunt. 

What kind of idiot waits until December 23rd to fly halfway across the world back home for Christmas? Well, her and by the looks of things a couple of hundred other idiots, pacing and yelling into cell phones and arguing with the poor arseholes at the customer service desk, as if they could do anything about the bloody weather. Courtney is trying to summon the willpower to brave the cold and shuffle out to the waiting line of taxis, where it looks like half the population of the city are lined up with pointlessly packed bags and weary faces and screaming kids. It’s already Christmas Eve in Sydney. 

Courtney feels her eyes welling up. Between work, and fighting to get the time off work to get home at all, and packing and shopping and everything else, the stress has been melting her head for weeks. And now this. Horrible, crushing defeat - falling at the last hurdle with no solution in sight. Maybe she could swim to Australia? It’s starting to get dark; the snow still falling down in sheets and wind blowing with such force it feels like it’s shaking the wall she’s leaning against. Fuck this for a laugh.  

“Hey stranger.”

A familiar abrasive voice. Followed up by a slightly-too-hard nudge with the toe of a sneaker. Courtney looks up, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 

Bianca’s dark hair is spilling out of her ponytail, LV holdall slung over one shoulder as she stands in front of her in sweatpants and a parka. She looks a hell of a lot more zen than most other people waiting around; face unflinching and almost entirely unbothered.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for, this shit isn’t going anywhere any time soon,” Bianca continues, gesturing to the window with her head. Courtney cracks half a smile. 

“I don’t know either,” Courtney shrugs. “If I leave, I have to accept that I’m fucked and I don’t want to do that yet.

“‘Fucked’ is a strong word,” Bianca says with a snort of a laugh. She offers Courtney a hand, pulling her up off of the floor. 

Bianca was the intimidating, take-no-shit head bartender of the club that Court worked as a shot girl in; it seemed like she’d made it her life’s mission to make everyone who came into contact with her think she was a total cunt. However, there was an element of trying too hard that Courtney had always plainly seen through - Bianca being a closet softie wasn’t anything close to a shock. She’d been the one that took the GM to task when he’d tried to refuse to give Court time off to go home over Christmas, and probably the only reason that Court wasn’t there right now, in a miniskirt and fishnets trying to upsell high-end tequila to groups of drunk Wall Street cunts on their office night out. 

She’d also been the subject of a long-unrequited crush that Courtney had been harbouring since she started working there two years ago. Not because she didn’t care, or because she didn’t like her. Court had woken up in her bed a few too many times for that to be the case. But Bea doesn’t shit where she eats. Like she’d said the last time she’d rebuffed Courtney’s suggestion to go for brunch the last time they’d gotten too drunk and woken up naked and spooning. 

It was confusing, and at times a little frustrating - but that didn’t change the little spark of happiness that Courtney had felt cracking through the misery when Bianca appeared, or the way that watching her eyes light up when she laughs makes Court melt. She’d let the silly crush be a silly crush if it meant she got to keep Bianca around. 

“So, what’s your plan exactly? Sit here and feel sorry for yourself until the snow melts?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Well, I’m going home like a normal person - I drove here, do you want a ride? 

Courtney nods a little hesitantly. 

“Actually,” Bianca says, noticing the uncertainty on Courtney’s face. “I could probably use the company, do you wanna come hang out at my place? Saves you sitting around feeling like shit by yourself.”

“Yeah,” Courtney says, a smile creeping onto her lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

******

“Hold on a fucking second,” Courtney lifts her head up from Bea’s lap. 

She’d gotten to Bianca’s apartment and originally sat at a respectful distance on the other side of the couch - they’d chatted idle shit for a while, bitching about work and people they knew and how much Christmas sucks as a holiday. All the stress and chaos and planning, and spending money you don’t really have on people you don’t really like. And then Courtney had cried a little about not making it home - actually, she’d had what most people would describe as a mental breakdown. She hadn’t seen her family since last bloody Christmas, missing god knows how many birthdays and milestones. She and Vanity had been planning their New Year night out for a month. She was homesick - a state she practically lived in, but that was so much worse now that she’d been touching distance from getting there and then couldn’t. Bianca had gotten a little closer, pulling into a hug and letting Court leave a wet patch of tears on her sweatshirt. 

Then they’d ordered takeout and opened a bottle of wine - finished that and then started on a second. Bianca’s studio apartment is warm and homey, and Bianca’s presence is warmer. And now they’re here. Bianca has a hand tangled in Courtney’s blonde hair, there’s Hallmark garbage playing on the TV, and Court wishes every night could be like this. Fuck, Courtney thinks she’s in love. 

Bianca has her other arm around Courtney’s shoulders, their legs tangled under a blanket as glow from the streetlights creep through the curtains. She’s never seen Bianca this soft; this tender. Her eyes are a little glassy, but she looks so content, and so fucking beautiful in the soft light. 

“What?” Bianca tilts her head. 

“You were at the fucking airport too - and you’ve not complained once about not getting home. I get that I'm being a drama queen about this, but that’s weird. 

“Because I don’t really care,” Bianca shrugs. “I’m missing the annual family argument and my grandma asking me a hundred weird judgy questions about why I don’t have a boyfriend yet - big fucking deal. I don’t have to deal with them, and the situation is out of my control so I don’t get in shit for not coming, it’s a win-win.”  

Courtney is stunned into silence for a second. 

“What? Some people have a shitty relationship with their family, this is news to you?” Bianca laughs, clearly noticing the look on Courtney’s face. 

“No - I just…I don’t know. I just never thought about it with you - you’ve got your shit together, you’re happy. Well, ish. Didn’t think you had all of this like…internal angst,” Courtney says, and then hiccups. She reaches for her glass. 

“It’s not angst - this isn’t ‘mommy and daddy don’t love me because I’m a queer’ shit - it’s just…I don’t know. It’s nothing. We’re not close - we never have been. And I’m happier on my own.” Bianca says, her shoulders hunching a little bit.  And then: “That new start fucking sucks, right? Magnolia or whatever her name is.”

“Hey, don’t change the subject! We were having a moment - you were being vulnerable! This is progress!” 

“Cunt,” Bianca protests with a chuckle. “What more do you fucking want from me? We’re not friends until I’ve told you the ins and outs of all of my inner turmoil? Because there’s not much there.” 

“I’m just saying, you’re a bit…I dunno, cold? You try to pretend that you’re all big and scary, but you’re not - and you keep pretending anyway."

“Your point?”  

“My point is I really fucking like you, and it’s like you-”

“Bitch, you think you’ve been subtle about that?” Bianca laughs. “I know. I know you really like me. And I’m sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I don’t…I don’t know, like you or value you as a friend and want you in my life. It’s not that - it’s just fucking complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Courtney sits up, her brow furrowing. “Because at this point, it feels more like being led on. You’re so nice to me, you make me so happy - and then you make me feel like a crazy person for thinking there’s something there and wanting more.”

Shit, Courtney feels more strongly about this than she’d realised. Bianca flinches. 

“Because I don’t like it when there’s more,” Bianca says with an exhausted sigh. “I’m terrible at relationships - I always have been." 

