#Pattern of failures and why patterns matter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jolalibrary · 10 months ago

Text

3. heather purple

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nervous energy pulsates through you.

It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.

Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.

With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.

Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.

Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.

This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.

Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.

Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.

The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.

Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.

Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.

A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:

Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—

At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.

But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.

Do you think…Do you think?

Do you think?

Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.

In your home.

Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.

You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.

And you had.

Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.

Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.

More anything.

Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.

Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.

Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.

Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.

The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.

"Fuck."

The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.

Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.

A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.

Because you like him.

The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.

And then you hear it.

Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.

He’s here.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—

The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.

You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.

With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.

But you can’t lie.

Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.

Fuck.

You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.

Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.

Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.

But then, it is.

Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.

And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.

And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.

Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—

“You gonna invite me in?”

Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.

You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.

He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.

“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“

“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”

You don’t miss it.

Even if you pretend you do.

It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.

A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.

Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.

Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.

As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.

Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.

You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.

“He asked about you.”

Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.

“And, what did you tell him?”

Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”

Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.

You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.

Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.

It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.

Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”

Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”

“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.

“You’ve done good.”

Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”

“You did imply you were hopeless.”

Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.

“I am still hopeless.”

Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”

“That going to be you?”

His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”

“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”

Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”

Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”

His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.

But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"

Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.

There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.

It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.

How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.

You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.

And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.

The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”

Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.

Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.

You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.

More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.

“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”

“Got a nice one right now.”

Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”

“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.

Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.

His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—

“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“

You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.

Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.

“How?"

"How, what?"

Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”

His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”

Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”

He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”

Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.

“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”

Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”

“Should I?”

Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”

He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.

But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.

Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.

But that’s not what you want—not what you need.

Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.

Kiss me, you think.

But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.

And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.

When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.

Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.

Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.

Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.

And then he stops.

Pulls back.

A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.

“I…”

Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“

His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”

Baby.

It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.

“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”

Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”

His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”

Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”

He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”

“Good,” you whisper.

Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.

“Think you should kiss me again, though.”

Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.

Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.

No problem, glad to be of help.

I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.

How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?

I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.

You need me to come back? Hold your hand.

Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.

Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.

Because I’m an incredible kisser?

Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.

Wish you hadn’t, honestly.

Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.

Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.

Did you just use the word dreadfulness?

I did, and I stand by it.

What you doing on Friday at 7pm?

What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?

I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.

Guess I can move things around to play footsie.

I’m eternally grateful.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy

452 notes · View notes

geoviki · 5 months ago

Text

Mo Guan Shan’s Big Feelings

Mo Guan Shan, resident tsundere of 19 Days, pretends to be tough and hard-hearted. But he’s easily and frequently reduced to tears, as we soon realize. In fact, he cries so often in the story that this post is pretty massive.

MGS cries as a child, of course. He’s in a clinic in his mom’s arms when She Li first becomes obsessed with him (ch 294).

MGS has a bad dream about the day his dad told little Guan Shan he couldn’t come to the school’s robot fair (ch 392).

MGS cries in other dreams too. Soon after meeting He Tian, he has a sensual dream of being comforted in He Tian’s arms after being bullied. Look closely – there are little tears falling as He Tian assures him he’s the “most invincible badass.” (ch 250)

True to form, he cries in the Santa fantasy extra when his house is destroyed (ch 345).

MGS cries when he’s frustrated, like in this episode after the play when he can’t untie himself to pee (ch 359).

MGS is a weepy drunk as well. After accidentally destroying Brother Qiu’s bike (ch 427), he drunkenly sobs in bed as he vows to somehow repay him.

Later, while MGS is still drunk, He Tian slips and falls while carrying him, ripping Mo’s pants in front of He Cheng (ch 429). MGS cries from embarrassment.

Unsurprisingly, MGS cries over his dad. After He Tian unknowingly brings him to dinner at what is probably his father’s former restaurant, we see a young MGS in flashback crying in fear at the chaos around him. Present-day MGS flees and He Tian finds him crying in the parking lot (ch 217)

One of the more moving chapters shows MGS breaking down as he visits his father in prison for the first time (ch 240).

MGS cries from sheer anger in several chapters. The earliest is when He Tian forces an unwanted kiss on him as a misplayed joke (ch 174-175). He Tian is taken aback by Mo’s strong, tearful reaction. It’s probably the first time someone doesn’t try to placate He Tian when he’s being a jerk, and he begins to take MGS more seriously after this.

MGS tries to end his friendship with He Tian after the school play that indirectly causes him to lose his meager job. He Tian doesn’t help matters by waving money at him as they quarrel. MGS weeps with anger and says, “Standing with you makes me feel like a failure.” (ch 364)

He cries in anger once more as he watches incredulously as She Li incinerates his backpack (ch 368). (She Li seems to walk around carrying gasoline like it’s no big deal – what’s up with that?)

MGS cries when he’s worried. When he digs frantically through the mudslide during their ill-fated mountain hike, he thinks He Tian has been buried alive. When He Tian calls out, MGS throws his teary self into He Tian’s arms (ch 329).

MGS’s worry is clear when the last violent fight with She Li is finally over and He Tian has won (ch 408). The battle was so fierce that by the end He Tian is crying too, and soon they’re embracing (I sense a pattern here!)

MGS often cries when his emotions overwhelm him. Early on, after MGS is rescued from the fiasco of agreeing to take the blame for a serious crime, He Tian tells him, “Don’t try to shoulder everything yourself.” (ch 188). MGS tears up at the thought that someone like He Tian has his back.

MGS ends up full-on sobbing in He Tian’s arms (again) when he finally admits why She Li has a hold over him: because of the homeless man who tried to kill him (ch 319).

In one of the most traumatic scenes (and a personal favorite), both guys shed a lot of tears when He Tian finds him after She Li has tortured and burned him (ch 369-370). These chapters mark a turning point in their relationship from friends to more.

MGS is shown when he’s happy only once, and that memorable event will happen in their future: that Christmas night when He Tian returns and proposes with matching rings (ch 412). Cue the waterworks!

Thanks to all of the translators who provide the English versions of the story!

#19 days #old先 #tianshan #mo guan shan #old xian #he tian #19days

262 notes · View notes

zoloteh-volossya · 4 months ago

Text

Some Thoughts on Minthara

A repeating theme of all of the Origin companions is that what they think they want at the beginning of the game is a result of their fucked up pasts and is ultimately bad for them. Shadowheart wants to be a DJ, but that cuts her off from the potential to grow beyond Shar and loss. Lae'zel wants to Ascend, which would obliterate her in her entirety. Karlach would rather die than go back to hell, but dying cuts off the potential continued life she may find thanks to that Infernal Forge. Astarion wants to Ascend, which locks him into a cycle of violence, power, and fear. Gale has two failures of goals - first to kill himself for Mystra's forgiveness, then to Ascend (which hollows him out of all the originally noble intentions he had going into it). Wyll wants to serve, no matter what the cost to himself - which would lead him to stay pacted to Mizora when freedom beckons.

All of these initial goals stem from the environments/abuses that the companions are coming from. And they're all understandable! But they're unhealthy and/or maladaptive, and so in order for every Origin companion to get to their best/happiest ending they need to change and grow away from what they initially thought they wanted due to the influence of their pasts and personal flaws.

Minthara, when we meet her under her own free will, has abandoned Lolth but not her attitudes. She seeks love, yes, but also seeks any sort of power she can get her hands on with a desperation borne of fear. She cares deeply for Karlach and Lae'zel and reluctantly for Astarion, Shart, and Gale, but is willing to enslave them all as she herself was enslaved if it makes her Top Dog. Her ideal ending is codependent evil power couple with you, controlling the brain - and I think that's her 'bad' ending, akin to Ascended Astarion or DJ Shart.

Basically, I think there’s two sides to her. There's the side that desires genuine connections and is willing to go to hell for Karlach even if unromanced... and the side that chases power even if it means doing things like enslaving Karlach. She wants purpose (per her dialogue upon leaving Moonrise), a home and friends (per her dialogue when leaving the party), and protection (per her dialogues with the player). I think if she was able to obtain those things through sources other than trying to conquer Menzoberranzan/the Sword Coast she might be able to express the former side of herself more.

We see a bit of that in her Karlach romance, where she throws aside all concerns of seeking power to go to hell for her girlfriend. She doesn't talk of conquering or ruling Avernus - her focus is purely on vengeance for Karlach. It's an interesting reevaluation of her priorities and also why I like her pairing with Karlach so much.

As a side character, she doesn't get a questline and arc like the Origin companions get. But I think that it is notable that her happiest ending seems to be staying in Baldur's Gate. In her epilogue dialogue with Origin!Lae'zel she confesses that she is not happy if she pursues reconquering Menzoberranzan, and harbors doubts about her ability to succeed.

Because ultimately - as Ascended Astarion shows - pursuing power and conquest does not actually make you happier or safer. It just means a life dominated by fear. Lolth's treatment of the drow - and thus the drow treatment of each other - has been compared by writers of canon D&D novels to an abusive relationship. And like so many other survivors of abuse, Minthy is out of the immediate situation but still carries that way of thinking worn into her psyche, like ruts in a road.

She’ll never be “nice” or even necessarily “good,” but I’d like to think that over time, in the right environment, she can leave behind most of the self destructive power seeking of the Lolthite mindset. Move on from the toxic patterns of her past, as the Origin companions get to do in game.

#bg3 #minthara #meta #discussion #mine #before you ask #yes i am planning a fic exploring this #(not) coming soon to an ao3 near you #bc i write at the approximate speed of a snail #but the idea has been in the works for a long time #as has the idea for this little essay

159 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 4 months ago

Note

might i request f! jedi reader comforting tech after her death as a force ghost as he mourns her?

i saw the rule of 'no major character death' and im not sure if this falls under it, so if it does, sorry! love your stuff

Death Is Just A Word*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Tech X Jedi!FemaleReader

word count: 1.4k

prompts: none

When everything gets too much for Tech, he finds himself entering a forest to relive his stress and emotions. He just didn’t know that his fallen Jedi will be there to meet him.

Warnings: death warning, heavy angst, comfort, reader is a Jedi who has died via sacrifice, mourning, can be a platonic or romantic relationship, Tech fears failure and is emotional, can also be read as gender neutral.

The Marauder was a mess of tension. Failed mission after failed mission, constant arguments over strategy, and a void in the team’s dynamic that no one could ignore. Every time they fell short, Tech felt the sting deeper than he ever let on. The others thought his frustrations were just his usual pursuit of perfection. They didn’t realise it was the gnawing guilt beneath the surface; a guilt that whispered it was his fault you were gone.

You had sacrificed yourself for them a month ago, throwing yourself into the path of certain death to save them all, especially him. Tech had replayed that moment a thousand times. Each calculation, every step, and the single flaw in his plan that led to your choice. No matter how much he tried to logically categorise his grief, he couldn’t find a solution that brought him any peace.

Now, every corner of the Marauder reminded him of your absence. Your datapad still lay in the corner of the cockpit, untouched since that day. No one had dared to move it. It was absurd, really. Tech wasn’t one to let sentimentality interfere with logic, but there it was: an irrational need to leave your things as they were, as if by doing so, he could somehow preserve a piece of you.

One night, it all became too much. After yet another mission gone wrong, with tempers flaring and his mind buzzing with thoughts he couldn’t stop, Tech couldn’t stay aboard the ship. The tightening in his chest, the erratic pounding of his heart—these feelings were new and unnerving. He was usually so controlled, his emotions filed away in neatly ordered compartments, but now they were spilling over in ways he couldn’t manage.

“I need a break,” he muttered, barely audible to the others. He didn’t wait for a response before heading down the ramp and disappearing into the darkness of the nearby forest.

The cool night air felt suffocating as he stumbled deeper into the woods, branches snagging at and clawing at his battered armour. Tech’s mind raced familiar patterns of calculations and probabilities that were now distorted by flashes of grief, anger, and regret. His breath hitched, the sharp ache in his chest refusing to go away. The weight of it drove him to his knees, collapsing against a tree as he buried his face in his hands.

