#I desperately want to be with and talk to someone but at the same time don't want anything to do with anyone

[mofongomuncher]

HER

(Ekko x reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko, Jinx, reader ¡

Ekko slammed the door behind him so hard it rattled the frame, his breathing ragged.

"What the hell were you thinking Y/N?" he growled, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn't even look at her at first, pacing back and forth, his fists clenching at his sides. "Do you have a death wish, or are you just stupid?"

Y/N flinched at his tone, but her own anger was already steaming beneath the surface. "Don't talk to me like that..." she snapped, straightening up.

"I just saved your life."

"Saved my life?" Ekko whirled on her. His dark brown skin glistened with sweat, the usual vibrance in his eyes replaced with irritation. "Do you even realize what you just did? You don't "save" someone by throwing yourself into a fight you don't even understand?! You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"I wasn't going to stand there and watch her kill you Ekko!" Y/N fired back, stepping toward him, her voice trembling now.

"What was I supposed to do? Let her put a bullet in your cranium?"

"I had it handled!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the small space.

"You stepping in didn't help—it made everything worse! You always think you're helping...but you're not! You're just another person I have to worry about, another liability!"

Y/N recoiled as if he'd slapped her, tears now already pooling in her eyes. "Liability?" she repeated, her voice low. "That's what I am to you hm? A liability?"

"Yeah..." he snapped, frustration thick in his tone. "You're reckless, you don't listen, and you have no idea what you're even doing. You think you can just walk into my life, into my fights, and just fix things?"

"Don't you dare talk to me like I don't understand! I've been by your side through everything! I've fought for you, bled for you, and this is what I get? You calling me a liability because I tried to save your ungrateful ass?"

Ekko froze for a moment, his shoulders stiffening. "You don't get it, okay?" he said, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "This isn't just some fight. It's—it's her."

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. Y/N froze, her heart sinking. "Her?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Ekko turned away, his broad shoulders slumping as he ran a hand down his face. "Jinx..." he said, the name slipping out like a curse and a prayer all at the same time. "She's not just some random enemy Y/N. She's..." He stuttered.

"She's not who she used to be. And seeing her like that—it messes me up.."

Y/N stepped closer, her tone sharp with pain.

"What does that even mean Ekko? That you still care about her? That you still love her?"

Ekko's eyes widened, his breath hitching. He opened his mouth to respond, but the silence stretched painfully between them.

"That's it, isn't it?" Y/N said, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her cheeks. "You're still in love with her. That's why you don't want me stepping in. You're not afraid for me...no—you're afraid for her."

"Shut up..." Ekko said, his voice low and strained, his expression crumpling for just a second.

"No.." Y/N snapped, her anger laced with heartbreak. "I'm not going to shut up. You're still in love with her Ekko. Even after everything she's done, after what she did to the firelights?!"

"It's not that simple." his voice broke slightly. "You don't know what it's like Y/N." His voice dropped, trembling now. " I still want to save her."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, her tears coming harder now, her vision blurring. "And what about me huh?" she asked, her voice quieter.

"What am I to you Ekko? Just someone to fill the void until she decides to randomly come back?"

He flinched at her words, guilt flashing across his face. "What—That's not what this is.." he said, his voice soft and desperate. "I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean what?" she interrupted, her voice cracking. "Didn't mean it like that? Because you did, Ekko....You know you did."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was true.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out, but she backed away, shaking her head.

"I've given you everything." she whispered, her voice trembling. "And it's still not enough...It's never going to be enough, is it?"

Ekko's his voice softened. "Please, don't say that."

Y/N wiped at her eyes, her chest tight with the weight of his words. "I'm sorry Ekko. I tried. I really did try... but I just can't do this anymore."

She turned away, her body trembling as she made her way to the door.

Ekko's voice stopped her before she could leave.

"Y/N please!" he said softly. "I...I'm so sorry."

Y/N didn't look back. Her hand reached for the door handle, and stepping outside.

The door clicked shut, and Ekko was left standing there, staring at the place where she had stood just seconds ago. The weight of her absence settled heavily in the room. His fists clenched at his sides, his body still trembling as the reality of their argument hit him.

He let out a shaky breath, his tears threatening to fall once again. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But no matter how much he wanted to fix things, he just couldn't do it, not for jinx, not for Y/N.

She was gone now, they both were.

And he couldn't do anything about it.

More stories will be added on Wattpad soon!!

[xoluvx]

omg why am i stressed for me and billie (that was soooo good) but how are we gonna fix this fr

real. same like billie girl what are we doing?? this is what i imagine went down:

scandal; b.eilish ❥₊ ⊹

the best publicist makes the video go away, but that doesn't stop people from downloading and spreading it around. even if it can be taken down, it just pops up again. not at the same magnitude, but still detrimental to reader and billie. especially reader who is just trying to navigate life as billie's girlfriend.

mama and dad eilish were not happy about any of it. they indeed lectured billie about doing things like that in public, but they were also understanding of the fact that it was not either of your faults. they were upset that some people could stooped so low. they made sure both you and billie were okay. neither of you left their house. both of you were too scared of the public. they took care of you.

at one point, billie goes live and is super honest and vulnerable about the situation. it was a traumatic event. it wasn't like she took the video and it got leaked, someone filmed it and sold it for their own personal gain. it was scarring. her people understand and report any time they see the video. reader makes an appearance on the live. this is the first time and it's so obvious billie is in love and desperate to make things to right.

eventually things die down and there is a mutual understanding that what happened should've never happened. that reader and billie are just human and they make mistakes, but it was a violation of privacy.

if anything, the whole thing brought you and billie closer. billie wants to show you off, but she also respects how hesitant you are now. she's even more proud and cute and giggly when she does get to talk about you or when you attend an event with her. most of the time you live in your little bubble and you love that. it's sacred.

the end.

[tkwrites]

Split & Healed - A snapshot in 2 parts - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from @gabelandeskog

Title: Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2 

Part 1

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: smut (18+ only), oral (f receiving)

Summary: Getting home from a road trip in the middle of the night is par for the course for Quinn, but getting home after finally getting his stitches removed means he can’t wait for morning to get his mouth on Sarah.

Word count: 1,600

Comments: Many thanks for the nonnie who sent in this inspired ask! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Anonymous asked: Thinking about Quinn being so excited to give Sarah head when the stitches finally come out of his lip. He would be insatiable 

Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot 

When Quinn arrived home in the early hours of the morning on Friday, he had no intention of a waking Sarah.

He missed her, certainly, but he'd missed her before.  He had it all planned out. He’d catch a few hours of restful sleep next to her and then spend the morning worshiping every inch of her he could get his mouth on until she had to leave for class.

After Roman removed the last of the stitches after practice in Utah, he sent Sarah a selfie. 

Does this mean we can finally kiss when you get home? 

Sure does. 

Thank God.  

It had been a cruel twist of fate to have the stitches removed and be cleared to do everything as soon as he was no longer at home. 

The entire drive from the arena, he told himself he could wait until a more reasonable hour. 

The moment he got into bed, however, everything changed. As the heady scent of her surrounded him, all of a sudden, his dick was hard and his mouth was buzzing with a need to kiss and taste her that he just couldn’t shake.

It had been torturous to resist her while the stitches were still in place. He loved putting his mouth on her, and the desire only intensified when he was told he couldn’t.

He’d even begged to go down on her, but she’d refused, point blank, telling him, “I will not be the one responsible for your lip getting infected.”  

Perhaps it was just because everything that had been haunting his dreams since his lip had been busted was in front of him.

Perhaps it was because he was presented with so much of her bare skin he hadn't been able to put his mouth on for the past week and a half.  

Perhaps it was nothing more than the simple relief of being home without seutchers sewn into his skin. 

Whatever it was - likely a combination of all three - he found he just couldn’t wait. 

“Quinn?” Sarah asked sleepily, feeling something whisper over her shoulder again. 

He mumbled into her skin. 

“Q, is that you?” It wasn’t so much that she thought it might be someone else as she wanted to make sure this wasn't just happening in her dream.

His mouth skimmed up her neck to whisper in her ear, “yeah. It’s me.” 

She made a contented little humming noise, and shifted to lean against him more. 

Taking this as an invitation to continue, Quinn kept kissing and kissing, savoring the softness of her skin, the taste of her. 

She made that same noise again, a little louder this time, and the control he’d been skimming along stretched taught, threatening to snap. 

“Can I go down on you?” he murmured, giving up on trying to talk himself out of it.  

“Hu?”  

“Can I eat you out?” There was a desperate whine to his voice when he added on, “please?” 

Though she did want it - she’d missed his mouth on her nearly as much as he had - it was the middle of the night. “Quinn, I'm too tired,” she said, words slurred with sleep. 

He knew he should let it go, but found he couldn't. The idea had gripped too much of his imagination. “I don’t want to wait to taste you now that I can.”

She pulled in a deep, sleepy breath, “I don’t know that I can…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely, miming jerking him off. 

