#It hit me so viscerally the first time I heard it

[ironykins]

Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist Keep on loving, keep on fighting And hold on, and hold on Hold on for your life

And the print by Dalia Sapon-Shevin that inspired it.

[signedkoko]

Alastor | Stolas | Vox [Comfort]

In which the two of you bump into your abusive ex who just arrived in hell.

You and Alastor always went on walks through hell together, since you enjoyed exploring the outdoors and he enjoyed people watching

Normally things were relatively peaceful, most, if not everyone, knew the radio demon down to every detail, and avoided him at a mere glimpse

He enjoyed telling you about things that reminded him of his past, or encounters he'd had just down the street, while you listened and observed with awe

Unfortunately, your usually peaceful walk was rudely interrupted by an obnoxious shout in your direction

There was someone who looked severely out of place, likely having just fallen, stumbling towards you with a seething grin

Alastor was already annoyed the moment anyone interrupted him, but even more so at the fact that this individual was shouting obscenities at his darling

Nevertheless, he stood stoic by your side, only glancing down at the shorter individual with an animalistic twitch in his eyes

" Can't you hear me, fucking bitch! You're the slut who put me down her- "

Once your hand gripped onto Alastor's wrist, tugging him, the man's head was sliced clean off, smashing into a building across the street and leaving a visceral splatter

Alastor was already removing his wrist from your hand to wipe the blood from his cane with a handkerchief

Once the body hit the ground with a thud, he had his arm around your waist and lifted you over it, continuing his walk as if nothing had occurred

" And that impeccable diner over there! I just have to take you, it reminds me of my many evenings after the late shows! "

Stolas had heard enough about the life you lived on earth, each momentous day and each sad tale that made up your story

He knew he was never able to protect you up there, and vows to do so now that you are by his side in the afterlife, offering an eternity of protection

Inevitably, he understood some people who had hurt you would eventually find themselves down here, and that some may try to hurt you, so he refused to let you wander alone for too long

It didn't even have to be him, so long as someone he knew could protect you was nearby

Unfortunately, the first to find you was the worst possible individual

The one who had raised their hand so many times to you, and left you with scars Stolas wished he could erase along with every worry

It was one of your date nights, visiting some upper class restaurant after having washed a romance in theatres

You were both dressed to the nines, laughing in one another's company and waiting for the cab you'd called since you'd finished sooner than expected

The both of you climbed in, only for the doors to instantly lock, tearing off without any word or signal from either of you

Stolas laughed it off for a moment, asking the driver if he already knew your destination, though he stopped when he noticed your eyes locked onto the rearview mirror

" Already moving on to someone else? Think I'm not good enough for you? "

The voice was calm but eerie, aimed directly as you

You looked horrified, and Stolas' heart raced as he connected the pieces together

One moment, the car was racing down the road, and the next, you were in the royalty's arms being carried away from a totalled car burning up in flames

You'd only blinked your eyes

Stolas held you tighter that evening, and refused to let go for weeks after

Vox was an extremely busy person

So unfortunately your intimate time together was rare

Despite that, Vox always invited you into his studio with him while he worked, so at least you'd be near one another and he could know you were safe

I mean, you were always safe so long as he could reach you, and modern tech was everywhere in hell nowadays

But he was extra protective since he'd learnt your ex had entered hell

Had he told you? No. Did he feel guilty about it? Yes.

But he just didn't want you to have to worry, and seeing you happily working away at a new project or hobby without a care in the world was just so, so...precious

Eventually he knew he would have to crack the news, but he hadn't anticipated your ex would find you so soon

It was a late night in the studio, with Vox overlooking several large screens as countless information transferred to and from his own database, analysing every media and algorithm

You were behind him, sat in a leather armchair, reading one of the many books that lined the book shelf he kept around as decoration

People came in and out of the floor through an elevator, though as the time got later, the frequency dwindled down severely

When it dinged for the first time that hour, neither of you were too bothered, Vox continuing without a flinch and you looking up for just a moment

Your gaze never went back to your book, though, stuck on the face that had a hateful sneer aimed straight at you

The phone in your pocket dinged with an alert, something about your heart rate increasing drastically in too short a time, and the information registered into Vox in milliseconds

" Finally, I fucking found you! "

One step out of the elevator, and the door clamped shut around their second leg with a loud crack, forcing your ex down onto one knee

Vox only turned to you, ignoring the wailing figure

" Oh man I really should have told you they were here! You can yell at me after. "

The suited man then walked towards your ex as the doors slowly released, kneeling down in front of him with a cackle

" Pathetic. Freak. "

Vox kicked them back into the elevator, and you heard the thing drop at high speeds back down the skyscraper

Security would handle the mess

Author's Note - I wanted to write for some of my favs to get us started off, and went for a prompt I see pretty often. If you like what I do, please consider sending in a request 🖤

[thesimpirediaries]

Pet names.

featuring: izuku midoriya, bakugou katsuki, kirishima eijirou, todoroki shoto

or, the first instance in which they called you by a pet name.

⚠️: fem!reader, language, slightly suggestive themes/elements, fluff, slight bodily descriptors.

word count: 1.5k

You bet your ass that the first time Izuku referred to you by a pet name, he stuttered helplessly over it. Scratch that — the first couple times he did it he stuttered.

“B-b-babe, could you hand me my notebook?”

It had certainly caught you off guard; in the few months that Izuku and yourself had been dating, you were always (y/n) or your hero name to him — hearing the term “babe” fall from his lips, even as stuttered and botched as it was, sounded so damn pleasant that you couldn’t help the wide grin that split your face.

“What was that, Izuku? I didn’t quite catch it.”

Izuku’s face could have rivaled the hue of a tomato as he repeated, “u-um, my notebook? Could you hand it to me?”

With a teasing smile, you tutted and shook your head. “I heard that part; I meant the part before it.”

Your hand stilled inside his bag as you watched him expectantly. Izuku’s viridian orbs were darting around the room, landing on every object except you, and his freckled cheeks were so red that you swore you could feel the heat permeating off of them despite the few feet of distance between the two of you.

“B-babe?” Izuku repeated, still avoiding your gaze, cheeks still red as a tomato.

It was actually quite endearing, the way he tried desperately to sound casual even as his entire being threatened to spontaneously combust. You knew from past experience that it wouldn’t bode well to continue to tease Izuku, so you relented and once again began to fish through his backpack.

“Which one do you need?” You inquired, hit with the sudden realization the Izuku had multiple notebooks tucked away inside his bag; another facet of your boyfriend that you found quite lovable — you’d always had a thing for the nerdy ones.

“Ah, number six. Sorry, I forgot to add that.”

You smiled softly at Izuku’s statement and gingerly pulled out a stack of notebooks, sifting through them until you located the one marked with a large six. You stood from the bed and meandered over to your boyfriend, a sly grin teasing at your lips.

You placed the thick, slightly rugged edition into his waiting palm, wrought with the desire to tease him just a little bit more. You planted your hands on the armrests of his chair and pulled it until Izuku could face you, then leaned forward until your lips barely ghosted his.

“I like the way it sounds when you call me that. You should do it more often, Izuku.” You whispered, lids dropped halfway over your eyes and a heat simmering low in your belly. The shuddered, breathy, hot pant Izuku released against your lips only added fuel to the fire.

“You’re in the way, dollface.”

You were sure Bakugou hadn’t meant for the word to affect you so viscerally — at least, not at the moment he said it, nor with the situation that had prompted it.

Rescue training was far departed from the list of Bakugou’s favorite hero activities, and he’d been in a bit of a foul mood ever since Aizawa had mentioned it; and even as his girlfriend, you weren’t spared of the backlash of it. Though, you didn’t get it quite as hard as the rest of the class did, at least.

As Bakugou had griped moments before, you were indeed in the way — there was no way he could get through to the ‘injured citizen’ with where you were standing, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Dollface. Dollface. Dollface.

The name, wrapped up in Bakugou’s rolling timbre, bounced around your skull and completely rid you of the ability to move — your face was quickly warming, and your chest was brimming with something fluttery, and, the longer it stayed on loop in your head, the more it affected you.

Bakugou had never called you something like that.

“W-what did you say?” You squeaked out, wide eyes trained on Bakugou’s scowling face. One blonde brow twitched, and you faintly registered a distinct crackling from below.

“You’re in the way.” Bakugou barked out once more, with a lot more patience than he would have with anyone else; though you figured many of your peers wouldn’t have been able to register that like you could.

“R-right.” You mumbled, stumbling quickly out of the way. Bakugou released a chortled breath from his nose and stalked forward — but of course, your boyfriend wasn’t an idiot, nor was he blind; he had noticed the way your cheeks colored prettily the moment your brain registered what he’d called you.

After he’d secured the ‘injured citizen’ over his shoulder, Bakugou leaned close to your ear, completely careless of the man strewn over him, and whispered lowly;

“Come to my room later, dollface. I’ll need some good entertainment after today.”

With Kirishima, a term of endearment was never optional; it was a standard, one that he was quick to set pretty soon after you’d started dating — and it didn’t take him long to find the one that he felt fit you the most; the one that, in his eyes, you embodied in every way.

“Come on, princess. You can get anything you want — it’s on me.”

At first, you weren’t sure what you were more flustered by; the sudden term of endearment he’d coined you with, or his insistence on paying for the entire meal. Your stunned silence was quickly registered by Kirishima, who scrunched his brows in a mixture of worry and bashfulness.

“Ah, I’m sorry, do you want to pay for your meal? I’m all for an independent woman, by the way.”

You truly weren’t prepared for just how much you liked it. For a long time, your focus had been occupied solely by your goal of becoming a pro; truthfully, you hadn’t even entertained the idea of dating anyone until you met Kirishima. His kind, chivalrous, bright nature had captivated you almost instantly, and you’d been drawn to him since day one.

And this suddenly-formed habit of referring to you as ‘princess’ was quickly nestling deep into your chest and sprouting warmth all throughout it.

With a soft laugh you hooked your arms around his, chest hot and fluttery, and pressed your body against his. You didn’t miss the way he sharply inhaled when your soft chest met his bicep.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you glanced at the bright menu above you, the cedar-y undertones of Kirishima’s cologne tickling your nose as you took a soft breath — then, with a small smile, you glanced shyly up at Kirishima.

“Anything I want?” You softly parroted, prompting a bright, toothy smile from your boyfriend. Kirishima’s eyes were soft and full of something deep as he met your gaze.

“Anything you want, princess.”

God, you swore you were already in love.

In retrospect, you and Todoroki were polar opposites.

Todoroki was cool-headed, skilled, and calculated — you, on the other hand, were quick to temper, prone to impulsiveness, and hardly ever second-guessed your choices. Not to mention, the two of you hailed from completely different backgrounds.

Todoroki was raised with money, was held to a certain societal standard which molded many of his mannerisms, and was, in general, what you’d call fancy.

You were raised far more humbly, with just enough money to scrape by and not many luxuries to call your own, and so you had adapted a sort of carelessness towards your appearance and manners — you were you, and people were just supposed to accept that.

Yet, Todoroki had a way of making you feel as if you weren’t raised that way, as if you hailed from the same exact background as him — as if you were just as fancy, just as sophisticated, just as elegant.

And he did it so effortlessly.

“Do you want another cup of tea, darling?”

You nearly dropped your drained, pristine mug directly to the floor of his bedroom — whether it was influenced more by the sudden shock of his voice slicing through the silence or the unexpected use of the endearment, you weren’t sure.

“W-what?” You managed to choke out smartly, and, as if he were completely ignorant to the sudden short-circuit within your head, Todoroki pointed to the mug clasped within your hands.

“More tea. Your cup is empty.” Todoroki stated, and you glanced down at the cup, blinking rapidly. Darling. He called you darling.

You weren’t sure what to make of the new, warm feeling in your chest; but what you were sure of was that you quite liked it, and you quite liked the way that word sounded from Todoroki’s lips.

With a small, nearly shy smile, you extended your empty cup to Todoroki with a subtle nod.

“Yes, I’d like more tea, please. Thank you.”

Todoroki’s smile was dazzling, painting his face an even deeper shade of handsome, and his voice caressed you with a featherlight touch as he murmured, “of course, darling.”

eeek I had so much fun writing these! If you enjoyed, please don’t hesitate to leave a like/comment/reblog. And, if you like the way I write, maybe consider following or sending in a request of your own!

[frownyalfred]

I came across a post where someone mentioned that Martha Wayne’s pearls were actually her teeth, but Bruce misremembered or blocked it out…

This has to be one of the most heartbreaking and gut-wrenching headcanons I’ve ever encountered about Martha and Bruce. Just imagine the scene—her teeth falling out instead of the pearls, either from the impact of the bullet or from the way she fell and hit her mouth.

The imagery is so disturbing and visceral. It adds a whole new layer of trauma to Bruce’s memory, making his recollection of that night even more tragic.

Also— I feel like we don’t talk enough about what the Waynes’ deaths must have really been like…

The thought that Bruce might have been splattered with his parents’ blood, or even brain matter, from the impact. .. I feel like the writers never really specified where exactly they were shot or what kind of gun was used, which could have made the injuries even more horrifying depending on the weapon. The unease in his father’s voice—something foreign that Bruce had probably never heard before—from a man who was usually so optimistic and confident, might have been the first time Bruce saw his father truly scared. And then there’s his mother’s screams. In Christopher Nolan’s movies, Martha���s screams still haunt me to this day. The actress did an incredible job capturing that raw terror.