“Why can’t I just… process this?” he whispered to himself, voice trembling with frustration. He was supposed to be the logical one, the one who could solve anything. But how could he solve the emptiness left by someone who wasn’t supposed to be gone?

The forest was silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the wind. And then, something else.

“Tech.”

His head shot up at the sound of your voice. No, it wasn’t possible. He was hallucinating, his mind frayed by exhaustion and grief. But then he heard it again, softer, more familiar.

“Tech, darling. Look at me.”

Tentatively, he lifted his gaze. There, just a few steps away, was your figure, glowing faintly in the moonlight. You looked as you always had—serene, your eyes filled with the quiet understanding that had once brought him comfort. But there was something ethereal, otherworldly about you now, your form shimmering like mist.

He blinked hard, certain he was imagining things. “This this is not real,” he muttered, his voice laced with desperation. “You can not be here.”

“Maybe not in the way you’re used to,” you replied, that familiar teasing lilt in your tone as you fold your arms over your chest. “But I’m still here.”

Tech took a step closer, bewildered. “I was under the impression that only Force-sensitive beings could perceive Force ghosts.”

You simply smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

He stared at you, his mind racing even more, trying to find the answer that fit the parameters of what he understood. But there was no logical explanation, no way to rationalise why he, a mere ‘defective’ Clone, could see you. He was about to press further when the weight of his unresolved emotions crashed over him again, overriding his curiosity.

The confusion morphed into anger as he shook his head. “You sacrificed yourself. You… you did not have to do that. You could have stayed. I would have found another way.” His voice cracked on the last words, frustration and grief intertwining in his chest.

You laughed softly, the sound light despite the tension in the air. “Oh, you’re upset with me? That’s rich. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” He stared at you incredulously, his logical mind struggling to keep up with the emotions crashing over him as you teased him. “Do you think I wanted you to throw your life away? We needed you—I needed you!”

Your gaze softened, and you took a step closer, though the distance between you still felt insurmountable. “I made my choice because I care about you all. Because I care about you. It’s what a Jedi does. I am to protect those I care about, even if it means sacrificing something precious.”

Tech clenched his fists, struggling with the reality of seeing you again, with the overwhelming mixture of relief, anger, and loss. “I really miss you,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I keep trying to carry on like I always do, but nothing feels right without you. I can not focus. I can not summarise reasons as to why the missions have been failing. I can’t-.”

“Not everything can be calculated, Tech. Sometimes, you have to trust what you feel.”

You reached out, your hand hovering just above his chest, over his heart. “I’m still here, Tech. Not in the way you want, I know. But as long as you carry me with you, I’ll always be a part of you.” Your gaze was steady as you met his eyes. “It’s okay to miss me. It’s okay to grieve. But don’t forget that I believed in you—just as you are. You don’t have to solve everything.”

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and for once, he didn’t hide it. “You always had a way of getting under my skin, making me feel things I didn’t think I could,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I never got the chance to tell you what you meant to me.”

Your smile turned wistful. “I already knew, Tech. I always knew.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze turning pleading. “I know it is no longer physically possible, but I wish I could hug you. I never got to when you were alive.”

The pain in your eyes mirrored his as you shook your head slowly. “I wish you could, too. But I’m afraid you won’t be able to feel me.” You looked down at your hand, as if willing it to bridge the gap between you. “This is as close as we can get now.”

Tech’s shoulders sagged with the weight of that truth. He wanted so badly to reach out, to feel the warmth of your presence again, but all he could do was hold onto the memory. “I don’t know how to do this without you,” he admitted, his voice subtly breaking.

“You’re stronger than you think,” you said softly. “Trust in yourself, just like I trusted you all these years. And when it feels too heavy, remember that I’m still right here, where it matters most.” Your hand, still hovering near his chest, flickered slightly, as if you were fading.

He nodded slowly, unable to find the words as he watched your form begin to dim. “I will try.”

Your figure shimmered in the moonlight, a final, lingering smile gracing your lips. “Goodbye, Tech. Until we meet again.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving him alone in the darkness of the forest, the echoes of your words lingering in the stillness. But for the first time in weeks, the silence wasn’t as unbearable. There was a small comfort in knowing that you were still with him, in some way, in the space that mattered most.

As he stood there under the canopy of stars, Tech wiped away the tear that had escaped, a quiet resolve settling in his chest. He wasn’t alone. You had made sure of that, even in death.

And somehow, he found the strength to take a deep breath and walk back toward the Marauder, where the others were waiting. For the first time since losing you, he allowed himself to believe that he can move forward.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets s @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot t @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @the-bad-batch-baroness @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @lulalovez @green-alm0nd

#tech Tuesday #but make it sad #the bad batch #tbb #tech bad batch #nahoney22 writes #bad batch tech x reader #tech x reader #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #bad batch #bad batch tech

149 notes · View notes

ultralightpoe · 1 month ago

Text

Venomous- Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Gahhhhhh, enjoy. Part 2 soon

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, mentions of murder.

Word Count: 7566

Requests: OPEN! [This work is a request]

[Thank you for the gif @another-nerdy-blog ]

Enjoy!

Inland Taipan

Scientific Name: Oxyuranus microlepidotus

“Despair is the price one pays when they set an impossible aim.” Dreykov murmurs, his voice sending a chill down your spy as he circles you slowly. His footsteps fall into a pattern your brain can’t help but follow, a constant thud like a war drum.

And though he claimed to be checking you for your next mission you couldn’t help but feel as though he was circling you like a predator would it’s prey.

‘He needed you’, you tried to remind yourself, doing your best to ease yourself and hide the fear from him. Because the truth was he didn’t need you. You might be his top assassin in this moment but you were easily replaceable.

Natasha herself had warned you before she escaped.

“We are nothing but weapons here.” She had whispered to you one night, huddled together to keep warmth on the mission, arms wound tightly around each other. Your sister in arms, your sister in life since you didn’t know your own family.

You had known she wanted out, you wanted the same thing, and though you weren’t mad she had made it out you were upset that she had done it without you.

Countless times dreaming of a life beyond all of this.

Lies.

“Do you understand what this means, pretty girl?” Dreykov asks, pulling your attention away from your memories back to where he know stood behind you, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror while you shake your head.

You were nervous he had caught you, that he knew you had hacked into his system three days ago to find your birth name, and so when you had been ordered down you were sure he was going to kill you.

But instead he had you prep for an upcoming mission.

“It means not to set yourself up for failure. You know your skill, and you know your limitations. You are my top weapon.” He explains, not breaking eye contact as you bite back your tongue to make a snide comment. “The mission I am about to send you on is long and I trust no one but you.”

“Thank you.” You mutter, nodding your head.

“I’d like to introduce you to the key of this mission, a vital part.” The door opens a couple feet away, and a strong figure was soon led into the room, the second you spot him your entire body tightens in discomfort.

Right, Natalia Romanov was gone and you had taken her place. Which meant you would now do duo missions with the Winter Soldier himself.

And you knew the moment your eyes traced over his body that he would ruin everything. By the way his eyes traced over your own before his fists tightened you knew he was thinking the same about you.

Dr. Aquinos always had a noticeable look of pity that, no matter how many times you saw it, always set your stomach twisting in a mix of anger and embarrassment. But you were sure if you were to bring this up she would simply tell you that you were over reading, trying to find an excuse not to trust her.

‘By the sounds of it you weren’t always this distrusting, why don’t we try to go back and think about when that began to change’. Blah blah blah.

The clock on the wall was the only sound that could be heard in the room, with you sitting completely still in an effort to wait out this hour until you could leave, and her across from you sitting patiently with her classic notepad and pen. She often twirled it between her fingers when she was getting impatient, and you tried not to smirk at the sight of her doing it now.

“I thought we had moved past this waiting game routine.”

“I thought you were over that sweater,” You huff, shrugging your shoulder a bit and giving her an empty glare, only to find that she narrows her eyes. Like a lion reading the challenge.

“You look sick.” There it is again, that damn pity that made you want to scratch out her eyes, and maybe your own. You always hated her pity, or maybe you hated the ‘serene’ paintings around the room or the happy family photo that proudly hung from the wall next to the office door. The same photo that always dug a hole in your chest whenever you spotted it.

It was a reminder and a slap in the face at the same time. Dr. Aquinos kids will never know that pain or suffering which isn’t their fault and yet you couldn’t stop the resentment that filled you whenever you saw that damn photo. The smile that reminded you of so many… so many children that deserved better.

You hated this office, and yet you found yourself here once a damn week.

“I believe the term you are looking for is sickening.” You flash her a wide smile, crossing your legs to seem more confident in this moment, trying not to seem like that movement alone caused you pain.

“I mean sick.” She states, her tone still holding that fucking pity. “Was it a long night for you?”

Yes. It had been an extremely long night for you. The first half of the night had been spent on top of a roof in the freezing cold for surveillance, only the target had shown up 40 minutes later than he normally did which meant you had an extra 40 minutes of the winter air making you shiver and tightening your bones. Which made the hip injury you tried to avoid all the worse, hard to move around.

By the time you managed to limp your way home, scarfing down the small rations of food into your mouth before shoving a pain pill down and diving into the cot you kept in the closet for safety.

You had gotten maybe an hour worth of sleep before the terrors dragged you awake in a pool of your own sweat, panic clinging to your every move.

Your hip still hurt, the throbbing beginning to work it’s way into your spine, but you had a performance to play here. “Not really, I slept through the night and woke up in my soft warm bed.”

“You’re not still sleeping on the military cot in the closet then?”

“No,” You lie, enjoying the way it slips past your lips without a notch. “I’ve got a queen size bed now.”

Yet another lie, your apartment held a duffel bag of your mission gear and suit. One dresser of normal clothes, the cot in the closet. That was all you needed.

And it’s pathetic, the way you once dreamed of this for so long just to be living this miserable existence.

“It’s common to miss it, you know, there is no shame in that. It’s the pain and the change, you feel like you have nothing right now but I can assure you that’s not true.” She mumbles softly, and you hate the way she can read you that easily.

It was true, you missed the red room. You missed your sisters and you missed the routine. You never needed to be someone in the rooms, out here in the world? A new story completely.

You were nothing, no one.

All you had was a name and even that didn’t seem like it belonged to you.

“Why don’t we keep expanding on your years in the rooms….” She switches the conversation, knowing you both had hit a dead end, choosing a new route. “You told me a little about it before and I noticed that most widows have specialty names built off of that name itself. But you didn’t, can you explain why you were named….the ‘viper’ was it?”

“Yes.” Ironically the way you bite this out makes the ending sound like your very own hiss, all you needed now was a rattle and black eyes.

“Can you explain to me how you got that name?”

“Because of…. Him.” Even referencing him left a sore spot in your chest, sweat beading the back of your neck.

“Ah, Bucky Barnes.” She hums, and you hated that people called him that. You hated that he got his name and his recovery. He was the Soldat, he would never change and of course people were falling for his trap.

You had long ago.

“The SOLDAT gave me the name on our mission.” You sneer, “What time is it?”

The clock had stuck, you were sure of it. And when she reached to check the time on her watch you caught sight of her notes with the words HEALTH RISK circled and underlined, her family photo once again making you a bit nauseous as she hums out and nods to the door to let you know the time was up.

“I look forward to our next session.”

“I don’t.” It was the truth, and you enjoyed the fact that you could speak the truth with her even if she got a little too close. “But I wish you a good week, I hope your family is okay.”

The smile that spreads across her face as you leave makes you angry, but not at her, at yourself.

She was right, you were a health risk. To yourself and to others, but that wouldn’t matter soon, the second you completed your final task you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

The list of names you had made for yourself, your last mission on this miserable life would be to take out the people that hurt you. 23 names total, and at the very end of the list in the neatest handwriting you could muster was ‘The Soldat’.

