#Judge Ferris

[moonkit60633]

Boat

A local ferry is in love with the train that zooms by for 3 seconds everyday, more at 7

[laniidaye]

This is so embarrassing but I'm trying to live by the "you can do whatever you want forever" philosophy and I can never get to that point if I never do. Embarrassing stuff... So my trainersona and the love of my life on the Ferris wheel. Just so u know.

[iwanttobepersephone]

Remembering how when I first read that Halt is Ferris' brother, I literally said outloud "Mcscuse me what" during language arts class

[aliceoseman]

Why was the ferris wheel scene so significantly changed form the comic?

I loved the scene in the show because it deepend Toris character which we havent seen in the show so far, but the scene in the comic ia one of my favorite scenes from the whole of heartstopper, so i was a little disapointed when the point of it was compleately different

I've been asked this a lot! I felt that to include that moment in the ferris wheel scene would feel extremely rushed and out-of-nowhere given that there'd been no build up to that realisation for her at all in the show. We can get away with that kind of storytelling in the comics because the comics are so short/condensed in comparison and very Nick and Charlie focused - moments with the other characters have to be brief and to-the-point. But in the show the secondary characters need more complex journeys with proper build up, or they feel flat.

Tori being ace is so important to me that it's essential that I do her journey justice, so I decided to save it for season 4 (if we get a fourth season). In which case, we'd be able to reach that point for her with an understanding of how she has come to that conclusion, and what she's been through to get there. A big part of that, in my opinion, is seeing a little more of what her relationship with Michael is like - another thing we simply didn't have enough room for in season 3. Honestly, I personally felt I would rather risk it and wait for S4 and do it properly, rather than rush/half-ass it by tacking it on to the end of S3.

I also felt that Tori's journey throughout season 3 was primarily focused on her relationship with Charlie. I wanted that scene to exist as a conclusion to that element of the story, and not to distract from that - because Tori and Charlie's sibling relationship is also extremely important to me and important to the story (and origin of the story!).

I think what I would say is: that scene can definitely still exist in a new form at a later point in the story, where it will make more sense, feel more realistic, and have a greater emotional impact. I expect I'll draw from the original comic scene heavily, dialogue-wise, if/when I get there in the show.

Saying all that - I totally understand that people were disappointed and I don't blame/judge anyone for that!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

The Keys Of Heaven [Chapter 2: To Judge The Living And The Dead]

Series summary: Three years ago, Father Aemond Targaryen performed a miracle. Now he is a cardinal, a media sensation, and a frontrunner to be elected pope. You are a nun who has been brought to Vatican City to assist with the papal conclave. But when your paths cross by happenstance, you must both reckon with your decision to join the Catholic Church…and what you want from the future.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to abuse and violence, volcanoes, bodily injury, death, peril, scheming, pining, some drugs/alcohol/smoking, Catholic trivia you never asked to learn, kangaroos!

Word count: 5.7k

🦘 A very special thanks to my Aussie slang consultant @bearwithegg and also her mum (any mistakes are mine) 🦘

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @lauraneedstochill @ecstaticactus @neithriddle, more in comments! 🥰

🗝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🗝️

Here is the story of Saint Agatha of Sicily.

Born in the time of the Roman Empire, when Christians were still being burned alive and fed to lions in the Colosseum, Agatha rejected the suitors she attracted as a beautiful daughter of a wealthy family. Instead, she pledged herself to Christ: a life of simplicity and service, a vow of chastity. No man could sway Agatha from her chosen path, not even the Roman governor Quintianus, who aspired to take the fifteen-year-old maiden as his wife. So Quintianus endeavored to change her mind.

First, Quintianus threatened Agatha with torture and death. When that proved ineffective, he had her put to work in a brothel. Yet after a full month of violations, Agatha was no closer to surrendering; on the contrary, her faith only seemed to grow stronger. She prayed to the Lord for courage; she proclaimed that to be His servant was the greatest possible freedom.

Quintianus was running out of ideas. He imprisoned Agatha and ordered his torturers to devise new and terrifying forms of punishment. Bloody and mutilated, Agatha was thrown back into her cell without food or medical attention, but the Lord did not abandon her: Saint Peter, Christ’s apostle and the first pope of the Church, appeared to comfort Agatha and miraculously healed her wounds.

Four days later when the torture resumed, Agatha knew that her short time on earth was ending. She prayed aloud: Lord, my Creator, you have always protected me from the cradle. You have taken me from the love of the world and given me patience to suffer. Now receive my soul. She died in prison in the year 251.