“But I don’t mind that, I’d-” “Trust me Court, you really, really would. I don’t talk to anyone that I’ve ever dated any more. It sucks, it makes me feel like shit - it probably makes them feel worse. I don't do it on purpose, but I don't think I feel the way that people are meant to feel about this kind of stuff. It's just hard and confusing and stressful - and then it ends, and I’m by myself again, so I might as well be by myself because I’m choosing to be. Not because I’m a shitty girlfriend.” 

She puts her head in her hands. Courtney feels a quiet pang of guilt - in the first instance because this is the closest thing to upset she’s ever seen Bianca, and equally because she’s thrown off the balance of what was a fucking amazing time. Bianca had made her forget about Christmas, or missing her fucking family - about any of the sadness she’d been carrying when she came in. She’d made everything feel better, and then Courtney screwed it up as a thank-you. 

She remembered a few of the exes. Raja and Katya and Dela - all completely unalike in every imaginable way. Courtney remembered being horribly jealous of them when they came into the bar, watching how happy they seemed to make Bianca from a distance and hating it. And she always remembered it going downhill; Bianca casually complaining about how they’d been fighting over nothing, or how whatever-her-name-was hadn’t spoken to her in days.  And Bianca had always mentioned that it ended completely off the cuff - completely unbothered. Or so she seemed. 

“Bea, I’m sorry…” 

Courtney frowns. “Bianca, I’m…” she pauses to think. A lot of what Bianca just said sounds a little familiar. “Do you think it’s possible that you might be aromantic?"

“The fuck does that mean?” Bianca furrows her brows.

“It’s like, kind of similar to asexuality-” “I know I’m not that,” Bianca says, accompanied by a little snort of a laugh. “I think you do too.”

“Yeah, I do,” Courtney can’t help but let a little exhale of a laugh escape. “But it’s a lack of romantic attraction. So instead of not being into sex, the idea of being with someone or needing a relationship to feel fulfilled doesn’t do anything for you.”

“So you’re telling me I’m some kind of fucking weirdo who doesn’t know how to love people?” Bianca says, accompanied by a confused, slightly embarrassed chuckle. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying - because clearly you do. You care about people - you just don’t need to date them to prove that.” 

“Huh,” Bianca nods.

“Look, that’s something you need to figure out for yourself - but I don’t mind either way. I just thought this whole time that you didn’t want to go out with me because you didn’t like me.”

“Not even close,” Bianca looks at the floor, smiling. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, or I don’t want you in my life. Actually, it means I want you in my life so badly that I don’t want to risk screwing that up by dating you - since I’ve never had a relationship that I haven’t screwed up.”

Courtney bites her lip. Secretly, she thinks she’s been imagining a future in which Bianca gets over herself and then they spend the rest of their lives together. And secretly, she’s always known that’s infantile and stupid and impossible. This feels final; but the sting of the rejection isn’t there like she thought it would be. Maybe because it’s not really a rejection. 

“Anyway, it’s not like I’ve not tried a hundred fucking times to help you get over it,”Bianca continues.

“How exactly?” Courtney laughs, perplexed.

“Valentina, Aja, Joslyn, Shea - any girl at work mentions anything about being into girls, and the first thing I do is throw them at you. I’ve been trying so fucking hard to set you up with literally anyone else for the last year. You didn’t just think you’re that irresistible to every single sapphic-leaning woman you’ve ever met?”

“Well, I don’t want to say yes, but…” 

“Fuck off,” Bianca laughs, Courtney tossing her hair. Then: “I’m sorry, Court.”

“You don’t need to be sorry either,” Courtney says, picking herself up a little and smiling. “I think I saw this coming. Or, some variation on this conversation happening at least. I’ll get over it.” 

“Look, compromise - we can go back to cuddling and watching sappy movies, and then after tonight, you move on and find someone to pine over that isn't me. And I'll still be there for you, as a friend. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

Courtney nestles herself in Bianca’s lap again. Bianca smiles softly, gently pressing a kiss to Courtney’s forehead. Courtney feels a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She likes this  - even if she knows it won’t last. After tonight, they’d part ways again; back to an occasional lingering glance across the bar, or a hand hovering over a waist on a night out. But why should she wake up right now? 

******

“Bea- fuck, what time is it?”

Courtney says groggily, lifting her head off of the couch cushion. She’s still wearing the sweatpants and cropped Gerri Halliwell tee she’d put on yesterday morning. Bianca is standing in front of her, fully dressed with a Starbucks cup in each hand. She hands one to Court - almond latte, extra shot and chestnut praline syrup. The fact that Bea had remembered her coffee order makes her melt. 

“Six-thirty. Get up and get your shit together.” “Why?” Courtney asks, her voice dry as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

“Some of the snow cleared overnight - there’s a flight from LaGuardia to Toronto at ten am, you can get a connection to Sydney from there and be home by the 26th. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s something.” 

“Bianca, you didn’t have to…” 

“Yeah, but I did. Come on, let’s get you home to your family.”

Courtney stands up, pulling Bianca into a tight hug, her eyes moist. And then she stops, pulling back a little. 

“What about you?” 

Bianca gives a tight-lipped smile. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

[aeternxm]

(from lunarwill)

The blow had tore through him as he desperately tried to protect the two behind him. The blue haired man hadn't expected one of the monsters this weird world had to shoot from range until the huge spike like projectile tore clean through part of his chest. Even he knew a fatal injury when he saw one his eyes wide. He still kept fighting until Myde finally managed to put up a barrier the monstrous bugs and critters could only beat against it flutily. At least the ex-nocturne had saved himself and Lea for the moment. Isa fell to one knee gripping his sword using it to hold himself up. It wasn't until Lea got to him that he collapsed into his arms. Myde came over in a hurry attempting to heal him but the injury was too severe.

He reached up brushing his knuckles against the red heads cheek weakly. "...I'm...I'm sorry..to leave you like this...You know I love you more than anything else in this universe right?" He grit his teeth looking at the blond. "Don't let him linger here...you promise me you'll carry his ass out if you have to."

"I promise" came the quiet already tearful voice of his other friend.

He started coughing it felt like the worst pain he'd ever had but at the same time it was already starting to numb. And he was just so so tired. "I love you.."

unprompted | @lunarwill ( for ultimate sadness, please listen to sailor song by gigi perez )

it's like time slows down -- almost like he can see it before it even happens and yet, he's useless to stop it. isa's too far -- lea could try and do something, but it's like he's frozen in fear, can only stare hopelessly as the projectile connects, tears straight through isa like he's nothing. there's a scream -- desperate and loud, isa's name -- is that him screaming? no it's --

lea gets knocked down from behind, struggles with everything he's got, manages to swing his keyblade behind him and kill whatever it was that had attacked him. he clambers up, eyes darting frantically to try and find isa again and as soon as he does, it's a mad dash to where the other is. lea barks something in myde's direction -- a command, fucking help him -- he's hurt! help him! lea doesn't care if he sounds mean, doesn't give a shit about anything other than getting to isa as quickly as he can, pushing forward despite his muscles aching when he sees isa fall to one knee, holding himself up by only his sword.

