#I love how both of them have so much confidence

[magnymagics-puppy]

this stupid ass half-ooc post actually resulted in my partner and i spending all day creating an entire elaborate modern au for magnus and elisa and jacob and i'm kind of super tweaking about it

for some reason i feel incredibly cringe about how self-indulgent this whole thing is and i kind of want to crawl under a rock and keep this hidden Forever but i'm Trying to be brave so um. throws this at you and sprints away i guess .

eeueueuaaauea steeling myself for another crippling wave of cringe but let's do it . okay, so:

to preface, in our regular 40k OCverse, jacob is my gf's kasrkin oc, who is elisa's primary partner before [and after, but it hasn't been written yet!] elisa gets trapped with trazyn's shard of magnus !!! (that's a Whole Thing . more details on that another day, promise)

eeeEEEEEEE im jumping up and down because it was a bit hard to settle on how elisa's nature as a dialogus and huge cultural/literary nerd would translate to a modern au because i really didn't want to do a university thing but i think we settled on something that i'm going to have SO much fun with :D

so !!!! elisa is going to be an assistant curator at the Met !!!! she has a master's in art history and a doctorate in museum studies :D !!! about two years ago, she replaced her older and very well-liked predecessor who retired, and she's got some pretty bad imposter syndrome about it. the head curator, her main boss, is a huge self-important asshole who usually pushes all of his big projects onto her. she is So tired but still manages to (mostly) love her job

magnus is one of the resident archaeologists, who spends most of his time holed up in storage poring over and writing about artifacts that aren't currently on display, when he's supposed to be doing his actual work (nerd). he has a master's in archaeology and a doctorate in ancient history ! he's been working there for several years, and it definitely took him a while to warm up to the new assistant curator, but they get along pretty well now, although he constantly finds new and (usually) accidental ways to irritate her and get in the way of her projects

jacob is the newest employee of the three; he works night security and almost always has to ask one or both of the other two to please go home, i know you're probably working on some project but it is three in the fucking morning

so in this au, jacob and elisa are not together, but jacob has a huge, pining, embarrassingly obvious crush on elisa, who is too preoccupied with work and too shit at reading signals to realize this during their brief interactions—even though she can admit to herself that she finds him quite cute, even when he's exasperated with her.

jacob is constantly (but silently) irritated that that big proud prick takes up almost all of the time that elisa spends at the museum after hours. he hates hearing that huge booming laugh in the museum halls and the sound of it definitely doesn't make him flustered and confused and frustrated to the point of walking to the complete opposite side of the building to avoid whatever the hell that feeling is . and he Definitely has not been wondering how it would feel if that laugh were in response to something he said instead, god no . why is that fucking ginger grinning at him like he knows something please don't do that .

elisa is almost entirely unaware of her infatuation with magnus; the only thing that comes to mind when she thinks of him is slightly fond annoyance. most of the time. if there were any occasional errant thoughts, she's confident that she doesn't dwell on them and keeps them very hidden—any kind of relationship with a coworker that she has to work with so closely is just a shit idea anyway, and she would like to keep enjoying this job without any weird complications, thank you .

and of course, magnus thinks that these two are both fucking stupid . god, do they really not know how fucking obvious they are? all of this intrigue only serves to boost his already-oversized ego. what fun !!!

i'm rubbing my hands together like an evil little raccoon right now . i'm going to explode them all with my mind and i am going to put them in Situations >:}

okay i'm running away now to go find a place in which i can die of embarrassment . bye

I… uh… would like an egyptologist’s opinion on this picture I’ve just seen online.

[cthulhus-curse]

Venomous

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,704

Warnings: Venom!Wanda Maximoff, Semi-Public Sex, Cunnilingus, Unrealistic Tongue Fucking, Belly Bulges, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Venom-Made Cock (idk what to call this to be honest) | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Wanda and her special friend get particularly hungry after class.

Hands traveled up your thighs, gushing with the venomous black stickiness that at times surrounded them entirely. You tried your best to push it away, but it was no use as small tentacles of goo pushed your underwear away. Eyes flickered from the front of the room to the person you shared a table with, huffing with frustration.

“Not here, Wanda. Save it for later,” you whispered with fear of being caught by the professor. You counted yourself lucky that you resided in the back of the room away from prying eyes, you taking notes while the woman beside you leaned against her chair. “Get it off me, now.”

“Why? Don’t you want to play a little game with me?” Came the question dripping with confidence. “Come on, Y/N, let me make you feel good. Our little Scarlet friend is desperate already. This morning’s playtime wasn’t nearly long enough.”

“You two are incorrigible. I hate you both.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that you like it so much,” Wanda shrugged, the symbiote she was wrapped in expressing her approval. “She’s right. We could be having so much fun right here. Why don’t you bend over the desk? Let’s show these dipshits how much of a little whore you are. Don’t you want your pussy to feel good? It’s so puffy and aching to be fucked. I can practically smell how wet you are from here.”

The remainder of your statistics class was spent taking notes, following the professor’s guidance, while simultaneously fighting off the symbiote’s advances. They were both right. You were drenched, but to be fair you’d blame them for having left you without release earlier that morning in the privacy of your shared dorm room. Wanda had formed herself a cock with Scarlet Witch’s goo, using it to pump herself in and out, groaning at how your pussy wrapped around her, hugging so tight.

When the time to leave came, you didn’t dare bat an eye towards your classmate, instead grabbing your belongings and rushing off onto the halls of the building, your sweatpants pulled up – a nonchalant Wanda followed behind. Green eyes turned dark red, glowing with the hunger and desperation, lips cracked and desiring a sweet nectar only you provided. Neither her or the symbiote she carried around since the beginning of the school year could get enough of. Scarlet Witch, the venomous extraterrestrial specimen, was bonded to her forever so long as they had you.

When easily catching up to you, Wanda sighed. “You know, it’s awfully rude to leave people behind like that. Especially your girlfriend,” she growled, pushing you close to her own body. The heat radiating from Wanda was intoxicating, your mouth watering as you could feel a small bit of Scarlet Witch against her clothed skin. “Don’t make us hurt you, malyshka. We both know you spent the last time crying and begging us to stop.” The last time you dared push her away with whatever strength you could muster, Wanda’s anger got the best of her – sharp fangs had dug deep into your arm leaving you a sobbing mess. “Maybe if you’re good we can use the little toy from this morning. That slutty cunt of yours loved being stuffed with our cock. So fucking pathetic.”

“Just make it quick,” you gave in knowing that while Wanda’s darkest desires came out, she’d still be soft on you. The same could not be said for the symbiote. “I have another class in a bit over an hour. I don’t think we have time to walk back to-”

“Oh shut up.”

As much as you wished to, you knew better than to question the path in which you were taken. All that mattered was that Wanda threw you against the wall of a nearby bathroom, locking the door behind as she stepped forth. Although she truly did not mind an audience, to show off her unabashed dominance over you entirely.

“Look at how fucking delicious she looks. Are you seeing this,” the symbiote never failed to be amazed by your appearance. Wanda merely hummed, stalking towards you before dropping to her knees. “I’m not blind, dumbass. Oh look at how pretty. You wouldn’t mind if I pulled this down, right?”

“Go ahead,” you smirked, watching as your partner tugged at your pants. She drove them down torturously slow, your underwear following along. The black goo traveled across her body, each second causing a different area to be covered with the symbiote. You’d never stop jumping even the slightest bit when wickedly sharp teeth morphed themselves with a deliciously long tongue dripping out saliva. “Just your tongue?”

“No one gave you permission to speak. Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,” Scarlet Witch snarled. She pried your legs open until your cunt was in full view. Slick juices dripped down your inner thighs, an everlasting heat pulling her close. The oozing fluid accented your puffiness, folds practically begging to be parted as your hole screamed to be stuffed. “Mine.” Wanda frowned at that. “Ours,” came the correction.

Hands found themselves over the sticky dark mound of goo as a means to support yourself. Many nights the three of you spent enjoying one another, Wanda using her symbiote to explore varying sensations, her pink tongue brushing against your pussy as she tasted you. Neither wished to be rushed. They took their patient time exploring your sex, lapping at the area between your legs while their tongue grew in size. Mixed saliva and your cream made for a rather tasty treat.

The slender muscle slid inside your throbbing hole, stretching your walls out with its massive length. “Fuck that’s so good. Fill me up, Wanda. I want you to make me cum,” you begged. Although control was something you lacked, they were mindful to do as you pleased. There lived a soft spot deep inside reserved solely for you. “Give me more.”

Neither Wanda nor Scarlet Witch were in a position to deny the request. The mighty tongue reached into your depths to the point your insides were fully stuffed, each small area coated by more than fifteen feet. Luscious wet orchestral noises coated your ears, fluids dripping down your inner thighs. While tentacles held your arms and legs in place, the creature beneath you too its time.

Fucking you with her tongue made Wanda’s growl mixed with Scarlet Witch’s noises rough and loud. They were sure to flick their oozing tongue against your clit, to torture the poor little bundle of nerves that they were so fond of. Gooey tentacles snuck down your shirt to grope your tits, squeezing the mounds harshly while your erect tender nipples were abused.

The hunger they face could not be easily tamed. After what felt like millennia with Wanda’s possessed body kneeling between your legs, tongue exploring your guts and pumping itself roughly inside you, she swooped to her feet.

“Take them off, now,” their joined voices growled at you, forcing you to tug off your pants to the floor, allowing them and your underwear pool at your feet. As much as they wished to devour you, neither was fond of your anger, so they carefully lifted up your shirt, pushing you against the wall and picking you up with extreme strength. “You’re nothing but a little cock whore, huh? Do you want it? Let’s try it again.”

“Give it to me. I can handle it,” you challenged, wrapping your legs around Wanda’s venomous body. In awe, you stared down at the phallic creation which formed between her legs, all slick and dark, a goo that was large and girthy enough to make you see the stars as its size could be changed at will. “Don’t be such a fucking pussy, Wanda. Stop stalling and give me your c-”

You didn’t have an opportunity to finish as Wanda’s thick slimy cock eased itself in you. Your folds were spread apart, walls being delightfully stretched out. Surely that morning you had tried it for the first time, but it was even more enjoyable once Wanda got the hang of it. The pants she let out mixed with Scarlet Witch’s grunts were music to your ears.

“Fucking whore. That’s all that you are, our little cumdump,” Wanda breathed out, her possessed arms digging their sharp nails into your skin. Half of her face was covered with the symbiote’s appearance while the other was herself. The pure animalistic movements of her, the carnal desperation she carried out when stuffed your pussy full with her dick, made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Your cunt looks so fucking puffy. Doesn’t it feel good? To be all full with our cock. You’re gripping us so well. Oh you’re so warm and tight. Your pussy is amazing, baby.”

The tediously long tongue spread across your face, saliva being dripped across your jaw with numerous fangs that grazed your skin. Her dick enlarged inside of you, your walls being spread apart. A small bulge formed over your lower belly that Wanda created. She tugged at your limbs, tongue shoving itself down your your throat while she fucked you with might.

“Cum for us now, baby. Show us how much of a stupid fucking cock bitch you are. Such a tight pussy,” they barked, causing you to yelp loudly. “Yeah moan like that, mutt. So full with our cock. You’re nothing but a fucktoy, a sexdoll that can’t do anything right but be a goddamn fleshlight.”

All that came from the utmost arousal you faced was a gushing wave of fluids. You squirted all over their cock. Your body was unmoving as the gooey tentacles held you in place, moans muffled by the tongue which fucked your throat. Wanda didn’t stop fucking you as you made a mess over her dick. If anything she went faster, foreheads pressed together when several tentacles pressed against the belly bulge.

“Feels good,” you tried to incoherently say, but were dissuaded by Wanda’s possessive demeanor. “Wanda…”

“Shut up.” Although you had creamed all over her, Wanda’s movements never ceased. She aimed to claim you fully within the campus’ bathroom. “Now be a good little fleshlight and kneel. Time for you to clean up your mess, whore.”

[esmeefreckles]

Competition | Alexia Putellas x Caroline Graham Hansen x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

ALEXIA G!P. CARO G!P. BLOWJOB. ANAL SEX. RIMMING.

"Okay, take them off." You commanded your girlfriends, Caro and Alexia, who did as they were told and pulled their pants down, freeing their cocks. 

The eroticism of the situation already kept them rock hard, and you reached out to hold them in each hand, hearing them sigh at your touch. Smiling mischievously, you pulled them a bit closer and pressed the tips of their cocks together, making a spark of pleasure run through them. "Are you both sure you don't want to back out?" you asked, feeling even more excited after seeing the visible reaction that their bodies gave at the act. Both of them confidently shook their heads, ready to endure anything.

You loved both of your girlfriends equally, and they would never doubt it. You knew that they loved you just as much. Even though both of them respected and cared about each other, it didn't stop them from being very competitive, always arguing about who was better at pleasing you, and trying to prove that they were the better one. You were definitely not going to complain about it, as you found this rivalry of theirs to be so hot. You wanted to see how far they were willing to take it.

And so, you waited for the next moment where you three were all together, your girlfriends already undressing you and planting kisses all over your neck and collarbone, and before you could get carried away by it, you spoke up. "Wait..." As soon as you said that, both of them pulled away from you and stared at you with a mix of curiosity and concern, making your heart melt as you said your next words. "I have a proposition for you two. I want to do something new, and I want to see who would be able to last longer," you stated, already seeing the intrigued look that you thought they would give, as they would not want to miss an opportunity to prove who has better endurance in bed.

"I'm always down for that. And what will be Caro's punishment once she loses?" Alexia asked, making you laugh at the small growl that came out of Caro.

"Whoever loses... will have their ass on the line."

Their eyes widened, and you could see the range of emotions flickering across their faces, being able to tell that neither of them wanted to show submission to the other, but backing down from a challenge would be weak in their eyes.

After a moment of silence, Alexia huffed and gestured in Caro's direction. "Is that it? Do you really think I would be scared of that? Might as well have her bend over for me right now."

Caro scoffed in response. "Oh, as if you would last longer than me. You can barely hold your load the moment you enter her."

Alexia turned to Caro's direction with an expression of challenge but smirked and crossed her arms. "Hmpf, let's see about that then. I've always wondered what you would look like with my cock deep inside of you..."

The smirk was returned tenfold. "Then you will keep wondering. I will accept as well, but don't come crying later when you find out that you're addicted to taking it up the ass."

You smiled, and after you made them undress themselves, you made Alexia lay on her back on their bed while Caro straddled her hips. Caro's cock was now on top of Alexia's, and that sight was affecting you just as much as you knew it was affecting them, even if they were trying to not let any sound escape them. But you wanted more, you wanted them to fully voice how good they were feeling without caring about looking weak to the other, so you finally grabbed both of their cocks together, earning two simultaneous gasps, and after a moment of feeling how hard and warm the shafts were against each other in your gentle grip, you began the slow rhythm of her hand while occasionally squeezing them tightly, making their groins burn pleasantly together. You could clearly see the way they were struggling to control their breathing as you rubbed them together, "How is it so far?"

"It's f-fine for me. I can't say the same for her." Alexia answered, though her voice and breathing were noticeably more strained than usual.

"...This is nothing," Caro growled, even though you could see how her hips were jerking and felt the twitches in her dick.

"Hmm... really? I guess I can do this, then." You teased while quickening the pace of your strokes, and you were delighted to hear that your girlfriend's grunts were now turning into louder groans while your hand kept pumping them both faster and faster. You couldn't hold your own moans at this act, secretly hoping they would allow you to do this many more times from now on, and when you saw the precum on their tips, you stilled your hand for a moment and brought the other to Alexia's tip, gathering the droplet of precum that was dribbling out of it with a finger and slowly spreading it all over Caro's cockhead, as Caro gives a surprised moan at the sensitiveness.