You would leave this earth, but he would leave it first.

Alternative name/s:

Fierce Snake, Small-scaled Snake, Lignum Snake

It was easy to ignore the widow, she liked to keep to herself in the corner of the small safe house they were keeping in on the first part of the mission.

A list of names, 118 total, that Hydra and the Red Room needed gone as soon as possible. Risks that needed to be handled. And the Soldat was used to doing missions on his own but they paired him with the Widow to help.

And at first he was sure she would be trouble, but he was proven to be wrong since the Widow seemed just as sure as him that she didn’t want to be near him.

Right now she sat in the corner, crisscrossing, taking time to clean all her knives with the polishing kit that most of the Hydra safe houses had to keep their gear clean. Her hands worked seamlessly, making sure that the knife shown under the light, and he couldn’t seem to look at anything else but her.

Maybe the Soldat was annoyed that she had used the polishing kit before he could. Maybe he just liked seeing that someone else had the same routine he did on these missions. Or maybe he was interested in the vials sitting beside her.

As if she could read his thoughts she reached for one, keeping the knives before her on the ground as she twisted the cap to the vial and moved to pour the liquid over each weapon before taking what was left and he was confused by the fact that she was putting on her suit.

He looked closer, realizing that there were vials hidden within her sleeve. He wanted to know what they were for until she looked up to give him a knowing smile, teeth flashing in a way that pissed him off.

He turned away again, so she can go back to doing her hair and looking at her reflection.

But it all made sense the night of the first hunt. She had started at the other end of the house and planned to make their way through to find their target, and by the time he did find her she already had the target within her clutch.

His arm twisted within her legs to keep him in place with one hand pushing his head so his neck was exposed while her other wrist snaps to reveal two puncture points at the knuckles of her suit made to look like fangs. Only a flash of those before they reach his neck.

She removes herself immediately and he rushes to get the target, worried that he would fight back and wondering what would make the widow so stupid to let him go before he realizes that the Target wasn’t moving at all. Instead he seems paralyzed as he died slowly.

When he whirls back to the Widow she is once again facing a mirror, fixing her hair and lipstick before turning to him with a smile that twisted his chest. “Are there any more loose ends?”

The russian falls off his tongue with ease and she narrows her eyes at him to tilt her head.

“Tous les détails sont pris en charge,” [All the loose ends are taken care of.] She shrugs, twirling her hair before spinning on her toes and swaying her hips to walk away. His brain racks for a moment, never great at French which she had realized on the first day, and followed the brat down the hall.

He risks a look down the hall where Marvin Montys child slept and spots the blood splatter on the wall, before following her.

At least the widow could do her job.

“You’re making a lot of progress, Bucky.” Dr. Raynor hums out, nodding her head as she watches him from her regular spot. She hasn’t scribbled on her notepad in the past 30 minutes of their hour-long session, and he hopes that’s a good sign. “But I’d like to dive a bit deeper for a moment, cut to the harsh point if you don’t mind.”

“Not like I have a choice here Doc.” He mutters, but his tone lacks the usual bite.

“Funny,” She smirks for a second before sitting up a bit. “There’s a patch of memories that you said helped you break from the Soldier with Steve. Made it easier, your own words.”

“There was. About a month before I was sent out to get Steve….. I had just gotten back from another mission.”

“The one with the ‘Viper’ is that correct?”

He has to clear his throat in attempt to fight off the tightness, feeling his chest constrict in pain as he nods.

“It was a long mission. I hadn’t been away from the chair for that long before and she managed to break through every crack formed. Or at least we thought she did.”

“Have you tried to find her? Since you have come back?”

“I started trying to find her the second Steve found me.” He explains, thinking back to when he first started tracking her down. But there was nothing, even going through all the programs he could within the Red Rooms files, he couldn’t find a trace of her anywhere after him.

He was terrified, because if he couldn’t find a single trace of you that might have meant you were gone and he didn’t think he could survive in a world that he knew didn’t have you in it.

But then Natasha freed the Red Room while he was ‘snapped’ and the world he came back to was a world with the Widows and all their secrets revealed. And that’s when he found Yelena….. Well Yelena had found him.

She had been suffering from the loss of her sister, and had taken to finding all the widows herself to make sure they were fine. She was the one person in this world that had the information he needed.

Sam, the new captain america, had poured over the intel with him. Your intel, the trail to find you.

“You sound as if you have.”

“Not yet, but I’m close.” He nods. “I have this feeling in my chest, that I’m almost there. That I’ve almost got her. And I can give her what she’s always wanted.”

“And what’s that?”

“A candle that smells like orchids by a front door where you can hang your keys. A door mat decorated to invite kids to trick or treat on Halloween. Curtains that catch the light in the morning.” None of the things he mentioned were his dreams, not until she had mentioned them.

“I hope you get those things.” He does too. And he was close, matter fact he only had 3 more days before Sam and himself went to find you.

The inland taipan's venom is the most potent of any snake in the world. A single bite contains enough venom to kill around 100 adult humans. The venom is a cocktail of enzymes that paralyze nerve endings, destroy muscle tissue, and cause severe bleeding

A month with the Soldat had been easy keeping to yourself, 2 months had shown you so much more.

The first being he was extremely grumpy in the mornings, no matter what. Even before you both had begun getting along you had noticed that he hated them. Every move he made was tight, He would rip open the ration packets and stomp his feet just about anywhere. He would do weapons checks so that all you would hear were the clicks and twists of his gun and the metal hand grabbing everything.

Then he would do bed checks, coming over to the cot you had claimed as your own to throw you off it and search through your stuff.

Month three, 3 targets in, you had completely learned his morning routine. And since you had been on watch last night you got the gift of seeing it in real time. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning in his sleep and mumbling something about a Steve he sat up right at 5am, launching himself out of his cot and taking in his surroundings. He glared at you, which made you smirk as he passed to head to the bathroom. He stretched in there, too proud to admit that even the Soldat needed to loosen his muscles. You heard the water run telling you he was right on schedule with cleaning himself up and you took the chance to rest your head on the small pillow to close your eyes before he stomps back.

You know he is reaching for the ration packets without even opening your eyes, and you know he uses his teeth to tear it open in hopes to release some of the tension he had built up. You know he is already snatching your own ration packet to prepare it, moving to start the kettle and prepare the bowls.

You have another 15 minutes of him checking his weapons, hearing him grunt with every weapon cleaned and polished before making sure they were all strapped into their holsters. The kettle starts ringing and he has the habit of rushing to grab it before it bothered you, and you always thought it was the most human thing to do, like a glimpse into who he would have been if he hadn’t become this monster.

The smell of cream of wheat fills the air, and you hear his steps come to your cot, right on time.

In the beginning he used to snatch you up to fling you, now he merely reached out a hand to guide you up without an ounce of aggression before he searched through your stuff. And normally you would go grab the rationed breakfast and get ready but today you chose to head to his own cot, sliding into it.

You were just tired, and you really didn’t care as he turned to glare at you while you curled up, pretending that you weren’t basking in the smell of the leather and soap he wore, pressing your face into the cloth of the cot. A small ounce of fear fills you when he marches forward, only for him to pull the blanket up and cover your shoulders.

And the warmth fills your body, black filling your vision as you fall asleep once more, this time in the Soldats bed.

You wake a little later, eyes snapping around the room to check everything, finding the Soldat sitting over his tech to watch your next target. He snaps his head to you the second you sit up, eyes tracing over you before nodding in contempt and turning back to the task at hand.

When you stand from the cot to grab your gear you are shocked to find that he had already prepared it for you.

Not only had the Soldat let you sleep, but he had helped you prepare.

And that small tug in your chest is a weakness, you know it, but that doesn’t stop you from turning to watch him work.

If he wasn’t in this life you were sure he would have been a good man.

You felt bad lying to him, but you had to because good man or not he was a soldier first. And a good soldier would take you out for your weakness, a good soldier would kill you for what you were doing.

The worst part of waking up was the fact that you couldn’t escape the dreams and memories even with your eyes open. Most think that it’s over once you wake, but for you? Never. Every move is haunted by the past, every breath another painful punishment, and everywhere you look is just another reminder. There was nowhere you could escape.

So when you manage to pull yourself from the nightmare, sitting up with your clothes drenched in a cold sweat, the darkness of the closet surrounding you like a blanket of protection.

You’re not there….You remind yourself. If it’s dark then they are leaving you alone.

And when you sit up, pain shoots through your hip at every single move, letting yourself out of the closet you begin your routine.

3 am, a slight shower. Not long in fear you would be caught and in part you didn’t want to run too much water. Brush teeth, dress in suit.

3:15, limp to the kitchen and start boiling water before you reach into your duffel to grab the pain pills you kept hidden away. The prescription written in your name feels wrong, like aren’t actually yours, like you are living the life of a stranger. But you remind yourself it doesn’t matter anyways as you shove it in your mouth, going back to scarf the cream of wheat down and then you head out for an intel session.

You never take the door, instead you snatch your duffel and remove a little of the newspaper to slide out and climb down the fire escape.

You take back roads, your static sounder messing up any footage of yourself the cameras might have caught. And soon enough you were prepping yourself to watch your target, venom sitting in the wrists of your suit, a little bit of that past routine giving you something to focus on.

20 more names on the list until you would go after the Soldat, 21 more names total. 21 names until you are finished with it all.

All you had to do was wait for the perfect time to kill this one.

The bite of the Inland Taipan with envenomation can be rapidly fatal, it can take as early as 30 minutes

The Widow had worn on the Soldat, a shame to admit.

A routine had built where it shouldn't have and now instead of working around each other they worked with each other. They made the rations together, ate together, cleaned their weapons and reloaded them together.

When he would sit to watch the intel she began coming to sit with him, if not to watch it herself she would lean her head against him and find something to busy herself with while he worked.

But the biggest change was the banter.

Gone were the days of him grunting and glaring, she would refuse that now. Instead they found themselves going back and forth, but it was never serious, mostly teasing.

She would speak in French to piss him off because she knew the Soldat struggled to keep up with it. He would come out of the shower and lean over where she slept to make the water drip down on her while she tried to sleep. She would trip him as he tried to get dressed and he would pull out strands of hair while she did it.

Back and forth, push and pull.

Today, when they were planning to start the intel stage on the next target it had turned out to be a downpour of rain, and normally he would go anyway. And yet, when you went to grab your suit he reached out his flesh hand to stop you, pulling you to sit back down.

“Today, we rest.” He orders, watching your eyes narrow at the russian before you nod and stand, keeping ahold of his hand as you head to where you both keep the stash of rations.

This safe house was freezing, and it made him miss the last one, not to mention this safe house only held one cot. The best part about this safe house?

It had amazing rationing food.

So when you shook the pack to heat it up he made sure to stay close and start the kettle. Keeping so close that he could always feel your arm against him.

And once the rations were ready you both huddled together against the counters for cover so you could let your walls down a bit, sitting side by side. You shared your beef and potatoes, he shared his spaghetti, eating out of the portion packs and drinking the tea. But his favorite part about this new routine was when the conversation turned to dreams.

“If I wasn’t in this program……” You hum, and he can’t help but watch your every movement, the way you lick your hips and scratch your forehead in contemplation. “I would have a big house.”

He huffs out a laugh, shoving the last of his food in mouth as you shrug. “Yes, a big house. And…… and I would have a candle that smells like orchids so whenever people enter they think it smells nice….. And maybe a rug outside the door so they can see it when the kids trick or treat.”

He can’t help the smile that forms from listening about your dream, grabbing your trash to throw away before cleaning out the mugs you both used.

“Oh! I’d have kids. At least 7!” You continue, following him before shuffling to tech case to find your camera set up. He knows you’re going to triple check that everything is working to busy yourself, something you often did whenever you brought up the idea of kids.

Widows couldn’t have kids, this he knew. They all received the procedure. To stop periods, to keep their bodies from transforming too much and too prevent pregnancies whenever Dreykov sent them on seduction missions. And before the Soldat had met you none of that had really mattered to him.