“You don’t need to do anything,” he rushed to assure. “Getting my mouth on you is enough.”

Murmuring his name as more heat rushed down her spine, Sarah rolled onto her back. 

He scrambled on top of her. “This is okay?”

Her eyes were still closed, lashes fanned over her cheeks, as she nodded. 

Relief and desire chased each other through his body.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her little purple shorts, he eased them and her underwear down, tossing them off the side of the bed before he spread her legs to find his home between them.

“Quinn,” she breathed. There was so much quiet desire in the whispered way she said his name, it made another surge of heat rush to his cock. 

He licked his lips, anxious to taste her on them, and finally (finally, finally) put his mouth on her. 

A moaned little grunt escaped her mouth and her hips tipped toward him. 

His hunch wasn't far off. One taste of her sweet nectar, and he was straining against the confines of his boxers and rutting into the mattress to get some relief. If she hadn’t been so tired, he would beg for her to touch him next, but that could wait.

God, she was perfect. She tasted so good. 

Her hand slipped down, her fingers lazily brushing into his hair. Another need raged to life inside him. 

“Pull my hair,” he practically begged. He could hear how much she liked it, but he wanted to feel it too. 

Her fingers traced over his scalp again. 

Maybe she hadn’t heard him. He pulled back so he could talk louder, “Sarah?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes were still closed, voice still sleepy. 

“Sarah, pull my hair,” there was a distinct whine in his voice now that he didn’t even try to bite back. He needed to feel it. “Please.”  

She nudged him down. He didn't need telling twice.

As he licked her perfect, sensitive pearl, her hips jumped to his mouth and her hand tightened in his curls.

“Just like that,” he groaned into her. 

“Oh my god,” Sarah breathed. This was by far the best wakeup call she’d ever received. 

Suddenly, he was insatiable, lapping and sucking at her as if he were eating his final meal. He’d missed this so much, he was never giving up the opportunity again. 

“So good, Quinn,” she moaned. 

Her praise swam straight to his cock. “Again,” he groaned into her.

“So good,” she repeated, tightening her fingers in his hair. Then, swimming with pleasure and the want to drive him over the same cliff he was pushing her toward, she found herself continuing, “such a good boy for me.”

The combination of the tingling pain from her grip on his hair and her praise hurled him over the precipice. 

With one last rock of his hips, he shot off, coating the inside of his boxers.

He grunted into her, feeling his eyes roll back. 

When he came back to himself, she was still spread out under him, her breath coming in steady, even gasps. 

She whined when he pulled back to suck in a few deep breaths. He needed to send her over the edge and needed his lungs full of air to do it. 

Sarah moaned loudly when he dove back in, snaking his tongue inside her as he nosed at her clit. 

“Quinn, oh fuck.” Her hips moved of their own volition, shamelessly grinding herself against the bridge of his nose. 

Feeling her fall apart around his tongue while he couldn't smell and taste anything but her was the fulfillment of every fantasy he’d had over the past eleven days.

Had he not already, he surely would have shot off listening to her pleasured moans and feeling her pulsing around and against his mouth. 

He kept going until she collapsed back against the mattress. 

His top lip still felt a little strange to him – too stiff where the wound was still healing – but licking her essence off of it made it feel a little more normal.

Her breathing was coming in deep gasps, one hand over her heart. “Oh my God.” 

Crunching up a little, she found him still on his stomach, languidly licking his lips as if he wanted to savor every drop. 

“That was…” she trailed off, flopping back onto the mattress. 

She could hear the smile in his voice as he teased, “worth waking up for?”

“Holy shit. Yes. I should stop you from going down on me so often if that’s going to be the result.” 

Quinn scrambled away from her. “What?” 

She opened one eye to find him kneeling between her knees, a wary look on his handsome face. She smirked, savoring his reaction for just a moment before she caved, “I’m just joking. You’re the only guy I’ve dated that actually likes going down on me. I’m not going to stop you.” 

He practically slumped over her left leg in relief. 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

“Quarter to three,” he said, glancing at the digital alarm clock across the room. 

“Can you hand me my shorts?” she asked after a few minutes. As the high of her orgasm ebbed away, fatigue settled back into her bones. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, pushing himself up.

She hummed. 

“Here.” 

Opening her eyes, she found Quinn at the end of the bed, threading her shorts and underwear over her feet so he could ease them up her legs. 

She took over at her knees and he went to the bathroom, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers on the way. 

Feeling him relax into the bed next to her, Sarah roused herself enough to ask, “did you get off?” 

He smiled, loving that even in her early morning, sleepy mind, she was thinking of him. “Yep,” he said before pulling her body flush to his and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. 

“Good,” she said quietly, leaning into him and drifting back to sleep. 

Part 1

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[zweiginator]

thinking of douchebag!patrick… seeking out the girl who doesn’t get a lot of attention when she’s out w her girlfriends at a bar .. cuz he knows there’s so much desperation under the surface that they’re usually soo eager and pliable .. all it takes is a very slight amount of attention and praise 😵‍💫😵‍💫

also MISSED YOUU SM

and yes he thinks you’re gorgeous but he’s not looking for a relationship —he never is. i think he’s also the type of guy who has double standards; he’ll pick up a girl at the bar to fuck her but he thinks it’s abhorrent to think he’d ever date a girl like that. it’s gotten him slapped across the face more times than he can count but a shitty bouquet of flowers and puppy dog eyes always do the trick and there he is again—in their pants when they swore up and down they hated his fucking guts.

so he’s on a mission when he sees you out with your friends. with a gaggle of girls but somehow still alone because you’re shy and nobody has come up to you. you’re stirring a vodka soda when patrick comes up to you and you immediately have to act cool and natural because he’s easily the hottest guy in the bar, all toned legs and dimples and pretty brunette curls framing his face.

he knows you’re worth more than this but it’s easy to throw you a few compliments and get you back to his apartment; you tell your friends you’ll be okay and you’ll text them when you get there. but as soon as the door is shut behind you he’s looking at you in a way that has you feeling dizzy. he’s feigning small talk—telling you about tennis and finding an excuse to show you the medals and trophies in his room—did you know he won a junior US open?

and you gasp, not because you’re impressed—you are—but he’s on top of you and you love the feeling of being wanted, of the weight of someone’s attention on you. he pushes his fingers into your mouth and they dance beneath your waistband, pumping into your pussy.

“can i ask you a favor?” he pours the words into your mouth with his own, and you yank on his collar to keep him close. god—don’t leave.

you nod and you think you’d do whatever he wants because he just sucked your cum from his fingers so eagerly you’d think it were honey.

“can you suck my cock?”

it’s vulgar but he makes it sound enticing and delicious so of course you do it, getting down on your knees to really make a show of it. pumping his length in your fist, he’s so big and his arm is strong and veiny as he holds onto your head, feeling the pulse in your forehead.

you swirl your tongue around his head; it’s easy to gag on him just like he likes. spit dribbles down your chin and he smirks down at you.

“so desperate to suck this fuckin’ dick.” his eyes are hooded. he wants you to respond, you realize, after he mutters: “hm?”

“i love it,”

he can barely understand you with his cock stuffed down your throat and he tangles his fingers further into your hair, knuckles white at your scalp.

“yeah?”

you feel pathetic like this, worshipping him. but he’s the kind of man who gets what he wants. you’re wiping his cum from your cheek as he’s rushing to leave your apartment. you tell yourself not to say anything, just let him go.

but you bite your lip as he’s about to turn away from you, the door ajar.

“call me?”

“yeah.” it’s that same tone, like he feels bad for you.

you let the door close. he doesn’t have your number.

[theoutcastwrites]

Try Again - Il Dottore x Reader

This is a vent fic. Let's just get that out of the way. I wrote this because I needed Dottore to do The Thing™. Don't read too much into this. The feelings will pass

"You've been staring at that journal for the past fifteen minutes," said Zandik, "what's the matter?"

You weren't sure it could be put into words - all the self-doubt that tormented you as of late, the thoughts that circled your mind every waking hour. Attempts had been made, in vain, to prepare a small speech in your head in case Zandik ever caught on. That, of course, he did, but you had nothing to say; not a single eloquent monologue to convey your insecurities in a way that would provoke understanding and not bewilderment.

I feel inadequate as of late. I don't feel like I'm wanted anywhere. Nothing I do matters anymore.

All miserable words that would have been met with a stern look, a simple "you are wanted by me; thus all that you do matters to me".

You tapped your pen against the empty page of your journal. You were desperate to say something, yet whatever it was that would eventually come out of your mouth already felt lacking. Nothing was enough.

"Talk to me," he urged, "you know there is nothing in this world that can't be solved. Tell me what bothers you."

You swallowed. "I feel as if I've lost all my skills. For writing, I mean. I can't come up with anything new and whatever ideas I have feel mediocre at best; uninteresting and aimless. I don't know, I..."