"Fu- Fuuuck..." Caro gasped.

Alexia was also giving you a surprised, but aroused look, her eyes rolling back when you jerked them again with both hands this time, the gliding of your strokes being aided by their precum, and by now, Caro and Alexia had no hesitation in letting their voices out as they approached their climaxes, both women starting to rock their hips alongside your motions like they forgot all about the punishment. With their cocks twitching madly in your hands, you knew it would only be a matter of time before they couldn't hold it anymore, and you wondered who was going to shoot first.

"Fuck!".

To your surprise, it came from Alexia, her cock erupting on her torso while she groaned helplessly with every blast of cum that came out. The insistent throbbing of Alexia's cock set off Caro as well, her own load shooting out on top of Alexia's while she tried to keep her balance as her body trembled with pleasure, all while you kept stroking them through their orgasms, coaxing even more cum and moans out of them. Eventually, they had nothing left to give at the moment, and as Alexia closed her eyes and recovered from how surprisingly intense that orgasm was, she felt you releasing your grip on them while the weight on her body disappeared, so Alexia opened her eyes to see them staring at her, with Caro giving her an infuriating smirk through her own panting.

"Well, well, well, it appears that someone lost. You do remember what comes next, don't you?"

Alexia grits her teeth at her current mixed feelings, being disappointed that she didn't last longer than her girlfriend while her body betrayed her by feeling excited at the thought of her punishment, but she didn't let that show and hung her head low. "You're right. I lost. I accept my punishment."

Caro rolled her eyes in amusement and chuckled when Alexia yelped after you suddenly grabbed her legs and pushed them up in the air.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's not going to feel like a punishment, trust me," you said, your mouth immediately delving into Alexia's exposed anus, drawing another yelp from her at the sparks that ran through her body.

It wasn't the first time you had done this, but it was never to help prepare for an intrusion, and as Alexia tried to ignore that tongue assault on her ass, Caro kneeled on the bed next to her head, positioning her still erect dick next to her face and looking down at her with an expectant look. "I didn't agree to this."

"I know, but if it will make for an easier entry..."

Alexia growled again and swallowed her pride, turning her head to the side and opening her mouth to allow Caro to push her cock inside.

"Ooh, I always wanted to do this..." Caro moaned out, starting a slow rhythm inside of Alexia's mouth, who felt shocked at her girlfriend's admission that she wanted to be sucked by her. Even though Alexia herself would never admit this to them, she also had similar thoughts, sometimes fantasizing about running her tongue all over Caro's cock, and now that she was actually servicing it with her mouth and enjoying that act, she briefly wondered about how this would change their relationship before their stimulations were starting to overwhelm her.

Between your rimjob and Caro slowly fucking her throat, Alexia knew that her cock was at full mast again, with another orgasm not being far behind, and when Caro felt the vibrations of Alexia's increasing moans on her cock, she pulled away, slapping her wet cock on those lips a few times for good measure, and walking to your side while smirking again. "Uh-uh, you'll only get to finish again when I fuck it out of you."

Alexia glared at Caro to try and mask how turned on that made her as you took your tongue out of Alexia’s asshole and watched intently as Caro lined herself with it, the three women hissing when it went inside.

"My lord, what a tight hole... I'll make sure to not let it stay that way moving forward," Caro grunted as she pushed herself to the hilt.

"Hmm... I can't wait to see that... I love you two..." you breathed out, and Alexia kept her mouth sealed shut to avoid making any sound.

The stretch was much less painful and a lot more pleasurable than Alexia imagined, and as Caro moved, she covered her face with her arm to not show her reactions, enduring the pounding she was receiving as unresponsive as she could until the cock inside her hit a sensitive spot that accidentally made a small cry come out of her throat, something that was noticed by its owner.

"Hmm, what's the matter? Did this feel good?"

"S-Shut up." Alexia weakly rasped out as Caro continued thrusting into that spot. Even though she was trying not didn't want to admit how she was feeling, the three women knew it anyway, the twitches of her drooling erection and the tremors in her body being clear indications. Alexia grit her teeth and tried to control her heavy breathing before she felt a mouth on her chest and a hand on her dick, and she removed her arm from her face to see you sucking one of her breasts while Caro stroked her. 

"W-What are you two... doing!" Alexia began, but her speech dissolved into a stream of moans at those new sensations. With your mouth on her nipple while your hand pinched the other and with Caro accelerating even more the pace of her strokes and her thrusts, stretching her even further, there was no way for Alexia to hold back her reactions and her orgasm anymore, and after a particularly hard thrust from Caro, her body stiffened and she once again unloaded all over herself, the spurts almost hitting you with the rest dribbling on Caro's still pumping hand.

Caro smiled in satisfaction as she watched Alexia cum while being fucked, and she decided to join in by hitting herself and painting her insides with her load. "Take it!" She groaned, the feeling of coming inside her girlfriend while the hole she was inside became even tighter made this one of the biggest loads of her life, and when it finally ended, Caro sighed as she pulled away from the stretched entrance with her seed leaking out of it.

After Alexia recovered, she rubbed her eyes with her hands and debated whether or not to look at Caro to see the victorious smirk she would be wearing, finally deciding to glance at her and have her suspicions confirmed.

"What a mess you made. I always knew that you would love getting fucked by me, and now, both of you know that too." Caro smirked while lapping up Alexia's cum that landed on her hand, and she growled quietly.

Being there, leaking cum, while Caro tasted her release after fucking it out of her, Alexia felt ashamed for letting this happen to her, and with a determined look, she got up from the bed and walked up to Caro, who raised one eyebrow at her sudden closeness. Caro didn't need to wait long as Alexia then surprised all of them by grabbing Caro's face and pulling her into a kiss, Caro eagerly kissed back while holding Alexia's hips, both of them sharing the taste in their mouths while all of the cum from today on Alexia's torso now smeared on Caro's. 

After making out for a moment, Alexia broke the kiss and looked deep into Caro's eyes. "Next time, you'll be the one bending over for me."

Caro raised her brows, but then lightly chuckled and smiled softly. "I'll be waiting then. But I warn you, I won't give it to you that easily."

"Hmm, I wouldn't want you to." Alexia breathed and took Caro's lips again, all while you stared in fascination.

It was a very rare treat to see your girlfriends interacting like this, let alone eagerly swapping spit with each other, and as you watched the sword fighting going on down there while they made out, you finally remembered your own arousal, forgetting all about it during the heated competition. Bringing a hand to your panties, it was no surprise that they were already drenched. A moan escaped you as you caressed herself, and a quick glance at your girlfriends made her freeze, both of them now staring at you with hunger in their gazes, with Caro speaking up to Alexia. "I think we already let someone have her fun today. Wouldn't you say that she needs her own punishment?"

"I agree," Alexia responded, and you laughed awkwardly.

"Heh heh... D-Don't say that, it's not like you two didn't enjoy it too!" you tried to argue, but there was a big smile on your face as they approached her, and you made no move to resist their touches, already thinking about what could be the next competition.

One thing was for certain, you knew they would be looking forward to it just as much as you.

[yanderegarden]

Love 100mg Warning: May be addictive

Katsuki Bakugo

Student! Katsuki Bakugo x Addict! Darling

TW: yandere-themes, non-con/dub-con ideations, profanity, kidnapping, emotional, verbal, & physical abuse, implied drug-use & addiction, withdrawal symptoms, violence, blood, forced confinement. Fem reader

Tip-Jar

You and Bakugo grew up in the same town, on the same street, and attended the same schools, yet barely exchanged anything more than a simple glance in the hallways.

Growing up, you can recall briefly watching him from the entry hall window of your home, admiring his confidence even as a child. His belief that he was capable of anything could be felt even from houses away.

Your parents kept you sheltered as a child. You had the urge to go and play with the other kids, but knowing there wasn’t much you could do, you were content staying inside.

Developing a passion for your studies at a young age, you became fascinated with your courses. Excelling in middle school, you were one of the top students.

It wasn’t until one year in middle school that you were formally introduced to Bakugo—when you both tied for first place in the science fair. You had envisioned Bakugo as someone who was confident, strong-willed, and kind...

Little did you know, his jealousy of being at the top was paired with the will to be the only one there. You felt an uneasy feeling standing next to him as you both had your picture taken by the school newspaper, holding a trophy together. You won’t forget how you tried congratulating him, saying, "I don’t know how they expected us to share this medal," attempting to lighten the mood. But he simply replied, "Keep the stupid medal. It'll probably be the last one you get." From that moment on, you steered clear of Bakugo.

No longer did you have long, pondering stares at him from your bedroom window, fantasizing about what he was like or how he treated his friends. Instead, you chose to focus on yourself, your studies, and your life. When graduation day came, you applied to the public high schools in the area. Considering the reaction you had faced when Bakugo declared he'd be the only one attending UA High, you decided to stay away. You had seen the way he treated Midoriya and chose not to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Why take the risk? you asked yourself

It wasn't until your parents told you that a mutual hero friend of theirs had extended a letter of recommendation for UA High’s General Studies course and applied on your behalf.

The school welcomed your application, considering that a pro hero had recommended you for your intelligence.

You told your parents it wasn’t a great idea—that it would be expensive, that you didn’t want to place that financial burden on them, that you’d rather stay closer to home and your friends. What you didn’t disclose was that you’d rather not be anywhere near Bakugo.

They dismissed your concerns, insisting you didn’t know what you were talking about. You should be excited that a hero recommended you—it would be rude to disrespect a hero like that, they said. Do you think you know better? Eventually, they bullied you into agreeing.

And so, there you were, ready to join Class 1-C.

"This won’t be so bad?" you muttered under your breath, using the palms of your hands to flatten your uniform’s skirt and straighten your tie. You adjusted the strap of your school bag over your shoulder, took a deep breath, and forced a smile on your face—whether it was genuine or not.

The first year went by fast, and you were already in the middle of your second year, but you were drowning. Overwhelmed by your parents pressure to do well in your studies, and struggling because you still hadn't made any close friends—if any at all. You began to feel more sensitive to teachers' criticism. Riddled with anxiety whenever you saw Bakugo in the hallways, even though he barely paid you any attention.

That’s when you started sneaking out of the dorms at night.

Was it because of loneliness? Boredom? The crushing weight of responsibilities and missed, late schoolwork? You didn’t know.

But you knew that, out there, you could finally breathe.

A deep inhale of fresh air. The darkness and coolness of the night surrounding you. No thoughts—just the sound of the world asleep, the occasional car passing by.

It became a habit. Slipping out for a few hours. At first, you stayed on campus, walking the grounds, avoiding security. You had a spot near the forest where you would simply lie down and watch the stars. Then, you started venturing into the town surrounding UA.

You were surprised by how different it was at night. During the day, it was just another city. But at night? The streets were alive—vivid lights, bustling crowds, music, laughter, the smell of street food wafting through the air. You felt like an outsider at UA high, but it was different when you went out at night. At first, you were nervous to explore. You stuck to familiar places close to school, opting to visit a ramen shop, and after a warm meal, your belly full, your eyelids grew heavy. You began to get ready to leave, until a young man—who looked about your age—smiled at you. You glanced down, blushing. He approached the table. "Hello," he greeted. You hesitated but nodded. "You can sit next to me if you’d like."

You talked. What felt like minutes turned into an hour. He never ordered anything, but eventually, he asked if you’d like to walk around town. You agreed. He was polite. A gentleman, you thought. Opening doors for you, holding your bag, eventually—your hand.

You felt flattered. Someone was finally paying attention to you.

Your quiet, shy demeanor often came off as rude to others, but in reality, being sheltered for so long had made you excel academically but fail socially. So when a cute boy your age showed interest, you felt a warmth in your chest.

He bought you tea. Took you to a park. The two of you sat on a bench, watching the koi fish in a pond. Then, you looked up and caught him staring at you. His face instantly flushed, sheepishly laughed and quickly looked away. You giggled. Finally, he asked, "So, what’re you doing out here so late? A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t be out here on the mean streets all alone," he joked.

You laughed, explaining how you felt like you couldn’t breathe inside the dorms, how you were stressed from loneliness, overwhelmed by homework. You rambled, spilling your guts to a stranger.

But he let you.

You apologized for talking so much, but he simply shook his head.

"No need to apologize. I understand. I was going to a high school around here, but I eventually dropped out. My parents kicked me out, and now I live in an apartment down here."

You frowned. "Hmm… I’m sorry."

"I'm alright. I'd rather live on my own than have my parents nagging me every day. Better this way," he said. You agreed, somewhat relating to his situation. "Especially since I can do this all I want now." He pulled out what looked like a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag. "Oh shit, sorry. Did you want some?" he asked while letting out a cough. You shook your head. "Oh no, thank you. What even is it?" He smirked. "Weed." You gave him a confused look. "Devil's lettuce?" he teased. "Cannabis?" You laughed, turning red, embarrassed by your own naivety. You had heard of it, of course, but you had never seen or smelled it before.

Suddenly, you were fascinated. "What does it do?" you asked curiously. He smiled. "C'mere."

You leaned in, and so did he—until his lips pressed against yours. You kissed him back, only to feel smoke filling your lungs. You coughed, your eyes widening. Then, out of nowhere, an overwhelming urge to laugh took over you, so you did. And so did he.

That night was the beginning.

Sneaking out to meet him, to smoke, to escape—it became a habit. A few weeks passed, and then he introduced you to alcohol. Then, other substances.

You started spending nights at his apartment.

You felt guilty, knowing your parents and teachers would disapprove of this behavior. But you didn’t care.

The stress, the loneliness, the weight of expectations—it all disappeared when you were with him, when you were using. You began to love being high.

You barely made it through your second year with passing grades. You were forced to take summer classes. Eventually, the school had to intervene. A meeting was called with your parents, the principal, and the vice principal. They listed everything—your grades, your frequent absences, your improper dresscode.

"We’re so very sorry for our daughter. Please excuse her shameful behavior. We have failed as parents, but we will do our best to get her back on the right path," your parents exclaimed, bowing their heads in shame.

You sat there, numb. Unmoved. It wasn’t until after the meeting that your parents let loose, yelling at you for what felt like hours. You tried to find your passion for studying again, but the truth was, your real passion had become the feeling of being inebriated.

Eventually, you learned how to balance doing the bare minimum in school while still getting high your last year. You started sneaking your friend into the dorms, buying drugs from him, getting high in your room.

"Wow, this school is for rich kids, huh? You never told me you went to a rich kid school. Are you rich?" he asked, looking around with amusement. You laughed at his dorky demeanor. "No, I’m not. My stupid parents made me go here on a scholarship. I hate it." He chuckled, and you sighed. That night, you showed him around campus, wandering the grounds.

Eventually, you stopped by a vending machine, digging into your pocket for some change. Then, you heard footsteps. You turned quickly, covering his mouth with your hand. "Be quiet," you mouthed, bringing a finger to your lips.

His eyes widened.

You could tell—he was scared. Scared to be caught, to be punished. Arrested... again. Then, just like that, your oh-so-reliable friend chose to run. You slapped your forehead and groaned loudly. The footsteps were getting closer. Panic set in. You crouched down, pressing yourself against the vending machine side, hoping—praying—that whoever was approaching wouldn’t walk past.

You shut your eyes. Your heart pounded in your ears.

Then—

"What’re you doing crouching by a vending machine?"

Your eyes snapped open.

Bakugo.

Relief left your lungs in a sharp exhale. "Oh, it’s just you," you muttered.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Just me?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

Quickly, you got up, dusted off your knees, and tried to walk past him—only to feel a firm hand grip the sleeve of your collar.