But now, the thought of you being used like that, it made him furious. And he tried to figure out ways to prevent it, ways to stay attached to you as a mission partner forever.

But that would never happen, they would never allow that. So he tries not to think about it, instead he moves forward to pull you away from the tech, pulling you to the cot so you both can lay down, pulling the blanket up and wrapping you in his arms.

“Goodnight,” You whisper in french, and pinches your arm to make you laugh before letting himself fall asleep. \

Bucky had the defense of saying that they had tried knocking first, and that was a lame defense at that. But he thought about his arguments as he picked the lock with ease, pushing the door open and letting Sam take the lead.

At the last second his flesh hand grabs at the Captain America suit, pulling his friend back to warn him. “A quick heads up, she doesn’t fight like the others.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“No, don’t let her wrap her legs around you and don’t let her knives come into contact, small slash or not they are all laced in venom. And above all avoid getting punctured by any of her weapons.” He explains.

“I thought we were going in to reason with her.”

“We are.” Bucky sighs, his chest constricting in pain. “She’s just a little lost. We’ve all been there.”

The need for revenge was strong. He had been there himself, Yelena had been there. Many widows have been there. And you were currently handling that yourself, handling all the trauma yourself. And that thought hurt him.

Sam had agreed to help, to come with him and find you, talk you down from this path Captain America style.

So they stood together as they pushed the door in, searching every inch of the apartment for you until they realized you weren’t here. So instead they looked around for where you might be.

“I thought all the Hydra Safe Houses had been torn apart.” Sam mutters, admiring the work you did on the windows, newspaper covering nearly every inch while Bucky moves to the closet where he had seen the bed in their search for you.

He could imagine you nestled up in the cot, surrounded in the dark. The way you used to pull the covers completely over your head to hide from the sun and use your feet to pull the blanket in so you were fully cocooned.

But this….. None of this was you. Countless times talking about your dreams and this was the outcome? You deserved better.

“Everything you told me about her just doesn’t seem right here.” Sam mutters once more moving to the kitchens and digging through the cabinets. “Military rations and tea. That’s all.”

“She was so full of life, used to dream of her freedom. She needs help.” Bucky snaps, anger beginning to course through him as he heads to the kitchen. One of your biggest things when you were paired was hiding the tech when you left so no one would have access.

Your favorite spot was always the bottom left cabinet and sure enough it all sat there.

“Brilliant.” Sam smiles, leaning over the laptop as Bucky hacks his way in to see what you have been watching. It takes a moment for the footage to load, and once it does he finds video footage of a man walking around his apartment in a towel.

“Live feed.” Bucky mumbles.

“That’s Eaiton,” Sam sighs, leaning forward as the man walks down a hall and heads into what looks to be a master bedroom. The footage follows the movement and when the feed changes to another camera you had hidden Sam whistles. “And that is NOT Eaitons wife.”

“Course not.” Bucky chuckles, pulling out his phone to enter in the address on the intel. “What do you know about him?”

“Nothing much. Was on Congress, just got removed but they didn’t announce it. Kept the whole thing hush hush. Last I talked to Yelena she was looking into his name, it’s why I recognized him so quickly.”

“The address isn’t far off, if we take the back roads we can avoid traffic.” Bucky explains, beginning to lead the way out of the apartment while already dialing on his phone. It rings and rings and rings. Once the call fails he tries again and again and again.

Finally it’s picked up, a brash voice filling his ears, out of breath. “Who the fuck keeps calling?!”

“Jared Eaiton, I’m calling to inform you that your life is in danger. I advise you to not hang up.” Bucky starts, watching Sams wings expand so he can take off as he straddles his bike. “I need you to do a couple things for me, starting with having you and the women you are with get dressed as normally as possible. I need you to act natural.”

“Why? For what?”

“Sir, there is a Widow somewhere near your apartment,” He explains, though part of him wants to let you get your revenge he knew you were better than this. You were more than a widow. “Step two, are you ready?”

Inland taipans are generally calm and reclusive, preferring to escape from trouble. However, they will defend themselves and strike if provoked, mishandled, or prevented from escaping

The Soldat moved easily with you, striding side by side as you prepared to take out the target. And normally you loved his proximity, but today it did nothing but give you anxiety.

Something he seemed to be picking up on.

Before you could split from him to follow the plan he grabs your elbow slowly, making sure to not trigger the fang puncture on your wrist, pulling you close to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t like this plan.”

“It’s a plan we have done many times.” You try to laugh, giving him your best pretty smile to push him off the track. It only makes it worse.

“There is something wrong with you today.” He grunts out, keeping you close. “I don’t want to separate.”

“We do this, this is the plan.” You huff, “Don’t stress grumpy man.”

You lean up on your toes to kiss his cheek, watching his eyes narrow at you a little more, but you smile like nothing is wrong once more. Leaving his arms and heading off.

You didn’t have time, he had been a little grumpy this morning which meant he will work faster on the mission, and you had two kids to smuggle out before he caught you.

You had made sure to take the side closest to their room for this mission, climbing up to the second story window and sliding in like a shadow. It takes 5 steps until you are in their room, and your heart expands the second you see them.

They slept so soundly, looking so peaceful that you knew you were a villain just for having to wake them up. But you do, keeping a hand over their mouths to keep them calm as you order them in english.

“I need you to listen.” You order, as they both try to move away. “Follow me. Now.”

The boy jumps to do so, the girl however holds her ground until you get on her level. “Listen to me, you and your brother are in danger here. And unless you want him to be hurt you will follow me.”

And so they do.

You work quickly, breaking a vase as you pass, spraying a bottle of fake blood to make it look like splatter before you have them hold onto you as you crawl out the same way you entered.

The Agent you worked with most the time was already standing in the streetlight waiting for you to deliver them. “Go with him, he will keep you safe.”

The boy, once again, does not wait to run and you’re sure he is still half asleep. The girl keeps a firm clutch on your hand, forcing you to kneel as a loud bang sounds out, letting you know the Soldat is nearly done.

“I need you to go.” You whisper, pushing some of the hair from her face and tracing her cheek with your fingers. “He’ll take care of you ….. I promise.”

She nods, crying, but runs off.

And you don’t have time, but you watch anyways. The way the agent scoops them up and hugs them close, both their arms wrapped tightly around him. You envy it, and you hate it all in the same go.

They will never see their parents again, they will never know the safety of their home. After today they are ruined.

But you could at least make sure they get into the car safely before heading back, out of breath with tears falling down your face.

You’re so panicked about time that you slip on your way in, slipping in the fake blood and slamming into the broken glass of the vase right as the Soldat comes around the corner in a fury.

You panic, the rage written on his face makes you think he knows. He must know. This was the end and he would go back and find the kids, This will all be ruined.

But the second he kneels in front of you the rage disappears, instead he is pulling at your limbs so he can look you over, checking you for any injuries you realize.

“It’s not my blood.” You try to explain.

“It is.” He snaps, eyes narrowing as he pulls a piece of glass from your hip. “You’re hurt.”

And when you look down you realize it is in fact some of your blood, since you had fallen on the vase. He pulls you to look back at him, keeping his hand on your jaw. “Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t check for the kids, he merely drags you away.

The target was acting weird, both him and his prostitute were. You knew better than that, and you refused to let this one slip away today, you were so sick of watching him and his hookers.

So you grabbed your gear, and went to work.

Never take the front door, that was the first rule. So you climbed onto the roof of his apartment building, finding the skylight and carving your way in, sliding down on a rope to land on your feet and pull out your knife prematurely.

Immediately you know something is off, the sharp feeling in your spine makes you feel like there is a predator near.

A predator you know all too well by the smell of leather.

You can’t help the hiss that passes your lips as you whirl to find him, kicking out to knock him off his feet as soon as you can. Only he was prepared for that, catching your foot with his metal, pulling you close only to barely dodge the knife you slash at him, his eyes wide.

You take his shock to your favor, slashing at him again, his metal arm coming up to protect him. The clash rings out and you hiss again, making him grunt out as you distribute the weight. Only to get knocked off your ass by another figure.

You had been so distracted with your hate for the Soldat that you missed the red white and blue suit.

You waste no time to twist and attack at them, turning feral with the need to kill.

And then the fight turns 2 against one. Every slash you make is dodged by a metal shield or a metal arm, every kick is met with one of their own, every punch is caught and pushed away. They both track your movements well, easily even.

You kick the chest of the Captain, sending him reeling back, throwing a knife to trap his sleeve to the ground as you turn back to the Soldat and move to stab the knife down, he catches it between the crook of his metal arm, grunting out to keep you further back.

“I don’t want to do this.” He grunts out as you push down with the knife, hissing. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Need?” You laugh bitterly. “I want to do this.”

And you almost got it until he kicked out your feet and sent you reeling back.

You were getting desperate, panicked, and though you knew better than to let yourself get this way you couldn’t help it. So with no true aim you threw the knife, the Soldat catching it with one hand as you charge at him, triggering the fangs as you use his own knee to launch up, your knee pressing on his shoulder with your right hand pulling his hair to expose his neck while he drops the knife.

Instead of pulling you off his arms come up to catch you, like natural instinct. And you are pathetic because you hesitate, this is your chance to get him and yet you feel tears in your eyes as you can’t even push your hand to get him.

And then you’re being thrown as something hits your back, air leaving your lungs.

Pain laces through you as you fly off him, the shield flying back to the Captain while you fall to the ground.

Not only do you feel the pain in your back but your hip hits the floor and you cry out, struggling to get back to your feet to keep fighting.

“Hey! Don’t you dare!” The man in the USA suit orders, pointing at you like you are a dog. “Stop.”

You hiss while the Soldat chuckles, wiping some of the blood from his lip. “Listen-”

“Fuck you!” You yell, lunging out to attack but it’s no use as you crumble to the ground, your hip giving out. He’s quick to go to help you, only to be pushed back as you reach to snatch another knife only for his boot to step on it.

“You used to be better at this.” He huffs out, still breathing heavily as the other one comes closer.

You want to kill him, to yell at him and hit him. You want to tell him that he’s the reason for all of this. But the tears are falling and your hip is throbbing.

You’re useless.

“Kill me.” You snap. “Just do it. Get it over with.”

You watch as his face crumbles, pain lacing his features while his partner takes charge.

“We are here to help you, that is all.” He starts. “You want revenge, that’s understandable. But there are better ways, I promise you.”

“Better ways?” You hiss out a laugh through the tears. “You’re kidding me.”

“You want to ruin these men, and I understand.” He leans down, and you risk a look to the Soldat, who is watching you with a devastating look, you are forced to turn back to the other to avoid getting sick. “You have information on them, you can testify-”

“What? So they can get out of it?”

“No, they could serve time in-”

“COULD. They could.”

“Then we get revenge.” It’s the Soldat that says this, his voice tight. “We will, I promise. You work with Sam and I and we will get intel on them all, enough so that they don’t have a chance. But no killing.”

You look back and forth between them, watching as they have a silent conversation between them, before the captain finally nods with a deep sigh.

Soldat turns back to you, kicking the knife to you gently. “Come on.”

“I can get you a full pardon.” His partner offers. “Full pardon of all crimes within the red room to now. So long as the three of us work together.”

“My entire list?” You sneer, risking a look to the Soldat one more time.

“Entire list.” He nods, watching you closely.

And then it clicks for you. You’re trapped here, there is no doubt. But if you could get closer, to trap him in, you could finish your promise to yourself.

You can kill him.

So, with a final hiss and tears falling down your face you nod slowly, clutching your hands into fists as you answer with a ‘deal.’

The inland taipan is a specialist hunter of mammals, and its venom is adapted to kill warm-blooded species. The venom acts quickly to kill the prey before they can bite back or escape

The Soldat helps you the entire way, even though you weren’t actually hurt, which you tried to tell him. But the arguments were no use, he would hear none of it, instead he pushed to carry you until you both made it home.