But what really gets me is the time. How long did Bruce stand there, in the pool of his parents’ blood, waiting for someone to come and help him? Did he try to pick up his mother’s pearls, or maybe try to stop the blood from pouring out of their wounds? That time must have felt like an eternity for him—standing there, powerless, with his parents’ blood on his hands, the smell of rot from the nearby trash, the powder of the gunshot lingering in the air, the city’s humidity, and the iron tang of blood.

And another chilling thought: what if his parents died with their eyes open? The idea of Thomas Wayne’s lifeless eyes staring up at his now-traumatized, orphaned son is just devastating.

Anyways, sorry for the ramble… I would love to hear your thoughts !!!

oh my god. yeah…..I mean, yeah. I’m getting smacked speechless by some of these anons today.

I actually saw someone knock all their teeth out once like you’re describing and it is gruesome. seeing teeth where they aren’t supposed to be is horrifying.

I think comics and movie adaptations letting the Waynes get shot somewhere in center mass, away from their faces, by low caliber bullets so they bleed out with last words is a mercy, in some ways.

modern guns could make that scene could look very, very different. I won’t go into them here but…yeah. there’s a reason they die with their faces intact in the comics and most movies, in my opinion. and with a few words or screams, maybe, before they fully die.

but yeah. there’s a world where they both get hit point blank in the head, brain and blood go everywhere, and Bruce has to sit there caked in for a while. until the cops show up, and even then, he probably doesn’t get clean for a while, since he’s covered in the decade’s most haunting crime scene.

[dinosus]

₊˚.༄ Bonds That Run Deep₊˚.༄ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

[Sully Family x Lost Sibling! Reader (reader is Na'vi)] Synopsis : Years after a devastating loss, the Sully family is reunited with their long-lost eldest sibling, a moment that reignites both joy and heartache. Once thought gone forever, their sibling returns as a formidable warrior—precise with a bow, swift to tame an Ikran, and gifted in strategy—leaving the family in awe of their strength and resilience.

The reunion reshapes their bonds: Neteyam finds a steady partner to share his burdens, Lo’ak gains a rival and confidant, Kiri discovers a spiritual kindred, and little Tuk showers her newfound sibling with endless love. For Jake and Neytiri, it’s a bittersweet journey of healing, balancing pride in who their child has become with the weight of time lost. Warnings : very wholesome you will combust

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

-Jake and Neytiri had spent years mourning the loss of their firstborn, their hearts heavy with the weight of a child they believed Eywa had taken back. They never spoke about it openly in front of the other kids, not wanting their grief to cast shadows on the present. -When they first hear rumors of a lone Na’vi wandering far from the clan’s territories—someone who doesn’t quite fit in—the hope seems too fragile to entertain. -Neytiri dismisses it at first, her voice hard with pain: “It cannot be. Eywa has already decided their path.” -But Jake, ever to hold onto that speck of hope, feels something stir deep within him, a nagging sense that they need to find you. “What if it is them? Yawne, we have to try."

-When the family finally sees you for the first time, it’s almost surreal. -Your features are unmistakable—your eyes, your build, the small markings that Neytiri remembers tracing when you were just a baby. -Jake freezes in his tracks, his normally steady composure cracking as he whispers, “It’s you... It’s really you.” Neytiri’s reaction is more visceral. She falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she reaches out, her voice breaking: “My child... my baby...” -Neteyam is silent at first, the realization hitting him like a storm. He had heard stories of you but never imagined he’d see you. His hands tremble as he approaches, his voice soft but shaking: “Is it true? Are you... my sibling?” -Tuk clings to Kiri, confused but excited. “We have another sibling? Really?!” Lo’ak, ever the joker, tries to lighten the heavy moment: “Guess we’re not the favorites anymore, huh?”

-The initial reunion is a flood of emotions—tears, laughter, disbelief. Neytiri holds you close, her hands shaking as she cups your face, her words a mix of apology and joy: “I thought we lost you. Eywa has brought you back to us.” -Jake struggles to maintain his composure, his voice thick with emotion as he says, “We thought we’d never see you again. Look at you... You’ve grown so much.” While they’re overjoyed to have you back, Jake and Neytiri also carry immense guilt. -Neytiri often stays up at night, staring at you while you sleep, whispering quiet apologies to Eywa for letting you slip away. -Jake tries to make up for lost time by teaching you survival skills, even if you already know them. “I should’ve been there for you. Let me show you, just in case.” His attempts to reconnect often come with a tinge of overprotectiveness, something you can’t help but find endearing. -They both shower you with subtle but heartfelt gestures—Neytiri weaving intricate beads into your braids, Jake carving you a small totem to carry as a symbol of family.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

-Neteyam, being the oldest after you, feels an immediate kinship. He idolizes you in a way that catches you off guard. “You were always the strong one, weren’t you? Mom and Dad used to talk about you like you could do anything.” -From the moment the family reunites, Neteyam is drawn to you. His role as the responsible older brother has always been his identity, but now, seeing you—capable, strong, and wise—he feels a weight lift. -One evening, as the two of you sit on a high branch overlooking the forest, Neteyam glances at you, his voice soft: “I always wondered what it would feel like to have someone like you to look up to. Now I know.”

-Lo’ak’s first instinct is to test you. He’s always been the rebel, and he wants to know if you can keep up. -He constantly challenges you to races, sparring matches, or daring climbs. “Bet you can’t beat me to the top of that tree,” he taunts, already halfway up. But when you outpace him, he groans dramatically. “Okay, okay, maybe you’re a little cool.” Beneath his playful teasing, though, is a deep admiration. -Lo’ak rarely says it out loud, but the way he watches you when you're literally doing anything—speaks volumes. After a particularly close hunt or winning a race, he slings an arm around your shoulders, his grin boyish and proud: “You’re just showing off now, aren’t you?

-Kiri feels an almost spiritual connection with you. She’s drawn to the way you carry yourself, and often spends hours talking with you about Eywa and the balance of the world.

-“Do you feel it too?” she asks one evening, her voice soft as the bioluminescent forest glows around you. When you nod, she smiles, her eyes filled with quiet wonder. “I knew you would. You’re one of us.”

-She loves showing you the hidden wonders of Pandora, her excitement bubbling over as she guides you to a glowing grove or a stream filled with darting, luminous fish. “This is my favorite place,” she confesses, her voice a whisper. “Now it’s ours.”

-You often catch her sketching in the dirt or weaving patterns inspired by your adventures together. When you ask about them, she shrugs, a shy smile on her lips: “Just trying to remember these moments.”

-Tuk is absolutely smitten with you. From the moment she met you, she declared you her new favorite sibling. She’s always by your side, her small hand slipping into yours as you walk through the forest. “Can I come with you?” she asks, her big eyes shining with hope. -You find yourself teaching her little tricks—how to shoot a tiny bow, how to climb trees safely—and her laughter fills the air as she tries to keep up. “Look! I’m like you now!” she cries, beaming with pride. -At night, she curls up beside you, her head resting against your arm. “Don’t ever leave again, okay?” she whispers, her voice tinged with the innocence of a child. -The Sully siblings have always been close, but with you, their dynamic shifts in the best way. -You quickly become the target of their good-natured teasing, but you’re not afraid to dish it back.“I think you’re losing your touch, Neteyam,” you tease after a sparring match, earning an exaggerated groan from him and laughter from Lo’ak. -Lo’ak and Tuk team up to prank you, only to get caught when Kiri casually spills their plan. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets,” Lo’ak mutters, glaring at his sister. -One night, under the stars, the five of you sit together, the forest alive with its soft, glowing hum. Tuk is nestled against your side, Kiri is braiding your hair, and Neteyam and Lo’ak are arguing over who caught the biggest fish that day. -You take it all in—the laughter, the warmth, the love—and feel an overwhelming sense of belonging.“We’re stronger together,” Neteyam says, breaking through the chatter. He looks at each of you, his gaze lingering on you last. “All of us.” -Lo’ak groans dramatically, “Alright, enough of the sappy stuff.” But he doesn’t pull away when you ruffle his hair, nor does he hide the smile tugging at his lips.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

-Jake has always carried the pain of losing you deep within him, a wound he thought would never heal. As much as he’s overjoyed to have you back, there’s a part of him that struggles with the guilt of all the years you spent apart. -He watches you carefully in the first few days after the reunion, his sharp, observant eyes catching every movement, every expression. His voice, usually confident and steady, softens when he speaks to you. “You okay, kid? You settling in alright?” It’s casual, but there’s an unspoken fear behind the words, a need to make sure you’re truly here. -Jake’s pride in your abilities is almost immediate, but it grows tenfold as he watches you adapt to the Na’vi way of life with such ease. -When he sees you take down a target with a single, precise arrow, he lets out a low whistle, a grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. You’re a natural, just like your old man.” -Jake has always been fiercely protective of his family, but with you, it’s different. It’s not just about keeping you safe—it’s about making up for lost time. He wants to be there for every moment, to catch up on the years he missed. He’s quick to jump to your defense, even when it’s not necessary. -If anyone in the clan questions your place, Jake steps in before you can even respond, his voice firm but calm: “They’ve earned their place here. You’ve got a problem with that, you talk to me.” -As much as Jake wants to protect you, he quickly realizes you’re more than capable of handling yourself. -This both surprises and humbles him.“You don’t need me hovering,” he admits one day after watching you dispatch a group of enemies with precise, calculated movements. “But you can’t blame a dad for worrying.” His grin is sheepish, but there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes that makes your chest ache. -Jake doesn’t always say the words outright, but his love for you is evident in everything he does. The way he checks your gear before a mission, the way he pats your shoulder after a successful hunt, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—all of it speaks volumes. -One night, as you sit beside him under the stars, he breaks the silence with a rare, heartfelt confession. “I thought I’d lost you for good. And now, having you here... I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank Eywa enough.” His voice is rough, filled with a mixture of gratitude and regret.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

-Neytiri’s reaction to your return is a whirlwind of love, grief, and relief. She holds you tightly the moment you reunite, her tears mingling with the warmth of your skin. “You are home,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she cups your face, memorizing every feature. -At first, she can’t let you out of her sight. Years of fearing she would never see you again have left her protective, almost overbearing. Her eyes follow you wherever you go, her instincts sharp, ready to shield you from anything. -Neytiri is in awe of the person you’ve become. When she sees your precise aim with a bow or the way you ride your Ikran with effortless grace, her heart swells with pride. -She takes great pride in teaching you the finer details of Na’vi culture, even if you’ve already mastered much of it on your own. “You are part of us, my child. This is your place.” -Neytiri’s protective nature manifests differently than Jake’s. Where Jake might give orders or try to shield you, Neytiri approaches with quiet understanding. -When she sees you tending to a minor injury after a hunt, she rushes over, her hands gentle but firm as she insists on helping. “Let me see. You may be strong, but even warriors need tending.” -Neytiri takes you to her favorite places in the forest, sharing the beauty and serenity of Pandora with you. She points out the hidden treasures of Eywa’s world, her voice reverent as she speaks of the balance in all things. -One evening, she brings you to the Tree of Voices. Together, you connect to the tendrils of the tree, and she whispers, “They have watched over you. Eywa has always known you would come back to us.” -Neytiri enjoys teaching you skills you might have missed during your time away, like the subtle art of weaving or the ceremonial dances of the clan. But she’s also open to learning from you, impressed by the strategies you devise and the clever ways you solve problems. “You have your father’s mind for battle,” she says with a grin one day, “but your heart... that is mine.” -Neytiri makes it clear that she will fight for you, as she always has for her family. When anyone questions your place in the clan, her voice is sharp and unwavering: “They are my child. That is all you need to know.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

-It doesn’t take long for the Sully family to notice you’re more than just their lost sibling—you’re a force to be reckoned with. -Neytiri is the first to notice your precision with a bow. She observes silently as you nock an arrow, your stance firm and your aim deadly. The arrow sails through the air, splitting the fruit on a distant branch perfectly in two. Neytiri’s lips part in astonishment before a quiet, proud smile spreads across her face. She tilts her head, her voice carrying a rare, gentle tone: “Who taught you this?” -Learning to bond with an Ikran is no easy feat, but you take it as a personal challenge. The family watches anxiously as you ascend the rocky cliffside, Jake muttering under his breath, “They should take it slow. No one gets it on the first try.” -But you surprise them yet again. The bond happens so seamlessly that Jake stares in stunned silence, Neytiri gripping his arm as if to confirm it’s real. -Lo’ak blurts out, “There’s no way! It took me three tries!” Tuk, wide-eyed, tugs on Kiri’s arm. “Did you see that? [Y/N] is amazing!” Kiri smiles, watching them with fondness in her eyes. -When you soar through the skies for the first time, the exhilaration is clear on your face, but the family’s awe is almost comical. Neteyam watches you with unshaken admiration, his voice barely above a whisper: “I don’t think Eywa has ever made someone like them.”