"Who was that with you?" he demanded.

"Who? What? He was n— I mean, there was no one with me."

"Hey!" He shoved you back against the vending machine.

Your breath hitched.

"I don’t need off-campus losers sneaking in and causing problems for me. I’m on my way to the top, and I don’t have time for trash like that screwing things up. Keep your outside garbage out there."

You scoffed, shoving his hand off of you.

"Shut up. You don’t know anything. It’s dark out. You thought you saw two people? It was just me. Go get your eyes checked."

He pushed your arms to your sides and growled, "Listen, I know what I saw, and by the looks of it, you shouldn’t be hanging out with someone like that anyway."

You stayed silent. "I can smell the alcohol on your breath. Your hair reeks of smoke. And you look like you belong on the street right now," he seethed. You held your breath.

"What’s it matter to you?" you finally spat. "One less person to get in your way of becoming a hero, right?" He didn’t reply. So, you kept talking. "So what? You gonna tell someone? Go ahead. Do it. I don’t care anymore anyway." Your voice cracked. You looked down in shame, muttering the last part under your breath.

He sighed. "You used to be an honors student. Maybe I should tell someone—get you kicked out. Not like it’ll make much of a difference whether you’re here or not. You don’t talk to anyone here anyway,” he muttered the last part.

That was it. That was the last straw. You mustered up the courage and drove your knee into his crotch. His grip on you instantly loosened as he grunted in pain. Wasting no time, you grabbed your bag from the ground and bolted.

You didn’t stop running until you felt you were far enough away. Only then did you glance back—he was gone. When you finally reached your dorm, you collapsed onto your bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

The next few weeks were spent in a state of paranoia. Every time a teacher so much as glanced your way, your heart pounded, fearing they’d pull you aside, take you to the office, and demand to search your bag. You tried to keep a low profile. No more using in the dorms. No more using at all. But it was too difficult. After a month, it became clear—Bakugo wasn’t going to say anything. Even so, you vowed never to bring your friend onto campus again. Instead, you snuck out at night, bought what you needed, and returned immediately.

That was supposed to be the end of it. But then, you started to feel it—eyes on you. Watching. Walking from class to class. At lunch. During breaks.

It was Bakugo.

You avoided eye contact at all costs. If I don’t acknowledge him, he’ll eventually stop. But he didn’t. Instead, it led to painfully awkward encounters—bumping into each other in the hallways, turning a corner only to find him there.

You even spotted him hanging around outside the 1-C dormitories. You brushed it off. It’s just a coincidence. He must know someone here. He just happened to be there at the same time as me. Still, a voice in the back of your mind nagged at you. Why would he care about a failing, drug-using student like me?

One night, for the first time in a while, you decided to sneak out again. Creeping out of your bottom-story dormitory window, you took a quiet walk across the school grounds, heading downtown.

Just as you were about to put your headphones in, you felt one being yanked from your ear.

You jumped, heart pounding—Bakugo.

"Where d'ya think you're going? Academic students have a curfew."

You scoffed. "I could say the same for you, hero course."

You put your headphone back in and kept walking, ignoring him. But he grabbed your bag. Hard. You barely had time to react before the force yanked you backward. He caught you before you hit the ground.

"Hey, what the hell is your problem?" you snapped, shoving him off.

"You're my problem, junkie."

You scoffed, disgusted. "I'm not a junkie," you muttered under your breath. But then he grabbed your bag again, and this time, everything inside went flying onto the pavement.

Panic set in. You scrambled to pick up your things before he could see—but it was too late. His eyes scanned the scattered items: a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a pipe, multiple baggies—powders, pills, and plants.

His face went cold.

The amusement in harassing you disappeared instantly. "Fuck off already," you spat, stuffing everything back into your bag.

"I didn't realize it was this bad."

You didn’t reply. You just turned and speed-walked away.

He didn’t follow.

And you were relieved.

Months passed. Your grades tanked your 3rd year. Your addiction got worse. Skipping classes became routine—opting instead to get high at your friend’s apartment. "Alright, I'm gonna head out and re-up on that shit you like," he said, shutting the door behind him. You lay sprawled across his bed, sheets messy, clothes and empty beer cans scattered on the floor.

A cigarette dangled from your lips as you practiced blowing smoke rings. Minutes passed.

Then, the door creaked open."Hey, back already? Finally. Let's get this party started," you called out, pushing yourself up.

But as you stepped into the living room, you froze.

Standing there, bloodied and bruised, was Bakugo.

You stared.

So did he. For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, finally, you found your voice. "Whose blood is that?"

Silence.

His fists, still clenched, dripped with blood. His knuckles were torn open. He stepped closer.

"We graduate soon, y'know," he muttered. "Only a few weeks left."

Something about him felt different—more dangerous.

His presence was overwhelming. He had only grown taller, stronger over the past 2 years. Meanwhile, you felt like you had only gotten smaller.

"I'm gonna be a full-fledged hero soon." He let out a dry laugh. "My parents helped me tour condominiums. I have one now too,” he bragged.

Your heart pounded. He was dodging your question. And he was still getting closer.

Your mind raced. I just need to get past him. Run out the door. It'll be fine. "Yeah. That’s cool, Bakugo. Good for you." You forced a nod. "Listen, what are you doing her—"

"That scum you hang around with," he interrupted. "You realize he's corrupting you? And you're too much of an idiot to know any better."

Another step forward.

You moved back, knocking over a lamp. Glass shattered, startling you. "Yeah, he's just a friend I like to hang out with. I was lon—"

"You had me!" Bakugo snapped. Your breath hitched. "You could’ve talked to me."

Your brow furrowed. "What do you mean? You were in class 1-A, and I was in 1-C. I barely saw you."

"I mean as a kid." The words hit like a brick. "You barely made eye contact with me. Always thinking you were better than me. But look at you now." He sneered. "You're desperate for someone to come rescue you."

Your jaw clenched. "I don't need anyone to rescue me, Bakugo. I think you should go."

You backed up again—only to hit the wall.

Nowhere left to go. Bakugo exhaled through his nose, staring down at you. "I’m gonna help you. You’ll sober up. Gain some weight."

Your stomach twisted. "Let’s just make this easy on both of us. Come with me."

For a moment, you were silent. Then, you burst into laughter. It was loud, almost hysterical—whether it was genuine or not, you weren’t sure.

"You find this funny?"

"Yes! I do, actually!" you snapped. "I’m practically an adult! You can’t just take me. I’m not your responsibility. Now move."

You motioned for him to step aside.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed your wrist. Instinct kicked in. "Hey, get the fuck off me—!" In a blink, he flipped you over his back.

Panic surged through you. You kicked, heels slamming into his legs, struggling to break free—But his grip was like iron. And for the first time in your life… You were genuinely terrified. You pounded your fists against his back, kicked your legs, did anything to try and break free. But you were still coming down from a high—your movements sluggish, weak, useless.

Bakugo didn’t waver. His grip was iron, his hold on you unrelenting.

"Don’t worry," he kept muttering under his breath. "I’m gonna get you out of this shithole." When he pushed open the apartment stairway door, you were met with a sight that made your stomach drop.

Your friend—beaten, bruised, and bloody—lay motionless on the ground.

You screamed.

"Let go of me, you psychopath!"

He ignored you. Without hesitation, he dragged you outside and threw you into the trunk of his car. Before you could fight back, your wrists and ankles were bound tightly with zip ties. The trunk slammed shut, sealing you in darkness.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. The drive felt endless. Every bump in the road made your restraints dig deeper into your skin. Your mind raced. Where was he taking you? What was he going to do?

By the time the car finally stopped and the trunk opened, the cold night air rushed over you. As soon as you saw an opening, you lunged, trying to make a break for it.

You didn’t get far. In seconds, he was on you—pinning you to the ground, his weight pressing you into the dirt.

"Calm the fuck down. I’m helping you." You thrashed, screamed for help, but no one came. His palm pressed against your wrists, keeping you restrained as he dragged you inside.

You barely had time to process before you were inside a large condominium—immaculate, modern, and painfully unfamiliar.

Your chest heaved, lungs burning from exertion and panic. "Why are you doing this?" Your voice cracked. "Why do you even care?"

He didn’t answer.

He just threw you to the floor and sliced the zip ties off your wrists with a pocket knife. The moment your hands were free, you lunged at him, fists swinging wildly.

He barely flinched. Within seconds, he had you pinned again, his hand tightening around your throat as he lifted you against the wall. His crimson eyes burned into yours, his grip just shy of suffocating.

"Lose this fucking attitude before I get pissed." Fury boiled inside you. You spit in his face. The instant it landed, you regretted it.

His jaw tensed. Without a word, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you toward a door.

Pain shot through your scalp, but you barely had time to react before you were being dragged down a flight of stairs—into the basement.

It was cold. Damp. The air was heavy with dust and mildew. Your stomach dropped. "Bakugo—" He shoved you against a metal support beam and began tying your wrists together with an extension cord to the beam. The plastic of the cord and cold metal beam bit into your skin. You thrashed, screamed louder—but your throat burned, raw from all the yelling.

No one came. No one was going to. With a final tug, he secured the knot, turned, and walked up the stairs.

The basement door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed you whole. For the first time since this nightmare began, you let yourself cry. Tears rolled down your cheeks, hot and bitter, as you tried to process what had just happened.

How had it come to this? You screamed again—until your throat ached too much to continue. You were thirsty. You were cold. You were alone. Eventually, exhaustion overtook your body, and you passed out.

When you woke, the basement door creaked open. Heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs.

Bakugo.

In his hands, he carried a bucket and a towel. You scrambled back as far as your restraints would allow, pressing yourself against the cold beam. He crouched down, soaking the towel in water before wringing it out. Without a word, he reached forward, pressing it against your face.

You jerked away instantly, turning your head to avoid his touch.

But he was persistent. Every time you moved, he followed. Until, finally, he grabbed your chin—forcing you to look at him. His grip wasn’t as harsh as before, but it was firm.

And for the first time since this all began, he was silent. No threats. No taunts. Just silence. Slowly, he wiped away the sweat and dirt clinging to your skin.

Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors. Your breath hitched. The cold metal grazed your arm, and for a moment, panic surged inside you. You were trembling now, eyes wide, heart hammering— But then, with a single motion, he began cutting your uniform away. Fabric fell in shreds, leaving you in just a bra and underwear. A fresh wave of humiliation crashed over you, your body shaking violently from both the cold and fear. Still, he said nothing.

He continued wiping down your arms, your stomach, your legs—his touch clinical, methodical. Your heartbeat was so loud you swore he could hear it. Then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. He pulled a clean T-shirt over your body—his, oversized and heavy with the scent of burnt caramel and musk.

Without another word, he tossed the bucket aside. "You can piss and shit in here." The bucket clattered against the floor. Then, he turned to leave.

You hesitated before finally croaking out, "What time is it?" He glanced over his shoulder. And then he walked away. The door slammed shut again. You were left in the dark. Alone.

Again.

Hours passed. The high had faded, leaving you raw. Your body ached, your hands trembled. The first waves of withdrawal crept in—irritability, nausea, a gnawing anxiety that only grew with every second that passed. God, you just wanted a cigarette.

Something. Anything. But there was nothing.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook you once more, and you drifted into an uneasy sleep. When you woke again, sunlight barely crept through a small basement window in the corner. Your mind reeled.

They’ll notice I’m not in class. Someone will report me missing. They’ll find my friend—he’ll tell them what happened. They’ll come for me. They have to.

You held onto that hope, clinging to it like a lifeline. Then, the basement door opened again. Bakugo descended the stairs, carrying a plate of food and a glass of water. He crouched in front of you, set the plate down, then picked up a spoon. He scooped up a bite and motioned it toward your mouth.

You blinked. Then, you laughed. Loud and sharp. "Get that the fuck away from me, you creep. I don’t want th—" Before you could finish your sentence, a spoonful of food was shoved into your mouth.

You gagged, immediately spitting it onto the cold basement floor in defiance. Bakugo’s jaw ticked. Without a word, he scooped up another bite and forced it into your mouth, this time clamping a hand over your lips and pinching your nose shut.

"Swallow, and you get to breathe."

You held out for as long as you could, glaring at him through watery eyes. But the dizziness crept in, black dots dancing in your vision. He wasn’t bluffing. You swallowed. Air rushed into your lungs as he finally let go. "Good."

He kept going, shoving spoonful after spoonful past your lips until the bowl was empty. Your stomach twisted painfully, not used to eating this much after months of skipping meals, but he didn’t care.

Finally, he held the glass of water toward you.

You hesitated. "Drink." This time, you did. Your throat ached from screaming, raw and burning, and the cool water was a welcome relief.

Bakugo watched you the entire time, crimson eyes never wavering. For a while, he just sat there, studying you like you were some puzzle he was trying to solve. You swallowed thickly.

"You know someone's going to realize I'm missing," you finally said, voice hoarse. "They’ll come looking for me. And when they do, say goodbye to your career."

For a moment, he didn’t react. Then, he smiled. A slow, knowing smile. "Yeah? Guess we’ll have to see, huh?" Your stomach dropped. He was too confident. Too calm. You looked away, your earlier bravado suddenly cracking.

"What?" His voice was smug. "Where’d that smart attitude go now?"

You clenched your fists, biting your lip to keep from trembling. The cold of the basement seeped into your bones, the only sound was the distant hum of life continuing without you. You weren’t sure what scared you more—the situation you were in, or the sinking realization that maybe… just maybe… no one was coming to save you.

[springloadedcontraption]

This is the first time in a LONG time I've had access to tumblr with an *at home* device that I could just let myself out freely on.. so bare with me..

This is a perfect post for me to start my *incessant* rants with. First of all.. I remember VERY CLEARLY as a child that ALLL I wanted to do was grow up so I could leave the house, do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.. I was a FIERCE advocate of independence. I was 11 years younger than my two twin sisters, and I IDOLIZED them.. There was this local bar in town they'd always go to with their best friend, Rachel, and it was called "Little Bit" back then. They'd go out basically every single weekend, plus a couple days during the week (this was a local, small town bar that never ID'd anybody, as it was also a college town so nobody gave a shit where the money for the alcohol/cover charges were coming from, as long as they were coming in)

I can remember countless evenings being alone as a child.. Most of my childhood, as a matter of fact. My sisters both had babies at 18, making their youngest children just 7 years younger than me. One of these twins ended up living with us for a little while, giving me the taste of what a little brother/sister (or even a child of my own, which I was NOT a fan of from day fucking ONE) would be like.. and honestly, this trend would end up carrying through a few more children from both sisters based on how much time I spent with said nieces/nephews. Anywho, one sister and her first child lived with us for an amount of time, not sure if I remember just how long.. All I remember is that it was long enough to make sure that this nephew is still, TO THIS DAY, my favorite nephew. But that hardly matters to the point of this post..

While I'm very happy for the things I've learned over the years I've been alive.. from an observant abusive childhood, to an almost divorced household, to teen pregnancy (not my own, obviously) to drug/alcohol problems from both sides of the family, including myself.. I can confidently say that I'd NEVER be at the point I'm at today, or as proud of myself as I am and as in love with who I've turned out to be as a woman, without the trials and tribulations I've faced. Obviously everyone says that to a degree.. but I genuinely mean it.

I've had my fair share of EARTH SHATTERING heartbreak.. more times that I'd like to relive. And honestly, as childish and useless as it sounds.. these romantic heartbreaks have taught me more than most life lessons have.. about love, pain, trust, loyalty, and how fragile the human connection can be. It can be severed in an instant if we all let it.. Obviously death is a little different than regular earthly separation.. But you catch my drift.. I say all this just to make a very vague point..

