#I’d die for her … honesty

[mindsmade]

why do I feel like the shadowheart romance is so RISKY … I’m preparing myself for the ultimate heartbreak here

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 6 – The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad

I will preface this entry with an acknowledgement to my father. He is the most intelligent, quick-witted, and level-headed person I know. He’s also a bit of a bitch and tends to be blatantly honest. Sometimes that honesty hurts but it’s also nice to know he’s the one person in this world who won’t feed me a line of bullshit. He is also the best friend we all need.

On October 16, my father called me – like he does almost every day – to chat about, like usual, absolutely nothing. But, on this day, I was quite distracted (because the Time article about Nicola had just come out), which he called me out on almost immediately. Our conversation went something along the lines of:

Dad: “I can tell you’re not paying attention to me.”

Me: “Oh, I’m just reading an article that came out today. Actually, can I ask you a question about it?”

Dad: “Sure.”

Me: “I just want to read something to you, and I want you to tell me what you think this person is saying.”

Dad: “Okay.”

I then proceeded to read him verbatim the snippet from the Times article where Nicola talks about her relationship with Luke.

Me: “What do you think she is saying?”

Dad: “That this person is her best friend, and she thinks very highly of them.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

Dad: “Why?”

Well, he opened the door so I gave him the backstory. I explained who Nicola and Luke were. I explained Bridgerton. I explained their chemistry during the World Tour. During this 15-or-so-minute conversation, my father took to renaming Nicola “Ireland” and Luke “Thang,” because that’s how he remembers things. Then I brought up the Claddagh ring.

Dad: “Wait. Stop – STOP! – STOP!! I said STOP TALKING! Why didn’t you lead off with this ring? I change my answer. She’s saying she’s in love with this guy!”

Me: “What?”

Dad: “Whatever you read earlier – I change my answer. She’s not saying they’re best friends. She’s saying she’s in love with him.”

Me: “Are you being legit?”

Dad: “Absolutely! Now, go back to the beginning because Ireland and Thang are a thing.”

Welcome aboard the USS Lukola, Daddy.

Recently, this conversation with my father got me thinking about how naïve I have been in believing all Lukolas were aware of the significance of Nicola’s Claddagh. I mean, surely, most of us know the term and meaning of “ring truther,” right?

Maybe not.

I’ve always chucked the Jakolas and A-holes up to be Conscientiously Stupid about the ring – disregarding it because it didn’t fit their narrative. But, shit, maybe they just don’t understand the Holy Grail of the Lukola fandom. So, I figured today, I’d dedicate my entry to explaining the ring to those who have no fucking clue what we mean when we say, “we’ll die on that ring!”

If you don’t want a history lesson or my opinion on the significance of the ring, you can move along and wait for my next post. Otherwise, happy reading. Actually, it’s a rather dull read – but informative. You may just need some caffeine to keep your focus up.

GENERAL HISTORY:

The Claddagh originates from Galway – yes, Nicola’s hometown in Ireland – and has been around for over 400 years. The ring typically shows two hands holding a heart which wears a crown, with the hands symbolizing friendship, the heart signifying love, and the crown representing loyalty.

The way a person wears their Claddagh traditionally signifies their relationship status.

On the RIGHT hand, with the HEART FACING OUTWARD away from your body (and towards your fingertips) means you are single, i.e, your heart is available for love.

On the RIGHT hand, with the HEART FACING INWARD towards your body (and towards the back of your hand), suggests you are in a committed relationship, i.e., your heart is taken.

On the LEFT hand, with the HEART FACING OUTWARD away from your body (and towards your fingertips) means you are engaged.

On the LEFT hand, with the HEART FACING INWARD towards your body (and towards the back of your hand), suggests you are married.

This is not gospel so please do not finish reading this post and start running around in circles, jumping up and down, exclaiming Nicola is married.

NICOLA’S CLADDAGH:

In June, Chupi announced it had designed and created a Claddagh for Nicola and noted “Nicola reached out to Chupi recently and requested a bespoke Claddagh Ring to celebrate the third season of Bridgerton.” Nicola’s ring was custom-made and differs from virtually all other Claddagh rings in that the hands of the ring also display rings of their own.

After creating the ring for Nicola, Chupi continued to sell it through its website, noting that the heart-shaped diamond in the ring was “[h]eld in a pair of hands that honor friendship and strength, with the left hand wearing a North Star signet ring.” In its original description, and for four months following this initial announcement, Chupi never explained the meaning of the ring on the right hand holding the diamond. We will speculate on that in a moment. Further, Chupi explained that the three diamonds in the crown “represent the traditional emblem of loyalty and also symbolize the past, present & future, along with a nod to the fact this is the 3rd season of Bridgerton.” There’s that Bridgerton reference again.

Now, let’s break down the hands holding the heart-shaped diamond, starting with the left hand.

The left hand is wearing a signet ring. This one is easy to explain because Chupi described the ring the left hand is wearing for us. It is the North Star signet ring, which Chupi sells through its website as its ���North Star Diamond Original Signet Ring.” Chupi explained that the ring represented “True North.” What is “true north?” Besides its literal meaning, the phrase “true north” represents your “internal compass or your personal calling” and “your authentic self.”

The right hand is wearing a ring on its middle finger. This ring has always been a bit of a conundrum. As mentioned above, Chupi never explained this ring in its original description. In fact, it remained silent on its significance until November 1. And, even after it “explained away” the middle finger ring in an Instagram story (which disappeared after 24 hours), Chupi never updated its website to confirm its meaning. Why? Well, you’ll find that most “ring truthers” believe it’s because this middle finger ring represents Luke. Luke often wears a ring on his middle right finger. In fact, in his People spread for Sexiest Man Alive released November 14, he’s seen wearing a ring on his right-hand middle finger. You can also find him wearing a ring on his right-hand middle finger throughout the Bridgerton Season 3 World Tour.

But, let’s pretend for a moment that the rings on the two hands holding the diamond heart have no significance whatsoever. That does not negate the fact the ring was made as a nod to Bridgerton Season 3. Yes, the season that both Nicola and Luke repeatedly described during interviews throughout the World Tour as their “shared experience.”

To round out this little “history lesson,” and just so I am completely up front, on November 1, 2024, Chupi reshared to its IG stories a story shared by Ashley McDonnell explaining that the right-hand middle finger ring on the Chupi-branded Claddagh represented “power” (basically, women’s empowerment). As of that date, Chupi had also removed all mentions of Bridgerton from its Claddagh ring descriptions and left only a reference to the rings being “inspired by” Nicola. However, the Claddagh could still be found under Chupi’s “Engagement” ring section and the articles titled, “Designing a Chupi Claddagh Ring for Nicola Coughlan” and “What Way to Wear a Claddagh Ring” still, to this day, reside under its “News” section. These articles still reference the ring’s ties to the third season of Bridgerton.

A BUNCH OF POINTS I’M TRYING TO MAKE:

Point 1: Nicola had the ring commissioned herself, per Chupi. We can surmise she understands the meaning of the ring based on her Irish (and Galway) heritage; thus, we can also deduce she knows the meaning behind how it is worn.

Point 2: The ring is important to Nicola. I’m not even going to use disclaiming phrases like “may be” or “seems to be;” I’m just flat out stating the “ring IS important” to her. She has been seen wearing it a lot in her personal time. In fact, on September 20, she was photographed wearing the Claddagh during the Gucci afterparty, which means she took off the “workday” jewelry she had been wearing earlier in the day to put the Claddagh back on her finger. She has not been shy about flashing it in public. From her Chupi articles to her Tatcha stories to wearing it in public (at concerts, walking about).

Point 3: Based on comments made by Chupi on June 25 in its article titled, “Designing a Chupi Claddagh Ring for Nicola Coughlan,” it took four weeks “from a sketch to sparkling reality” to make the ring. This means, at the latest, it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024. However, some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches uploaded by Chupi indicate it was as early as April 26 (don’t even side eye me; I didn’t pull that shit). Based on this information, the ring was likely commissioned during and/or between the World Tour stops in Australia and Italy.

Point 4: Nicola wore the ring publicly as early as June 6 during the Dublin premiere. At that time, she wore it on her right-hand middle finger with the heart facing inwards. The way she wore the ring was also evidenced the following day in Galway by way of pictures in Chupi’s article titled, “What Way to Wear a Claddagh Ring.”

Point 5: Nicola flashed that glittering baby in her June 15 Tatcha IG post (I’m convinced that post holds so many secrets) and continued to wear it throughout the summer months (on her right-hand middle finger) as evidenced by pictures of her at the Taylor Swift Eras tour and in her August 1 Tatcha IG post. And, let’s round out the summer with her displaying the ring in her September 17 Tatcha IG stories, on September 20 during the Gucci afterparty, and in Alex Babsky’s September 25 IG post about Nicola being “in London today.”

Point 6: On October 1, Nicola had seemingly switched her diamond Claddagh from her right hand to her left-hand middle finger as exhibited in her Choose Love IG story. This switch was further indicated (but not confirmed because she conveniently put her caption over it) in her October 5 airplane IG story (deduced from the small gold band switching to her right hand) and in pap pictures of her published on October 8. On October 11, when she posted her Olaplex IG story, it appeared the ring was on her left-hand ring finger. We can also barely see the ring in the October 21 “Polin” picture; however, it cannot be determined if it is on her left-hand middle or ring finger. We haven’t seen her “out in the wild” since so the current status of her ring is not known, but we can probably safely assume she’s still wearing it, with the heart facing in.

Point 7: I believe everyone needs to make their own decision as to whether the right hand of the Claddagh – the one wearing the middle finger ring – represents Luke. Personally, I believe it does, but it is perfectly fine if you disagree. It could very well be a "power move." I’ve always believed the left hand of the Claddagh – the one wearing the North Star signet ring – represented “true north,” or Nicola’s internal compass to choose her own path. But, please do not let my opinion cloud your own.

Point 8: Regardless of your opinion about the hands holding the Claddagh’s heart-shaped diamond, the ring was acknowledged to represent Bridgerton Season 3 and that has Luke all over it.

Point 9: From Day 1, Nicola has worn the Claddagh with the heart facing inwards, meaning her heart is taken. To the best of my knowledge, this has never changed.

MY THOUGHTS:

First and foremost, Nicola has told the world her heart is taken.

Based on the above, why would Nicola wear that ring for anyone but Luke?

My father’s response: “She wouldn’t.”

Why? Because it would be fucking weird if she did.

Let’s play pretend for a moment.

You’re dating Nicola (and, NO, you can’t be Luke in this scenario). You’ve watched Nicola’s Bridgerton press tour for the past, say, six months. You’ve watched her flirt with Luke. You’re fully aware Lukolas ship her with Luke. In fact, you’re aware several of her castmates and crew ship her with Luke. You’re aware that, by the end of the World Tour, interviewers were getting bold enough to ask Nicola and Luke about their “friendship” because they, too, were intrigued by their chemistry. You’re also aware that, “People want [her] to marry Luke.” And, you’re fully aware that Nicola had that Claddagh ring made to, at a minimum, remind her of Bridgerton Season 3, the season she shared with Luke.

Would you be okay with her wearing THAT ring to signify the state of YOUR relationship with her?

If you are, get the fuck off my page.

Now, riddle me this, Batman –

Why was this ring made during the World Tour? And, more importantly, why was it worn during the World Tour?

Why did Luke and Nicola take a special trip to Galway? And (purely speculation here), why did the meeting with Nicola’s mum seem so emotional?

Why did the ring switch hands?

Why, Batman, why?

[deadsetobsessions]

He doesn’t know how they got here, but Jason’s thankful for it. It’s not often that he speaks to Cass, when Jason’s passions are words and righteous murder and Cass’s passions are distinctly not that, but when they do speak, they manage to get along. Somehow.

“So, why don’t you kill?” Jason leans back on the couch, his favorite mug filled with Alfred’s hot chocolate.

Cass is curled against the arm of the sofa. She looks at him, head tilted. Jason knows she’s reading him, but he’s not sure what she’s finding. It’s humbling, and intimidating, to know she sees more than what he allows to show.

“I can see,” she says. “That one time… I killed. I saw. Pain. Fear. Desp- des- not wanting to die.”

“Desperation?”

Cass nods. One of her fingers fiddle with the material of the couch. Jason knows she’s allowing him to see the motion. He knows it’s her silent way of showing him trust.

“There is more. To dying. Like… like they see their lives-They think- remembers. Loves. Their life- regret, love, everything. It goes through-” Cass taps her temple.

“Their lives are flashing through their heads?”

“Yes. Good. Bad. Everything. I see.” Quieter, Cass adds “I know. I know them, then. I killed a life that I know. They love. Everyone, have something they love. I kill, I kill that love.”

“That must suck.”

Cass leans back. She nods, neck releasing their tension and eyes less hunted, more accepting.

“Yes. I don’t want to- I don’t want to be the end.” Cass swivels her shoulders towards him, now. “Why… why do you?”

“Me?” Jason… hasn’t thought about it for a while, nor too deeply. But this is Cass. And her honesty deserves an honest reply. “I kill because some people shouldn’t be left alive to hurt and kill others”

“Not about… Bruce?”

Jason took a sip of his hot chocolate. Cass settled more into the couch, her eyes clear and watchful.

“It used to be,” he admitted. “About him, I mean. It used to be about vengeance. But then I came back to Crime Alley, and then I saw the kids getting hurt instead of being protected. They’re innocent. And then, it wasn’t about Bruce anymore. Killing is just the means to an end now, for me.”

“Do you- not regret?” She makes a gesture at his leg, where on a normal day, his holsters would be.

“I try to make sure I don’t kill people I’d regret, no. Like, you know how sometimes you guys arrest muggers?”

Cass nodded.

“Sometimes,” Jason said, remembering the days of digging through trash for food and the lingering hunger that rumbled through his younger self’s stomach. “They mug people because they’re desperate. I don’t kill those guys. But people deal to kids? Who hurt sex workers? Rapists? They’re doing irreparable harm, with full knowledge of their actions. For profit, mostly. If they’re willing to ruin lives, then they should be ready for their own to be ruined. It’s justice, for people like me.”

Cass studied him. “Justice…?”

“The only kind us Alley kids could ever appreciate. Arresting an abuser, a threat, and having that stick is for the privileged. Having that threat removed completely is relieving.”

“Can’t trust the world to be fair. But death, is fair.”

“Yeah. I think if I saw as much as you do, it’d be harder to do. But I think I’d still kill, because one person’s suffering after a life of being evil is worth the safety of so many others. To know… well, I guess I’m glad I don’t know what that’s like.”

“I see.”

“I know you do,” Jason grins at her. “But not killing is an act of courage too. Even if B makes it seem like it should come instinctually.”

“Yes. He does not connect, with Damian. Does not understand, fully, how hard. To unlearn.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while after that, listening to the sounds of their family clambering around in other rooms.

“Hey, Cass?”

Cass turned back to him.