-As the Sullys adjust to your presence, it’s clear you’re not just “the lost sibling” anymore—you’re an integral part of the family. Every member looks to you in their own way, whether it’s for guidance, comfort, or simply a shared laugh. -You’ve become a bridge between the past and the present, a reminder of what the family has endured and how much stronger they’ve become together. -Around the fire one night, Neteyam says it best: “We’ve always been strong, but with you here, we’re unstoppable.” And as you look around at your family—the warmth in their eyes, the love in their smiles—you realize he’s right. -This was your family, your fortress.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

A/n : AHHAaararagghh finally finished this 😭(yes i edited this one) I tried a new perspective, seeing how the Sullys would react with their long lost sibling coming back. Please leave a like :') Motivates me ALOT to write more imagines/headcanons for you guys ! :D Also don't forget to drink some waterr 🚰💦🏃‍♀️ Adios >:P

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Ignore these haha <3

[ingravinoveritas]

This past week, I traveled to London to see Macbeth. Everything I had heard and seen about David, Cush Jumbo, and the overall production convinced me that it was not to be missed, and so I took the crazy chance of purchasing a ticket months ago, and it was the first time I've ever gone to another country just for a play.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been going to Broadway shows, and the experience of live theatre has always been something incomparable and incredibly meaningful to me. Seeing something beyond Broadway, however, never felt possible until now. This opportunity arose at a moment when I was finally able to seize it, and now that I have attended the play not once, but twice (thanks to a lovely person who was able to help me obtain a £25 day ticket), I can say that Macbeth was, without question, the most amazing thing that I have ever seen on stage.

What follows is my review/thoughts on the production, and I will try my best to avoid spoilers (though fair warning that one or two may arise, so proceed with caution).

In high school, Shakespeare was something we were taught. It was an assumed part of the curriculum, labeled as a classic. Yet it seemed to exist in a time capsule--a product of its era, and of an English language barely proximate to the one we speak today. We learned Macbeth on the page, in annotations and themes and meter, rather than something pulsing, beating, living. Something that makes us feel. And for nearly two hours in a beautiful Victorian theatre in a little corner of the West End, all I did was exactly that.

I felt. And after seeing this play, I am not the same person on a molecular level that I was before.

Everything about this play--from David's mesmerizing portrayal of Macbeth to Cush Jumbo's wrenching turn as Lady Macbeth to the entire ensemble cast to the staging choices (light, sound, and so on)--is extraordinary. It is breathtakingly ruinous. It is so fully immersive that by the end you somehow feel bruised, viscerally disgusted and wrung out in equally beautiful measure.

It's almost misleading to say that we the audience are simply watching the play, because thanks to the binaural audio design (headphones), we are in Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's minds, and become accomplices to the characters' wicked deeds. When the porter (Jatinder Singh Randhawa) comes on to provide comic relief at exactly the perfect moment, it soon becomes clear that it is a distraction from our own discomfort at what has just happened. But it is a short-lived respite, as we are soon plunged back into the action and the characters' spiraling descent into madness.

In terms of David specifically, seeing him on television or on any screen profoundly pales to seeing him on the stage. In much the same way that the stage is Michael's natural habitat, it is also David's. The way he moves, the way he holds himself when he's not even speaking--which I got to see up close when he knelt directly in front of me on several occasions--is meticulous. David becomes the character he is playing, down into the pit of his soul. He disappears so thoroughly that I very quickly forgot that I was even watching him.

So many people can recite Shakespeare, but there is a marked difference between recitation and what David does. Together, David and Cush make Macbeth and Lady Macbeth feel like the Bonnie and Clyde of the Elizabethan age (only hornier). And the themes the play invokes--greed, fear, jealousy, power--are shown to be themes not of a particular era, but of humanity. David especially is so preternaturally good at making all of that unbearably real. He not only makes Shakespeare accessible to the modern world--an already difficult feat on its own--he makes it timeless.

For the last ten minutes of the play, I felt like I stopped breathing. The evil that Macbeth perpetrates, and the realization that he has not become like this, but rather that this is who he has always been, hits full force. As much as this play is very definitely an ensemble piece, David is the standout. He commands the stage, and at no point is he more powerful than when Macbeth is falling apart near the end.

(On a purely aesthetic level, this is also when David looks most beautiful--the wild hair, the form-fitting shirt heaving with the rise and fall of his greyhound lean chest, and the majestic sweep of the kilt with every frenzied movement. The complete erosion of the line between sanity and insanity, but also showing us how tenuous that line was to begin with. And he is utterly gorgeous while doing so.)

It's also at this moment in the play that we see how skillfully David has manipulated the audience. Where Michael uses a character's emotions much more overtly and aggressively--sniffing the audience out, stalking around the stage, feeling as if he's about to pull you up with him--David is far more controlled. He draws you in slowly, carefully, and it's only when we see the depths of Macbeth's depravity (notably killing Young Siward) that we realize the truth:

He got us. He made us the witnesses to Macbeth's malice, made sure we couldn't look away. And now we are complicit.

If I had to pinpoint any negatives about the play (which is extremely difficult to do), it's that there is only a brief moment where the pacing lags just slightly, and it's because David is off stage for a considerable period of time. The cast is absolutely incredible, bar none, but the energy doesn't quite maintain that high level when he is not there.

Also, from a sensory standpoint, this is very much not a sensory-friendly production. There are several instances of sudden loud noises in the headphones (which I found especially jarring), as well as the use of flashing lights, and considerable use of smoke at multiple points. All of these were more acute because I was sitting in the Stalls (second row), so I can only speak to it from that vantage, rather than from other locations in the theatre. But for anyone who is autistic (as I am) or has sensory-processing challenges, be advised that this play is definitely inaccessible in those respects.

When I left the Harold Pinter Theatre that night, I felt as though my entire central nervous system had been rearranged. There genuinely is no way to be normal about this play, because it is not a normal play. It takes apart everything you know about Macbeth and puts it back together in the most unexpected, electrifying way. It is the beauty of destruction, and no one embodies that more perfectly than David. Even days later, I can still feel the buzzing of my skin, the blood rushing through me, fingertips tingling from some heady combination of arousal and fear. (Or as Dr. Frank N. Furter once put it: "A mental mind fuck can be quite nice...")

The moment the lights went to black, every single person in that theatre was on their feet in a standing ovation. The applause was thunderous, and seemed even louder in the wake of the complete silence that preceded it.

I had sat in that silence--awestruck, captivated--and thought to myself that I could watch this production forever. And I would go back and do it all over again right now if I could. If you have the means, the opportunity, it is an experience I cannot recommend highly enough.

David is truly a master of his craft, and yet performs without a hint of ego. He gives everything he has and leaves it all on the stage. And what he and this team of people have come together to give us is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

(Pictures taken on 10/12/2024.)

[temis-de-leon]

Day 8 - Unwanted kiss

Characters: Diavolo x fem!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: non consensual kiss, implied other types of sexual harassment (not from Diavolo's nor MC's part), MC defends herself, pre-established relationship

.

There were a dozen reasons that could explain MC’s presence in his office. Did she miss him? It wouldn’t be the first time she visited him out of the blue with a wide smile, hands locked behind her back with a certain innocence that made him put his paperwork aside in order to pay her attention.

Sometimes she'd need his help for homework and in what universe would he say no? Of course, there were also the official meetings, but having part, if not all, of the brothers and his butler there made bonding time with her barely impossible.

No, Diavolo perfectly knew he very much preferred their private meetings, the ones where he could ask about her daily life without an audience and where her eyes were fixed exclusively on him.

So when he heard a knock and the one to enter was MC, he couldn’t help but smile immediately. However, her sour expression made him stop in his tracks. She was pulling the hem of her pleaded skirt down and her hair looked messier than ever.

“MC?” he called, but she wouldn’t raise her head.

Diavolo was in the middle of getting up to console her when she handed him a slip of paper showing a familiar signature and RAD’s official stamp. He grabbed it and read it, his face unpleasantly serious and stomach churning in worry. The signature belonged to one of the professors and his message described, amongst a myriad of insults to the human race, how MC had been seen punching a fellow classmate.

He gasped in surprise, instantly setting his gaze on her. MC still didn’t seem able to look at him.

“Is this true, MC? You punched another student?”

She sighed heavily, crossing her arms before finally locking eyes with him and nodding in silence. In a subtle movement that didn’t escape his notice, she pulled her skirt down again. It didn’t take him too long to put two and two together, and when it did, nausea hit him like a train.

Then anger.

He forced himself to stay calm, not wanting to aggravate her further, and the teacher’s notice, which he’d make sure to revise later, slipped through his fingers and fell to the carpeted floor. MC’s hands met his and he felt the primal, dark and visceral, need to keep her close.

“I’m afraid you will have to explain to me exactly what happened, MC. What did he do…?”

“He kissed me” she interrupted him, but would not let go of his hands. Not that he minded it. The sickening tendrils of jealousy filled his guts for just a second before he pushed them down. It was not what she needed at the moment.

“He’s part of my fanclub and has been asking me out for days, but I always said no. He asked again today, but I had a test and I was tired and I wasn’t in the mood to be nice and he had the brilliant thought of kissing me as a way to finally get me to accept his proposal… So I punched him. And the teacher saw, I guess, so now I’m grounded”

Diavolo listened carefully at her nervous monologue, discreetly caressing her knuckles while walking towards the sofa and sitting down next to her. She didn’t seem to be afraid, just frustrated and profoundly disgusted.

“I’m deeply sorry, MC”

“You don’t need to apologize...”

“Allow me to do it still”

He felt his cheeks heating up, the warmth only increasing when he bent down to kiss the back of her hands and her fingers let go of his to cradle his face and scratch the back of his neck.

There was nothing he wanted more in the three realms than stay next to her and enjoy her touch, but it wasn’t the moment.

“Wait for me here”

He got up, straightening his uniform.

“Where are you going?”

MC stayed on the couch and the distance between them felt impossibly long. He bent down, constraining himself to kiss her on the lips as to not remind her of the recent experience, and spoke in a whisper.

“I’m going to personally take care of them”

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @beatlebeesstuff   @mehkers

[3amfanfiction]

Back to the Prices

Part 3 of Doll and Darling Hurt/No Comfort, MDNI, Dead dove fic. Please check the trigger warnings Simon takes you back to the Price household. Do you get to see your baby? CW: Kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, noncon/dubcon, 5.4k words I wrote this for @pricegouge after the comment 'they should kiss about it' was made, so you know who to thank for this piece. Thank you for always being willing to bounce ideas with me!! Especially the really out-there ones :) Banner by @/cafekitsune

First || Previous

When you realize where you're going you begin to vibrate in your seat, dread and excitement warring in your veins. Simon doesn't bother looking over from where he sat next to you, driving the old truck up to the Price house.

It had been several months since Simon made you leave Charlie with them. You had woken up on the drive back from their house and immediately began attacking him again, still filled with a visceral rage. You were yanking at the steering wheel attempting to redirect the truck, hitting and biting him, clawing at any skin you could reach. Simon had eventually slammed your head into the console, knocking you out again when you began clawing at his eyes. When you woke up you were chained in your room again—limited to a tiny radius.

It took a while for you to work your way back up to freedom, not that you had any interest in playing nice for those first few days.

It wasn't until Simon told you, if you're dead you won't be able to see her again that you began to come around. You wanted to see her again—you wanted your baby. You wanted to see her more than you wanted to spite Simon and become a catatonic doll. It was mildly surprising when you first realized that but you came around quickly. You were willing to do anything to see her, even play along in Simon's messed up world.

How much she had changed. Didn't babies change a lot in their first few months? You aren't worried in the least about recognizing her, just what you had missed while you were away. Babies were supposed to recognize the scent of their mother. Would she remember you? Oh god, what if she started crying when you picked her up? It doesn't matter—you'll still get to see her.

The truck had barely sputtered to a stop before you were out and standing in front of it, waiting impatiently for Simon to exit. With a spiteful huff he took his time, forcing you to wait longer, ignoring your longing to go inside the house.

Before you lost your temper and ruined everything, the brightly painted front door swung open and John stepped out. He looked just as handsome as you remembered—a charming grin under bright blue eyes. It was impossible to see the monster you knew lingered under his skin. He looked like any other man.

Simon finally deigned to join you and you walk up to John, quickly climbing the stairs to stand in front of him, twisting your fingers in front of you nervously. He reaches out, placing a palm to your cheek and cradling your jaw. Bringing you in for a quick kiss he doesn't give you the option of pulling away.

"Simon. Doll. It's nice to see you again. Come inside, Darling's waiting for us."

You couldn't help but to look around eagerly as you entered the bright house, ignoring the kiss. You had more important things to worry about, such as trying to catch a glimpse of your baby. Had they changed her name? They must have—You'd never told them what you called her. Tragically you didn't see or hear her. There was detritus tucked away in small corners, indications of the children who lived and played here. Unfortunately there was nothing to say which was Charlie's.

Darling sees you looking around anxiously and speaks up after a quick glance at John. "All three babies are with their grandparents," she said, an attempt at a comforting smile crosses her face. "Olivia learned how—"

"That'll be enough, Darling." John cut her off, causing her jaw to snap closed immediately, the hollow thunk of her teeth meeting just barely heard in the quiet room as her eyes lower to the floor in pardon.

"She's not here?" you question, turning to Simon angrily as your voice begins to rise, fighting a flood of tears that were stinging the back of your nose, "you said—"

"I said we'd be goin' to the Prices and if you behaved you might see her," Simon grumbles, moving towards the living room to pour himself a glass of John's whiskey, "didn't say nothing else."

"You asshole!" you screech, "you knew what I would think when you said that!" Your head whips around the room trying to find something to throw but he stops you in your tracks.