I think I should just give up.

The thought had crossed your mind countless times before. Wouldn't it be so much easier to abandon your work altogether? Why continue hurting yourself with this when you could simply let it all go?

You were tempted. Still, there was something that forced you to keep trying; something strange and incomprehensible that begged you not to give up this one thing that you knew.

Zandik pulled you out of your thoughts, "as far as I can tell - from what little I've seen of your scribbles - you've been writing the same themes over and over. What about trying something new?"

"I have tried. Nothing feels fitting."

"Then take a break. If I hit a dead end in my research I find something else to occupy my mind. Surely reading someone else's works will help you view your ideas from different perspectives?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. It all sounded so simple in theory - this issue should have been so easy to solve - yet nothing had worked. You felt as though you were stuck between four brick walls with no tools to break them down; nothing but your own fingernails to scrape them in hopes that someone would hear you from the other side.

"It doesn't feel so simple," you said softly.

"Why?"

"If I take a break now, I feel as if I'll only get worse." There came the first half of your horrifyingly vulnerable confession, and with it - a lump in your throat that came to embarrass you even further. You whispered the second half with enough shame to drown an entire nation: "If I don't push something out now, I'm afraid people will stop caring about me."

Zandik didn't spare you enough time to hide the tears that already clouded your vision; for he was by your side in the blink of an eye, gently pulling the journal out of your hands and hiding it behind his back.

"Why would you let such a thought become your truth?"

He laced his fingers with yours, wiped at the stray tears on your cheeks with the other hand. His glove rubbed against your skin in a way that was more uncomfortable than soothing but you made no move to stop him. Zandik continued to soothe you in the way he knew best.

"There's no race to run, do you understand? If you keep telling yourself that you'll become spoiled lest you write now, you'll never be able to see your brilliance as I do."

Zandik's eyes softened when you weakly squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Thank you, you wanted to say, for seeing in me everything that I do not.

"Everything comes and goes; just as dusk turns to dawn without waiting for you to keep up." Zandik placed a tender kiss on your knuckles, "so don't let one difficult moment define you, my dear."

[yandere-paramour]

How has noelle developed since being taken in by atalanta? Style, attitude, before vs. now kinda things

I really like this question which is why I've been thinking about it so long (my apologies). This is a continuation of this if y'all have forgotten. Buckle up, this turned into a long one. I hope it is to your liking.

In a way, Noelle is both the same and different than before Ata. Atalanta correctly identified a diamond in the rough and formed Noelle into the powerhouse we know her to be today, and this is why Noelle is so indebted to her.

When Noelle graduated with her her master's in business, she was 23 and living on her own in a shitty studio apartment. She worked part-time in the school's financial aid department filling in spreadsheets and also picked up night shifts at a 24-hour daycare. There was no talk of love; she could barely take care of herself. She was running out of food, running out of money, and running out of time. She needed to use her degree, so she was applying for every business job she possibly could.

She was desperate. She didn't have many warm clothes and survived mostly on what she could scrounge from the dining hall following a shift. She still thought of herself as a frantic trailer-park kid trying to be something she's not, and she lay awake many a night thinking about having to return home in shame. She wanted better for herself, of course she did, she just didn't have much hope. Why would someone take a chance on her when there were other candidates, ones who could afford a suit and could actually get a good night's sleep before class.

At least, until she got a response from a job. She took the free headshots the school provided, borrowed a too-big suit, and went to the kind of restaurant she should've been serving at, not eating at. Atalanta already knew everything about her situation; she had Zachariah look into Noelle well before they met. Not really the usual person working at Montclair Industries, but Ata believes potential is distributed universally; it can come from anywhere.

Atalanta is nothing if not perceptive. She noticed the way Noelle looked at other patrons having business lunches in the restaurant, the way she hunched her shoulders in shame when they stared at her ill-fitting blazer and skirt, how she completely skipped the wine list and didn't seem to recognize anything on the complicated entree menu. Atalanta ordered for the two of them, making a discrete show of her table manners, wanting to see if Noelle took notice and copied her. To Atalanta's delight, she did.

They discussed Noelle's grades, her approaches to problem-solving, her work experience and strengths and weaknesses. Halfway through the entree, Ata sent a pre-written text for one of her bodyguards to come to the table with a fake story about someone crossing the business, and she gave him vague instructions to "take care of it". Noelle barely batted an eye at the somewhat menacing instructions.

Ata waited until dessert to bring up Noelle's... less-than-savory habits. How Zachariah had evidence of her hacking security cameras, how many in disagreement with Noelle were discovered to have malware and keylogging on their computers, the scores of information found on a sweep of her laptop. Atalanta knew exactly what she'd done and appeared to have compiled concrete evidence, enough evidence to ruin her life. Horrified and certain her life was over, Noelle got up to run, but found herself surrounded. All the other customers were gone, and the staff was all in the back kitchen. There was only Atalanta and her bodyguards.

Atalanta politely asked Noelle to sit back down, explaining that she wasn't in trouble. In fact, she was exactly who Ata needed. Atalanta needed a loyal subordinate, one who could do her bidding at a moment's notice, one who would be loyal to the very end and not bother with moralities. Of course, she would be compensated generously. Atalanta slid a thick folder across the table, along with a check for a thousand dollars. Noelle was to read the contract and take some time to think about Ata's offer; the money was so she could take some days off to think without cost to herself. Atalanta would be in touch in 3 days for an answer. After dropping that bombshell, Ata just... gathered her things and left, waving a nonchalant goodbye.

Noelle called in sick that night at the daycare. She was up all night reading through that pile of papers, checking out the window every few minutes, certain she was being watched. A 300k salary, countless benefits, a job she had never dared to even dream of, there was no question what she had to do, especially with the unknown amount of dangerous information looming behind her. She signed them all and hoped she made the right choice. Obviously knowing her choice, Ata sent a guard to pick up the papers early the next morning, along with some fancy chocolates to celebrate with.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Atalanta set Noelle up with a new, huge, apartment closer to the office, furnished it to Noelle's liking, and had her moved in. She sent 7 designer suits so Noelle would have something to wear, and ensured she had transportation and her own bodyguard to protect her. Noelle was highly encouraged to tell either the guard or Ata herself if she needed anything, and she would receive it. Atalanta became akin to a goddess for Noelle; In her eyes, Atalanta Montclair had saved her life and given her everything. She might not have died for Ata, but she would suffer a whole lot for her.

The first few months of working at Montclair Industries were difficult, to say the least. The other people were all clean, polished, ignorant of all suffering and privileged from the day they were born. Noelle... wasn't like them. She envied their easy lives and how blessed they were to be in such circumstances. They didn't know how good they had it. Sure, she had been lucky, Ata had taken pity on her, but surely they could smell the poverty on her, surely they knew what she was. It was difficult for her to get settled in such rapid change, and even though Ata was patient and kind, Noelle struggled. Even if she was doing great, she felt she did everything wrong and that she was always in danger of losing her good fortune. Noelle would fight to the death to keep her job, and to her, all coworkers were serpents ready to swoop in and steal her livelihood.

But as time passed, Noelle calmed down a bit. Atalanta pays well, and Noelle was able to both support her sisters and stash away a good bit for herself. She can afford food that's not the scraps of others and hot water in an un-mildewed shower and a bed that's actually comfortable. She learned how to do her job properly and the way the company ran; Atalanta is queen and what she says goes. Noelle might as well be the grand vizier; she has gained Atalanta's favor and thus can influence what she wants. The serpents? Gone and replaced on Noelle's orders with Ata's uncaring permission.

Noelle accompanies Atalanta on business trips around the world and they grow closer, becoming true friends instead of mistress and servant. Noelle is still as compulsive and thorough about her job and life as she always has been (that's just the way she is), but she knows, barring a colossal mistake, she will not be fired. And even if she is, she has enough saved to support herself until she can find something else (she hates even the thought of this though, it's just a contingency plan just in case). She has worked hard enough to secure herself a comfortable and fulfilling career. She has taken care of herself, provided herself the stability and security she has always craved. She gains the confidence we see in her today, and has now evolved into the steady adult Noelle we know and love.

And this is when she finds herself in need of a Darling.

Noelle is 25, right in the middle of the Intimacy vs. Isolation stage. She has money, her own place, a family that loves her, even a supportive friend; the only thing she doesn't have is... a lover. Atalanta has a lover, Noelle has accompanied the woman on many an outing and even sat with her on her earlier, more... rebellious days. And... Noelle finds herself a bit lonely. She's always had her sisters around and... she's not used to coming home to such a large apartment with no one in it. She finds herself quite... wistful. She wants someone to come home to, someone to spend weekends with, someone to love and hold and take care of. She wants to give herself to someone, to let herself be as vulnerable to someone as she can be. As surrounded as she's always been, she's been... alone. And she doesn't want to be alone anymore.

And this is the root of Noelle, of who she has been since the moment of her birth. Deep deep down, what she really craves is security and love, and that will never change.