“I would kill David Cain for you.”

He would. It makes the Pit seethe when he thinks about how much David Cain and Lady Shiva hurt Cass for her to get this insanely good at reading people. He hopes she sees the pure honesty and sincerity he feels at that declaration

Cass puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once. Twice.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No objections?”

“… would not feel too bad.”

Jason snorted.

“Yeah. You and me both.”

He doesn’t know how they got here, but he’s thankful for it anyways, because he understands his sister just that much more now.

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Serenity

[Shadow of the Tomb Raider] Lara Croft x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.12k

Proofread: Yes

Content Warnings: Touch starved Lara (?), feelings of homesickness, fear of death, mentions of mourning, brief descriptions of wounds

Categories:

Angst Fluff Mix

One-Shot Preference Headcanon

[A/N]: Wanted to try a bit of a different format for the summary, hope it makes sense.

Enjoy!

Harsh winds whipped past the shape of the land, bending around every mountain and down every ravine and valley like ribbon. Shivering harshly and clutching onto her heavy coat, Lara sighed, planting herself in front of the campfire she had set up. As the flames crackled to life and began to grow, she scooted closer, holding her hands out towards the blazing heat in an attempt to warm them. She huffed out hot air into her cupped palms before rubbing them together and shifting to hold them out again.

She repeated this motion a few more times before wriggling her fingers around a bit. Once she was sure they were warmed up enough, she slipped her journal out from her traveler’s pack and took her pen out. She flipped over to the next blank page, beginning to jot things down with stiff hands. It started with her summarizing all that had happened during the current expedition up until that point, but quickly shifted to her feelings of homesickness. It wasn’t the manor or her private apartment she was missing, however. She was missing the woman waiting for her back home.

A small smile of content formed on her lips at the mere thought of her.

“God, [Y/N], I wish you were…”

She shook her head as a chill ran down her spine, as if she was being reminded of the brutal conditions she was in. With a small struggle, she scribbled out the ending of the sentence before starting a new one.

“No, I wish I was there with you. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you. Especially how warm you are. It’s freezing out here, although I’m not sure what I was expecting. Even when we stayed by the hot springs for a bit, my hands were too frozen to do anything. Writing this right now is extremely difficult because we’re headed toward the peak of a mountain where the snow is really dense. The altitude levels are getting high, and it’s making some of the crew sick, so we had to set up camp in the meantime. Aside from Jonah, the crew here doesn’t really care for all of this. They’re either doing it for the media exposure or for the money. The majority of them have made it clear that they aren’t doing it for the sake of discovery. I do kind of wish you were here in all honesty. Jonah is interested in what we’re looking for, but it always takes some convincing with him. With you, you’re always on board immediately. And, according to the others, you share the same level of enthusiasm as me. I guess I never really noticed it.

“Which is honestly a bit of a surprise. I know I can get a bit…aggressive about these things, or obsessive. People tell me I start getting picky about things once I realize they don’t have the same interests and intentions as me. And Sam wonders why I don’t like hanging out with other people.”

She laughed softly to herself, skimming over her words before she continued writing.

“Except you, of course. I wish I could bring you along with me to these expeditions, but I’m just…worried Trinity is going to get to you somehow, and aside from Jonah, you’re the only one I have left. If they got ahold of you, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’ve lost too many people already. I can’t lose you too.”

A small pause. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself during these trips anymore. Before she had met [Y/N], she had gotten used to sleeping alone and spending the majority of her time alone. She could go on journeys without worrying about returning home to someone. She didn’t want to die, that wasn’t what she was thinking of. She just didn’t feel guilty about trips taking longer than she initially planned. Deep down, though, she knew [Y/N] understood. Each time she’d make it home to her girlfriend, she was always greeted with relief and excitement rather than annoyance and resentment.

During the nights where she was alone on the expeditions, she could eventually get herself to fall asleep for short periods of time, pretending she was back home in bed with her girlfriend, cuddled up together under the blankets and sleeping in.

Another thing she had to readjust to was doing things solo. The only thing she tended to do on her own at the manor anymore was paperwork. [Y/N] would do everything with her there: researching, reading, cleaning, taking trips to different cities, and so on and so forth. She had grown so accustomed to that to where she found herself itching to talk to someone or move around at the campsites when she used to just sit there and think to herself.

She genuinely enjoyed the idea of having someone to come home to every time, but it still caused guilt when anything went wrong. There was a near-constant worry that her job was straining the relationship, regardless of what [Y/N] told her.

She had never been in a relationship before, so she really had no idea what to expect. It was stressful trying to learn how to open up to someone, but once she realized she could fully trust [Y/N], she found it much easier to start talking about her past.

Another sigh slipped past her lips, her gaze dropping down to the page of her journal again.

“I can’t wait to get home to you again. And honestly, I never thought I’d be able to say that. With how often I’m traveling, I figured I wouldn’t find someone who was willing to put up with my constant researching and preparing. I suppose I could take you on easier trips where I know Trinity won’t be. I could teach you how to go rock climbing and the basics of how to survive out in the wilderness.”

A sense of fondness washed over her, remembering how Roth would take her backpacking and traveling to random places so she could learn all of his tricks.

“If Roth were still here, I bet I could’ve convinced him to let you come with us to one of our training expeditions. He loved teaching all about journeying. He probably would’ve talked your ear off the way he did with me.”

Once more, a soft laugh escaped her.

“I’d honestly give anything to hear him lecture me about trusting my instinct again. You would’ve loved him. He was a good man.”

She studied her entry, repeatedly skimming over Roth’s name scribbled out in her shaky handwriting. 

“I wish you could’ve met him.”

She frowned at the memory of what happened in Yamatai, guilt beginning to bubble up to the surface again. She sighed, trying to shift her focus to something else.

“I can’t wait to get back home to you. I miss you. Hopefully I’ll be able to see you sooner rather than later. I already want to come back just so I can be with you again. I love you.”

Gently, she shut her journal and tucked it away again, dropping her pen in on top of it before zipping the bag shut. Once she placed the bag to her side, she shifted to turn back to the fire, which had grown to a decent size. Her unfocused gaze watched the flames in front of her dance wildly to the bitterly cold gusts of wind. Soon, as she waited for Jonah to call her over, her mind wandered off, her body shivering, aching, and craving to be in her warm, plush bed by [Y/N]’s side again.

The expedition finally came to an end. Unfortunately, it had taken an extra three days thanks to Trinity’s operation disrupting everything. Lara was returning home with another artifact, one which she planned to donate to a local museum instead of adding to her personal collection. She asked Jonah to drop the artifact off for her, her expression alone telling him all he needed to know. He agreed, knowing she just wanted to get home to [Y/N] again and rest. Once the plane landed and they disembarked with their luggage, Lara instantly found her car still parked in a private garage she had paid for ahead of time.

She hopped in instantly after tucking her small amount of luggage into the trunk, started the engine, and sped off toward her home. The majority of the drive there, she reflected on what had happened during the expedition. Although she had been in a warm environment for hours on the way back, she still felt chilled to the bone after swimming in glacial waters for hours on end. All she craved was to get home and warm all the way up so she could sleep comfortably, even though she knew the moment the numbness subsided, her joints would ache even more.

Once she finally arrived, she parked her car in her usual spot and headed inside, completely forgetting about the bags in the trunk. Her body felt like it would collapse any minute, so she was desperately trying to get inside and find [Y/N].

With a great deal of effort, straining the aching muscles in her arms and back, she shoved the main door open leading into the front parlor. Before any of the servants could lead her somewhere to get her injuries treated or get changed into warmer clothes, Lara made a beeline to the stairs leading up to the second floor of the main building. She wobbled down the hall to her bedroom door, weakly pushing it open with a small grunt of pain. She didn’t spot [Y/N] in the bedroom right away, so she checked the bathroom attached to it.

She wasn’t there either. Odd.

With a groan, she forced herself to trudge back out of the room and down the hall, planning to check the library next. And if she wasn’t there, she’d search the main study. Before she could make it to the doorway leading to the library, [Y/N] stepped out carrying a couple of books. When she spotted Lara, her face lit up, excitedly placing the books aside on a nearby console table and rushing over to the brunette. At the sight of [Y/N] heading her direction, a small surge of energy bolted through Lara’s senses. She beamed over at her and opened her arms, sighing in relief when the smaller woman leaned heavily into her embrace.

“Lara, you’re back! How was the trip? Find anything good?”

Lara grinned wider at her enthusiasm–a breath of fresh air to have someone show genuine interest in her own passion. “Yeah, we found an old artifact, but I told Jonah to just go donate it to the local museum. I don’t have much space left on the shelves in my study, and I don’t want to clutter our room with them.” [Y/N] chuckled at her words, a small nod as her response as they remained in their embrace a moment longer.

At length, much to Lara’s dismay, [Y/N] leaned back. One hand dropped down to gently take hold of the brunette’s, and the other lifted to cup her cheek. At the feeling of warmth against her face, Lara leaned into the touch, her eyes shutting as she sighed. “C’mon,” [Y/N] started softly with a warm smile, “let’s get you patched up and changed. Then you can get some sleep.” Before she could try to refute, Lara yawned and nodded, wearily following the smaller woman’s lead as she carefully tugged her toward the bedroom again.

Once in there, she sat Lara down on the bed, retrieved the First Aid kit from the medical cabinet in the bathroom, and joined her on the mattress, which the brunette seemed to immediately sink into. She pulled out a damp rag she had also grabbed and began to dab cautiously at the scratches and cuts littered across Lara’s skin. When she began to apply the antiseptic, she earned a few hisses of pain, though they quickly died down with each passing second. All the while, Lara’s eyelids were growing heavier. She did her best to bite back her yawns, though most of them still snuck through.

After cleaning all of the visible marks, [Y/N] stitched up what she needed to, and applied bandages to what was left. She quickly packed the kit back up and stored it in the bathroom once more. Then, she helped Lara head into the bathroom and get undressed, helping her step into the bath when the warm water filled up enough. Once the brunette was situated and comfortable, [Y/N] took her hair down for her and began to rinse and lather it with the shampoo she had set up beforehand. Once her hair was clean, she then washed Lara’s back, shoulders, and mostly everything but her stomach, legs, and mostly whatever was underneath the water, which she let the Croft do on her own.

By the time Lara was clean and wrapped up in a towel after stepping out of the tub, [Y/N] left and came back in carrying a pair of clothes that had just been pulled out from the dryer. She gave the brunette a bit of privacy to get dressed. Lara hummed contentedly at the warm, soft fabric brushing across her skin: a pair of black fleece pants with a slightly oversized gray t-shirt.

She stood after tugging her clothes on. After folding the towel back up enough to hang on the rack on the wall, she flipped the lightswitch off and left the bathroom, finding [Y/N] standing by the bed with a tray in her hands. Curiously, Lara walked over and sat down at the foot of the bed with an eyebrow raised. Before she could question what it was, [Y/N] moved to hand the tray to her, revealing her favorite dish warmed up and placed nicely on a plate.

At the sight of it, she blinked, and soon looked back up at her girlfriend, who had moved to her own side of the bed. “Go ahead and eat. I wanted you to have something in your stomach so it doesn’t growl and wake you up like last time.”

With a pleased grin, Lara nodded and shifted up to her spot in bed to prop herself up against the headboard. She was quick to pick up her fork and dig into the dish, clearly grateful to have something prepared for her instead of needing to fix something for herself the way she had done the past few days in the wilderness. It saved her a lot of time and energy, all of which she could spend on recovering from the trip. Within minutes, the plate was clean and her cup was empty. She moved to get up and bring it to the kitchen downstairs, but [Y/N] was quick to stop her and take it from her hands. “Hey, no, go ahead and stay here, alright? I really just want you to relax for a while.”

Even if Lara had planned on refusing the help, it would’ve been no use, as [Y/N] was already by the door by the time she finished speaking. She quickly slipped out of the room, leaving Lara there to wait. She hadn’t even had a chance to nod. She sighed, shuffling downward to bundle up underneath the thick blankets layering her mattress and tugging them partially over her head. The moment her head made contact with her pillow, she groaned in relief, the plush surface welcoming her and pulling her into a partial slumber already.

She fought to stay awake a little longer, however, wanting to be cuddled up against [Y/N] as she slept so she could hear her heartbeat. Ever since the two had started sharing the bed, that’s how Lara fell asleep. It’s why going on long expeditions was so difficult sometimes–she had no heartbeat to listen to, no breathing she could hear but her own, and no warmth to lean into when she got a chill or had a strange dream that kept her eyes pried open in alarmed confusion. Another yawn pushed past her lips, her eyes slowly fluttering shut. Just as she was close to being lulled into sleep, the bedroom door creaked open again. [Y/N] stepped inside and turned the lights off, then headed over to the windows and closed all the heavy curtains, leaving a very dull light in the room.

She then crawled into her side of the bed, though she was quickly met with Lara scooting over and pressing her head against her chest, planting her ear directly over the girl’s sternum to hear the steady thumping of her heartbeat resting safely behind her ribs. A sigh of relief made its way from Lara. She wriggled over a bit, nuzzled her face further into the blankets, and finally settled for a position. With a small smile, [Y/N] rolled over just enough to wrap both of her arms around the brunette’s torso. She pulled her closer as softly as she could.

“Did you wanna talk about the trip?” She whispered softly. A bit of a delay, but Lara answered with a small shake of her head. “No,” she murmured almost inaudibly. “Maybe tomorrow.” [Y/N] nodded in response. She slid one of her arms over a bit, earning a groan of disapproval, though it was quickly replaced by an even fainter groan of pleasure once her fingernails began to gently rake through Lara’s brunette locks. [Y/N] repeated this motion for a while before changing to let her nails scratch soothingly at the sore muscles of the taller woman’s back. “Mmm, what about you?” Lara finally managed to slur out after a few minutes.

[Y/N] hummed, confused. “What about me?” She questioned quietly. Again, there was a pause before she got a response. “What about your day? Tell me…about your day.”

“Oh. Well, it wasn’t very eventful, to be honest. I just helped some of the maids and then read a few books. That’s why I was leaving the library when you made it in.”

“Mmh.”

Lara groaned and shuffled even closer. “I missed you so much,” she whispered. [Y/N] beamed down at her, pure adoration in her eyes. “I missed you too.” She pressed a kiss to the brunette’s forehead, to which Lara responded by scrunching up her nose and leaning her head forward, wordlessly asking for another one. The smaller woman complied after letting a gentle giggle slip in between breaths and pressed a longer kiss to Lara’s head, earning a small huff of satisfaction.

For a while longer, [Y/N] continued to talk about whatever came to mind. Lara wasn’t entirely listening, she just wanted to hear her voice, but [Y/N] already knew that. She didn’t mind. She could talk about seeing a bird on the window sill, and Lara would still find it calming solely because she could hear her speaking. She could hear the low rumbling and vibrations in her chest with every word spoken, and on top of the sound of her heartbeat, it was like the ultimate white noise for Lara.