E V E R Y T H I N G you go through in life is for a MOTHER FUCKING R E A S O N - and more important than that, it's A L L FUCKING T E M P O R A R Y. You learn something from each and every single situation you go through.. No matter whether it's self inflicted or not. Honestly, you sometimes learn more from the self inflicted wounds than you do any others.. I know that's the case with me. And as much as any of those wounds hurt.. whether it was romantic heartbreak, losing a best friend after X amount of years for no real apparent reason, or even a death in the family (even if death hits me differently/less aggressively than it hits most people.. the death of both of my parents happening about 18 months apart when I hadn't even moved out of the house yet was an EXTREMELY low blow.. even if I never admit it to the general public).. Or even on a smaller scale.. work heartbreaks.. your favorite coworker leaving finally to move onto their dream job, or one that just pays more that they didn't bring you along with.. having to quit a job you were really enjoying and learning a lot from and wanted to turn into a career because they weren't valuing you, or the fucking U.S. DOLLAR the way they should have been and you were tired of coat-tailing off your male, non romantic roommate because it was just flat out awkward to ask the man for financial help all the time..

I'm rambling at this point, and it's probably because I've had QUITE a bit to drink (as per usual..) but today, I DESERVE IT, DAMNIT! I finally passed my written/driver's license exams so I finally got my drivers license back after SEVERAL years of driving illegally and paranoid.. I got my nails done (completely unintentionally a Valentine's day theme) and they're BEAUTIFUL.. the man I'm in love with that claims he doesn't actually wanna be with me, but he really does (as terrible as that sounds, I don't think the situation is as doomed as it sounds.. hear me out on future posts lol) went to dinner with me last night and lingered a bit longer than he usually does with any of our friend group.. together or individually.. and he kept using the triangle method on me where he'd look in both my eyes, then at my lips.. and based on the fact that we just had one of the most passionate fucks of our entire relationship not even a month ago and it's pretty obvious that he wants to do it again just tells me that it's not all over with.. that and the fact that NOT A SINGLE EX has ever stayed away completely. I just know it's not ever between us, and thank GOD.. that break up nearly shattered me completely and make it to where I had to admit myself into a mental institution and take a literal mental break from the planet for a while.. God don't get me started with how much I love this man and how much I PRAY that we end up together one day. After all, I've lasted longer than any other woman that he's dated after he got his divorce ;)

I say all that seemingly random ass shit to say this - if you're going through a hard time.. please don't give up. reach out to me. you an find beauty in the world at whatever age you are, no matter what you've been through. While I'm still young, I've been through my own fair share of shit, then most of my family's fair share of shit because I'm so God damn empathetic that it's detrimental to my health at this point.. Just trust me.. I'm here if you need me, even if I don't know you or if you wanna hit me up anonymously.. Don't go through whatever it is you're going through alone. Let me help you find the beauty in this fucked up world again. If I've found it as many times as I have with as much shit as I've fucked up/gone through.. I know I can help you see the light at the end of the tunnel, too.

I love you. Hit me up anytime.

[beloveddawn-blog]

Merchandise Blues! Aika and Zira Go to the Zoo!

Fandom: Pretty Pretty Please I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl

Rating: Gen

Words: 2k

Summary: There's a new line of Star Guardian merch out! Zira loves it. Aika is conflicted.

Based off of @kianamaiart's amazing universe and @ok-pop-1's incredible art! The concept behind it was just so fun!

Aika slid further down into her seat as yet another yellow Star Bag came into sight. Hoshi smirked, but Zira wasn’t concerned with them.

“You okay?” She asked her crush friend, nudging the smaller girl gently.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Aika replied, pulling herself up straighter and trying to smile like she wasn’t bothered. “I just forgot the new merch line was out this week, that’s all. It’s just… just a lot. Of blue. And yellow. Very yellow.”

“... You do know you are also wearing blue and yellow, right?” Zira asked, unable to stop the question. Aika’s face twisted back into a pout and she sulked back down into her seat.

“They were my favourite colours first!” She insisted, then hissed in a softer voice, “That’s why she wears them, not the other way around.”

“True!” Hoshi piped up from beside them. “I don’t really care what colours Aika wears. Both my colour and the uniform match her preferences, since it helps human confidence so much to feel like you look good.” They went back to comparing hoodies with an over-excited kindergartener then, entirely ignoring the girls once again.

Aika shook her head while Zira giggled, as amused as always at how the two mirrored each others’ disinterest and disillusionment in perfectly inverted symmetry. 

Aika glanced around the train car again, and her face fell when she saw one group that ramped the whole merch thing up to 11. The parents were… mostly normal. They both had the new hoodies, he had a bag and she was wearing Star Wand print leggings, but the kids…

The baby was actually really cute, dressed like a little star with the hood up. Wings longer than the kid themself hung down from the carrier the mom had them in and the little blue baby shoes matched the whole thing perfectly, even though they obviously weren't part of the official line.

The elementary schooler, on the other hand… Zira probably thinks she’s cute. Aika thought, scowling unconsciously at a little redhead wearing a replica of her uniform, right down to the (NON-platform, at least they were sensible there) boots. Her hair was up in two little ponytails held in place with ties that had satin stars on them, and she was clutching a Star Guardian doll with one arm and her dad’s hand with the other. She was gazing around in wonder at all the other people wearing the same colours before she spotted Aika and her eyes went wide.

“MOMMY SHE HAS STAR PIGTAILS TOO!!” The kid shrieked, both parents immediately shushing her. “I’m so sorry,” Her father told the people around them, “Katie shush. You’ll wake the baby and you’re bothering others.” Her mom hissed. Her face twisted at the rebuke, and in only a blink she’d slipped her father’s hold and was right up in Aika’s face.

“Ummm… Hi?” Aika tried, not quite certain what had just happened here.

“You love Star Guardian too.” The kid insisted, reaching towards Aika’s hair but stopping just short. “Mommy can’t get the buns right, so Daddy bought me the bows. Did your Mommy do these for you?”

Aika blinked at her while her father rushed up to them, apologizing before he even got there. “Ah, no? I do them myself.”

“STAR GUARDIAN IS THE BEST!” The kid shrieked again, just as her father scooped her up. One hand wrapped around her to cover her mouth as he hushed her.

“Katie, no. We’ve talked about this, you can’t be yelling inside like that. You know better. It’s really rude, as is getting in this nice young lady’s face like that.” He turned towards Aika himself as his kid quieted down to sulk. “I’m really sorry about that. She’s usually not like this, but her grandmother just bought her the dress and now she’s a bit overwrought and is having a hard time calming down. I’m sorry she went to touch you as well. I promise she usually does know better.”

“It’s alright.” Aika replied, not quite certain what else to say. Zira smirked a bit next to her, noticing an opportunity to tease her friend a little.

“She’s quite the fan, isn’t she? And Star Guardian is her favourite?” The girl perked up at this, though she kept her voice to a reasonable level when she responded.

“She saves people.” The wonder in her voice was so awestruck it even made Zira a little uncomfortable, knowing that she knew something the girl didn’t. She snuck a glance at Aika, who was now having an even harder time pretending she didn’t want to snap at the kid just a little.

“That is what she does.” Hoshi broke in distractedly, now looking out the window. “It’s what she’s here for.”

Aika’s face fell at that in a way that made the man’s brow furrow in concern. The little girl didn’t notice. 

“She saved us.” She continued, clutching her doll with hero-worship clear on her face. “I gave her a flower and she thanked me for it. Grandma’s teaching me to grow buttercups so next time I can give her one I grew just for her, rather than one I picked in the park.”

“... A buttercup?” Aika asked, her defensiveness dropping from her even as her eyebrows drew together. “You gave her a buttercup?”

The little girl buried her face in her father’s shoulder, suddenly shy, so it was him that nodded. “She did. There was a fight at the park and my wife couldn’t move very quickly because she was pregnant. Star Guardian got us out safely, and Katie gave her a buttercup she had picked just before it all went pear-shaped. It made an impression on us, as I’m sure you can see.” He gestured to himself then, and both Aika and Zira joined in with his little chuckle. He headed back to the rest of his family then, and Katie waved at them over his shoulder. Aika waved back, a soft grin on her face.

“Star Guardian made quite an impression on them.” Zira commented, trying to gauge Aika’s mood after that run-in.

Aika’s face fell, and Zira winced. “She does that.” There was a hollowness to Aika’s voice that Zira wasn’t used to hearing and wasn’t sure how to handle.

“I remember you putting that buttercup in a vase when you got home.” Hoshi commented, obviously trying to cajole the young girl back into a better mood. It didn’t work, as the smile Aika gave them was brittle around the edges and so obviously forced.

“I remember how much trouble I got in for breaking formation to help them.” She replied mildly. “No one would talk about anything else for weeks. It was all, “How could you be so unprofessional, Aika? Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself? You’re so unreliable Aika. We can’t trust your judgement. How are you always late?” Eventually everyone seemed to get bored of it, but it would still come up every now and then when I was ‘underperforming’.” She put the air quotes around the word, but even if she hadn’t her tone would have conveyed them anyway. Hoshi winced.

“Yeah, that was… not my best showing. I messed that up pretty bad.” Their voice was rough in a way that in a human would probably have meant they were fighting back tears but Hoshi… wasn’t. There wasn’t a human equivalent to the tone of it. It reminded Zira of grief.

“How?” She questioned, unable to help herself even though she could tell that neither of them really wanted to talk about it. “What happened with that fight?”

Hoshi squirmed a bit, but did answer. “One of the other girls took a bad hit that probably wouldn’t have happened if Star Guardian was there. It all… Got a little personal. After. And I… Didn’t shut that down. I should have. I should have made it clear that they didn’t have the authority to question Aika’s judgement or dedication. And I should have trusted in them myself.”

Aika was leaning forward now to look at Hoshi around Zira, and it was clear on her face that they had never discussed this since. She obviously didn’t know Hoshi regretted it. “So why didn’t you?” She demanded, causing Hoshi to slink back defensively into their hoodie.

“Mainly because I just really didn’t understand humans.” They replied, obviously trying to keep their defensiveness out of their tone. “I’d never worked with any before, and this was fairly early on in your career. Usually a Guardian team needs to work together to defeat a monster. I was… trying to encourage you to think of your team first, because I assumed that without them you couldn’t win and more people would be in danger. Most species are not as… creative as humans, and even other humans aren’t as creative as you, Aika.” Aika blushed at that, obviously pleased with the praise. “I thought your apparent willingness to abandon your teammates was a show of weakness and disharmony, rather than of trust. And… I think the other girls followed my lead on that.”

Aika blinked at them. “There is never a world where I will abandon a family that has no way to protect themselves for the sake of a group that should have the ability to fight on their own. Also it’s really messed up that you expect a kid to make that choice. I was still in elementary school.”

Hoshi nodded. “Yeah, I also… Don’t really have a frame of reference for just how young you were when you started. I wasn’t expecting that. So since neither the Star Shard or humanity come with an instruction manual, I had to just figure it out on the fly. That time I guessed wrong, but it took over a year for me to know that. By that time it was too late to fix.”

There was a very uncomfortable silence radiating from both sides of her that made Zira shiver from a purely emotional cold. Then a thought came, and she broke it in as awkward a way as she ever did. “You should join the leadership club.”

They both turned to her, blinking in bemusement. “The leadership club?” Aika repeated in bewilderment.

“Yeah!” She replied, just going with it now that they weren’t so upset. “You said humans don’t come with an instruction manual, but there are still things you can do and learn to make it easier to work with us! I don’t think you can take any actual management courses, those are usually adult things, but leadership would be a good start!”

Aika laughed at that. “That's a great idea! And since we joined the book club, Hoshi’s gonna be on their own for it. Sounds like fun.”

The star in question sulked back into their seat. “I don’t wanna miss book club!” They insisted. “That kid with the hair gets all uppity when I’m not there to refute their nonsense, and besides! I’ve already read the book!”

Zira blinked at them. “That book was decided on yesterday,” she stressed. “How have you already read it?”

“Hoshi doesn’t need to sleep as much as we do.” Aika replied, getting to her feet just as the announcement came on. “Come on, this is our stop! I can’t wait to see the penguins!” Her face lit up with glee as the train rocked to a stop, and she was gone the moment the doors opened. Zira found themself grinning as well, their previous mood restored. Aika had that effect on people. 

[calebsmoon]

hairtie — caleb (love and deepspace)

unedited + playful caleb + high school caleb + fluff + slowburn

"so that's where my favourite hairtie went," you pout, your voice tinged with mock annoyance as you narrow your eyes at caleb. he stands in front of you, his fingers absentmindedly twisting the delicate hair tie around his wrist. the cherry stud glints in the light, a small but unmistakable detail that makes your heart skip a beat. it looks oddly perfect on him, the soft pink contrasting with his skin in a way that feels unfairly attractive. you try to push the thought away, but it lingers, stubborn and unrelenting.

"you shouldn't steal, you know," you chide, dragging out the last word with exaggerated emphasis. your arms cross tightly over your chest, a defensive gesture that does little to hide the flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of your lips. tilting your head up, you meet his gaze with a pointed glare, though the intensity falters when you catch the faint smirk playing on his lips. his confidence is infuriating—and undeniably charming. you realized soon after entering your teenage years why exactly caleb was so popular.

caleb's eyes flicker to yours, a playful glint in them as he shrugs, the movement casual and effortless. "steal? i prefer to think of it as... borrowing pipsqueak," he says, his voice low and teasing. the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and you hate how easily he can unravel your composure with just a few words.

you huff, trying to maintain your facade of irritation, but the warmth creeping into your cheeks betrays you. "borrowing implies you asked," you retort, your tone softer than you intended. the air between you feels charged, and for a moment, neither of you speak, the silence heavy with unspoken tension.

caleb’s frame towers over yours, his broad shoulders and height casting a faint shadow that seems to envelop you. the morning light streams through the windows, bathing him in a soft, golden glow that highlights the relaxed curve of his lips and the faint crinkles at the corners of his eyes. his school uniform fits him impeccably—crisp, tailored, and effortlessly elegant—and you can’t help but notice how the tie rests snugly against his chest. a mischievous thought flickers through your mind: the urge to tug on that tie, to disrupt his composure just enough to hear him scold you in that low, gravelly voice of his that tinges you in places you should be embarrassed to admit.

the truth is, you crave his attention as much as his praise. there’s a strange, magnetic pull between you, a tension that feels both exhilarating and frustrating. despite growing up together, despite the years of being seen as nothing more than his "little sister," you can’t shake the desire to prove yourself to him—to be seen as something more, even if you’re not quite ready to admit it to yourself.

"do you want it back, pipsqueak?" caleb’s voice is light and teasing, his lips curling into a playful smirk as he dangles your hair tie above his head. the cherry stud catches the light, twinkling like a tiny star just out of your reach. he knows exactly what he’s doing, using his height—and his evol, if necessary—to keep it just beyond your grasp. it’s a game he’s played countless times before, one that always leaves you flustered and determined in equal measure.

"caleb!" you chide, your voice a mix of mock frustration and hidden delight. you stretch your arm upward, pretending to reach for the hair tie, but deep down, you don’t really want it back. secretly, you hope he keeps it, that he wears it like a badge of something unspoken, a silent claim that keeps all those admirers at bay. the thought sends a warm flutter through your chest, though you quickly push it aside.