Long venerated as a martyr and a saint in her native Sicily, Agatha was officially canonized by Pope Gregory I in the 590s. Her feast day is celebrated on February 5th. She is invoked against a myriad of horrors; among them are volcanic eruptions.

~~~~~~~~~~

“But you don’t really believe that, do you?” he says on the beach at dusk. Your parents keep telling you it’s time to go back to the hotel, and you ask for five more minutes which turn into ten which turn into twenty. You are showing Aemond your rosary, red glass beads, a sterling silver chain; he is sitting behind you, his arms reaching around so he can study the artefact with his own fingertips, his chin resting on your shoulder. When the wind blows, his blonde hair tickles your cheek and your throat; when you shiver because the sun is vanishing, he pulls you in closer. “That there was some magical guy who could heal people and walk on water and then came back from the dead? I mean, Mother’s a Catholic, and she’s always trying to get us to ride the ferry over to Rhodes for Sunday Mass. But even when I go, I can’t take it seriously.”

“I guess I don’t care if it’s true,” you decide. “I just like how it makes me feel. I like being protected, I like how simple everything is. Be kind, be humble, help others, that’s it. And I think all the different saints are neat. There’s always someone to pray to, no matter what problem I have.”

Aemond snorts. “They only added them to get the pagans to convert.”

“What are pagans?”

“People who worshipped trees and rocks and stuff. Like the Vikings.”

He thinks I’m stupid, you think, and you’re already sensitive about this; Aemond is older, taller, more clever, more sophisticated, more strong. You don’t want him to think you’re some naïve kid who does whatever your parents tell you to. You really don’t; they find your conviction just as baffling, far beyond their middle-class, tangentially-Catholic expectations: a weekly appearance at Mass with a frilly dress and tidy hair, Mum having a yarn with the neighborhood wives afterwards, sometimes Sunday roast, back to real life by bedtime.

“But, you know, maybe you’re onto something,” Aemond says, backtracking. “If it makes you happy, that’s what matters. Maybe I’ll give it another shot. Next time Mother drags me to Rhodes I’ll try to listen a little bit instead of reading a Stephen King novel the whole time.”

“Do you think I’m a drongo?” you ask timidly.

He laughs. “A what?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, I don’t,” Aemond promises. “I think you care about something. And that takes courage.”

He’s still inspecting your rosary, running the smooth red beads through his fingers. “Do you want it? I’m getting a new one for Christmas. I already found it in my parents’ closet.”

“Sure,” he says, perhaps just to be polite. But when he takes the rosary in his own hands, he’s smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We should have a pond like this at home,” Rhaena says as she helps you cast palmfuls of pellets that smell like the ocean—fish and brine shrimp and spirulina—into clear rippling water. Because the temperature is around 12 degrees Celsius, the koi are only somewhat active, skimming around the algae-covered stones at the bottom and nibbling halfheartedly at the food pellets.

Home. Here is what she means: a convent on the quiet northside of Sydney, Mass each morning, prayers before bed each night, sprawling fruit and vegetable gardens, a colony of stray cats you’ve adopted, offices where you take prayer requests and calls from desperate people in need of help, a shelter the sisters operate for survivors of domestic violence and human trafficking, cooking meals together, singing songs, lighting candles, playing games, watching rugby and cricket on a massive tube tv from the 90s, book clubs, knitting circles, hosting visitors from other convents, always decorating for the next holiday. This is why you became a nun. As a child, you were never as close with your sisters as you wanted to be—your interests were too divergent, your temperaments mismatched—and then as they dissolved away into their boyfriends and their unis, you felt like the house was suddenly so empty. But to be a nun is to have a perpetual sisterhood, and they love the Faith as much as you do.

You tell Rhaena: “Let’s talk to Mother Maureen about a koi pond. Maybe we can get funds and pay our guests in the shelter to help us build it.”

“Just like we did with the gardens.”

“Righto.”

“I’m kind of obsessed with these habits, too,” Rhaena says, spinning around in her loose white wool. The Sisters of Charity of Australia have been wearing modest yet casual clothes since the 1980s. You each have a white habit or two stowed away for formal occasions...but here in the Vatican, expectations are very traditional.

You chuckle and shake your head. “Yeah nah, I’m not helping you with that. I miss my Levi’s.” You point at the koi pond. “Check the corners, make sure I haven’t killed another one.”

Rhaena darts around the perimeter, peeking through bushes of red chrysanthemums. “I’ve been praying all morning. I’m so worried about Sister Augustina.”

“Why? She’s the person who needs your prayers the least. She’s with our Lord and Savior. She is at peace, she is home.”

Rhaena looks at you grimly. “Is she?”

You burst out laughing. “It takes more than getting a bit aggro to be damned to Hell.” You don’t believe Hell exists at all, but you keep this to yourself. Rhaena is rather dogmatic. Nonetheless she smiles to herself, reassured.

You glance around the Vatican Gardens, knowing exactly who you’re looking for; but you don’t see Aemond. There are other cardinals walking the tuff pebble pathways, red planets revolving around the ancient gravity of this place—first Neolithic settlements ten thousand years ago, then kings and a republic and back to kings again, and finally the Church rose up from the ashes of the empire to grow like dauntless ivy into the hearts of over one billion souls—some contemplative and alone, others entangled in weighty discussions. Cardinal Seaborn is rushing around frenetically, his scarlet cassock blowing in the wind. Cardinal Bogdi Marcu, he of the prehistoric age himself, is clinging to Sister Nuru’s arm as she patiently accompanies him through the gardens.

You spot Lucky talking to Cardinal Gideon Saati of South Sudan, a large but soft-spoken man who is ideologically moderate and therefore a possible consensus candidate if neither the conservatives or liberals can win the vote; and this makes him dangerous to Aemond. Cardinal Saati is nodding and dabbing at his eyes with a white handkerchief, Lucky has a hand resting gently on his shoulder. They are rarities here, and they understand each other. They both know the pain of having a homeland that is no longer a country: no functioning government, no reliable infrastructure, inescapable violence, war zones where faith feels so powerless.

Rhaena says: “Do you think we’ll be back home by Christmas?”

“Oh, sure thing. No conclave in the past two hundred years has taken more than a few days.”

“Beautiful. We can’t miss the singing and presents. I know how much you love Christmas music.”

“One conclave in the 1830s took a month and a half.”

“Nah, yeah?!”

“Deadset, mate.”

“Wow.” Rhaena blinks. “I wouldn’t trust this lot to not resort to bloodshed by then.”

Now you see them strolling towards the koi pond, disrupting sand-colored tuff pebbles with each step: Aemond, Lando, and Kazi, who is puffing on a square-shaped vape, white and red, the colors of the Polish flag. You realize that you’re smiling as Aemond approaches, then force yourself not to. You’re supposed to be somber; you’re supposed to be sad. Still, you cannot look away from him. You gaze at the destruction on the left half of his face—ropes of scar tissue, the frayed ruins of his eyelids stitched together to close the emptied socket—and you wonder what that must have been like, waking up in his hospital bed half-blind and with clamoring journalists filling up the lobby downstairs, bouquets of flowers arriving from Alpha TV, Mega Channel, the Hellenic Broadcasting Corporation, CNN, BBC, Deutsche Welle.

“Dead nun, dead pope.” Kazi sucks on his vape bleakly. “Inauspicious.”

Lando is pained and crosses himself. “Kazi, please.” Then he turns to you and Rhaena. “Sisters, I am so very sorry for your loss. Sister Augustina is with God now, let that serve as some consolation. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

You bow your head. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“We didn’t really know her that well,” Rhaena says.

“Will they have a funeral here?” Aemond asks you, like he’s trying to find an excuse to make conversation. Rhaena is gawking at him, wonderstruck; Aemond gives her a polite smile.

You answer: “No, Sister Penny told us she’s being sent back to Germany. I guess there’s a cemetery near her hometown she wished to be buried in. A plot beside a child’s.”

Lando and Kazi nod and murmur sympathetically, an acknowledgement of the life Sister Augustina had before she took her vows, forever shrouded in mystery, only shadows glimpsed through the veil; Aemond peers into the koi pond, his expression distant and troubled.

Lucky arrives, trudging across the volcanic pebbles that clatter under his red leather shoes. “Saati says he doesn’t want it.”

Kazi rolls his eyes. “Every cardinal says they don’t want it. And yet when the time comes, he’s out on that balcony waving to the crowds.”

“I think he’s sincere,” Lucky says, lighting a cigar and drawing in a mouthful of smoke. “He’s telling his supporters to look elsewhere.”

“To Aemo?” Kazi asks hopefully.

Lucky hesitates. “Saati is impressed that Jake lost four fingers in the service of our Lord.”

Kazi waves at Aemond. “He lost an eye!”

Lucky chuckles in a deep, gruff rumble. “Becoming pope is not a contest of misfortune, my friend. Otherwise more of them would be Haitians.”

Cam comes jogging over; being in his mid-forties, his knees are still good. He announces excitedly: “We have Micallef and Barraza!” Here’s who he means: Cardinal Xandru Micallef of Malta and Cardinal Juan Barraza of El Salvador, both pilfered from the dwindling pool of moderates.

Lucky exhales smoke. “I thought we already had Barraza. He’s on the Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development with me and Aemo.”

“He told me he was considering Saati.”

“Saati doesn’t want it.”

Cam is confused. “Doesn’t everyone say that?”

“Okay, so who’s going to talk to Jake and figure out if he’s willing to steer his votes our way?” Kazi says between vape hits, and then, when Lucky raises his eyebrows at him: “It can’t be me. He hates me.”

The others groan. “What did you do?” Aemond asks, grinning.

Kazi is reluctant to share. “It was nothing.” He vapes as the others stare at him, waiting. “I asked if he was going to get a robot hand like Darth Vader.”

“Jake is very committed to his mission in Iran,” Lando muses softly. “I have a hard time believing he’d want to leave it.”

“Yeah, he does a lot of orphanage stuff, right?” Kazi says. “Lando, you should talk to him.”

“I’ll try,” Lando agrees, then looks to you and Rhaena. “Sisters, once again, I am so sorry for your loss and I will be praying for you and Sister Augustina.” He starts down the pathway and soon vanishes behind a row of tall laurel hedges.

Now Cam is relaying gossip he’s heard about the conservative faction: cardinals shifting from do Carmo to Jahoda, anxiety surrounding Aemond’s growing support. Your gaze catches on Aemond again, and you can’t look away. He keeps stealing glimpses of you too. Surely he could have had a plastic surgeon do a scar revision to make it less noticeable, and open the wound so he could insert a prosthetic eye; but of course Aemond would not want that. No one can see him without remembering what he did on Nea Kameni. He wears the proof of his miracle on his face.

You notice that Lucky is watching you as he smokes his cigar, his dark eyes kind yet intrigued, and then they rove to Aemond. You avert your attention elsewhere. On one of the narrow paved roads that wind through Vatican City, you see a white Fiat Panda zoom by on the other side of the foliage, employees running some errand.

“If I have a heart attack or choke on a fish bone or something, wait for the ambulance, don’t put me in one of those,” Kazi says. “They’re fire traps.”

“We’ll just throw you down the nearest manhole,” Cam assures him.

“Cardinal Targaryen!” a voice booms—ostensibly friendly, undeniably threatening—and it is Cardinal Jahoda, passing by with his ever-present companions Cardinal Auclair and Cardinal Ferrari. Across the gardens, red-swathed men stand up straighter and observe intently. “You enjoy the company of women so much, perhaps you have chosen the wrong vocation.”

Aemond smirks tauntingly. “Well, the celibacy requirement might soon be done away with, as you know. One of so few ways in which Cardinal Auclair has proven himself a progressive.”

Auclair scoffs. “Are there even any Catholics in Greece?”

“There are more than there were three years ago.”

“Cardinal Nowak,” Jahoda says to Kazi. “You are a Slav. Poland still lives under the gloom of Russia’s shadow. It disappoints me more than I could ever express, seeing you standing here with men who wish to usher in disorder, degeneracy, alliances with despots.”

Kazi sighs. “Brothers, not everything is communism.”

“Ah, you are too young. You do not remember what it was like.”

Auclair’s cold blue eyes skate over Cam and Lucky. “Mongolia. Haiti. Who would wish to follow the examples of your countries?”

Lucky explodes: “Why don’t you atone for what France did to my people?!”

“The prime minister acknowledged that the independence debt was an injustice—”

“And where is the apology? Where are the reparations?!”

“Still begging for money two hundred years later,” Auclair sneers. “Still sniffing for scraps like dogs. Perhaps it is time to look inwards and interrogate your own behavior. It is not a shortage of funds that ails Haiti, but a deficit of morals.”

Lucky drops his cigar and lunges for Auclair, but his friends stop him: Kazi and Cam fill the space between them, Aemond throws an arm across Lucky’s shoulders and whispers something to him as Cardinal Jahoda and his companions continue on through the gardens. Auclair looks back once and gives you a critical, probing glare. Kazi trots after Cardinal Ferrari making race car noises: vroom vroom vroom.

Cam mutters as he cleans his eyeglasses: “Mongolia is on the rise. It’s a capitalist democracy.”

“They’re not white, so it doesn’t count,” Lucky says, collecting himself. Then he checks his watch, a small face with a simple leather band. “The next general congregation is beginning soon.” He starts to leave with Kazi and Cam in tow, but not Aemond. Lucky turns around. “Aemo?”

“I’ll catch up to you,” Aemond replies. Lucky nods; but now when he looks at you, his interest has turned to trepidation.

Aemond shouldn’t be talking to me, you think, you know. But perhaps he is willing to risk it. Perhaps he believes he is invincible.

Now the two of you are alone except for Rhaena, who is gaping at Aemond as if still trying to convince herself he’s real and not a celebrity entrapped in a photograph, a screen, a myth.

“You must be very busy with your responsibilities here, Sister Rhaena,” Aemond says.

“Oh yeah, it’s hard yakka.” Then she realizes he’s waiting for her to leave. “Have a good one!” she calls over her shoulder as she hurries away, doubtlessly in great anticipation of all the stories you’ll tell her later. But you won’t share everything.

“Should we walk?” Aemond asks, his hands behind his back, his large gold cross gleaming on its chain, a whisper of a smile on his lips. Of course you should; you follow him, the tuff pebbles crunching under your shoes. And when he speaks to you now, he is not stony like he is sometimes around the other cardinals, or barbed or coiled or sharp. He is that boy from the beach again. He listens, he cares. “Are you really alright?”

“Yeah. I only knew Sister Augustina for a week. It was a shock to find her like that, and now Sister Penny is under the pump trying to take over for her, but we’ll manage.”

Aemond is studying the marble statues you pass as you wander together: Saint Rita, the patron saint of impossible causes and suffering women, Saint Catherine who freed herself from the breaking wheel, Saint Lawrence who was roasted alive. Fountains trickle and evergreen shrubs rock in the brisk December breeze: boxwood, rosemary, myrtle, oleander, holly with vivid blood drops of berries. Aemond stops when he finds a statue of Saint Agatha and gestures to a nearby stone bench. Once you sit down, he joins you.

“It’s your saint,” Aemond says. He reaches into one of the pockets of his cassock and produces a lighter and a pack of Karelia cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

“No wukkas. Half the nuns in my convent smoke.”

Aemond smiles to himself as he lights his cigarette. “No wukkas,” he echoes, amused.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course.”

“What led you to the Church?” you say. “Now that all the memories are coming back, I recall you being...skeptical.” That’s a gentle word for it. You imagine him: a boy, sullen and convinced he is too smart for religion, dragged to the cathedral by his Mother, flipping through a copy of Cujo or The Shining or Pet Sematary.

“Once I opened my mind to Catholicism, I found it sort of inspiring. The Church sponsored Michelangelo and da Vinci, founded the first universities in Europe, shaped the political landscape of the world. And for people without other routes to safety and status, it provided that. I never really felt seen by my parents. The Church gave me a new family.”

He didn’t say he loves the Faith. Saint Agatha gazes impassively down at you, her arms crossed protectively over her own chest, so young, so vulnerable. “Do you ever regret becoming a priest?”

Aemond shrugs, like he’s wrestled with the question so many times it no longer interests him. “The more conversations you have, the more confessions you hear...the more you realize that everyone regrets things. Mothers regret their children. Childless women regret adoptions and abortions. Married people regret the cage that vows begin to feel like after the novelty has worn off, single people regret their loneliness, the poor regret not selling their souls and the rich regret not defying greed to become artists or musicians or actors. There is no escape from regret. You must learn to feel at home in whatever cage you’ve built around yourself.”

You smooth the white wool of your habit so you have something to preoccupy your hands with. “I wasn’t entirely truthful about my reasons for being here.”

Aemond furrows his brow. “You’re assisting with the conclave.”

“Yes and no.”

He takes a drag and tilts his head to the side as he waits for you to continue. He does this a lot when you’re alone with him, always curious, always silently working things out, and you are struck by an abrupt and violent attachment to him—every gesture, every word, the blue of his eye, a lungful of smoke—and you think nonsensically: What if we had never left that beach?

You admit: “I’ve been having doubts.”

“About the Church?”

“About being a nun.”

Aemond is watching you, an intense sort of focus, like the Second Coming and the resurrection of the dead are over and you’re the last two people on earth. “You’re thinking of leaving?”

“I’ve heard this is the hardest time,” you say, smiling a little ruefully. “When you’re young like Rhaena, everything is new and exciting, and you’re so relieved to have all the answers to life’s questions that you don’t really feel the opportunity costs. And then when you’re in your fifties or sixties, you’re settled down and complacent, and you’re not interested in abandoning your work and the friendships you’ve made. But I’m thirty-eight...and that’s kind of my last chance to start over, isn’t it? At least when it comes to...certain things.”

Aemond is trying to understand, but he seems bewildered, maybe even alarmed. His cigarette has burned down to ashes, but he hasn’t noticed yet; when it singes his fingers, he flicks the end of it away. “Do you feel called to be a mother?”

“Not exactly, I just...I feel...” You pause to decide how to explain it. “I have this sense that there is something else out there for me. Someone else, I guess. And it wasn’t like this for a lot of years. I thought I was at peace with never being married. I used to see couples or families walking around and not feel anything but joy for them. But now there’s...there’s yearning, I think.” Then you chuckle nervously. “And I don’t just mean the physical aspect. That’s part of it, of course. But what I’m really missing is the...the emotional closeness, the bond that’s shared between romantic partners. All the sudden there’s an absence I wasn’t aware of before. And the only time I’ve ever experienced a pull like this was when I knew I wanted to be a nun, so I’m not sure what to do with it.”

Now Aemond’s hands are knitted together, tense and rigid, as if he is trying to resist wringing them. There is pink in his cheeks, a faint gory bloom, a rare disclosure of his mortality. He’s made of blood, not stone, not light, not predestination. “I suppose there is always some...temptation in the unknown.”

“Oh no, I’m not...” Again, you laugh. “I didn’t take my vows until my twenties. I had jobs, I took classes at the TAFE, I’ve dated, I’ve been to clubs, I’ve downed more pornstar martinis than I could possibly count. I’m not innocent.”

He seems relieved and relaxes a bit. “Then we had a similar path.”

“Because I wanted to...you know...I wanted to be sure I was alright with giving up that part of my life. I liked those blokes, and we had fun together, but I never felt it was something I couldn’t live without.” You stop for a moment; your next sentence comes out in a rush. “And then I had a bad experience with a boyfriend, and after that I was positive I could give it up, so.”

“A bad experience?” Aemond waits for you to elaborate. You don’t. His eye flicks from your face to your medallion, to the nearby statue of Saint Agatha, back to your face. He isn’t just searching. There’s a low, arcane wrath like chambers of magma scorching beneath the earth.

“Anyway, back in Sydney I confided in Mother Maureen about how I was feeling, and when the Holy Father passed she suggested I come to the Vatican. She said that if being here at the heart of the Church during such a joyous time—seeing the rituals, meeting the cardinals, witnessing the inauguration of the next pope—didn’t renew my commitment to my vows, then I would know it was the right decision to leave.”

Aemond is still distracted. “And has God spoken to you?”

“Oh, He’s saying something. But I’m not sure what yet.”

There is the sound of harried footsteps on the pebbles, and Sister Penny sprints into view. Strands of frizzy red hair have escaped from her veil; her pale freckled face is flushed. “Sister!” she cries, gasping for air. You leap up off the bench and rush to her.

“Sister Penny?”

“Where on earth did Sister Augustina keep the laundry detergent? I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it, and I have a million other things to do, and I’m going absolutely mad—”

“I know where it is,” you say. “It’s in one of the cabinets in the kitchenette. I know, it’s odd, I’m not sure why she put it there. Here, I’ll help you.”

“And Cardinal Kelly lost his room key, so I gave him my copy but he forgot to return it and I don’t know where the spares are—”

“Shh. She’ll be right, mate.” You’re rubbing her shoulder. Sister Penny is in her fifties, very kind, very sensitive, not a particularly gifted administrator. But she has the most seniority after Sister Augustina, and so she has inherited her responsibilities whether she likes it or not.

You return with Sister Penny to the Domus Sanctae Marthae, but first you peer back at Aemond and give him a wave, subtle enough that Sister Penny will not notice. You aren’t supposed to be friends with a cardinal; that’s like a mouse befriending a lion. Aemond, now standing, waves back. But on his scarred face is something you rarely see from him, a doubt that is bone-deep and powerless.

Soon you’re sweeping through the cardinals’ rooms with Rhaena, tidying things up, making beds, wiping down bathrooms, beard hairs clogging the sinks and stray piss drops on the floor. But Aemond’s room is immaculate. You send Rhaena into the bathroom to see if he needs more shampoo or conditioner or toothpaste, and in the few seconds she’s gone you lean down over Aemond’s bed and breathe him in: smoke and cologne, vanilla and amber and cinnamon, and salt too, like something made him sweat through his clothes.

The stomach is an elastic organ—the more you eat, the more it wants—and lust is the same way, so you try not to feed it. On the rare occasions you find yourself too...distracted, that is easily remedied: a detachable showerhead, a hand slipped under the elastic waistband of your pajama pants. But now it all comes pouring back in, fifteen chaste years’ worth of longing, perhaps a lifetime’s worth, and you try not to imagine his hands covering you: a white veil gliding over your hair, sand on wet skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s night, and you are in Saint Peter’s Basilica, closed to the public until the conclave has concluded. You are here because the acoustics are good: you can hear the crowds out in the square singing The First Noel as they hold their candles and their handmade signs—God bless the Holy Father, Miracles are real, Pro-life and proud, Cardinal Targaryen for Pope—and you close your eyes as you listen. You love Christmas music, and without phones or radios, this is the only way you can get it.