She wasn’t entirely sure why it brought her so much comfort, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. It helped her fall asleep and stay asleep, which is something she struggled with for the longest time. Being able to get a proper night’s rest felt so refreshing.

Especially after having to be on high alert and sleep lightly for weeks on end during most of her journeys.

After a while, [Y/N] ran out of things to talk about. However, knowing that hearing her make noise was what helped Lara fall asleep, she opted to sing softly instead. An hour or so must’ve passed before Lara’s breathing deepened and slowed, evening out as her body signaled she was fully asleep. After finishing the song she had been practically humming at that point, [Y/N] stopped singing. When she fell silent, her own eyes beginning to droop from fatigue, Lara tugged her closer, unconsciously trying to find the source of the noise again. She settled after a moment when her hearing focused in on her heartbeat once more.

She mumbled something under her breath, though the blankets muffled most of it. The other half of the incoherent speech was caused by her lack of conscience. [Y/N] didn’t mind it though. Finally being able to hold Lara safely in her arms again after two and a half weeks was all she had been wanting. She glanced down at her, smiling tiredly and pressing a gentle kiss to her head again before yawning and closing her eyes.

Soon enough, she fell into a deep slumber as well.

The following morning, the sun crept in through the blinds, alerting everyone of its wake. Bright golden beams trailed their way into the bedroom, sneaking up the covers and making Lara suddenly aware of her surroundings again. She grumbled, calloused fingertips grasping at the hem of the comforter that had slipped from over her head and tugging upward, desperately trying to block out the warmth that stirred her awake. It had been years–until she met [Y/N], anyway–since she had been able to sleep in peacefully without the overwhelming worry of needing to constantly accomplish something. She wanted to stay asleep at least long enough to finish her dream.

For a moment, she smirked to herself, noticing just how soft she had gotten once her relationship had been established with the other woman. Had they never met, nor had they gotten as close as they did, she’d likely still be awake at this hour, buried away in her personal study with stacks of books and loose files strewn about.

With a sense of bitter hesitation, one in which she debated falling back into the dream she had been having just a moment prior–which thankfully wasn’t another nightmare keeping her awake–she let her weary eyes flutter open. A small shove downward let the covers fall free from over her head again, begrudgingly allowing the sunlight to caress her features in a more willing manner. A sigh of relief slipped past her lips once she was able to let her eyes adjust to the blazing beams of light dancing around with each small movement.

After a moment of gaining her bearings, she yawned, drowsily rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes as she shifted over to find [Y/N] still resting at her side. The corners of her lips perked up into a small smile of contentment at the sight. She hummed, shuffled up to let her head rest even in front of [Y/N]’s, and gazed over at her.

The light that had disturbed Lara of her rest now brought her a sense of peace. The warm glow of the amber streaks lighting up the room seemed to embrace every little mark across [Y/N]’s skin, highlighting each scar and stray freckle. Never before had she seemed so at ease in her slumber–or maybe Lara had been too focused on holding her close to have noticed. She noticed it now, though.

And she intended to savor every minute of it.

Moments passed, and her hands were itching to feel the softness of the woman’s skin. With a slight ounce of uncertainty, worried she might stir her awake, she finally lifted her hand from the spot on the mattress next to her and drove it up to let the backs of her fingers graze over [Y/N]’s cheek, huffing out a small sigh at the warmth as though she hadn’t been pressed tightly against her mere moments before.

Her fingers trailed up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind the sleeping woman’s ear, slowly and silently shuffling forward to press a featherlike kiss to her forehead. At the feeling of soft lips and touches against her skin, [Y/N] began to wake, her brows furrowing together momentarily in thought, as if she were stuck between her dreams and lucidity. Her features softened just as quickly as they tightened, followed by her eyes flitting open and instantaneously focusing on the smitten gaze in front of her. She hummed, grinning and letting her hand slide up to gently take hold of Lara’s. With a small squeeze to her lax hand, [Y/N] turned her head to press an equally soft kiss to her palm.

“Morning,” she murmured against her skin, letting her focus flicker back toward the deep brown eyes now somehow filled with even more love than before.

“Morning,” came her faint reply.

“Are you feeling better now that you’ve slept?” Lara grinned, nodding almost unnoticeably. She carefully slipped her hand from [Y/N]’s, then letting it trail down to the smaller woman’s hip. Once moving a bit closer, as well as shuffling back down further into the comforter, she wrapped both arms around [Y/N]’s waist, tugging her closer and letting her head fall against her chest. Once [Y/N]’s chin moved to rest atop the brunette’s head, Lara sighed, her eyes fluttering shut once more. “Yes, but if I’m being completely honest, my entire body is aching right now. So much happened before I got back.”

She chuckled, wincing to herself at the sudden jolt of pain that erupted from the nerves in the skin taut against her stomach. “I don’t know if I can physically get up yet. Or if I'll be able to at all today.”

A playful snicker sounded above her, prompting her to lift her head and look up at [Y/N]. “Are you sure that’s why? Or do you just want to stay in bed and cuddle like this for the day?” Lara rolled her eyes with a smirk of her own. “I’m telling you: every single muscle in my body is painfully sore. I could get up if I absolutely needed to, but I don’t, so I’d really just prefer to stay here.”

With a moment in between the playful banter, Lara dropped her head back against [Y/N]’s chest. She waited, pondering what she wanted to say as her nails gently scratched at the soft fabric of the shirt she leaned against, sighing silently at the feeling of the motion being reciprocated in a far more soothing way. As she focused on [Y/N] tracing random shapes and words against her scarred skin, subconsciously wondering if she could make out anything specific if she focused, she closed her eyes.

“But even if I somehow wasn’t sore like I am now, I’d absolutely want to stay like this for the day. I missed you,” although her voice had already started off gentle, her tone only seemed to drift further into silence. Whether it stemmed from sheepishness or fatigue, [Y/N] didn’t know. She didn’t mind it, however, and instead pulled her closer. “I missed you too. So very much.”

She paused, one of her hands stroking the brunette strands sprawled out on the mattress behind Lara as her brow creased in thought. “I do worry about you though,” she admitted after what felt like hours, not sure if Lara was still even awake at the moment or if she had heard her. She had, however, and was quick to gaze back up at her, partially hidden way beneath the comforter. Her eyes, which had just been staring at her with a mix of blissful fatigue and love, were now a concoction of bleary concern and confusion. “Why?”

“Because sometimes I worry that something is going to happen to you while you’re away, and I’m never going to know. I mean, I know you won’t go down without a fight, but I’m still terrified that there will be a day where I see you alive for the last time. That thought alone plagues my mind every single time you leave, and it just…scares me?” She scoffed. “No, it’s so much more than just feeling scared. I’m terrified beyond belief that a thought like that could somehow become a reality.”

She hadn’t realized she had begun rambling until Lara shifted up to be eye-level with her again, a far more serious expression taking over. With her features creased with concern, Lara cupped [Y/N]’s face, the pads of her thumbs stroking away the tears that she hadn’t even realized had fallen. When had she started crying?

“I promise you I’m never going to let that happen, alright? There’ve been so many times I shouldn’t have been able to survive, but I did. Like you said: I won’t go down without a fight. And now that I have you here, I have all the more reason to fight to stay alive. I couldn’t bear the thought of never coming home to you. Just…don’t ever worry about me not coming home, okay? One way or another, I’ll find a way to get back to you.”

Her tone softened with every passing word, her heart and mind filling with relief upon seeing a gentle smile grace [Y/N]’s lips. She returned her grin and leaned forward to rest their foreheads together. “Even if it means I have to admit to Jonah that I’m wrong,” she added with a fake annoyance and a small roll of her eyes. [Y/N] couldn’t help but chuckle at her words, allowing Lara to finally let out a small sigh of solace.

“I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything,” she reassured, trading roles and pulling [Y/N] into her chest instead. “Not for an artifact, not for a trip to some uncharted land, not for my studies, not for anything. I know I may not be the best at showing it, but I truly love you, [Y/N]. I promise you that I’ll always find my way back to you.”

At her reassurance, [Y/N] nuzzled closer to focus in on her heartbeat, unable to bite back the wide smile that stretched across her lips. “I love you too,” she whispered.

Her words were true, she just wished she could find a way to prove it to her every day. Regardless of how invested she could get in her studies or research for her next expedition somewhere far away, she wouldn’t trade these moments of serenity for the world. She treasured them far more than any artifact she had discovered, and would do anything to ensure more of those memories could be made. Not even the strongest forces out there would stop her from returning to the one person she could call home, and she vowed, one way or another, to make sure it stayed that way for good.

[huntfeld]

For You

Pairing: Tara Carpenter X Reader

Summary: In New York City, Tara Carpenter faces the aftermath of the Ghostface killings while grappling with her intense feelings for her possessive friend. As their bond deepens, they must navigate the chaos around them, ready to protect each other at all costs.

The streets of New York were alive with vibrant energy, but for Tara Carpenter, the noise faded into a distant hum. She stood by her apartment window, staring out at the city skyline. The chaos below felt worlds away from her life, which had been turned upside down by Ghostface's return. Even with the weight of the fear pressing on her, the only thought that consumed her mind was you—her closest confidant and the one person she couldn’t seem to shake off.

You had always been there, a constant in the whirlwind of her life, but recently, your presence felt charged with something more—something deeper. It was a warmth that both comforted and unsettled her.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, snapping her from her thoughts. A message from you glowed on the screen: I’m outside. Can we talk?

Her heart raced. Yeah, just a sec, she replied, quickly moving to let you in. You had a way of making her feel safe, even when the world around her was falling apart.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside, the cool evening air rushing in with you. “Hey,” you said softly, your gaze searching her face. “You okay?”

Tara nodded, forcing a smile despite the gnawing anxiety in her chest. “Yeah, just… a lot going on.”

You moved closer, your eyes darkening with concern. “I hate this for you. You don’t deserve any of it.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine,” she reassured, though your intensity made her heart race in a different way. The way you looked at her felt possessive, as if you were silently claiming her, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Fine isn’t enough,” you murmured, stepping even closer. “I’d do anything to protect you, Tara. You mean everything to me.”

A flutter of something warm blossomed in her chest. “You don’t have to protect me,” she said, but even as she spoke, she felt the weight of your gaze on her, steady and unwavering.

“Maybe I want to,” you replied, your voice dropping to a low, husky whisper. “I’d die for you, Tara. You know that, right?”

Those words sent a rush of adrenaline through her. There was something intoxicating about the way you spoke, a raw honesty that both thrilled and terrified her. You took another step closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from your body.

“I don’t want anyone else to have you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath warm against her skin. “Not even for a second.”

Tara’s heart raced, caught in the tension between desire and fear. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“I mean,” you said, reaching out to cup her face with your hand, “I can’t bear the thought of someone taking you from me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means keeping you close—really close.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against hers, and Tara’s breath hitched. The world outside melted away, and all that existed was the two of you, standing on the precipice of something beautiful and dangerous.

“Tara,” you murmured against her lips, “I need you to understand how serious I am. I’d do anything for you.”

“I believe you,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. “But this feels different…”

“It is different,” you said, stepping back slightly to search her eyes. “I’m not just your friend anymore. I want more. I need you to be mine, fully.”

Your intensity made her head spin, and in that moment, she realized how much she craved you—your affection, your protection, your everything. It was a hunger that ignited a fire within her, burning away the fear that had consumed her.

“I want that too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But what if—”

You cut her off, your fingers gently tilting her chin up so she could meet your gaze. “There are no ‘what ifs’ with us. It’s just you and me, against the world.”

With that, you closed the distance between you, capturing her lips with yours in a heated kiss. It was soft at first, but the passion quickly escalated, the kind of kiss that made the world outside fade away. Tara melted against you, surrendering to the warmth and intensity that radiated between you.

As you pulled away, your foreheads resting against each other, Tara felt the weight of your promise. “I’ll always be here,” you said, your voice low and steady. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

Tara smiled, a mix of happiness and uncertainty swirling in her chest. “I trust you.”

“I’m not just saying this,” you continued, your tone serious. “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to protect what’s ours. No one gets to touch you. Not now, not ever.”

The possessiveness in your voice sent a thrill through her, mixing fear with desire. She loved the way you cared for her, the lengths you were willing to go, but it also made her acutely aware of the darkness lurking beneath the surface.

“Promise me,” you said, “that you’ll stay with me. No matter what happens, don’t let them take you from me.”

“I promise,” she whispered, feeling the truth of her words. In that moment, Tara knew there was no turning back. She wanted you just as fiercely, ready to face whatever came next.

Together, you stepped into the night, hand in hand, ready to embrace the chaos of the world outside. But with you by her side, Tara felt like she could conquer anything, and she knew that she would do the same for you—because, in the end, you would both die for each other.

———

[soap-ify]

mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader

05 — i'll meet the judgement by the hounds.

chapter summary — a fool and a coward, that's the realisation you had come to.

tags / cw — no smut, fluff, a bit domestic honestly, basically reader's drunk and simon takes care of you, bittersweet, simon opens up... a bit, angst, suicidal thoughts, very subtle religious references if they even count as one, simon's in denial and reader is on the verge of losing it all. [4k words]

masterlist | ao3 | prev | next

Simon had come to the conclusion that you were a snake, and your love was your poison. Maybe he really was a coward for being afraid to let your venom drown into his veins.

“Remind me to never take you out for drinking again.”

If it weren’t for Simon holding you carefully against him and walking through the street, you’d surely have collapsed on the ground all drunk and worse, thrown up by now.

It was a little mistake. One drink became two, and then three. You had forgotten about your tolerance, and here you were now. It’s all because of Simon. That’s what your excuse was, blaming it all on him. Which was true in all honesty, you had gotten too excited about this little hangout.

“You’ll never go out with me again?” Completely mishearing his words, you looked up at him with wide eyes, tears already approaching. Yeah, you were completely drunk. Simon froze, his heart tearing at the sight of your incoming tears, even if they were just due to your emotions being all over the place now. Emotions that had always been there, hidden deep within.

His first instinct was to ignore your words and just keep walking, his heart begging for him to comfort you. But again, how does a killer comfort an angel? How would the moon comfort the ocean, while being so far away?

“I didn’t say that.” He gruffly replied and continued to look ahead, not daring to meet your eyes anymore.

O Angel, let me fall on my knees, kiss your fingers, and weep for forgiveness. So you may hold my absolution, and make me man again.

“C’mon, we gotta take you home.” Simon internally cursed himself for not taking you both to the bar in a car. He hadn’t considered the possibility of you being a drunk mess. Do I ever consider anything?

“No!” Your loud whine echoed in the empty pavement, and he could barely hold in a chuckle, deciding to bite his bottom lip beneath his mask. “Can’t we spend more time together, Si?”

I’d spend a lifetime with you. But god forbid he ever said those words. Not to you, not to anyone. “S’not like m’gonna die or somethin’, or that you’ll never see me again.” Simon grumbled and tightened his hand around your waist, accommodating your wobbly body, guiding you.