❝ --isa! just stay there -- i'm coming! ❞

he doesn't know if his words reach, drops to his knees and skids a little before he's finally, finally reached isa. lea can't look at the wound, knows it's bad but refuses to admit to himself that it can't be fixed. ❝ --hey, hey. i'm here, i've got you -- myde's gonna fix you right up, okay? don't worry about a thing, myde can fix this. you'll be fine, isa -- hey, you'll be fine. ❞ tears as isa collapses into his arms, and lea's not sure if the words are meant to be a comfort to isa, or himself.

lea keeps his gaze fixed on isa's face, propping him up as best he could -- the other hand cradling his face, trying to keep his attention. lea's only all too aware of the blood that wasn't his own, staining his clothes. he's only all too aware of how pale isa looks, how weak he seems. no! stop thinking like that -- fucking stop it. isa's gonna be fine -- he won't leave, he can't leave.

please, lea thinks. please don't take him from me. not now.

❝ stop talking like that, you're not going anywhere. myde is gonna fix this -- right? ❞ a sharp look directed towards myde, but the look of pity he gets in return has lea sobbing, looking down at isa again. ❝ you're not gonna die, i won't let you -- you're not allowed. so stop with the goodbyes -- this isn't a goodbye. you'll -- it'll, god. please -- isa, don't leave me. i don't-- ❞ he can't finish the sentence, his whole body shaking and he tries, tries desperately, to kiss isa. it's awkward, given their position -- but lea needs him to know that he's not going anywhere -- he's not giving up. there wasn't a force strong enough on any world that could pull lea away from isa, not now, not ever.

❝ i can't do this without you, isa. please, please -- i love you. are you happy? i said it -- i love you. i'll say it as much as you want just stay, fuck -- please, don't leave me-- ❞

it's the hand on his shoulder as isa fades away, it's the the way myde looks like he's crying as he tries to pull lea away. lea fights him at every turn, refuses to go -- if isa's gone, he's going with him. ❝ let me go -- no! i'm not fucking leaving him, myde -- please. ❞ his body sags against the blond, all fight in him gone as the sobs overtake his body.

❝ bring him back -- please. i don't... i don't know how to do this without him. ❞

[artyandink]

Heya, my love!

Ok, first of all, I looove that you started with a definition/profile of a femme fatale. Very on brand for a Reid story. Also shows a dedication to your craft in form of research (I assume? Or do you have a genius brain like our baby Reid?!) that I personally value a lot.

This was actually born from yes, an in depth study of the monstrous feminine and femme fatales from movies and books, but the profile was written by me 😁 That was to cement it as a CM story and I wanted to give the background on the reader without actually giving it. Put a personality to the name before you meet them. I have an IQ of 149, not as high as 187 😅

Could Spencer possibly be more Spencer? I doubt it. The info-dump with the added confusion about Morgan's nickname for the drug - Why would he ever call it a smoothie when this is anything but healthy?! Do semantics mean nothing to Morgan?! - reads so much like Spencer. I feel like bits like this one are crucial when writing his character and you 100% nailed that, not just here, but throughout the entire story.

That's how I really wanted to make Spencer Reid... Spencer Reid. I did agree slightly with the possibility of s12 Spence being who the reader deals with here, but by what I've seen S7-9 Spence really gives the feel of can be innocent versus can wreck you five times over. Exhibit A is this piece here. Exhibit B is in the works.

One of my personal favorites is when someone talks while being kissed repeatedly in an effort to shut them up. I ate this bit up 😩

I had this scenario with Spencer in my head for a while, and this was me having a brain child and getting all that out in the most filthy way I could imagine. I was as scared to write this as I was to write lipstick, baby.

The way I said "oh fuck" out loud.

Well, uh, literally as well, so you're not wrong for saying it

Yes, yes, yes. Let go, baby. 😩

This was born from the thought of how if Spencer was consumed by his work for so long that if he was given the chance, he'd go nuts. Brain child.

What a breaking the fourth wall moment right here. I felt attacked. I felt seen. Heard. Understood.

Honey, I was speaking from my own perspective too. That man's fingers would have me weak. No questions asked.

The fucking audacity of this man to be giving a lecture while eating you out. Like, I absolutely see this happening, and I hate how much I love it. It gives a sense of superiority that he undoubtedly feels in this moment. Very Dom!Spencer for sure. Eating you out is just as easy for him as maintaining information, so why shouldn't he absolutely show off?

This was a thing that came to me the moment the eating out started, and this was me:

I got a brainwave. Why wouldn't Dr Spencer Reid show off how well he can eat pussy and also his profiling skills? Why the fuck not?

This line got me off from a literary perspective. Delicious writing.

Was that irony, darling? 😁☺️💜

She might've won by getting him in bed, but he is the ultimate winner with that line. My man's got a point 😂

I mean-- winners all around, am I right?

Arty, this was a delicious read! I am officially petitioning for you to write more Spencer, please 😌

One is already on the way! It's going to be an extremely different read from this one, I think. But I'm so glad you enjoyed, and I hope I see your feedback more! A joy to see 💜

Arty ;)

‘34 château margaux

SUMMARY: Spencer never knew to feel about you. Actually, he did. You were a career criminal, but also a liaison for the FBI, which prevented your arrest. You’re cunning, manipulative, persuasive and oh, so seductive. Spencer was warned against you, and he knew it. But even a genius profiler with an eidetic memory couldn’t resist you. Even a genius profiler with an eidetic memory can’t help but lose control around a woman like you.

TW: mentions of smoking, wine, seduction, badass reader, s7 Dr Spencer Reid, mentions of organised crime, mobs and mafia, Spencer’s weak for reader the poor baby, Hotch slander, smut

STW: Spence doesn’t stop the reader from kissing him, marking, oral (f. receiving), brief handjob, praise kink if you squint, dirty talk but Spencer style, degradation I think, wine play (I think), temperature play as subtext, ass slapping, profiling during sex, threat of exhibitionism, light choking, switch!Spencer, switch!reader, pussydrunk!Spencer, slight overstimulation, fingering

SONG INSPO: Greedy by Ariana Grande, Acapulco by Jason Derulo, I Did Something Bad by Taylor Swift and Make you Mine by Madison Beer

Femme fatales had a specific profile.

The "femme fatale" is typically depicted as a highly attractive and enigmatic woman in her late twenties to early forties, often characterized by a seductive allure that masks her manipulative and dangerous nature. Her primary weapon is her ability to ensnare men through charm, beauty, and sexual allure, ultimately leading them to their downfall.

While her motivations vary, she is often driven by power, revenge, or hidden trauma. Early literary examples include the biblical figure of Delilah, who betrays Samson, and Salome, who demands the head of John the Baptist. In classical mythology, Circe and the Sirens use their allure to seduce and destroy men.

The femme fatale's archetype is also evident in later works like Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, who manipulates her husband to commit regicide. This profile of a femme fatale highlights her as a complex figure whose allure conceals a more sinister intent.

That was your profile.

Hotch had warned Spencer not to get too close to you, because you knew how to use your everything, and you had a sweet spot for the latter. Not because Spencer really was a likeable son of a bitch, but because you found him more fun than the other agents.

You were a pretty face, sure, but you were also a genius. A Dr Spencer Reid level genius, but you were the side of the spectrum that dissolved into a life of high crime and corruption.

Instead of becoming a federal agent - or law enforcement - you were the trusted advisor to a lot of the mafia and mob population, and even that was enough to put you away on charges of incitement/inchoate crime. But you were useful, extremely useful, so you also then became the liaison for the FBI whenever the mafia or mob circles became involved in an investigation.