He hauls you to the bathroom, setting you down to start the water and let it heat up before removing your suit as slowly as possible. Once the suit of off he helps you sit down so the cut is exposed and he can clean it.

The fact that such a small cut would bother him so much nearly makes you laugh, but it also gives you butterflies, and you wonder if this is how normal people feel. So you lean forward, grabbing his attention. And without thinking you kiss him, your lips meeting his as you melt into him.

This would change everything, and you know it, but you don’t care. And he didn’t either by the way his arms wrap around you, melting into the kiss just as you had.

You were going to kill the Soldat, it was something you had promised yourself long ago. In the darkened cell they had kept you in, near dead, the only thing keeping you from giving up was that promise.

‘I will not leave this earth unless he is gone from it’

You would kill him, this was fact, no matter what you had to do. Once you did that you could kill yourself. This final mission was yours.

109 notes · View notes

willyoubemycherryy · 7 months ago

Text

Order➬𝑭𝒊𝒛𝒛𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒎𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑱𝒐𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒛

“Well look at you…”

𝑰𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔: 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑, 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏

☘︎︎.

It would be so cute when it was done. You just had to trust the process.

Sitting in the middle of Joe’s room covered in all kinds of glitter, patches, thread, and other crafty things. You were adding designs to a jacket you recently bought for him because you thought he’d look so good in it….after you gave it some razzle dazzle.

Now in your defense, it wasn’t gonna take long. It wasn’t supposed to. It was just sewing some cute patches on a cute jacket that you got your more than cute boyfriend. But…you’d never been particularly good at sewing or minding the time, so there’s that.

You can only imagine how you look as the door suddenly opens and Joe walks in, freezing as he looks at you. There’s a mess of supplies all around you and you…

You’re so cute, sitting on your knees in patterned stockings wearing one of those mini skirts you love so much, lovely hair pinned up away from your pretty face as your glossy lips move into a pout as you bat your lashes at him, shooing him with a manicured hand and he’s never been more smitten.

“Ugh! Joeee!! Now it won’t be a surprise! Go! Shoo! Off with you!” You yell, trying to be stern even as your cheeks heat under his love struck gaze.

“Well look at you…”

The soft tone of his low voice makes your heart skip a beat as you look down at your unfinished project. You like him too much to even stay frustrated with him.

“It’s for you…but it’s not done yet so you have to wait even though you wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t back so early”, you catch yourself rambling because he’s closer, kneeling down in front of you as he smiles, still looking at you like you were cloud 9 personified.

Honestly, to him, it doesn’t matter that you’re not finished because the fact that you were thinking of him enough to do something for him means more than you’ll ever know. You’re so sweet on him that it makes him melt as he bends down to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, you’re a doll. I love it, really.” You flush entirely, down to your toes as you giggle, soaking up his affection.

“Practice ended early so that’s why I’m back early and I’m glad I am. You look even prettier today”, he’s going to give you heart failure if he keeps sweet talking you like this, you whine.

“You’re trouble today and while I very much enjoy it, it’s also distracting so…” Joe laughs because usually it’s you flustering him, not the other way around.

“Are you kicking me out my room, doll?”

Suppressing a smile, you nod.

“Unfortunately, but not for long. You’ll just have to go play or something in the meantime.” The way he quirks his eyebrow as a slow smirk grows on his face makes you rush to correct yourself.

“Not like that!” He bursts into more laughter and you pull him into a kiss to shut him up.

You separate and he puts a hand up in surrender.

“Alright, I’m gone. Be back in 40?” You nod and he gets up to go.

“Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave!” The immediate shade of red on the tips on his ears has you struggling to compose yourself as you laugh, the door swinging shut behind him as his heart beats faster.

Already looking forward to 40 minutes from now.

(Y’all listen to birds of a feather I’m in love)

♡︎ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ, ᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴏʟʟᴀʀ😌

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #asks #answered💛🎀#the boys in the boat #joe rantz #joe rantz x reader #fluff #callum turner fluff

189 notes · View notes

sasheemo · 2 months ago

Text

When We Collide

Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Unexpected vulnerabilities and glimpses of hidden struggles are unveiled. But as defenses rise and words cut deep, the moment is fractured, leaving you and Agatha to confront unresolved emotions alone. Back at home, tensions only deepen.

Word Count: 2.9k

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

Agatha’s eyes fix on the ground, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns in the dirt as she collects her thoughts. “It’s … my mother” she begins, each word dropping heavily, like stones tossed into a deep well. “She… she expects a lot from me.”

You stay quiet, watching her carefully, patiently waiting for her to keep going as if any movement or sound could rip the moment apart.

Agatha sighs, frustration clouding her face “It’s like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. Ultimately, I always do something wrong, some unforgivable mistake that makes me unworthy of her legacy. It’s … it’s … it’s exhausting.”

You feel an unexpected twinge of empathy, the weight of those expectations all too familiar. “So that’s why you… reacted like that?” you ask softly, choosing your words with care, as to not startle her.

Agatha’s tone sharpens, but something fragile lingers beneath “I was… tired. Tired of always being under her scrutiny, tired of feeling like I’m never good enough.”

You study her, take in her words, trying to gauge how much more she is willing to reveal.

And then she speaks again, almost startling you. “I’m supposed to be Agatha Harkness” she says, voice laced with sarcasm “powerful and poised, the daughter of the great Evanora Harkness” she sweeps her arms out in a mocking, theatrical gesture, her lips curling into a bitter smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Then, her expression falters and her voice drops to a murmur “But here …” her gaze lowers, arms falling back to her sides, her voice barely audible now. “Here, I was just … broken. Powerless”.

An unexpected protectiveness stirs within you and the words easily come out “You’re not broken, Agatha. Sometimes… it’s all just too much.”

Her eyes flash with something unguarded—is it … gratitude? “You make it sound so simple” she scoffs bitterly, “But it’s not. Not when your are constantly being told, reminded, that you’re failing to live up to some impossible standards someone else set for you.”

You fight back the urge to share how much you relate to her words, choosing to let Agatha have her moment. Right now, you just want her to keep going, to talk to you. “Maybe you should tell her that” you suggest, your tone gentle but firm. “Your Mother, maybe she needs to hear it.”

Agatha’s laughter is hollow. “Right, because that’s how these things work. I’ll just sit down for tea with her and be like, ‘Hey, Mother, can we have a chat about your impossible expectations?’”

“Why not?” you counter, your voice calm and steady as you try to hold back a smirk at her sarcasm. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She’d probably just sl- laugh in my face and remind me what failure of a daughter and witch I am” Agatha replies, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

You meet her gaze, determined not to back down. “Why do you let her get to you? You can choose not to let her opinions define you.”

And with your words lingering in the air, an unbidden thought strikes ‘you are such a hypocrite, is that what you do when it comes to your own mother? You, giving mother-daughter relationship advice … really?!’. Your own voice is so loud in your head, but you are quick to push it aside, determined to keep your focus on the conversation and on Agatha.

Agatha scoffs shaking her head “And you think that’s easy? Maybe for someone who hasn’t spent their life under the weight of someone else’s expectations.” her tone is icy before she pauses, her eyes narrowing. “What would you even know about that?”

“Enough to know that resentment eats away at you” you shoot back, tension tightening around you.

Agatha opens her mouth, then hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. “So now you’re just the expert on my life, right?”. The moment the question hits your ears, you realize there’s something about the way her sass flares up, only to vanish just as quickly, that’s starting to grow on you—for reasons you can’t quite explain.

“No” you say evenly “but I’m trying to understand. You act like you don’t care, but tearing up half the forest isn’t exactly indifference, is it?”

Agatha rolls her eyes “Oh, aren’t you insightful?” she shoots back, sarcasm dripping from every wordy. “What’s next, are you going to solve all of my life’s problems with your little spells and the power of nature?” she raises her hand, fingers flicking in exaggerated waves as if she’s casting a spell in mockery of your abilities.

When her teasing is met by your silence and unimpressed face, Agatha’s hand drops. She shifts on her spot and slightly away form you, her walls slamming back into place. “What makes you think I need your help? I don’t want you to understand me” Agatha snaps. Yet, her bravado feels thin, barely masking the vulnerability underneath. “And I don’t need you to either. I don’t know you and you don’t know me and things don’t need to change just because yester-”

“Maybe I’m starting to see you” you interject, your voice low but firm. “And maybe … that scares you.”

Agatha’s expression darkens, and you can see the inner conflict waging war once again within her. “What do you even want from me?” she asks, her tone suddenly softer, almost pleading. “Do you want me to apologize? To grovel at your feet? Because I’m not going to do that.”

Your scoff immediately fills the air “I don’t want any of that.” you say, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination … before it falters. “I-I just want to listen, to help you” the words escape your lips before you even realize it but, weirdly enough, you feel no urge to take them back.

It’s Agatha’s turn to scoff, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if trying to shield herself from your words. “You really think you can break through, don’t you? You think you can just stroll in and make it all better?” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s in it for you, anyway?” her eyes narrow, a twisted smirk curving her lips as she tilts her head, examining you “Or do you just get off on trying to ‘help’ people?” she sneers. “Is this your idea of fun, finding broken souls to patch up?”

The words hit you like a slap, and you feel a surge of irritation rising in your chest. It’s not like that… is it? You’re not even sure why you’re here, why you feel this strange pull toward Agatha’s pain, her defenses, and her sharp sarcasm. But her accusation stings, and for a second, you’re at a loss, unable to find a response that doesn’t sound defensive. You press your lips together, trying to ignore the way her gaze feels like it’s cutting straight through you, exposing motives you hadn’t even figured out yourself.

You just… sit there, quietly, as the silence between you grows stifling and almost suffocating, locking you both into this strange standoff. Then, Agatha finally looks away, her smirk of satisfaction fading quickly to your own surprise.

You study her face for a few more seconds before letting your gaze drift away. For an instant, you can feel how her words are suspended in the air, mingling with the wisps of smoke from the dying fire. Enveloped in that same air, Agatha can feel the weight of what she said, its sharpness. A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, giving way to something heavier, the realization that her words likely reached a part of you she hadn’t entirely meant to wound.

A hint of regret seeps in, unexpected and unwelcome, but undeniable. Her fingers find a loose twig on the ground, and she twists it absently, a distraction from the unfamiliar pang of guilt settling in her chest.

The two of you remain like this, silently lost in thought and unwilling to meet each other’s gaze, as time stretches on indefinitely. Finally, as if needing to fill the silence pressing down on her, Agatha breaks it, her voice edged with frustration “It’s just… I don’t know why I’m even talking to you about this.” she mutters.“This whole conversation is ridiculous. I should be studying, or practicing my spells, or… I don’t know, anything else! Not sitting here talking to you, of all people.”

At the sound of her voice, you turn your gaze back to her, noticing how she is yet again tracing aimless patterns in the dirt, this time with the twig. Her eyes are fixed downward, still avoiding yours. “Maybe you needed to get it off your chest” you reply calmly. Only then does Agatha’s hand still, her gaze lifting until her eyes meet yours, something flickering within them as if your words have caught her off guard, as if she was expecting you to reply something else entirely. “Besides” you add “they say it’s easier to talk to someone you’re at odds with.”

“Right, because that’s totally sane” Agatha snaps, but her voice lacks its usual bite. “I’ve lost it, talking to my mother’s rival’s daughter. What’s next? Making each other flower crowns?”

You raise an eyebrow and take a breath, feeling the tension ease just a fraction. “We’re not so different, you know. We are both fighting to escape expectations that were never ours to begin with.”

“Great!” Agatha replies, giving a slow, exaggerated clap, the faintest hint of a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Two broken souls bonding over the wreckage of their lives. Truly inspiring.”

“Better than being at each other’s throats” you shot back, your words almost a question, a small grin threatening to break through.