Simon wished he could take your hands and sway around with you, let both of you move into a sweet dance, with the stars praising you. A performance for the cosmos. He wished he could hold you when you throw yourself over him, to let you never escape his embrace. Lovers forever tangled.

He wished.

He wondered what something like that even would look like. His dad never danced with his mother. He remembers his mother looking at him, holding in her tears and forcing a smile. “I promise your dad loves me, just as much as I love him. He's just… exhausted nowadays.” He wished his mother didn’t consider him a naive — a child.

Simon doesn’t think he was ever a child. A child is innocent, his very first cry was a sin.

“Simon?” Your voice snapped him out of the reminiscence he was trapped in. He let out a soft grunt, urging you to continue.

“Have you… Have you ever seen a ghost?” You burst into laughter at your own poor attempt at the joke, a rapid change of emotion, though in your defence, it’s definitely very funny. Your free hand tried to wipe the tears as you continued laughing, and Simon swore that this was truly the angels’ hymn eliciting from your mouth.

“Do I count?” He grinned behind his mask, the side of his eyes crinkling a bit. You quickly shook your head and stared at him with determined eyes, fully set on your question. “In that case, no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, love. But if I do, I’ll make sure to tell ‘em you said hello.”

If it was someone else like Kyle or Johnny who would be laughing about this joke, Simon was sure that he would have said something snarky or just straight up ignored them. But not with you, never with you.

“You’re the best.” You beamed, his heart squeezed painfully.

“We’re almost there.”

Upon arriving at your apartment complex, he dropped you off outside your apartment’s front door, the only thing in mind being to flee quickly so your sweet smile doesn’t taunt him anymore. Though he simply couldn’t, your fingers not letting go off his forearm at all. Too exhausted to figure out if it was intentional or not, he sighed under his breath and turned over to face you, brown eyes having a slight shine in them due to the hallway’s light.

“C’mon, you gotta go in and rest.” He couldn’t figure out why his breathing was falling short. Was it the alcohol? He barely drank anything.

You, on the other hand, tried your best to not look up at him and meet his eyes, knowing that it would shut you up. Like the intimidating gaze of a god, a warrior. You had to speak your mind, had to know about something, to ease the storm in your head.

“Are you getting bored of me?” These words slipped out of your lips as a meek whisper, forbidden.

It was a sickening feeling that ensued within Simon after that, as if something was grabbing his heart and trying to rip it out of his chest. Inhale, exhale. He didn’t know what exactly horrified him. Probably the fact that he knew what had caused you to think like that. The perfume.

O Angel, let me carve my heart out with a knife and hand it to you as an offering — apology. So may your hands embrace it and take me home, with thee. So may your fingers caress my cheek once again, and let my blood paint my skin.

“No.” He was embarrassingly quick to reply, fingers curling up into fists by his sides as he inhaled sharply. How could he put such thoughts into your head? How could I? Only a devil, the most evil being, could commit such atrocity.

You paused at his words, not knowing what else to say. No? Then why was that perfume there? You didn’t want him to think you were dumb enough to not notice that. “You’re lying…” Your voice cracked, and it was no longer the alcohol playing you like a puppet. It was you now. You felt like your own marionette. Stop speaking, fucking stop. “I am not dumb, Si. I saw that p-perfume on your couch the other day. Is that why you got mad at me?” God, stop talking please. “You could have just… said that you prefer other girls. Am I… Am I making a fucking fool out of myself here?” It terrified you, your own emotions terrified you. Your voice was rising just a bit, and all your feelings had their hands wrapped around your throat. Controlling you. You didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to say it out loud. You weren’t used to being so open about your mind, and now you felt like nothing but a cat shivering under the rain — alone and abandoned. Vulnerable, naked.

Maybe you and Simon weren’t so different after all. Vulnerability — just why did it terrify humans? Were the angels and the gods just as opposed to vulnerability?

“Oh, l-” Love. It almost slipped off his tongue, and he didn’t know if you even wanted him to call you that right now. The thought alone made him shudder uncomfortably. He didn’t know what to do — stuck in between two roads. Should he lie? Or tell you the truth? — That it was just one time, a drunken act that is nothing but lamentable to him.

Why were you both even acting like an actual couple right now?

He swallowed the lump that threatened to torture his throat, exhaling softly. “I was drunk, and it happened. She probably left her perfume accidentally.” He spilled the truth out. Just the way a mature person would. Don’t be fucking daft, Riley. His eyes assessed the subtle twitch of your brows at that, your lips quivering. He wished he could just lean in and kiss all the tears away, despite them not having landed on your cheeks. Hopefully they won’t.

“Oh…” Your response was too short, unsure and reluctant. It made Simon feel as if he had sinned once again, chains threatening to drag him into the darkest depths of Hell. Home — the one he was familiar with.

You swallowed nervously and looked down at your feet, your hand long having stopped holding his arm. Instead, your fingers were fiddling with one another anxiously. Why did you feel as if you were betrayed? A desperate cry for love, you wished you could say it to him. To his face, sob and scream about what you felt. He was the only one who understood, who was willing to understand. He was the only one who ever was, and who ever will be.

The agreement. It was no longer just fucking, it never was. Not since the day you saw him with Kyle, not since the day he talked with you after Kyle gestured at you. Never. Could he also see it all the way you did?

Your silence was a clear indicator of the fact that you were lost in your thoughts now. Simon’s eyes softened up, and before he could think rationally, his body reacted on its own and embraced you tightly against his chest, strong arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Fuck…” He cussed under his breath, despising how his voice was thickening up with emotion. He hugged you like an old dog messily giving affection to its owner. My angel, my angel. I sinned, I have sinned. I am sorry.

He pulled you impossibly close, as if wanting to mold his body into yours, to become one. He could be with you forever in that way, to be your breathing and you his heartbeat.

You didn’t even feel confused at his rapid action at all. Just broken, so broken. He was the hammer that had finally hit the dam, and broke it. “W-Why?” Your voice wavered and mixed into a sob, your hands tightened holding onto him, fingers threatening to dig deeper as you let your head rest against him, tears tickling your skin. “I am so tired… So tired, Si. I hate you…”

“Do you want me to leave?” His hold tightened despite his words.

“No.” Your words came out a bit more forcefully than you had intended, too anxious to let him go. You felt his right hand leaving your back, a soft whimper leaving your lips once you felt his lips, bare and real, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head, soon realising that he had taken his mask off. Too shy and messy in tears, you made no effort to look up at him and instead continued to cry, emotions desperate to keep pouring out and leave the imprisonment of your body. His hand continued to rub the back of your head while his other held your lower back, both of you unknowingly taking a few steps back and forth together, unable to stay still. It was as if you both were dancing slowly, like lovers.

“Alright. Hand me the keys, love.” You tentatively grabbed your keys from where you had kept it and handed it to him, your hands quickly latching onto him again. He carefully unlocked the front door of your apartment and led you inside, being extra cautious so he doesn’t accidentally step onto your feet. Closing the door by kicking it gently with one leg, he gently guided you towards the living room, easing you down onto the couch.

“Do you remember that creepy guy that came into the cafe?” Your voice was still shaky from crying, eyes all glossy as you finally looked at him, heart skipping a beat. Despite already having seen his face the last time, you still weren't used to it. Were you blessed?

He silently nodded and took a seat beside you, his arms leaving your sides so his large hands could cradle your face, thumbs tenderly wiping the drying up tears away while you talked, eyes looking everywhere but at him due to the sudden proximity. He didn't mind it at all, simply adored your sudden sheepishness.

“I still get scared at the thought of him… I don't want anyone like that to visit the cafe again. I-I don't think I can handle it.” Your voice gradually got quieter by the end, nibbling on your bottom lip. Oh, dear. Simon hadn’t told you that he had already beat that creep up. Now he somewhat wished that he had killed him instead. Surely Price would back him up if he made up some reason, yeah?

Your shoulders visibly eased up at that, your mind clearing a bit. Probably sobering up? You were sure that you weren't going to pick up a bottle of alcohol after this. Leaning into him, you decided to rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Expecting a soft, calm rhythm — you were instead met with a fast thump, your brows furrowing though you decided not to comment on it.

“He wouldn't. No one will ever treat you like that again, love.” As long as I am here. Possessive yet guilty. He was vaguely promising to be by your side while always avoiding you, protecting you from himself. From the ugliness within him. No angel must spare a glance at a stray, especially not one used to violence.

His hands were playing with the fabric of your shirt now, mindlessly toying with it, feeling the texture under his skin as he gently tugged onto it. It felt oddly comforting, both of you not mentioning what happened outside the apartment a few minutes ago.

You looked up at him again, your eyes falling onto his lips this time. A bit chapped with a small scar adorning the side of his upper lip. You couldn't help but smile at the sight, leaning forward to place a bashful kiss on top of it. Simon let out a soft grumble at that, tilting his head to the side so he could kiss your lips properly, eyes fluttering shut alongside yours. He could taste some hints of your salty tears, his hands holding your waist while your hands held the back of his neck, letting his lips devour yours.

He held onto you gently, not wanting to be tight despite every fiber within him wanting to hold you fully against him once more, like a hound too eager to please.

Once he pulled away from the kiss, his heart skipped at the sight of your lips being all glossy. Ethereal. Your lips twitched into a giddy smile, and he could swear that he felt the heat radiating off you once it crept up onto your face. It felt soft, everything felt too soft and warm. The gentleness threatened to suffocate him once more, a mocking reminder of him being undeserving of such tranquility. He was supposed to be wed to the war, to violence. To the bloodshed that haunted his dreams. Not whatever this was.

But he refused to get up, not wanting to see any more of your tears. “We have to get you to bed. You need sleep.” He spoke quietly, a soft sigh leaving his lips once he felt your forehead pressing against his, letting you lean into him.

“Will you join me?” You normally would have never asked something like that, but the way he was holding you almost made you believe that he was willing to warm up a bit more with you.

Simon frowned at that, pulling his head back slightly. “We can't, you're drunk.”

Realising that he misunderstood you, blood rushed to your cheeks and you looked away in embarrassment, your voice getting timid. “No… I meant sleeping together. Nothing else.”

He paused, eyes softening up as the implication dawned on him. Sleeping together. Innocently domestic — something you both had never touched. He wanted to reject, to say that it’d be better for him to just leave. That could have been the better option anyways. Though he couldn't bring himself to refuse you, too enamoured, as if trapped in some spell by you.

“Fine.” He clicked his tongue in a poor attempt to appear reluctant, masking his inner eagerness. Helping you off the couch, he led you towards the bathroom first, opening the tap. “Let's wash your face first, yeah?”

He did everything — getting you in comfortable pajamas once he finished helping you clean up, even helping you in preparing the bed. Everything. It made you feel as if you were cared for, as if he was the warmth you had ached for throughout your life. The felicity had long spreaded within you once you laid down on bed, watching him lay down beside you.

He was tense, visibly so. You tentatively scooted towards him, a hand reaching out to settle onto his chest, to feel his heartbeat once again. Maybe in this way, you could sync your heart with his, build your own little bubble. Or was that too much to hope for?

“Thank you…” It just slipped out of your mouth like a soft prayer — a hidden whisper to be close to him so more.

“S'nothing.” His eyes looked over at you, taking in the contentment etched onto your face. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and hold you against him, to let you melt in his embrace while you slept. No. That's too much, that's crossing a line. A line made up in his head.

You're building your own grave, Simon. He despised his own mind for mocking him like this, for littering his head with unwanted thoughts. Just one night.

“Sleep now, love.” He whispered quietly, watching you reach over to turn the lamp off. You shuffled besides him again, letting the blanket cover you up.

Simon doesn’t remember the last time he had slept so nicely, your soft breathing his lullaby.

Upon waking up alone on your bed, a heavy feeling of dread settled on you alongside a throbbint headache. Had he left? Wasn't it just getting better?

Holding your heart together from cracking it with every strength you had, you tried to take a few deep breaths. Don’t panic, don't-

The sudden clinking sound from outside your bedroom made you jolt, and only now could you notice the pleasant aroma of something cooking. Sheepishly, you slid off the bed and tiptoed over to the door, poking your head out to look around. Able to make out some of Simon's figure through the open door of the kitchen, relief flooded deep within you. He's here.

“Good morning, Si…” You greeted him once you entered the kitchen, standing besides him, rubbing the weariness off your eyes. He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement, focusing on cooking some breakfast.

“Your whole kitchen needs some restocking.” He mumbled, sparing a small glance over at you. You stayed quiet, a bit embarrassed by his observance. You were planning on restocking it soon, anyways.

The morning went by like a pleasant breeze, your mood ever so joyous today. You felt light, as if floating on the clouds and reaching the stars, as if becoming one of them, alongside Simon. He hadn't mentioned much about last night at all, even gave you some pills and an offer for a head massage. You had declined it, mostly because you didn't want to show how greatly affected you were by the subtle signs of care laced in his actions, despite it being already evident all over you.

You didn't know what had driven you to act in the way you did in the afternoon. Maybe you shouldn't have opened your mouth, just kept it shut and complied.

“Si, I um… I want to talk to you about something.” You paused the monotonous movie literally none of you were actually focusing on, turning over the couch to face him, your fingers tightly curled on your lap, digging into your flesh.

Maybe it was just your heart acting out, feeling as if things had changed. Foolishly clinging onto the thin strong of hope, never learning. Never learning that touching stray dogs was bad, they had fleas. Fleas that had already infected you, threatening to devour you.

“I think… Uh- I was wondering- I just-” Fumbling over your words, all you could hear was the loud beating of your own heart, each nerve of yours set on fire. Anxious, too anxious. You wanted to throw up. “I wanted to tell you that I really… like you, and-” Your words drowned into heavy silence once you took note of just how silent Simon was, how he was frowning.

A fool. A fool who dreamt too much, who was too lost amidst the heavenly clouds of tranquility. A fool who did everything to avoid reality — that's what you felt like.

“No.” His reply was rather abrupt, clear. The subtle smile on your lips fell, and Simon wished to do nothing more than drown into a river. “You don't like me.”

“I-I do!” Unbelievable, did he not believe that you like him? Even love him.

“You shouldn't.” That came out more roughly than he had intended to, a little snarl escaping his throat. “We've already discussed it, this is nothing.’

You should have shut up at that, should have somehow sewed your lips together and quieted down. You couldn't, instead growing more agitated, more on edge. “You can't say that, Si! D-Don't you see whatever it is that we're doing?” You whimpered in exasperation, trying to keep your voice from trembling, miserably failing. “I care for you! I do, and you care for me too. I can see it…” Vision progressively growing blurrier with incoming tears, you looked away and tried to ignore the sting in your eyes, your breath shuddering. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon was at a loss of words himself, his heart aching to kiss your tears away and plead for forgiveness. He was a cruel, cruel man. Cruel for being so terrified, cruel for being so persistent.