"nuh-uh, you’re going to have to try harder than that, pipsqueak," he taunts, his smirk widening as he waves the hair tie even higher. his laughter is low and rich, a sound that makes your stomach twist in the most delicious way. determined not to let him win so easily, you plant one hand firmly on his chest, the warmth of him seeping through the fabric of his shirt. the other hand stretches upward as you rise onto your tiptoes, your balance precarious, but your resolve unwavering.

for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his eyes glint with amusement as he watches you struggle. it’s infuriating how effortlessly he can disarm you, how easily he can make your heart race with nothing more than a teasing smile and a few careless words. and yet, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

"caleb," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as your gaze locks onto his. his purple eyes—deep, mesmerizing, and flecked with faint hints of violet—sparkle down at you, holding a warmth that makes your breath hitch. the space between you feels impossibly small, your chest pressed lightly against his, the steady rise and fall of his breathing syncing with yours. his free hand snakes around your waist, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you keep your balance. the heat of his palm seeps through the fabric of your clothes, sending a shiver down your spine.

you flush at the closeness, your cheeks warming under his unwavering gaze, but you don’t pull away. there’s something about this moment—something charged and unspoken—that keeps you rooted in place, your heart pounding in your chest.

"you can keep it," you whisper, your voice soft but steady. the hand that had been reaching upward trails back down, coming to rest lightly on his shoulder. your fingers brush against the fabric of his uniform, the subtle texture grounding you as you try to steady your racing thoughts.

caleb’s lips curve into a slow, teasing smile, his head dipping slightly to bring his face closer to yours. "oh, giving up already, pipsqueak?" he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, sending a thrill through you. his arm slackens, the hair tie now forgotten as his hand moves to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. the gesture is unexpectedly tender, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, and you feel your breath catch again.

"consider it a gift," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly despite your attempt to sound confident. your fingers tighten around his tie, giving it a gentle tug. to your surprise, he doesn’t resist, allowing you to pull him down until his face is level with yours. his eyes never leave yours, their intensity making your stomach flutter. the air between you feels electric, charged with something you can’t quite name but can’t ignore either.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the world around you fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, intimate bubble. his breath mingles with yours, his proximity overwhelming yet intoxicating. you can see every detail of his face—the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, the slight curve of his lips as they hover just inches from yours.

and then, ever so slightly, he leans in closer, his gaze flickering down to your lips before returning to your eyes. the unspoken question hangs in the air, and your heart races as you realize just how much you want to close the distance between you.

caleb’s lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but no words come out. instead, his gaze softens, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something deeper, something that makes your pulse quicken. his hand, still resting at your waist, tightens almost imperceptibly, pulling you just a fraction closer. the warmth of his body against yours is intoxicating, and you find yourself leaning into him without even realizing it.

"you’re full of surprises today," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. his free hand brushes lightly against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw in a gesture so tender it makes your breath catch. "first, you let me keep your hair tie, and now this?" he tilts his head, his lips curving into that familiar smirk, but there’s a softness in his expression that wasn’t there before.

you swallow hard, your fingers still clutching his tie as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. "maybe i just like seeing you flustered for once," you retort, though your voice wavers, betraying the nervous flutter in your chest.

caleb chuckles, the sound is low and warm, and it sends a shiver down your spine. "flustered, huh?" he repeats, his tone teasing but his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. "you’re the one who’s blushing, pipsqueak."

you open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as his face dips even closer, his nose brushing lightly against yours. your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, the air between you thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. his breath is warm against your skin, and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to close the distance, to finally give in to the pull that’s been building between you for what feels like forever.

but before you can act on the thought, caleb pulls back slightly, his smirk returning as he straightens up. "careful," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "if you keep looking at me like that, i might start thinking you actually like me."

you blink, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his demeanour. then, as his words sink in, you feel a surge of indignation mixed with something else—something you’re not ready to name. "like you?" you echo, your voice rising slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. "don’t flatter yourself, caleb."

he laughs, the sound rich and full, and it only makes you more flustered. "sure, pipsqueak," he says, releasing his hold on your waist and taking a step back. but the way he looks at you—like he knows something you don’t—makes your cheeks burn even hotter.

as he turns to walk away, the hair tie still wrapped around his wrist, you can’t help but notice the way his fingers brush against it almost absentmindedly, as if it’s something precious. the sight sends a strange warmth spreading through your chest, and you quickly look away, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat.

"come or we'll be late for the train," he calls over his shoulder, his tone light and teasing. but there’s a hint of something else in his voice—something that makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

"coward." you faintly murmur to yourself, finding your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. perhaps, just maybe he felt it too, or perhaps you were just a hormonal teenager who had a crush on her older childhood friend.

only time could tell.

[yougavememyopia]

OH MY GOD UR MASOCHIST YAN DRIVES ME INSANE TOO oh my god oh my godddd OOOOHHHHH MY GODDDD GFRRRGAVBNCJJSJKDKDOAODOOAKAKNFNHCHUEOROGLKSJSJHFJDODOAODI

wouldn’t it be so funny to imagine if crybaby yan and masochist yan had to fight over you somehow?? maybe a 3 roommate situation HAHA like masochist yan is so confident at flirting but you’re easily annoyed by him versus crybaby who struggles asserting himself but you have a soft spot for…. IM GOING CRAZYYUYYYYUSUDIAJOAOO

They would not get along.

Masochist yandere is mean to anyone who isn't you. He wants to isolate you as much as possible so he can have all your attention for himself and himself only. He wants to get rid of Crybaby yan as fast as possible. Get him evicted and then turn his room into a "game" room. But he can't. You actually like that pathetic mess for some reason he can't understand.

His go-to manipulation tactic is making you exhausted to resist. Constantly pleading. Talking your ear off so you have to agree with what he says. Still, you somehow remain resilient in your decision. No matter how much he tries to sugarcoat his words like always, or argue how Crybaby yan is literally a useless waste of space. You don't budge. Much to his demise, you threaten to kick him out instead.

Anytime Masochist yan did something that bothered his sensitive roommate, he'd get a scolding. Crybaby yan would aggregate his actions, just to get more of your pity. Burying his face into your neck and putting his legs around your waist. You'd shush him and pet his head, glaring at the guy who made him cry. He glares at you like, "Seriously, you're gonna take his side?"

If you start to doubt Crybaby yan, he knew exactly how to guilt-trip you. Puppy eyes. Pouty lips. Tears easily rolling down his cheeks. The perfect victim with his helplessness act.

As much as Masochist yan actually loves when you yell at him and get all angry, he doesn't like how the other boy was getting most of your time. He doesn't want to be just an annoying shit you bicker with. He also wants your affection— your hugs and headpats— his jealousy really obvious.

"So when I ask to cuddle, it's annoying. When he does it, it's adorable? That's not fair.... Augh! Look what you did. You made me cry! Is that what you wanted? Huh? Is that what you're into, you perv?"

He'd plop down beside you on your shared couch and grumpily look to the side. His whines stopping. You slowly thread your fingers through his hair like the other yandere lying on your lap. And just like that, he melts into you like a pudding. Shamelessly whimpering with his eyes closed. Brows furrow as he hugs your side tight. Eventually, they both learn to get along.

Unlike Crybaby yan—who doesn't openly talk about his feelings (unless it's saying how he doesn't want you to ever leave)—Masochist yan tells you exactly what he thinks. Even if not appropriate. He values honesty, so to him, being a tattletale is justified.

When you come home from a long day, Masochist yan is quick to give you a report of what you missed before you could even step inside.

Standing on his tippy toes to look taller and crossing his arms while he loudly began to speak. "The little creep you love so much sneaks into your room and smells your dirty laundry! Isn't he so gross? You're disgusted, right?"

Poor Crybaby yan looks paler than usual as he looks away from you with teary eyes. Unable to face you, dreading your reaction. Anger causes him to finally speak back against his irritating peer. "W-well, at least I don't s-steal the clothes like you."

"I don't steal, I burrow!" Masochist yan argues back, knowing well he doesn't have an actual point. "And I asked before I took something."

"A-are you serious? You ran away with it before you could get denied—"

"—Boys, boys, boys. That's enough!" You walk to stand between them abruptly. Arms on either shoulders, feeling their muscles tense up. "You're both in a lot of trouble, y'know..."

They glance at each other for a moment, then at you. Your playful words rousing sinful thoughts for one and petrified ideas for another. Different kind of scenerios of how you could punish them rushing in their mind. A playful hum and a scared squeak when you tug their arms and push them inside.

-----‐-------------------------------------------------------------

I WAS LITERALLY IMAGINING THE SAME THING!!!! LIKE THE EXACT. SAME. THOUGHT. Thank you for pulling this idea out of its dark bottomless pit~

Now, let's turn it into smut.

[jokers-new-selfship-blog]

Helloo, kinda shy. But I saw that this was still open, and your art is so pretty, so I wanted to try my luck ^^

If you don't want to draw the human version, you can draw him in his triangle version. I love both! Whatever you want to draw more, but if you want to skip this one or don't have the time, no pressure :] /nf

Some facts are:

- They both help each other through their problems, like how Bill wants to cause chaos, but Evan's presence calms him down and distracts him. Or how Evan overthinks and suffers from anxiety, and Bill can easily make them laugh and not worry so much

- Bill doesn't have a heart, but he can use his powers to simulate what it would be like if he had one when they hold each other

- While they are complete opposites, it makes them learn different things from each other. Like how Evan's sensitivity makes Bill learn more about empathy and Bill's confidence, and how he is unapologetically himself, helps Evan to not think so much about what others think and just be themselves

- Also Bill likes silly straws :]c

Status: open

Hello, community.

I, a bored someone, don't know what to draw so-

Reblog, drop a picture of yourself (s/i or not are both fine.) your f/o, and I'll try to doodle something.

Not a 100% guarantee but I would love to see some interesting facts about your selfship. Or just, share whatever you want with me. It will definitely make the chances higher.

You can drop multiple selfships, but make a separate reblog. That would make things easier.

Check my replied reblogs for examples.

[z4ync]

We seriously need more GBA related fics so here it goes- I NEED a fluff fic where Hipswitch finally finds out Karmor likes him.

I have a small scenario suggestion, but feel free to indulge in creative ideas of your own!

-> The gang go out on a little event, kinda like a rodeo for bounty hunters and cowboys and such(ever watched Helluva Boss? Imagine that one EP of the harvest moon festival). After the games and events are settled, all of the participants engage in a salon dance thingie as well as free drinks, just a silly little after event for everyone to relax and enjoy some socializing.

Hipswitch decides to not participate since he didn't know anyone in the rodeo, and also bcs the owners of the small bar in there weren't particularly fond of Obscurans(even if there were some in the rodeo). But then Karmor/Partner comes along and asks Hipswitch to dance with him, which he's surprised.

He tries to talk Partner out of inviting him and tries to convince him to look for a more "organic" partner instead, but Karmor refuses. So they go to dance and from there you may decide how Hipswitch finally persuade his own feelings for Karmor :D

I did however really want to bring out the fact that Hipswitch is afraid to love, since he probably doesn't think he's worthy of such a thing. And seeing Karmor loving him just...y'know?🥺💞 <- I'm very normal about them(lie)

Sorry for the ramble! Again, feel free to do what you wish!! 🩷

- 🌟

Awe thanks for the request, 🌟. It's so cute :D absolutely twin I'm so normal about them (LIES)

Twistin' and Turnin'

I LOVE THIS REQUEST. Gods I hope Mr crazy man GBA sees this and makes this anon request an episode of sorts, I'd give him my first born

Fluff

QUICK NOTE BEFORE WE START! if you haven't watched BvZ (go do it now) Karmor/Partner is mute and for the most part, in my head, communicates in sign language and big facial expressions. (Also I headcanon him as autistic because I am so he is too)

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

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Big day. Or at least that's how Albus had been sarcastically saying all day. Apparently the boys had found out about some rodeo that was coming to town and as a joke both Albus— the bastard— had made the executive decision, that the other three didn't get a say in, that they were going for the shits and giggles.

Karmor tried his damn hardest to tell him that he'd much rather stay in one place, that he wanted to stay home and read, but he'd got the other two on their sides and it's a lot easier to ignore hands then it is to ignore a voice

▄︻デ══━一

"they got free drinks" Albus whistled as they walked around, the events were beginning to settle and Karmor kept dragging Hipswitch and Albus away from the games to prevent a dick measuring contest from starting.

"not a single one of us should be drinking" Karmor signed. He'd gotten better at signing quickly, mostly to combat Albus' quick mind. "And anyways Hipswitch can't drink"

"come on partner, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a drink or two" Hipswitch's southern accent made Karmor melt, it always did. It was far less harsh than Albus and Attila's voices, and more solid than Mahatma's.

"dancing maybe, drinking no, Albus is just going to get wasted and—" he looked at his hands, trying to remember the sign for "annoying". He ran through a few signs before just flipping off Albus in frustration, for a normally calm and sweet person Karmor was easily annoyed by inconveniences like forgetting.

▄︻デ══━一

Karmor stared longingly at the crowd of people dancing their hearts out, Kissing the people they love, singing their voices away. He'd never been good with his confidence, so he was struggling to ask the Obscuran at his side to dance.

He didn't have the words, literally and figuratively, and couldn't get Hipswitch to look at him. Maybe he was just—

"Partner, are you alright?" Hipswitch lightly poked Karmor's arm, scaring the living daylights out of him and causing him to fall out of the chair he was sitting in— knees up to his chest and the only thing touching the seat of the chair being his feet, obviously, so he was already unstable.

He got up quickly, nodding and sitting back down, before standing up again and forcing down all the nerves that bubbled up his throat and through his skin. "Dance with me." it was supposed to be a question, but it didn't seem like it was

"What?" The other man laughed "dance with ya? Partner, I'm not too sure I'm the greatest to dance with, you might want someone more... Organic, for that." He tried to de-sway the man from the idea, but Karmor is stubborn.

"dance with me" it was obvious he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Hipswitch sighed, his metal man's coming up to ruffle the mute man's hair "don't say I didn't warn ya" he said it like he had no choice in it— which was a lie, he could've said no, but Karmor would start sulking and wouldn't do anything else.

Hipswitch could've stayed there all day; Karmor's hand in his and the biggest smile on his face as he dragged him to the very edges of the dance floor.

But of course the second his foot hit the dance floor a partner song blasted through the pavilion, one of those slow ones reserved for couples and families. But Hipswitch agreed and he wanted nothing more than to make Karmor keep smiling.

"I'm gonna step on your toes" he warned, but Karmor only shook his head no, tapping the rhythm into Hipswitch's back.

Karmor's eyes were everywhere but Hipswitch, as it was so unbearably difficult to hold eyes contact with someone you liked.

Hipswitch always noticed that, and he'd ask about it but it would make Karmor let go of him and he'd already sunk into the warm metal man. Once he was attached it was hard to get him off, proven most by if you put the perpetually cold man in a warm bed, you wouldn't be able to get him out without luring him with Hipswitch and food.

A few girls had asked Karmor to dance, but just shook his head and signed "I'm not good company" or "I can't dance"

There was another thing, he always needed Hip— oh. OH.

The realization hit him like a run of bricks. Albus wasn't just playing with him, right? Whump— Karmor— Partner was always looking for Hipswitch, he was always near him, was what that what Albus was talking about

He took a moment to think, the feeling of the human's fingers tapping something into his back. It was a Rhythm of something no one knew, not even Karmor knew himself.

"Partner... I have a question" he looked down at the human. His eyes were on him expectantly. "Albus has been... Sayin' stuff, I want to know if they're true."

Karmor looked nervous, guilty, and his face was 6 times more red than before. He nodded, and had Hipswitch lead them out of the crowd. He longed to be back in it, no matter how loud crowds were, he enjoyed that.