Agatha rolls her eyes, but you can see the corners of her mouth twitch again. “I suppose. Just don’t expect me to start writing poetry about my feelings anytime soon.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” you reply, unable to suppress a chuckle.

But the lightness of the moment doesn’t last long. Agatha’s expression shifts back to something more guarded as she speaks “Look, just … I don’t want to be some sob story. I’ll handle my drama in my own way. I didn’t ask for this heart-to-heart.”

“Fair enough” you say, your voice steady. “Just know that you can talk to me if you ev-”

“Sure, I’ll just add it to my list of things I’d rather not do.” she cuts in, but there’s a flicker in her eyes—a glimmer of something like acknowledgment, maybe even appreciation.

This isn’t a resolution, but it’s a step. Toward what, you’re not entirely sure. The tension between you shifts slightly, softened by all the things left unsaid. You tell yourself it’s nothing significant, but somewhere, buried beneath your thoughts, lingers the sense that this might not be the last time you talk.

Agatha’s voice pierces through the silence, her expression serious “It doesn’t make sense, does it? And yet here we are.”

“Yeah” you murmur, letting the strange truth settle between you. “It’s ridiculous, we’re practically rivals.”

“Practically?” she scoffs, though the tension in her voice hints at something different, an understanding just beneath the surface. “I’d say we’re already well past that point.”

“Fine, we’re rivals.” you say, and you can almost taste the faint hesitation on your tongue. “But… do you even know why?” you can’t help but ask, the question just hanging there, almost rhetorical. “I mean, it’s just… always been that way, hasn’t it? Like, it was handed down to us and … we went along with it?”

Agatha’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement at your questions, her expression shifts slightly as she considers your words. But her tone suddenly hardens “You think that just because we’re sitting here, chatting about my emotional breakdown or whatever, that we’re best friends now? That’s not how it works and you know it.”

Agatha’s words settle heavily in the air, cold and dismissive, pressing against you like an invisible wall. Whatever momentary connection you thought you’d glimpsed now feels fractured. For a brief second, you almost want to reply, to push back, but a strange resignation settles over you instead. You can’t shake the feeling of foolishness creeping in, a nagging sense that this whole morning was just a waste of time. Why did you even bother? What were you even expecting?

You force yourself to nod, as if conceding. “Right. Like you said, that’s not how it works.”, but the words taste empty. You exhale sharply before standing up, glancing back at her one last time “Goodbye, Agatha.” you say, your voice steady and calm, deliberate. You hold her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, as if silently making it clear that you won’t be the one left vulnerable. Then, without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away, letting the muted sounds of the forest close in around you.

Agatha doesn’t move for a long time, her gaze trained on the fading embers. The ashes lift and drift in the breeze, remnants of something heavy and unresolved, scattered too easily, just like the semblance of a connection that had briefly flared between you. She watches as the ashes dissolve into the air, a reminder that what’s been reduced to ashes rarely returns to what it once was. The weight of the moment clings to her, an odd pang she doesn’t fully understand. It presses against her usual defenses, almost like regret, not that she’d never admit it.

As she sits there, the faint rustle of underbrush draws her attention. She looks up, noticing a rabbit moving toward her with a cautious, uneven gait. Her brow furrows slightly as she watches it come closer, each hesitant hop tugging at an unspoken guilt she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Only when it pauses just a step from her crossed legs does she feel the certainty settle. A quiet, undeniable recognition that this is indeed the same rabbit that had fallen victim to her anger the day before.

Instinctively, she raises a hand to shoo it away, irritation flashing across her face. “Get lost.” she mutters, her voice sharper than she intends, her fingers flicking in a dismissive wave. But the rabbit doesn’t retreat. It stands its ground, then hops closer, pausing in front of her with a quiet insistence. She watches it, her irritation softening as it sits there.

With a sigh, Agatha relents, lowering her hand until her fingers barely graze the rabbit’s fur. The warmth of its small body surprises her, grounding her in the quiet solitude of the forest. Guilt and tenderness flicker in equal measure as she absently strokes its fur. “I’m sorry.” she whispers, barely recognizing her own voice as a single tear trails down her cheek. The rabbit hops into her lap, then settles in, curling up as if it belongs there, its small body calm against her. For the first time in a long while, Agatha allows herself a moment of quiet reflection, feeling the weight of emotions she can’t fully name.

The stillness of the forest fades as you cross through your garden and step into the walls of your home. Before you can even close the door, your mother’s voice pierces the silence, her tone laced with its usual mix of mockery and disapproval. “Back already?” she sneers, her gaze scanning you as if searching for signs of trouble. “You usually haunt the woods till dusk, and here you are, so early.”

You suppress an eye roll, your patience already strained “Not much going on out there.” you reply coolly, moving past her toward the stairs, hoping to avoid the inevitable lecture. But her voice follows you, sharp and cutting.

“Not causing trouble, I hope? I’d hate to hear of another mess like yesterday’s. Evanora doesn’t need any more reasons to question our family’s… stability.” Her words are thinly veiled, the accusation hovering in the air between you.

You take a slow breath, fighting the urge to snap back. “No troubles and no messes, Mother.” you say dismissively, willing your voice to remain steady.

As you place a foot on the stairs, your mother’s voice sharpens again, keeping you rooted to the spot. “And don’t think you’ll be skipping Evanora’s gathering this afternoon. She’s called on every one of us to further discuss this hunter situation and possibly put together some kind of patrol group. And you will be there. I won’t have you embarrassing me by staying behind.”

You pause, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “And if I don’t want to go?”

Her smile is as cold as her tone “Then I suggest you finally master that invisibility spell. But since I doubt that’ll happen anytime soon, you’ll attend. Just like the rest of us.”

You feel her gaze on your back as you ascend the stairs, her words echoing after you with their customary bite. In the silence of your room, you find yourself looking out the window, the image of Agatha sitting cross-legged by the smoldering ambers lingering at the edges of your thoughts. You brush it away, frustrated at yourself for even allowing it to linger.

And then, as you sit in the quiet of your room, a sudden thought hits you, sharp and unwelcome. Of course, Agatha will be there this afternoon. You almost laugh at the bitter irony, escaping the forest and that exhausting conversation, only to be thrown back into her presence. It feels as if the universe itself is playing some twisted joke, forcing you back into her orbit before her words have even had the chance to fade. Normally, neither of you would spare the other a glance, content to keep a safe distance in the silent rivalry that’s defined you both for years. Today won’t be any different. Nothing has really changed, you tell yourself.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness #aaa #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #kathryn hahn x reader #when we collide #agatha all along fanfic

103 notes · View notes

alotofpockets · 3 months ago

Text

Breaking point | Reneé Rapp x Reader

Where Reneé comforts you after exam season gets the better of you

Warnings: reader has anxiety, adhd, and an ed. If there any inaccuracies please let me know!

Reneé masterlist | Words: 1.5k

-----

Exam season was hated by most, and rightfully so. The stress put on students to learn everything the semester was for not just one subject, but all of them in the matter of a few weeks, was an insane amount. For you it wasn’t just stressful, it was almost impossible.

You had been at it for weeks now, sitting at your desk and trying to get the information in your brain. At this point you wondered what the use was. No matter how long you stared at the pages, none of the words you read stuck. Your ADHD was making it harder to focus than ever. Every noise, or glimpse of something in the corner of your eye, pulled your focus away.

The room was a mess. Textbooks, notes and flashcards were scattered not just on your desk but across the floor. Usually your chaos had some organisation to it, but now it was all just laying somewhere random. You cursed yourself for straying from your usual organisation, cause you couldn’t find anything, which only fueled your anxiety more.

On your desk also stood four half-full glasses with different contents, all started but long forgotten about before getting a new one. That seemed to be your pattern these days, starting something, then getting distracted and never finishing it.

Food was a whole new topic. Your girlfriend had brought you a plate of food for breakfast earlier today. The gesture was really sweet, but even the thought of taking a bite was too much. Your mind convinces you that you didn’t deserve to eat until you retained some of the knowledge. Even though you were well aware that your body needed the nutritions, your brain kept you in the constant cycle of not being worthy of a meal.

You stared at the pages before you, and all the words blended together. This was no use. All subjects merged together, and you didn't think you could ever make sense of any of it. Your chest tightened as your mind started racing again. I am a failure. I can’t do this. Why can’t I just focus like everyone else? The more you tried to calm yourself down, the worse it got.

Before you knew it, your frustration boiled over. With a huff, you swipe your desk clean, sending everything crashing to the floor. The clash of your drink glasses and plates breaking onto the floor, matched with the scream you let out in frustration, makes your girlfriend rush into the room.

Reneé finds you on the floor with tears streaming down your face, trying to pick up the broken glass. “Baby?” She said softly, keeping her voice calm, even though her worry was still noticeable in her tone.

You look up at her with tears in your eyes. “I can't do this anymore.”, you sobbed. Reneé crouched down beside you, and took your hands in hers. “It's okay. Let's take a break, alright?” You shake your head, “I can't. I have to keep going.” The words echoing in your mind all rush out. “I have to get this done. I am running out of time. I can’t fail this.”

Reneé takes your hands in hers, a way to give comfort, but also to make sure you wouldn't cut yourself. “I know, darling,” Reneé said softly, her voice steady as she looked into your eyes. “But right now, you’re too frustrated. That’s not going to help you focus. You need a break, just to breathe, okay?”

You don't respond, but stop resisting, so Reneé stands up slowly. “Come on, I'll run you a bath to relax.” You let her help you up and fall into her arms. “I've got you baby.” She walks you to the bathroom, and helps you get ready for the bath. “Just try to clear your mind for a moment, I will be right back.” She placed a soft kiss onto your forehead before she left the bathroom.

With your eyes closed, you tried to push down the way your mind was racing. It took a while but then all of a sudden your mind was quiet, and you let the tension leave your body, and lay back in the bathtub.

In your study room, Reneé carefully cleaned up the broken glass. When all of the broken pieces had been thrown away, she took a look around the room, and realised that there was no order to your chaos. She knew you well enough to know that this wasn’t your system, and also good enough to know what was. She spent some time organising your notes as best as she could before she deemed the room ready.

She had also seen the untouched plate of food, and realised that you were probably struggling with it more again. Reneé had been there through the ups and downs of your eating disorder. You had been doing quite well with it recently, having it under control most days, but she should’ve known that the amount of stress you were feeling would affect that control.

Before she heads back to the bathroom, she heads into the kitchen and prepares some toast. Toast was the most likely item of food for you to be able to eat, and she hoped that today was one of those days where your mind would allow you to have at least a couple of bites.

She lets out a sigh of relief when she walks in and sees you have been able to let go of some of the stress. “Hi baby.” She lets her hand fall over yours as she kneels down besides the bath. You open your eyes slowly, “Thank you.” Reneé always knew what you needed, and you would forever be grateful that she would take care of you in your lowest moments.

Reneé had grabbed you some comfy clothes, and had gotten into some herself as well. You got dressed and she brushed your hair for you. “I made some toast, if you would like to have some. If not, we can just sit in the kitchen for a bit and talk.” You nodded in agreement, knowing that you needed some time away from the study room before you would be able to have any luck in retaining any of the information.

You took a look at the toast, and your mind had already decided that taking a break was more than enough of a freebie, so eating wasn’t going to be allowed either. To try and distract yourself from that fact, you chatted with your girlfriend.

While getting distracted was usually something that frustrated you, getting distracted by your girlfriend had a different effect. It was easier to focus on her, when she talked about something she loved with nothing but passion, it was like you got sucked right in.

Without even realising it, you had taken a couple of bites of your toast, while listening to Reneé talk about a song she had started working on earlier today. Reneé noticed, but was quick to hide her proud smile, to not put the focus on that in the hopes of you getting a few more bites in.

It was only when you went to grab another piece of toast, and there was nothing left on your plate, that you realised you had been eating. “Wait, I just did that?” Now Reneé openly showed her proud smile, “You did.”