"Depending on how you two behave tonight, you might still get to see her."

You freeze, hope kindling and dying in a fast, vicious cycle before finally, "I don't understand."

"Exactly what he said, Doll," John joins. "If you and Darling behave tonight—if you give us a good show—you'll be able to see her in the morning when her grandparents drop her off."

"They are not her grandparents," you spit furiously, uninterested in playing this game. You don't get a chance to say anything further before John is across the room, holding your cheeks tightly in one big paw as his callouses scratch at your skin.

"She was my child before you even knew who I was," —calm, controlled— "We are her parents and they are her grandparents. I look after my children and if you are going to rock the boat, cause Olivia any kind of bothersome feelings then you won't be seeing her ever again. Easy as."

You frown through teary eyes at him from where he has your cheeks pinched, grinding the soft skin harshly into your teeth. You lips are pursed outward when he gives your head a little shake to rattle your brain, "Understand me?" he asks and oh, that's his Captain voice isn't it?

"I understand."

"You understand, what?"

You debate digging in your heels but decide this isn't the hill you want to die on tonight, "I understand, sir."

"Good girl," he condescends, letting go with a harsh pat to your cheek—practically a slap. "Knew you were a smart one."

You debate spitting on him for a brief moment before you remember Darling's breasts from the last time you were here. Swallowing the saliva you gathered, you counsel yourself, remembering that you're going to play nice. You're going to do whatever you need to in order to see your daughter.

Hopefully it won't be anything too bad.

"You said we had to behave," you start with a quick glance at Darling who is still standing with her hands folded together, looking firmly at the floor, "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, pet," Simon grumbles, the amber liquid in his glass glinting in the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. "You'll be doing everything we tell you to and you'll do it gladly. Enthusiastically, even." The huffed chuckle he lets out sounds like he knows something you don't.

The thought of entertaining these men makes you nauseous, your stomach churning forcefully. It doesn't matter though—Charlie.

You're too nervous to come out and ask what he wants you to do so you turn to John who is still standing in front of you, watching everything happen.

"Joh—"

Your ears are ringing and your face throbs. You miss the gasp that Darling lets out.

What?

John pulls back the hand he had used to slap you. "I don't allow my toys to address me by name," he says dispassionately. "You'll be calling me Sir tonight. Anything else and you won't like the consequences." He turns to look at Simon with a disappointed raised eyebrow, "do you allow her to do whatever she wants while she's with you? I expected her to be better trained."

You keep forgetting he's just like Simon. He hides it better perhaps but the same radioactive sludge runs in his veins, poisoning everyone within reach.

Simon grunts a chuckle as he takes another sip, reclining back on the couch in ease, "Doesn't bother me much so I never did anythin' about it."

Your face throbs and your head spins with the sharp switch from geniality to this. You can't forget that there is a monster hiding behind his handsome eyes. One skill that being with Simon had honed was your ability to breathe through and compartmentalize pain. Taking a steadying breath you force your swimming vision back into focus before raising your head. Charlie, remember Charlie.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I wasn't trying to be rude," you did your best to soothe, avoiding looking him in the eye and taking a page out of Darling's book. She had clearly been with him a while and you knew she was your best bet for making it through this as unscathed as possible.

John—Sir doesn't bother responding to that, walking across the open living room to sit next to Simon, whiskey glass perched next to his seat in wait.

He shifts, getting comfortable before picking up his glass, legs splayed open in a mirror image of the other man. He looks over at Darling who has finally raised her head.

"Darling, why don't you come play with our guest. She seems a little stressed and I know that always calms you down nicely," Jo—Sir orders. What does that mean? Darling seems to understand with the way she doesn't hesitate to step closer to you, stopping directly behind where you're facing the couch and reaching around to grab your breasts.

You can't help but let out a surprised exclamation as you pull away in shock at the unfamiliar touch, surprised at how easy it is to break Darling's grasp after so long with Simon.

Sir tuts in admonishment, a slow click click click of his tongue, "Now now, that's not being good, is it?" He stares at you with stony eyes. "Let's try that again, and this time you're going to stand still, aren't you Doll?"

"Yes, Sir," you mumble, moving back into position as Darling reaches around your chest again. You inhale shakily as her palms find your breasts, fingers locating your nipples with surprising ease. John's eyes warm a touch as he leans back to settle in, Simon doing the same next to him.

You don't know where to look at Darling plays with your nipples, each pinch and tug sending a tiny spark between your legs. Nothing on it's own but building each time, accumulating.

"Warm her up proper," John commands vaguely. Darling has no questions on what that means because she promptly begins to kiss and mouth at your neck.

You jolt in place with a sharp inhale, the sensation lighting a fire under your skin. It had been a long time since you had a truly gentle touch and you find you're without a shield against it now. Each soft caress of Darling's lips and fingers sends a bolt of want straight to your core.

Arching into her touch as the minutes pass, you press your chest more firmly into her hands while tilting your chin, opening up your neck for her to explore. She tasted and teased with abandon, warm where she was pressed up against your back.

Your breath was coming slightly faster when Simon spoke up for the first time since this started, "Take her top off."

You swallow in nervousness before allowing Darling's hands to slide under the fabric by your sides, hot palms brushing your hips and up to your ribs as she trailed her fingers, pulling your shirt up along with her touch.

With a flick of her wrist it was tossed to the side, lose the bra too, and you stood there, top-half exposed waiting for the next decree.

"Well Doll?" Sir asks, "Aren't you going to return the favor?"

So it's going to be this kind of night. It's not great but it could definitely be worse. You wonder if this is supposed to be a punishment or a reward and for whom before Sir's shifting expression reminds you of what you should be doing.

With trembling fingers you turn to face Darling and begin undoing the buttons along the front of her dress starting in the modest V neck. When you reach the last button, just above her waist, she steps back to slide the dress down her legs, stepping out of it smoothly and kicking it over to join your items.

What you saw was breathtaking.

A simple pair of panties covered her curl-hidden mound, plain fabric made beautiful by the plump thighs encompassing it. Darling's soft belly and hips covered the top band, leaving you unable to tell if they were topped with lace or something else.

In place of a bra she was wearing another stunning rope harness.

Darling's skin had healed completely since the last time you saw her when you had caught a glimpse of the rope-burned skin by accident. It was clear there hadn't been another binding session to that extreme since they took in Charlie. Her current harness looked to be for aesthetics and it didn't disappoint.

The light purple rope wrapped wide around Darling's neckline before thickening into an almost braided pattern along her sternum, down between her breasts. The ropes then split off, framing each breast separately, holding it apart and aloft. It was clearly the work of someone well versed in shibari and the detailing was enticing. It encouraged the eyes to follow the natural curve of her body, as if leading you to a hidden oasis.

When you pull your gaze away from the harness and back up to Darling's face, it was clear she was embarrassed by how you were staring. Her eyes hovering off to the side and her lip was between her teeth. It abruptly made you feel horrible about yourself.

Here you were, aroused by what she had done and how she looked and it was because you were both being forced to by the men on the couch. Does it make you the same as them because you're enjoying it too? You don't want that.

In apology and embarrassment you step back, giving Darling room to breathe and facing the couch again, waiting for the next command and trying to get your breathing back under control. Simon's smile curdles your stomach where he's leaned back watching you closely. He looks like he knows every dirty thing that has crossed your mind and finds it funny. He has his legs splayed with a cock chubbing up along one pant leg that he hasn't bothered to do anything with yet. You don't doubt that will only last so long.

"Let's have a kiss," John prompts, ready to continue.

Turning to face Darling once more as she moves smoothly into your reach, you notice her steps gliding easily along the floor. How much was her naturally and how much was training? Because it was clear that she had been trained into being a perfect little housewife for a man who held all the power. Did she begin her relationship willingly or was it like you and Simon where she was grabbed off the street? Has she tried to escape? The curtain-less windows and distance from any neighbors suddenly makes sense. It was all a cage, wasn't it? A warm welcoming cage with blankets and pillows but a cage nonetheless.

As Darling reaches you, you're unable to do more than give a lackluster peck to her lips, still ashamed of how you had gawked earlier. A brief there-and-gone contact that did nothing more than pass your lips across each other.

"You can do better than that," John teases, enjoying your discomfort—reveling in it. You swallow nervously before making eye contact with Darling. Leaning in slowly you tilt your head to the side, your lips pressing to hers, holding for a moment before your tongue darts out to brush her lower lip. When she opens on a slight inhale you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Lifting one hand, you press it against her ribs while the other is placed along the side of her face, cradling her jaw softly, keeping her turned towards you.

Your tongue brushes hers in a soft drag, pulling back briefly before you go in for another taste. You coax her tongue into your mouth, suckling softly before releasing her.

Pulling back you meet her wide-eyed gaze, both of you panting shallowly. She swallows before licking her lips and leaning in for another kiss.

This one is much deeper with Darling thrusting her tongue into your mouth freely, lips shining with spit. It's been so long since you've kissed like this—for no other reason than to enjoy it. You find yourself feeling embarrassingly needy about, wanting to keep her next to you, wanting to keep her lips on yours.

Sudden clapping caused you both to jump, pulling away from each other quickly and turning to look at the couch where Simon was clapping mockingly.

"Now that's what we like to see. You'll be keepin' that up tonight," he subtly threatened, not that you needed reminding. The mean grin on his face did nothing to endear him to you.

"Why don't you two come here and say hi," he adds, urging the two of you over. When you began to make your way to his side of the couch he stops you, "No, I want to say hello to Darling. Doll, you go be nice to the captain."

You freeze, unsure for a moment. Looking over at Darling you can tell she's feeling the same way. Simon isn't nice but at least you know what to expect. And is it really fair to subject Darling to him? Does it even matter considering you can't disobey him anyways?

You move over to Sir, seeing Darling walk over to stand in front of Simon out of the corner of your eye. As soon as she was within arms reach he had his forearm hooked around her waist and was hauling her into his lap. Her brief cry of surprise did nothing but make him laugh as she sat sideways on his thigh with her back against the arm of the couch. Simon wasted no time in reaching out and tugging at her nipples. Pinching them tightly between his index finger and thumb and pulling away sharply, he watched the tissue stretch from between the ropes. When Darling squealed he would hold it there for a moment before finally releasing only to do the same with the other side.

Resurfacing you turn to look at Sir, watching you with a subtle smirk. Well Doll? his raised eyebrow seems to indicate before he says, "I'm not going to do the work for you," and pats his lap, indicating you were to climb on.

Placing a shaking hand on his shoulder for balance you brought one knee up and placed it on the couch. Crawling into place carefully you gently lowered yourself onto his lap, face to face with him.

"Aren't you going to tell me hello?" he asks with a genial expression, hiding his disposition behind an affable exterior. You notice subtle signs though such as his jaw flexing in the weakening light as if he's clenching his teeth at your delay in greeting him.

Even knowing that, you can't help but to admire how handsome he is. The bristles of his jaw looked soft as if he routinely oiled the hair and he smelled pleasantly of smoke and leather. You wanted to dig your face into the notch under his jaw.

"Hello, Sir," you respond immediately, not seeing any reason to dig your heels in.

"Mmmm, that sounds good from your lips, Doll," he purrs, taking another sip of his whiskey before pressing the glass to your mouth, tutting softly when you instinctively try to reach for it. He tilts it up once your hands are placed back in your lap, watching your throat with a rapt gaze as you swallowed the spicy amber liquid.

When he was satisfied he pulled the glass back with a soft, that's my good girl, before setting it off to the side. Your resulting clench was shameful.

You weren't sure how long you'd been with Simon but he had a very specific style about him. One that made you particularly weak to a sweet word or a soft touch. You were just now realizing tonight would probably be worse than you originally thought.

As Sir refocuses on you, you swallow heavily at the blatant want displayed on his face. Without saying anything further he reaches out to play with your chest.

"Fuck me, but you've got some pretty tits, Doll. One of these times I'm going to tie them up all pretty and tight. Watch you squirm as they get sensitive and swollen but not tonight." He leans closer to lick up your throat from collar to ear, hot and wet, "that'll be a treat for another time."

You thought your quiet whimper went unnoticed if not for the resulting clench of his hands where they've found purchase on your hips. He's holding tightly to you, covetous, as if you'll slip off his lap and be gone in the blink of an eye.

Glancing over you see Simon still playing with Darling's nipples, now harshly pebbled and slightly swollen, before his hand drops lower, moving to play with her cunt if not for the firm—

"Not there. She's still healing from the birth so that's off limits," from Sir.

Simon huffs as if he's just been denied a treat but redirects his hand all the same, moving over to squeeze firmly at her thick thighs.

Refocusing on Sir, he grinds you back and forth against his broad, heavily corded thigh using his hands on your hips to guide you in the rhythm he wants. It's shameful how quickly he's able to work you to orgasm while whispering filthy sweet words in your ears—you can do it for me, that's a girl, I bet you look so pretty when you cum, are you going to let me taste it? It's the work of minutes before you're shuddering to a stop, soaking your pants and leaving a damp spot on his leg where you had been grinding languidly.

With a soft there we go sweetheart, doesn't that feel better now? Sir directs you off his lap to stand on shaky legs in front of him once more. A gesture from him has you finish undressing, a softly delighted groan escaping when you stand before him completely naked.