"what has he been saying?" Damn Albus and his loud mouth.

"he's been saying..." It took Hipswitch a moment to form the words, mostly because he could ruin everything up to this and because of Karmor's unwavering stare. "Things about you likin' me"

Karmor wanted to run, to scream, to cry, to kill himself— but his voice was so shot that he can't really scream well and his hand was still in Hipswitch's so the other options weren't on the table

"and if they're true?"

"I wouldn't mind"

Karmor's eyes lit up, he thought that he was gonna have to take Hipswitch's gun and shoot himself, but he didn't! Hurray!

"it's true I like—" he stopped, he felt like a kid again, even if he didn't remember what that was like for him. Like felt too childish, to compare what he felt to just like was a crime, it was wrong

"I love you" Karmor's eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't open them. what if Hipswitch looked uncomfortable or disgusted.

Karmor was startled by arms wrapping him in an embrace. He started crying, he didn't know why he just did.

"I love you too"

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A/N. Sorry if this is all over the place, I'm not too good at writing and I actually haven't gotten to the most recent episode of BvZ yet because each episode is like an hour long and I end up passing out during them.

[redfeatheredreptile]

Here's my piece for @creatingblackcharacters' Black History Month Challenge! She's one of my sci-fi story's main OCs, Zola! (That's why she's Afro-Polaran, Polara 5 is her home planet) I had a ton of fun working on this, and I really learned a lot! But, of course, let me know if there's anything I can improve on with how I depicted her.

(copied from the replies)

Ice's question: What do you want to tell your Black viewers, through this character or the effort you put into her?

A: Thank you for asking! I’ve seen this come up repeatedly in my readings on Black women: the general stigma and disapproval around Black girls and women being feminine or girly, especially in a ‘loud’ way— without being sexualized. With Zola I really wanted to show that she loves who she is; fashionable, pink and cute things and all, while still enjoying her Blackness as well, which I tried to show with her hair and her accessories. I would love it if she inspires women (or anyone Black!) to express themselves the way that feels good, whether it’s girly or not.

More info under the cut!

I challenged myself to listen to only Black artists while working on this piece, and to read poems by Black women and find ones I think fit Zola. It's been good to broaden my music horizons. My 'Black Artists' playlist is still growing. Things I learned:

1) Don't blindly color-pick for skin tone, especially dark ones. The ones I got were suuper washed-out. I changed her skin colors maybe 4 or 5 times just to get it right =.=; I'm still learning, so I hope I didn't overcorrect and over-saturate her. I went back and re-read lessons 3 and 4 and that helped me figure out what shade I actually wanted for her. If I were to draw her again, I would change the lighting to something better, too. 2) Black hairstyles are FUN to draw! I've only drawn a few specific ones from reference so far but they really force me to think about the shape and texture of the hair, how light bounces off it, etc. I also like doing curvy lines, detail, and drawing hair in general, so it was a treat. I learned a lot from the lessons on Black hair types and styles, as soon as I learned about twists and looked at the different styles for them I knew it would be Zola's favorite. I need to draw her in a twist-out, next!

3) For writing them, reading Ice's lessons helped a lot too! She's still not had much time yet in the story (she gets introduced later) but it helped me develop what kind of character I actually want her to be. She got more of a sensitive side rather than a generic 'strong woman'TM. She's still very confident and self-assured, but I've planned moments in the story where she doesn't have to be and gets to be emotionally vulnerable. She's also got a larger role in the story that involves her backstory and her family, and not just helping the other members of the 'party'. Hope to flesh her out a lot more as I continue writing!

Misc: Her 'face claim' is technically Mirakela Love, but between making her fatter than the model and my cartoony style I don't think it ended up looking much like her. Still helped to have reference, though. The color scheme for her outfit is meant to evoke the Lesbian flag. She gay and proud. Zola's meant to be both girly and fashionable, but I'm not a super fashionable person, so I just did my best and combined some outfits I liked. Then I added Jinx-style boots for funsies. Do hoops go with the rest of it? I don't know!

[carylmeanslove]

Ha ha ha and now what? Even Boss confirmed officialy that Antonia is Luke's lady whisteldown on his sm platforms..... I feel they both will have collab with them soon ha ha another hard launch but globally! Just see the reality and Come back to this planet. This is over. L and A are happy Hot and i love write about them

LOL Obvious children with no writing skills have been sending me Asks. All these anons, reek of desperation, same as Toilet twerker's attempts to be famous.

Boss confirmed that Antonia is Luke's Lady Whistledown on social media you say? Ha! I highly doubt that. Even if it were true, it's obvious it would be due to the distraction/ruse is still going on. In time, time will reveal the truth and mark my words it will, and I can't wait for that day, because all you pitiful anons will disappear out of embarrassment and so will the attention-seeking, fame wanting, basically gold digger type, horrible dancer.

That horrible woman is NOTHING like Lady Whistledown. Lady Whistledown, who is a self-made woman. She got all the success and notoriety by her own hard work. She didn't have to ride on another's coat tails. That is all the toilet twerker does.

Underneath the actual Lady Whistledown there is Penelope. That immature horrible person is NOTHING like Penelope either. Penelope is a caring person, and she loves the people she loves with her whole heart and would do anything to protect them. Colin wants to protect Penelope too and look out for her due to how much he loves her and due to how she is such a loving, caring and wonderful person and that continues even after the LW reveal.

Antonia is NOTHING like the caring and loving person that is Penelope. If she was, she wouldn't have been trying to steal attention from Nicola after every post all year. Luke would have wanted to protect Antonia like Colin wanted to protect Penelope/LW, but Luke didn't do that. He did, however, protect Nicola all due to people thinking he was shading her over cake fondant, and he did it in the speed of light too. Also, all Antonia does is cause people to hate on Luke more with every bad behavior. Is that protecting him? Nope.

The truth is that the person Luke considers like Penelope/LW is the love of his life, Nicola. He confirmed it on the WT. That is hard confirmed too. Like, there is actual video of him saying it. Go watch the interviews of the Brazil stop to be exact, Luke described Nicola as being like both Penelope and LW and why and it was all true too. Antonia has none of those qualities. He also confirmed Nicola is Penelope/LW it in a printed interview too. Saying that Nicola is that character.

Antonia can also only wish to be SERIOUSLY considered even remotely like Aphrodite or even Tinkerbell. Ha! Those characters, like Penelope/LW are beloved and will be remembered throughout history. I can say confidently that miss thang won't. She won't last in the entertainment industry because you have to have likability and NO ONE likes her due to her behavior and personality, her aura even. Even you guys will get over her after the truth is revealed.

My advice for Antonia is she needs to go get a degree in a non-entertainment industry job, because the one she chose has a shelf life. She doesn't have the ability or likability to sustain a career in the entertainment industry. She also needs to develop a hard work ethic and reach where is it she wants to be with the sweat of her own brow. It's the only way to truly be proud of any accomplishment one might receive in life.

So anyway, to wrap up. you are highly delusional, Anon.

[paperstorm]

The final chapter is up! We had so much fun writing this all season and thank you every single person who commented or kudos'd or just read this fic. Here's a tease from the last chapter. If you're looking for both morning sexy times and the happiest of endings for this little family, we got you covered 😉

Jonah flops against him and Carlos moves in closer on his other side, the two of them bracketing him like protective bookends.

“How’d you sleep?” Carlos asks him.

It might be too complex a question for a three year old, but Jonah grins up at him and brightly answers, “I have a race car bed!”

“You sure do!” Carlos agrees, reaching down and smoothing stray hairs out of Jonah’s eyes.

Jonah looks to TK and asks, “When is Daddy coming home?”

For a moment, the question twists like a GI infection in TK’s gut. He exchanges a sorrowful glance with Carlos, who sadly shrugs a shoulder. They have so much to learn, so many things to figure out on this new adventure together, and how to talk to someone this young is something TK knows he hasn't mastered just yet.

Carefully, he answers, “I don’t know. It might not be for a long time.”

“Oh.”

“But,” TK continues, slouching further down onto the pillows and snuggling in closer, “you’re gonna live here, now, with me and Carlos. And we love you so much. And everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Jonah answers, easily accepting his answer, at least for now.

TK breathes a sigh of relief. TK knows it isn’t the end of the conversation. Jonah’s so little, he has to be so confused, and that makes TK’s heart hurt. But it’s a conversation they don’t need to have this morning. He looks at Carlos again over the top of Jonah’s head. Carlos nods at him reassuringly, moving in closer from the other side so they can cuddle Jonah together.

“Can I have breakfast?”

“Of course you can. What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes!” Jonah decides.

“Pancakes it is,” Carlos replies. “You two hang out for a bit, I’ll get them started.”

“Stay?” TK asks Carlos quietly, circling his wrist with his fingers over Jonah’s body. “For a few more minutes.” 

Carlos pauses and looks between the two boys in his bed. He must be feeling what TK is feeling, the overwhelming emotion that comes with experiencing their first morning together as a family of three, instead of two. Carlos nods quietly and settles back against the headboard. He lets his arm drape over the pillows that have flattened during the night until TK is curled under it and Jonah is snug between them again.

“I’ll get started on breakfast soon, okay? Unless you’re so hungry now that your stomach is turning into a monster.”

Carlos tickles Jonah’s belly and he giggles. “No,” he says confidently, like a monster could never hurt him. 

TK observes quietly, feeling like he’s in a dream. He knows nights of crying and fear are around the corner, where Jonah wakes up confused and scared and missing his dad. TK knows that it’s not all smooth sailing from here, but right now he looks at Jonah’s resilience in wonder, and Carlos’ natural ability to bond with him, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

“Good,” Carlos tells him. “Because you know what the best part about today is?” 

Jonah looks up at Carlos in wonder, four big brown eyes staring at each other. TK is in so much trouble with these two. He could let them get away with anything. 

“What?” Jonah asks, hanging onto every word Carlos says like Carlos is already his hero. TK knows the feeling. 

“We don’t have any plans. Which means we get to sleep in and then do whatever you want.”

Jonah’s eyes grow even wider and his head whips over to TK as if to confirm Carlos’ words. “Whatever I want?” 

TK smiles, squeezing Jonah’s arm. “Whatever you want,” TK confirms. Maybe he and Carlos can be the fun brothers for one more day and spoil this boy beyond belief. He deserves it. Tomorrow, they’ll begin to figure out how to be parents that say no and set limitations, but today, Jonah can get whatever he wants. 

“I want ice cream!” Jonah cries out, and both TK and Carlos laugh. 

Carlos meets his gaze over the top of Jonah’s head, and TK nods. 

“We can do ice cream,” Carlos agrees. “But maybe this afternoon, huh? It’s supposed to be hot.”

“Hot!” Jonah repeats. 

TK chuckles. “Yeah, you’re not used to this, bud. It gets way hotter here than it does in New York.” 

“It does?” 

“Mhm. Think summer all the time.”

Jonah’s grin goes wide. “Yay,” he cheers. “Can we bring Lou-Two with us?”

TK laughs again. “To get ice cream? Probably not, he likes staying here. But you can help me feed him some red peppers later.”

“Okay!”

They fall into silence for a few blessed moments and TK’s gaze naturally drifts to Carlos again. Carlos is already looking back, and his fingers dance along TK’s neck. 

‘Love you,’ Carlos mouths, and TK smiles. 

‘Love you too,’ TK mouths back, and then puckers his lips to ask for a kiss. 

brighter in the morning

co-written with the lovely @paperstorm <3

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning. A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

Chapter One: 5x01 - 7.0k

Chapter Two: 5x02 - 3.8k

Chapter Three: 5x03 - 3.9k

Chapter Four: 5x04 - 2.4k

Chapter Five: 5x05 - 4.2k

Chapter Six: 5x06 - 6.6k

Chapter Seven: 5x07 - 5.7k

Chapter Eight: 5x08 - 2.8k

Chapter Nine: 5x09 - 3.2k

Chapter Ten: 5x10 - 5.3k

Chapter Eleven: 5x11 - 4.6k

Chapter Twelve: 5x12 - 5.4k

[lurkingshan]

I have a lot of feelings about The Story of Minglan (which I finally watched!) and its themes about patriarchy and class and intergenerational trauma and striving for survival under an oppressive system that demands fealty and will never just let you live by your own choices. We saw in every major storyline that these characters were granted no peace to live the way they wanted. Tingye had to fight for years to recover his reputation and attain status to give himself the freedom to build the family he wanted. Minglan had to battle through several unwanted attachments and couldn’t live a day in peace without someone trying to foist concubines on her or demand she use her status to buoy them. Heng was forced into marriages he didn’t want and had to give up the only wife he actually desired for the sake of soothing powerful egos, because the cost of not meeting those demands was actual life or death for his clan. In this story even the eventual emperor was not the emperor by choice—he was forced into the position as a matter of survival. There’s so much to unpack in this drama and it is far more than a romance.

That said, one of the most interesting things it did from a romance perspective is give us a smart, competent battle couple that spent nearly half of the drama married to each other despite being on the slowest of slow burn arcs to arrive at mutual love and affection. Ostensibly, you could call them a battle couple right from the jump in that they were a united front against enemies, backed each other up without fail, and talked together about (most of) their plans and schemes. But even as all of that was true, they were not on the same emotional wavelength, and they struggled to understand each other.

This is a couple that first connected and established some baseline trust in each other as children and always believed in each other’s intelligence and good character, and yet when they married as adults, they wanted completely different things from their marriage. Tingye wanted to be in love with his wife, and was, and couldn’t understand why it didn’t feel mutual. Minglan wanted to live up to the ideal image for a respectful and competent wife of that era, and did, and couldn’t understand why her husband was so discontent. As @dangermousie pointed out here, these are both trauma responses that make perfect sense given each of their backgrounds. And while the drama milked a lot of comedy out of their inability to understand each other on this impasse, I also found it so sad that their past trauma made it hard for them to communicate past this divide, and for Minglan to open herself to the vulnerability of loving someone.

I’ve seen a lot of complaints from viewers who were mostly here for the romance about how long it took for them to get on the same page. While there were definitely moments when I was ready to bang their heads together out of frustration, the fact that it took several years in story time for Tingye to effectively communicate that he genuinely wanted the real Minglan, and for Minglan to believe that and trust him enough to let her emotional guard down, is what makes it feel so well-earned and rewarding when they finally get there. It’s rare to get the luxury of sitting in a fictional world for this long to watch traumatized people slowly heal via their love for each other and build the family they want with each other. And it’s because we got to see that whole process that I feel confident their happy ending will stick.

[thyras]

→ of unspoken truths

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 7.1k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → mild abuse (he chokes her), arguments, angst, manipulation

SUMMARY → when the truth comes to light it brings with it great sorrow and tragedy, and it would seem all is lost.

AUTHORS NOTE → this chapter broke me, like i'm gonna need a few days to recover. i really had not meant for this to go this way but the characters have a mind of their own and i went with it.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

His index finger traced slow, circular patterns below your navel as you gazed up at him, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Moonlight poured through the balcony doors, bathing him in a silver glow, casting shadows along the sharp planes of his face. His sapphire eyes shimmered in the dim light, half-lidded with quiet reverence. Propped up on one elbow, he watched you with a lazy, indulgent smile, taking in the love-lorn expression that softened your features.

There was something so right about this—this moment, this union—that neither of you dared to speak, afraid that the illusion would shatter with a single breath.

Annatar leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, his fingers flattening against your stomach in a tender caress. You smiled into the kiss, threading your fingers through his silken strands. He deepened it, his tongue gliding sensually against yours as his hand continued to trace over your womb with quiet reverence. The intimate contact sent shivers of pleasure rippling through you, your body alive under his touch.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your cheeks warmed with the afterglow of his affection.