The vaulted stucco ceiling is plated with gold. The floor is made of white marble and sand-colored travertine and crimson porphyry, red like lust or wrath or pride. Here is a fountain held up by cherubs, there is a basin taken from Emperor Hadrian’s tomb, there is monument to Pope Alexander VII adorned with the personified virtues of Truth and Love. And everywhere are depictions of keys; Saint Peter is the keeper of the keys of heaven, given to him by Christ. The leadership of the Church changes hands again and again, but the mission lives on, eternal, divine, pure despite the complexities and failures of mankind.

Occasionally, you hear the shuffling footsteps of cardinals as they pace the echoing corridors seeking God’s guidance. Cardinal Marcu, stooped and shaky, stopped to have a yarn with you perhaps half an hour ago; he seemed to be under the impression that Barack Obama is still the president of the United States. You are grateful that cardinals aged eighty and older are not permitted to vote in the conclave.

Your eyes are still closed when someone brushes up against you, a hand grazing across your hip, too light a touch to be intentional. You instinctively gasp and flinch away.

Aemond steps back, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says uncertainly.

You laugh when you see it’s him, pressing a palm to your pounding heart. “No, I’m sorry, I just startle really easily.”

He’s still bewildered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I thought I barely—”

“No, really, it’s alright. I just...when people touch me and I can’t see it coming, it just freaks me out. But I’m fine now.”

His eye travels down to your medallion—Saint Agatha carved into plain, unprecious iron—and then he turns fierce. He moves towards you, drops his voice, demands as he stands so close his smoke and cologne seeps into your lungs: “Who was he?”

“It doesn’t matter, Aemond.”

“It does. What was his name?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know.”

“So you can have him murdered?” you mock, and Aemond sighs and rubs his scarred forehead. “You aren’t asking for honorable reasons.”

He shakes his head and stares at the wall, centuries-old marble and gold, hot blood in his face, rage pulsing in his carotids and his jugulars.

Your voice is calm, because this is a truth you’ve lived with for fifteen years; it’s a part of your mental scenery, something you know happened but not something you feel anymore, aside from primeval muscle memories that never seem to die. “It wasn’t something I could have proved in court. He said if I told anyone, he would kill me. And then he got pulled over for drunk driving, and when they searched the car they found unregistered guns, and while he was in jail I packed my things and moved down to Sydney and showed up on the doorstep of the convent. And everything was okay after that.”

“He should have suffered,” Aemond seethes.

“I moved on. I had to. And that saved me, having a life that was mine. That I chose, that I had always wanted. The Lord tells us: Refrain from anger, abandon wrath. Do not be provoked, it brings only harm. And that’s true.”

“But what if you didn’t join the Church for the right reasons? What if it was just an escape for you, or some sort of trauma response—?”

“Why did you join the Church, Aemond?” you say. “So a billion people would love you?” He turns away, exasperated, but he doesn’t object. “You don’t get to question my motivations. Not when I have felt called to the Faith since I was a child.”

He breathes deeply, touches his palm to the gold cross that hangs from his neck, and looks at you again. “If I was the pope, I would help people. Lucky knows that. They all know that.”

“But that’s not why you want it.”

Several long hushed moments slip by like sand through your fingers. From outside, you can hear the crowds are now singing O Come, All Ye Faithful. Aemond says softly: “I shouldn’t have left you.”

He can’t mean that. It’s preposterous. “What, when you were twelve?”

He doesn’t respond.

Now your words are gentle. “I’m alright, Aemond. Really. You just caught me by surprise, I’m fine now. I’m not afraid of you or anything. Here, look.”

You reach out and take his hand, and instantly you know it was a mistake. There is a blazing light that fills your skull, a burning martyr, a revelation: you can feel him pulling you in and the heat of his face beneath your fingerprints, soft lips, rough scar, his palms circling your waist, your white veil falling away as he pulls the pins from your hair, the thirty-three buttons of his cassock unfastened and then—

But before any of this can happen, you jolt away from each other, Aemond clasping his hands behind his back and you clinging to your iron medallion. On it are engraved Saint Agatha’s words to God: I am your sheep, make me worthy to overcome the devil. And from across the space between you, a few footsteps that might as well be twenty-nine years, you and Aemond gaze at each other with terror, with wonder.

You don’t feel too old to start over.

You feel like your life is just beginning.

[venmondiese]

BELATED ANNIVERSARY

-ˋˏ| summary: With war going on, Tom forgets about your aniversary, and tries to make it better... in the same day. ✧ | Pairing: Tom Bennett x reader ✧ | word count: 6.3k ✧ | Warnings: 40's mindset, mentions of war..., just fluff and comfort.

✧ | note: this was supposed to be uploaded for valentines... but i didn't finished on time and then things happened, BUT here it is. two months late. Special thanks to the people who gave me suggestions in this post! thanks to @yoursweetheartsrevenge @ladylokianna @slytherincursebreaker love ya!

“What’s that dress all about?”

Vera was a tiny bundle of joy, no doubt, squirmy and she’d let some squeals from time to time. Lois would knit clothes and things from her. Tom still danced around the subject, he didn’t judge Lois and he loved his niece, so he never asked unnecessary questions… yet. 

“We’re going to meet Harry on tomorrow, so you don’t need to babysit” Lois says, as she sits Vera by Tom’s side -he can’t still believe he named her daughter after the fucking canary- “It’s a special day for you, innit?”

“What, it’s my birthday?” Tom asks playfully, smirking as Vera babbles.

Lois looks at him with a raised eyebrow, as she takes out the washed diapers, and she starts folding Vera’s clothes.

“No, it’s your anniversary” Lois says as if amused that he had no idea what day tomorrow was “What, you ain’t taking your darlin’ out?”

“Are you joking?”

Lois was in fact, not joking. His anniversary was, in fact, tomorrow and he had nothing prepared.

He had to have his shit together in less than one day. He tried to get reservations in fancy restaurants to no avail, since everything was full in advance. He tried to get the house alone for you and him, but his father looked at him unimpressed as he could not simply spend all day somewhere else. Fine, let’s have his dad in too. 

He could get a reservation for the new ferris wheel that had been making a fuss in town. It had been from ages now, he supposed that with the war, it was not a priority. He could get one ticket, since he knew you wanted to try it and he thanked God, as much as he wasn’t the most religious bloke, but sometimes he had to thank the Big man. 

And, since Lois was busy with Vera, he took upon the role of cooking sometimes, and he knew how to make spaghetti with meatballs. Nothing fancy, but he could make it work. (And besides he had to make the dish for three, but hopefully he can convince his old man to eat in his room)

Next thing on his list was having his formal attire as clean as possible, so he had someone wash it and iron it for him. Formal attire? His uniform was better anyway, since he was discharged a few weeks ago. He could wash it and look even more formal.

He had the bad habit, at least before the war, to knock on the window of your room, asking to be let in by you. 

“Doll” It’s his voice as he knocks on the window, hoping you’d open up.

It was always a sight to his eyes to see you in your nightgown, ready to get on bed. It was a sight not everyone could get of you.

You appear into his view, with a raised eyebrow and your arms crossed. You open the window, not really welcoming with a kiss and a hug as he is used to. 

“You forgot about our anniversary” it’s the first thing you say to him. He sighs, a lazy smile on his lips as he thinks how to win you over again. 

“How could you think that?” He says, trying to hold your hips, but you weren’t budging. “Look, I might have not remembered, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything planned.” 

“It is tomorrow and you just appear now”

“I’ll make it up to you” he promises, leaning to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Will you let me do so?”

Even if you seem reluctant, you nod softly after giving it some thought. You didn’t seem quite confident in his promise, but it was better than being left like a fool. 

He sits on the bed, and shamelessly pats his lap so you can take a seat in there. “Forgive me, doll. How foolish of me, to forget about my darling” he says, caressing your face. “I have a little something prepared, but after lunch, it is.”

“Where are we going, then?”

“That’s the thing with surprises, they are a secret”

“I want to know what to wear” you tell him with a raised eyebrow. “I intend to look pretty”

“Why don’t you model for me, hm?” He asks with a smirk. 

“Do not be crass” You say smiling “I have a few new dresses.”

“And do you have a few kisses to spare for this poor man?”

You roll your eyes amused yet you press a kiss on his lips, which he delights himself in accepting eagerly, kissing your lips and holding your waist to keep you close to him. 

“You only need to look pretty for me, which you always do” He says pressing kisses against your lips, and he separates and adds “And wear something that will drive me crazy”

“You have to ask for my mum’s permission to take me out, you know?” 

“Of course I do know that” he says smirking “And I’ll do so, and then we’ll have a wonderful day together.”

He sees your sweet face, and feels bad to have forgotten such a day, trying to make it up with kisses, and hopefully, a great day tomorrow. 

“You came just to invite me?”

“Mmmm, no. I came to see your face, to have you in my arms… to hear your precious voice…”  

“You are…” you say, rolling your eyes. “You do know that my family is in the next rooms, right?”

“I won’t wake your ma or pa, love”

“You better not, because there is no chance they’ll allow me to be with you if they know you sneak here”

“Why? I am a charmin’ lad, innit?” he says cheekily, making you smile.

“You do have a reputation, love” you remind him. “And I wouldn’t like to stop being your girl”

That has him smiling genuinely, his heart fluttering at your sweet words.

“I don’t want that either” he says softly, kissing your cheek. “I’ll better get going, then. There is a day full o’surprises tomorrow”

“Till tomorrow then…” you whisper, following him to the window.

He turns back to press a gentle kiss on your lips, his tall frame over yours. “Until tomorrow, doll. Just you and me.”

Once he got home, he tried to leave everything ready, but he slept awfully the night before. He was so anxious that you'd kill him. You were the type to resent when people forgot about your birthday, not in an envious jealous way, but in a sad-puppy-face way. And since it was your anniversary?

Even when Vera cried first thing in the morning, which usually woke him up, he was already awake, putting on his suit, and trying to look spotless, and not get too much brylcreem on his hair. He needed to smoke so badly, but he was afraid he would stink to cigarettes when going to your house, and give a bad impression to your mother.

Great heavens, your mother. What will she say when he asks for permission to take you out for Anniversary on the same day? He was so screwed. He always asked with anticipation, much more because he knew you parents valued it. 

He had known your mother a handful of times, was very protective of you and your siblings, and she was not easily impressed. It was as if nothing he ever did was good enough, and that… was an odd feeling. He was always polite, trying to use his best posh accent with her, even offering himself to say grace before eating, but she never seemed quite pleased with him. 

And in honesty, he could see it. You were too good for him, and he always tried his best. He made you laugh, he was a gentleman, he never did something you would despise. 

He knocked rhythmically three times, sighing as he nervously held the flowers. His hair was practically stiff from using too much brylcreem, and his perfume was a bit too much. He could swear he had stung his fingers with the thorn of the roses and he didn’t smoke a single cigarette all morning to avoid smelling bad. 

“Mr. Bennett.” Your mother greets him, and he nods. She opens the main door, and she steps back to allow him to enter. 

“Good morning, Mrs….” He says softly, and he sees you in the back.

He wanted to hold you tightly, kissing your cheeks and calling you his girl… if you were alone, that was.  

“Are those for me?” You ask, moved, with a soft smile turning in your face.

“Eh… no, these are for your mother…” he says a bit awkwardly, and stiffed up before handling the roses to your mother in a chivalry gesture. 

Your mother raises an eyebrow, and takes them, to inspect them. “Put these in water” She says simply, a silent way to tell you to go away. 

You put them in a vase in the kitchen, and you quickly walk to the stairs to see what they are talking about. Your sister, Lydia, was already peeking from there. 

“What are they saying?” you ask her softly, curious to see what they are talking about. You saw your Tom, so self aware and stiff as he tried to make a good impression and take that wayward reputation of his go away. 

“He wanted to ask something important” your sister says softly.

You open your mouth, and say “You think he wants to marry me?” 

“I think he is just a bloody fool who forgot your anniversary” your sister says softly. “He is all shy trying to make it better, it’s too late, it’s past midday”

“Hey, language” you say softly, but it was half true, by the way he nodded when your mother scolded him about asking permission hours before taking you out. “He didn’t forget, he just… he has a lot going on..”

“Yeah, right”

You got ready as fast as a girl could. Pick a nice dress, and your sister did your hair as you applied makeup and lipstick to your face. If you were taking long, whatever, he could wait, after all, he had forgotten partially about it. 

You were distressed about it, yes. Tom and you had been together for a while,. He was your darling and you were his, and an anniversary is quite important for every couple, and everytime you thought he would tell you his plans for it, he never did.

You were a bit shy when your friends reminded you of it, when you had to pray that Tom would invite you to do something exciting soon. You could invite him, but you weren't sure if he would like that. 

Tom had a plan; he had more than one trick under his sleeve. Knowing people in town had its perks when he was this desperate. 

“Look at ya” he says, as you get down stairs with a smile, and your mum waits by his side. “You look absolutely gorgeous love” 

You get by his side, squinting your eyes at him. He knew it would be hard to win your forgiveness, but he was willing to do it. 

“You behave well” your mother says to you, before you two leave the house.

“I’ll bring her before sunset, ma’am” he says, his composure still a bit rigid.

Tom was glad you didn’t scold him in front of your mother, but you waited when you two were alone.

“You really forgot about it?! You said you.. you had things planned” You say as you two walked in the street. 

“I know I fucked up, alright? I should've asked ya to be my valentine.”  he says in self defense.

“you should have! why didn’t you?” 

“Because… I forgot, love, between the bloody war and…” he says, as he stops on his tracks to look at you, he is truly remorseful “It's just been a right mad time lately, y’know…, what with everything going on and all…”  

You look at him, your expression is sympathetic as you knew the war had taken a toll on him. He didn’t speak about it, but you could see it sometimes. He just came different, even if he was the same charming and cheeky man, there was simply something that was different. 

“Give me another chance, yeah? Let me make it up to you.” He says with a huge grin, as he takes your hand to playfully pull you closer to him.

“Mmm, fine, aye, but I am not an easy lass, Tom Bennett. You have to win me” you say looking at him, and you can see his cheeky smirk slowly appearing on his face, yet relief accompanies his expression.

“You ain’t gonna regret it” 

Taking the bus was particularly anticlimactic for an anniversary, but Tom made it all fun. He let you sit by the window, and he started to point and say all kinds of things about the people in the streets, the cats, the dogs, the houses. 

He leans closer to you, whispering all kinds of silly comments, about how a man was ridiculously wearing a jacket made too big for him, a woman wearing something from the past century, and on and on. He tries to make you laugh, and from time to time, he leans to kiss your cheek sweetly.

“And where’s our stop?” You ask him softly. 

“Aye, doll, that’s the secret, innit? I have tons of things planned” he says smugly, as he looks so different with his sailor suit, but he is, after all, still Tommy. 

You really liked that he was still him. You have heard of men after the Great War, coming back different. Surely, they were the same person, they lived in the same houses, had the same families and jobs. Yet there was something off about them, their lives changed, and it was as if there was not a coming back to before.

And you were terrified for Tom. You cried when saying goodbye to him, you begged him not to, all to no avail. He soothed you, but pulled away to take the train and leave for Liverpool, before going on a ship to be part of the War. 

“Mhm” you say, not impressed as you raise an eyebrow with the curves of your mouth turning up in a smile as he leans to leave a little peck on your cheek. 

“come on, doll, trust in this good ol’ sailor” 

He loved when you played hard to get, he had to be honest. He liked the challenge of changing your mind, it was refreshing. And there was always a different way of doing it. 

“Why are you wearing your uniform?” You ask him, as you walk by the center of Manchester. 

“It gets me benefits” he whispers in your ear with a smirk. “In the pubs, I get free drinks”

“Aye, and lasses throwing themselves into your lap” you say stubbornly. 

He chuckles, looking at you as he takes your hand to kiss it gently, almost in a reverent way. “I ain’t have lasses throwing themselves at me” Tom says cheekily “Only one, and she is with me now” 

You roll your eyes, even when your lips curl into a smirk at his comments. He was such a cheeky flirt, and he knew it very well. 

“Look, they are doing a puppeteer show” you say softly to him, which he nods. 

Perfect. He thinks.

“Why don’t ya stay here and watch it while I go to get ya something, eh?”

“Let’s go together” you say softly, looking at him. “I don’t even like it that much…”

“No, no, no, no, doll. I’m spoilin’ ya and makin’ it up to ya, no need to get ya ‘ead in a tizz about it. I’ll just pop out in the front street and come back before ya can even miss me. I’ll buy some things we need for later”

He was playing with fire, he knew it damn well.  He crosses the street, walking towards an Italian store where he knew they sold pretty good pasta to make at home. It took him a few minutes and all, but he finally got the ingredients left. 

With the package in a bag, he walks hurriedly back to you. Leaving you alone was already rude as it sounds, and he certainly doesn’t want to leave you alone, or make it seem as if he was uninterested in you. Lost in his hurried walk, he almost stumbles across a small flower stand. It was perfect for you, you loved roses and plants. 

 He can see you, on the other side of the street getting impatient. He left you watching some puppeteer show as if you were a bloody child, and he knew you’d berate him for it. 

“Hi. What kind of flowers are the prettiest?” He asks the owner of the flower stand, a bit hurried up with this because he wants to take you to the next place quickly, and not to make you too mad thanks to the wait. 

“Ehhhh…” the man says, glazing over at the many flowers he has on display. “All of ‘em are pretty”

“Aye, but I want a proper lush bouquet”

“With what colours?”

“With reet nice colours, bright n’all that, y’know, red, white or blue…” 

“The normal one costs around… 20, and it could be wrapped with ribbons and such…”

“I’ll take that one” he says, taking the money out and giving it quickly, hoping it will be quick.

Tom couldn’t be more exasperated, as the time he was taking in settling a nice bouquet together was awfully long. It was just flowers, and all combinations were nice and pretty. 

“no need for it to be fancy…” he says as he sees the old man picking some flowers almost too carefully to set them together. 

“Yeah, no worries” 

Tom looked at you, arms crossed and annoyed. You were going to kill him. He saw how the man took his time, picking small flowers, and taking some leaves out of the bouquet. 

“Can be quick?”

“Certainly, sir” the man says. “Would you like a small letter to go with it?”

“Aye, sure…” he says absent mindedly, and he frowns slightly when the paper and pen are given to him. “I thought it came with an already written message…”

“It is better to admit your true feelings…”  

Tom sighs, he was losing time over this and it was causing him a headache. 

The paper wasn't that big, it was almost like those business cards, and he tried to be as delicate as possible as he leaned to write on it. As he writes it, he tries to think about his feelings, being concise yet thoughtful. 

After a few moments, he tuckles the card and places it in the bouquet, carefully between the roses. The bouquet was perfect, and he could hopefully earn your forgiveness. He would hate to see your disappointed face all the date, instead of a happy and carefree expression.

“Thank you, this is perfect” he says softly, even if it took the seller an awful long time, but whatever, it was at least nice. 

He feels as if time got wasted and his chances of making it right to you were going awfully wrong. He spent so little time with you the last months, thanks to the war, and he didn’t want the next memories you had of him become bitter and sour because he forgot an important date and everything was going against his plans.

With The bouquet in hand, he crosses the street almost too quickly and imprudently, but he has a charming grin when he gets back to where you are. He might have taken some ten minutes, more or less, to take all of this, but he thinks a romantic gesture never dies. 

“Sorry for keepin’ ya waiting, doll.” He says as you look unimpressed, arms crossed and your expression a bit upset. “I got you, though, a nice somethin’ to remember me…”

Your face lights up considerably upon seeing the pretty bouquet, you loved flowers and plants. He knew all about them thanks to you, because he loves to hear you talk about what you are passionate about, and obviously, feed your hobbies.

“It took longer than I anticipated, didn't mean to leave you here so long, and… and I was so nervous I gave your bouquet of roses to your mom.. and..” he tries to make it better “I wanted somethin’ nice for ya, y’know. I had to make it up for my special girl”

You sigh, rolling your eyes amused. How could you really be mad to this man? 

“It’s fine.” you say softly “Just don’t do it again” you say, seeing the bouquet and seeing the small letter, as you take it in your hand.

“I won’t” he promises, smiling softly as you take the letter tucked into the roses. “Go ahead, read the note”

“My heart is yours, now and forever.” You read the small letter with his messy handwriting, even if he tried his best to make it legible. “You signed off as Thomas?” you ask, the annoyance on your face going away as you smile.

“That’s my name, innit?” You roll your eyes as he grabs your hand to kiss it with a cheeky smirk on his lips. “I guess I went a little too formal, aye. But come on, we still have more to do”

“Good God” you say, as you definitely didn’t wear the right pair of shoes for this. “That’s a lot for a man who forgot–”

“I am making it up to you”  he reassures you, taking your hand in his. “And you’ll see why I am using my sailor suit” he smirks proud of himself as you two walk together in the park. 

It is only when you two reach the end of the Ferris Wheel that he keeps walking with you by his side.

“What do you have planned?” You ask incredulously as he skips the line, going straight up to the man checking the tickets.

“Nothing”

“Thomas, I know you-”

“I am usin’ my… acquaintances' for our lovely date. Do not fuss over it, love” he says shrugging, and he can be so annoying  “People look up to sailors, we are fighting for this bloody country. Might as well shorten the line to take the ferris wheel with ma’ darlin’.” he says with a cheeky smirk. 

“Unbelievable” you say, the curves of your mouth turning into a smile nonetheless. 

You try not to care for looks, Thomas walks confidently as if he had everything sorted out, which is quite horrifying as he has nothing planned by yesterday. 