You shift uncomfortably as he takes his time to look at you, picking up his glass for another sip. He has no shame in where his eyes wander until he gets bored and moves the night onward.

You feel a bit like a puppet on a string as Sir directs you and Darling into position. Everyone placed just so for tonight's entertainment. With a final direction you move over to Darling who is laid out on the floor, breath coming slightly too fast—mimicking yours if for different reasons. Her wide eyes are watching you carefully, encouraging you to follow along with his requests when you seem to hesitate, getting caught up in your own head.

With a shaky smile in thanks directed her way you raise one leg, moving to stand over her before kneeling, thighs stretched wide around her soft body. The wet pop of your lips separating when you spread your knees has your face warming and you avoiding eye contact with her even though she going to become intimately acquainted with you shortly.

You're still hovering awkwardly over her chest when Sir comes to stand in front of you and you hear Simon moving around behind you, settling into place between Darling's spread legs.

Sir encourages you to scoot up closer to him. Kneeling over Darling's bound breasts you can feel her hard nipples brushing the soft skin of your inner thighs with every panting breath she took, the soft rope providing a counterpoint.

"Simon has told me how good this pretty mouth is," he says, dragging a thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it between you teeth to rest heavily on your tongue. His forearm and bicep fill your vision, thick dark hair covering his skin, wide wrist supporting a sizable hand. "I'm looking forward to trying it out," the black of his pupil eclipses the blue of his eyes in want. "Darling has quite the gag reflex—I've heard you don't suffer from that anymore."

You hear a harsh slap before you can answer, Darling jerking under you with a shocked squeal. You attempt to look over your shoulder to see what happened but Sir grips your chin tighter, keeping you in place.

"And I'm gonna be taking this tight ass, seein' as how I can't get inside of yer cunt just yet."

You glance down to see Darling looking frantic, as close to panicked as you'd ever seen her. You quickly mumble an incoherent, can I suck your cock first please? around Sir's thumb. When he pulls it back you repeat yourself, practically begging Simon. Turning to look at him you plead, "I'd like to show Sir how good I am, how much better I've gotten with you. Please can't I suck your cock first?" You look at him beseechingly.

Simon pauses and narrows his eyes at you, sitting silent for a moment before smirking in realization. You thought he was going to deny you for a moment before he gestured for you to get to it.

Spinning around to face him, you notice he's shucked his pants and is standing there in the nude, his thick cock pointing downward with the weight of itself. You shuffle closer, gathering saliva in your mouth. As you reach him you spit onto the tip of his dick, immediately chasing it down as you sink your mouth onto him, keeping your hands crossed behind your back where he liked them.

With a soft hmm he grabs your head with both hands before pulling you down to his groin, nose pressed flush to the wiry hair, rocking with you as you subconsciously jerk, trying to clear your airway. His scent fills your brain, musky and tinged slightly with stale sweat as you drool.

"Doll had a hell of a gag reflex too, in the beginning," Simon says to Sir, ignoring you choking between his thighs. "I can train Darling up for you, teach her how to be a proper slut for a cock if you want," he offers with something resembling glee deep in his gaze before pulling back to continue thrusting. You shudder in remembrance before closing your eyes, focusing on the steady thrusts into your mouth and throat as he tilts his head forward to watch you choke on his cock.

He alternates between fast deep thrusts that make you glug with each press and slow shallow rocks that allow you to catch your breath, his hands gripping tightly to the sides of your head so he can control you exactly as he wants. Pulling you in deeply one more time, he holds you there until you begin jerking in oxygen deprivation, tears and spit streaming down your face.

He releases you and you pull back with a cough, sucking in air as deeply as possible. As you draw back you make sure to leave as much spit as possible along his shaft. Simon has no time for lube as he's shown you again and again in the time you've been with him. At least this way you can make it easier for Darling to take him.

Panting as you turn around you crawl on spread knees back up to Darling's face, who is looking at you with abject horror at the thought of being trained to take Simon like that. You don't have reassurance to offer her so instead you look away, continuing your shuffle until you're perched above her face one more, facing Sir who is standing at her head. You're ashamed to know that Darling's view is full of sticky strands of arousal coating your thighs.

"Go ahead, have a seat," Sir says, palming his cock.

Lowering yourself, you sit on your heels over Darling's face and come into contact with a warm wet mouth that leaves you breathless for a different reason. It's here that you know Simon has begun to press into her because you feel her breath hitch and little whimpers are pressed against your skin as she licks and sucks from your slit up to your clit.

You struggle to focus on Sir standing in front of you, slowly stroking himself. Although not as big as Simon he is by no means small. A thick cock springs up from a healthy bed of dark curls, curved slightly upwards. You know it's going to be just as much of a struggle as Simon's was to take.

Leaning forward slightly while keeping your eyes on his, you mouth at his tip, tongue flicking forward to play with the slit and lap up the bead of precum that had begun pooling when you were with Simon. He breathed a low moan of pleasure as you took him in your mouth, slowly sinking deeper, letting saliva pool as you went.

You pause as he hits the back of your throat, breathing for a moment before swallowing him down, welcoming him into the tight passage—filling you. You hold for a moment, letting him enjoy the tight press of your esophagus before pulling back and focusing on the head for a moment. When you sink back down you find yourself moaning as his hand finds the back of your head to guide you in his preferred rhythm.

Tears gather at your lashline as you bob, chasing his release at the same time as your own. Oral was something you enjoyed and being held captive hadn't changed that, no matter how shameful it made you feel.

You remember Darling underneath you as she begins to suck in vigor, focusing on your clit with occasional dips to your opening. She keeps her hands on your thighs, not having been given permission to use them. You rock against her face in little sways of your hips, grinding down when the feeling gets to be a bit too ticklish for your liking. Flattening her tongue, she lets you chase your finish.

Taking initiative with Sir you reach up to roll his balls in your hand, cupping them and squeezing lightly, giving a soft tug with every thrust. His panting huffs fill your ears as Darling works below you, sucking your clit into her mouth to lightly bite on. The action has you moaning where you're pressed against Sir—having moved down to take his balls into your mouth.

Your jaw aches by the time Sir looks up at Simon and commands, "Touch her clit," no doubt having noticed Darling squirming beneath you as Simon continued to fuck into her roughly. Simon doesn't even bother looking up.

"She can come on my cock or not at all."

"My Darling is a good girl, Simon," Sir chastises, "You can do whatever you want with your slag," he gives a deep grind into your throat, crushing your nose to his pubic bone, huffing a laugh as you gag, "but you treat my Darling right."

Simon doesn't say anything for a moment and you almost think he's going to ignore his captain before he grumbles quietly and spits on Darling's clit, reaching down to start strumming it in a furious manner.

With a muffled wail she comes beneath you, vocalizations muted where she's pressing firmly into your cunt, the hot vibrations enough to send you careening over the edge as well.

Simon doesn't bother to stop flicking her clit, not until he's cumming, enjoying her quiet whimpers and whines from underneath you as she thrashes in overstimulation.

With a few more thrusts Sir also finishes, filling your throat with warm spend. You swallow, grateful for the break and try to subtly stretch out your jaw in preparation for the next round.

Because there's always a next round.

|||

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[stickyglitterwombat]

Sansa's harp training and Ned's trauma

So here's the thought.

It suddenly hit me that there might be a very good reason (not in the sense that it makes it a GOOD decision, but in the sense that it explains his actions) for Ned to refuse to hire a harp teacher for Sansa. A lot has been said about how unfair it was that he hired a 'dance teacher' for Arya and failed Sansa by not hiring a teacher to help her develop her own talents. There are many brilliant posts about how Ned and Cat failed their daughters as parents, so I won't go into that.

However, in this particular case, I believe that Ned might have a very good reason.

Do you know who else played the harp? Rhaegar.

Can you see how Ned might have bad associations with this particular instrument?

Jojen's stories tell us that when Lyanna heard Rhaegar play the harp for the first time, she felt very emotional. That she had tears in her eyes. So the harp plays a central role in their story, in their initial interactions.

Whether you believe that Lyanna was abducted or that she went with Rhaegar willingly, you can't deny that Rhaegar is at the center of the tragedies of Ned's life. The loss and brutal murder of his father and brother, the death of his sister, fighting in a civil war.

So it would make sense that Ned would have a visceral reaction to the idea of his daughter learning to play an instrument that, in his mind, is so linked to the events that doomed his family.

There is nothing to tell us (not that I remember) that he would have been more receptive had she asked to learn how to play another instrument, but I still thought there was an interesting connection to make there.

[ryuuza-art]

Today is the beginning of Soulstober 2024! For the theme of "Soulstober Stories", I will be doing a sketch journal featuring every Soulsborne boss I've defeated, in order of play. Starting with Bloodborne, my first & still most loved. ❤️

1. Cleric Beast

I started Bloodborne with the knowledge that I hadn't spent any money, therefore wouldn't have lost anything if it turned out it wasn't for me. When I accidentally happened upon the Cleric Beast, it was after a gruelling few hours of making slow progress and I felt very underprepared! But I pressed on, not wanting to fall at the first hurdle. I gradually realised it was a matter of learning its moveset and how to successfully parry and pull off visceral attacks. After several attempts, I was finally successful! Onto the next.

2. Father Gascoigne

I'd heard many times he was difficult, but I don't think I lasted a few seconds into my first attempt! Then just as I thought I was getting somewhere, surprise! A second, much more aggressive phase. 💀

Part of the solution I found, however, opened up some new lore for me. Receiving the music box from a girl you realise is his daughter and using it during that fraught second phase to calm him, if for a moment, it was a bittersweet victory when I eventually took him down, especially when you discover what happens to his family. ;;

3. Blood-starved Beast

Why does its hood look like it's made of meat - oh good lord, that's its torn off skin. :')

A delightfully disgusting creature and my first encounter with status effects, thanks to it being shrouded in a cloud of poison.

(I thought I'd cleared Amelia before this, but my achievement list says otherwise, so this must have been my first time finding a different path after hitting a brick wall - a quintessential Fromsoft experience!)

[ilguna]

Hey! Could I get a 1 and 3 from aisle 2 for the supply run? With finnick preferably and only if it inspires you! I’m in desperate need of some soft hurt/comfort.

Congrats on everything and thanks for opening this up!

☼ moments notice (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, blood mention, weapon mention.

wc; 1.4k

prompt; 1. "Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again." AND 3. "I'd come for you. No matter what, when you need me, I will be there."

—

“(Y/n)!” 

You whip around at the sound of your name being screamed deeper in the jungle, eyes searching the thick trees for the person who’s calling for you. You take a step, eyebrows knitting together, unsure if you should be running in their direction or not.

Slowly, you reach for the spear that Katniss had to help you attach to the purple belt the Capitol provided. The vines do a very good job of making it stay in place. No matter how fast you run, or how badly it bounces on your thigh, the knot never comes loose.

You pull the long pole out of the loop, gripping the metal tightly. Maybe you didn’t hear what you thought you did. There’s a good chance it was a bird up in the trees, the chirp coincidentally sounding like your name. Still, this doesn’t ease the tension in your body.

“(Y/n)!” The scream is raw, one that was caused out of fear.

A shot of ice goes down your spine when you realize why you had such a visceral reaction the first time you heard it. It’s familiar, it belongs to the one person that matters in this world. Your feet begin to move you forward without a real plan on what to do.

“Finnick?” You call back, “Finnick!”

He begins to call back, but it’s abruptly cut off. You race toward where you’d last heard him, arms pumping, barreling through ferns, rocks and roots to reach him faster. As you get closer, you think you can see movement beyond the trees, possibly another small clearing.

You raise your free arm, anticipating to block your face from the branch you’re going to run into. Instead, you slam straight into an invisible force. The side of your arm hits your chin, as you try to twist your body away from whatever it is that’s managed to stop you so harshly.

You land on the ground, the spear a few feet away. You don’t even have time to breathe before you’re springing back up, hand outstretched to feel what it is. You come into contact with a wall, one that you weren’t able to see before. The only reason why you can now, is because you’re touching it. It warps around your hand, and smooths out as it spreads.

You push into it, wanting it to budge.

It doesn’t.

“Finnick!” You shout, snatching the spear out of the grass as you travel uphill, wanting to get a better look from the conveniently placed trees. They block your view of the clearing,

From what you can see through the leaves, he isn’t in there. You stand there for a moment, catching your breath, thinking about your next move. Which becomes obvious when you hear Johanna calling for you, from the area you were all gathered at on the beach. 

You start to jog that way, “I’m coming!”

Johanna’s standing a few feet into the treeline, watching you come toward her. As soon as you’re in reach, she wraps her hand around your wrist, pulling you with her.

“Where is he?” You breathe, looking at the beach, but you’re not going in that direction. “Is he okay?”

“He’s stuck in one of the hours.” She tells you, letting go. “We heard Katniss’ sister screaming, so she went off running after it. Finnick followed her because he’s the fastest. We heard you, too, but it sounded different.”

“Well I was—”

“No, I know that.” She cuts you off, waving her hand. “I mean, the first one we heard didn’t sound like you. Beetee says that it might’ve been engineered.”

You pause, face twisting. The Capitol fabricated your screams? 

The two of you slow down when you can see Peeta and Beetee. They look up when they can hear you rustling through the greenery. Johanna takes a few steps, and then moves out of the way to let you get a better look of the situation.