[docholligay]

Immediately after season one

My brain is a puddle out my ears, but hey! Only 400 more words and I'll have managed the 3000! Wish me luck!

This is about 700 words.

Minako wasn’t stupid. She paid attention to things, even when people thought she didn’t. That was part of the game. She paid attention, and she remembered things. Okay, they weren’t the things people thought she should remember, like the capital of…Greece, or whatever, or who the fuck was emporering when, but they were more important than that.

She didn’t get confused. So why now? 

For last three weeks, Minako had felt like she was living in a snowglobe. Tokyo was as it had always been (but it isn’t) and school was boring (I’m forgetting something) and her friends still wrote from London (what was I doing in London?). But just at the edge of her life, she could see a curve, shiny and almost hidden by the falling snow around her. There was something outside, that she could not reach. 

It was like losing a limb, except if you lost a limb, you could point to it and go, “Shit, my leg’s gone,” and whoever you’re sitting there with would go, ‘oh! That fucking sucks!” and they would feel bad for you, because your leg is missing, and everyone can tell your leg is missing. 

“I feel wrong, and incomplete,” didn’t get the same reaction. Just a chuckle and a shrug that being a teenager was hard. 

Minako Aino wasn’t herself. Or, she wasn’t fully herself. Parts of her had been cut out (like a ransom note) and pasted over (worse, the magazine that wrote the note) and nobody else seemed to be able to see it. There was something (someone? someones?) missing from her. She wandered around Tokyo, trying to find it (the thing that wasn’t real, except it was) but it kept running away from her, like a scared stray cat (a cat. Was there a cat? Blending into the fog, white maybe, but no, cats can’t…) 

So Minako Aino rode the subway, and climbed up out of the station, stopping randomly to find the edge of the glass, to find a way to dig under and be free. Sadako from the volleyball team told her she was just being ridiculous and London must have made her weird. (no I’m weirder than London ever dreamed of being) English people are just weird, she said, so it made you weird. (and London was fine Londoners were fine and nothing like Tokyo or Tokyoites but also covered in all the same filter all talking that same mumble) Come to the cafe with us after school, we’re going to get melon parfaits (they don’t sell melon parfaits in London but I remember them anyway because its all the same, because this thing is bad at its job) 

Going crazy was more work than Minako had imagined. 

She almost found it, once. She felt the glass crack beneath her fingers. It nearly gave way. 

As she was walking along some prefecture, by a shrine, she smelled it. The incense. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It’s Japan. It’s lousy with shrines, which she never had an interest in (but you spent so much time here) and the shrines are all lousy with incense (you remember this one, the wood and the slight musk). But she stopped, staring up at it. 

There was a world. A world separate from this one. And she was the same person, only different. She knew different people. She did something. She had something. Life was complicated, aand she dreamed about leaving it constantly. She wanted it back, more than ever. 

The shrine maiden, long black hair, so black it was almost purple in the sunlight, like a raven’s feathers, turned toward her. Her broom stopped. They stared at each other, saying nothing, and Minako felt it. She felt the glass crack. She stepped closer, just one step. This was it. This was the bend in the sky where the dome rested, and if she could just. 

“What?!?!” The shine maiden bellowed, suddenly angry, like she could hear the crack too, like she was trying to hold up that curve of sky Minako desperately wanted to bring down. 

“Nothing.” (everything anything come back we’re almost there take my hand break it break it BREAK IT)

Minako headed back into the fog, to catch the train.

[littlemissaiko]

Sneak peak of the first chapter because why not 🥰🥰

You swing to a high roof, the highest you can find, for the view of the shitty city you have to protect now . sitting down on the edge, you let your legs dangle, looking at the very gray (very comfortable looking. atleast from this height) asphalt on the street below. You're holding a small paper bag with takeout inside, Inhaling deeply, to smell it in all its unhealthy glory before opening it. A perfect-well, not really, cause of the moving andswinging, it might have gotten a little messed up, but it's still perfectly eat-able! You hope...

You take the burger out, a classic, iconic, simple, and delicious cheeseburger. The type that makes you pause for a second while wondering if you should really put something like this in your body before you say fuck it and eat it anyways. You disable your mask, freeing your face for the first time in a couple of hours

"Karen? Can you play one of the voice messages from the 'favorites' folder? Or a video, whichever works, as long as mister stark is in it..." you take the wrapper off of the cheeseburger and a mechanical voice rings out through the quiet-as quiet a crime ridden city with sirens playing in the background 24/7 like Christmas music in malls during December-can get. Obviously.

"Playing, 'happy birthday kid' sent on ------ at 1:31 A.M"

You let out a huff of amusement, mixed with tiredness, taking a bite of the burger

"Kind of ironic isn't it... almost like a bad joke?" You scoff "...Happy birthday, mister Stark" your voice cracks a little before going going silent at the end, just then, a message that was sent to your suit when you were on patrol starts playing, and another voice starts talking.

"I was planning on telling you later, after school hours, but then i saw someone on youtube livestreaming 'the spider patroling and fighting #onlyinnewyork!' despite there being a weather warning sent out, honestly kid!- when will you start taking care of yourself?!

I have a lot more to say, but I won't, for the sake of my sanity, and for the sake of today. I had Happy make some reservations at a new restaurant that opened near your apartment, so your aunt can also join us. 7 pm, don't be late. Happy birthday, kid. I'll see you later, don't stay out too late and take care-"

The recording is cut off, followed by a sound that sounds like a choked sob, but not quiet there. You try to calm yourself, taking a deep breath in. 'Four seconds in, eight seconds out. Four seconds in-'

You can't afford to panic here. There's so much left to be done... but at the same time, that gaping hole in your chest, in your heart. It hurts more then any wound you've ever had. It leaves you feeling incomplete, you desperately want to fill that space with warmth, comfort, home...

'I can't- I shouldn't...' You can't risk more people getting hurt. Not again. Never again. Your heart wants you to pull yourself together and seek comfort in the arms of someone, anyone... but at the same time your mind is screaming at you to make sure not to let anyone in, to keep everyone, no matter how strong, at arm's length.

"I'm tired mister Stark..." the sky is faintly visible. A rare occasion for Gotham, or so you've heard, you haven't really had the time for stargazing in the recent past. It might just be the loneliness talking, or you may have finally lost your mind and started hallucinating, but the stars seem to twinkle a little brighter then before.

EXCUSE MY AMATEURISH WRITING IT'S MY FIRST TIME DOING THIS 🙏🙏

This thing has been picking away at my mind for I don't know how long and it's killing me inside that there isn't already a fic like this

Imagine spider!reader coming to the DCU after the event of no way home. Like after they defeated everyone? reader asks strange to send them to another world without any spider-people AND making everyone in their og world forget who they are?

They got more trauma (✨️) and don't want to hurt the people around them anymore, so they land in Gotham.

Imagine spider!reader still having their suit along with Karen. Imagine the potential ANGST of spider!reader sitting on a rooftop eating a classic American cheeseburger while asking Karen to play videos of Tony?

Imagine this teenager, who has just kind of given up and only holds back for the sake of not killing people.

Imagine the reaction of the other vigilantes of Gotham when they see this meta(?)human who is going by the name of spider.

Imagine their reaction when it's a homeless teenager orphan 👌

Imagine spider!reader doesn't come with batfam because they don't trust anyone enough to share their identity because of what happened when they trusted Mysterio?

IMAGINE 😭

[heartsforluigimangione]

Reacquainted love~ Luigi Mangione

look at this beautiful specimen IM IN LOVEEEEEEEEE

"Luigi, you're breaking up, where are you?"

"outside" Was all he said before I heard the sound of my boyfriend banging on my townhouse door.

It has been over a month since I have been in touch with Luigi. Ever since college ended, he became distant and preoccupied elsewhere. We met in high school and stuck together up until college. We attended the same college and shared a life with one another, he knew all my secrets, and I knew all of his. Luigi had many opinions on things, but none I didn't agree with. He was handsome no doubt, but his intelligence and sensitivity drew me in. I fell in love with him, and I feel I could love him forever. 

That all ended when college ended. He became lazy and barely took care of himself until I was there to help him. We completed each other, both our loneliness and rage against the injustice of our society complimented one another's; nothing could've prepared me for the thought of taking a break from him. I don't even think I can call him my boyfriend anymore; he ended things with me when he said, "I just have a lot to do right now, and we need a break, I'm sorry". 

Till this day I still don't know what that meant. Until today.

"Chloe, please let me stay with you. I—I can't be alone right now." Luigi's voice trembled through the phone. I haven't heard his voice in what feels like forever, I missed his soft voice, but his voice was anything but soft at the moment. It was early—too early for most people to be awake—and yet here he was, sounding like he committed a crime. Little did I know 

"Luigi, it's 6 am" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes as I tried to process his words. "What happened? Are you okay?" 