O Angel, forgive me for I can't let you love me, for light should never kiss the shadow.

“You shouldn't…” He repeated his words again, his voice quieter, weaker. A plea, a request. You shook your head, a sob erupting from your throat as you tried to reach out for him.

He pulled away just as quick, your hand never meeting his. An ocean that could never touch the moon, a man that could never touch a star.

“I need to leave.” Hastily he turned around and walked out of your apartment, leaving you speechless, hand still shamefully held out. Frozen and alone, unloved.

Simon Riley was a coward.

Simon had lost count of how many bottles he had drank by now. Feeling horribly, horribly similar to his father. A drunkard, disgusting. He thought the alcohol could wash his emotions away, drown them hopefully — all it did was make him even more vulnerable, his glossy eyes staring off at a distance.

Weak. Ironically enough, this brute was nothing but weak. Everyone should be laughing at him, you should be laughing at him. Laugh at him for not knowing how to love properly, for being so quick to run away.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, making him click his tongue in irritation that soon melted away once he noticed the caller ID.

Price.

He picked it up and listened to his captain's words, each syllable both a stab and a blessing.

A deployment again, finally.

notes — i apologise for uploading it after A WHOLE MONTH. blaming it on the writerphew, a deployment! this could mean many things. also a heads up that either chapter 6 or chapter 7 will be the last one (made some changes to my plan!)

[thepastisalreadywritten]

•

Princess Diana Made Secret Tapes For The Future Bride of Prince William. ❤️

“Cherish my grandchildren. They carry my heart.”

Before her tragic, untimely death in a Paris car crash at 36 years old, Princess Diana thought she might die young and may never be able to meet the future wife of her son, Prince William, according to a friend of the late Princess of Wales.

Though she didn’t know her name then, Diana recorded an audio diary for Princess Catherine, a young girl living in Berkshire.

According to OK!, the friend — who asked to remain anonymous — said Diana got the idea after recording tapes for what would become Andrew Morton’s groundbreaking Diana: Her True Story (1992).

Even after the book was published, Diana continued talking into her little Sony cassette recorder, off and on, from 1992 until she died in 1997.

On the tapes, Diana offers motherly advice and reveals her hopes for the future of William and his respective family.

"As incredible as it seems, she told me she made the tapes for the day if she wouldn’t be around to help guide William.”

Diana asked for the tapes to be played at key points in her son’s future.

“That way, she could continue to be a part of their lives, even after she was gone,” the friend said.

“She thought it was quite clever — and loved the idea of being what she called a nagging mum from beyond the grave. She found it quite amusing.”

“This particular one was for William’s future wife,” the friend said.

“He was about 13 or 14 at the time, just discovering girls. Diana was fascinated by the idea that he’d marry and one day have his children. She was sure he’d be a wonderful husband and warm, caring father—more like her."

The friend said that Diana wanted William and his future wife to avoid divorce. This particular tape lasted about two or three minutes.

“What struck me was her honesty,” the friend said. “She was so sincere. You could hear it in her voice. She spoke straight from her heart.”

“It was so very moving,” the friend continued.

“I remember bits of it quite well, even after all this time. I was surprised she played it for me. And when it was done, we talked about the kind of girl William would marry.

She thought his bride would be beautiful, smart and independent. And, amazingly, she was right. Kate is all that and more.”

The tape shared memories of William’s childhood and Diana’s dreams of always wanting a daughter. Diana seemed to speak directly to Catherine when she said:

“Brace yourself for a one-way chat. We haven’t met, though I want you to know that I certainly wish we had.

I know I’d adore you, and we’d be fast friends. You have to be someone exceptional. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be my William’s wife.”

She gave marriage advice, specifically surrounding marriage as a future queen, saying:

“For your marriage to survive the public glare and the private pressures of royal life, it will take patience, compromise, understanding, trust, loyalty, and, of course, love,” Diana reportedly said.

“But you both must work at it. Daily. I’m sure you know my failings and those of William’s father. Learn from these mistakes. Build a relationship that endures. You deserve it. And so do your children.”

Diana then shared that her fondest dream for her and William was to have a life filled with love and joy and to raise happy, healthy children free of divorce, which both William and Diana had to endure.

“Family is the most important thing in life,” she said. “Cherish your children for me. They carry my heart. Let them know I love them and will always watch over them.”

The friend said she ended the tapes with a kiss and told William she loved him.

Though the friend wasn’t sure how many tapes Diana made or who was entrusted with making sure the recordings made it to William, the friend is confident that Princess Catherine had heard the tapes.

💙🥹🤍

[pointpilot]

Untitled Labru Fic

synopsis: laios indulges kabru in his childhood country bumpkin lifestyle. laios is a freak AND kabru learns something about himself

word cont: 935

inspired by my post here

-

“Did you know you can eat these, Kabru?”

Securing his hands around the base of a branch and a leaf which it was tethered to, a rip was heard as he took the leaf into his delicate hand. 

“I supposed I didn’t.” Kabru replied, attentive eyes following the rich green leaf now in front of him. He noticed the fronds had a sort of peach fuzz to them as they caught themselves in the orangey-blue sky. “These are called Winauk leaves, they come from Winauk trees. I’d be careful with eating them all the time, though.” Laios aimlessly waved the leaf around.

“Why?” Kabru queeried, arms folded as he lay his back against this tree. Before looking up at Laios, he admired the open field they relaxed in, tall grass swaying whichever way in the wind while rays of heat gently tingled their skin. 

“Invasive beetles from the Eastern Archipelago are known to carry fungi that infest the leaves. If you eat this leaf with the fungi present, you could get a really bad disease.” 

Laios threw the leaf in his mouth. 

Dumbass!!! Then why would you eat it!?

Kabru screamed in his mind, he then started to say this aloud, but his words came out like this:

“Oh, is that safe to eat then?” He asked with a gentle smile of concern, pointing to Laios’ mouth as he obnoxiously chewed, the blond sitting himself next to him. “I’ve eaten these so much as a child that I can taste the difference. Want one? I’ll taste test it for you!” He gestured his hand towards the branches of the tree. “I promise they’re really good. Almost minty.”

Kabru had an ultimatum. Keep a friendly, albeit flirty relationship with Laios to continue to truly see how his crazy-ass ticked, or get a disease and die. Truly, he was interested in Laios’ history and how it shaped him into the person he is now. Which is why he went out into the vast rural lands of Melini with him to indulge in Laios’ former rural lifestyle. Kabru knew how much he missed his homeland, and used this as an apt opportunity to become closer to him, while also being curious as to what this entailed. 

“I’ll try a leaf.” Kabru forcefully beamed, splaying his palm out so a Winauk leaf could be placed in that empty space. Laios beamed back, rushing up to grab a leaf for Kabru. In all honesty it was quite adorable how excited Laios became introducing Kabru to his former lifestyle. Oh well, it is what it is. If he truly did get sick, Falin could work her magic. 

-----

The next day, Kabru surprisingly didn’t become severely ill and die. Today he walked beside Laios in one of Melini’s many produce fairs. This was the norm for any rural type of area anywhere, and Laios was just geeked to see it. 

Many farmers had their best produce up for sale, beautiful vegetables, fruits, and even monster foods such as basilisk eggs and mimic claws to name a few. Kabru clutched Laios’ flushed arm harder once he saw a sign indicating harpy eggs were for sale, though.  

As they continued to walk through the colorfully vibrant fair, Laios saw something in particular that piqued his interest. 

“Kabru, look! I’d love for you to try these!” Kabru curiously picked his head up from his melting exorcism sorbet, dripping onto his fingers. He opted to just get rid of it as he was getting tired of the sorbet, chucking it in the nearest trash bin. 

By the time he turned around to what Laios was pointing at, his face scrunched and contorted in a way he thought he never could. But only Laios could make him do that.

WILD ANTS AND CRICKETS

No.

Dear goodness no.

This was nowhere near treasure bugs. Monsters had a sort of magical feel to them, a feel that separated them from regular, everyday insects that didn’t feed off of mana, but fed off of the disgusting dung and sediment of the earth.

Kabru’s resolve broke.

“I’m sorry Laios, but—”

Laios had the most joyous expression on his face, placing an order for two small bags of (thankfully) dead crickets and ants. He held them in his hands and beamed towards Kabru. “Falin and I would go out and eat these all the time! Personally my favorite is cheddar crickets, but these’ll do.” 

And just like that, Kabru realized something.

Laios would probably never have an opportunity like this again. He chose Kabru to come with him not only because he cared, but because deep in his heart he knew Kabru was the only person that’d willingly indulge in his fun activities. 

Kabru also didn’t want Laios’ fond memories of them together to be fabricated all for the sake of studying him. 

He genuinely enjoyed Laios’ company, no matter how crazy he was. 

He enjoyed walking barefoot in the tall grass while being surrounded by Winauk trees, he enjoyed how Laios would take him to secret vibrant strawberry patches, and especially enjoyed playing with village dogs together, running with the dogs in wide, open fields.

He obviously despised eating potentially diseased leaves and right now, didn’t even want to look at an insect.

But in a world where resurrection is common, he could die over and over for Laios and deem each of those deaths worth it. It wasn’t like he hasn’t died numerous times already. The only difference now is that he’d die a million times with purpose.

“I’ll eat both.” Kabru gave Laios a closed eyed grin. 

Kabru threw up the insects five minutes later.

[terriblyvexed]

hey hey! its one of your readers on ao3 i realized i can ask questions on tumblr so i am trying it out. this may be a controversial question as opinions vary greatly from person to person lool but i am curious being a fellow fan of aot and a fan of your work, so, what did you think about the ending to aot? 👀

(personally i subscribe to a specific fan theory (NOT ANR GOD FORBID i rebuke it!) to keep hope alive in my heart that theres more aot to come cause i did not like the ending much so basically, theres no judgement from me srsly im delulu myself as it stands 😭💯)

anyway thats all thank you for writing left behind and answering my question (potentially)! hope you have a great rest of your day :D

Yeah I know your nickname haha and you can ask or yap about anything!

Ahh yes the ending opinions where swords are drawn two minutes into the debate lol and it’s annoying that people can’t state their thoughts as freely because of the toxicity from every side. This is going to be long I’m sorry😭

I personally didn’t like the ending that much either. I don’t think it’s as bad as people make it out to be, I mean we’ve all seen GoT, but I know a story like AoT could’ve done a little bit better than that, so. It’s not that I wanted Eren to live happily ever after, because his death made the most sense even before I knew about it, but it’s the execution of the episode in general that makes it feel rushed for me.

Mikasa killing him is a beautifully tragic twist, I started bawling my eyes out right there, but I wish the cabin scene was done differently. For me it didn’t feel as raw and honest as the Eren-Armin convo, which I’m not the biggest fan of either, but I’ve always wanted more communication for Eremika so maybe that makes me bitter. Let me see them talk about the table scene and let me see Eren apologise to her. It’s their last moment together, I wanted to see more emotion and honesty rather than an already established relationship that they did off camera. I get what it’s trying to show, and the scene itself is not bad, but I was just a big EM shipper at the time and hoped for more. (I felt the same back when he told her he would wrap that scarf around her forever and always. It hit me just in the right place I remember wanting them to talk about it afterwards but nothing was said.) Same with the memories he gave back to his friends, I’d have liked to see them talk. Him opening his eyes one last time to see her was beautiful no comment there.

Other than that I also LOVED when Levi saluted his friends and comrades! Liked his internal monologue where he said he didn’t regret not bringing Erwin back (Which also made me wish we could’ve seen Armin coming up with impressive strategies and ideas like he used to.)

I liked how Hange was sent off, but I missed them in the final fight.

I really liked the rumbling montage with Guilty Hero playing and Armin’s VA pouring her heart out + that cry at the end when Armin sees Eren. The Levi&Mikasa team-up/final stand was amazing. Those were all done nicely, but that’s pretty much it for me.

For some reason I wasn’t vibing with Annie. I mean she was never my fav but her in season one and in her ova was so much more interesting to me.

I was left underwhelmed by the final fight considering we’ve had great battles like RTS and Liberio previously, it does not compare in my opinion. I understand that Eren won’t kill his friends and I definitely agree with that, but something else could’ve been done with Ymir to make the stakes higher. The ancient titans didn’t feel threatening when you just knew no one was going to die, especially when Falco (first time flying) could dodge all of their arrows.

When everyone there turned into titans, like Jean and Connie, I would’ve preferred if they stayed titans and died when the curse ended. Bringing them back a few minutes later is just meh for me, and makes the emotions I’ve felt a one time thing only because that Jean&Connie dialogue didn’t hit the same afterwards. Not to mention that Connie’s mom was brought back only for us to not see their reunion lol.

Ymir’s storyline was interesting when Eren saw her memories, but after that she lost me a bit. I also don’t like that that *chef’s kiss* scene with Eren telling her she’s just a person didn’t free her at all, that killing Zeke stopped the Rumbling, that Levi was nerfed for the sake of the fight. If all these decisions were done in a slightly expanded time period, I don’t think I would’ve minded much. Especially the final episode itself was, again, rushed in my opinion.

Also, this isn’t just the finale but Historia being sidelined like that is a no-no for me. Not a fan of how the Hizuru-Mikasa plot line didn’t go anywhere either. That may just be nitpicking, but again I do believe season 4 should’ve been longer, maybe with a season 5 as well.

With all that being said, these are just my personal opinions/feelings and despite all, thematically the author did a good job wrapping everything up. Ending a story like AoT couldn’t have been easy at all. Watching it was an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget or get over and I’m forever going to miss it. (I’m reading the manga now and the uprising arc has me hooked since it’s a bit different from the anime, and dare I say better?)

The ending didn’t ruin it for me or anything, just sad that I won’t get to see the things I wanted to see because naturally everyone has their own expectations, but what are fanfictions for?

What’s the fan theory that you believe? Other than that ANR I’ve heard about the mist and ouroboros but I’ve never read them in detail.

Thank you for reading Left Behind! I’d also like to state that my criticism of the AoT ending does not mean I’ll write one better lol. I like my ending for my story but I’ve already made peace with the fact that some readers might have problems with it. Which is fine as well because I love a good finale debate.

You have a great day/night as well!💓

[zweetpea]

Contracts or Biddability? Part 2 of 2

Cw: cringe, swears, innuendos. warning ⚠️ before you proceed there will be very foul language alluding to less than appropriate content! It’s only like a few lines of dialogue but I will mark them with ❌ around them if you want to skip. Liyue arc has concluded. Don’t know when the next chapter will be up but I can say it’s another interlude and it will have Xiao

“Excuse me? Mis… ter…? Ahem. Gen. Excuse me, Gen? You said you were looking for me. What is it that you would like to discuss.”

“Um, uh… I.” Shit! Don’t F this up. Don’t be a Wattpad Y/n girl. “Mr. Zhongli, I would like to be your friend and/or maybe go on a date with you.”