Peeta presses his forehead against the wall, his hand right next to it. If he feels comfortable enough to do this, that must mean the wall isn’t electrified in the same way the forcefield at the top of the hill is. It’s safer to touch this one for long periods of time. 

Katniss is on the other side, body turned to face in his direction, but her hands are clamped over her ears, eyes shut, head between her knees. Her whole body is rigid, and you don’t understand, until you see a dark bird divebomb at her, beak aimed for her body.

You can’t tell if it hurts her or not, because she doesn’t twitch at the impact. You move around Peeta, looking for Finnick, and find them close to Katniss, in nearly the exact same position that she’s in. Except, his nose is gushing blood.

“What happened? Why is he bleeding?”

“He ran straight into the wall.” Johanna says. “They’re going to be in there for an hour.”

“Can they hear us?” You ask.

“No, and we can’t hear them, either.” Peeta says. 

“What’s going on with the birds?”

“I believe they’re Capitol mutts, engineered to mimic their loved ones' screams. They’re programmed using artificial intelligence. All we have to do is take clips from interviews and manipulate them. It’s quite simple.” Beetee murmurs. “We do something similar in District Three.”

“And he has to sit there for a whole hour?” You ask, “Listening to this?”

“Yep.” Johanna says, lowering herself to the ground. 

You stand there, staring at Finnick. What use would your screams even have, besides leading the tributes into an area? They could’ve done anything, and they chose dive bombing birds? You don’t understand why the Capitol wouldn’t go for something more sinister, considering they’re all about torture.

“I’m right here, Katniss.” Peeta mumbles, not caring that she can’t see him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Peeta suddenly falls forward, barely managing to catch himself in the dirt, unprepared for the wall disappearing without notice. The two of you get to your feet at the same time, but you have to walk farther to get to Finnick. Whereas he simply scoops Katniss out of the grass and goes to the beach.

You fall to your knees next to Finnick, grabbing his knee, reaching for the side of his face. You cup his cheek, running your thumb over his cheek, finding it wet from the tears.

“Finnick, honey.” You murmur. 

He looks at you, the corners of his mouth turned downward. You shake your head, scooting toward him. You grab his shoulder, pulling his body to yours. He hugs you tightly, letting out a shaky breath.

“You’re okay.” He murmurs to himself. “I thought I was too late. I thought they got you. Enobaria and Brutus… they’re fast and…”

“They could never take me down, Finn.” You tell him, stroking his hair. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I do, especially here. It’s not like last time.”

“I know.” You pull away to look at him. “Let’s go to the beach.”

Finnick reluctantly lets you go, but it’s not for long. The moment he’s back on his feet, he reaches over to take your hand, holding on the entire way. At the beach, you pick a spot underneath the shade, away from Katniss and Peeta.

Once the two of you sit down, he stares off at the water blankly. You let him be, listening in on the conversation the others are having a few feet away. It isn’t until Johanna volunteers to go grab water, do you feel as if enough time has passed.

“Why don’t you lay down?” You suggest. “You’re exhausted, you need to sleep.”

“I won’t help.” He mumbles.

“It might help more than you think.” You tilt your head to get a better look at his face. “This took a lot out of you.”

He shakes his head, unmoving. A few minutes later, he sighs, “Okay.”

You smile a little, crossing your legs. Finnick lowers himself onto the sand, using your thighs as a cushion for his head. You immediately reach to rake your fingers through his hair. He’s facing away from you, but you can tell he’s resisting.

“Just close your eyes.” You murmur. “I will still be here when you open them again.”

He doesn’t speak, twisting his body to look over his shoulder, at you. “You know I’d come for you, right? No matter what, when you need me, I will be there.”

“Of course you will.” You stop touching his hair. “I know you were looking for me, Finnick, because I was looking for you, too.”

--

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on october 31st, at midnight! info at the bottom of my navigation post. you don't have to follow to participate :)

+ thank you anon!! feel free to send another :)))

[thlayli-ra]

Can you do the kissing away their tears with drew and punk

Since Bad Blood, I have had a few requests for another instalment of the Winner's Room AU, then @afterdarkprincess inspired me with her post and I had this perfect little prompt for my Trick or Treat event sitting in my askbox, so I've mashed the whole lot together to write the final chapter of the Winner's Room AU. Enjoy!

Treat - 'Kissing Away Their Tears'

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Blood, angst, smut, religious imagery

They say that dogs often find a quiet place to be alone when they know they're going to die.

Perhaps that was why Drew wanted to be by himself right now. He may not have been literally dying but he felt like he was, the pain in his head and body so visceral he could hardly stand. But the greatest pain of all was in his chest, off-centre, slightly to the left. In his heart. For when his blood and sweat had run out of him in great gushing rivers, something else had left him too, a piece of his soul, leaving behind a black hole like a decayed crust.

He sat bunched up on the floor, the room around him pitch black and silent. Pulling his knees up tighter to his chest, he set his forehead upon them, wincing at the anguish that wailed from the gruesome gash on his crown and let out a fresh surge of tears, coating his already damp and sticky cheeks.

No, he may not literally be dying. Yet, it felt like the end.

He never heard the door opening or the shuffling of booted feet stepping into the room. It was only when the room around him became drenched in cold, hard light that he even realised his solitude had been shattered. He peeked through his intertwined arms, blue glassy eyes trailing up the black boots, past the black and white kick pads, over the black and white trunks with the single heart among the six-pointed stars, panels of white on either side mirroring the white checked panels on Drew's own trunks, all finished off with a decorative silver lining. Ring gear as filthy and as soiled as his own attire.

Drew's gaze did not venture any further. Not up past the black gothic writing arched over the naval, or the twisting skull and serpent tattoo, and certainly not up past the greying beard and the thin, harsh lips and the crooked nose and definitely not into those two cruel pools of olive green that shimmered whenever they hit the light.

He didn't want to see the look on Punk's face. He knew why he was here, had even hid in the desperate hope that he wouldn't come for him. These past months, he had discovered first hand the depths of cruelty that this man was capable of and in only the past hour had been the ill-fated victim of the worst of it. For nearly forty-five minutes he had been beaten and maimed and tortured, busted open and made to bleed like a blessed statue of the Virgin Mary.

But with Punk, it was always a given that he could raise his game up another level, and Drew trembled at the prospect of what the older man would do to him now that he had a solid victory under his belt and they were completely alone with no interference this time.

'Please don't hurt me,' his quivering lips uttered quietly.

A nasally sigh permeated the air and another soft shuffle of boots as Punk made his way towards him. The Scot drew his large legs in tighter, rolling up into himself like a frightened hedgehog who's spines had been torn out, one-by-one. Vaguely aware of the demon crouching down in front of him.

Craggy fingers teased their way under his chin and coaxed it back. Drew flinched at the tenderness of their touch, softly guiding his blurry gaze up, but the Scot would not be tricked and locked his eyes instead on the swirling pattern of waves across Punk's chest, boxed in on either side by a white towel draped over his shoulders.

Another sigh. Punk sounded tired, but not the kind of exhausted tired he had been last time. More like mentally tired, emotionally tired, like a man who had been on the run his entire life and was now getting sick of running.

'Look at me,' his voice was deeper than usual, raspier. Drew wondered if his brief stint with the oxygen mask had affected it. Or perhaps, something else...? Had he also been-?

Drew wanted so much, so very much to look up but he was too afraid of what he would find, or worse, not find.

'Ok...' Punk's fingers slipped out from under his chin again and the fear dug deeper into Drew's chest. His hand moved on its own accord, wrapping around Punk's wrist and snaring it tightly.

'Shhh, it's ok,' Punk placed his own fingers gently around Drew's, stroking them with a feathery touch. 'I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.'

That should have terrified him yet the thought of him leaving terrified him even more.

Drew watched Punk's other fist, the fight tape circling it dyed a rich red, almost hiding the pencilled-on stigmata in the centre of his palm, as it clumsily found the edge of his towel and unfurled it from around his neck. The Scot gasped as it was pressed down onto the top of his head, directly above the horrific crevice cutting through his skin. As Punk applied more pressure, Drew's entire six foot five frame gave an almighty shudder and his lips parted enough for a fragile whimper to escape.

'Yeah, it's a real bad one,' Punk hushed out. 'Must have caught the edge of the tool box or something. You'll need to see the medic afterwards to get it stitched up.'

His words offered no comfort to Drew who gritted his teeth and tried to fight off the pain in his skull. Another whine sounded in his throat.

'Shhh, I know, I know.' The older man gave a little tug on his wrist but Drew grunted and refused to release it. 'Can I have my hand back, please?' There was a slight joviality in his tone. It helped put some of Drew's fears to rest. Surely he wasn't going to hurt him that much if he was making jokes and tending to his wounds? Eventually his fingers unclamped, and Punk pulled his wrist free. The sudden loss of connection panicked the Scotsman and he fumbled around for another part of Punk to hold, finding a spot on the older man's thigh and curling his fingers into the muggy, moist seam of his knee pad.

'You're a mess,' Punk noted aloud, using his newly freed hand to pick up the corner of the towel and wipe at the bloodstains on Drew's face.

Something sparked inside of Drew, a knee-jerk reaction that he couldn't contain. 'Because of you,' he spat back at the other man, albeit feebly.

'I promised you I would make you bleed.'

'And you did.'

'I did.'

'And now it's-' Oh no! No, no, please. Not here, not right in front of him! But his gates had been kicked in by this very man until they were destroyed completely, hanging off of their hinges all warped and mangled. Drew could no longer hold back the welling tide inside of him. 'I-it's over!'

Huge, fat tears poured from his eyes. His shoulder began to quake, wracked with his heart-wrenching sobs. And Drew had nothing left, no energy or defences, however small, remaining to stop it. So he sobbed like a lost child, clenching his fingers even tighter around the edge of Punk's knee pad, not a single shred of light to help guide him through the suffocating darkness.

'Hey, now.' The towel was removed from his head and dropped to the floor. Now both sets of inked hands were cupping Drew's bearded cheeks and he gave no more resistance as his jaw was tilted back and finally, finally he looked up.

He looked at Punk.

The older man didn't just sound tired, he looked tired. The ever-present bags under his eyes were swollen and puffy, coloured a deep pink. His scruffy, silver-speckled cheeks were drawn, his hair a tangled mess and the area around his eye sockets sunken in.

But it was his eyes themselves that grasped Drew's heart and squeezed it mercilessly. The way they gently shimmered like the quiet ripples of a lake in the moonlight. The delicate tenderness in them that struck Drew as viciously as the heavy metal wrench had in the cell.

Punk's white lips parted slightly, a warm breeze ghosting on Drew's face.

'Please don't cry.'

Drew shook his head with despair. Defeated, and not because his shoulders had been pinned to the mat for the one, two, three. 'First, I lost our bracelet and now... now I'm losing you too.'

Punk sighed again, pulling in his bottom lip to rake it with his teeth. 'I was never yours, Drew,' he said at last, and the Scot eyes filled again, weighted by the pull of the concrete slab chained to his feet dragging him beneath the waves to drown. 'But...' a sliver of Punk's tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth, stroked timidly across his lips.

Drew blinked up expectantly.

'.. but for tonight, you are mine.'

He leaned in, placing those same lips on Drew's cheek. The Scotsman froze, paralysed by Punk's taser lips brushing his skin. Unable to do anything, not even breathe, as one-by-one Punk kissed away every single wet droplet trickling down his face. His kisses were tranquil and sweet, each one dropping a piece of serenity back into Drew's soul, helping to repair some of the fractures left by the brutality of their match.

After chasing away the last tear, Punk pulled back every so slightly, finding the crystal blues of Drew's eyes, pausing, thinking. Then mentally saying 'fuck it' and lunging in to capture Drew's lips. At first, the Scot didn't know what to do but when he felt Punk's tongue tease his own, a simmering tang bursting on his taste buds, he returned in kind. Both of their mouth opened up, allowing the other in and they enthusiastically explored one another, probing deep into each crevice and fold. Drew's tongue found the empty groove of Punk's missing molar and swirled in the gap until his lips curled with mirth and a thought suddenly popped into his head.

This is the first time we've ever kissed!

All the vile, cruel, sadistic crimes they had inflicted on one another and they'd never so much as shared a single kiss. It seemed bizarre under the circumstances.

But they were more than making up for lost time, growing greedy and sloppy with one another's lips until at last Punk let go, a misty look in his eyes and a lopsided smirk on his lips. Lifting himself up slightly on his knees, his blood-splattered fingers went to the waistband of his trunks and pulled out the knotted ties holding them up. Drew looked on as Punk slowly and deliberately untied the chords, savouring the show being played out for him, especially relishing the part when Punk hooked both of his thumbs in the slackened waistband and slipped them down his thighs, over his kick pads and off, leaving him naked from the knees up.

Punk's busy hands set to work, clutching at Drew's ankles to tempt his gigantic legs down in order to straddle the larger man's lap, then seized his wrists and guided Drew's hands to his hips. The Scot readily obeyed, holding his holy relic steady as he nudged in closer. Punk's own fingers were fiddling with the studded waistband of Drew's bloodied trunks, yanking it down enough to free the Scot's cock. He gasped loudly when Punk looped his fist around it and gave it several delicious strokes from root to tip.