This time, you were, as the unsub of a case in Las Vegas, Nevada seemed to be purchasing drugs like M99, ketamine and small doses of chloroform, mixed with LSD. It was a powerful mix and the dose was enough to cause immediate system failure and then death. The drugs were being purchased from casinos which were rumoured to be the cover of Vegas’ mob circles.

Your hotel room was the kind of thing Spencer only hoped to see in movies, with warm lighting, patterned red wallpaper, mahogany flooring with underfloor heating, glass and gold tables, mahogany dressers and a huge king-size four poster with curtains the same colour as the walls. There was a liquor cabinet as well as a fancy looking cooler, and it was nothing like Spencer had been used to seeing as he grew up in this very city.

It didn’t feel like his territory anymore. He wasn’t as comfortable as he usually was around these parts. He took the couple steps in, having closed the door behind him, now standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Maybe you weren’t in. Phew.

“Dr Reid.” Came the voice that made Spencer feel like he was on fire, a perfectly manicured hand brushing over his shoulder as you walked up from behind him, having come from the bathroom that was no doubt as fancy as the bedroom itself. After all, this was the penthouse.

You lived it big as a career criminal.

You stepped out from behind him, lips that he’d unintentionally imagined on his body stretched into a smirk as you picked up a quarter-full wine glass from the table and took a sip. You were killing him, wearing a black silk robe with just the right hint of lace, which stopped at your mid thigh and had a neckline that had his eyes dropping briefly before he schooled them and gave himself a very firm lecture inside his head.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Again, that voice, the cadence of it, Spencer couldn’t understand how something as simple as a damn voice could have him so unbelievably weak for you.

Spencer raised his hand in greeting with his bravest attempt at a smile, like he usually did.

“It’s a case.” He dug in his messenger bag, handing you some photos of some bodies. “Someone’s targeting bank workers around Vegas. It’s a ‘drug smoothie’ of M99, ketamine and small doses of chloroform, mixed with LSD. Morgan dubbed it that. Actually, smoothies are meant to boost the health of the drinker and contain nutrients from a liquid base such as yogurt or milk puréed with fruit, vegetables or items in a mixer, so I don’t see how this particular drug mix is a smoothie— a milkshake perhaps, as it hasn’t got as much nutritional value beside providing substantial energy through the intake of sugar and carbohydrates.”

He paused, seeing the soft, amused smile on your face, the light of the room casting a perfect shadow on the curve of your cheek. It felt like you were ethereal. “Did I say too much?” Spencer said meekly, rubbing his jaw.

“Not at all, Dr Reid, I completely agree. You can tell your friend Morgan to change it and you have my wholehearted support.” You gave him a nod, your head tilted and eyes looking big with the way you were looking at him. “You have no clue just how much your knowledge turns a girl on, baby, no clue at all.”

Spencer cleared his throat, realising that he was veering off topic and also almost salivating at the sound of you calling him baby. Having to lecture his eyes once again for looking at your legs that seemed to go on for days and seemed to also be calling for him to grab, knead and grip. “We need to stay on topic. Hotch needs the information about the case, and you need to give it.”

Spencer couldn’t help but always let his mind drop into the gutter at the sight of you. It was a Pavlovian response at this point— pure, unbridled instinct.

He couldn’t help but notice that with the way the robe draped on your body, you had nothing on underneath. That kind of assumed information had Spencer reeling.

You waved a perfectly manicured hand with scarlet nails, dismissing the idea of maintaining professionalism. “Hotch needs this, Hotch needs that. No offence to him, but he’s got a lock on you, Dr Reid. Enjoy for a night, let your hair down.”

“Well, t-the phrase ‘let your hair down’ originally was meant literally back in 1850, which was its first recorded usage but it has its roots in the 17th century. It was taken literally because women wore their hair pinned up in public, but the meaning of the phrase was to ‘get familiar’.”

Oh.

“Sorry, I can’t.” Spencer added hurriedly, searching for a notebook and pen in his bag. Licking his lips subtly at the sight of your v-neck and the way your hair framed your face. The curve of that pretty neck he wanted to kiss and lavish so it made those pretty lips fall open—

Jesus, keep it together.

“Anyway, do you want some wine?” You asked, tapping the bottle. “‘34 Château Margaux. This hotel really does have good taste.”

“I don’t drink on the job.” Spencer answered coolly. “And definitely not with criminals.” He would had Hotch not warned him— bad Spencer.”

You pouted, feigning upset. “That just breaks my heart. Putting my job against me? I’m only the advisor to some very powerful forty-and-above men who want some sexual gratification and overall ego boosts and also carry some lovely baggage with mommy issues written all over it. They want a pretty face to spill their secrets to, I give them that and get some cash in return.”

You saw the look on his face. “I’m not apologising for being a career woman.”

“Yet you liaise with the FBI about all that these forty-or-older sexually frustrated men tell you.” He countered quickly, firmly looking you in the eye. Not down at your lips, not at your tits, nor your thighs.

Spencer shook his head in exasperation, even though a shiver ran down his spine at how you advanced towards him, undoing his tie with a practiced hand. “What- ma’am, you can’t do that—”

“Ma’am?” You laughed, getting the maroon tie off and dropping it to the floor, unbuttoning his collar deftly. “Jesus, sweetie, that makes me feel old. Call me by my name, don’t be shy.”

Your name slipped off his tongue in barely a whisper, and became his only known prayer when he felt the warmth of your hands through his shirt, sliding up and up until the searing heat ran over his neck, resting in his hair and trailing down his arm, your nose brushing his before slotting in place.

Oh, God, he thought as you took his hand in your own soft one and guided it to press against your thigh, the fingertips of his index, middle and ring finger feeling silk while his palm, thumb and fifth finger felt smooth, creamy skin.

Oh, fuck, he thought as your lips got close enough to his to be a teasing venture into the cracks in his walls and defences that he’d flimsily put up against you.

“I’ll give you the information you need.” You said softly, in a way that had Spencer’s breath hitching. He should have looked away. He should’ve removed his hand from your thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He was stuck like that, entranced by you. “You just need to let loose for me. For one night, I’m all yours. Drop that professionalism, Dr Reid. Let yourself go.”

“You’re a career criminal.” Spencer murmured, his hand beginning to rub your thigh, gripping slightly at the end of the downward stroke. Bad hand.

“Semantics.” You smirked, biting your lip— oh, hell, that did nothing for his self control. It made him want to kiss those lips until they bruised or swelled, until they numbed. His hand on your thigh made his tongue long to devour your pussy. The way you were looking him made him feel like he was merely a puppet on strings. “Come on, Dr Reid. Don’t deny yourself a good time, hm?”

Spencer would’ve answered, but then your lips pressed against his, and suddenly, he had clarity. That this was wrong, so very wrong. But it felt so damn good. His hand now kneading your thigh was wrong but felt electric.

He pulled back, but his mouth didn’t need to do the chasing that they ached to do. You did it for him, silencing any bubbling protest. You kissed him for the sake of coaxing him to give in, to just kiss and touch until his lips and conscience went deliciously numb.

“We can’t-” He felt your lips against his, a hum replacing his words, unknowingly stepping back towards the bed. Or maybe he knew. “We - mm - Hotch will - mhm—”

“Baby, what Aaron Hotchner doesn’t know what hurt him.” You murmured, pushing him back onto the bed. Spencer fell back without a protest, taking you in, especially as you straddled his lean form that had scooted up the bed, set his messenger bag aside and began popping the buttons of his shirt while grazing his lips with your own, teasing him, taunting him and daring him to let go as you rolled your hips slow and steady against his.