Tom discreetfully (or maybe not so much) handles a small wad of cash to the man, who he takes it. "Thanks, mate," he whispers, taking his uniform hat off as he glances back at you briefly.

He guides you, your hand interlocked with his as he walks closer to the next gondola. 

“In you go, doll” 

“This is so wrong” you mumble amused, as you enter carefully on the ferris wheel. It was a two-seater, and open in the air. 

Tom settles the security bar in your laps, and he says “Aye, I am doing me best, love” 

“I am not complaining” you say, as the ferris wheel starts to slowly work. You look amazed by the technology of it, as he leans back and takes off his hat. 

“real nice, innit?” 

“it is…” you agree softly, leaning back as you hold the security bar. 

“sorry if it is rushed” he adds, as you two start going up. “I mean it”

You think for a few moments. “It’s fine.” you simply state “I am grateful for the chance of us being together, even if you forgot. War hasn’t been kind to everyone. And I appreciate that… even with all, you still tried to make it a nice day for me”

Tom hums, a slight smirk on his lips as he extends his arm to be around your shoulders, pressing you closer to him. 

“Of course” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on your cheek. 

You two remain silent for a bit, you rest your head on his shoulder as you see the view of the cities of Manchester. He is awfully quiet, knowing how chatty he could be, and you enjoy his presence, as best it might be thanks to the war. 

“It does have a nice view, you know” your tone is soft as you speak, the flowers he gave you on your lap, as you made sure they don’t slip to the ground and get crushed.

“That’s the idea, doll” he replies, his tone soft and intimate. “To get the best view and… Well, maybe sneak one kiss or two one we’re at the top” 

You open your mouth, a chuckle leaves your lips as you lean back to see his face “Thomas!”

“What, you don’t wan’ a kiss or two from your darling?” 

“Well, yes, but…”

“Then it’s settled” he says, moving his face closer to yours to press a small kiss on your lips. “We’ll have tons of kisses”

“Just kisses?” you ask, raising one eyebrow to him.

“Hm” he murmurs amused, his lips curving into a smirk. “I wouldn’t say so, but not in here… we could break this thing”

You roll your eyes playfully at his comment, and you look at him. “I definitely don’t want to fall… you think people have fallen from here?” You ask him, looking slightly down at the ground.

“We are not going to be the first ones, love”

You two enjoy the ride, pointing out things in the ground and how small everything looked from up there. You two nervously laughed when the gondola rocked forward and back, and you two gripped on the security bars and to each other. 

You two giggle as you get down, Thomas extends his hand so you can get down, and you feel a bit dizzy but ultimately very happy at the same time. He looks ultimately handsome when he smiles, more than his sassy smirks, but his truthful, genuine laughs, his happiness reflecting on his face. 

Tom liked to spoil his girl, he liked treating her with gifts and surprises, which was a surprise as to why he had forgotten about this. But again, it was impossible to stay mad at him for long.

“Are ya hungry?” He asks as you two walk towards his house, you know the streets and you have been here a lot of times.

“Mmm, a little” 

“Well, I have a little something left to do.” His tone is overly confident, as he nods. Some of his strand falls over to his face, and he makes sure to follow the role of an utter gentleman. “C’mon doll”

You always liked Tom’s house, it had a homely touch to it. It was never as posh as yours, but it seems slightly more full of life. 

“Ah, hello” Douglas greets you, as he was reading the paper. 

“Hi, Mr. Bennett” you greet him back, politely. “Have you had a good day?”

“Yeah, I went to the cemetery, to give flowers to my wife” 

“That's so sweet” you say smiling, almost turning to see Thomas for his reaction to it.

“Will you cook now, son?” Douglas asks Tom, ruining without knowing his last surprise.

“Dad…” Tom groans, almost grumpy because his last effort had been spoiled, as if almost urging him to go upstairs. 

“Yeah, I’ll go…” 

“Do not worry, Mr. Bennett” you say, as you don’t want to make a fuss. “We can stay in the kitchen, Tommy. There’s no need..” 

“Fine… We’ll be in the kitchen, dad” Tom says, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards his kitchen. 

Thomas was not a man who did the home chores, sometimes he cleaned the living room, or helped Lois rearranging the rooms, moving the heavy furniture.  

“Are you really going to cook?” You ask, your smile almost not believing in it, as Tom helps you sit as gentlemanly as he can. 

“If I don’t burn the damn house down, we’ll be eating in no time”

Tom is rather talented while making pasta. He describes it as an ‘easy work’ as he boils the already made sauce (which you lowkey think that his sister Lois made it for him, but you won’t comment on it)

He looks all cocky when he stirs the spaghetti, explaining it to you as if it was a millennial technique, very secret and obviously as if he was making the most delicious dish ever. 

“I swear that this will be the best plate of spaghetti you will ever have” he says as he prepares the plates for you both. He had forbidden you to help in any way, so you were sat, with a glass of wine and the candles lighten up in the table (which he insisted to, since ti was more romantic)

He stirs the sauce, adding some spices, trying to make it better. It does smells amazing, to his defence, and it definitely made you hungry.

“It smells real good” you agree, as you see how he places the food in front of you. “It seems even better”

“Taste it” he says, sitting in front of you with a smile confident on himself, as he takes his own fork. 

You have a hesitant smile, as you move your fork to take a bite of the spaghetti. They look very good, perhaps the presentation wasn’t very posh, in a way, but you knew that Tom did it with all his love, and that was enough for you. 

You take a bite, and it feels a bit sticky yet good. The sauce has maybe a bit too much spice on it, but Tom looks at you eagerly for your answer.

“It is quite good” You say, covering your mouth with a napkin as you eat. 

It was all he needed to hear, smirking proud of himself before starting to eat. “Aye, I told you…” He says as he takes his own bites. He seems happy as he eats, and then he says “Just good, love? I spent all this time slavering myself over to give to you this plate, I expected some praise, and kisses…”

You chuckle softly, as you take another bite, then you say “It is real good, Tommy. It is yummy” You say as if he didn’t believe you. “And you are just cheekily asking for kisses” 

“Guilty as charged” he says amused, as he takes another bite. “Though, I think this won’t be enough, huh. Perhaps I made too little of it”

“It is perfect, love” You say to him with a soft smile.  

“I am hearing lots of compliments to the food yet none at the chef” he says playfully, which makes you roll your eyes amused. 

You chuckle, covering your mouth as you do so. “Well, the chef is very talented, and charming….”

“Oh yeah? What else?” He asks smirking

“Well, he is very handsome” you add with a smile. “And very dear to me”

His smirk is self-sufficient, as he nods pleased knowing those words are meant for him. 

“I’m glad I could impress you with my cooking skills” he says smugly. 

You decide to wash the dishes, much to Tom’s horror. He tries to dissuade you, but it’s the least you could do. 

The fun thing is that Tom tries to amuse you however he can, trying all sorts of tricks to get you smiling and entertained. 

It’s as if he tries to make up for lost time, between the war and his busy life deploying to the navy.  You do not know how much longer this whole situation will last, but you only hope to be with him at the end

“I still have some minutes left before having to take you back to your house” he says as he leans back on the counter, watching you with a smirk. “C’’mere….” 

‘Tom… your da is here…” you murmur as he takes your hand, pulling you in with a cheeky smile. 

“And?” He says, leaning his face to your neck. He presses some soft kisses there. “He’s not here in the kitchen”

“Thomas” you say amused, feeling his arms around your waist, as he kisses your skin softly.  

“Won’t you give me a kiss, doll? It’s our anniversary…”

You look at him with an unimpressed smile, as he tries to put on his most charming face. “Cheeky” you murmur

“My da won’t bother us” he says “And I want to… use all my time with you, before I have to walk you back to your house, before the sun goes down…” He says, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

Tom’s kisses are soft, and he always kisses you with a mixture of passion and utter tenderness, savouring your taste as if trying to remember it. 

The first time he had to leave you kissed him nonstop, trying to shower him with affection so he doesn’t forget how the feeling of being kissed and being loved feels.

“I never want to stop kissing you” Tom murmurs against your lips. 

“Then don’t”

His kisses grow desperate after a while, pulling you closer against his chest, and his arm wrapping around you in a steady and firm grip, yet it’s still tender. Your hands are on his shoulder, trying to have a hold of him as you can feel his tongue making its way onto the kiss. 

You can feel his hand, wandering it cautiously and slowly towards your body, your waist, innocently enough, moving to your hip and then your ass, gripping it firmly. 

“You’re being lewd” You say between kisses.

“Can you blame me?”

Between kisses, Tom would always let out a little groan before going back for more. As if he couldn’t believe his luck and couldn’t wait for more. It was exciting, since he always had a way to make you feel special. 

His touch becomes increasingly more persistent, as he definitely grows aroused from it. He had been without any action far too long– it isn’t as if you’d allow him many times, since you definitely did not want a pregnancy before being his wife.

“You’ve missed me?” You ask as he starts to kiss your neck, his kisses too passionate. 

“You’ve got no idea, doll” he says as he softly opens the first buttons of your dress, as he takes a peek of your chest. “You’re so perfect” he whispers before pressing his lips to your breastbone, going lower and lower. 

You sigh softly, your lips tugging into a smile as he compliments you, making you feel truly like the only person in the world. 

He kisses the skin of your breasts, moving the fabric down slightly to being able to. He isn’t rough as you thought he’d be, instead he is caring and tender.

“My girl” he muses softly. 

You close your eyes slightly, and you feel his big hands moving along your ribs to your back to take off your bra completely. He had slippery hands, of course he did, and he was a pro at undoing your clothes. 

Even if the little passionate moment was like the cherry on top, you could hear the little gasp of Tom’s sister as she arrived home. 

“Thomas Bennett” She calls him out, and you immediately try to cover up and hide on his chest. Lois had Vera’s eyes covered, as if that would do something.

“Lois” Tom says, not so embarrassed, but he didn’t want their moment interrupted either. 

“Have you got no decency?” She scolds her brother. “You can’t treat your lass like that”

“I’m fine, Lois…” you say weakly as you hide on Tom’s chest, yet Lois was always putting Tom in line when he got careless. 

“You gotta take her home, it’s pretty late already” she says in her thick accent and her scolding tone. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know it. Get ready, doll” Tom murmurs the last part to you as he leans to take his coat. “Couldn’t you get home later?”

“So you’d get in a full mood in the kitchen? You gotta be a gentleman, Tom” she says as Tom stands there like a petulant kid after a mischief. 

You seek your things, a bit ashamed yet you knew Lois didn’t judge, but came to your defense when it came to her brother. You try to get more composed, fixing your lipstick before interrupting the small bickering.

“I’m ready” you muse out as Tom turns to see you, and so does Lois, already on the first step of the stairs.

“Good.” Tom says as he walks to grab your hand on his.

“Bye Lois” you say, before walking towards the main door with Tom.

As he puts on his hat, you help him fix it and get tidier than before. You have to stand on your tippy toes, helping him with a soft smile. 

“I had a great time” you tell him softly. 

“Did ya?” 

“Hmm.” You nod softly, you are grateful for everything, especially that he came back safe and sound from the war. “Though make sure that next time you won’t forget it.” 

Tom smirks slightly and says “I’ll try ma best”

[you-need-not-apply]

you don’t even vote for the liberal party in your own country so stop judging others for not voting for Kamala

I love this ask because clearly anon has no fucking clue how politics in any country work. Lemme break it down:

In Australia, where I come from, liberal party = conservatives. They are not liberal, they’re mildly far right at best.

Also, how Aussie voting works is that you can still vote for third parties, as we don’t actually elect a prime minister. It’s a little confusing but to dumb is down (and yes I know it’s not completely acceptable just go with it)

Australia has multiple parties, notably are The Liberal party (right wing), The Labour Party (likes to be centre some what left mainly right, workers rights but voted against making price gouging illegal), the Greens (I vote for them just because we need green policy but they’re very far left wing), and like 40 other small parties plus all the independents.

How Aussie elections work is the people vote for people to get them seats in parliament, the majority wins and gets to elect a prime minister, they’re kinda like the kid who organised hide in seek and then didn’t play. Basically they have very little real power other than usual shit, they have to go through our Parliament House to get most stuff done.

And as Australia is still under British rule, we have a bunch on governors in each state and then a “head governor” in charge of says “yeah the colony is still there” back to England every now and again.

Also we can’t change our money without British permission. So every time we change something people hear make this big song and dance about it, which is hilarious considering they don’t give a single fuck.

But how does this allow for third party voting?

Let’s pretend there are three parties (only) the blue the red and the yellow parties. Blue and red want to make a ferry, yellow wants a train. People vote.

Now in America, you vote for the party and that’s your only vote. So if more people want the ferry, but because there are two options the vote is split. Boat wins majority vote, but the train would win because it has the most over all. Got it?

In Australia however, we rank our votes. My brain gone I thought it was 7 or 5 but I’m pretty sure that’s wrong, but it varies okay. So if I wanted a boat but I liked red party more than blue, I would vote 1-red 2-blue, 3-yellow.

Now red doesn’t get enough votes let’s say 20 people voted, 7 blue,8 yellow and 5 red: because I voted for 2 blue, and my first party (red) has been eliminated my vote now moves to the blue party, maybe some from the red party also did blue second and maybe some voted yellow second.

Let’s split the red party 4 for blue and 1 for yellow.

Blue has 11 and yellow has 9. Suddenly the ferry has won!

It’s a complicated system but it makes sure not a single vote is wasted, and as voting is compulsory here (thank fuck) it gives people a lot of leeway to fuck around. Hope this helped anon

[awriterinthenight]

"I Have What?"

requested: @narkissistikos

words: 3267

warnings: swearing, suicide references, reader gets attacked, (I know the title is kinda bad, but if you read the story, then it's kinda funny), Miranda is actually a bitch like I hate people like her

summary: You're a mortal who keeps seeing weird monsters, but everyone thinks you're crazy, so when you're at an amusement park and get attacked by a monster, you meet the one and only Luke Castellan

Everyone said you were crazy, that none of it was real. Your parents didn't believe you, they thought you just had a wild imagination, your friends tried to ignore the weird things you told them about, and everyone judged you when they would you talk of monsters. Monsters weren't real was what everyone told you, but you would swear on the gods that they were, and that you could see them.

Eventually you were brought to a doctor, but they also called you crazy, an attention seeker, or that you just had a wild imagination. Everyone thought you just saw these things because you were always cooped up in your room drawing fantasy creatures from old myths. Your doctor recommended going outside, hanging out with friends, and trying to forget all the weird things you believed you say.

So once your parents told your friends, your friends decided what better to do than bring you to an amusement park. How could you not have fun there with the endless rides, greasy food, and the sound of hundreds of screaming kids? So fun (I'm being sarcastic).

You needed this, which was a major lie your friends and family told you. Just like every rich family, they can't have their little screw up who might be crazy, being shown out in public that way. So now here you are, three doctors, a bunch of medication that didn't work, and about 20 cover ups of your "stunts" (as your parents called them), later in your own personal hell, have fun.

"First we should do the Tilt-A-Whirl, then we can go on the bumper cars, then get food, then head to the Ferris Wheel," Stephanie said. With her everything had to be planned out, which wasn't so bad, but sometimes it sucked since then no one could divert from the schedule.

"I think that guy is looking at me. Do you think he's cute? Cause he's cute," Miranda said, looking at something that looked like it crawled onto Earth. Miranda was one of those girls who only talked about guys, and by the time you had a full conversation with her, you'd wish someone would pick her already.

Now you might be thinking, 'why would you be friends with those two if they made you want to jump off the top of the Ferris Wheel'. Well Little Sally, the only reason we hangout with them is because we have to. Stephanie was your mom's best friend's daughter, so if you two weren't friends then apparently your mom's had failed as friends, which made zero sense, but whatever. And Miranda was apparently a package deal (that no one ordered) with Stephanie.

The only decent one in your group was Christina. She didn't talk much, but the glances the two of you sent each other were louder than Miranda's laugh when a guy was around. Christina had been your friend since the beginning of middle school, and for some reason stuck around till now. She was your only real friend in your life, and the only one who cared. She might've thought you were also a bit crazy, but hey, it at least made you funny.

"Let's just get this over with," you said, walking towards the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Miranda groaned, "Don't be such a bummer, we're here to have fun," you and Miranda probably would've murdered each other by now if it wasn't for Christina reminding you that colleges don't accept you if you have a murder charge.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from her as Christina spoke to you, "If you don't upset her too much, then I'll buy you a slushie as compensation."

"Fine, but only if it's blue," you only drank blue slushies, they were like crack to you. You had made it through the Tilt-A-Whirl without hurling the two girls off the ride, and had made it through bumper cars with running them over either, so a wins a win I guess.

You were getting food now, since you were more likely to murder someone on an empty stomach, which was not a good thing when Miranda was around. Christina was busy getting you guys slushies like she promised you, while Miranda was flirting with the cashier when she was supposed to be getting you burgers. You stood in line for cheese fries when something caught your eye.

'Was that a snake!' you questioned yourself, as you swore you saw a snake slither out of the hat the cashier at the popcorn stand was wearing. You tried to slow down your breathing since it sped up from the shock. 'It's just another reason they think you're crazy. Don't let them think you're crazy’ the words everyone told you ringing through your head again.

The guy behind you seemed to notice that you seemed a bit out of it, "Cool shirt," he said, referring to your AC/DC shirt.

It caught you off guard, and you had to look down at what shirt you were wearing, "What- oh, uh thanks," you managed to stumble out, a bit embarrassed since the guy was kind of cute, but you have bigger problems right now.

"Are you okay?" he asked, seeming to be concerned about you in your shocked state. I'll take things that have never happened before for 500 Alex.

You looked up at him, taking in his brown hair and the scar on his face, "I-I'm fine," you told him, trying to think of an excuse since telling a stranger you saw a snake in someone's hair is something only bat-shit crazy people say, "I just witnessed someone sneeze into the popcorn, not something you usually want to see when you're about to eat," you lied, or at least tried to. How the fuck does someone know if their bad at lying or not? Welp, guess it's up the gods if he thinks I'm weird or not, oh look nothing new.

Surprisingly he let out a small chuckle, "I never trust any of the food here, I'm just getting some for my friends," he said.

You nodded, your mind still a bit distant. The strange guy nudged you a bit, "Hey, you're next," he said, since the person in front of you left.

"Oh, thanks, sorry," you said, quickly before walking up to the cashier. That was the last you said to the mystery guy, since he didn't talk to you again after you ordered. You made your way over to your friends, sitting down next to Christina.

"Oh my god," Miranda started, as you started to want to gouge out your eyeballs, "Who was that guy you were talking to? He was so cute, do you think he has a girlfriend?" she asked, then continued to talk about him, asking a million questions that you wouldn't know since you talked to him for not even a minute, and it was a lie you told, so that you didn't look fucking crazy.

"I don't know Miranda. I talked to him for like 30 seconds and it was about some lady who sneezed into the popcorn, by the way, don't get popcorn," you told her, fed up with her million questions.

Stephanie eyed you and said, "You don't need to be so rude, she was just asking," that's it you were jumping off the Ferris Wheel.

Christina could sense the tension, so she intervened, "Did you guys see Evan and Quinn walking around? I didn't even know they were going out," she gossiped, since it was the best diversion to use on the two. You zoned out, preferring to keep you sanity. Which was ironic since when you looked at the lady at the cotton candy stall, you swore she had wings, fangs, and claw-like hands. Okay, maybe you were fucking crazy.

The other weird thing was then when you looked back she looked like a normal person again. Even weirder was that the brown haired stranger looked at her too, then right at you. Something was definitely going on, but you sure as hell don't want to know.

You and your friends were about to head onto the Ferris Wheel, but something inside you told you not to.

"Stop being such a loser," Miranda complained, since she always had to have a problem with you.

"Stop being such a bitch, then maybe I will," you said, walking away. That wasn't your best comeback, but it'll do for now. You stood by yourself against a fence, contemplating why you didn't get on the Ferris Wheel. Was it A) the thought of being high up with Miranda was too tempting to push her off, and you didn't need a felony charge, B) that food was not sitting right, or C) did it have something to do with that the lady from the popcorn stand who now had wings, fangs, and snakes for hair, was about to attack the brown hair boy from earlier. If you picked C) then ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.

Shit.

You ran forward, pulling the boy back by his shirt before she could attack. His friends turned to look at the boy now on the ground, as you felt the greatest humiliation ever. The lady was gone, now making you look like a crazy person who attacked someone for no reason.

"What the hell is wrong with you," he yelled out in anger, dusting himself off as he stood up.

You stumbled back, confused to what had just happened, "I-I," you could barely make out any words, "I swore I...fuck," you said, running into the nearest bathroom to hide in.

You were crazy, you were bat-shit crazy. You were seeing things. Everyone was right. There's something incredibly wrong with you. Why would you do that?

In the midst of trying to call yourself down, you didn't even notice the woman next to you washing her hands, "You're really pretty, it's a shame what I'm about to do to you," she said, making you scared? confused? You didn't know anymore.

"Wha-what," was all you could stumble out, taking a step back.