You looked at your plate in disbelief. “I can’t believe I just did that.” Having a meal without thinking about it was not something that often happened. “I’m proud of you darling.” She reached out her hand over the table and held yours.

“I know it’s a big ask, but what do you say we take the rest of the day off and just do some relaxing?” Your eyes shot up at her, and she knew instantly that she had to convince you further. “Movie night now, so you can be all recharged for tomorrow. I can even help you study like before? You can focus on my voice while I read out the information for you. How does that sound?” It took a lot out of you to agree, but you did. “Okay, you go get comfy in bed and pick a movie, and I will clean this up really quickly.”

A few minutes later Reneé joined you in the bed and the two of you cuddled up together. “Thank you for always taking care of me.” You say softly. “Of course, I will always take care of my girl.”

While the exam season wasn’t over yet, you knew that the break tonight was necessary to push forward tomorrow. With that thought in mind, you were able to push away the stress you were having momentarily and enjoy the movie with your girlfriend.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

#renee rapp #renee rapp x reader #renee rapp x you #renee rapp x y/n #reneé rapp

73 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 1 month ago

Note

Knitting question!

Intellectually I know failure is fine. I'm a beginner! I'm learning! Mistakes are part of the process! But I find it really hard not to be demotivated by projects not turning out how I want

I spent all this time and materials on this and it's just kinda shit?

Did you experience that/have any advice?

I definitely experienced that when I first tried knitting. I don't remember, but I suspect it's why I drifted away from the craft for nearly two decades.

I have a couple of semi-failures from my current re-entry into knitting. I intend to frog or partially frog them and re-knit, but there are other projects I care more about that are taking priority so far.

Right now, I love watching youtube videos with little tricks to improve one's knitting or deep dives into technical matters. I find information on fiber fascinating. I think that has helped me avoid many of the problems I experienced the first time around. Even if I run into an issue now, I can probably redo the project to make it how I want.

I think the first thing to figure out is how it's kind of shit. Yes, yes, you're a n00b, but there are lots of reasons projects turn out shitty. Some issues require a lot of practice. Many issues require reading a blog post explaining some technical thing and instantly upgrading your knowledge.

For example:

When I first got back into knitting, I got some pretty green yarn and made a Medieval-looking hood. I had no clue how alpaca behaved or that it would be waaaay too flowy for the look the pattern was supposed to have. I was also knitting the pattern with the wrong size of yarn, needle, etc. It turned out way too big for me and a formless blob. It was also itchy.

A year or two later, I threw it in the dryer, and now it's an epic rainy day hood. It's mostly not itchy because the felting stuck down all those hairy ends. It has a lot more body now because it's felt instead of flowy hand-knit alpaca. (And, hey, it's even more Medieval since those hoods were often felt but not often knitted as far as I could tell.)

What went wrong here was mostly that I knew fuckall about fiber. I knew I was making it in some randomass size and didn't really care that it was too big, but I didn't know it would slither off of me due to alpaca's drape. I didn't need practice: I needed someone to tell me how alpaca behaves.

Example 2:

I knit that Owls sweater and didn't like how it had no shaping... so I winged it. I ended up with really bizarre shaping because 1. I had no idea what I was doing and 2. I didn't close the underarm holes until the very end, so the sweater appeared to fit when I tried it on.

I could open the underarms back up and knit a separate piece for them, but I realized that I dislike the fabric overall. I knit it on a too-big needle (in my opinion). I thought I liked that looseness in my swatch, but I have changed my mind. I was also worried about running out of yarn (since it's a used yarn that I won't find again), but I had tons left over. I also think I want it more cropped. The yarn has a sort of nasty texture but beautiful color, and I knit quite a tight (and thus scratchy) sweater. I don't think I wet blocked it though, so that might fix the texture.

What I should actually do here, assuming I don't just get rid of the thing in favor of better yarn, is frog it and reknit from the top down, reversing the pattern and not having a phase with the underarms open like that. I should also knit it at a tighter gauge but with a little more positive ease, and I should trust that the stretchiness of wool will make it conform to my body just fine without a lot of shaping. Before any of that, I should wet block it and see how the texture changes.

I don't really consider this a permanent failure. I like the Owls themselves. I can easily just knit this again and get a sweater I want to wear... possibly a cardigan, now that I think about it. The yarn is a relatively robust wool that will be fine being frogged and reused, and knitting it gave me more experience with finishing a whole sweater. My various fuckups taught me things about both knitting and my personal taste.

I guess it could be demotivating because it took a while, but on that bigass needle, it really didn't take that long. I would probably always have knit multiple sweaters from this pattern. I see more than one in my future anyway.

Experience was an issue here, but it wasn't experience with the literal act of knitting. My tension was fine. It was more that I fucked around and found out.

Example 3:

I made a self-drafted BTS sweater out of another batch of used yarn that I'll never get more of. I love the body. the sleeves are too tight in the upper arm, and my bizarre-ass design for the top of the body means that the sweater wants to be a boat neck but also fit differently in the sleeves and... gaaaaah. The tight sleeves don't feel bad, but what they do do is make the whole sleeve slide down my arm weirdly because of the fit issues around the boat neck.

Part of why the upper arm area is so tight is that I was worried I'd run out of yarn (which I did) and I wanted a balloon sleeve rather than a straight one. The yarn is so stiff that the balloon part is weird, and the two other purple yarns I added for the lower sleeve look weird. I should have reversed their order because one matches too well, and now it just looks like I ran out and had to add a last inch in a random other yarn. I have most of those two skeins left hanging around and a sweater that fits strangely.

Also... it needs hand washing but is shaped and sized to be worn against bare skin, so it gets stinky after a few hours of wear because I am a sweaty, sweaty person.

In this case, I wouldn't redo the body: this silk blend will look less nice after frogging, and I already roughed it up a lot knitting the damn thing the first time. I knit it starting at the top, so the weird fit across the shoulders is mostly here to stay.

However, I'm pretty sure the bad fit on the sleeves can be fixed by ripping back and adding a bunch of width up top. I can also start with the flowier other two yarns and maybe have bands of this stiffer one that I used in the body. I suspect the weird body fit is fixable by changing what the sleeves are supposed to be doing.

This is another case of fucking around and finding out, so I'm not too disappointed in it. I did wear it to Yoongi's concert too, and it was gorgeous, if too hot.

I do realize now that I hate boat necks, but I think I can put up with this one if the sleeves aren't constantly sliding out of place.

And if fixing the sleeves doesn't rescue this, I might attempt some surgery one of these days, but that's more of a pain in the ass, so that will definitely have to wait.

Now, my guess is that your "kind of shit" is not "I freehanded a sweater two seconds after getting back into knitting because I'm a crazy person, and I messed up the shaping".

The more common problems are things like:

Not realizing that you should block or not blocking aggressively enough, so your stitches look way more uneven than they need to, the shape is weird compared to the example pics in the pattern, etc.

Using assy bind-offs so the edge looks amateur instead of polished. (You can go back and fix this.)

Failing to swatch, and now you've knit the wrong size.

Picking a fiber that just cannot do what you want it to—usually seen in people trying to avoid wool and not getting that 99.999999% of trendy patterns are written specifically for wool. I have an ancient sweater from college that looks nothing like the example in the book because all I could afford was big box store acrylic. Never again the plastic horror!

Buying patterns from a size 0 lifestyle blogger aspirational knitwear designer with no boobs and a great photographer, then feeling dumpy when trying the thing on under crappy lighting. This one usually requires a little more self confidence and some bust darts.

Making things in plain stockinette in a light color and smooth yarn like cotton that shows EVERY SINGLE TIME your tension wasn't machinelike. This is unfixable. Don't do this.

If you're using mohair or alpaca, frogging may be more trouble than it's worth, but you often can reuse the materials. Granted, you've still sunk that time in, but the materials don't always have to be wasted. That might help it feel more like time you spent practicing and less like a complete disaster.

I'm a very product-focused knitter, so I don't really have practice pieces. I'm knitting to have a Thing and I want to wear that Thing, so I get the disappointment if you don't end up wanting to actually use what you've made.

But that also helps me not get totally demotivated. I still want that Thing and now I have a clearer idea how to make it.

So... what are these "kinda shit" projects anyway? What about them do you not like?

48 notes · View notes

miss0atae · 5 months ago

Text

What love can do in Meet You at the Blossom and how it can shape your life (after Ep 3 & 4):

It took me a while to write this post because I changed its title so many times. I wasn't sure I was conveying my thoughts properly. I wanted to write about the healing power of love between Huai En and Xiao Bao, but I had so much to say before so this title didn't work anymore.

[gif by khunkinn] @khunkinn

It's not a coincidence you can find the same pattern in some of the characters from My Stand In and Meet You at the Blossom since they were written by the same writer. Huai En and Ming, both had shitty parenting when they were young and it mostly came from their father. More than Ming, Huai En was shaped by his relationship with his father. His mother and his father were childhood sweetheart who never got the chance to be together because she was taken away by Huai En's uncle and he made her as his concubine. We also learned Huai En was born out of wedlock. His uncle's legitimate wife was jealous and tried to kill Huai En and his mother. His father wanted to save them (mostly his mother I think) but failed and Huai En's mother died trying to save the father. Huai En and his father found a way to escape and he was raised to seek revenge for the death of his mother. However, it didn't make them close. Huai En's father seems to consider that his son is also partly responsible for the death of his mother. It's not yet explain why… but because of his bias Huai En's father unfairly treated his son. In episode 4, Huai En explains to Xiao Bao how his father beat and scold him during his childhood. Huai En had no other choice but to obey him “unconditionally” or he would suffer physical pain. We can also assume he suffered mentally too.

[gif by omgtheregoesthefuckidontgive] @omgtheregoesthefuckidontgive

Huai En has been having recurring nightmares about the mistreatment of his father. He seems to remember vividly trying to avoid falling from a cliff and found no help from his father. Quite the opposite, he was also mocked by his father. It is likely something he had experience while he was young and that became so traumatic that he can't forget it. We could say that Huai En is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder since this event. A father is supposed to care about his children. That's what we naturally expect from any “good” parents. It's hard to understand why his father thought his son should be responsible for his mother's death. We haven't had enough insight on what his going on in Huai En's father head. However, we know he is very controlling and don't let his son do what he wants in life. Huai En only purpose is to help him get the revenge he wants. Anything outside this is considered useless and unimportant. I don't think Huai En even got the chance to really know what he wants or dreams for outside this purpose. He doesn't get to voice his opinion or to have something just for him. He must live for his father's desire. It was shown during episode 4, when Huai En had a vision of his father telling me:

“Remember, you were born to redeem yourself for your mother’s sake. Don’t harbor unworthy thoughts for anyone of anything. Understand? Don’t even think of trying to escape. No matter where on Earth, you can’t escape from my grasp”.

I’m still trying to wrap my head over this fact. When Huai En told the story of how he was born, his mother was still alive. So I don’t get why his father would be so hard on him when he is supposed to be the love fruit of the love he had for his mother. I wonder if his father is the kind of man who would value his spouse over his child. We know his father has an obsessive love for his mother. It wasn’t just the “I want to avenge her” it feels more like “she was supposed to be mine and I lost her so I will enact my revenge”. Huai En’s father appears to have an overwhelming obsessive desire to possess and protect his lover and he has an inability to accept failure of keeping her alive. It doesn’t matter if to get his revenge he has to hurt his own son. I believe this type of love is the only one Huai En had ever experience so he doesn’t understand it’s not a normal or healthy way of loving someone. He must have avoided to be with anyone because the only love he knows is the one his father has for his mother. Love is a painful affair. It can lead to obsession and physical pain. That’s why he is so startled by Xiao Bao regular love confessions.