He hesitated, the silence stretching for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke again. "Something... i did something. I just... I need you right now. Please. Can I come over?"

My heart clenched at the desperation in his voice. This wasn't the Luigi I knew—the confident, self-assured man. No, this was someone scared, someone who needed help. I didn't even think twice. "Of course. Come over. I'll call out of work."

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

The doorbell rang less than twenty minutes later. I opened the door to find Luigi standing there, his hair disheveled, his usually bright eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He was wearing a hoodie that looked too big for him, the sleeves pulled down over his hands as if trying to hide within himself, and his hood pulled up masking his face. 

"Hi" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Hey," I replied softly, stepping aside to let him in. "Come on, let's sit down."

He followed me into the apartment, his movements stiff and hesitant. We sat on the edge of the couch, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The weight of whatever had happened hung heavily in the air, pressing down on both of us. I wanted to bring up why we drifted apart and what happened that changed everything. 

"I'm sorry, Chloe. For everything, I never meant to push you away. I... I just did something that..." He tried to say before tears flooded his eyes. 

"It's ok, Luigi. I forgive you. Do you want to talk about it?" Without another word, he reached out and pulled me into a hug. He melted into me, his body trembling slightly. My arms wrapped around him tightly, one hand gently stroking his hair in what I hoped was a comforting motion. He cried into my shoulder and grabbed onto my body like I was going to disappear. I hummed at the feeling of his soft curls; I truly missed him after all this time. 

For a long while, we stayed like that, our breathing syncing as I held him. Slowly, some of the tension seemed to leave his body, though he still clung to me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

"Chloe, I love you. I promise I will never hurt you, but you have to trust me baby" I blushed at the use of the old nickname he used to call me when we were dating. But his tone was serious his face stern, I looked into his eyes searching for answers. "I love you too, Luigi. I trust you more than anyone" I said reaching out to intertwine our fingers.

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

Luigi murdered someone. Not just anyone a CEO. I listened to him talk about what he's been doing for the past 2 months and what he's been planning. He sounded confident but regretted the consequences that was to come. We both knew one another would get separated but neither of us thought this was going to be the reason. I supported him, I always will. I promised to stay by his side and fight for justice. After about 2 hours of chatting over the past and 'incident'. 

He looked up at me, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. "Can I... can I stay tonight? I don't know where else to go. I just want to sleep. I understand if you say no, I don't want to impose any harm on you"

"Of course," I said without hesitation. "I'll keep you safe, Luigi". 

Luigi let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the window. Then, slowly, Luigi began to unbutton his jacket, his movements stiff and deliberate. I stood up, walking to my room, to my dresser and pulling out an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

"Here," I said, handing them to him. "These should be comfortable." 

He took them gratefully, his fingers brushing against mine as he did. "Thank you," he said again, his voice softer this time. I handed Luigi fresh cloths and walked to my room. I caught a glimpse of his body, he looked thinner, and paler than I remember, and his hair was longer and his face unshaved. While he changed in the bathroom, I quickly tidied up the room, fluffing the pillows and straightening the blankets. When he returned, he looked smaller somehow, the oversized clothes hanging loosely on his thin frame. He climbed into bed, his movements slow and cautious, as if he were afraid of breaking something.

I turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp to illuminate the room. Then I slipped under the covers beside him, curling up on my side so I could face him.

For a long moment, we just lay there, staring at each other. The air between us felt charged, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension. Then, finally, Luigi reached out, his hand resting lightly on my cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his thumb brushing against my skin. "For everything. For putting you through this. For being such a mess."

I shook my head, leaning into his touch. "You don't have to apologize, Luigi. Not to me. I understand" 

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, it felt like he was seeing straight into my soul. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips pressing softly against mine. The kiss was tender, almost hesitant, but there was something raw and vulnerable in it that made my chest ache.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. "I love you," he confessed, his voice barely audible. "I love you so much, baby. After tonight... I can't keep it in anymore. I need you to know. I need you to understand how much you mean to me." 

My heart swelled at his words, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "Luigi..."

He pressed another kiss to my lips, this one firmer, more certain. "Promise me," he murmured against my mouth. "Promise me you'll always be here. That no matter what happens, you'll wait for me."

"I promise," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Always."

Luigi wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close until our bodies were pressed together. His warmth enveloped me, chasing away the chill that had lingered in the air. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, our breaths syncing, our hearts beating in unison.

Eventually, the weight of exhaustion began to pull at us both, and I felt Luigi's body relax against mine. His breathing grew slower, more even, and I knew he was finally drifting off to sleep. But before he completely surrendered to unconsciousness, he whispered one last thing, his voice barely audible.

"I'll always come back to you."

And as I closed my eyes, letting myself be lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I believed him. No matter what the world threw at him, no matter what dangers he faced, Luigi would always find his way back to me. And that was a promise I intended to keep too.

- I have to keep this friendly because my sister is reading this lollllll sorryyyyy 

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 12

"Couldn’t stay away"

You chose your husband

Returning to your husband felt like stepping back into a familiar yet fractured world. The house looked the same, the routines unchanged, but everything between you had shifted. The man who once felt like your safe harbor now seemed like someone you had to learn all over again.

The first few weeks were heavy with tension. He tried—tried to act normal, to be the man you’d fallen in love with all those years ago—but the cracks showed. He watched you closely, as if afraid you might vanish again. Every phone buzz or late evening at work made him flinch.

“I want to make this work,” he said one night as you sat together on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. “But I need to know you’re here with me—not just physically, but emotionally.”

“I am,” you said, though the words felt hollow. You wanted them to be true, desperately. He was a good man, and you owed him honesty and effort. But a part of you—deep, buried—still longed for the man who had consumed your thoughts since the day you met him.

~~~

Ghost

Miles away, Ghost sat on the edge of a worn cot in an unfamiliar safe house, the note you’d left trembling in his gloved hand. He read it over and over, the words cutting deeper each time.

*"I love you, but I can’t stay. I need a life with certainty, and as much as I want you, I can’t bear the thought of losing myself in the shadows."*

His jaw clenched, and he crumpled the note in his fist before tossing it onto the floor. Anger surged through him—not at you, but at himself. He’d let you slip through his fingers, let his fears and doubts push you away.

“Fucking coward,” he muttered to himself, running a hand down his mask.

But beneath the anger was a pain he couldn’t shake. He knew your decision wasn’t made lightly, and as much as it tore him apart, he respected it. That didn’t mean he could forget you, though. Not even close.

~~~

Months went by. You poured yourself into rebuilding your marriage, trying to rekindle what you’d once had. There were good days—moments where laughter came easily, where you felt like the couple you used to be. But there were also bad days—days where the silence between you was suffocating, where your thoughts drifted to Ghost despite your best efforts.

And then there were the messages. Short, infrequent, but enough to keep the connection alive. You and Ghost never talked about anything too personal, never crossed a line. But every time your phone buzzed and you saw his name, your heart skipped a beat.

Ghost: *You doing okay?*

You: *Yeah. Just busy with work. You?*

Ghost: *Still breathing.*

You: *Be careful out there.*

Ghost: *Always.*

You told yourself it was harmless—just two people checking in. But deep down, you knew it was more than that.

~~~

It was a typical day at the hospital. You were finishing up paperwork when your friend from the emergency room called you down for a quick coffee break.

As you walked into the ER, the hustle and bustle of patients and staff surrounded you. You were halfway to the break room when you felt it—a presence. You turned your head, and there he was.

Ghost stood near the entrance, his imposing figure unmistakable even in the chaos. He wasn’t in tactical gear this time, just dark jeans and a hoodie, but the mask was still there, his eyes scanning the room until they locked on yours.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

“What are you doing here?” you managed to whisper when he approached, his sheer presence making your knees weak.

“Had some time,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Thought I’d check in.”

Your mind raced. You shouldn’t be happy to see him—not here, not now. But you were. God, you were.

“I’m working,” you said, glancing nervously around.

“I’ll wait,” he replied, his tone calm but resolute. “Outside.”

And with that, he turned and walked toward the exit, leaving you to wrestle with the storm of emotions his presence had stirred.

~~~

As you left the hospital that evening, the weight of the day—and of seeing him—pressed heavily on you. Your eyes scanned the parking lot, and there he was, leaning casually against a lamppost in the shadows.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said as you approached, your voice a mix of frustration and longing.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his eyes locked on yours. “I had to see you. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you said, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Are you?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t. The truth was too complicated, too raw.

“I don’t want to mess up your life,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I can’t pretend I don’t care. I’m here if you need me. Always.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. The pull between you was undeniable, and you knew this wasn’t the end.