Closing his eyes, the Scotsman tipped his head back against the frigid wall, every other sensation suddenly numbed bar the glorious one between his legs. This was an entirely new side to Punk that he had never imagined possible. This man, who had shown him nothing but hatred and spite all these months, all these years, was now being so loving, so affectionate, so gentle, caressing him with all the tenderness of an angel's wing. It was like a religious experience, a vision, a revelation, and suddenly he realised this this was all he'd ever wanted and had been so blind to it this whole time simply because he had no idea it even existed.

Somehow, some way, there was enough blood left in Drew for it all to rush south. Punk eyed the bulging appendage, mesmerised. His fingers found each side of Drew's head and delicately slid his foreskin back, lifting the veil to admire his blushing bride beneath. Drew let out a shaky breath, his cock bobbing with delight.

No more words needed to be said between them. They had put everything out there in the open, they had traded barbs on the mic, they had flogged the skin from one another's back, they had beaten each other until they had painted the canvas with their blood. There was nothing more to give.

Except one thing. One last gift that Punk had to offer Drew; and as he lifted himself up onto his knees and lined himself up with his throbbing cock, placing his forearms on Drew's broad shoulders to lock on tight to his gaze, he readily gave that gift.

His undying attention. At long last.

And Drew accepted it gleefully, never once wavering from his intense hazel stare as Punk pushed down onto him, piercing himself with the spear. His hole opened wide like a flower in the sun, welcoming Drew's warmth in and he slipped in easily. It was nothing at all like that time after Summerslam, in the showers. It felt right, as if it was their natural state, a habit, like putting on his wedding ring every morning. Or perhaps not, perhaps more like, when he used to put Punk's bracelet on, after the elastic had stretched loose to accommodate Drew's meatier wrist. Within only a couple of pushes, Punk had taken him in all the way to the hilt and it felt so incredible that Drew nearly cried again.

They began to move, Drew thrusting his eager hips into Punk while the older man squatted down onto him, both finding a perfect rhythm easily and settling into it. Both starting to blush and bead with sweat, the dried blood on their faces staining the dewdrops scarlet to look like fresh clots skimming off their brows. Both of them keeping their eyes trained on each other and only each other.

And in that moment, Drew saw the lines of blood on Punk's face, saw his short hair spiked out like a crown of thorns and as he bobbed up and down, he would catch the single light in the room directly behind him, and the Scot gasped aloud when the vision manifested into reality.

He had been wrong. Punk was not a succubus or a demon. He was a saint, with a halo shining around his head.

Punk's words from a week ago crashed into him. It had been more than a threat - it had been a prophecy. One that had come to fruition;

'You will look up,

and I will wipe the blood from your eyes so you see me,

And it's not a god you're praying to,

It's not the devil you're praying to.

You will be praying to

CM Punk!'

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 2

Warnings: bleeding out, gravely injured Villain, stab wounds, corrupt Superhero

She was an unpredictable wildcard to him, always had been, even with his limited experience fighting her. She always somehow managed to surprise him, right when he thought he'd figured her out.

Villain weakly bared his teeth in defiance and frustration. "Ah, the knight in shining leather. Come to gloat over your boss's victory, oh mighty lap dog?" He snarked, goading. "Always obediently following Superhero around like a clingy shadow."

But unnervingly, Hero merely laughed, as though he were only a kitten spitting fire at a lion. Audible amusement laced her voice, and it made Villain's skin crawl with anger. He withered under her delighted gaze.

"Is the poor lone wolf going off to lick his wounds like a coward?" Hero cooed mockingly. "Superhero told me you fled halfway through the fight. I couldn't believe it at first, given your nasty reputation for power and violence -- and yet here you are, dragging yourself home all by yourself. I wonder what kind of reward I'll get for bringing you in."

Villain couldn't find it himself to snap back with a witty retort -- he was viscerally aware of how bad his own legs were shaking, threatening to give out at any second. But if he fell, the dagger resting against his throat would slice it wide open. He was certain.

"Go ahead and take me in then," Villain finally managed to grit out. But he couldn't keep the pain from his voice, no matter how hard he tried to cover it with his typical flippant attitude. "I'll be dead anyway by the time you turn me over to Superhero." He hadn't meant to say that much, broadcasting his weakness so openly. His mouth instantly snapped shut, and he glowered at Hero, packing as much hate and venom into his glare as he could.

The corners of Hero's mouth briefly twitched into a confused frown, and she took the hand on his chest away, before her expression turned to concern and alarm. Villain followed her gaze to the hand she'd withdrawn, which was covered in dark red blood -- his blood.

"Geez, Villain! You're bleeding all over the place!" Hero gasped in surprise. "How are you even still standing right now?!"

"Took you that long to notice, huh?" Villain bit out, but it didn't come out as snappy as he'd intended. He swallowed nervously, his throat bobbing against the cold blade skating across his neck. "Can you drop the knife now?! You know now that I'm in no shape to attack you," he barked angrily.

"Why don't you drop the attitude first, sweetheart?" Hero said in return with a cruel smile.

Villain would have clocked her in the face if he had the strength, just to knock that smug look off it. But he was on the brink of collapsing, focusing all his effort into retaining his dignity -- but his body wouldn't listen, and he finally crumpled with a grunt. The blade at his neck disappeared, and he felt warm arms catch him before he hit the ground -- was he really that cold, that Hero felt so warm? Must be all the blood loss.

"Whoa! Uh--okay, this is... not what I was trained to handle." Villain had never heard Hero floundering with her words before. She was always full of sarcasm and snark, but maybe it was a cover all along to hide the uncertainty and insecurities lurking beneath.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

[differenteagletragedy]

With the idea about the MC (Baxter route) with bad parents, got a lot of feels imagining a scenario where maybe Baxter had no idea that they do. Maybe like him, MC is very cheery and just doesn't show when something is wrong because they want everyone else to not worry and have a good time.

He learns about it the day that he cuts contact with MC. It could even be that MC's parents were actually pleasantly surprised that MC got a "rich" boyfriend (not why MC dated him of course) and then things went south when they learned about the breakup.

Baxter hears/learns about it before he leaves and (definitely very impulsively) decides to just take MC with him, because he wouldn't be able to handle the guilt of leaving them with those kinds of parents. MC're 18 (legally an adult) so it can't be considered a kidnapping and MC goes willingly anyway ofc.

He also has zero plan for once but won't regret it.

Aww, thank you for this one! I want to bundle up MC with Bad Parents and love them forever <3

Baxter was usually always so careful, meticulously planning every move for the best possible outcome. He knew his own limits, he knew what he liked and what he didn't, and things may not have always worked out as well as he hoped, but he did always have a plan.

Except for this time.

He sat in his cushy first class seat on the plane back to Virginia, legs primly crossed and hands placed delicately in his lap, and looked over at you, curled up in the seat next to him, fast asleep.

Yes, this time things had veered wildly off track.

It all had happened very, very fast. He'd said his goodbyes, dropped the news that he wouldn't be keeping in touch at all once he left, and he'd had to maintain a cool disposition while you cried. He closed the door on you, literally and figuratively -- he remembered sinking to the floor once he'd gotten inside, but he didn't recall how long he'd stayed there.

While Baxter was sitting in the dark of his empty condo, feeling sorry for himself and trying desperately to make himself believe that he'd done the right thing, he heard the yelling begin. He couldn't make out everything, but he heard your name several times, and he could tell the noise was coming from your home.

Even though he didn't catch every word, he certainly caught the tone, and the familiarity sent him reeling. He'd been screamed at like this before by his own parents. The racket across the street brought back some of his worst memories, and it also made the guilt that was already simmering inside him rise to a boil.

Before he really knew what he was doing, he'd pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the app for the airline he used. As the screams from your home brought up a visceral feeling of dread, he quickly hit a series of buttons, and soon he'd been able to purchase a second ticket for his flight. His fingers hesitated for a moment then, but then he heard your name cried out so much more brutally than he knew you'd ever deserved, and that spurred him on to take the last step.

"I'm leaving in three hours," he typed out in a text message. "I have an extra ticket if you would like to join me."

It didn't make sense -- even with as rashly as he'd acted, he knew that much. How would it look, for him to have been so detached at what he'd thought had been your final goodbye only for him to turn around so soon after and invite you to fly across the country with him? If you accepted, what would happen once you landed? If, as he assumed was much more likely, you refused, then he knew he'd tainted your memories of the summer even more than he already had, which didn't sit well with him either.

Before he could get too lost in thought, his phone vibrated in his hand. He looked down, and saw that you'd responded.

"Ok," you'd written.

He had his answer.

It had been a very eventful night, and Baxter was sure that he'd spend plenty of time thinking about it all in the days to come, but for now he was pulled out of his thoughts by a warm hand grasping onto his.

He looked over, and you were awake, a small smile on your face just for him.

With that, no matter what else happened, he knew he'd made the right decision.

[moodymisty]

Got inspired by the scenario in your Polux snippet (reader being rescued from an overly pushy lord on Terra). Decided to write something for Magnus. Reader is reincarnated from our Earth into Warhammer, but doesn't know anything about Warhammer. I have a ton of reincarnated!reader x Magnus thoughts. Also, sorry if Magnus is OOC. Please enjoy. -🌳 anon

----

The garden on Terra is calm.

You sit on a bench in the garden, watching the leaves sway in the artifical wind. The artifical light that allows the plants to grow warms you up. The artifical river flows gently nearby.

Whenever the truth of Terra's - Earth's - condition hits you, the knowledge that everything you ever knew and loved from Earth is gone, including the animals, the plants, the very water itself, you retreat to one of the many greenhouse gardens on Terra, a tiny slice of what once covered most of the land. A way to ignore for a moment the visceral disgust Terra invokes in you.

You've started favoring this garden recently. It's relatively close to the quarters you share with Magnus, compared to some of the larger gardens. It's small, and doesn't have anything of note. People rarely come here, so it's often just you, your thoughts, and when you're feeling up to it, your voice.

You mumble sing your way through the lyrics you've forgotten, then sing the words you do remember. It's the first time in thousands of years that song had been sung on this planet.

When you finish singing and lapse into silence, you're startled at the applause you hear. You turn around and see a man, probably of a high station based on his uniform, clapping.

"You have a wonderful voice, my lady." He praised.

You're not sure how to react. You'd chosen this garden because it was so often left alone, and now someone had found you here. Additionally, he had heard you singing. Was his compliment genuine? You barely remembered half the lyrics and hadn't done any vocal warm-ups. You doubted you were that good.

"Thank you?" You hesitantly answer.

The man continues speaking. "I've seen you around the Palace recently, my lady, but only now have I been able to catch you to speak. You are beautiful as your voice. Where are you from? I haven't seen you before, so you must have only recently arrived in the Palace."

"Uh," you say, a bit startled. "I'm here with the-"

The man interrupts you, striding forward and grabbing your hand. "Let me show you around, the Palace can be quite tricky to navigate."

"Thank you, but I don't need a tour," you tell the man, trying to tug your hand out of his grip to no avail, "I'm here with the-"

"Nonsense!" The man exclaims. He begins dragging you towards the entrance of the garden. He's a lot stronger than he looks. "It's so easy to get lost in the Palace, and I know all the best spots. I've been here many times before. I've even been granted a permanent bedroom here! It's quite luxurious, I'm sure I could show you later. And perhaps we could share some wine? It was gifted to me by Primarch Magnus himself! He's the one in charge of the Thousand Sons Astartes Chapter. I'm in charge of providing the Thousand Sons chapter with the ore that is needed for the pigment of their armor, you see. So I've met Primarch Magnus quite a few times. Why, he once told me-"

You tune the man out as he continues to drag you along, instead focusing on how to get yourself out of this situation. The man won't stop talking enough for you to get a word in, so you can't tell him that you (technically) serve the Thousand Sons directly. You can't scream for help, the garden is empty except the two of you, and you doubt there would be any in the hallway leading to the garden who would either be high ranked enough or strong enough to get this man to let go of you.

Actually, you can think of a way screaming for help might work.

Magnus! You scream in your mind. Magnus, please help me!

Magnus had once told you the sound of your thoughts were quite distinctive. You're hoping that he'll hear your discomfort through his powers and come rescue you.

Sure enough, just as the man drags you into sight of the garden entrance, Magnus walks through the doors. The man stumbles to a stop and stops talking, obviously surprised at the sight of the Primarch here.

"Lord Magnus! What a surprise-"

"Let go of her."

Magnus's voice is deep, and obviously upset. The man releases your hand immediately.

As soon as your hand is free, you run to Magnus's side. He wraps an arm around your shoulders protectively, still glaring at the man.

The man is surprised by this. "Oh, she was one of yours? M-my apologies Lord Magnus, I didn't realize-"

"Leave."

The man does so.

Magnus waits for a minute or two, until presumably even his advanced Primarch hearing can't hear the man leaving anymore. Then, he turns to you.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you anywhere?"

You smile up at him. "I'm all fine now that you're here. Thank you for coming, Maggy."

You know that if Magnus's title was something other than "the Red", he would've blushed.

"The arrogance of these Terran lords." Magnus fumes. "Attempting to kidnap my woman."

You blush at how possessive his tone is. "I don't think he knew."

"Irrelevant. He should have known to stop speaking to you as soon as he knew you were of my legion."

"He didn't even let me tell him so." You admit.

Magnus growls. "I'll be having words with that man."

You feel the tiniest tinge of pity for the man, but it's gone as soon as it appeared.

Magnus grasps your hand. "Let's return to our chambers."

You snuggle into his side. "Sounds good to me."