"I still can't quite believe it," he murmured, his voice edged with awe as his gaze drifted down to where his hand rested possessively over your stomach. "A child. Our child."

You smiled, your own hand coming to rest over his, fingers intertwining. "I know. It feels like a dream."

And in many ways, it was. After centuries of love and loss, of separation and reunion, the idea that you now carried a piece of both of you—a tangible embodiment of your unbreakable bond—seemed too wondrous to be real.

You shifted into your pillow, your hand reaching up to trace the line of his cheekbone, down along his jaw, before cupping his chin. Your fingers rested there as you took him in—your husband. In all the forms your elven eyes had known him, this one felt the closest to the first, the one you had fallen for so long ago.

Yet, even as you stared at him now, you could not help but wonder. His human form seemed the most natural to him, almost as if it was the one he had worn the longest. As Halbrand, he had carried himself with ease, his movements fluid in a way they had never quite been in his elven guises. There was a quiet confidence in the way he walked as a man, as though it had been his truest self all along.

But deep down, you knew the truth. The form you had first fallen in love with was the one you held dearest in your heart—the one he had fashioned for your eyes alone.

You mourned its loss.

If only, just for one night, you could see it again—to feel the gentle caress of that form, to run your fingers through fiery strands that shimmered like molten copper in the moonlight, to drown once more in seafoam-green eyes that had once held the light of the world within them.

Would he ever take that form again, if only for you?

Would he understand how much you longed for it?

Or was it truly lost, a relic of a past that neither of you could ever reclaim?

As if he had plucked the thought straight from your mind, he spoke, his voice low and intimate.

“I can take that form for you and only you, my love,” he murmured, his gaze searching yours for the answer he already knew lay within your heart. His breath was warm against your lips, his presence anchoring you to this moment.

You cupped his cheek once more, your fingers brushing over the familiar planes of his face. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes half-lidded with devotion.

“I thought it was lost as well,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “But now that I am stronger… and now that I have your memories—I could take it again if that is what you desire.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, quick and uneven, as if it could barely contain the weight of the moment. Warmth spread through you, a mixture of anticipation and longing. The thought of seeing him once more as he had been—of slipping back into a time when the world was brighter, simpler—was intoxicating.

And yet…

You smiled, slow and tender, giving him your answer.

“Let my memories and my dreams be where that form lies, love,” you whispered, your voice carrying the bittersweet certainty of your decision. “Let it be hers alone—the one who loved you then, the one who lived in those days.”

You paused, letting your thumb trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone before sweeping down to the curve of his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, at your touch.

“But this…” you continued, gazing into the depths of his eyes—the eyes of the being who had walked countless paths, who had changed and endured, who had loved you through it all. “Let this be the form of the one I love now, the one who stands before me.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he might argue, as if he might offer again, but something in your gaze stopped him. Understanding flickered across his face, followed by something deeper—something more profound than longing.

He lifted his hand to cover yours where it rested against his cheek, pressing it close. Then, with a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine, he turned his head, brushing a kiss against the center of your palm.

“As you wish, my love,” he murmured, the words a vow as much as a promise.

Annatar's lips lingered against your palm, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. When he finally pulled back, his eyes shone with a depth of emotion that stole your breath—love, awe, and a quiet reverence that humbled you to your core.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "For loving me as I am now. For seeing beyond the shadows of the past."

Your heart swelled at his words, at the raw vulnerability in his gaze. You knew what this meant to him—to be accepted, to be loved, not for who he had been, but for who he was now. With all his flaws, all his scars, all the darkness he still carried within.

Slowly, you reached for him, drawing him close until your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling in the scant space between you. Your fingers curled against the nape of his neck, grounding him, anchoring him in the moment.

"I will always love you, Mairon," you whispered fiercely. "In every form, through every trial. That will never change."

Annatar’s eyes fluttered closed, a shuddering breath escaping him as he absorbed your words, letting them wash over him like a balm. A muscle in his jaw tensed as he fought to contain the storm of emotions within him. When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed with unshed tears, reflecting the moonlight that bathed you both.

"Mori," he breathed, the single word carrying the weight of centuries—of love and loss, hope and heartbreak. His fingers ghosted along your cheek, reverent, hesitant, as if afraid you might fade like a dream. "My divine. My everything."

Then he captured your lips once more, the kiss deep and consuming, filled with a desperation that spoke of long years of separation, of an ache that had never truly faded. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if to imprint your very essence into his soul.

You melted into his kiss, surrendering to the desperate hunger of his touch. Your fingers threaded through his hair, holding him close as you poured every ounce of love, every shred of devotion, into the meeting of your lips. In this moment, nothing existed but him—his warmth, his scent, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Annatar’s eyes were dark with desire, his pupils blown wide. His hand slid down, fingers splaying possessively across your stomach, his touch searing through the thin fabric of your nightgown. A shiver coursed through you, not from cold, but from the raw intensity in his gaze.

"Every day, I am in awe of you," he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if the weight of his emotions threatened to consume him. "Of the strength you carry, the light you bring to my world. And now..." His fingers flexed against your belly, reverence and something almost fragile warring in his tone. “I finally feel complete.”

Your heart ached with tenderness as you gazed up at him, your fingers lifting to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes searching yours, as if committing this moment to memory. A quiet beat passed, the night air thick with unspoken emotions, before he spoke again, softer this time.

"I wish we had done this sooner."

A giggle bubbled past your lips, light and teasing, as you brushed your nose against his. “If it had been up to me, we would have,” you murmured, a playful smile dancing across your lips. You let the moment stretch, reveling in the warmth of his hold before adding, “But it has always been your choice, my love. You had to want it, not I.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your skin, and in his eyes, you saw it—the understanding, the unspoken gratitude, and the love that ran deeper than words could ever express.

And when he kissed you again, it was slow, reverent, a silent promise written in the language of his touch: I have always wanted you. I will always want you.

As your lips parted, you caught a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion buried beneath his adoration, fleeting yet undeniable. Concern. Doubt. Something unspoken.

You ran your finger across his bottom lip before nipping at it playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes, hoping to draw him back to the present, to chase away whatever shadowed his thoughts. But the worry lingered, stubborn and unresolved.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked softly, settling back against your pillows. You pulled the linen sheets up over yourself, cocooning in their warmth as the night air whispered through the open balcony. Annatar’s gaze drifted past you, out into the darkness beyond, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

For a moment, you wondered if he would answer at all. But then, he turned back to you, offering a smile—pleasant, practiced, but not quite reaching his eyes.

“Nothing I wish to burden you with,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet evasive. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

Your heart clenched.

Reaching up, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, stilling him, holding his gaze for a moment longer. "Mairon," you murmured, your tone a quiet plea, an unspoken invitation to share what troubled him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. The weight of his silence pressed against you, thick with meaning, with hesitation.

And yet, you did not push—only waited. Because you knew, eventually, he would let you in.

“I am worried that Lord Celebrimbor no longer wishes to continue in this venture,” Annatar admitted, his voice quiet but laced with tension.

You frowned, confusion flickering across your face. “And what makes you think that?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “He refuses to aid me in forging the Rings for Men.”

A weight settled in your chest at his words. You swallowed hard, the action small yet unmistakable, and Annatar’s sharp eyes did not miss it. The warmth of his touch left your skin as he shifted, sitting up against the headboard, his fingers pressing against his temples. A long sigh escaped him, weary and edged with frustration.

“And now you are refusing,” he murmured, half to himself, his voice tinged with something dangerously close to disappointment.

Your breath caught. “Mairon,” you said, disbelief threading through your tone. You sat up beside him, searching his face, but his eyes remained closed. “I am not refusing. I only wish to understand—why does Lord Celebrimbor object? What are his reasons?”

A silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things. Annatar’s fingers stilled against his brow, and when he finally opened his eyes, they burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I do not need his reasoning,” he said, voice low, measured. “I need his obedience.”

The words hung between you like a blade’s edge, their weight settling uncomfortably in the space you shared. And for the first time in months, you saw the light dim from his face, fading like the last embers of a dying fire.

Mairon.

This was not something he would have said before—not unless he was slipping back into the darker recesses of his mind, the shadows he had fought so hard to escape.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself, then reached for him, seeking the warmth of his hand in yours. But before your fingers could close around his, he pulled away—subtle, yet deliberate.

Your heart clenched.

“Mairon,” you whispered, the ache in your voice betraying the sting of his rejection. It was rare for him to deny your touch, rare for him to shut you out like this. And yet, he did not so much as glance at you, his gaze locked on some distant point, lost in the tangled threads of his thoughts.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, a quiet chasm between you that you weren’t sure how to bridge. You swallowed hard, the weight of the silence pressing against your chest like an unseen force. Without another word, you slipped out of bed, the cool air brushing against your skin as you reached for your silk dressing gown draped over the back of your dressing table’s chair.

The rustling of fabric caught Annatar’s attention, and for the first time since the conversation had turned, his gaze lifted to you. His brow furrowed, his expression puzzled by your sudden movement.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with quiet resolve. The silence between you stretched for another beat before you finally broke it.

“I am going to see what this is all about,” you said, your tone measured but firm. “If you wish to come, then so be it. But I will not stand idly by while you let this consume you.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

You took a breath, gathering your thoughts before continuing, softer this time. “You have worked too hard these past few months to fall back into old habits, Mairon. Do not let this undo everything.”

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering across his features. Guilt? Frustration? Perhaps both.

But still, he said nothing.

You tightened the belt of your gown and turned toward the door, determined to find the truth for yourself. Whether he followed or not, you would not let this fester in silence.

You strode down the dimly lit corridors with determined steps, the soft rustle of your silken dressing gown trailing behind you. The cool night air whispered against your skin, but you paid it no mind, your focus set on a single purpose—to uncover the truth behind Lord Celebrimbor’s reluctance and Annatar’s growing frustration.

The halls were silent at this hour, save for the distant crackle of torches lining the walls. You moved with purpose, your thoughts a storm of questions, doubts, and the lingering ache of Annatar’s retreat into himself.

As you neared the forge, the familiar scent of molten metal and parchment filled your senses. You hesitated only briefly before pushing the door open with deliberate care, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

Inside, the forge’s fire had long since dimmed, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. And there, hunched over his workbench, was Celebrimbor. His brow furrowed in deep concentration as he scribbled across a sheet of parchment, utterly absorbed in his work.

The moment you stepped inside, a strange sensation rippled through you—a pull at your very core. The ring on your finger pulsed, subtle yet insistent, a warning whispering through your blood.

Something was amiss.

Before you could dwell on it, Celebrimbor’s voice broke the silence.

“Thilwen?” His head lifted, eyes widening slightly in surprise as he took you in. “It is late. I thought you would be sleeping.”

You exhaled softly, schooling your features into a pleasant smile as you stepped forward, the phantom pulse of the ring fading as you willed it away.

“I could say the same of you, my lord,” you mused, ascending the steps that led to his small study. The glow of the fireplace cast deep shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of exhaustion that marred his otherwise noble features.

You came to stand beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder as your gaze flickered down to the parchment beneath his hand.

“What is keeping you awake?” you asked, voice laced with quiet curiosity.

You felt the subtle tension beneath your palm, the way his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly before he let out a slow breath.

“Many things,” he admitted, though there was something guarded in his tone. His fingers tightened briefly around his quill before he set it down. “But I suspect you already know that.”

Your stomach tightened.

So he was troubled.

“I do,” you breathed, shifting to sit beside him on the bench. “Would you care to tell me?”

Celebrimbor turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied you.

“He sent you, didn’t he?”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the suspicion in his tone. Shaking your head, you met his gaze with quiet honesty.

“I came of my own accord,” you assured him. “He mentioned you were troubled, and I realized I have been remiss in my duties as your faithful partner.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned back to his work. “It feels as though Lord Annatar has replaced me in that sense.” you finished.

But before you could say anything further, Celebrimbor reached for your hands, enclosing them gently within his own. His touch was warm, steady, reassuring.

“No, my lady,” he murmured, his voice rich with sincerity. “There is no one who could ever replace your wisdom—not even an emissary of the Valar.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest at his words, and a soft heat crept to your cheeks. You glanced down at your entwined hands, momentarily lost for words.

“You are too kind, my lord,” you whispered, then hesitated before continuing. “Can I offer you any of that wisdom to ease what troubles you?”

A heavy sigh escaped him as he withdrew his hands, turning back to his parchment. “I dare not burden you with that.”

A light laugh bubbled from your lips, though there was an edge of exasperation beneath it. “You know,” you mused, reaching up to touch his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back to yours, “you are the second person to say that to me tonight.”

He blinked at you, something shifting behind his eyes as you smiled softly.

“So tell me, mellon,” you urged, your voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. “I do not wish for you to be burdened by whatever weighs so heavily upon you.”

For a moment, he only looked at you, his lips parting as if to speak. Then, at last, he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to know that he would tell you—if only you were willing to listen.

“I feel as if he is not willing to listen to reason,” Celebrimbor began, his voice edged with frustration.

You bit back a knowing smile, amusement flickering in your chest despite the weight of the conversation. Mairon, unwilling to listen to reason? That was a tale as old as time. He had never been one to accept resistance, nor did he take the word no particularly well. It seemed that, even after all these ages, some things had not changed.

Celebrimbor exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He wishes to craft something for those who are so easily swayed—so easily corruptible. Do you not see the danger in that? These rings would not be a gift; they would be a temptation. A power that many would wield not for good, but for malice.”

His words carried a quiet urgency, a deep-seated concern that weighed on his every syllable.

You studied him, the flickering forge light casting sharp shadows across his face. There was no doubt in his mind, no hesitation in his belief.

And yet, there was doubt in yours.

You had seen the best in Mairon, had known the warmth beneath the steel, the brilliance behind the ambition. He had changed—or at least, you had believed he had.

But had he truly?

Or had you simply wished so desperately for it to be true?

Had the cloud of joy—the miracle of carrying life within you, the warmth of being back in your husband’s arms—made you so blind to what was unfolding right before your very eyes? Had love softened your vigilance, dulled the instincts that once warned you of the dangers lurking beneath the surface?

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before speaking.

“I agree with you,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “I think it would be a terrible idea. I have never lived among Men, but I know enough to understand what they are capable of when given power. And I remember well the ruin they can bring upon this world.”

Celebrimbor released a slow breath, relief flickering in his eyes as a small, weary smile touched his lips.

“I am glad we see eye to eye on this,” he murmured.

You nodded, reaching out to brush your thumb against his cheek, a small gesture of comfort, of familiarity. He leaned into the touch for the briefest of moments before reaching up to take your hand once more, his fingers curling around yours with quiet reassurance.

“We have always seen eye to eye, my lord,” you reminded him, your voice soft, steady. “It is why we have accomplished so much together.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. And yet, beneath the warmth of his touch, beneath the quiet understanding that had always bound you, you could not shake the lingering unease that settled in your chest.

Because for all the certainty in his words, for all the trust between you—there was another bond, one just as strong, just as deep.

And you were not sure how long you could stand between them before you were forced to choose.

When you returned to your chambers, you found Annatar exactly where you had left him—sitting against the headboard, unmoving, lost in thought. The dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across his face, deepening the furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw.

His gaze lifted as you entered, tracking your every movement as you crossed the room. You shrugged off your dressing gown, draping it over the back of the chair by your dressing table, and let out a slow breath, exhaustion settling into your bones. The weight of the conversation with Celebrimbor still clung to you, and you could feel Annatar’s silent scrutiny pressing against your back as you slipped beneath the sheets.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“So… will he do it?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the tension coiled beneath it, like a blade pressed too tightly against its sheath.