Part 13

[miaukyuu]

just imagining being in a kpop group, you're that more quiet member, prefering to be in your own and not liking to be the center of attentions at all, it's kinda ironic that you're in a kpop group and doesn't like much attention, but you are there because you love music!

as any other kpop group, you and your members change hair colors to each era, or atleast change for the most important ones. but you don't really like this idea, not wanting to ruin your perfect hair, but your company always insisted on that, so after so much begging, you finally gave in. but it wasn't a big change, you just dyed a small racoon tail at the back of your hair, and after that day, you decided to paint your hair black, because it was harder to take off, so your company had no choice but leave you alone.

one of the group members, Shin Jungwoo, was also your best """friend""", or that was atleast what you called him, because anyone could see the stupid tension between you two and the way you looked at each other. but anyways! he was the complete opposite of you, he loved to be the center of attention, no doubt of why he was the center of the group, always talking a lot at the interviews, wearing eye-catching clothes, and obviously, dying his hair a lot. like seriously, a lot. he loved pastel colors, yellow, blue, purple, and his current one, pink. you two were in totally opposite sides of the color spectrum, and that made you a really good ""duo""!

obviously, with that, the ships would start, matching your doubtful relationship with the golden retriever and black cat dinamic.

jungwoo was always seeing what the fandom posted about him, passing hours on twitter just searching his name. so imagine how angry he was when he saw the fanfics of you two, not because he didn't liked the ship, but because you were always the top! seriously? just because he had pink hair he had to be the bottom? he got really annoyed with that, and got decided that he would prove them wrong.

first, it started simply, pushing you in his lap while they were recording the vlogs, talking about how small you were on his side, or even about the way that you got scared easily with anything and he had to protect you! he did that for some months, but it didn't seem to change anything, making him even more annoyed. you, noticing that he was acting weird, quickly went to ask him if it was everything okay.

— I know that everyone is stressed with the comeback and our schedule, but in the last weeks you seem more than you ever were, are you okay? — you asked him worried, you were best friends, so he could count with you to help him with anything, nobody should pass for stressfull things alone, without saying nothing!

— well, i can't lie right? there were some things that I read of me, of us, that just made me really annoyed... — he said looking at you with serious expression, his eyes staring without a flinch...

— you already know that you don't need to pay attention of what they say, focus on the good things! there are a lot of fans that love you and your work. — you said trying to cheer him.

a smirk appeared at jungwoo's face, and in a blink, you were laying down on the bed while he was on top of you.

— oh, you're right! I don't need to mind of what they say if I know it's not true. but at the same time I just can't stop thinking of what they wrote, can you believe they made a fanfiction of us and made me as the bottom?! this is inadmissible! do you think I look like a bottom?

— uh?... — you felt like a mess, at the same time that you were flustered by the position, you were also really confused, what the fuck he was saying?

— right! it doesn't make any sense, they just say that because they never saw you moaning while you're having a wet dream with me! — he said and immediatly attacked your lips, a desperate kiss.

after that, it was just water down for you. poor your members that had to hear the moans of someone who was being used as jungwoo's stress relief.

notes: I'm really sorry that I specified the reader's hair color, but it was necessary for my text construction lol.

Not revised! Also sorry for any errors english is not my first language!!

[caroljoky]

𝒞𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑜𝒹𝓈

CHAPTER 1: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰' 𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔢

Prologue's here !

Caracalla x female!OC x Geta

Summary:

How did the Emperors gain power? What was their past like? What made Caracalla a madman?

Lucia Galeria Aurelia is the forgotten daughter of Lucilla and Maximus. One day her life changes forever when her path crosses with the young Caracalla. She starts to take an active part in the life of Rome, captivating not only the Roman people but also someone fate condemned her to - certain red-haired rulers.

Warnings: english is not my first language(!), alluding to sex, suicide, mentions of concubines, alcohol, swearing

AN: I really dig through history with this one. One of Severus's quotes he actually told in real life, not gonna spoil it tho!

Trope: enemies to lovers (duh)

Word count: 2.9k

At night, the two young people were led to a large chamber, unlike the one little Lucia was used to. It was an almost-hall, which had been the chamber of imperial marriages since the time of Nero, with large windows and a beautiful vault depicting Eros leaning towards Psyche, who sees her husband for the first time, with fear and uncertainty but also love painted on her face. Something that Lucia wanted to feel very much. She thought quickly, on their way to the chamber she managed to imagine the next years, the future of Rome, which she had to start taking care of. She glanced at her new husband's father from one side and at her mother from the other. She did not look past her, even though she felt the eyes of everyone following her, 'guiding' the newlyweds to their wedding night. She felt bad, the worst. She could only look at the back of her husband, who was walking in front of her, he had a certain posture and broad shoulders, but there was something funny about him, too funny. She tried to find the humor in the situation, she smiled to herself. “That’s my husband,” echoed in her head. They stopped. Two praetorians and Severus entered the chamber. In the middle stood a large bed with silk sheets and velvet pillows on which lay the heads of great rulers. Lucia wondered if all the young Roman brides felt as she did. 

-Listen, young ones - Severus broke the deathly silence - Today you begin your marriage. You also start to play your role, as husband and wife, emperor and empress, woman and man. The gods gave you the ability to give life. You are here because it was given to you, and you should not end it without giving it to the next generation. Such is your task. 

Only now could the girl see the true, obsessive face of the ruler of Rome. A ruler who knew that his days were numbered, a ruler who wanted his family to survive, more than anything in the world. Even if he had to sacrifice his son's happiness, sacrifice himself. He wanted everything to happen quickly, preferably here and now. The strange thing was that Lucia was not afraid. She was not afraid of this older, red-haired man, who, despite the large wreath and the storm in his pupils, was not dangerous to her at all. He looked almost pathetic to her, his desperate efforts to keep the throne. But only to her did he look like that. When she looked to the side, the purest form of fear was drawn on her husband's face. Maybe it was because his father had his eyes fixed on him the whole time, as if the future of Rome, the world, rested on his shoulders. His lips, still slightly stained with the cherry color of Lucia's lip cream, trembled before that stern look. 

- Do you understand, son? - he asked, grabbing the young man’s hair - Now is your time for this. You will give me a descendant of your own blood, you will maintain our family, right, son? - he pierced his son with his gaze, who could only nod slightly. 

As he left, he locked them in the room alone, probably leaving the praetorians behind them. For the first time, she could talk to him. She opened her mouth hastily, but he did the same at that moment.

- Let's just get this over with - she whispered as they sat on either side of the bed. It took some time before she took off her tunic, stola, and palla. When she did, only her long curls, shimmering in the light of the sad moon, fell on her body. After a long, rather awkward moment of their lives, she touched his fettered face a little timidly. Caracalla was afraid, afraid of his father, afraid of Rome and afraid of power. Although he was never really afraid. Even during the wedding, he was not afraid, he was angry. Pissed to the bone, he devoured his barbarian father with his eyes, imagining him on the noose. His father, his whole life, had not treated him like this. He felt betrayed. Looking at his beautiful wife, he felt only regret. He only nervously bit his cherry lip, the color of which mixed with blood. She took his face in both hands as if she wanted to wake him up from this trance of emotions.

- Just do it, Geta - she whispered, hugging him

- Geta..? - his first word since the wedding rang out

- Just do it!

- I’m Caracalla!

- What? - she stopped the embrace to look at him - Caracalla the Gladiator?

- What? - he said like an echo

- Geta was supposed to be the emperor..

- What are you talking about..

 After another long moment of looking at each other, the girl burst into uncontrollable laughter. Caracalla, surprised by the whole situation, expressed perhaps a shadow of amusement, but with his whole body confusion. How could he possibly know how the girl found out about the twin rulers? 

 A while earlier, one day when she first snuck out of the chamber and found Macrinus, he showed her the gladiators' weapons. He presented her with each item and she absorbed the knowledge like no one else. She wanted to take one of the smaller swords, for warriors of smaller stature, but there were none. Maybe because of adversity, maybe because young Caracalla stole swords for his chamber, swords that probably fascinated him as much as Lucia. 

- Sorry, kid. It seems like another young gladiator was faster than you. This little, red-haired one, Caracalla. I'm telling you, when I live to see his reign, I'll give myself freely to the hands of the Gods - Macrinus told her, laughing. 

Lucia had heard stories about people waiting for a new ruler, who was supposed to be Geta. They hoped that he would end the tyranny and break the curse of his family. Maybe she believed in those fairy tales and maybe that was why she was so calm.. Until she found out that it wasn't her husband.

  The laughter died down a bit, the boy continued to look at her with a blank stare, as if begging her to leave him alone or at least explain what was going on.

- Do you even want to be an emperor?

- Not with an empress like you.

- Ouch, spare me Geta - her innate cynicism was revealed for the first time as she leaned back on the pillows with playful eyes, now in all her glory as a beautiful empress. Caracalla was calmer, his fear diminished when he noticed he had no enemy in her. For the first time, he smiled, showing his teeth, some gleaming gold.

- Where did you even come from?

- I hatched from a shell like Venus - she giggled, stretching.

- Fair enough..