"I'll be assigning you a guard to accompany you in the future. I don't want a repeat of this."

"Yeah, I think that sounds good. Having an Astartes around would have helped. Of course," you add teasingly, walking your fingers up his arm. "I got someone even better."

The look Magnus gives you tells you you're going to be having a fun time tonight.

love the idea that magnus can hear our thoughts if we're loud enough, that surely will not be used for anything nefarious

[emkayewrites]

Lukola fanfic scenario, Luke POV: Luke and Nicola are in the middle of filming Season 3, and Luke has just realised he is infatuated with Nicola. Only problem is he's in a relationship and so is she. During a short break from filming, he catches up with his parents, who have some sage bits of advice for him...

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

31st October 2022 – Salisbury (UK)

“Oh my God, it’s Colin from Bridgerton.” He heard their hissing whispers before he saw them.

Two young women stood at the entrance of The Bell and Crown pub, trying desperately to appear nonchalant.  They were wrapped up warmly in thick coats with hats and gloves and holding an array of shopping bags.

In a situation like this one, he had decided he would follow suit and pretend he did not notice them noticing.  He sensed this might be hard to achieve as they were partially blocking his way into the pub, but he did his best to try to manouevre past them with his head down.  The brunettes’ eyes widened at the realization that their paths were about to cross.  Luke watched as she nervously took a few steps back from him, the back of her legs hitting the giant ornamental pumpkin that was placed on the ground behind her.  She had barely let out a squeal as she started to tip backwards before he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, steadying her.

“Woah, careful.” He gave her what he hoped would be his most reassuring smile. 

Regardless, the colour drained from her face.

“Oh m-m-my God, I-I’m so sorry.” She sputtered.  She looked like she was going to be sick.

“We’re really big fans!” Her friend in the mustard-coloured coat behind her suddenly burst out, her eyes widened with excitement.

He was not sure how to receive their two very different energies.

“Thank you.” He replied, again hoping that he came across kind.

“So, you guys are filming up at Wilton House, right?” Mustard coat continued.  “We love it up there, it’s so gorgeous.  Are you guys there for the rest of the week? Oh, wait, you probably can’t say! Or wait, can you say? You probably can’t say what you’re filming though.”

“Yeah, we are. I’m sorry, I’m going in for some lunch.” He gestured to the inside of the pub.

“Oh! God! Look at me going on and on. Of course, of course.” Mustard coat shuffled away, pulling her friend away with her.

He knew the whirlwind of emotions that you could experience when you encountered someone famous, he had been the fan many, many times in his life.  He hoped he had never been the embarrassing fan though.  He had also been recognised before, but this was the first time in his life that he had found himself being recognised this often. 

In fact, just a few weeks ago, he and Jade had been drinking in a London bar when a group of girls had realised who he was and had encircled them.  The situation had turned incredibly awkward when they started talking about how hot he was and then one of the girls tried to give him her number.  It did not help matters that the girls were a group of European models celebrating their last night of work in the city.  He had watched Jade’s face go from mildly annoyed by the inconvenience to viscerally angry.  They had ended up cutting their night short and heading home; Jade had remained stoically silent the entire way.  It had worried him.  He knew she did not blame him for the reactions he was getting but he wondered how much she would be able to tolerate.  How much could any woman’s self-esteem tolerate seeing other women throw themselves at their partner?  He had reminded Jade that it had been public knowledge that he and Nicola were this season’s protagonist and ever since filming had started; fans of the show were constantly awestruck when they saw him or Nicola out anywhere.  The reactions were even bigger when the two of them were spotted out together.  He had hoped it would reassure her somewhat that this was the Bridgerton effect.  He felt a need to remind not just her but also himself that he was not the one changing, it was the situation.  He had not suddenly become hot, whatever that meant.

If things are like this now, what will it be like when the season’s out? He thought.  He could hardly fathom it.

He thought about the ways Nicola had reassured him about what was to come.  In her typical, unflappable way, she had told him it would be hilarious, and they would get through it together.  It was silly advice but because it came from her, he believed it. Those words had been keeping him grounded.  No matter what happened, she would be with him, and they would surely navigate it all together.

Now though, he felt as if that certainty was threatened.  He had been having dreams.  Then out of nowhere, Ezra had shown up.  He could feel deep in his bones that he was agitated about what Ezra’s presence in Nicola’s life meant more than anything else.  He also knew that was wrong.  This should not be occupying so much of his brain.  He was also aware that he was not very good at hiding how wound up he was feeling.  It was becoming apparent in his body language, and sometimes it was slipping through in what he said.  This was why he was so grateful for an afternoon away from everyone and everything, and to be around the two people who always helped him gain a sense of perspective.

He walked through The Bell and Crown, taking in its historical features that included wooden ship beams suspended from the ceiling and stone floors.  The smell of fried food and woodfire hit his nostrils as he spotted them seated at a mahogany table right at the back. 

“Mum, dad!” He greeted them with a small wave as he made his way to them, pulling off his jacket as he did so.

His parents were sat with an assortment of small plates before them and three glasses: one with water, one with wine and the other with beer.  His mother, Sharon, was a petite woman with short blonde hair that was scooped up into a ponytail with a fringe.  His father, Lee, sat opposite her; his sandy brown hair was covered by a dark red beanie hat. 

It was too easy. Luke thought, as he yanked the hat off his father’s head and took a seat next to his mother. 

 “Thank you!” Sharon exclaimed, putting her hands together in a praying gesture. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Lee looked from Luke to Sharon, and then back at Luke: “Do you want to sit here with a man with hat hair or a man with a hat?”

“It’s ungentlemanly to wear a hat indoors.” Sharon shook her head at her husband. “Just smooth it out.”

“Why aren’t you using that hair gel I got you for your birthday?” Luke added, amused.

There was no escapism like being around your parents and watching them bicker over the smallest things.

“I’m not using any ruddy hair gel!  I’m a fifty-nine-year-old man Luke, not a member of One Direction.” Lee snapped back, making Luke roar with laughter.

“We ordered for you.” Sharon nodded at the food in front of them. “We knew you wouldn’t have long before you would have to head back and service here is woefully slow.”

There was something to really love about the predictability that came with your parents’ habits when they reached a certain age.  He had all but compiled a bingo card in his mind of the things he knew were going to be coming up during this meal.  At the top of the list was his mother picking fault with the service in the pub – never mind that the pub was five-star reviewed.  His mother could make Gordon Ramsay look soft.

“Thanks mum, I do have to get back in about an hour.” He popped a fry into his mouth.

“How are you, my love?  You look a lot more tired than when we last saw you.” Sharon eyed him carefully.

“You do look a little rougher around the edges.” Lee added, some concern in his voice. “How many hours are you doing on set?”

Luke was appreciative of how much his parents cared for him.  Even though Lee was not his biological father, he had always treated Luke like a son – in fact, Luke was sure he was treated better than most sons were by their biological fathers.  Lee had also been in the entertainment industry and had taken great pains to ensure Luke was protected and well supported as he sought to make a career for himself.  Luke was sure that he would not have been half as successful if it had not been for Lee’s wisdom.

“The hours are fine; I’m just not sleeping too well.” Luke replied, surprising himself with his own admission. 

“It’s a lot to be carrying a whole season your back.” Lee said sympathetically.

“Well, how’s Nicola? She will be a good one to help you through.” Sharon advised, taking a sip from the wine glass.  “She’s done it all before with Derry Girls. Although I imagine this will be on an even grander scale…”

He had not wanted to talk about Nicola.  He knew that between Ezra and his dreams, the topic was too loaded for him.  He had wanted to come away for a nice meal with his parents to get a break from those thoughts.  Yet, talking about her and about him seemed irresistible to him. 

He could barely stop the words exploding out of his mouth. “Oh, I don’t think she’s losing sleep. She’s got a distraction right now.”

The words came with a little more emotion than he had intended them to.  His parents knew him too well not to pick up on it. 

“Oh really?” Sharon raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“She’s got this… guy friend who’s visiting and she’s all over him.” Luke stated, he hoped he sounded less bothered than he was.  He picked up his knife and fork and began to make a start on the giant battered cod that sat on his plate. 

“Guy friend?  Is that what you millennials call boyfriends?” His mother laughed.

“They’re not calling themselves that… yet.” Luke grimaced.

He caught the exchange of looks between his parents out of the corner of his eye.

“So, I take it you don’t like him then?” Lee asked.

Luke realised there was no one around that could judge him for his real opinions on the matter.  He had had to put on a mask on the Bridgerton set but around his parents, he could be honest.  He felt liberated.

“I just don’t get what she sees in him.” He replied. 

“Oooh, that is really tough.” Sharon made a face. “But she isn’t just your friend.  She’s also your scene partner, you can’t upset things at this stage of filming by saying anything too honest.”

“I know.” Luke felt the frustration rise again slightly. “Believe me.  I’m swallowing it.”

“Nicola’s got a good head on her shoulders.  He might not be as bad as you think.” His father shrugged, slicing into his steak and taking a bite. 

Luke shook his head emphatically at this.  “No, this guy is everything we would make fun of.”

“Well, matters of the heart aren’t always a straight line.” Sometimes, Lee doled out predictably vague dad wisdom.

“I don’t think you should be making fun of anyone.  It seems cruel.” Sharon added, wrinkling her nose as she frowned.  Sometimes she said predictably mum things.

Luke pulled out his phone and with a few swipes on the screen, he pulled up an Instagram page and held it up for them both to see.  “This is him.  LOOK at him.  Skinny jeans, v-neck white t-shirt that’s too small for his arms, standing in front of designer luggage with the caption CEO mode.  Am I going mad or is this man not a parody of himself?” 

Sharon threw her head back in laughter. “Oh God, yes, he’s quite something.”

“And Nic – she’s the opposite.” Luke continued.  “She’s down to earth, she’s not flash, she wears designer clothes but it’s tasteful, it’s not like this-”

“I’m sure she is the wonderful, thoughtful friend you know but she’s also a woman.” Sharon interrupted him.  She surveyed the photo on the screen with a smirk. “You know, as a woman, I get the appeal.”

Luke made a disgusted face and looked at Lee for some help in the matter. 

Lee stopped, his fork mid-air, and moved his face closer to the phone screen.  He eventually shrugged. “He's a fine specimen of a man.  Sorry, I’ve got eyes, Luke.”

“Ugh.” Luke groaned, taking his phone off the table.

“But hey, this is good, isn’t it?” His mothers’ eyes twinkle with realisation. “You can knead your concern for your friend into Colin’s concern for Penelope.  They are keeping the love triangle element?”

“You know I can’t say script specifics, mum.” Luke said dismissively.  He could feel the simmering annoyance that had now settled in.  He needed to change the topic.

Just then, Sharon reached forward for a napkin that was in the center of the table and her hand knocked her wine glass, causing it to tip onto the table and onto the sleeve of her cream cardigan. 

“Oh, Jesus!” She leapt up in her chair.  Luke grabbed at the remaining napkins and started to pad the table dry, and Lee started to get to his feet to assist.

“It’s alright Lee, I need to wash this out in the ladies.”  Sharon gestured for him to sit. “Thank God it was only a white wine.” She grabbed her handbag and walked away from the table.

Luke continued to dab at the table, which was now drier but also stickier.

“Word to the wise, focus on the girlfriend you’ve got.”  Lee’s voice interrupted him, making him stop. 

He fathers’ words took him slightly aback. 

Lee took in his reaction and continued: “Look, Nicola’s a very beautiful girl. It’s easily done.”

“I’m not… nothing’s being done.” Luke responded, but his voice cracked as he spoke.  He knew he was lying to himself and Lee by pretending not to know what his words meant. 

“It happens, you know.” Lee spoke calmly. “I saw it all the time. Feelings getting intensified and confused on a shoot like this.  I’m just saying, keep the work as work and don’t neglect your real life.”

Luke felt the weight of what was being said.  As always, Lee was able to read him better then he could read himself.  Yet, the feelings felt too raw to be exposed like this.  He could not rationalise them so he did what his instinct told him to: deny them.

“I’m not.” He repeated, firmer this time. “Nothing’s getting confused.  She’s my friend, I just don’t like the guy.”

“Well, then do a better job of it.” Lee’s voice was equally stern.

“Better job of it?” Luke was confused.

“Of acting like you’re not.” Lee shot back. “You know, acting? The thing you’re good at but seem to be completely unable to do when it comes to this.”

Luke felt himself getting flustered.  He knew he was having a hard time hiding his feelings but was he really being that obvious?  Before he could respond, Sharon had appeared behind him, and she was carrying what looked to be a mountain of paper towels.

“Jesus, did you leave some for the rest of the restaurant?” Lee exclaimed.

“Very funny.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “What are you two looking so serious about?”

“Plotting your Christmas present.” Lee spoke before Luke could.  That was the signal to say that particular conversation was over, and Luke could not feel more grateful.  It was hard enough denying those thoughts and feelings to his father, let alone his mother.

“Oh, I already said I don’t want a big fuss.” Sharon sighed. “Don’t you dare let him make a fuss, Luke.”

“Well, I don’t control the man, mum.  I’ve already got him to downsize the gift from a trip to the Maldives.” Luke teased.

“The Maldives?” Sharon gasped.

Difficult as it was, Luke tried to enjoy the distraction of winding his mother up for the rest of the lunch hour.