A grinding motion that drove him insane and made him moan and gasp. The fabric of his trousers really did nothing to alleviate the friction and pressure.

Spencer’s hands shot to your hips, unknowingly helping you and guiding your movements under the guise of getting you off him. “Ma’am, I mean—” He whimpered your name instead of saying it like a normal guy would, “please, d-don’t—”

Saying don’t stop was the intention, but he held himself back with the rapidly fraying thread of control. His eyes screwed shut then opened wide with a gasp, wanting to lose himself in you.

He wondered if this was his state with every woman or just you.

Definitely you was the answer when you took your mostly empty glass of wine, pouring the remaining contents over his chest. Your cold hand cupped the side of his neck, a shiver flitting over his warm skin as you then bent forward, lapping up the liquid from his chest. Sucking, drinking the earthy-noted wine with a suspiciously high efficiency. A moan that even surprised him left his mouth when you ground down against him again, your tongue on his skin, and he never hated his trousers more than right this moment as the fabric strained against his clothed need.

He loathed them when you reached for the sash of your robe, untying the waves of tantalising silk fell off your shoulders and over the side of the bed, revealing nothing underneath.

His mouth went dry.

He swallowed.

He snapped.

Within a second, you were flipped over, Spencer’s lips crashing down on yours as he kicked his shoes off, toed his socks off as he kissed you like he was going feral, hand tangling in your hair as he practically rutted against you, hard and fast and oh, so relieving.

He was gripping your face, free hand pushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue and making the blazing journey down your neck, which you bared to him gladly.

“Is this what you wanted?” Spencer panted, sucking at your pulse. “You wanted me to lose control, baby? Yeah, you got it. You. Got. It.” He punctuated the last three with nips to your collarbone and followed up with presses of his mouth on the swell of your tits.

You couldn’t even think, just letting out moans and sighs and needy whimpers of his name and unintelligible sounds, which did good to satisfy his frustration. Spencer’s mouth enveloped your nipple, sucking while tweaking the other between his fingers to have you arching into him and a smirk forming around his temporary fixation.

He switched his attention, pushing you down by your waist with his free hand to keep you from arching up. “Sit pretty and take it.”

Oh, those words sent a hot shiver up your spine. And then back down again, straight to your already soaking pussy.

He let your tit go with a small gasp, his eyes zeroing in on the prize and prompting him to start kissing down your stomach and nipping at your thighs.

If you chose to wear that robe for another person in the near future, they’d see his marks on your thighs. His. That was a thought that had a warmth swelling in his chest and cock.

He pushed your legs apart, holding them apart with his elbows and biting his lip at the feel of your hand in his hair. Testing the waters, his middle finger pushed with no resistance into your throbbing pussy, which had you gasping and moaning his name, while Spencer groaned yours upon feeling how you squeezed merely one finger.

Spencer had long fingers. Imagine what that meant for all you ladies out there.

He would’ve began pumping it, but he withdrew it and began licking it clean, tasting you on his tongue and almost whining at how good it was. Ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact, he maintained very intense eyes contact with you as he licked one long stripe up your cunt.

That didn’t last very long. The moment he got one proper hit of you, his eyes rolled back, then closed, mouth fell open, and he properly got to work, drinking you up like you did that wine on his body.

You’d honestly never been with a man as dedicated to eating pussy than Dr Spencer Fucking Reid.

“I’ve profiled you, y’know.” He murmured, still lapping at you and acting as if you weren’t writhing, moaning and arching your back - a complete mess - while he was having a fucking casual conversation with you and being the little shit that caused it.

He paused to suck at your clit as if it was all casual and part of a daily routine, little hums and encouragements between words where he’d absolutely devour you and make it look like him playing poker. Easy. “You’re promiscuous - mmh - like Lady Macbeth, except without the - mhm - implied infanticide and insanity.”

Spencer used his elbows locking your thighs in place to spread you open and get a new angle, and god damn it worked, because while you were crying out his name to Jesus and the holy mother Virgin Mary he was acting like this was another day at the office. “You use your body to get what you want - that’s it, be loud, baby - and on all counts it works. You also know how to play into people’s - fuck - psyche. It’s what makes you a textbook femme fatale.”

His middle finger slid in again, along with his index - both ridiculously long - and he crooked them just right, reaching places you didn’t even know existed and hitting the bullseye that was your g-spot all while tracing his name on your clit. Again, acting like you weren’t a complete and utter mess by now, but you were too far gone to care.

“You have an ability to see someone’s emotional desires— now, for example.” Spencer glances up at you, his free hand massaging your thigh and his fingers working you, pumping in and out and making sure his thumb got your clit while he talked. “It makes you highly manipulative, a-and your confident demeanour makes it - so tight, pretty girl - easy for people to trust and confide in you, hence why you’re the advisor to a lot of the mafia bosses on the FBI’s most - mmh - wanted list.”

Upon feeling and seeing how close you were, even if you didn’t know it yourself, Spencer smirked up at your face, looking like the prettiest picture with your eyes rolled back, mouth open, hand holding the sheets and your cheeks as pigmented as they could go. “But you’re easy to read when you’re in a vulnerable position. So why don’t you be a good girl, and come for me?”

You came apart easily at his cue, your high crashing over you like a fucking tsunami, feeling him lap at your pussy to clean you up— or so you thought. He actually didn’t stop, murmuring something about “one more” as his brow furrowed in concentration, really zeroing in on his target.

Not stopping, not letting up.

You were pretty sure you saw God and his army of angels frowning upon the sinful deed you two were partaking in, and how you were partaking of each other, while Spencer continued to steal your thoughts with that damn talented tongue and fingers.

He moaned at the taste of you, feeling drunk on everything you were giving him. Your sounds, the feel of you, the taste of you— you consumed all his senses.

You were a forbidden fruit. He was eating it. Except he was taking more than just one bite of the apple.

When you came again after a few more practiced licks, you felt a lot more sensitive then usual, but the satisfied look on Spencer’s face told you he’d made you come twice instead of once.

Testament to his skill, you guessed.

Spencer wiped all the residue of you off his chin with his thumb, licking his lips and quickly sucking the slick off by popping the thumb into his mouth. He made it look like his everyday Tuesday.

Then he undid his belt buckle and dropped it aside, his trousers and boxers going with as he pressed kiss after kiss to your body on the slow journey up. Spencer groaned as your hand wrapped around his cock, your thumb teasing the head before your hand began to move up and down… until he stopped you.

“Not right now, baby.” He chuckled. “Another time. Statistically, I’m fifty percent more likely to come if you do that.”

“That’s the idea.” You winked, but removed your hand off his dick anyway.

“I’m sure it is.” Spencer smiled, then looked around. “Do you have condoms? J-Just cause using protection during sex, particularly condoms, is crucial for several reasons, both from a-a health and social standpoint. First, condoms are one of the most effective methods for preventing the transmission of sexually transmitted infections, i-including HIV. These infections can have long-term health consequences, some of which are irreversible or even life-threatening. By using a condom, you're significantly reducing the risk of both contracting and spreading these infections to your partner. Second, condoms are a reliable method of birth control when used correctly. They prevent sperm from reaching the egg, thereby reducing the likelihood of unintended pregnancies.”