“Uh-um, thank you but I’m not looking for love at the moment.”

fu- “That’s fine. I’m fine with just being friends. Please just forget I asked. Welp, I’ll be leaving then!” You say embarrassed. Face hot, head empty. F this shit I’m out! I guess I can try again with Neuvillette. I never actually thought about what I’d do once I met Zhongli.

You walk out Liyue Harbor and down to the beach. You sit on down and take off your shoes and socks and just let the ocean flow over your feet. So cold but so nice. You think to yourself.

“Coco goat. Coco goat. Where are you?” You hear a faint voice call from behind you.

“Was that Qiqi?” You look behind and don’t see anyone. Until a little blue hat falls out of a bush.

“No. Qiqi’s hat.” She cries in soft dismay.

“Hey!” You call to her. She freezes. “Oh sorry. It’s okay I’m not mad.”

“Hello, adored one.” She says, grabbing her hat and moving closer to you.

“You know me?”

“Qiqi sees you in her dreams. Baizhu doesn’t believe Qiqi when she says that you are real.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Qiqi. If it’s easier for you to remember, you can call me Gen. But please try to remember that it’s with a G ‘Kay?” You shift to sit on your knees.

“You know about Qiqi’s memory problems?” She asks.

“Mhm. Let’s go back to Baizhu okay?”

“Okay. Mx. Adored Gen, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” You say as you put your socks and shoes back on.

“Why don’t people from your home like me? Why do you?” She looks down sadly 

“What?”

“In my dreams Qiqi hears you saying things like, I don’t get why people hate Qiqi. She’s adorable. And recently I heard you cheering and laughing about how you finally got her.” 

You did recently loose a 50/50 but you finally got Qiqi for the first time. “Sweetheart, look… they don’t mean it; and if they do then they don’t deserve you. You are an adorable, sweet, incredible person. It doesn’t matter what they say, because so many people love you. Baizhu, YaoYao, and me for example.”

“Okay. We can go back now.” She says as you pick her up and bring her back to Bubu Pharmacy.

“Listen, no one’s gonna hurt you while I’m here.” You console her as she rests in your arms.

“Baizhu! Qiqi told you that the adored one exists!” She shouts as you set her down and she runs into the Pharmacy.

“Qiqi. I’m so glad that you’re back, but what on earth are you talking about?”

“Hey! I’m Harry Styles!” You giggle. “Just a little joke, would’ve killed where I’m from. You can call me Gen with a G.” You extend your hand and Baizhu shakes it.

As he pulls his hand away he looks down at it the back at you. “You… really exist.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head with a smile.

“Come to the back with me. I’d like to talk in private.”

“Okay?” Well it’s not like I can die. I just hope that if this escalates it’s more like 50 shades and less like Dr Frankenstein.

“You too Qiqi.” Dang it! Cock blocked again?! I’ve gotten one kiss and it was from Dainsleif! He brings you into his office and you sit down on a couch. He closes the door and the windows and sits behind his desk.

“She’s been telling me for a while now about you.”

“Really?”

“Hm, she said that you’d descend from Celestia and you would have healing abilities far beyond what Teyvat has seen.”

“Well in all honesty that’s only because I met someone in celestia who gave me their powers. I’m just a normal human.”

“Well in any case I’m grateful for you looking out for Qiqi. Your kindness in her dreams has been an invaluable resource.”

“Of course!” You smile. Qiqi comes over and hugs you.

“Thank you, but Qiqi has to go tend to the reception.” She leaves, closing the door on her way out. 

“Now that she’s gone there’s something I wanted to talk to you about Dr.”

“Of course. Ask me anything that you’d like, I’ll help anyway I can to repay what you’ve done for Qiqi.”

“You don’t have to just because I helped Qiqi. You can say no if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“A beautiful person like you couldn’t make me uncomfortable.” He smiles.

❌

You smirk and walk over to straddle him. “Good because I’ve been having trouble for a while now. My ass is too tight. I need a smart, handsome doctor to stretch it out.”

He blushes.  “This is highly inappropriate… make it quick.”

❌

“Baizhu. I can’t feel my legs.”

“You were the one who asked me to do this.” He smirks. 

“Okay feeling is coming back. Thank goodness for my healing.”

He kisses your lips and you return with more passion and fire. “Come back anytime.”

“You shouldn’t be saying that as a doctor.” You tease. 

“You’re not one of my patients though.” He smirks back.

You got up and walked out of his office. You gave Qiqi a goodbye hug and left for the mountains to see what your new Geo Delusion can do.

“Okay so what can I do?” You hold up your hand with the delusion on it and a clay circlet appears in front of you. You take it in your hand and golden ring surrounds you. “Badass!” You say as you run towards the mountains and look for someone to fight.

Running through the mountains you were filled with a sense of wonder and excitement. ‘I haven’t seen a screen in what has to be a week or two, it feels strangely amazing. The grass feels soft and fresh under my skin.’

As you wander around, you hear something  whoosh and thunk behind you. You look behind you and see a treasure hoarder reloading his crossbow. He fires another one at you and you try to dodge but it just stops a few inches away from you. You raise the clay circlet in your hand and the gold ring around you shines brighter

“I can do this all day.” You hold out your delusion and shoot a slew jagged spall shoots towards him. Backup arrives and chases you away. “Okay no I can’t.”

You run as fast as you can trying to find somewhere to hide but they’re hot on your tail. Eventually they back you into a corner, you knocked to the ground by one of them holding an oar.

“Hehe, no where to run kid.”

‘What do I do? I don’t want to be kidnapped again. I am in Liyue, I wonder…’

“Xiao… please help me.” You whisper, while you squeeze your eyes shut.

 …Before you know it you hear a whoosh and the hoarders groans. You slowly open your eyes and see Xiao standing over you.

“Who are you? How do you know me?”

“I…” You felt so relieved that your body just fell back on the grass and you couldn’t move. You’re too tired from the events of the day and the absolute fear his presence left in you.

“HEY!! Get up!” You hear him say before you drift away from the conscious world.

[bluemantics]

A sharp clang sounded in the lions’ bay as Keith’s helmet hit the floor. The blue lion stood unmoving before him, her eyes dull.

Keith burned.

“Open up,” he ordered. Unlike that first time, when he’d tried to reach her in that lonely desert cave, Blue lowered her head and opened her metallic maw. Keith stepped forward into the cockpit, expression unwavering.

Over and over, that flash of light striking Blue repeated in his mind, like some sick personal horror show. Over and over, step by step. Finally, he reached the front, where a chair faced glowing blue controls.

“…hey,” a voice weakly greeted. Keith felt something in him snap.

“Hey?” he demanded, storming around the chair to face Lance. “Is that really how you choose to greet me after you almost fucking died, Lance?” Something in his heart tugged at the sight in front of him. Lance looked disheveled and exhausted, his eyes duller than normal.

“I did what I had to do for the team,” Lance replied quietly.

The blue lion, streaking in front of the cannon, protecting the castle ship. Lance’s “here we go,” followed by Hunk’s desperate cry. Then, silence.

“For the team,” Keith repeated lowly. Lance nodded.

“Fuck that. What about me?“ Keith demanded, one leg kneeling down in front of Lance’s chair to look him in the eye. “That— that was insane. Do you know what that shit would have done to me?”

Lance’s eye twitched. “Enlighten me, Kogane.”

“Fucking— I don’t know what I would have done.” Keith surprised himself with the raw honesty in his own voice, cheeks burning. “But it wouldn’t have been helping the team.”

“Elaborate,” Lance snapped, eyes zeroing on Keith’s.

“Lance, I don’t think I can do this whole save-the-universe gig if you die, because then I’d be the one destroying it.”

Silence hung between them. Keith, still knelt on one knee just below Lance, who’s lips were now parted in surprise.

“I’ll just—“

Before Keith could continue, Lance grabbed his face and leaned down to kiss him. Keith froze in surprise, but quickly joined his rhythm, eyes closing.

It was slow, deep, something different.

When they finally parted for air, Lance gasped, “Looks like you’ll be needing to stay alive too, then.”

Keith just huffed out a breath and pulled him down for another kiss.

[redahlia-writes]

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3  - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

[astarionfreak]

The lick of poison

// Astarion x Named Fem!Tav

The spores burst into Naenia’s face, clouded her vision, and without thinking — she breathed them in. The first thing she felt was fear. The next thing she felt was warmth. Desire.

She grabbed Astarion, covered his nose and mouth with her hand, and warned him not to breathe. It was too late for her, but maybe he could be spared.

She hadn’t recognized the mushroom by sight. But now she recognized it by sensation. A powerful, and often deadly aphrodisiac. She had a long night ahead of her. If she were to survive . . .

18+ • NSFW • 4.9K words (1/1) • Read on AO3 (or below)

Tags: Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Overstimulation, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Consent Issues

“Remind me why we had to return to this vile place?” Astarion gestured to the halls of the Arcane Tower with a flourish.

“Timmask Spores and Tongue of Madness. For Omeluum,” Naenia said. “I’m certain I saw some here. We won’t be long.”

“Mm. Right.” Astarion followed close behind her. “And why did you decide to drag me along and not the wizard?”

She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. “What? Maybe I just enjoy your company?”

Astarion scoffed. “There’s always an ulterior motive with you. Which, in all honesty, I respect.”

“No ulterior motive this time, Astarion. I just thought it would be more efficient with just the two of us.”

“A shame. And here I was hoping you were looking for an excuse to get me all to yourself,” he teased.

Naenia laughed softly and spun around to face him. “There are easier ways for me to get you alone, Astarion. Besides, if I wanted something from you I’d just ask.”

Astarion locked his eyes with hers and stepped forward, closing the gap between them. 

Naenia caught a glimpse of his fangs when he smiled. A perfectly composed smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Too perfect.

“Oh, but, darling, you do want something from me, don’t you?” Astarion stepped past her and Naenia’s body instinctively turned to continue facing him.

“What makes you think —”

He grabbed her hips and pushed her back, trapping her between his body and the cold wall.

“You can’t hide anything from me,” he purred. “Your heart gives you away. It’s always racing. In fact, it’s racing right now.”

Naenia stared up at him and licked her lips. “What could I possibly want from you?”

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her flesh. “Have you already forgotten, dear? I’ve been privy to your fantasies. I know exactly what you want.”

“And what exactly is that?”

Astarion trailed gentle kisses along her jawline and down to her neck. Naenia tilted her head to offer him more space.

He laughed, lips ghosting against her skin. “You want to be well, and truly taken.”

Naenia choked back a moan, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled his body closer to hers. “We really shouldn’t linger here. The others will worry.”

“Ah, I doubt it.” Astarion nipped at her neck and dragged his fangs across her skin. “If we’re too long they’ll just assume you’re on your knees for me.”

“Other way around, darling,” Naenia teased. “Surely they’d know that it’s you on your knees for me.” Naenia tried to roll her hips, but his grip kept her tight against the wall. 

Astarion leaned back to meet her eyes. “I can be versatile. If that’s what you want?” He released his grip on her hips and in one quick, fluid motion he undid her pants. 

Naenia smirked. “Oh, can you now?”

He nodded and gracefully dropped to his knees. He tugged her pants down ever so slightly, exposing her hips and some of her stomach.

This view of him was positively exquisite. Naenia bit down on her lower lip and watched as he pressed a soft kiss to her hip.

Her heart thrummed quickly against her chest. She knew he could hear it and wondered how it made him feel. He was right, her heart seemed to do that every time she looked at him lately.

She sighed and let her head fall back against the wall. She didn’t have time to bother with feelings. Not hers. Especially not his.

She could let him bring her to ecstasy time and time again, but it would only make things worse. She was falling for him, and that was completely unacceptable. Naenia had no room in her heart for love.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name and stared up at the ceiling.

He kissed his way across her body and to her other hip. He was starting to tug her pants down even further when she made the decision to stop him.

She grabbed his chin and tilted his head up to look at her. “As much as we’d both enjoy this, I do think we should focus on the task at hand.”

Weak. Bringing him here, alone, of all things was a mistake. He made her weak. What had she been thinking?

“Are you sure?” Astarion asked.

Naenia nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t mask the hurt in his eyes — but it almost didn’t look real. Before the hurt, she’d seen a flash of something else in his expression — frustration and then fear? Naenia wasn’t sure what that meant.

Astarion stood, tugging her pants back up as he did. “Very well. Another time, eh?” He buttoned her pants and then took a step back. “So, where are these mushrooms we need to find?”

Naenia took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “They should be somewhere over —”

Her eyes scanned the room until she found what she was looking for. “Yes. Right there.”

Naenia steadied herself before she leaned away from the wall and walked toward the mushrooms. She reached for the Tongue of Madness when something caught her eye.

It was a mushroom the likes of which she’d never seen before. Naenia was familiar with many species, but this one — this one she didn’t recognize.

“What’s wrong?” Astarion asked.

“Nothing. It’s just —”

It was the most beautiful mushroom she’d ever seen. Completely captivating.

Purple and violet danced across the skin. The edges of the cap were stamped with gold. The colors twisted and shimmered — almost like it was calling out to her.”

“It’s just what?” Astarion asked. He stood right behind her, but his voice was so distant.

Naenia knew she shouldn’t touch the mushroom, but she couldn’t help herself. She leaned in closer to get a better look. The colors continued to swirl.

She reached out towards the mushroom and as soon as her fingers graced the skin she knew she’d made a mistake.

It exploded.

Spores from the unfamiliar mushroom burst up into her face, clouded her vision, and without thinking — she breathed them in.

The first thing she felt was fear.

The next thing she felt was a rush of warmth as the spores infiltrated her lungs. Heat branched out through her body, followed by a pleasant buzzing.

She hadn’t recognized the mushroom by sight. But now she recognized it by sensation. She’d heard others call it Saranae’s Kiss. A powerful, and often deadly aphrodisiac.

Naenia spun on her heels, grabbed Astarion, and covered his mouth and nose with her hand. Maybe she was fast enough. Maybe he would be spared.

He curled his fingers around her wrist in protest and tried to pull her away, but she held steady.

“Don’t breathe,” Naenia hissed.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed.

Then she felt that familiar squirm in her head as their tadpoles formed a connection.

What about you?

“It’s too late for me,” Naenia said.

His concern was touching, if, a bit out of place. Her feelings for him ran deep, but she’d never admit that. And if he felt the same, he kept that to himself as well.

What was it?

She heard his question in her head but ignored it. Just another minute and the spores should settle and then —

Gods. Her skin burned. No, not just her skin, but everything just beneath it. That pleasant buzzing sensation had been replaced with more heat and the temperature was rapidly rising.

A fever was settling in. That shouldn’t happen this fast. She should have had more time.

But Astarion. He felt nice. Cold even. She leaned against him and got as close as she could with her hand still covering his mouth.

It wasn’t enough. Naenia stood on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead against his. She sighed and closed her eyes. His cold skin brought much-needed relief. She would kiss him if she didn’t have her hand firmly clasped against his mouth.