She let out a breath, "You keep getting in my way, and I can't have that," she shouted at you, before lunging to attack. You had some self defence lessons, plus the skills from random rich people activities like fencing, plus great fight or flight instincts, so before she could rip your throat out, you dodged to the side. She ran into the sink, breaking it which probably hurt like a bitch.

Are you crazy, or are you crazy? Is what you kept asking yourself. The weird lady (more like a creature thing, since she had her wings and fangs back) lunged at you again, but you ran out of the bathroom this time.

You'd made it a good distance away from the bathroom when you accidentally ran into someone, literally. Your face hit their chest, making you stumble back a bit, and you would've fallen if it weren't for someone else catching you.

To your horror it was the boy and his group of friends from earlier. And to make it worse he was the one who caught you, "I got you," he said, "Now where is she?" he asked, his voice sounding rather urgent.

Your brain was still spinning as you tried to process everything, "Wha-what, you can see them?" you asked, entirely confused as to how they knew the things you kept seeing.

"Yes, but that's a conversation for later. Where did you last see her?" the girl of the group asked, and may you add, she seemed a lot scarier than everyone else.

You took a moment to catch your breath, "The bathrooms by the food stalls. It was the one from the popcorn stand, she tried attacking me," you told her, knowing that sentence sounded a bit crazy.

The boy still holding onto you nodded to the rest of the group, which consisted of 2 others, "Stay here," he said, as he started to head off with the others.

You snapped out of your dazed state and caught the boy's hand, "Wait, first tell what those things are," you demanded, finally wanting to know what the things you were seeing actually were.

"Later, just stay here for now," he said, trying to pull his hand away, but failing. Luckily for you (and unluckily for him) you were a pretty strong person.

"No," you said, standing your ground, "I've spent my entire life terrorised by those things, and now I have a chance for answers, so just tell what they are."

The boy seemed to have to bite back a smile, "You're feisty, you know that," he said, only making you more annoyed.

"And you're an asshole, are we going to spend the entire time naming each other's flaws, or are you going to tell me," you retorted.

He let out a sigh before speaking, "Let me go and I'll tell you, promise," he said, you had no other option so you let go, and trusted he would tell you, "Their gorgons, but I'm guessing you've seen other monsters. Do you know both of your parents?"

That was a weird fucking question, but not the weirdest thing to happen to you, "Why would you ask that, what relevance does that have to any of this?" you questioned.

"I-I just-" he said, trailing off when his friends had returned, but this time being attacked by gorgons, "shit." He then left you standing there, as he pulled out a sword from some random object. What the actual fuck is going on.

You watched the three people fight, as the people around you minded their own business, steering clear of the fight. How were they so calm, could they not see what was going on? You were too caught up in your thoughts to notice the dagger coming straight at your face. The boy turned around, a look of horror, then relief washed over him, as the blade went straight through you, falling onto the ground.

At that moment the boy realized you were mortal, and you realized your life is fucked up. Once again snapping out of your daze, you say the girl on the ground with the gorgon about to attack her. Without thinking (let's be honest, when do you ever think) you grabbed the dagger, throwing it at the gorgon. It hit her straight in the neck, causing her to fall to the ground and disappear.

The two boys quickly killed the other gorgon, helping up the girl as they made their way towards you, "You okay?" the brown hair boy asked.

"Oh, you know just another Tuesday," you said, your voice full of sarcasm.

"It's Saturday," the other boy said, not getting your sarcasm.

The girl hit him on the chest, "She's being sarcastic, dumbass. He's not the brightest person."

You nodded, "So, why can I only see the monsters, what are these monsters? Who are you guys? Why could no one see what was going on? Why did that dagger-" you were cut off by the boy with the scars, whose name you still didn't know, which was annoying.

"Woah, calm down," you shot him a glace, since that definitely wasn't the best thing to say in this situation, "You can see the monsters cause you have clear sight," he explained as if that made any sense.

"I have what?" you asked, still confused.

The boy seemed a bit apprehensive about telling you more, due to...issues we won't get into right at this moment, so the girl spoke up, "It means you can see through the mist," which once again did not help.

"That also doesn't explain shit, what even is the mist?" you asked, wanting someone to explain to you what was fully going on.

The other boy spoke up, "Should we tell her everything, or maybe bring her to Chiron?" he asked.

The boy went to speak, but the scary girl spoke first, "We can't just leave her clueless, we have to tell her."

"It could make her life worse though," the brown haired boy said.

They continued to argue until you spoke up, "Are you going to keep talking about me like I'm not here, or are you going to explain?" you asked, frustrated by what was going on.

"Look just let us talk for a moment," he said, before leaning closer to you, "Then we'll tell you everything, I promise," he said, his voice now rather low.

You knew better than to trust the word of a pretty boy, but dam was it hard not to, "Fine, but you better explain everything." The boy nodded, walking over to his friends as they huddled to talk. They weren't that quiet so you could hear almost everything. Something about a camp, and someone named Chiron, and how it would be a lot for you, and blah blah blah.

Their huddle came to an end when the other boy who didn't talk much shouted, "Would your parents care if you were missing for a little bit?"

Normally that would be a weird question, but nothing seemed to bother you anymore, "I don't even think they would notice if I disappeared for a year," you shouted back.

The boy approached you again, his friends standing a little ways away from you two, "We're going to take you somewhere where everything can be explained to you. You don't have to go, but if you want answers it might be your best bet, since it's a lot," he explained.

"I want answers, but why should I travel to some mysterious place, with three strangers whose names I don't even know," you countered, a bit sceptical.

"Fair point," he said, "Then here, I'm Luke Castellan," he held out his hand for you to shake.

The dumb gesture made you smile, something you hadn't done all day, "Y/N L/N," you introduced, still holding onto his hand.

Luke could feel his heart speed up a bit from how you were still holding his hand, and the fact that he made you smile, "Will you come with us now?" he asked hopefully, "I promise you won't regret it."

"That's usually something someone says before they do something regretful, but fine, I'll go," you said, watching his face light up with excitement.

"Great, my friends will get us set up to go, just know the way there may be a bit unconventional," he said, still holding onto your hand.

"I would expect nothing less," you joked, excited about what the future held for you.

You two waited for Luke's friends to come back, and made small talk trying to get to know each other, "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," he said, referring to when you made him fall down.

"In my defence I was trying to save you from a gorgon," you said, trying to not be embarrassed by your actions.

"My hero," he joked, as his friends arrived with the chariot.

"I don't think anything can surprise me anymore," you uttered, no longer surprised by the weird things you saw.

Luke let out a chuckle, "Oh trust me princess, there's a lot crazier things in this world that will surprise you," he said, the name sliding off his tongue by accident.

You tried to not let the effect the name had on you show, but you rather liked it. You didn't know what the future held for you and Luke, but you were rather excited for it. Unlike Clarisse and Ethan who already wanted to jump out of the chariot.

Current Taglist (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs @herondale-lightworm

[fanaticsnail]

Oh, oh, Buggy for the kissing booth please? (And if someone is in line ahead of me could I be tagged for him? 👉👈) Thank you! 🧡🧡🧡 This is such a fun idea!

-rorywritesjunk

(imma just request from main now on)

The Kissing Booth - Buggy for Rorywritesjunk

Word Count: 1,400+

Notes: Thank you so much for your patience, Rory! It's been a little while since I've done one of these! True to his form, here is the fail-forward clown in all his charismatic glory. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy his kisses!

Taking a few final breaths to calm yourself down, ears pricked at the approach of heavy boots crunching gravel beneath the firm leather heels. Jingles of trinkets falling from jackets and belt buckles is what you assumed the twinkling chime sound was, but you knew better than to make an assumption on a stranger.

Laughter and merriment flung from the throats to christen the atmosphere with their joy, unintentionally drawing your own to bubble in your chest at the seriously large influx of unusual laughs. Not so much the content they were laughing at, but the laughs themselves was what had you teetering out soft giggles. 

“The hell is-...?” A nasally voice cut out, as the halt of his feet stood at the path before where you sat, “...A ‘Kissing Booth’? How does that work?” A few voices began to whisper amongst themselves as the boots drew ever nearer. 

Straightening your back, you shook yourself clear of any nerves as your posture became more alert and attentive. The crunch and crackle of boots meeting the floor halted and you felt your nose pick up the first whiff of their cologne. A deep musk and playful fruity scents interwoven with the spray of the sea, alongside something that almost matched the acidity of lemon sweets, met your nose and caused your mind to wander. Before you could make a motion to speak, their voice interrupted your monologuing with the same nose-front resting tone. 

“What do I do? Just sit in front of you and get a facefull of tongue?” the voice asked with confusion laced in their tone. “Are you even any good? No offense intended or anything.” 

You immediately reclined in your stool with your brow furrowing beneath the mask at his questioning. Hooking one leg over your knee, you fold your arms and turn your face from the stranger. 

“If I wasn’t any good, I wouldn't have volunteered for this,” you huff, angling your chin in the air and electing to ignore him. “And no, I don’t give out a ‘faceful of tongue’. If that’s your idea of a kiss, please, by all means, jog on.” 

“‘Jog on’?” He mimicked you, moving towards the guest seat and plopping himself down on the surface, “Crew, you lot ‘jog on’. I’m gonna have words with this one.” 

“You sure, Captain?” another voice asked the man, only being met with a few sounds of claps of hands meeting shoulders and directions for the person to hush. Overlaps of: “We can go on the ferris wheel,” “Boss is letting us of the leash,” “The captain wants some privacy,” and “I want to hit the barbeque,” was released in hushed whispers as footsteps immediately fled the scene unfolding between you and this ‘Captain’.

After the sounds of feet meeting the ground left to a complete vacation from your proximity, a few leaves of paper crumpled into the jar beside you by the hands of your guest. 

“I-... uh-...” they began, slowly scooting the stool closer to you, “I’m sorry about the tongue thing. I don’t know what that was all about. A-And for judging your abilities to kiss. I’m sure you are a fine kisser, and considering I’ve paid my Berry, I mean… If you’re still wanting to… I just… I’m sorry.”

You still angled your face away from him, only now pursing your lips to stifle a rising smile on your face. Slowly but surely, you turned to face him and extended your right hand out to offer him your truce. You felt his shrouded hand meet with yours, noticing a slightly worn fuzz to the leathery material before you felt contact meet with your knuckles. 

Breath warmed your skin before his lips descended to the middle knuckle: pursed in a perfect heart shape to caress your skin. Holding their lips there for a moment longer, they removed them and thumbed over the spot. 

“Forgiven then?” the voice asks you softly. You slowly turn your shrouded face towards him and give him a polite nod. 

“I’m sure your comment was offered in jest,” you smile at him, your hand still placed within his own. “And that was a very unique way to use your donation. Most people go for the lips.” 

The hand wrapped around yours tensed, frozen in place as their breath hitched in their throat.

“That wasn’t-, I didn’t mean-, kiss on-, was that-?” his words all jumbled together like a clown missing each juggling ball on their descent. You chuckled at his words, unlacing your knees and leaning towards him.

“I was joking,” you nod at him, slowly moving your hand up to where you assume his face was. Immediately, his remaining other hand blocked your touch: his thumb in the center of your palm and for fingers circling over your fingers.

“Don’t,” they warned you, moving in closer, “It’s… It’s better if you hold still and I lean in. Uh… In fact.” Their face felt closer to yours, each moment seeming to bob against your face without ever making contact, “If… If you could tilt your head a little…” 

You furrowed your brows, but complied with his request. Tilting your head to the right, giving him more of an invitation, you were unsure as to what you were expecting.

Only seconds pass until you feel contact being slowly pressed against your face. Not your lips, but stamped against your cheek, a round object squished against your skin as they moved their lips ever closer. 

‘A nose?’ you thought to yourself, refusing to question their actions and only tilting your chin up as a response. As you angled your face upwards, you felt his lips meet with yours. Timidity, uncertainty, and a small quiver was found in the lips of this formerly confident captain. Each motion was slow as he opened up more to the kiss. 

Slowly moving his lips against yours, he expelled a breathy sigh as you reciprocated all of his movements. Mouthing at your lips, he flicked his tongue out to playfully brush with your bottom lip, only to immediately whimper as you parted them to accept him. His hands left yours, regrouping to cup your face with his gloved hands. Pinky fingers at your jaw, he held you steady as he added more pressure to the intensity of his kiss. 

His head tilted to change angles, offering you a few more fluttered kisses as he swapped directions, brushing the rotund tip of his nose against yours in the interlude between his deep kiss. The moans from his throat intensified as you drew your hand to his chest and held firm to his collar, never breaking the kiss first for fear that you would pull away too quickly. 

There was no stop to the motions, using all in his power to continue claiming more of you against himself while attempting to breath as much of you in as he could. The way he kissed you was as if you were the last kiss he would ever have before resolving himself to the gallows. The need for air began to tug at your lungs, as was his own, prompting him to break the kiss with a smacked pucker of his lips on yours. 

“I-...” he choked as he panted through the heave of his lungs screaming at him, “...Am Buggy. And that?” you felt his clothed thumb press against your lips, brushing the skin in a smooth swipe, “That was a really good kiss. Hold still for me, starlight?” 

“Hold still-?” your question dies on your lips as you feel him begin to swipe a wet piece of material over your lips and dab at a few key spots on your skin.

“I… I wear paints, and you got a little transferred on you,” he commented with a small chuckle, “Don’t you worry, you’ll be all back to how you were when I clean you up. Just keep sitting as you are, and I’ll be done in a second, alright?” 

You did as you were told, asking no questions while Buggy dutifully cleaned up your features with every slow movement. As he said, it was all over in a quick moment. As he pulled the cloth away from your skin, he took a moment to ponder you as you sat on the booth. 

“When you’re all done up here, ‘shut up shop’ as it were,” he pressed the towel to the tip of your nose and playfully dabbed you, “Let me take you out? Just as an apology for the earlier comment about the faceful of tongue and the judgment on your ability.”

You hum thoughtfully and purse your lips in mock thought. Taking a second to yourself, you smile with your nose crinkled in a playful scrunch.

“I’ll think about it.”

[yumeka-sxf]

Spy x Family miscellaneous collab scans - part 5

I'm back with new scans from recent merch I bought! (another merch post coming soon as well 🙂) I bought these two adorable postcards specifically to scan ❤️

Such cute "before/after the family outing" illustrations~ Did Loid rent that green truck specifically for the occasion? 😅 Judging by the basket that Yor has, maybe they're going on a picnic? Also, carrying sleeping Anya back to the house after a long day of fun 🥰 And I noticed that there's an extra bag on top of the truck in the first picture but not in the second one. I'm assuming it moved to inside the truck, lol.

I also recently got the deluxe version of the movie on Blu-ray/DVD. The casing has nice scannable images, including the below one which I believe was made specifically for the home video release.

I love the design and colors of this pic! It's cool that the main four locations from the movie are in the background: the train, the restaurant, the ferris wheel, and the airship (but they should have included a toilet too 😂)

And lastly, the below two movie images were used on some of the marketing, but the disc case had them without the usual movie text.

Continue to Part 6 ->

<- Return to Part 4

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.4 ]

Authors Note: my head hurts and it is not because rio is holding a gun to it. i was not entirely happy with how this turned out so pleaaaase be gentle. did i forget anyone in the taglist? i hope not.

MORE useless facts? More likely than you think:

Elvis Presley had his first song released on the radio in July of 1954 but he himself wouldn't reach popularity and fame until 1956

Adding to this -- he was considered a bad influence to the teenage youth of the time because his genre of music was Rock'N'Roll which most of white society believed to be "devil's music" and had extreme racist connotations to it.

The fifties was full of wackie things but some of my favorites include their slang. It actually wasn’t too entirely far off from modern day slang and we still use some of it [ example 1: a popular girl / woman in the fifties could have been called a queen in slang — we use this term today to describe anyone in general who we hold in high regard or who has a certain aspect of note ] [ examples 2: ankle-biter was used to describe small children, and dreamboats were used to describe cute guys, and “what’s the big deal?” was asked in place of, “who cares, man?” lol ]

Reader is notably pointed out to be somewhat terrified at being caught with Rio and it’s mentioned that their reputations and lives could be ruined. This was entirely too true, but it was also very unfortunately illegal to be homosexual in the United States during their flashbacks and was extremely tricky in theCivil Rights world. The Lavender Scare prevented [ suspected ] homosexuals from working for the federal government when it was enacted in 1953. It took years to unravel this mess and it wasn’t until 2003 when Lawerence v. Texas ruled that the “homosexual conduct” law was unconstitutional and therefore decriminalizes homosexuality in general and helps create a new stepping stone into legalizing gay marriages. The LGBTQIA+ laws have always been finicky in the U.S.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE | PART SIX

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Life becomes something you know longer had control over in your small enclosure in which Rio kept you. She seems to be hovering more and leaving you alone less, adding to your lowered temper and a heightened protectiveness she can't reign in. Her lack of watchfulness catches the eye of someone who seeks out Death for themselves . . .

Content Warnings: Still dark, that will not be changing soon -- flashbacks that contain period-typical homophobia and views on gender-norms, threats of violence [ rio receiving, as always ], misuse of magic [ rio ], manipulation, disassociation [ reader ], PREGNANCY and symptoms associated w/ it: morning sickness, cravings , fatigue, etc. [ r ], forced housewifeism[?] [ reader ], possessive behavior, more intense Stockholm Syndrome, dub-con bordering on non-con [ r!receiving ], fingering [ r!receving ], first time lesbian sex, rio using sex and r's naivety to avoid being called out lmao, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES

Word Count: ~6.3k

1954

The kiss was everything you've ever wanted and nothing you should ever have thought about in the first place. Rio had promised nobody could have seen it, the way she held you so gently with softer hands than any man could ever have.

But even when you both exited the Ferris Wheel ride at a proper distance, you could not help but glance around with paranoia buzzing around your brain. What if even one person saw? Westview was large enough to not know everyone but small enough to know enough people that gossip and news would cause a deep rift.

Nobody was looking at either of you -- or acting as though there had been a whisper of what you had just done in that car where the stars were your only judges.

Your lips still had a tingle to them and there was a taste that remained in your mouth -- one you knew would be remembered for the rest of your life. It was wild and free and so Rio and that is why it was so wrong.

The bustling of the fair soon became background noise as the two of you and many other patrons were making your way out of the fairgrounds toward the fields where Rio's car was. You held your duck prize in your arms -- the only other witness to your damning kiss.

You could feel her eyes on you during the trek to the car, a weight you would not address until you were inside and away from overhearing ears and busybodies that had nothing but snooping to fill their time.

Rio opened your door for you and waited stubbornly until you got inside. She smiled sweetly as you bent low to get into the passengers seat and shut the door before rounding to the other side to the driver's seat.

The car started up and the radio followed -- in the middle of a brand new artist that your mother warned you to not take to.

Elvis Presley had a nice voice and his music was fresh -- even if many of the older generation feared it would lead their children down the wrong path. You quite liked his song even if your neighbors mumbled about wondering where the world was going.

Rio didn't start to drive off after the car started, instead letting it run as she held her hands flat on the steering wheel and clearing her throat. "Are you okay?"

“You shouldn’t have . . . “ you started, stuttering out like a bad engine as your throat felt dryer than it had been when you were thinking of what to say, “. . . Why did you . . . You shouldn’t have,” you repeated, deciding the question was not worth trying to seek an answer for.

Rio, however, didn’t appear to agree. When you mustered up the courage to look — actually look — at her, she had some sort of expression on her face. An expression that puzzled and scared you.

“Why not?” she only asked eventually.

Two simple words that formed an entirely too difficult question. Why not? she asked, as if you had told her no, no going out for dinner tonight.

Rio had kissed you. Publicly and without hesitation or an ounce of concern for what consequences could have followed should you have been seen.

“It isn’t right, Rio,” you told her.

“Whose word claim that it is not right for me to kiss you?” she pushed. A hand was covering yours, cooler on contact but comforting all the same. “You kissed me back.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head away, ignoring the way she pointed out the facts and tried to reveal your true self.

“You can’t even look at me in the eye when you tell me it isn’t right, Angel,” Rio continued softly — so softly that you trembled in place. “That tells me that more than anything, it was exactly right and you’re too scared to embrace it.”

“I am scared,” you whispered, “and perhaps that is what you should be as well. They are warning people about . . . About homosexuals, Rio. They’re teaching society how to spot them and . . . I simply cannot fall into this affair with you. I could lose everything.”

A soft pressure applied to your hand, forcing you to turn your head to her. You didn’t mind if she saw your tears — she’s seen them countless times after the death of your husband.

“The world cannot tell us how to feel, Angel,” she stated firmly, eyes hardened as she reached over with her empty hand. You flinched — and she only paused briefly — before she continued to reach out and brush your tears away. “They fear what they do not understand and they only understand what they think they know. What they know is very little, and thus rebirths a cycle of the same thing.”