Then you pulled out the top drawer of the bedside table, which was full of condoms of all sizes. Which had him both slightly jealous and sheepish. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Spencer grabbed one, tearing the foil off with his teeth and expertly sliding the rubber on and entering you so fast your moan came in delayed timing.

“Fuck.” You gasped, especially as you adjusted to him and even better when he started moving back and forth at a steady rhythm, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in, feeling your pussy practically mould to him in a way that had his eyes rolling back and hips snapping forward harder.

It made your nails claw at his back, which made him bite his lip and release it, claiming your lips in a hungry kiss. ‘34 Château Margaux. It had an earthy taste to it.

Your perfume was intoxicating, and he smelt of new books and a cologne that drove you mad. You also got notes of butter popcorn from his time watching Russian movies and his lips distinctly tasted of you and you only.

It felt like your claim on him.

Next thing you knew, he’d pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach and thrust into you again, his mouth latching to your shoulder and leaving marks as he took your neck by his hand, not squeezing hard, but just enough to let you know he was there.

“So tight. How’re you gonna look - shit - all those mafia bosses in the eye, huh?” He panted, punctuating his words with a snap of his hip while you were reduced to cries of his name. “When you can’t walk because of an FBI agent?”

“Spencer, fuck!” Was the only admittedly pathetic thing that came from your mouth, along with a whimper when his hand came down on the side of your ass, soothed by a rub.

“That’s right, baby, call out for me.” He murmured, sucking a mark under your ear. “Make sure everyone in this hotel can hear.”

You found yourself coming at the words, gripping the pillows with your eyes rolling back, Spencer’s own copying as he felt your cunt clamp down on him like a vice. His hand on your throat squeezed a little tighter - but he was aware that it wasn’t enough pressure to cut off an airway - with his head dropping to your shoulder, pressing kisses to the heated flesh as he followed with a few clumsy, shallow thrusts later.

Oh, he knew what he did was wrong. He just couldn’t help himself when presented with you.

Spencer pulled out of you, both of you practically spent of all your energy. You rolled onto your back, wiping away a forming tear due to your sensitive pussy being wrecked by Dr Spencer Reid, but it was worth everything.

“I forgot one thing.” He murmured, moving so he could pull you into his chest and kiss your hair. Remarkable how this man can go from a hot dominant to a hot nerd. “From your profile, I mean.”

“Yeah, Dr Reid?” You smiled, kissing him softly yet intensely, drawing a hum of contentment from his lips.

“You, ma’am,” Spencer cheekily emphasised between kisses, “are very sexually proficient.”

That got a laugh from you, breaking away to playfully swat his chest, which got a noise of surprise from him and a small "son of a bitch!". “Is that your way of telling me this was mind blowing sex?”

“That isn’t how you tell someone that?”

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

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@cheynovak

[system-of-a-feather]

when u wrote "We will judge you if you buy a bred parrot for any reason other than saving it" i dont really understand why its bad to buy bred parrots so can u please explain? i've had cockteils in the past and want to be informed. /gen /neu

So parrots as a whole are arguably some of the largest victims of the pet trade imo but also some of the pets with the least amount of like... publicity to let people know how bad and extensive it is. Like on a first level, there is all the poaching going on in places the parrots are native to which is HORRIBLE for 5000 reasons (just watch Rio for a general idea though), but the second layer is that there are massive breeding mills that are absolutely horrible for parrots.

This is particularly so because parrots are "highly profitable" and ones like cockatiels and budgies specifically are parrots that have a high demand and they can breed a lot, very frequently and with "little care" if you dont - ya know, care for their welfare like most breeding mills do.

So if you are getting a bird from a swap meet or somewhere where there are like 20 birds in a cage outdoors being sold by someone who doesn't have an independent shop, those birds are probably being mass bred, back to back, with little concern for inbreeding or welfare.

Like, our mom is of the mindset that "all bird pairs should get the chance to breed once" which I have some gripes with, but nothing enough to be loud about it since I know and have always overwatched how the chicks we did raise were handled and reared + personally gave extensive care and diligence to both parents + was very selective with who got to take them home; but cockatiels themselves tend to have clutches of 2-5 and can be sold in about a month or two depending on how shit your ethics are. Then they can immediately start another clutch if they wanted to right after. Repeated clutches especially with low calcium (which is common if you dont give a shit about birds like breeder mills do) which can be horrifically fatal to cockatiels and result in egg bounding which is honestly a horrible way for a hen to die and unfortunately common for those that don't keep an eye on their hens and provide regular calcium to their diet.

So if you are getting a bird that was bred by someone that has a lot of birds suspiciously and especially if they aren't socialized, you are probably getting a product from there. I've seen it personally and two of the birds we got were from those but only because they were genetically fucked up and essentially disabled and biologically morphed to the point the sellers put them under the table so that wandering potential customers didn't have to look at it. I'm pretty sure he was inbred as hell because he had a relatively rare mutation, and in those cases where there is a bird that is going to be high maintence and care need that you CAN provide, you should absolutely avoid supporting these and people who see no problem with it, I either intend to educate or they disgust me if they already know

Then there are the more professional private breeders that tend to do banding and have hyper socialized birds, which I have less of an issue with but I am judgey on this is largely because there is an extreme "housing crisis" for parrots where due to them being factually HORRIBLE pets and people not knowing that before getting them + their incredibly long live + just how high maintence they are and how easy it is to "accidentally abuse them" there are A LOT of parrots out there that need a home, that have owners that are trying to find their bird a home, and if you get a bird that is professionally and ethically bred - you are taking a bird that already technically has a decent owner already.

If you just want a "really cute and friendly very sociable bird to go out with" fair enough I guess, but its kinda part of the problem and honestly, there are SO many parrots that need a forever home that have had absolute shit luck for months, to years, to DECADES due to their life span. Getting one from a professional breeder - while good and all - is kind of communicating that you are more interested in having a pet (to which I would say, if that is the case, get a zebra finches, a canary, a pigeon, a cat, a dog, an actual domesticated pet if you want a pet) rather than having the proper understanding of what it means to own a parrot which means to own a wild animal.

Parrots should NOT be pets. Parrots should not be perceived as pets. No one should WANT a parrot as a pet. Every good parrot owner will advise you against having a parrot as a pet. Approaching parrot ownership with the mentality of it being a pet is a very dangerous thing to do and frequently what leads to a lot of "accidental abuse"

I could honestly write a doctoral thesis (who knows I literally might) on the various complexities an issues regarding parrot welfare, the parrot trade, and the crises parrots are facing but like, thats the jest of it.

The only reason owning a parrot is okay is because we have fucked up such a large portion of parrots to the point they can't live in the wild so the only option is to keep them as pets. As a result, owning a parrot should be seen as owning a wild animal and should be handled similarly.

It isn't a hill I will die on, and so as long as you aren't abusing parrots and own up to the problematic role you play when you buy from a breeder, Ill just sneer a bit and judge but its one of those things where I just give a defeated sigh cause I know not everyone can care about these guys as much as I do and as long as the bird is being cared for, I'm just happy there is >A< happy bird.

TLDR Breeder mills are way too common and horrible and if not breeder mills then basically #adopt-don't-shop

[simnostalgia]

I'm the person who scraped GOS! I already wrote a response to this post but couldn't find the original but now that I have, I'm going to rewrite my reply.