Ahem. Do you mind?

“Hm? What?” Naenia slowly opened her eyes.

I know I don’t need to breathe, but this is still unpleasant.

Too close. She was too close.

Naenia pulled away from him and looked around one final time to make sure the spores had dissipated. Once satisfied, she removed her hand from his face and took two steps back.

“Well? What was that?” Astarion asked.

Gods. He was just so beautiful, wasn’t he? She could admire him for hours. His angular features took her breath away, especially in the dim light of this tower.

Why had she told him to stop earlier? That was stupid. She imagined pushing him onto the floor and straddling him. She could use his body to chase her pleasure. Rutting against his thigh like a bitch in heat.

Was he still in her head? Could he hear all that? She tried to check, but her control over herself was weak. She couldn’t tell.

“Naenia. I asked you a question.”

Had he? Naenia couldn’t remember. She was too busy drifting into the memory of the night they’d shared. One night of life-changing sex. Now she wanted to beg him for more. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? He liked it when she begged.

“Naenia.” Her name was a warning. Astarion’s voice was sharp, pointed, angry.

Angry? Why was he angry? What had she done? She didn’t know. But she could make him happy. She knew how to do that. She was good at that.

Naenia brushed her hair to the side and tilted her head, exposing her neck to him. Surely he wouldn’t be angry if he was well-fed.

His eyes flitted to her neck, only momentarily before locking onto hers. She’d hoped for a bigger reaction.

“What’s happening to you?” he asked.

Oh. The mushroom. The spores. Poison. Oh, right. This was bad.

Her stomach lurched. For a second she was back in her body. Then she slipped back into her fantasies.

Naenia stepped closer to him. In a daze, she stroked his jawline with the back of her hand.

He snatched her wrist and pinned it to her side. That’s fine. She had two hands.

Her other hand tugged at the bottom of his shirt, loosening it so she could feel the cool skin hidden beneath the fabric.

That didn’t last long. Astarion grabbed that hand and pinned it to her side as well.

“Something is very, very wrong with you, darling,” Astarion said. “I need you to tell me what to do.” His voice remained even, low. She was used to flirting, a playful lilt. This was serious. The danger was real.

The fear in his eyes was enough to snap her out of the fog, at least for a moment. But escaping the fog came with a cost.

A sharp pain drove through her stomach. Ice cut through the fire that was burning her from the inside. Her body’s way of demanding she succumb to her desires.

“It’s the spores,” she said. “Do you feel any different?”

“Obviously it’s the spores. I’m not an idiot,” Astarion said. “I’m fine. Tell me what’s happening to you.”

Another wave of pain, this round nearly doubled her over. Astarion released her wrists and placed a hand on her hip and another on her shoulder to help her remain steady.

“I’ll get you to camp. Shadowheart, or Gale, they’ll be able to help.” There was a hint of disgust in his voice when he said Gale’s name.

Naenia shook her head. “No. There’s nothing they can do. What happens next — I don’t want them to see.”

“And what is it that happens next?” Astarion asked.

“The spores were toxic. An aphrodisiac. Incredibly rare. Fun at large parties in very small doses. Exploding in your face — well, I will spend the next few hours feverish, delusional, and insatiable. Orgasms will keep me alive.”

“I’m taking you to camp,” Astarion growled.

Desperation. Fear. Panic. “No. Please, Astarion. Please. I don’t want the others to see me like this. They’ll lose all respect for me.”

“That must be the delusions speaking, darling. We both know they lost all respect for you the night you came crawling to my bedroll.” Astarion started walking her toward the exit.

“Hilarious,” Naenia said. She didn’t have the energy for their usual banter. “Just tie me up here and leave me. I’ll get through this.”

“I’m not leaving you, Naenia. We’re going back to camp. Both of us,” Astarion said.

“Fine,” Naenia whimpered. Maybe it was the right decision.

She thought of her companions waiting at camp. Heat pooled between her legs. Yes, yes, camp was the right choice. Surely one of them would help bring her temperature down.

“Do you think Gale would fuck me?” Naenia asked, almost absentmindedly.

She was starting to drift again. Losing her mind to the desire burning under her skin.

“What?” Astarion growled.

“I know Lae’zel won’t. She would have, but she sees me as tainted after I let you have me. I’m certain Shadowheart is a good kisser, but I don’t think she’d fuck me. Not while I’m in this state. But, Gale. I might be able to convince him to fuck me. A pity fuck.”

“Is that what you want, Naenia? Do you want Gale to fuck you?” He sounded so angry again. Naenia liked that. Maybe he’d punish her.

“Would it make you jealous?” she asked.

“No.”

Naenia placed her hand on his chest and curled her fingers around the fabric of his shirt. “Then why did we stop walking?”

“I didn’t . . . We . . . Fine. We’ll stay here.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” she mumbled. Her vision started to swim. Her legs threatened to give out.

Astarion held her upright and shifted to look her directly in the eyes. She struggled to hold eye contact.

“Naenia. Stay with me. I need to know how bad this is going to get. You said orgasms will keep you alive. Will you need my help?”

Naenia tried to kiss him, but he leaned away from her. “Need. Want. Need. Want. Maybe, maybe not,” she mumbled incoherently.

Astarion sighed. “There was a bed. We’ll get you there.”

Then, her legs did give out. Astarion scooped her up with an amount of ease that surprised her. She threw her arms around his neck. “You would fuck me, right?”

“If that’s what you want.” Even through the fog, she could tell he didn’t sound like himself. It made her stomach hurt.

“Don’t want to die,” she whispered.

“You won’t die. I won’t let you,” Astarion said.

Then she blacked out.

***

Naenia came to her senses in a dusty bed, with one hand tied to the bedpost. She’d been stripped down to her underwear, which had been pushed halfway down her thighs. The hand that wasn’t tied to the bed was lying limp between her legs.

She had clearly been masturbating. Sweat clung to her body, her thighs were slick and sticky with desire.

Her limbs were heavy, her skin still burned. She had only vague memories of being dropped onto the bed, begging Astarion to tie her up — and then violent orgasms crashing over her. Pleasure and pain so tightly intertwined.

How long had it been since her last climax? Heat coiled up in her core like a snake prepared to strike. An unbearable tension.

Her fever was rising once again. She inhaled sharply and braced herself to continue. She found her clit with two fingers, but the moment she made contact she wretched and her body shuddered.

Oversensitive. Swollen. Wet. So fucking wet.

She managed a few slow, light circles around her clit, but it was too much. It hurt. Her hand was too hot. Her entire body was too hot.

Her underwear should come off. Yes. Yes, that would help. She began to squirm, trying to push her underwear off the rest of the way. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of Astarion.

How had she forgotten he was there? Just sitting in a chair just a few feet from the bed. Staring down at the floor. He should be so much closer. She needed him to be closer.

His fingers. Fuck. His fingers would feel so good against her clit, inside her. He was the solution.

“Astarion.” His name fell from her lips like a prayer. “I need your help.”

“What do you need?” Astarion asked. His voice low. On edge.

“I’m too hot. My underwear. I need them off. Please,” Naenia said with a whimper.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Something was wrong.

He shouldn’t be here. What had she been thinking? Asking him to watch over her like this? Selfish.

She pushed back against her desires and the shard of ice in her stomach lashed out, twisting, causing the most intense pain she’d ever felt in her life.

“Astarion. If this is —”

She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Her heart beat out of control. She inhaled sharply and then tried to speak again. “If this is too much. You can go.”

It felt like an eternity before he spoke.

Naenia’s body moved, part of her trying to adjust to the pain — the other part trying to lure her back into the haze.

“It gets worse when you fight it, doesn’t it?” Astarion asked.

Naenia nodded. She struggled to remain lucid.

“Sex would help, yes?” Astarion asked.

Yes. Her body was furious. She didn’t just need sex, her body demanded it.

The pain was too much. She couldn’t get the words out. She could only nod.

Astarion could ease the stress, soothe her fever, and save her life. But knowing his past, how could she ask that of him?

For the first time in a long time, she felt true fear. She needed to orgasm to keep the fever down, but she couldn’t do it herself. It was all too much. She would certainly die if he didn’t help her.

“Do you need me?” Astarion asked.

Yes, please, Gods, yes. I need you, Astarion. Please. I want you to. But only if you want to. Only if it won’t hurt you. But those words wouldn’t come. Instead, all she managed was a small whimper and a final nod.

Astarion stood and walked to the edge of the bed. A thrill ran up her spine at the image of him towering over her.

“Touch yourself for me, Naenia.”

She swallowed thickly and stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “I’m so hot. My underwear. Take them off me, please.”

“You know that’s not why you’re hot, darling. Do this for me, and then I’ll help you. Understand?” He crouched down beside the bed and positioned his face just inches from hers. She squirmed, unable to move closer to him with her wrist tied to the bed.

Naenia sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and began running small circles around her clit.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl,” Astarion purred.

It didn’t take much to bring her to the cusp of another orgasm. Her toes curled, her muscles tensed as she leaned over the edge — and then her fingers stopped moving. “I can’t,” she whimpered. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes. Yes, you can. Let go. Come for me,” Astarion demanded.

She ground her teeth, threw her head back, and circled her swollen clit again — harder this time.

Her ministrations pulled a soft sob from her throat. She whimpered and squirmed. “I can’t.”

Then Astarion captured her mouth in a kiss so sweet and soft it made her head spin. The feel of him sent electric sparks across her body. Enough to help her over the edge.

She moaned up into his mouth. Her back arched and her body shook as she found her release. “F-fuck. Gods. Fuck. It hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Astarion whispered against her mouth. “You’re doing so good.”

When the orgasm passed she noted how much cooler she felt. How much easier it was to think.

She sank into the bed, exhausted. “H-how long before I have to go again?”

“Not long. I do believe you’re through the worst of it though,” Astarion said.

She took a deep breath and turned to meet his eyes. “I can’t do it myself anymore, Astarion. Please help me.”

“I will. I just need to know you’re okay with this. That it isn’t the poison talking.”

“I’m okay. I trust you. Just take care of me, please.” Naenia felt her mind start to slip again. Whether or not that was the truth was irrelevant. She just hoped it was enough to convince him.

“Okay,” Astarion said.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He pulled her underwear off her body and dropped it to the floor. Then he crawled onto the bed, the old mattress groaned under his weight.

“Untie me?” Naenia asked.

He nodded and leaned across her to undo the fabric holding her wrist to the bed.

Naenia shifted on the bed, positioning herself directly underneath him. “Kiss me again, please? Like before?”

His lips found hers with saccharine reverence. Naenia wasn’t used to kisses that were so kind, gentle.

All the times she’d given into her most base desires had been rough, unforgiving — detached. She thought she preferred it that way. But this, this was nice.

Her body remained mostly limp, exhausted as they kissed. While the contact brought some relief, she could feel the heat twisting in her core again — demanding more.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name between kisses.

“I know. The fever’s returning,” he said.

She felt complete panic when he pulled away from her. He must have seen the panic in her eyes because he pressed his hands to her skin as he moved toward the foot of the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe,” he reassured her.

Naenia melted back into the mattress and closed her eyes. He dragged his hands along her sides, squeezed her hips, and then settled himself between her legs.

She watched with rapt attention as he placed one hand on her stomach to pin her to the bed.

“Ready, darling?” Astarion murmured. His other hand settled at the apex of her thighs.

Naenia nodded. Every time he lay his hands on her brought relief. She needed this.

He slid two fingers through her slick and entered her weeping cunt.

“Gods. Oh —”

Naenia panted, her chest heaving as the intrusion pulled a strangled moan from her throat. He was pure relief, but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s a good girl,” Astarion cooed.

As if sensing her need he slid a third finger in and curled them. He worked his fingers in and out of her in slow, thoughtful motions.

Her breaths came in ragged, hot bursts as she drew closer to another orgasm. Her clit throbbed and begged for attention. She used what little strength she had left, groaning as she found her clit with two fingers.

Astarion pulled out of her. Fear. She began to reach for his hand. He couldn’t stop. It would hurt if he stopped. “Please —”

“Hush, dear. Let me take care of you,” he murmured. He kissed her stomach before he settled further down on the mattress and nestled his face between her thighs.

“Oh —”

Naenia moaned and rolled her hips up against his face. He licked up through her slit, tongue teasing her entrance before moving up and settling on her clit. He found the perfect pace -- sucking and licking — pulling her right up to the edge.

Then his fingers entered her again. No warning this time. She cried out, back arching as bliss and agony danced over every inch of her worn-out body.

She carded her fingers through Astarion’s hair and felt him moan against her cunt. “I’m close,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

She ran her fingers through his hair again. This was normally when she would grab, pull, demand — but not this time. Now she just wanted to feel him. Her heart ached in an unfamiliar way.

Her orgasm claimed her. Unforgiving. Her expression twisted into one of agony, her body shook and trembled with desperate ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure and pain crashed over her.

Astarion continued his work with absolute devotion. He carried her through not one, not two, not three —

Naenia lost count after three orgasms. Tears welled in her eyes and burned as they rolled down her face. “Please —”

Please stop. Is what she wanted to say. But somewhere, the logical side of her knew he couldn’t. Her fever hadn’t broken. The more times he brought her to the edge and sent her crashing over the safer she would be.

Finally, when Naenia knew she could take no more — he stopped to look up at her. She met his eyes, dizzy and disoriented. His chin and lips were wet with her slick.

“One more, Naenia. I need you to come again for me.” He curled his fingers again.

“No,” she whimpered. “Please. No. I can’t. Please.”

He pushed his fingers deeper inside of her and continued his slow, agonizing rhythm.

“Yes. You can and you will,” he murmured.

Naenia shook her head, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

She tried to squirm away from him, but he kept her pressed against the mattress. She was too weak to fight him.

“Please. Please, no more. I can’t. I don’t want to —”

Pain flashed across his face. True pain. “I’m sorry,” Astarion murmured before his mouth found her clit again.

Naenia thought she’d experienced the most violent orgasm of her life earlier in the night. She was wrong.

This one shook her to her core. Blinded her. She came screaming his name, clenched around his fingers. Her body twitched and spasmed. Ecstasy and agony battled for superiority.

Then, for the second time that night, she blacked out.

***

This time, when Naenia came to she was still naked, sweaty — but she was being held tight in Astarion’s arms. His fingers traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

“Astarion.” She stumbled over his name. Her throat raw from screaming, body still so fucking weak. Her mind though, at least that was clear.

She turned her head and met his eyes. He was watching her with so much concern. It felt — strange. “I need water,” she rasped.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and slipped her out of his arms. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have found it odd that he was still fully clothed after everything.

He found his bag and dug out water for her. She had just enough energy to take it from him. She downed a few slow, careful sips and then handed it back. That’s when she noticed his erection straining against his pants.

“Ah, that. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he said. Astarion put the water down on the floor. “It should resolve itself soon.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. Naenia didn’t want to come again. But she wanted to feel him. Needed him inside her.