You sniffed, lowering your face into her swiping thumb as her fingers made light strokes that captured any wayward tears.

“I don’t have anymore room for pain, Rio,” you rasped finally. “I am at my threshold.”

“Then trust me one more time,” the woman murmured, not quite begging but coaxing and sweet as she moved the hand on top of yours to play with your hair, “I would never hurt you.”

A million things could go wrong — you were thinking of so many right now alone. What if your neighbors happened by and peeked into the window? Your parents inquired too deeply and you couldn’t keep a secret? The gossip mill began to burst into flames because too many eyes caught you and Rio too many times in different ways?

Soft lips to your forehead ripped you away from spiraling, and that kiss alone made you feel like everything could be okay . . . Even for a moment.

“Okay,” you whispered as you tipped over the edge of caution and into dangerous waters, “I trust you, Rio.”

2024

There was sweat collecting on your forehead and sticking to the back of your shirt as Rio held your hair back for the fifth time this morning. It started around three A.M. — startling awake and bumping your shoulder roughly into the wall to get into the bathroom.

“How do you have anything left in your stomach?” Rio wondered as you spit the remnants of bile into the bowl.

Your fingernails bite into the rivets of the tile, keeping yourself curled over the opening. Another shudder rippled over you, the nausea painful this time around.

But Rio brushed fingers against your temple and then the nausea was gone.

“No magic,” you rasped. Your nausea was gone but the you throat burned and you had an awful aftertaste remaining on your tongue.

Snot was collecting on the ends of your nostrils and you reached up to wipe it but Rio was already there, toilet paper dabbing away the mucus.

“Don’t . . . Don’t touch me,” you hissed meekly.

Rio snorted softly, hand returning to the back of your neck and massaging gently. “Want to get in the shower? Or do you want a bath with some lavender salts?”

I just want you to leave me alone, your hindbrain murmured, but you moved your gaze toward those dark eyes. They were concerned and her nose had a wrinkle to it like she did when in thought.

“The bath, please.”

Gentle fingers sweeping your hair back, tucking behind ears. Warm lips on your damp temple. “A bath it is, sweetheart. Think you can stand?”

“No.”

Rio helped you to lean against the back of the wall while she started the jacuzzi style bath, adding the bath salts and some dried flower petals for good measure. You watched her exit the bedroom, too tired to suspiciously ask her what the hell she was doing. She returned with a few items — a plate of chocolate covered strawberries drizzled with chocolate icing, your water bottle that magically had fresh ice and water, a book you were currently reading through, and a box that you couldn’t read the label of.

You closed your eyes and wrapped an arm around your stomach in an attempt to prevent the room from spinning. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you relax.”

You didn’t respond until you heard her approach you again and balance something light on your knee. You opened your eyes and moved them to what she was trying to give you.

A store-bought pregnancy test.

Your brain-fog cleared very quickly — replaced by a rush of frustration and an unexplainable emotion.

“I don’t need the fucking test and we both know it, Rio,” you started, hating how unlike yourself you sounded. You quickly bit the inside of your cheek until you could taste blood. Why must she rub in the humiliation and helplessness further?

"You told me no magic," Rio reminded you dutifully, but with a sprinkle of some sort of warning that the animal in you couldn't seem to ignore. "This is how we get the confirmation without the use of magic."

Your lip curled in reaction to her words as she balanced the box on your knee precariously, palm keeping it steady while her fingers became weights against the skin of your knees.

"You used magic when you . . ." You could not bring yourself to speak your thoughts out loud, afraid of what it might mean to have it in the open. "You know I don't need it," you spat.

"This isn't a punishment, Angel," she replied, tone softening the blow of her words as her other hand made home on your ankle. "This is a way to understand that my magic only did so much and your body did the rest. If nothing else -- would it not settle your mind better having the physical proof instead of feeling like you're going crazy?"

White-hot anger replaced whatever numbness had taken root in your heart -- a common experience in the time Rio had recaptured you. "I didn't get the choice, Rio. You took that away from me, remember?"

Something in her eyes muted -- like a flame being extinguished or headlights being turned off suddenly. It was swift, and she did not dwell on it as she removed her hand from your knee until the box dangled until falling into your lap.

"Just take it," the witch told you, reaching forward to stick some hair behind your shoulder. "It will answer many questions you've been unable to stop repeating in to yourself over and over. It will also put an end to the cycle of anxiety and what-ifs in your head. We will deal with the aftermath later."

She says that so fucking confidently, like she just . . . knows you.

She does.

Then you reel back on the last sentence of what she said and stared blankly in her direction.

The aftermath . . . the fucking aftermath. Rio knew the results already and still insisted on you taking it as though she fucking cared that it would ease some of your worries. The relief of getting a confirmation of the sickness you felt would be replaced by the endless gaping hole of realization you'd be trapped.

You took the box in hand and clutched it like a lifeline, nearly crushing it as you stared daggers at the woman face to face with you.

“Get out.”

Rio eyes you momentarily, debating on whether or not to listen to your demand. Eventually she does, and shuts the door behind you. You remain in place for five minutes longer and then slowly get to your feet and peel open the box.

You take the test and set it in the sink before undressing for your bath. Rio did make it look so inviting and you didn’t miss the chance to sink deep into the bath water, a breath escaping deep from your nostrils.

Your hand drifted down to your abdomen where so much of your turmoil currently lies and yet . . .

The way Rio had looked at you was both emotionally taxing and empowering and perhaps that was the most significant aspect of it all. She was clever in her ways — her slow, slow, invasion into your life the first time and how quickly she adapted the second go around.

You do not read your book even though you desire to. The bath overtook your senses and your mind not long after sinking into the tub. Your hair was pulled up and your thoughts were slowly beginning to drift from the worry and frustration into contentment that you chose to embrace while it lasted.

You fell asleep — at least, you were sure you did — because Rio opened the door and startled you. You blinked and rose upward against the slope of the tub and watched the witch move toward you with bleary eyes until she was on her knees, arm resting on the edge of the tub.

“Feeling any better, Angel?” she asked. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was concern in that question.

You were too tired to fight, too tired to put up a front. Your anger and dismay were a coiled, rigid ball inside of your soul and it was exhausting trying to unwind it and make it a weapon against Rio.

Your fist rose to your chest and you let out a shallow breath, rubbing the spot where those emotions remain dormant until you reached inside deep, deep, deep . . .

“Angel?”

You flutter your attention back to her. She’s frowning and the lines along her lips give you the impression of a woman with the daily stressors — a mortal that knows her time is limited.

You hated that she gave herself those details, that she made herself look so fucking human.

You breathed out again and let your hand fall back into the lavender scented water. “I’m fine, just tired,” you told her truthfully. “I think I dozed off.”

Rio let out a half-laugh, quiet and cut off as she softened her smile with adoration that gave you this twisted feeling of affection you remember once freely giving.

You wished you could hate her more than you were growing to love her again — but Rio knew exactly what she was doing and you had no defenses to prevent it.

And now your exhaustion and anxiety were tearing apart the last vestiges of your resolve. She reached her hand over and stroked your bare shoulder tenderly, and goddamnit you cracked under the touch. The gentleness and how your body became relaxed.

“Let’s empty the tub and get you showered,” Rio murmured, offering the kindness of suggestion rather than ordering you, “and then we can go downstairs and watch a movie.”

Piece by piece she removed your carefully crafted exterior, hardened by years and yet easily broken by her intricate mindset alone.

“Okay,” you agreed, watching as she shifted down the large tub and dipping her hand inside to search for the stopper. You stood up and crossed your arms over the front of your body, head swimming.

Rio held out her slender hand to you, palm upward and locking eyes with you. It was an offer to help you step out of the tub as if she knew you what you were feeling -- because of course she did.

You took her hand and she was so gentle as she curled her fingers through yours and guided you out of the tub and toward the large shower.

"You look green," Rio murmured as she slid open the door and guides you to sit on the tiled seat inside of the shower. "Wait right here, okay, Angel? I'm going to get undressed and I'll help you."

"Rio . . ." You crossed your ankles and watched her back out and begin to remove her layers. "Rio I can shower on my own. The dizziness is wearing off."

"I'd rather not take that chance, sweetheart," the black-haired beauty countered as she finished undressing and stepped back inside and began fiddling with the handles of the shower. You tried not to stare at her as her pale form moved passed you like a ghost.

You were sure your skin was turning red from the sheer embarrassment of her being naked and so close . . . the last time that happened it wasn't in your favor and it tainted the memories that were once good.

Fighting was tiring, and being trapped here was difficult. You were scared and traumatized but something Rio never did was harm you -- not like she couldn’t if she truly desired to do so. You have seen the damage she and other witches can do.

Perhaps it was time to just . . . Find a middle ground. Somewhere where you don’t have to rip each other open whenever you crossed paths.

Would that end better? For both of you?

She must have felt your eyes on her because the water turned on and she turned around. Droplets soaked into her skin and she leaned back against the wall, watching you while you watched her.

“You’re very quiet which means you’re thinking heavy,” Rio regarded, not a question but rather an observation from the woman who has known you far longer than people usually know one another. “Wanna share?”

You blink at her through the rain shower-head and slowly lifted one of your hands and extended your arm. It crossed into the falling water just as Rio’s eyebrows shot up into her damp hairline.

“Help me up?” you said to her. Not a defeat, no shame. You ensured to bury your hatchet behind a certain line and she would need to tread it close.

She pushed off the wall and slid her fingers into yours, leaning down to pull you up until you were pressed together under the heat of the showerhead, breasts touching, noses brushing.

“Are you okay?” she inquired, seeking out something that she wouldn’t be getting. You were burying apart of yourself so deeply that not even you would likely find it again — but that was fine. She didn’t need that part of you and nor did you.

You allowed a smile to cross your features, timid and true as you felt in that moment. “I think so. Just tired and scared.”

Rio breathed out a heavy sigh and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a hug that surprised even you. Rio wasn’t much of a hugger even if she was touchy. But you rest your chin on her shoulder and close your eyes as bullets of piercing water seep into your skin, washing away the ruins and remains of who you used to be.

1955

You and Rio had your own New Years Eve celebration with some of her colleagues from the drugstore. You were initially hesitant to agree to the party due to the suspicion and questions it would raise, but Rio was on the opposite end of the scale from you.

“Do you think you could make those creamed peas and onions that you seem to get perfect everytime, Angel?” your . . . Partner? was asking you as she adjusted her work outfit for the day in the bathroom mirror.

“I wouldn’t see why not, but Rio —“

“Chicken pot pie would be the main dish to go well, I think,” she continued over your attempt to question her as she came out of the bathroom, makeup applied.

“Rio.”

“Lemon pie for desert,” she was saying, and you clenched your fists in your lap.

“Rio!” you shouted, overwhelmed and frustrated at being ignored.

She dropped altogether and eyes you, pausing whatever it was she had started doing. “I do not,” you said, in a shaky but lowered tone, “believe it is in our best interests to host any sort of party. Have you flipped your lid?”

Rio huffed at your verbiage. She wasn’t fond of using slang that seemed to be growing popular as the years progressed, but some of it was getting its hooks into you — and no amount of her kissing you could stop you from saying them to her between fits of giggles.

But you weren’t joking right now, and she could see how tightly wound you were physically. Your hands curled into your nightgown and your eyes darting nervously around the room like you were afraid something would leap from the shadows.

Rio had to remember that her ideas of what seemed okay were too far along compared to yours — she had thousands of years on you and that put things in perspective for her that you had yet to see.

Such as giving a shit what society thinks about you and her in the privacy of your own home.

She decided her best course of option was to deescalate and comfort before you reverted back into that part of you she still hadn’t been able to penetrate.

“Aw, Angel,” she said as she glided over to you and sat down next to you on the bed, sweeping up one of your hands in hers. “Is that’s what got you all busted up?”

Your lips pursed, but you notably did not jerk your hand from hers or move away. Good, you wanted her comfort.

“I meant what I said when we first started . . . Doing this,” you told her, adding a hint of firmness for good measure. “We have to be careful, Rio, we could be arrested.”

“I will not let that happen,” your partner said in a tone that had an edge to it, one you’ve not heard from her before.

“You won’t be able to stop it if we get caught and reported!” you shouted again, too strung up to sit still. You got to your feet and tucked your hands in your underarms as you shuffled to the windows to peer out into the leaking sunrise. “We don’t have the privilege of being like the Cassidy’s or the Cook’s, we have to remember what happens to people like us.”

Rio stayed where she was and rubbed her face. “I know you’re concerned — and I can see how it might create the fear of being caught, but I don’t think we’re under suspicion.”

“You don’t think?” you asked, turning on your heel. “You — you have to be sure. If you doubt . . . If you falter in whatever this is for one second, we could never find jobs, never live a normal life. . .”

“I’m not the only one who needs to remember that,” she retorted, not unkindly but pointedly, eyes sharp like a lioness.

Anything else you wanted to say died in your throat. The two of you stared at one another like you always did, the silent communication that held more words than most of your actual conversation.

Your eyes dropped bashfully and you understood she was right. Everything you felt was new and scary and wrong. But if you were experiencing those things, it should have occurred to you that perhaps Rio was too.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her after a brief, pregnant silence. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”

You heard the bed groan as Rio’s weight shifted off of it, the soft barefoot steps across the carpet. Then a hand cupping your cheek as she guided your face to peer at hers. She was so beautiful and she was everything that made what you knew your soul to be content.

The turmoil you fell into about this affair — was it an affair? — was so brushed away when she touched you like this. It burned you like a hot pan and healed your deepest wounds that no surgery would ever manage to fix.

In that alone — you knew she was who your being was drawn to. What the instinctual, animal side of your brain desired even though gospel and presidents warned of the dangers of these desires.

“When you shout it means you’re showing me something that you don’t normally reveal,” Rio admitted as she held you in the rising light of morning, “You lower that perfectly trained woman of etiquette and though she’s just as beautiful, I can’t help but want to see more beneath just her.”

It was a surprise — not because Rio had said it, it’s Rio — mostly due to the fact that you were never to give into the ugliest of your emotions.

“Shouting isn’t . . . Well, I shouldn’t do it. It’s not becoming and you didn’t deserve my anger," you deflected, averting your eyes as best you could. You did not keep your gaze away for long -- you felt drawn to peer at her again.

Rio was smiling once again, this time more mischievous and probing. “Oh, Angel. I don’t need you to pretend to not feel around me. I want it all — down to the very last drop of anger and resentment you hold.”

“I have no resentment, don’t be silly.”

A lie so terribly spoken that she grasped your chin and dragged you close, lips brushing. “Oh, yes you do. You have so much of it built up and it’s mixing with those other painful ones, too. Anger. Despair. Oh, it makes for the loveliest cocktails.”

You swallowed at the look in her eye, how she peered right through your skin and all the barriers you managed to keep solid for so long. Your heart rushed so quickly that you swore you heard it in your ears.

“It is ugly,” you insisted in a quiet breath, grasping her upper arm for balance as she wrapped her other around your lower back. “I am ugly under everything, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for how I feel when I’m happier with you than I ever was married to that husband I had. I hate myself for needing to seek out the acceptance of our neighbors when you don’t seem to give a penny how they feel. Mostly, I hate that there is so much about you that seems hidden and I haven’t been damned to uncover it.”

Rio kisses you them, a rough one compared to your first and the ones that had followed many times since. She pushes you against the window, her arm cushioning your bounce against the surface.

She pulls back for air briefly and pries your hand off her arm so she can run her fingers up the crevice of your neck.

“Nothing I have seen is ugly, and for that reason I dig for more until there is nothing left of you that I cannot know,” she whispered as her lips began making ghost brushes under your ear.

“I know you’re lying to be about so many things,” you stutter out between her kisses and feather-light touches to your burning skin, “and maybe I should have listened to my mother when she told me to run.”

“But you didn’t,” Rio purred, sending vibrations through your jaw and neck. You shivered from the ministrations as her fingers started to go lower, lower, “You’re ignoring every part of your primal instinct that orders you to run, to get away from me.”

“I feel safe with you. I want you. I need you. And I don’t know why,” you got out, blinking tears away until they left tracks on your flushed cheeks. “You saved me and doomed me the second you appeared at my door and I love you for it.”

“My Angel,” Rio murmured as she found your heat, tracing just outside and finding you disgustingly wet there. You turned your head away in shame and she nipped your skin. “Don’t you dare look away from me. Your pleasure is mine and it means you adore me so.”

“It is wrong.”

“You can say it as many times as you need to make you feel better,” the woman promised as she sank her index finger into you and brushed her thumb so gently over the bundle of nerves above your pussy.

You knew how to find pleasure and the way it made you feel -- but it had been so long since you had experienced it. Your marriage failing first, the death of your husband second . . . and what was self-pleasure good for? It was unbecoming.

Your husband -- before he was ever that, when he was good and charming and who you thought you could live that happy existence with -- had been somewhat of a clumsy boy during your youths. You fooled around and looked for places on one another that were just simply taboo but it wouldn't matter later, you had planned to spend your lives intertwined and so what harm would getting to know the body of each other do?

Two years into the marriage fresh out of school, him working long hours and you figuring out how to care for a home . . . it broke you both and turned him into something inhuman.

“It won’t make your feelings any less powerful, nor will it turn me away," your lover continued, breath hot against you.

You felt as though cotton was being stuffed violently into your ears until your brain was no longer functional the more she spoke and touched, and aggravated your lust.

"Who was your husband, Rio?" you whispered out so quietly that for a second, you did not think she would hear it. Your throat was dry from the heavy gasps and moans she'd drawn from you, adding to the difficulty in speaking.

She pressed her front against you, getting better leverage as she started to move inside of you in the same sweet way in which she held you and kissed you. Your head leaned back when her thumb started making circles in a way that you’ve never managed to do properly to yourself. Is this what feeling good was?

It felt . . . this was better than everything you've ever had done before. One man you'd known since teenagers and things had gone to shit, but Rio wasn't inside of you to seek out her own release. She had no cock and only used her fingers expertly as though she did this perhaps to herself often.

"Rio," you whined as your forehead fell forward onto her shoulder, unable to keep your eyes open and on her as she'd requested. Touching yourself was never this fast and never yielded such quick results, but Rio was --

"You're so pretty like this," she told you in a cracked tone as the thumb on your clit started to speed up in movement as your demeanor started to become weaker. "Unable to hold yourself in that strong, perfect way you do to protect yourself."

There was a nagging prod in the back of your lower head and it was an instinctual knowing of importance. But your senses were overwhelmed and you felt so good right now -- how could anything else matter until you let such things pass?

“Rio Vidal has a completely blank canvas, sweetheart, and I’m afraid that means that no records indicate she was ever married, much less to a man in the service.”

Your eyes flew open suddenly just as the rush of your orgasm crashed against you. Your mouth had dropped open to question Rio again but only broken mewls and moans came out as she eased you through the devastating pleasure. You heard how her finger mixed with your fluids as she cooed in your ears and kissed down your neck.

She pulled out of you gently and held her finger up her mouth. You watched as she licked her finger clean of your shame and closed your eyes again, unable to watch your failure to once again confront her about these uneasy doubts that she was narrowly avoiding.

She presses a kiss to your forehead and sealed your fate into your skin.

2024

Rio settles you downstairs in the living room and patters around like a fussy nursemaid. She dims the lights and draws the blinds shut, followed by the airy curtains [ "Rio, the curtains are fine and won't make a difference if the blinds are closed," you told her from your spot. She ignored you, of course ].

She brought you some hot chocolate foamed with strawberry soft top, remembering one of your favorite ways to have the drink. One by one, little by little, she was tearing apart your defenses and you had no resources to rebuild them and fight her off.

Not in your state.

Tommy lay next to you in the crook of your curled legs, head resting on your thigh and intelligent eyes following every move Rio made with unnerving focus.

"I don't want him on the furniture," the witch told you as she sat down a plate of assorted snacks -- meats, cheeses, sweets, and crackers. Only a few nights ago you were both violently fighting one another and now she was doting on you.

You lifted a hand and stroked the dogs' ears. They were warm and velvety under your hand and provided an anchor when you were at risk to float away from reality again. "He stays," you replied without adding a bite. You didn't want an argument with her and in the past you would have even agreed with her if you'd have pets together.