You did not face him. Instead, you turned toward the open balcony doors, watching as the night wind stirred the gossamer curtains. You knew what was about to come out of your mouth would not go over well. But it had to be said. And coming from you—perhaps it would wound him less.

“No.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. You could feel it stretching between you, fraying at the edges. Then, suddenly, the bed shifted violently as Annatar rose in a swift, almost volatile motion.

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself before turning to face him.

His eyes burned.

It was not the smoldering warmth you had grown accustomed to over the past months—not the quiet intensity of devotion or longing. No, this was something else. Something dangerous.

Something you had not seen in a long time.

And it frightened you.

“I agree with him,” you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded against your ribs. “You should not be giving power to them. They will only use it to hurt, Mairon.”

His name fell from your lips—a plea, a warning.

But the fire in his gaze did not wane. If anything, it burned brighter, sharper, flickering with something dark and unreadable.

And in that moment, you realized—this was not a conversation.

This was a battle.

One that neither of you could afford to lose.

“So you wish to turn your back on me as well?” Annatar’s voice was low, but there was an accusation woven into it, sharp as a dagger’s edge.

Your chest tightened.

“No,” you countered firmly, sitting up as the sheets pooled around your waist. “That is not what I am trying to do at all.”

But he was not listening—not truly. His stance was rigid, his gaze burning with something raw and unyielding.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, tightening your throat. “I am trying to make you see that you are pressuring someone into something they do not want to do. You are manipulating them, ignoring their warnings, dismissing their concerns as if they mean nothing.”

Your voice wavered with rising agitation, your emotions spilling over like a dam beginning to crack.

“The Dwarves needed our help,” you pressed, eyes locking onto his. “Men do not.”

The words left your lips with finality, each syllable deliberate, pointed.

Annatar stared at you, his expression unreadable, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

For the first time in a long time, you wondered if he even heard you at all—or if he had already made up his mind.

What came out of his mouth next sent a tremor down your spine.

“I never thought you to be so prejudiced, Mori,” he said, his voice low, measured—dangerous. “You think like every other Elf.”

Your breath hitched, but your glare did not waver. Anger still churned hot in your chest.

“You feel you are better than them,” he continued, eyes burning into yours, “but as I see it, you are afraid of them.”

Your hands clenched against the sheets, nails biting into your palms.

“Why do you care so much?” you shot back, your voice laced with frustration. “You are not one of them.” Your gaze narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “You hardly seem to care what your Elven wife thinks these days, so why are they so much more important than me? Than our baby?”

The moment the words left your lips, you knew you had gone too far.

A flicker of something dark crossed his face, his anger boiling over, raw and unchecked.

A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, as if the very air had sensed the shift between you.

The silence stretched, suffocating.

And for the first time, you were not sure whether the heat in his gaze was born of fury—or something far more dangerous.

“Get out.”

Your voice was low, a warning, a plea wrapped in trembling restraint. You needed space. You needed him to leave before this spiraled into something you could not control.

“Get out of my rooms.”

His eyes darkened further, shifting into the fathomless void of black that once haunted your worst nightmares. Your pulse pounded in your ears, sharp and unrelenting. But then—a chime.

The ring on your finger hummed with warmth, its presence grounding you, wrapping around your senses like a shield. Whatever he wished to do, it would protect you.

Annatar moved before you could react, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. His fingers wrapped tightly around your neck, the pressure firm enough to cut air, though not entirely. A low growl rumbled from his chest as another clap of thunder echoed in the distance, the storm outside mirroring the one within.

“I am doing this for you,” he snarled, his grip steady, his breath warm against your skin. “For our child.”

Your hands flew up, grasping at his wrist, struggling against the strength that once felt so safe, so sacred. But now, it terrified you.

“As I always have,” he continued, voice laced with a desperate conviction that sent a shudder through you. “This has always been for you. I endured centuries of torture, of agony, so I could heal you—so I could give you the world you longed for.”

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring his face as you searched those black voids for something—anything—that remained of the man you loved.

The soft patter of rain began, the first drops whispering against the stone balcony as your tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“This isn’t love,” you choked out, your voice raw, breathless. “This is an obsession—an obsession to right a wrong you could never fix.”

His grip trembled for just a moment. Just long enough for you to see it—doubt. Pain. The ghost of something human.

And then it was gone.

The rain began to pour, heavy and unrelenting, mirroring the storm that raged between you. Your tears fell just as freely, unchecked and wild, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

“I have the power now to fix it,” Annatar growled, his voice filled with something between desperation and conviction. “And with these—”

“No,” you gasped, choking on the word as his fingers tightened just a fraction more.

Your vision blurred, a mix of tears and the pressure against your throat, but you forced yourself to speak, to reach him.

“I do not want it,” you rasped, each breath a battle. “I want my husband—the man I wish to welcome a child into this world with.”

Your chest heaved as you fought to keep your composure, licking your lips in a desperate attempt to steady your voice, to push past the sobs that clawed at your throat—not just from fear, but from the sheer, aching grief of what was slipping through your fingers.

“The man my very fëa sings for every single day.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before you could grasp it. The moment hung between you, heavy, fragile.

And then—

“He’s dead, Mori.”

His voice was quiet, but the weight of those words crashed over you, drowning you in something colder than the rain that drenched the world outside.

“It’s about time you realized that.”

Your breath stilled.

Not from his grip.

Not from fear.

But because in that moment, you understood.

The man you loved—the man you had fought for, the man who had cradled your face with reverence and whispered your name like a prayer—

Was already gone.

The realization shattered something deep within you, a truth you had refused to accept for so long. The flicker of warmth in his gaze, the tender caress of his hands, the quiet promises whispered in the dark—they had all been an illusion. A fragile, desperate attempt to hold on to a memory, to a dream of what once was, of what could have been.

But now, as you stared into the fathomless void of his eyes, you saw it with painful, unrelenting clarity.

The man before you was not your husband.

Not anymore.

He was a shadow, a hollow echo of the being you had once loved with every fiber of your soul. He stood before you, flesh and form changed, but his fëa—his essence—had unraveled into something unrecognizable.

And no matter how desperately you wished it, no matter how fiercely you fought to bring him back—

He was lost to you.

Forever.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and aching, as the weight of that truth crashed over you, suffocating in its finality.

Annatar’s grip faltered for the barest moment, his fingers trembling against your throat, as if even he had not been prepared for the depth of your anguish.

But it was fleeting.

His jaw tightened, the storm within his eyes raging, though whether in frustration or something else—something weaker, something human—you could not tell.

You no longer knew him.

And that broke you more than anything ever could.

The cold, harsh reality of Annatar’s words settled over you like a leaden shroud, smothering the last embers of hope that had stubbornly flickered in your heart. The aching void his loss carved within you yawned wider than ever before, a chasm so deep, so vast, it threatened to swallow you whole.

You had spent so long believing in him, believing in change, in the quiet redemption you had sworn you glimpsed in the softness of his touch, in the reverence of his whispered vows. But it had been nothing more than a mirage—a cruel trick of the fading light.

Annatar’s grip on your throat finally loosened, his fingers slipping away as he pulled back. His face was an impassive mask once more, cold and unreadable, as if the firestorm of a moment ago had never existed.

But you hardly noticed the relief of air flooding your lungs, the easing of pressure against your windpipe.

All you could feel was the shattering pain radiating from your very core, splintering through you like fractured glass, sharp and unforgiving.

Your body buckled beneath the weight of it, and you sank onto the bed, your shoulders trembling as silent, wracking sobs overtook you.

Tears streamed down your face, unchecked, unstoppable, as you curled in on yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your middle—protecting, shielding, as if you could hold together the pieces of yourself that were breaking apart.

But nothing could stop it now.

Nothing could undo what had already been lost.

Annatar watched you crumple, his gaze unreadable, a flicker of something—hesitation? Regret?—passing across his features before it was swiftly buried beneath impassive coldness. He stood motionless for a long moment, his presence looming, the silence between you broken only by the harsh rasp of your uneven breaths and the relentless patter of rain against stone.

Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode from the room. The door shut behind him with a dull, final thud—an ending, a severing, a wound that could never be stitched back together.

But you barely registered his departure.

You were lost in the storm of your own grief, in the cruel, crushing realization that everything you had believed, everything you had hoped for, had been nothing more than a beautiful lie.

Your mind reeled, memories of tender moments and whispered endearments twisting like thorns in your heart, mocking you with their falseness. The warmth of his touch, the devotion in his gaze, the soft murmurs of love in the dead of night—had any of it been real? Or had you simply wanted it to be?

How could you have been so blind?

How could you have deluded yourself for so long?

A strangled sob escaped your lips as you curled further into yourself, clutching at the ache in your chest as if you could physically hold yourself together.

But you couldn’t.

You were breaking.

And this time, there was no one left to save you. Or the child that now grew in you.

The harsh, cold wind howled through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of rain and the bitter sting of betrayal. It curled around you like a phantom’s touch, seeping into your skin, chilling you to the bone. You shivered, curling tighter into yourself, your body wracked with silent sobs. Each gasping breath felt jagged, each shuddering exhale a cruel reminder of how utterly alone you were.

Alone.

The word echoed in your mind, hollow and unforgiving.

After everything you had endured—centuries of longing and heartache, of hope and despair—you had somehow ended up right back where you started.

Bereft. Abandoned. Shattered beyond repair.

And now, there was no illusion left to cling to, no lingering dream to convince yourself that the man you loved was still somewhere beneath the ruin.

He was gone. Once more.

Yet, even as the realization tore through you, another truth settled over you like a second, heavier weight—a life stirred within you, a fragile ember in the darkness. A piece of him. A reminder of everything you had lost.

Your breath hitched, your trembling hands drifting to your stomach as the crushing reality pressed down upon you.

How could you do this alone?

How could you bring a child into a world where their father—their true father—would never brighten their skies?

A fresh sob tore from your throat, raw and aching, as the storm outside raged on.

And deep in your soul, you felt it—the quiet, suffocating certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

The rain continued to fall outside, its steady patter a mournful requiem to your grief. The world beyond the open balcony blurred into darkness, the storm swallowing the distant lights of the city, leaving only the sound of the wind and the hollow ache in your chest.

Time itself seemed to still as you lay there, cocooned in anguish, your breath coming in slow, uneven shudders. The cold reality of Annatar’s words sank deeper into your bones with each passing second, anchoring you in a truth you had refused to accept.

He was gone.

The man you had loved, the man you had fought so desperately to save—he was nothing more than a memory now, a fading dream slipping through your fingers like smoke. Every whispered vow, every tender touch, every quiet moment of warmth had been built on a fragile hope that had shattered beyond repair.

And in his place stood a shadow.

A twisted reflection of the brilliance that had once burned so brightly within him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if doing so could erase the image of his void-black gaze, of the fire that had flickered into something cruel and unrecognizable. But it was too late. It had already seared itself into you, a wound that would never fully heal.

And you were alone.

Truly, utterly alone.

Left to shoulder the weight of the life growing inside you without the warmth and strength of the one who had helped create it. The thought sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over you, suffocating, relentless.

You pressed a trembling hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest swell beneath your palm. A new life. A fragile ember in the midst of ruin.

How could you protect them?

How could you bring them into a world where their father—the man who should have been their guide, their protector, their light—had become something unrecognizable?

A sob broke past your lips, raw and aching, as the storm raged on outside.

His feet carried him away from you, the fire of his anger still burning, an inferno raging unchecked within his chest. Annatar strode through the darkened halls, his jaw clenched tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The storm outside roared in tandem with his fury, thunder shaking the foundations of stone, rain lashing against the walls like a relentless assault.

Each step took him further from you, from the sound of your broken sobs echoing in his ears, from the raw devastation etched across your face. The weight of your words clung to him like chains, an accusation, a wound he had not been prepared to receive.

For the briefest of moments, something inside him wavered.

He could still turn back. Could still return to you, take you into his arms, murmur soft reassurances until the pain ebbed away. The instinct to protect you, to keep you, still thrummed beneath the anger, an old and stubborn part of him that refused to die.

But no.

He forced himself forward, pushing past that flicker of weakness, burying it beneath layers of steel and ice. He could not afford it. Not now.

He had meant what he said.

The man you loved, the man you clung to with such desperate hope—he was dead.

Long lost to the ages.

Everything he had shown you over the past months—every lingering touch, every whispered vow, every tender look—had been nothing more than an illusion. A reflection of something that no longer existed.

And if you could not accept that, if you still clung to the past as though it could be salvaged—then you would be left behind, just like the rest of them.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, each one a hollow reverberation of his bitter thoughts. Annatar moved with single-minded purpose, his robes billowing slightly as he strode forward, his eyes as dark and tumultuous as the storm raging outside.

He would not be deterred.

Not by Celebrimbor’s hesitation.

Not by your pleas.

Not even by the fragile life growing within you—the child he had sworn to protect and cherish above all else.

That promise, once sacred, now felt like a distant echo of another life. Another man.

It was as if something deep inside him had fractured beyond repair, a vital piece that had once tethered him to who he had been. The warmth, the compassion, the love that had softened his edges and guided his actions for so long—it had drained away, slipping through his fingers like sand, leaving behind only an aching void.

A void he filled with cold, unyielding resolve.

This would not be another failure.

This would not be another loss.

The world did not change through hesitation, through softness, through fear. It changed through will. Through fire. Through power.

And so he would see this through.

He would forge the rings, with or without Celebrimbor’s aid.

Let the world resist.

Let you resist.

It would not change what had already been set in motion.

[ender-cloud]

Hyde and Lanyon are so silly guys i love them so much

Tgs spoilers under cut

Wooo another “sick” day with a TGS update this is my medicine

These two are so perfect for each other oh my god(im also a sucker for relationships where they make fun of each other sooo)

Lanyon knew that if he taunted Hyde he would be able to reach him and convince him because of how Hydes mind and Reputation works.

He has always said he’s the spirit of london at night, at the end of chapter 3 he claims that because he’s the spirit of London at night he has nothing to fear, Lanyon was playing those words so Hyde confidence back.

Lanyon and Hyde’s personalities are able to bounce off of each other which is what Hyde used to Piss Lanyon off initially, but now it’s used to help each other in this trying time.

But just because Lanyon is teasing him he isnt not caring, he’s just making a bad time a little lighter. “I’ll be right here when you get back” He cares so much for Hyde and Jekyll and he wants them both back and safe because he loves both sides, now he realizes that. He doesn’t want to chose one or the other, he might’ve felt in love with Hydes side first but he cares for both.

Even if Lanyon seems to care more about Hyde in this chapter it’s because Hyde is the part he’s talking to and it’s because he’s finding out all of this new information. He cares for both but when put with it he has one mind set currently which is making sure they’re ok.

At first, i was shocked that Hyde could just go into the mind scape but after thinking about it, it makes sense.

In a way this is what Jekyll did, or what Hyde and Jekyll do when they force the other to swap with them, but the reason why Hyde just went into it this time is because there was no one to swap with (supposedly)

Hyde isn’t positive if Jekyll has gone down the stair case but if him and Jekyll are as similar as he thinks then he did, we saw of course Jekyll floating down so we know but Hyde doesn’t.

He is relying in his own intuition and what he would do to get into the mind of Jekyll. He knows that Jekyll is more like him than Jekyll wants to think, the potion didn’t separate them in many ways.

Living in eachothers minds meant that at some point they shared thoughts, like how they both have a reputation they want to keep up.

Hyde is using his knowledge of how similar they are to scope out where he may be and he is going to use it in an attempt to save Jekyll as well.