Astarion furrowed his brow. “Your fever is gone. Do you still —”

“I’m fine,” Naenia whispered. “I’m me. I just want to feel you.”

She watched with quiet approval as he removed his pants and underwear, freeing his cock. His shirt stayed on as he crawled over her.

He pressed a kiss to her stomach, her chest, and the top of her breast before nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“Are you sure?” Astarion whispered into her ear.

Naenia nodded. “I want to. Do you want to?”

“Yes.” Astarion ghosted kisses across her neck as his hips settled over hers.

“Astarion?” she whispered his name shyly. So unlike her.

“Yes?” He kissed her jaw and then pressed himself up to meet her eyes.

“Will you kiss me? Like you did before.” She trembled with anticipation, heart racing. Only calming when his lips met hers. He captivated her with practiced kisses so calm, and sweet.

“Fuck me, Astarion,” she pleaded.

He obliged. His cock entered her slowly, stretching her out in the most delicious way.

Astarion moaned into her mouth as he set a slow, languid pace. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes. Yes. It’s perfect,” she hummed.

She placed her hands on either side of his face, cradling him as gently as he had held her before.

Naenia didn’t do gentle sex. So, that on its own was a strange sensation. But even stranger than that was getting fucked and not chasing her own release.

She couldn’t come again, even if she wanted to. All she could do was feel him, inside her, on top of her — and breathe him in.

It almost made the agony worth it. She wondered if she’d ever experience anything like this again.

Astarion nipped at her lower lip and pressed a final kiss to her lips. “Naenia. I’m close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” she whispered, letting her hands fall away from his face.

The pace quickened, and then his hips stuttered. Astarion pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Almost instinctively she wrapped her arms around him, holding him so close as he found his release inside her.

He groaned against her hot skin. She loosely ran her fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. There was that unfamiliar ache again in her chest. She didn’t like that feeling, but she liked this.

Slow movements. He pulled out and collapsed on his side next to her. Naenia turned her head to study him.

Naenia often found people easy to read, but not him. Astarion kept so much hidden behind that mask of his. It rarely broke, and when it did, she could only catch glimpses of truths she couldn’t quite understand.

What Naenia said next. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Is this what people in love feel like all the time?”

Astarion studied her face. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Me neither.”

[knowledgeabletrash]

I have so many feelings about the first Hunt and it’s aftermath from 2x08 & 09! Apologies for the word-vomit below this.

I never thought it would happen, but dare I say, Travis has become one of my favorite characters this season.

As an older sibling, I was right there with Travis these last two episodes. His guilt and grief in Storyteller hit very close to home for me and I just.

Right after the crash, everyone looked to Travis to take care of Javi, even when he was still trying to process the fact that he had just watched his father fall out of a fucking plane. He dug up his father’s rotting corpse in order to get a ring to help Javi grieve and remember their dad. He spent months walking 7 miles in every direction every day looking for Javi. And after all that, Javi still died. Not only did Travis lose his father, but now he’s lost his brother for the SECOND TIME. To make it worse, Javi was safe, he wasn’t picked! But then Travis decided to protect Natalie, and from the looks of it, he was ready to take her place; he threw himself in front of the door behind her and stood with a knife at his throat (for the second time oh my god these girls). I missed it before, but Travis looked to Javi and whispered his name after the Hunt went after Nat, he asked Javi to protect Natalie when he couldn’t. And doesn’t that make it so much worse? Up until then, Javi had been running away from the violence. Travis asked him to step up and take care of Natalie, someone they both grew to love. Javi became just like his big brother, and he died for it.

Side note: Travis is a better man than me because if that was my sister trust and believe I’d have done more than send them on a guilt trip, even if I was starving!! Not to soft quote Queen Ramonda here but HAS HE NOT GIVEN EVERYTHING?! His dad died while helping the girls put on their oxygen masks during the crash, Javi died so that the rest of them wouldn’t starve. His whole family died saving the Yellowjackets! Ben didn’t eat Jackie OR Javi and he’s still alive and kicking and burning down cabins, our girls SICK AND TWISTED (said with love). Even in the Donner Party, they made sure they ate in separate groups so that families would not have to eat each other or watch as their loved ones were eaten.

Anyway, I’ve seen a lot of people harping on Travis for telling Van that they should all be ashamed of what they did, and god it makes me so upset. Y’all can excuse hunting your friends and cannibalism but not a grieving teenage boy lashing out after the murder of his little brother??!! Like, the first thing Travis did when he saw his brother’s body was try to untie his hands because he’s not an animal he’s just a kid, and then cradled him like a baby, only to have his body taken from him moments later to be dismembered and butchered.

As the youngest of the survivors, Javi was someone who, by normal conventions, should have been protected by the rest of the group. Of course Travis needs them to be ashamed of what they did, he blames himself for Javi’s death just as much as he does then, if not more!! Travis was supposed to protect him and he failed him!!

I understand that Travis is not a fan favorite by a long shot and Van is one of the most popular characters in the show, which might be skewing the perception of this scene a bit, but I think the people who are dunking on Travis here are missing the point a little? Yes, Van gave him some brutal honesty and was well within her rights to do so. However!! Travis also gets to be pissed at the Yellowjackets. The fact is: they absolutely SHOULD be ashamed, but they’re not. They fully COULD HAVE saved Javi, but they didn’t. Javi was not the one who drew the card, but he died anyway. Why was Javi’s life worth less than Lottie’s, who might have died on her own? Because they liked her more? Because he was more expendable? No matter how much you justify it, Javi did not NEED to die. None of it was fair. That’s the point, that’s the tragedy of it all!

Lottie Matthews really dropped the thesis of the show: “Is there a difference?”

It doesn’t matter if there was some supernatural entity out there who “chose” Javi to die, it would have happened anyway. It’s much easier to stand by and watch a boy drown than to do the killing yourself. They were starving, he was there. Even if the Wilderness chose, the Yellowjackets chose, too.

Circling back a bit, I also want to talk about the difference between the two instances of cannibalism on this show: how they’re similar and different.

When Shauna and Travis discover their loved ones bodies (both frozen might I add), they assume very similar positions, kneeling by their heads and touching their faces. Both of their death’s were caused by the collective inaction of the rest of the group. The person who takes the first bite was the person who loved them most, thus giving permission to the others to eat and spurring on the feeding frenzy.

Jackie was an accident, Javi was on purpose. When Shauna found Jackie, she screamed and was in denial, trying to shake her awake. Travis was almost completely silent, only whispering “I’m sorry” and cradling Javi’s head in his lap. They held onto Jackie’s frozen corpse for months so Shauna could grieve her, but they took Javi away from Travis after what couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. They ate Jackie whole like vultures, but they butchered Javi like an animal. The process of eating Jackie took a long time, almost three months from her death to consumption. Hell, she was slow roasted. With Javi though, “it all happened so fast” he was dead, cleaned, and eaten all within a few hours.

Shauna ate Jackie’s ear first. Jackie was driven into the cold by Shauna’s words. Travis ate Javi’s heart first. Javi went after Natalie because Travis loved her and because he loved Travis.

I’ve seen people say that the progression to the Hunt was too sudden and a result of bad writing but I’m going to have to disagree! Just from the parallels between Jackie and Javi’s deaths alone you can tell these writers know their shit. The Hunt has been teased since Doomcoming back in S1, the bloodthirsty side to the Yellowjackets has long been set up (Not!Tai eating Jackie’s face, Misty pushing Crystal, Shauna beating up Lottie). All season, we have seen various characters talking about eating another person multiple times (Misty and Crystal with the bone broth, Gen and Melissa about Crystal’s body, Mari and Misty both threatening Coach Ben), so they’ve had cannibalism on the brain for a while before they decided to Hunt. I’d go so far as to say the first signs of the Hunt were back in 1x01 with the girls icing out Allie for the greater good so they could win nationals. Them shunning Jackie solidified that the Yellowjackets were more than comfortable singling out and dehumanising one of their own, so long as the rest of the group deemed it necessary.

Cannibalism also is probably one of those things that gets easier the more you do it? Like they definitely would have Hunted and eaten Travis during Doomcoming if they had already taken the first step into cannibalism before then. Once they ate Jackie, all bets were off. The Wilderness “refusing” to let Lottie die was just a convenient excuse, they were hurdling headfirst into hunting their friends for sport looooong before then.

All this to say the Season 2 finale destroyed me and these are only Some of my thoughts about it. I’m not even TOUCHING the Natalie stuff yet.

[upslapmeal]

Rogue

Hey did you know this episode is going to be a bit Bridgerton? Not sure if the trailers ever mentioned it

gotta love an ep that starts with a bit of murder

just realised this is only the second non-RTD ep

I guess a shorter series means fewer eps for other writers :/

Fifteen and Ruby looking excellent!

‘try not to get engaged’ yeah you’d know about that wouldn’t you Doc. don't go giving anyone cocoa

‘does not-a-lord have a name?’ getting the Ken accent out

lmao they’re even doing the Bridgeton thing of playing covers of pop songs

surely going to send the Doctor Who Is A TV Show theorists wild

as well as Susan Twist being ‘just an actor playing several roles’

(RTD you absolute liar)

I haven't really been following the theory other than being vaguely aware of its existence but can you imagine if 'it's the only actor we could get' ended up as the in-universe explanation for her

‘you travel in a shed? why isn’t it cloaked’ get rekt

getting sad Captain Jack vibes

‘my name’s bond. molecular bond’

‘was that a wee smile from the most serious man in history?’ och aye

all the doctors!!!

shalka doctor???

‘come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination’ Ncuti said he wanted to be Wonka or the Doctor!!

Fifteen: we've both lost everyone we've loved. hot.

Doctor bit of advice. your sad comments about losing everyone are slightly undercut by going :DD that's my best friend!! when asked about the person you're with lol

('I lost everyone. everyone I travelled with. ok the last one I just kinda told to go away because I was changing my face but yeah)

you know given that the jukebox is literally the only bit of furniture Fifteen has it would be nice if it was used like……ever

‘we can’t kill it so we’ll send it to a random barren dimension to die a slow isolated death!’ good old Doctor logic

‘tv signals beam out across the stars’ ok I genuinely have only come across the tv theory in passing but 👀

it is…interesting that they’ve gone for a kinda Bridgerton-style casting after last week’s ep…

if the chuldur had been wearing the duchess longer I’d have imagined it was engineered to look like Bridgerton but that’s not the case

Cameca in the distance like oh no not again

‘start wars with anyone who doesn’t look British!’ tbh I think they were managing that without the chuldur

oh no… Emily is going to be one of them isn’t she

that explains her just explaining social rules to Ruby earlier instead of being surprised she was even asking! that struck me as odd but I thought it was just the writing being a bit clunky

RUBY NO!!!

oh Doctor :( jinxed when you made that promise to keep her safe

‘your…birdiness’

wait wait oh no

ruby’s going to be pretending isn’t she

it’s why she’s the only one who still looks human

it'll have been interference from the earrings or something

yesss it was the earrings!

oh Ruby so willing to go :(

Doctor now is not the time for smooching!!!

well. that was a simpler fix than I expected

Fifteen: I’m fine!!!! ((((:

gotta love a big ol' hug

Fun! Silly! What other tv show could have serious thread villains with bird faces talking about cosplaying the world to death. Excellent. (In honesty not as good as the last few eps but enjoyably ridiculous with a decent dollop of heart)

[ceo-of-kimona]

So- I wanna take a second to just talk about Kim for a bit. She’s pretty nifty right? A top notch blorpo.

Probably her most famous feature is her consistent aesthetic which I can only describe as “fuck you I hate you die die die”

But of course- like many of the other Scott Pilgrim characters, this “cool” aspect to her is an extremely thin facade to so many issues.

Now while it would be extremely fun to talk about those issues in detail, I want to keep focus on this “misanthropic punk girl” front that she puts up and how it relates to who she is inside. This sarcastic, snappy mask is probably what’s responsible for her being one of the more “cool” characters in the comics, as at first it is extremely convincing.

By seething at everyone and everything around her (especially Scott, our POV character) she’s able to keep her friends, and by extension the audience away from the truth of who she really is. That being: a scared lonely girl who can barely get over anyone or anything in her life and is constantly getting herself stuck in ruts. She isolates by pushing away those who even come barely within her orbit.

But, what I am here to posit is the question of what lies beneath that? More specifically, what is Kim Pine like when her angry walls are broken down and the broken girl inside is healed? Who is Kim Pine beyond the misanthropic mask and the trauma? Who is she when she’s just okay?

My answer to this is simple: a huge fucking dork.

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Kim’s entire personality we see is a mask; that would be ridiculous. While I do think a lot of her aggression towards other people is just her way of isolating without needing to be accountable for it, she is still Kim. She has a sharp tongue and sarcastic remarks ready on command. Her wit is unrivaled. She can destroy anyone’s self esteem in seconds with just a few remarks. But when she’s open and close with someone (perhaps a certain Ramona flowers) she’s completely disarmed and thus barely has any “cool factor” left. Come on, she’s literally in a band named after a Mario enemy. Of course she’s at least a little bit nerdy.

This is a big thing: Kim’s mask provided most of the “cool factor” that she had. This is a running theme within the comic; many of the “cool” parts of these characters range from thin facades to unhealthy coping mechanisms. Scott dates a high schooler and generally puts on a cool guy rockstar facade to hide his feelings of inadequacy and loneliness, Ramona has a facade of being a cool girl who’s always running away so she’s always “new in town” when really she’s slowly being sealed within her own mind by her own self hatred, Knives dates Scott in order to deal with her dissatisfaction for her normal everyday life and adopts the ninja persona in order to compensate for her obsession with Scott, Wallace sleeps with a bunch of guys to fight his ongoing crush on Scott, and Kim puts on a “I don’t even like other people so it’s fine that they run away from me” facade in order to make her abandonment issues and loneliness look cool.

I’d like to propose that when she needs to leave this prickliness to be with someone she loves, she doesn’t really have much “cool” left underneath. She rambles, she nerds out, she awkwardly stumbles over her words when having a conversation more in depth than snarky remarks and disappointed sighs. In short, she’s just a dweeb like the rest of the cast. And we know that Ramona loves dweebs.

All of this healing and pure emotional honesty: it’s something Kim has never had to preform in her entire life. Ramona is quite possibly the only person in Toronto to ever see the real Kim Pine: the nerdy, affectionate, caring, and sweet girl that she truly is. She’s the only one that was able to not see her as this girl-rage monster and look into her soul, and within her soul she only saw beauty. Most people who’ve loved her have only been with her whilest seeing the angry facade thus their love was doomed to be surface level. The closest anyone has ever gotten to breaking through was Scott, and he was too dumb and way too much of a high schooler to even get close to letting the light in.

But Ramona not only saw her ferocity and loved it for what it was, but also was able to see deeper into her and that only made her love Kim even more.

And perhaps, Kim had done the same for Ramona.