Circumstances had changed and thus your views on even this. Tommy gave you back some of your lost defenses and you think Rio knew that -- because she decided dropping the topic was better than fighting you as she shook her head and took the spot on the other side of the couch with you.

"You're cleaning up his shed," Rio murmured as she wrapped an arm around you and picked up the remote to the television on the armrest.

Your only response was running your fingers through Tommy's sleek coat, dragging up loose fur onto the cushions as you did. Billy was laying under the coffee table batting at Rio's socked feet while she entertained his little game.

It was so fucking domestic.

You hated it.

You loved it.

"What do you feel like watching?" she asked, as she tugged her socked foot back to no avail. Billy had one of his claws hooked into the fabric and he seemed to be ready to tackle her ankle if she wasn't quick enough.

You took the remote from her and browsed her list of streaming services. "I have pretty much any streaming app, available at your leisure," she said as Billy tugged her sock off and kicked it with his hind leg. "You little shit."

Billy went after her other sock next as you flicked through until you found the service that had the reality TV show you'd been watching before you were taken.

She drew her foot up to rest against the edge of the couch as Billy pounced to capture it, his fluffy tail flicking back and forth and pupils thinned to slits. Rio looked mildly irritated.

Your lips quirked upward in a smile and you rest your head on her shoulder as you find the season and episode you had last left off on. "I don't remember you being into reality TV," she commented, palming Billy's face until his paws wrapped around her hand and he dug his teeth in.

"You get bored and branch out after centuries of having the same taste," you merely said as the intro to the show started playing. You brought the mug of hot chocolate to your lips and made to focus on the TV, trying to keep yourself settled for as long as you can until the panic returned.

"I will turn you into a fucking duster," Rio hissed at your cat as she shook him off. The cuts and marks from his rough play had healed instantly, not even drawing blood.

"Leave him alone, Rio."

"Are you kidding--" she started, but glanced over and stopped. You were content -- more than she'd ever seen you in a long time. Considering she had not seen you in a long time . . .

She pulled off her other sock and threw it for the tabby feline. He left Rio to chase it and the witch returned her attention to you, pressing a soft kiss on your head and listening to the murmur of the show you were watching.

Two episodes and some snacking later, it was disrupted. A ring at the door was startling and had Tommy's head shooting up, gaze staring hard at the archway that led to the entry room.

He was stiff even when you ran a hand across his back to soothe him as Rio got to her feet and spread the blanket she had magicked in across you. "I'll get it," she told you. "It's probably just a girl scout."

"Thin mints," you said easily, still stroking Tommy even if he was not responsive to your attempt at comfort.

Rio made her way to the door cautiously and prepared herself. She believed you were almost ready to entertain your high-end neighbors but she had not completely let up on the magic that had them forgetting to come greet the new neighbors yet.

She opened the door and plastered a confused but friendly expression on her face and stopped in her tracks at who she saw.

"Hi," the woman greeted politely, her own smile rising a little sheepishly on her face, though her eyes had a darker sparkle in them. "I'm your new neighbor, a few doors down, and heard you recently moved in too. I thought I'd say hello. My name is Wanda."

rio and reader will return in part five

PART FIVE

my often forgetful taglist: @dandelions4us , @flow33didontsmoke , @girlsgotissues

[scary-grace]

Skin Hunger (Chapter 4) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation.You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

“They’re here.”

You don’t know who begins the whispering, but you hear it crest, moving from the maids in the antechamber to the servants who are ferrying supplies to the maids like you, tucked all the way out of sight in Asylum’s deepest recesses for fear that you’ll be spotted. It’s a little courtesy of Chrono’s, on this full moon as well as the last one, although it’s not one you requested. Still, Asylum is your home, the only one you’ve ever had, and the news travels quickly when you know how to listen. They’re here.

You hear it repeated over and over again, until a new phrase enters the lexicon. “They’re here,” someone says. “They’re early.”

There’s no such thing as late or early in Asylum – since it’s always open, guests come and go as they please. But on a full moon, arriving before it crests in a guest’s home time zone is considered odd for anyone who isn’t a werewolf. You wonder who the guests are, and what led them to arrive early. And why everyone’s so concerned about it. In any case, you don’t need to be. You’re so far from front of house that you’re unlikely to see or be seen by any guests until the full moon’s passed.

You’re used to full moons being busy, chaotic, dangerous, but last month, you spent it in the toy shop, cleaning or disposing of the ones that had already been used and sending out new ones to fit the guests’ needs. This month, you’re in the costume department – not because you have any skill with costuming, but because Chrono’s judged it to be the last place the vampire Shigaraki Tomura would come looking for you. He looked for you last month, or so the other maids say. When you asked Chrono after the full-moon crowds had ebbed, he laughed at you.

“He doesn’t miss you,” he told you. “He’s simply bored. You’ll vanish from his thoughts completely the instant his master finds him an appropriate victim.”

Shigaraki can probably find his own victims now that he’s a full vampire, or else he’s got Overhaul hunting down unique victims for him, too – but if that was what was going on, why wouldn’t Chrono have rubbed it in your face? You don’t know much of Shigaraki’s master, but you’re pretty sure what happened two months ago was a one-off, just a trick to lure Shigaraki into transforming himself at last. The kind of victims Overhaul finds for Shigaraki’s master are expensive. Shigaraki’s master has probably gone back to sending Shigaraki after the maids.

Thinking about that makes you feel sick. Shigaraki’s left the other maids alone because he’s been following you around, and with you hidden far out of the way, there’s nothing to distract him from hunting the others. The other maids are humans. They won’t have a prayer of fending off a full vampire. You imagine being called to clean blood-spattered hallways, to send bloodless corpses down the disposal trapdoors. Then you imagine walking in on him in the act of draining one of them, and the sickness multiplies until you’re dizzy with it.

Your transformation into your half-fey form is complete, and with it, your magic’s settled into the set of abilities you’ll be working with for the duration. Your strongest gifts are still in the realm of glamours and illusions, and they’re still not strong enough to hide your appearance from the kind of direct scrutiny you’d face if you lived full-time in the human world. You’re stuck, even more stuck than you were before, and where you were once resigned to your fate, now you’re miserable with it. There wasn’t even a split second where you believed you and Shigaraki could escape this, where you thought he’d really take you away. But you remember him saying it, remember how sincere he seemed to be, and that’s enough to haunt you.

It haunted you through the last full moon. It haunts you when Chrono summons you to his room at the end of your shift or pulls you into a supply closet on your breaks. And it haunts you whenever you have a second to really think about what your life looks like, and the fact that you’re going to have to do this forever.

It’s best if you don’t have a second to think about anything. You bury yourself in repairing costumes, ignoring the whispers that echo through Asylum’s halls, until a message from Overhaul zips in through the door.

It opens at your touch. Come to my study at once.

You’ve never gotten a message like that before. You wonder what you did. Maybe he’s got an assignment for you. Chrono won’t be happy if you abandon your post, but there isn’t usually a person manning the costume department, anyway – it’s basically self-serve. You leave a note explaining the situation to whoever comes in looking for an outfit, then make your way back up to Overhaul’s study, using the secret passages rather than walking the halls. You know Shigaraki and his master will be here at some point. You don’t want to risk running into him.

The door to Overhaul’s study is open part way. You knock. “Come in,” Overhaul says.

You push open the door and step through, and it slams shut behind you. You have a split second to realize that something’s gone wrong before Overhaul snaps his fingers and chains appear out of thin air, draping themselves around you and pulling tight. Your arms are pinned to your sides, your hands locked down tight, and worse than all of that, a mask comes down over the lower half of your face, preventing you from even opening your mouth. You can’t move, and you can’t talk. “This is almost certainly an overreaction, but I don’t believe in taking unnecessary risks,” Overhaul says. Who is he talking to? “Is she the one?”

“Yes,” a familiar voice says. You’ve heard it only twice before, but you know instantly – it’s Shigaraki’s master. “I saw her only briefly, but there’s no mistaking her scent.”

A bolt of terror breaks through the confusion. You thrash against the chains. They sting your skin in a way they shouldn’t, and you realize that they’re iron. Pure iron, reinforced with warlock magic. There’s no way out. “Half-fey are quite rare,” the master vampire continues. “How did this one find her way into your employ?”

“She’s the child of a former worker and a guest. Unplanned, obviously, but accidents happen.” Overhaul sounds bored. “Her magic is weak, and she’s contained for the moment. Would you like to inspect her further?”

“Of course.”

The master vampire’s shadow falls over you. An enormous hand descends toward your face, and one clawed finger tucks beneath your chin, forcing you to look up and keep looking. The master vampire’s face is a ruin, absent eyes, absent nose, but his mouth is smiling, distorted by the presence of enormous fangs. He leans down towards you and a forked tongue flickers from his mouth, brushing across your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had fallen from your left eye.

If it’s possible, his smile widens. “Delicious,” he pronounces. “Just the thing to tempt my reluctant apprentice.”

What? “No,” Shigaraki says. You didn’t realize he was here. Your stomach drops. “I don’t want her. I can pick my own victims.”

“I gave you the chance to do so,” his master says. He’s still smiling, but you hear a dark note in his voice, one you’ve never heard from Overhaul only because every threat Overhaul makes is a direct one. “You chose otherwise, and I’m not surprised – with this rare delight awaiting you here, why would you waste time with ordinary humans? And you showed the appropriate respect for Overhaul by hesitating to take one of his more prized possessions without payment.”

“Indeed,” Overhaul drones. “It’s appreciated.”

“Now that I understand the true nature of your hesitation, Tomura, I’m happy to assist you,” Shigaraki’s master concludes. “You were willing to wait for the perfect first victim to complete your transformation. I’m certainly willing to pay for her.”

First victim? Your head is spinning, but that’s enough to break through the temporary fog. You take a breath and realize all at once that the scent of old blood and rot is only coming from a single source, and it’s not Shigaraki. You thought he was a full vampire already. You watched him drain someone to death. “Remind me,” Overhaul says, “what does the transformation require?”

“Simply for Tomura to consume every drop of her blood,” Shigaraki’s master says. His clawed finger caresses your face once more, and you retch. “Only then will his true nature assert itself.”

Finishing off his master’s victim wasn’t enough? He was still a half-vampire last month? Somewhere in the terror and disgust, you feel a surge of fury with Chrono. He lied to you. If you’d known – if you hadn’t hidden, like an idiot – “I must ask about her history,” Shigaraki’s master says. “For Tomura’s first victim, I want only the best. Has she been sold before?”

“Once, but not for blood.” There’s a moment of silence before Overhaul elaborates. “It was a standard sale.”

“To whom?”

“A faery, of course. The Fair Folk are discerning buyers, like yourself,” Overhaul says, “and she was the best I could do.”

Your face is burning with shame now. Listening to Overhaul talk about you like this makes you feel like he’s peeling off your clothes publicly – and not just your clothes, but your skin, human and fey both. “I have no concerns about that,” Shigaraki’s master says. “As long as her blood’s gone untainted. We’ll take her – and we’ll need a private room.”

“No.” Shigaraki speaks up again, louder this time. “I told you. I don’t want her.”

“Truly? You were so unhappy on our last visit,” Shigaraki’s master says. Shigaraki says nothing, and his master sighs. “I see. As you and I are both aware, I cannot force you to drink. But while your control may allow you to leave the maid untouched, mine is not up to such a task. If you refuse to drain her, she will take the place of my meal for this evening.”

Your heart goes still in your chest, then lurches into a panicked sprint. “No,” Shigaraki snarls. “I won’t let you have her.”

“If you don’t wish for me to have her, claim her yourself,” Shigaraki’s master says. That almost-indulgent note is back in his voice, cloying as rotten fruit. “One of us will taste fey blood tonight. Which of us it will be is entirely up to you.”

It’s over, then. The knowledge of your fate settles over you like a shroud. You’ll die tonight, one way or the other. But there’s one way to die that’s far more preferable than the other, and for the first time since you realized he was here, you turn your head in search of Shigaraki. Your iron restraints barely allow it, but you ignore the sting, and with two iron cords biting deeply enough into the side of your neck to burn, your eyes finally meet his.

He looks the same as he has every time you’ve seen him, but he’s never worn this expression before. You’ve never seen him so angry, never seen him boiling with hopeless rage, and with no way to talk, all you can do is pray that his anger won’t lead him to defy his master. You don’t want to die at the hands of a vampire, your spirit drained to nothingness along with your blood. You don’t want to die at all. But if you have to, and you do, you want Shigaraki to be the one who kills you.

He holds your gaze, and you wish you could read his mind, or he could read yours. You wish you could remind him of all the times you’ve saved him from his master’s wrath, tell him he owes you one rescue in return. You wish you really were one of the Fair Folk, that debts to you were binding after all. But you’re as useless as ever. Your blood’s more valuable than your life. All you can do is hope that Shigaraki will see it the way you do. All you can do is wait.

“Well?” Shigaraki’s master prompts him.

Shigaraki looks away from you at last, and answers through gritted teeth. “She’s mine.”

You’ve been slipping in and out of rooms at Asylum for your entire life, but you’ve only entered one as a worker once before – and that time, you didn’t know what was going on until it was too late. This time, you’re agonizingly aware of what’s about to happen to you, and as a result, you fought back when the people you used to call your coworkers dragged you into room 941. They weren’t expecting you to fight. You have no idea why they weren’t expecting it, but you did some damage to every last one of them, Rappa included, before they managed to subdue you again.

You’d like to say it’s because you’re stronger than you thought, but you’d be lying. The only reason it took your former coworkers so long to restrain you is because Overhaul forbid them from leaving marks. When Nemoto, who caught the worst of your frantic efforts to get free, raised his hand to strike you, Overhaul seized his wrist and blew his arm apart.

That was the first time you heard the price you’d fetched for Overhaul – when he snapped it at Nemoto as he writhed armless and eyeless on the floor. “At that price, she’s worth more to me than all of you put together,” he said. “If she’s damaged at all when she’s delivered to the half-vampire, the sale is void, so keep your hands to yourself – or I’ll remove them.”

You had no doubt that he’d do it, and neither did anyone else. No one laid another finger on you for the rest of the march to room 941, but when they got there, they took no chances. You’re tied to the bed, on your knees with your hands strung up between the bedposts in a web of delicate iron ribbons, unable to do anything more than turn your head and rattle them. Overhaul called in a ropes specialist to ensure you were arranged pleasingly, and if all of that wasn’t awful enough, you’re almost naked. All you’ve got is some awful piece of lingerie that exposes all your pulse points and every patch of fey skin your body has to offer.

With one significant exception, being displayed like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. The only consolation is that it’ll be over soon.

You don’t know what to do with your last minutes alive. You have a feeling you wouldn’t know even if you were free to use them as you liked. Your mind keeps dragging you towards what’s about to happen, then dragging you back to the jealousy you felt when you watched Shigaraki drain the other worker, and what a stupid thing it was to feel. Stupid of you, too, to take Chrono’s word for it, to hide on his orders instead of confronting Shigaraki yourself. It didn’t have to happen this way. This is your fault.

There are voices in the hallway – Overhaul’s, and Shigaraki’s. “I would advise dispensing with the matter quickly,” Overhaul is saying. “Waiting will not make it easier.”

“Shut up. What do you know about it, anyway?”

“I know that particular employee of mine deserves the quickest death you can manage.” Overhaul’s voice is as flat as ever, but there’s an edge to it. “Your master paid handsomely. I would not have sold her otherwise.”

You didn’t think you were that valuable to Overhaul. “Here are the keys,” Overhaul continues. “When you’ve finished with her, simply leave. The maids will take care of the rest.”

“I want to keep her.”

Your stomach clenches. “Her body? By all means,” Overhaul says. “I can repair many things, but death at a vampire’s hands is not one of them.”

It’s silent for another moment. “Enjoy your meal,” Overhaul says, and leaves. A moment later the door opens, and Shigaraki steps through.

He shuts the door behind him and stands facing it for long seconds before turning the lock. When he finally turns and spots you, his reaction is instant – his face turns red, and he whips back around the other way. “I didn’t tell them to do that.”

“They wanted me to look appetizing,” you say. Your voice sounds strange. “Did it work?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer, and while you could fake resignation before, you can’t fight the nerves that are beginning to claw at your insides. “Remember when you asked about the rest of my skin? You can see it now. They made sure.”

“Not like this.” Shigaraki still doesn’t turn. Why is he dragging this out? Would it be insane for you to tell him to hurry up and kill you? “I didn’t want – not like this.”

It’s not what you wanted either, for the two seconds you let yourself think about wanting it at all. Your eyes sting with tears. “Then let’s get it over with.”

Shigaraki’s head snaps up, and he turns back to you, crossing the room to stand before you in a scant handful of steps. The key to your chains dangles from his left hand. With the way you’re restrained, on your knees on the bed, you’re not quite at Shigaraki’s eye level, and that’s the only reason you don’t panic when he leans in – he’d have to bow his head a lot further to sink his teeth into your neck.

His voice is quiet. “Are they watching?” In Room 941? You nod, and Shigaraki asks again. “Can they hear us?”

You nod a second time, and Shigaraki curses. He steps back from you, grimacing, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “What?” you ask. “Why does it matter if they’re watching?”

“Because I don’t want them to watch!” Shigaraki’s voice is harsh. “Do you?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you say. “I never have to see them again.”

Shigaraki’s expression twists, and he takes another step backwards from the bed. You grit your teeth. “The longer this takes, the harder it’s going to be,” you say. “I’m the one who has to die. I don’t want it to be any harder than it already is. And I want –”

You trail off, almost losing your nerve – but what would be the point of losing it? You’re already losing your life. You might as well try to get what you want. “If I’m going to be your first victim, I want to make sure you don’t forget me,” you say. “And I want to feel something good before I die.”

The color was going down in Shigaraki’s face for a little bit there. It comes back up all at once, in such a visible head rush that you’re shocked he doesn’t pass out. He comes a few steps closer to you, lowers his voice. “Are you joking?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Two months ago I told you – and then you hid –”

“I saw you feeding,” you interrupt. “I was jealous.”

Now he’s looking at you like you’re out of your mind. Your eyes are stinging again. “I didn’t want to die. I wanted –” You break off, struggling to describe a set of feelings so intense that they led you into the worst decisions you’ve ever made. It’s not possible. “Unchain my hands and I’ll show you.”

Shigaraki takes another step closer, and another. His face is still bright red, but you see determination settle over his features, the same as despair must be falling over yours. “I’ll unchain you,” he says. “But you don’t need to show me.”

The hand that’s not holding the keys comes up to cup your face, tilting your chin up to the necessary angle. Shigaraki hesitates for a split second before leaning in.

His lips are dry and rough as they meet yours – rough in texture, not in pressure. If he’s kissed anybody before you, you wouldn’t know it by his hesitation, but at the same time, it doesn’t matter at all. Confident or not, Shigaraki is in complete control of you, because you can’t move with the way you’re chained up. You can’t set your hands on his narrow shoulders or run your fingers along the web of scars at the side of his neck, or sink your hands into his hair the way you’ve thought of so many times. You can’t even lean in the way you want to. Whatever happens now is up to him.

He said he’d unchain you, but as you kiss him back, his hands find your waist. You’re expecting him to put his hands there and leave them there, not for him to slide almost immediately into motion, and yet it’s only seconds before one hand drifts down to your hip, fingers ghosting over the curve of your ass. The other draws upwards along your spine, a slow, almost delicate motion that feels wrong for what’s happening here. This isn’t a seduction, where you can take all the time in the world exploring each other. You’ll be dead at the end of this. You don’t want to drag it out.

You kiss Shigaraki back with more fervor than before, opening your mouth against his, catching his lower lip between your teeth. He catches his breath, and you deepen the kiss further, as much as you can with your movements constrained. “Let me out,” you say again. One of his sharp teeth catches on your lip, digging in and spilling blood. “I want to touch you.”

Shigaraki’s tongue skids across your lip, collecting the drops of blood that have oozed out. “Stop, then,” he mumbles. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

You stop with what feels like a herculean effort, and Shigaraki’s hands leave your body. They’re shaking as he unlocks the chains, and when they come loose, you slump like a puppet with cut strings. Shigaraki catches you, crushes you against him. His lips are slick with your blood when he presses them to your ear, speaking in a cracked whisper. “Trust me,” he says. “I have a plan.”

What plan? How can he have a plan? Any thoughts you might have about it are knocked out of your head when Shigaraki drops you back on the bed, kicks off his shoes, and climbs on top of you to pin you down. You’re trapped, probably for good, but your hands are free. You tangle one of them up in his hair as he leans in again, startling at the way his body jerks, at the sharp gasp that exits his mouth when you pull ever so slightly. Shigaraki’s hair is rough, tangled. You imagine taking your time to untangle it, tugging here and there until he’s slumped in your arms, tilting his head back for more – and then you remember where you are, what’s about to happen, and it’s an effort not to cry.