There was silence again for a moment. Caracalla liked to stare, piercing everything with his gaze. He looked silly to her, maybe even sweet. She wasn't sure if he had the face of the future emperor. They looked at each other, she turned her head slightly to the side, for the first time she actually saw him, without the shadow of his tyrannical father, just him, the 18-year-old boy Caracalla. After all, they were in this together.

- So…What’s it like to have.. a brother?

- I dunno.. I guess good, as long as your wife doesn't confuse you with him - the echo of a boyish chuckle spread through the large room. Lucia was curious about this, she had never met any peers, only heard once or twice about her brother, who was alive, but not present. Who probably didn't know that there was someone like her, someone who wanted to see him more than everyone else. The girl wanted to feel at least a drop of brotherly love, to hear about it.

- No, I'm serious. Do you love him?

- We do everything together. I'm condemned to him like.. To you

- Condemned? He's your only brother! - Her gaze was fixed on his now-turned head. A moment earlier they had covered themselves in their marital robes, the future emperor now curled up on the large bed, hiding his face in his hands. The girl probably wouldn't understand what he was feeling, even after reading all her grandfather's philosophical books and using up all of her intelligence.

- Don't you understand that I'm standing in his way? He won’t admit it, but it's true. I'll give you a child and he'll get lost in the shadows, forgotten. Do you understand? He's so.. good. An ideal emperor.

  Caracalla was a child whose exceptionalism was acknowledged from an early age. People criticized him for his ridiculous attitude, but they admitted that he had bravado. Bravado that an emperor needed. The boy was not virtuous, he was against all virtues. He admired Commodus, Alexander the Great, heck, he ordered his statue to be placed in his room, he ordered a sword to be forged for himself with the date of the Macedonian ruler’s birth and death. Caracalla absorbed the history of wars and empires, he wanted to fight. When he was ridiculed for his small stature, his brother used to step in. Their relationship was, however, changeable, beyond understanding. Geta felt every resentment towards his brother, one could say from birth, for being the first to emerge from his mother's belly, for always being the first for no reason. Caracalla always had a certain difficulty with emotions. His love was obsessive, it came in waves, randomly. It changed. He couldn't talk about it. He was healthy his whole life, he didn't struggle with any illnesses, unlike his father. That was one of the reasons his father chose him as emperor, an ideal tyrant, leading conquests, winning wars. However, Caracalla fell into a spiral of debauchery. Wine and concubines tempted him from childhood. Maybe because his father surrounded himself with them all the time, and convinced him that he was an authority. Women could give the old emperor the power that he felt he was losing. Power over his sickly body, power over Rome.

  Her warm breath tickled his ear. She embraced him, what a strange feeling. He never wanted pity, he didn't want to feel weak.

- I’m..

  The door to the chamber was opened. A sonorous voice could be heard.

- You’re a noble pair, dear brother and sister. You look.. truly serious

Indeed, their faces did not express the bliss that the wedding night was supposed to bring. Lucia moved away from her husband, quickly and silently dressing. The tension was clearly felt between the brothers.

- Geta…

- Caracalla!

  The taller red-haired boy with funny eyeliner embraced his brother in his wedding tunic, kissing him on the forehead. The kiss seemed brutal, full of brotherly rivalry. Everyone except Lucia guessed that this rivalry was about her. The moment of silence between the brothers looking at each other was interrupted by the praetorian entering.

- The emperor invites the couple for breakfast.

- That's what I wanted to tell you - Geta replied, watching Lucia dress from the side - the night passed quickly, didn't it?

  Caracalla nodded again in a way she knew. It seemed the only thing that was weighing on him was the matter of this marriage. It looked like she had awakened an unusual side of him that no one but her had seen.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

  The table was huge, filled with all sorts of wild dishes, in honor of the newlyweds everything was soaked in wine, both bread and roast, and finally large carafes of drinks were brought which sparkled as poured into large goblets. Two places of honor at the end of the table were waiting for the young couple. All eyes were turned towards them, waiting for the feast to begin. Lucia also waited for Caracalla to stand up but his eyes wandered over individual people, not focused on the current moment. He leaned towards his brother to whom he whispered something. Geta waved his hand and patted him rudely on the shoulder. The boy stood up together with his wife, biting a piece of wine bread made of wheat as a sign to start the feast. Conversations immediately drowned out the solemn silence of the Golden House, you could hear a roar of clinking glasses and eating, laughter and shouting. The only people who seemed to be absent were, of course, the newlyweds. Lucia said nothing but listened attentively. Next to her sat Macrinus with the Senate, telling the wildest stories from the arena. 

- Rome has something that the Egyptians, the Persians, and the Hindus have not achieved. We have a great Colosseum and games. We have honorable men for whom fighting is life, devoted to Ares, loyal to the Thunderer. Barbarians will never achieve what Rome has, we are the nation closest to the fullness of life, Socrates can laugh in his grave as much as he wants, but it is true.

- But aren't these honorable men brought from barbarian nations, from far across the sea? - a soft female voice broke through the applause of the older men, for a moment as if deafened by her interference.

- These matters should not bother your noble head in any way, dear Lady, I am sure that..

- She is right, Marcus, they are not Romans. That is why my task is to convert and train them, which as you can see gives me so much remuneration that today I am sitting right next to the future empress. - Macrinus interrupted the senator with a certain smile, glancing into the eyes of the clever princess.

  On the other side of the table, however, the conversation was not going so smoothly. Caracalla was as nervous as ever. The pink powder on his cheeks was nothing compared to the blushes on his face, the blushes of anger and shame. 

- Where the fuck is he? Isn't it time for one of his damned speeches? Besides, he’s sick as hell! 

- He is celebrating in a brothel, as usual. Relax, brother. You have more important things to worry about. I'll send to look for him - Geta whispered with furrowed brows to his leaning brother, who nervously played with his rings, looking at the whole room with fear. He didn't know any of these people.

  It was true that Caracalla was always the first to seek out his father when he was roaming around Rome with a hood covering his face. As has already been mentioned, he chased women. And his son chased after him. He woke him up, led him home, maybe in a way he looked after him, worried about him. Maybe that was why he was so concerned about his father’s every word. Because, after all, he was close to his father. 

  The Praetorians did not search for long, his father was walking with unsteady steps to the dining hall. When the large doors opened, they revealed a drunken Septimius Severus. Despite everything, the man had a hard head when it came to alcohol. Regardless of his lung disease, he maintained the form of a functioning alcoholic. Coughing mercilessly, he caught everyone's attention, standing exactly on the opposite side of the abundant table. Only a murmur of whispers remained in the hall because no one valued the emperor very much, certainly not as much as his sons. He raised a large, filled goblet.

- You see, you sent him to us - Geta said with embarrassment, raising the wine to his lips, trying to block out the humiliating sight from his field of vision.

- Sons! You are in the prime of life! Grown, handsome, your whole life lays open before you, like the legs of a cheap whore! - The murmurs died down as it seemed that the only thing that could be heard was the father's laughter and the son's gnashing of teeth. - So I have one last fatherly demand. Live in harmony, enrich the soldiers, and apart from that.. You can despise everyone. Just remember... remember the family - the old man's voice trembled uncontrollably because no one took him seriously. 

  Even the sons hid their faces in their hands, awkwardly glanced to the sides, cursing their father in their thoughts. 

  Maybe they subconsciously sent what was to happen to him. Severus was dressed in a long black robe, in which he demanded many pockets, so it looked unique and unusual. From one of the pockets by his hip, he pulled out a small sword, bearing small images of Caracalla and Geta as young twins embraced by their mother with her eyes closed. This old man stubbornly clung to his miserable life as a failed emperor, even when he knew that his years of conquest were behind him as if he wanted to fulfill some task. It turned out that the task was his sons and their rule. When it was fulfilled, he went to have one last night of fun, then returned in the morning to say goodbye to his loved ones. He quickly ran the blade across the fold of his neck, from which the soul of the old ruler flew away, whose body then fell onto the rich table, onto the great roast and onto the goblets of wine. People stood up as if scalded, women screamed as if they had been skinned, Emperor Geta stood up to run towards his dead father - and Caracalla, Caracalla was sitting, and in his eyes was smoldering the flame with the embryo of madness, which had been awakened by unbearable pain, the pain of death and everything he had experienced.

@doodle-with-rhy

thank you all so much for your support!

[snailchimera]

There's this recurring theme that you see laid out the most explicitly with Cobigail but it's there for every god, where the gods of the grove are adored but isolated. It's strongly implied that either they can't leave the god realms or it's at least really difficult to do so! They're functionally housebound! And only the godpoke actually goes in and talks to them directly! So of course for the older ones, who don't have anything to prove but are starving for basic human companionship, King's approach works. And it works wonders, as evidenced by how quickly gods and humans alike put their faith in King, and especially how Miss Mitternacht talks about King saving the day/being the glue that keeps the gods from completely falling apart/being necessary to save the world! It probably seems almost literally miraculous, in much the same way and for much the same reasons that watering a thirsty plant and watching it perk up in real time seems miraculous. Why would she take a different approach with Inspekta? Even if she realized she'd misstepped, would she even be able to change tactics with Inspekta, or would that interaction create a permanent hostile label in Inspekta's brain? Was there even a better option at the time? Inspekta also needed someone to treat him like a person, after all; he just didn't think that was what he needed, and it certainly wasn't what he wanted.