First of all, I wanted to say. Thank you for everything you do for our community. You've really been a major part of The TS2 community from the beginning!

Second, you'll stop me from archiving when you pry the archiving software out of my cold, dead hands.

Do you know about Plumb Bob Keep? That's a real question because as the TS2 modding community gets ever smaller and becomes more and more insular it gets harder to know who is on what moderation team and who co-runs what. However, if you do know Plumb Bob keep you'd know that recently the owner died. Which meant that suddenly the entire community had to scramble.

Fortunately, they were able to get in contact with the family (in their time of mourning) to ask "Hey, sorry about the dead girl, can I has password please? I need my fix of virtual doll clothes"

I don't blame them for this. They'd obviously put a lot of time into this and the reason I know that is because I got approached to see what I could do when the site was offline and they were still trying to figure out what to do. Unfortunately, when a site's only existing documentation exists in the WayBackMachine that makes it basically impossible to scrape.

And this isn't even the first time this happened, when Yahoo Groups shutdown, ArchiveTeam had trouble talking to MOST older simmers because they were so fucking touchy about their content. Literally our community has a reputation for being obnoxious about TOUs and 'rights' to the point where they'd basically given up trying to archive anything that had to do with The Sims.

So if you thought that this was because I was concerned that you were running into the ground. Rest assured, I'm doing this in case you get in a fatal car accident so we don't have to call your mourning loved ones to ask the very cringe question: "Do you know about the forum from 2008 that your spouse/son/father/sister/daughter/mother ran? Can we have access to it please. I have recolors that I'd DESPERATELY love to get back."

As far as bandwidth goes, I do my best to make sure that I scrape with as little intrusion as possible and your load is lighter since you don't host any of the actual CC or even 75% of your own images.

Now, we could talk about what this really is: a pissing contest. But don't worry. I have no real interest in encroaching on your territory of running an alternative style sims 2 forum from 2008. I love GOS, or I wouldn't have made sure that it didn't fucking disappear into the ether.

But believe me, no one is choosing to look through a list of 10,000 zip files without images or descriptions as a replacement for a fully functional forum with like... images of the items. My archive of GOS is pretty much only for creators and people who know EXACTLY what they're looking for.

And that goes similarly for everyone worried about their precious TOUs in the comments of the original post. No one, and I mean no one, prefers to dig through an entire fucking ass ton of files labeled shit like "[POOKLET] SKYSIMS MESH 007 - UNNATURAL COLORS"

In fact, I've had several creators thank me because the scrape unearthed some shit they'd thought they'd lost. And if you don't like it, or me, get in line. I assure you there is metric fuck ton of people from patreon who hate me far more.

However, I would like to say that whenever you / or any other creator who is mad about this / literally any simmer, is searching for a dependency because someone got in some obscure internet drama and deleted all their cc or Mediafire got shut down by the RIAA or whatever the fuck.

You, for as "annoyed" as you are, will remember the big ass zip file and CTRL + F your ass to what you're looking for. And I'm going to say it now, for when that moment comes:

You're welcome. No hard feelings.

As long as the adsense revenue and donations cover most of the costs, GoS isn't going anywhere. So far my out of pocket cost is less than 25% of the total costs for the site, which is within my budget still. I'm hoping this coming year will be the same but ad revenue is down. I understand ads suck and do my best to remove the auto generated page take over ones and keep them small.

But you know what scraping the site does? Increases bandwidth and server load which costs me more money. This annoys me. I have a budget man.

If I were not willing/able to continue, then there would be an announcement on GoS. All costs are paid annually. The biggest in May which is the hosting itself, the domains are scattered throughout the year. All in it's only about $225 annually.

I mean, if someone is concerned about the state of the site, they could. I dunno. Ask someone?

[genshingarbage]

Don’t Say Goodbye. || One-Shots ||

I am just in a mood to create broken hearts right now it would appear, this is just a few one-shots on a couple of the boys and my take on how they would act with there s/o dying in their arms due to various reasons based on the character i am writing for. - Mod Diluc

Diluc

The sound of yells grew distant as the vision began to blur from your eyes. The only sensation you could still feel was the tight grasp of your hand in the larger one wrapped round it squeezing it. Diluc was holding you as you laid there on the muddy dirt, resting your bloody and broken body on his legs. Cradling you like a new born while shaking back and forth, trembling in traumatic disbelief over what was taking place before him.

His eyes were swelling with tears threatening to break out and spill down his cheeks, he kept kissing your weak hand gently, each kiss being dragged out longer than the one before, shaky shushes passing his lips in a frail attempt to soothe your weakening body. You'd been adventuring alone again for several weeks away from Mondstat and The Dawn Winery.

You didn't think much of it as you often left for long adventuring trips, bringing back goofy and silly souvenirs for your beloved Diluc, you just didn't realise this time around you'd be ambushed by the Fatui on your long trek back to his winery. Having been unbeknownst to you fatally wounded, you managed to break free and escape, bleeding heavily from your right side, shakily sprinting to the only place you knew could be a safe haven, Dilucs winery.

You'd fallen to the ground in a crumpled heap not barely a few seconds after Diluc spotting you running down the dusty and dirty road. He sprinted to you eyes wide yelling as loud as his vocal chords would physically let him. "Y/N! No!" He skidded and slumped down into the dirt himself, tugging you carefully but quickly into his lap muttering 'No' over and over in rapid breaths. And now you were where you were at, the life slowly but surely leaving you while all you could feel was Dilucs gentle kissing lips and warming embrace.

Does he know how much you love him? Did ever know how much he meant to you? Oh no... the souvenir you'd found for him... you dropped it back when you was ambushed... he would've loved it so much... however likewise with him to you, did you know how much you meant to him? How truly happy he was that he'd finally found someone he could trust and give his life to. Had he ever even said he loves you back? All these questions that were going to be left unanswered to the both of you.

Still trembling he watched as your light dimmed in your eyes, leaning his head down he softly placed a kiss against your unresponsive lips, parting ever so slightly to rest his forehead against yours and whimpering in a broken tone. "I love you, Y/N" When he lifted his head back up he felt the air being squeezed out of his lungs to see your eyes were now closed and there was no longer movement in your body.

He looked up at the night sky, the stars twinkling so beautifully over such a devastating and tragic moment. Closing his eyes he silently prayed the gods take good care of you up there till he can finally be there with you. Lifting up slowly with your now lifeless body bridal style in his arms he began to walk back to his winery, his expression stern and showing no pain. But it was all a facade for inside he was crying and screaming to the heavens and hell for having let this happen to you.

"They will pay Y/N, I promise you. I'll see you again soon; someday."

Childe

The rain was pouring heavily, hitting angrily against the cold hard concrete, the drops splashing up and back down as they landed with such impact. You were wet and cold, but your body had been going numb for minutes now as the blood was leaving your body so quickly. You shakily looked round to see the last attacker being cut down to the floor by your one and only love, Ajax.

The unknown man's body hadn't even hit the floor by the time Ajax had thrown his weapons down and rushed to your side. "Oi oi, come on now, look alive. More will be coming soon." He let out a nervous laugh not wanting to believe what he was seeing in front of him right now. You'd only gone out for a little drink and joke about in the beautiful rainy day, you both enjoyed running around in the rain so much after all. He tapped your cheek gently trying to keep you conscious as he could see your focus leaving you as fast as your blood was.