Your lingerie, such as it is, barely presents an obstacle, but Shigaraki’s clothes are more difficult. You wrestle him out of his tie and then his shirt, but there’s no time for you to do more than reach for the button on his pants before one of his hands is cupping your breast, toying with your nipple while the other slides between your legs. You’re wet. Shigaraki looks surprised, and your face heats up with shame, worse when he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes going half-lidded in enjoyment. He shouldn’t look at you like that. Not when he’s going to kill you.

Shigaraki’s fingers are rough, inexperienced, as he works his hand back between your legs again, but his enthusiasm is undeniable. So is the way he reacts when your body responds to him, and you’re struck again by just how awful it is that this is all you get. All you’ll ever get, and you’re going to die tonight, so you want all of it. You grab his wrist and pull it away. “What?” Shigaraki complains. “If you don’t like it, say something. I don’t –”

He breaks off as you undo his belt buckle, then the button on his pants, freezing in place when you palm his cock through his underwear. There’s a damp patch in the fabric, one you’d maybe sit up and taste if this wasn’t what it is. As it is, you stroke his cock awkwardly until he struggles halfway out of his pants and underwear and gives you the access you need. Looking at him while you touch him is too hard for you. It’s too hard to see the pretty flush in his cheeks and know that you’ll never see it again, to see the almost frantic look in his eyes as he slumps back into the pillows. No matter how hard you try to lose yourself in him, it’s not enough.

“Stop,” Shigaraki gasps, desperation evident in his voice. “Stop, I’ll –”

You stop, and Shigaraki sits up, dragging you roughly into his lap. It’s not hard for you to guess what he wants. Maybe this will be it – the thing that wipes your mind clean, that lets you forget that you can have what you want, but only once. You sink down slowly onto his cock, shuddering and struggling to adjust. He won’t stop squirming beneath you, clawing at your hips, telling you to move faster or to slow down, instructions you couldn’t listen to if you wanted to. Shigaraki’s twitching stops as you settle fully into his lap. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other.

This is what you wanted. You wanted him, and you’re going to die for it. “When you do it, just do it,” you say, your voice shaking along with the rest of you, beyond your power to steady. “I don’t want to have to choose.”

Shigaraki nods, his pupils blown wide. One hand tears away from your hip to cover the back of your neck, pulling you in close for a kiss even as he shifts beneath you. “Trust me,” he says, his voice nothing more than a breath of air against your skin. “I have a plan.”

The question you’d ask about what plan, about what he thinks could possibly save you now, vanishes as he shifts beneath you again, and twin surges of need and despair force you into motion, chasing the only thing that could make you forget.

You kiss Shigaraki, when the uneven rhythm the two of you have set allows for it. His hands are all over you, sometimes guiding your pace, sometimes clamping down over patches of fey skin and holding on tight. Every time his mouth strays from yours, you tense up. You thought letting him choose when to kill you would make you less frightened, less sick with horror. You were wrong, but every time panic seizes you, Shigaraki kisses you again, tightens his grip again. Maybe he thinks he’s helping. All he’s doing is dragging your nightmare out.

You move faster, hoping he’ll see what you’re doing and kill you, but instead of responding to your frantic efforts, Shigaraki’s hands glue themselves to your hips and hold you down. You’re not riding him any longer so much as you’re being fucked from below, uneven rolls of his hips that leave you gasping. You can barely breathe, let alone kiss him, and in spite of knowing you’ve got minutes left to live, your body seizes around his cock.

Shigaraki swears under his breath, holds onto you tighter, buries his face in the side of your neck. “Now,” you whisper as the tension in your body builds. You’ll never feel better than this, and you want the last thing you feel to be good. “Just do it, now – please –”

Shigaraki swears again. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop, and as you fall apart in his lap, his teeth sink deep into the side of your neck.

It hurts. You knew it would hurt, never expected anything less, and although the sweeping agony of your blood being drained is more than enough to counteract the pleasure still making you shudder, it’s exactly what you wanted your last moments to be. For the last few moments of your life, every aspect of Shigaraki’s existence is focused on you. The warmth of your body, the taste of your blood, the sensation of your fingers scrabbling uselessly at his shoulders, too weak to leave a mark that will outlive you. Right now, you’re all that matters to him, and as he consumes you in desperate, greedy swallows, you burn one of your last true thoughts on telling yourself it’s enough.

Your vision blurs, nausea sweeping through you, and a terrible cold begins to seep through your body, starting at your fingers and crawling upwards. You go limp in Shigaraki’s arms as your breathing stutters and your heart rate slows. Don’t forget me, you think faintly, as everything around you fades into a frozen void. I still want to matter to you.

You know it’s over. Your body doesn’t. You can feel it fighting back, refusing to give in, right until the moment it all goes black.

<- Chapter 3

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @dance-with-me-in-hell @lvtuss @xeveryxstarfallx @stardustdreamersisi @deadhands69 @warxhammer @handumb @agente707 @shikiblessed @atspiss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @issaortiz @minniessskii @evilcookie5 @koohiii @cheeseonatower @aslutforfictionalmen @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @lacrimae-lotos @tomura-complex

[bunny-jpeg]

jailhouse rock au - again! (master-list) <3

i imagine that simon would get rather insecure when you two were in public. while he adored you, he'd move the sun across the sky for you! but shouldn't you be with someone better?

someone who wasn't working a blue collar job in small parts manufacturing, who wasn't a former criminal? like simon stole and was locked away in the can for several years because of it! what kind of man would look a woman like you in the eyes and you'd say, 'i want you.', it left a clench in his gut that he couldn't get over.

he wanted to be good enough, but failed. just like he failed at being good enough for his father. sometimes his old man's words made him shiver at inopportune times.

"simon." you said.

"yes, love." his attention was drawn to you.

you leaned over, closer to him and rubbed his forehead softly, "you're getting worry lines."

he leaned in to kiss you, his hands were on your legs that were draped over his lap. he said, "sorry, love."

but no matter how much the anxiety bit at him, you loved him with your whole heart. you never shielded your love away from him, you found that when you were with him, you simply lit up. you could do all the mushy couples stuff together.

"we should go on the ferris wheel!"

"look there's a photobooth over there."

"i'm grabbing another straw to try some of that milkshake of yours!"

and simon ate it up. and as you got further into your pregnancy, you became more "mushy" as you said. you'd cry more often, but you weren't a weak woman. if anything you still commanded your little household more than before. because now simon couldn't say no to his pregnant girlfriend.

"yes, love." he said to your request as he was nuzzled up with your belly. he basked in its warmth for a minute before he got up to do what you asked.

your life wasn't without arguments, simon could be closed off and have a dark storm cloud over his head. but he would never tell you why, it drove you crazy when it happened. you knew so much yet so little, you had his entire life mapped out but his childhood (the root of some of his issues) was entirely blank in your memory.

"speak to me, simon... i'll never judge."

"i don't wanna scare ya off."

you reached out for him and got as close as you could. you stood on your tiptoes to be more eye level. you held onto his face and said simply, "simon, if i was scared off. i would've never sent that letter."

and simon replied, "never leave." and pulled you into a tight hug. and for the first time in many years, he cried. he cried so hard that he had to go on his knees with you because he felt so weak.

he was your lover, your pen pal! he was everything. and as you kissed him on the cheek you said, "nothing will ever take us away from one another."

-

later that evening, you thought you'd be sweet and feed him crisps from the bag while his head was in your lap. while he softly licked the seasoning off your fingers, you let out a small moan.

simon smiled a bit, his heart of ice was completely melted with you. and with a hand up the skirt of your maternity dress. his tongue was on your fingers while his fingers were skimming your pussy.

"tomorrow." you said, "i want to know everything i can about simon riley."

he looked up at you with those dark eyes of his. he nodded and said, "of course, love. now c'mere."

let's say that the most fun you ever had having sex with him up to that point was when he took you on the couch. however it did leave you with a pretty bruise on your knees from pressed into the base of the couch while you rode him. <3

[dinasfavslut]

Pervert BFF loser!Ellie HC

Warnings: Slight smut near the end, Invasion of privacy,

Sorry if there are any mistakes I promise I proof read Let me know if I missed anything enjoy<33

- Imagine spending all day with your best friend Ellie at the current festival in town. You call her to see if she’s available, and lucky for you, she is.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who showed up two hours earlier than you both planned, was just so excited to see you and spend all day together.

- Bff loser!Ellie who’s face gets a little flushed, but just from the heat, totally not when you texted her you're here with a little heart after it.

- Bff loser!Ellie who is so excited to finally see you, and you, who are just as excited, run up and jump into her arms, squeezing her tightly. Her face gets all hot and red, and all the affection going down to her cunt.

“Oh, someone's excited to see me, huh?" She teases and lifts her head up, and that’s when she's met with Dina and Jesse. Just great. They really spoiled her chance of getting one-on-one time with you.

"Yeah, it’s been a while! I did miss you. Oh, and I hope it’s okay that I brought those two along."

- Bff loser!Ellie, who of course doesn’t have a problem with either of them but is slightly disappointed you didn’t ask her if you could bring them along since she was looking forward to just you talking to her, but now she had to compete with the others for your attention.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who would sneak looks at your chest because you decided to wear one of your Y2K lace-trimmed v-neck cropped tanks, the one that showed just the tops of your tits and slightly above your belly button, could also see your thighs every time you sat down. Your skirt rose and exposed your thighs. She imagined the way they would feel, squeezing her head as you sat on her face, her tongue swirling around your sensitive, puffy clit. The way you would moan her name, but she got flustered from just you talking to her, so that dream would have to wait.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who offers to buy you a drink since it’s so hot, only gets one large drink so she can taste the flavor of your pretty lip gloss on the straw. "What's your problem? I’m just saving money."

"Uh huh, sure, Ellie, we both know you’re just a cheapskate," and yeah, she would let you believe that just to kiss you indirectly.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who gets dragged on the Ferris wheel with you and feels herself throb in her boxers when you squeeze her arm as you reach the very top of the ride.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who would stand next to Jesse, who’s judging you and Dina while you both jump in the bounce house,"hey can I go on your phone?" She asks, already opening your phone.

"I mean, if you really want to?" The first App she clicks on is Snapchat, and in her wonder, she swipes to your your eyes only.

"What’s your eyes only password?" she regretted her words as soon as they slipped from her mouth. She was thinking more with her cunt than her brain. "Uh, well, only if you want. I was pretty much joking," she reassured, trying to make herself sound less perverted, but her face was all flushed and she was stumbling over her words. You turned to Dina, simply asking if you should let Ellie look through your eyes only, and were met by a small nod and smirk.

"The password is 7323," she nodded and quickly typed it in. "There are some pictures in there, just, you know, just to warn you." Ellie nodded. She was fully aware of what she was doing. There were some cute outfit pictures, a few pictures of you and your ex, some of you being goofy, which she couldn’t help but chuckle at, and there were a lot of really good pictures in there. She wondered why you would hide them in there since you looked so good. She continued to scroll, getting more eager to see those pictures you were talking about, and little did she know that she was getting close really close. In fact, there were some pictures of you using your front camera and angling the camera at your chest, a few thigh shots, and a lot of pictures of you showing your tits in your bras. One was plain and black, nothing too special; another was a pretty white one with lace accents. Her favorite one; she'd seen it in your drawer before or on the floor, and she imagined how you would look in it, striping down for her. It was an Arabella lace, soft triangle, forest green bra, and, she could see your little nipples through the lace. Her breath hitched, and She could feel her clit throb. Her boxers were getting wet. God, were you beautiful to her. She looked down further and saw everything she had imagined, yet it was all way better. You holding your bare tits together. your fingers thrusting into you.

"Fuck"

"Everything okay, Els?" The screen went black, your phone died. I mean, it was already at like 3% when you gave it to her, so it’s really no surprise

"Uh, yeah, just your phone died. Um, I’m sorry." She muttered.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who would let you login to your account on her phone to make sure you didn’t get any important messages.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who got Spider-Man face paint because you wanted her to match you, while Jesse got Batman, and Dina got a few butterflies.

- Bff loser!Ellie, who had actually run out of money this time from buying you everything you wanted, is now getting everyone one of the glowing accessories since it’s getting dark and hard to see everyone.

- Bff loser!Ellie who blushed when you kissed her cheek goodbye as much as she loved to see you she needed to get home to deal with the ache she'd been hiding between her thighs for hours.

- Pervert Bff loser!Ellie, who still has your Snap account on her phone and who wrote down your, eyes-only password in her notes 7323.

- Pervert Bff loser!Ellie, who logs into your account and goes into your, eyes only "7323," she whispers to herself and types it in. Looking at all your pictures, she took off her pants and boxers, practically throwing them to the side.

- Pervert Bff loser!Ellie, who plunges her fingers into her dripping cunt and stares at her screen, has her fingers working so harshly it almost hurts yet feels so good and came the hardest she ever has before.

- Pervert Bff loser!Ellie, who logs back into your Snap account and cums to your pictures every. Single. Night.

[gorgeys]

Madison request maybe a first date kind of thing, based on her recent fair post

you look so good in this light ★ madison beer

Madison Beer x femsinger!reader

your first date at the county fair is picture perfect

Warnings: SUPER fluffy, kissing

Word Count: 600

Note: i'm so obssessed w femsinger!reader so i did that again. but there's only one part in the fic where i really mention that reader is famous.

also send more madison requests 🫠

everything felt strangely normal.  walking arm in arm around the moderately empty fair almost felt too natural and easy. a little voice in the back of your head was waiting for something terrible to happen.

but that bad thing would never come. instead, you lean into madison's side and laugh along to made-up back stories she creates for all the different people you passed.  one of your arms is wrapped tightly around hers, like a toddler refusing to let go of their mommy in fear that she would magically disappear, and the other holding the giant teddy bear she won you at a sharpshooter game.  safe to say you were pleasantly surprised by her skill with the water gun.  but, judging by the proud, all-knowing smile she sent you after the victory bell rang, she wasn't.  you picked out the pink bear with red hearts in it's eyes and proudly held the bear up in front of you, staring into the hearts.

"don't worry, buddy," madison said to the bear while draping a loose arm around your waist.  "i look at her the same way."

your heart swelled in your chest as you turned toward her with the cheesiest smile.  you couldn't help but squeeze her in the tightest hug you had ever given another human being.

"you're the best," you mumbled into her shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear it and smile.

and that was only a fragment of your perfect, official first date together.

you shared pizza and fried oreos, almost threw up on the tilt-a-whirl, and now, you would watch the California sunset from the top of the ferris wheel.

you had let the brim of your tattered high school baseball cap fall low in front of your eyes to avoid being noticed.  miraculously, no one had approached you all night, allowing you some normalcy.  if this is what it felt like to be a regular person, on a regular first date, you would trade fame for regular any day.

but now, as you sit across from her in one of the ferris wheel cars, almost at the top, you remove your cap and smooth out your hair.  when your eyes meet madison's, she's already fixated on you.

the setting sun is perfectly hitting the skin of your face.  you're in your golden hour.

"you look so good in this light," she says so delicately, leaning forward onto the edge of her seat as she studies you like a renaissance painting.

it's impossible to restrain your dumb smile.

"you're straight out of a movie, you know that?" you say, resting your elbow on your knee and your chin in your hand.  you look at her as if she's a rom-com character come to life.  "you're my patrick swayze just way cuter and prettier and...well, better."

she chuckles softly, then places a hand on your knee.

"you know what'd make this a real rom-com?" she asks, that familiar proud expression returning to her face as her nails scratch gently against your skin.

"hmm?" you give her a subtle nod.  the quirk of your lips shows you have a pretty good idea of what she means.

she doesn't have to say anything else. she leans into you and her pink lips make their mark on yours.  her hands move to hold your cheeks, while your own hands loosely hang around her arms.  all is perfect as your car halts at the top of the ferris wheel and the sun tucks itself away into the horizon behind you.

[futuremrscameron]

meet puppy!reader

puppy!reader grew up in a cult. she very traumatized when they got raided by the fbi when she was 9 and she was placed in the care of her much older sister in outer banks after their parents went to prison for child endangerment

it took her a while to trust this sister she’d never met and adapt to her new life on the island. she would skip school and try to get a ferry ticket to go back home. ran away three times before her sister sat her down and explained why she never met her, why their parents were in prison and why she couldn’t keep running away from this problem or any problem she had

immediately gets along with the pogues because their tight knit bond reminds her of life on the commune. this is during kiara’s kook year so the boys are a bit reluctant to make a news friend in hear of replacing kie and getting abandoned another friend but puppy makes it clear that won’t be happening through their actions

outfits color palette is so bright you need shades just to look at her. she’s got the entire rainbow in her closet, in long skirts, tube tops, and shawls and that’s not even getting into her jewelry

smokes weed like a fucking chimney. it’s one of the reasons why she’s so calm. that and the calming techniques she picked up as a child

spends her time working at the country club, teaching yoga to the bored housewives of figure eight. she hates it but it pays well and she’s saving up to move out of her sister’s

puppy!reader moves into the same trailer park as barry at 18. he hates being her neighbor because ‘her girly shit (bright blue camper) makes him look soft in front of customers’ and thinks it’s an eyesore

what did megan say? i love to switch up my shit every day? that’s puppy. rocks her natural hair in different styles s1-2 and locs s3-4

no one knows what the hell her and john b are and no one wants to know. it’s messy, they love each other but they don’t wanna fuck up their friendship, she doesn’t wanna be tied down and he doesn’t know what he wants

raspy voice but soft spoken so everyone’s shocked when she cries in front of them for the first time cause she’s a wailer. this girl is loud as fuck when she cries just sobbing. the raspy voice makes it sound worse than it is too

meets kiara just before the events of s1 when she’s fresh off her kook year and surprises the boys when they get along like a house on fire. kiara loves that she never feels judged by her and puppy loves that kiara always says how she feels, no bullshit

the only one john b trusts to drive the twinkie. jj thinks it’s unfair that she “doesn’t even have to ask or beg” and that john b’s “playing favorites”

puppy!reader can’t help but feel like a placeholder for sarah sometimes. john b is so nonchalant she can never tell where his head at even when he’s proclaiming his love for her. she’s got more of his shirts in her closet than her own at this point but they’re not official. she knows him and sarah are “complicated” but it doesn’t feel good to be used as a bed warmer when him and sarah are on the outs

sarah and puppy are those girls that you see and school and can’t tell if they’re gay or just super affectionate friends. sarah sees puppy as a fragile soul in need of protection and puppy admires her resilience even after all she’s been through. think ellen and anna in nosferatu

the pogues are her family but she still misses her parents and everyone else she grew up with on the commune that’s either behind bars or off the grid. the anniversary of the fbi raid always gets her down and she likes to be alone on that day, won’t even smoke with jj which is how he knows it’s serious. they have a strict routine

john b may have too much on his plate to be emotionally ready for a relationship but he does care about puppy. they were friends before anything else and she was the best listener of the group. when he’s running around kildare with his dad in s3 he almost tells her about el dorado and his dad killing that guy but he doesn’t want to burden her with that secret so he pushes her away

pope and puppy are the skeptic/spiritual duo. he doesn’t dismiss her beliefs and even helps her shop for ingredients needed for her special teas that she’s started selling at an outrageous price to kooks. she likes that he’s confident about his intelligence but isn’t averse to learning new ways of thinking

tries to stay out of the pogues’ treasure hunting business but always finds herself helping them out whether she’s patching them up, lying to the cops, or hiding them in her sister’s house

puppy!reader’s convinces her sister to help hide them for the weekend when she comes over for their weekly tea party. it takes some convincing since she’s not too fond of the “troublemakers” pogues but she helps cause puppy barely asks for anything and she feels bad for not being there when she was younger

opens a herbal tea shop in the cut after getting fired from the country club (told a kook to go shove his silver spoon up his ass after she overheard him shit talking sarah and john b after their disappearance)

cleo thinks she’s a little sketchy because of her bubbly nature contrasting her soft spoken voice. puppy does play this up to scare her from time to time but it’s all in good fun

visits the pogues shop in s4. customers can find her mostly sitting on the counter talking to sarah, helping kie out with the garden, or smoking with jj on his boat

advertises her tea shop and yoga class during the pogues’ ad for their bait shop

the one with the pregnancy scare instead of sarah. makes her think about what she wants in life and stop being so lasse faire with life. also gives her an identity crisis

puppy!reader loves her friends so bad but they’re nothing like her commune growing up which she soon realizes is a good thing. they’re actually kind and selfless instead of just claiming to be or only acting that way in hopes of reaching eternal paradise. they share clothes, food, weed. they look after each other and they’re accepting. they’re everything she’s been looking for