There's a line Robart/Peeps has about Inspekta in the Cove, where he says Inspekta as a mortal was always working so hard to help people, and he "seemed desperate". We see plenty to reinforce that elsewhere. Inspekta has to be perfect because anything less than perfection is worthless. Of course he's going to see King as a threat when she's not only being talked about in much the same glowing terms people used to talk about him, with skills that overlap with his domain (communication and bringing people together are after all pretty key parts of leadership), but approaching him in this way that implies he's not perfect. Acknowledging that he has problems is like touching a hot stove, and blind adoration feels good and safe and almost fills the hole so at this point it's the only thing he easily accepts. But how the hell was King supposed to know that? And she's still, again, a person herself, not an emotional truths dispenser. When the situation gets that fucked, seemingly out of nowhere, who could respond with the perfect rational magical code phrase that instantly defuses it?

And at the Spire, look how calm she stays, how she keeps reaching out! How reassuring she is when he stops being a threat! Can you imagine going through what she just went through and still doing that? We heard how scared and sad she was. For fuck's sake, on top of everything else Inspekta decided the correct response to King halfway getting through to him was to crush her under a pile of junk. She could have died right there. Not to mention the other gods are all her friends, or in Mitternacht's case, her partner, and they're all in danger too. King is so devoted to deescalation, so aware of the importance of this role she's taken on. She's trying so hard. She cares so much. And she jumps into it the instant Inspekta shows up. She was prepared. How much time do you think she spent replaying her own kidnapping in her head, trying to figure out what she could have done differently?

I have so many feelings about King. I think maybe she also needs someone to talk to, who won't expect her to be perfect.

very overjoyed to wake up to my psychic blast being effective

[ectonurites]

Byler Week Day 5 — Secret Identities

very loosely interpreting the prompt for today but i've had this idea for a while and... secret identities, Superheroes, that works. anyone who knows me well probably could have seen something like this coming LMAO

also trying to draw Robin & Superboy costumes that look thrown together and home-made when i have spent so much time drawing their actual designs was a challenge

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

“He sleeps against his father’s chest, and he does not stir.

Yuuta’s never seen Sensei look at anyone the way he looks at Megumi right now.”

OH MY GODDDDDDUGHHHHH THIS PEAK. I honestly teared up reading this bit. You can feel the love emanating from so many characters in your writing within this chapter, I find it so so moving. Thank you so much for sharing your writing!!!

I actually really like the kind of messiness of this moment because Gojo’s conflicted about that moment in a lot of the same ways that Tsumiki was conflicted about comforting her brother.

Earlier, Yuuta had said that Megumi seemed happier when Tsumiki was around. And Tsumiki had replied that she felt conflicted about comforting him, because she knows how private he normally is. She wanted to be there to comfort him, but she was worried it was just one more thing done to him that he didn’t want.

Gojo is feeling a lot of the same.

Like. Megumi was never that kid that was very open or cuddly. He was never that kid that let you carry him, even when he was tiny. He’s Gojo’s baby boy and he has the disposition of a feral raccoon with a biting problem. Do not touch him.

Gojo knows for a fact that Megumi would never in a million years let Gojo pick him up and hold him had the circumstances been normal.

There’s this unique act of love in allowing yourself to be vulnerable around others. It’s an act of absolute trust, if you think about it. I’m already hurt; I trust you not to hurt me worse.

And I think that makes it significant that Megumi doesn’t have that relationship with anyone.

He doesn’t let himself be vulnerable around Gojo. He doesn’t let himself be vulnerable around Tsumiki. He closes himself off and hides weakness and now he just can’t anymore.

I think Gojo in particular was aware of how Megumi doesn’t let himself be vulnerable around even his family, because Gojo is better suited to notice when Megumi’s hurt. Tsumiki knows her brother best, but it’s hard to hide from Gojo’s eyes. He notices when something’s wrong with his kids, and Megumi in particular.

He missed it when Megumi was a kid. He doesn’t want to miss it again.

So he sees it when something’s wrong in megumi’s world. And he sees it when megumi doesn’t come to them with it. He knows that megumi wouldn’t have let him hold him like that had he not been so hurt.

I think that Megumi was never really that kid that let you hold him, growing up. Even at age five, he was horrifically independent and had a very firm boundary line set between himself and absolutely anyone else. Baby Megumi never let Gojo lug him around, despite how adorable and portable he was. He sure as hell wasn’t letting Gojo carry him when he hit his teen years.

So. You’ve got this kid. You love him. Earth-shattering type of love. Soul-rending love. Sun, moon, and stars. Real “burn the world to keep him warm” type shit. He’s your baby boy, even if he’d fucking strangle you if you said it.

He’s just been hurt in a way that fucking horrifying. The most profound violations you can imagine. He can barely open his own eyes, he’s that hurt.

It’s probably your fault.

Because the assholes who hurt him? Those people? They’ve hurt him before, and you didn’t kill them for it. It wasn’t because it was right for your kid. Killing them for his safety would have been what’s right for your kid. It was just. Politics. Not only that, but the lynchpin of their plan counted on you not calling him once while they were hurting him. They banked their fucking lives on you not calling him even once in a week that included his birthday.

And they were right.

So yeah.

It’s probably your fault.

But you can’t turn back time. He’s hurt, and you’ve got him now, and all you want to do is comfort him. He’s your little boy, and you almost fucking lost him, you almost had to fucking bury him, and you just want to hold him while he’s afraid. You want to hold him until he stops shaking. You want to fix this.

And, at the end of the day, you just can’t deny how much he’d fucking hate that.

But you do it anyway. Someone needs to hold him, and you make it you. And maybe that’s just one more time someone did something to your little boy’s body that he didn’t want.

So.

How the fuck do you live with yourself?

[carefulfears]

how do you see mulder leaving in season 9? scully giving up william? how do they deal with these things? (their guilt, resentment, futility, etc)

i know i have a realllllllly unpopular opinion on all of this but as i've said recently, i just don't think there's anything easier on earth to convince mulder of than "things are safer if you're not here."

i usually come back to doggett's confusion in the beginning, the way he keeps asking and arguing and scully just keeps saying "he's gone" and shutting it down, until the end of the premiere when he realizes: "oh my god. it was scully. scully made him go."

god, it's sad. it's hard to talk about. i teared up trying to write this, as much as i am fonder of the storyline than most. i don't find it unrealistic or out of character or unfitting of the narrative. it doesn't mean i don't feel it's heartbreaking. i have such a hard time thinking of mulder missing that baby. not even having the chance to put up a fight, walking back into empty rooms. the show as a tragedy, finding your burden again, etc. the x-files as the gap between teary smiles at baby kicks to screams in a jail cell. as what it was in the beginning: unknowable answers to insurmountable grief.

and i just think about mulder's dramatic emails, writing that he doesn't think he can survive being away from them. spender looking at the baby and telling scully he's heard "so much" about him. mulder being tortured by soldiers, saying he's just thinking about his son. keeping 1 baby photo for 15 years. "i just missed both of you so much."

scully's fertility treatments and her prayers and her tears and her "last chance" and her miracle. and how deeply unfair it is, what happened to her. i don't think a single one of us could say what we could do if people kept breaking into our homes to suffocate a child we were still nursing. she didn't ever want to do it alone, that was never the plan.

but scully desperately wants to keep everybody safe. she thinks she’s keeping everybody safe. it’s hard to be starbuck. it's this conflict i keep talking about recently where you really start to notice how controlled she is by fear, how difficult it is for her to balance it all. my favorite visual on this is the gate at the house in i want to believe: every day the way she pulls up to it, gets out, opens it, pulls through, stops, gets out, closes it. repeat in reverse. and then she comes home and she says "the truth is, i worry about you." and that he's too isolated. turns around and shuts the door, leaves the house and locks the gate.

i wrote a bit a few weeks ago about scully's protectiveness and it made me think about what a trap it can be, how defending lends to fear and fear lends to defeat. to standing in a church 25-years deep and saying "i failed." in the tags of that post i asked "could they ever recover from her exiling him from being with their child because she was afraid it would kill him?" and said i don't know. and i don't, i don't know.

but i think there's something so brave in saying: i did the best i could, and maybe that wasn't right. it's why ghouli is one of my favorite episodes. scully sobbing to her son that she's sorry. she's sorry he doesn't know them. she wanted him, they loved him. "i was trying to keep you safe. i hope you know that." and she thought she was being strong, but maybe she was wrong.

things don't always shake out the way you want them to. it was always mulder that called their son a miracle, and mulder doesn't believe in miracles. mulder believes in the world, and the search, and the after.