He pressed his hand against the open wound in your chest; a pitiful attempt to try slow the bleeding. You cursed yourself for not being more alert of your surroundings when that man crept up behind you and ambushed you by surprise. He shook his head vigorously side to side. His mask hiding most of the unbearable pain behind it. He should've known better than to think it was safe to come back to Liyue so soon after having caused such chaos.

Why the fuck did they have to go for you both though, you were innocent from all this it was him they wanted so why, why?! Why you?! He made a soft 'Tsk' sound from his mouth as he choked back the tears while looking at you. You had little vision left, little time too, but with what little strength you had remaining you lifted your hand up gently and pulled his mask off. Wanting to see his face one last time before you're gone from this world.

Exposing his damp cheeks and red eyes to you, you were able to form the smallest smile at him. "Don't... d-don't leave me Y/N, please..." his voice was barely a whisper now as he remained stiff by your side. "I won't..." You coughed back gently, you didn't even try to sound believable with that; you both knew it was a lie and you were on your way out with only seconds to spare.

You were his everything, he knew you was too good for him from the very beginning, yet you was determined to always be by his side. He knew he was a bad guy, a villain, but with you by his side he was able to feel like someone's hero. You meant fucking everything to him so why did someone so pure have to be taken so soon. You coughed gently once more before choosing your last words carefully, knowing they were to be your last.

"Childe- Ajax, you're not a bad guy. I have and will always love you..." Your voice faded into a whisper and then... nothing. Your eyes closed and your hand that had been against his cheek was now limp, the only reason it was still in its prior place was because Childe himself had been applying slight pressure to keep it there. You were gone now, at rest and probably somewhere much better and further away from this hell.

He looked at your resting face just wishing you'd open your eyes again and say it was all just a big terrible joke. But that wasn't the case, however his broken and torn expression immediately dissolved when he heard the rapid steps growing louder. "There he is! Apprehend him now!" One of the guards shouted to the several others. He quietly apologised to your resting form, letting your hand leave his face and finally rest with the rest of your body, he was also sorry as he wasn't gonna be able to give you the burial you deserved, he wasn't gonna be able to use that ring he'd bought you to propose with, and unknowing to him, you wasn't gonna be able to tell him the good news that he would've been a dad.

He lifted up slowly, hair now soaked and water droplets falling from all over his body. The blood leaving your body had began to swirl and dance with the water pooling against the concrete as the heavy rain showed no signs of slowing down. His mask back in his hand before it found its way back on his face, turning and stepping over to his slung down blades and kicking them up into the air grabbing them. Parting his knees swiftly and getting into his battle ready stance. The mask made him look like the bad guy every one claimed him to be, but underneath was the most broken and tormented boy that they'll never know.

"I'll always love you too Y/N, I am sorry but you're wrong, I've always been a bad guy, I just... I tried to be a better one for you."

Xiao

The sky was ablaze, organe and yellow flickering all over, ember floating up and down softly. It was so hot; unbearably so as you were laying on the wooden floor of the top balcony at the Wangshu Inn, blood spilling out of you and soaking the wood all around you. The fire was growing dangerously closer, but did it matter now? You would be dead in a couple more minutes away.

Had everyone escaped the Inn at least? Was everyone safe? You hoped they were. But it was then you felt an instant gust of cold wind wail past you like a roaring monster and die down the flames that had been encircling you and drawing ever so closer. Your vision was nearly gone and it was hard to make out anything except the smoke and fire, but those blue oni mask eyes were unmistakable, Xiao was above you right now.

His hand was hovering over your cheek, still scared that even now he may cause you more pain than comfort in your fleeting moments. "Y/N wake up. Don't be defeated so easily, this is truly pathetic, even for your standards." Harsh words as always, you knew he was sad and just lashing out, his words were cracking and his voice was wavering in its tone. Was that a sniffle? It was hard to make out among the crackling fire destroying the walls and wood around you and his mask muttering and muffling his already quiet words.

Why did they go for you? They wanted him to become nothing anymore, to just slip away and leave the entire history of Liyue to them. Leave the nation built under Rex Lapis to the incapable feeble hands of mortals. He couldn't ever allow that, he refused to back down so easily. But this? Surprise attacking the Inn and burning it down while taking the only mortal who held something to him away? How sick and lowly of them.

You went to speak but all you could muster was a cough as blood spat out your mouth across your bottom lip, your time was fading fast. He swallowed down and removed his mask, a shake in his hand as he did so, resting his proper gaze on your form one last time, allowing you to see him in his first ever vulnerable state, tears slowly falling from his face, letting his hand slide across your cheek gently, swiping the blood off your soft delicate lip. Why did it hurt him so bad? Why was this reaching so deep within him?

All those times he'd sighed and disappeared to get away from you, all those eye-rolls to your silly jokes and huffs to your tedious and pointless tasks. Why did he feel an ache in his throat when he thought about how he won't ever get to experience those annoying moments again? What was this? It couldn't be. Had he truly fallen in love with a mortal? Impossible, but what else could explain this gut wrenching feeling he had swirling inside him.

Everything was crumbling apart around him but his focus remained on you as you looked at him with those eyes, those same eyes that often stared at him with hope and admiration, now they stared with soft kindness and fleeting wishes. If this was love then he wasn't ready to have it taken from him so soon, but what could he do except watch as you left this world. He gritted his teeth together and his hand clenched tightly round his blood stained spear. This was truly unforgivable. If only he had killed those monsters sooner, got to you quicker... maybe then he could've saved you.

"I..." he began to stutter gentle words out while stroking his thumb delicately across your cheek, why hadn't he just swallowed his pride and touched you sooner? Why hadn't he just admitted this to himself quicker and embraced you. You had always been there for him despite his many harsh rejections, you were nothing but kind and truthful, loyal and honest to him and now? He resented himself for not having taken the chance to love that he had had in his grip for so long. Your vision was gone now and your ears were following quickly behind. "I... Y/N..."

Just spit it out already, before the time runs out for you- "Y/N I love you..." he looked at your face searching for a response but you were gone now. The gods had given you all the time they could spare and unfortunately it wasn't long enough to Xiao. It wasn't fair. He couldn't even let you know how he truly felt before you were ripped from him. Tears rolled down his face faster now, but the sorrow and pain he felt quickly welded into anger and inner rage boiling at the highest temperature.

He frowned deeply, lifting up from your body, hiding his broken expression behind his oni mask once again, shakily breathing in with a deep sigh, the shake in his hands slowly dissolving as his mind set itself onto a new mission, he turned and walked to the banister of the balcony and swiftly lifted up onto the top, looking over the landscape around him as the only place he'd truly ever known as home was burning to ash around him. He turned round taking one last longing look at your lifeless form and then leapt high into the air soaring through the skies, straight for Liyue.

You never wanted this, he knew that, you'd never want him to cause a war over your death, but you wasn't here to talk reason into him anymore. He was never gonna see your annoyingly beautiful face again, and this was all Liyues fault. They had to pay, and if that meant causing a war between humans and Adepti... then so be it.

"Forgive me Y/N, but without you here now, I see no reason to keep caring for these monsters. I'll hope you'll understand when I see you again one day."