[gif by guzhufuren]

Xiao Bao had an entirely different childhood. His parents seem to have a healthy relationship and to love each other. Xiao Bao is their only son so they spoiled him and made sure he had a good life where he wants for nothing. You can see how they care for him and wants him to be happy. Since he was loved and taking care of, Xiao Bao grew up to be a nice person who is not shy to show his love. He never had to experience the “dark side” of love. For him, this is only a positive thing. He is also a very charming man; very genuine so when he fell in love with Huai En, he didn't dither and decided to pursue him. It didn't matter to him if Huai En wasn't the woman he thought he was. As long as there is love, it's enough for him. Compared to what Huai En is used to know about love, Xiao Bao's vision seems quite refreshing. Especially as they are in a time period where queer love was frown upon, Xiao Bao's view of love, gender and norms is fairly modern. He claims he will find a way of making their relationship being accepted by his parents. Why is he not afraid of claiming his love for Huai En, despite him being a man? It's because Xiao Bao is sure of his parents' love for him. This trust exists because he was raised this way.

[gif by guzhufuren] @guzhufuren

Xiao Bao may appear to be a fool, but he is more than what he seems. He isn't a great tactician or a skilled warrior, but he is knowledgeable when it comes to emotions. It was shown when he had a conversation about love and death with Xiao Bao. He admits that humans lives for emotions and desires and that you can be sad when you lose a loved one. However you can't be miserable all your life because of this. This vision of life is in opposition with everything Huai En has been taught from childhood. I would even say he was stunned. Xiao Bao understood that Huai En because of his past can't really understand what love is supposed to be and he is ready to teach him. I think he does have strong feelings for Huai En. He may pout or act silly sometimes, but when Huai En conceded if they were someone he truly wants to love, it would be Xiao Bao, it truly delighted him. He is not the kind of person to sulk for too long. He is so genuine and overjoyed. I'm not going to say it'll be easy for them. Even if Huai En despises his father's love for his mom and really wants to experience a healthy relationship, the way this love shaped his vision of life will have an impact on his relationship with Xiao Bao. You can quite see it when he is adamant about Xiao Bao having “no thought about others” or to never lie to him. This idea that Xiao Bao wants to be with him “forever” and not just be with him, kinda shows that his past will have an impact. However, I believe Xiao Bao's good nature may soften him.

[gif by ruanbaijie] @ruanbaijie

As he said himself to Huai En, his lover is “tough on outside, but soft inside”.

PS: I edited this post with better credits for the gif creators. I tagged all of you, I hope it's alright. If you prefer that I stopped using your gifs, don't hesitate to tell me. I'll do better with the credits on gif from now on.

#my thoughts #chinese bl #bl drama #bl series #meet you at the blossom #myatb #episode 3 #episode 4 #huaien x xiaobao #what love can do #took me a while to write it but I'm pleased with the result #I think I get consumed by my obsessions #I enjoy this series #gifs source: khunkinn / omgtheregoesthefuckidontgive / guzhufuren / ruanbaijie #thanks again for all the gifs!

64 notes · View notes

sehtoast · 5 months ago

Text

A Future For Three (Homelander x OC)

hurt/comfort, ambiguous s4 ending, relationship road bumps, ryan butcher, ben being the better parent, pathetic homelander, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

Benjamin has done all he can to point Homelander in the right direction. Between plans for usurping power and parenthood, nothing has gone quite well. At least the bug will be there to help put out the fires.

Not even the crunch of rubble can pull his eyes away from the splotchy screen that spells out his failure in big, bold letters.

The silence between them is so very loud. Louder than the ringing in his ears, louder than the news anchor’s dismayed voice as she reports Neuman’s death. It’s only when those red, web-patterned shoes stop beside him that he dares flit his gaze anywhere else.

Within a single day, he’d lost it all. Ryan ran out on him, then Benjamin did the same…

“You’re not being a father, you’re being a fuckin’ bully,” the bug had spat, fists clenched at his sides.

He can still see the way they both looked at him. Ryan’s eyes full of indignance, Ben’s full of heartbreak and disappointment. The bug had bailed him out of his messes so many times now. Talked to him about parenting, tried giving examples from his own upbringing on what to do and what to say, lectured him about patience and understanding. But how?

How can he do any of that when all the boy seems to want is a better father?

“It’s not a matter of dads,” Ben whispered to him so very long ago. “You’ve both taken care of him. He’s got love for you both, but it’s not a competition, y’know?”

But he never listened. He never learned.

“Thought you wanted space… after…” he blurts, voice hoarse and thin. He gestures vaguely to the destroyed penthouse. His eyes fall to the crumbled remains of Atlas.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“I did, but…” Ben squats down, one hand snaking through his hair while the other lands atop his bent knee. “I also told you I’d always take care of you.”

Homelander tugs Ryan’s book bag closer.

“Look at me, Johnny.” Ben whispers.

He hates the rimming of tears in his little spider’s eyes more than anything. He put those there, didn’t he? Took everything too far, was too cruel, said all those horrible things to rile up his fans…

He barely registers the arms looping under his knees and around his back to lift him to the couch. Benjamin murmurs something about him deserving better than sitting on the floor, but it sounds warped– messy and discombobulated as if they were underwater. He lets Ben guide him, lets himself be coaxed to rest his head atop the bug’s lap and away from the sights of his failures. He’d complain at the sound of his eagle epaulet puncturing the leather of the couch, but it was already destroyed anyway.

Just like everything else.

The tears start again. The sobs quake, the shivers rattle him, and he gasps for air that simply won’t fill the void.

“I’ve got you, pumpkin.” Benjamin coos, fingers stroking through his hair. “S’gonna be alright.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Homelander sputters. Why can’t I do anything right?

“Mm, a lot, honestly…” The bug sighs, thumbing his cheek with a tenderness that conveys nothing but love behind such a devastating statement. “But I’ll keep ya.”

He hates the way that makes him cry harder. He hates the way Ben holds him through it all. It’d be so much easier if the bug would just throw him to the curb already. Toss him aside, tear away one last shred of humanity from his used and abused heart. One last anchor to remove him from that which he can never escape.

But it isn’t that simple. It never will be.

By the time he’s devoid of any more tears, Benjamin still comforts him. Still promises him an eternity. Still shows him love.

“We’re gonna go down to my place, okay?”

“Why?” He croaks. His head throbs when he lifts it.

“I don’t want you sleeping in a big mess like this. You deserve a little better than that.” Benjamin pinches his cheek but the usual smile doesn’t spread across his face at the act. Homelander’s drained. He’s got nothing left inside but the hollowness of his own misery and the weak shimmer of hope sown by his little spider.

So he lets Ben carry him through the halls like some sort of wounded child who’d skinned their knees and couldn’t do it himself. Not that there was anyone of consequence in the tower left to see it. Not after he’d given the order to do away with them.

Another thing Benjamin begged him not to do.

He’s like a compliant mannequin as Ben strips him of his suit and all of the accompanying dust it’d gathered. He expects to be kicked to the couch by the time he’s sporting just his briefs, but exile is not what fate has in store for him. Instead, he gets to be tucked under fuzzy blankets and held close. Benjamin’s breath kisses the nape of his neck and an arm slings over his midsection.

In his own arms, he still clings to Ryan’s bag. He can’t take his eyes off the photo of him and his son that sits atop the nightstand. He’s got the boy’s cheeks pinched between his gloved fingers, both of them smiling brightly. In his hands, Ryan holds the carrier with their milkshakes. He remembers the moment Ben took that photo. How happy they all were…

“I texted him.” Ben murmurs. “Let him know we’re here for when he gets back.”

He pulls the bag closer.

“Listen t’me.”

Homelander’s gut drops for the millionth time. What could possibly be coming? The end of their relationship? Reprimands he can’t escape? Will it hurt?

“We need to have a serious talk later about everything, okay?”

Oh god…

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, but I need– we got a lot to work on, y’know?”

He thanks whatever god there may be for the clarification.

“And I need you to understand something. I love you. But that doesn’t mean you can hurt me all the time.” Ben’s voice cracks with cries that threaten to spill. “I don’t ever wanna get to the point where I can’t come back to you. I fuckin’ love you, but I’m scared you’re gonna push me too far away someday and I can’t–”

The arm around his body curls tighter.

“I can’t imagine anything else but you. And I don’t want to. I know you’re trying, and I know it’s hard and it’s all gone tits up these last few days– that this was all your dream, but please…”

Ben’s face presses to his nape and he can feel the wetness of tears. Those are his fault, too. The pit of shame in his gut opens wider. The guilt grows stronger.

“Please save room for us in your dream.”

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #the boys #Homelander x reader #x oc #x reader #antony starr #the boys fanfic

56 notes · View notes

mbti-notes · 1 month ago

Note

What's the best way to start believing in soulmates again? Or just love, really. Recently I've been feeling like there isn't really a person for me out there, even though I know it's irrational. No matter how hard I try, they always leave or reveal really big flaws they didn't show in the beginning or cheat or just start liking someone else more than they like me. I fear things are never going to last with anyone. I've always been a romantic and dreamt of having my own family one day, but it's getting harder and harder to believe getting a good relationship it's anything other than dumb luck. Work doesn't seem to help anything, it always just makes it worse. Why? (infp 27) (I go to therapy ofc)

It can indeed be very difficult to maintain an optimistic outlook when you're frequently running up against harsh realities. However, it's important to remember that human relationships are quite complicated. There are a variety of factors/reasons behind why relationships don't work out. The question is whether you truly understand why yours haven't so far. Only by operating on the truth can you find a productive way forward. For example:

(1) Are your expectations realistic and reasonable? There is a grain of truth in the stereotype that romantics are naive or unrealistic people (and I say this as a romantic myself). If you're "romantic" in the sense that your expectations of people are completely out of touch with reality, then the problem mainly lies in your habit of oversimplifying and then setting yourself up for disappointment. (This is related to problematic Ne.)

When people meet for the first time, it's natural for them to put their best foot forward and make a good impression, otherwise, the relationship will have a difficult time getting jump started. So, yes, flaws don't come out until later, until you get to know more about the person. However, there is a serious problem if you're judging people by their cover and/or expecting people to not have any flaws at all.

There is no such thing as perfection. Despite what you see up front, every person is a complicated mix of positive and negative qualities. What you should be trying to figure out is whether the negative qualities are unacceptable and outweigh the positive, to the point where you can objectively say that the person is not good relationship material, or they are not relationship-ready.

Are you evaluating people in an objective manner? This question should always be top of mind for INFPs because lack of objectivity is one of their major shortcomings.

(2) Are you looking for people in the right places? What methods do you use? For example, if you primarily do online dating, then it really is luck of the draw, isn't it? The problem is that apps are full of unserious people who end up wasting your time. This doesn't mean there isn't someone for you; it only means that you have to accept the randomness of the method and be willing to spend time digging through the trash to get to the treasure. In other words, you have to accept multiple failures as the cost of doing business.

If you don't like the randomness of online dating, then you have to be more focused and efficient in your search methods. Get involved in clubs, groups, or community organizations with people who share more in common with you or have traits/characteristics that are important to you. For instance, if you prefer to be with someone of the same ethnicity or religion or political persuasion, then spend more time traveling in those circles, either in your local area or online.

(3) Are you looking for the right people? When people tell me that they're having a hard time finding the right person, I always ask them about their pattern of attraction. An easy way to tell whether there is a problem in this department is to observe the people you've been with and whether there's a recurring pattern in their flaws. In other words, do you "have a type" and is that type bad for you?

Are you aware of why you find certain people attractive or unattractive? Generally speaking, the more unaware a person is of their attraction patterns, the more likely that there's something unhealthy in there to address.

Some common psychological issues that lead people to unconsciously seek out the wrong romantic partners include: unrealistic expectations; attachment style issues; mommy/daddy issues; trust issues; fear of vulnerability; overcompensation; etc. The greater the number of underlying issues at play, the more difficult it will be for two people to build a healthy relationship.

If you suffer from any psychological issues that make you attract or feel attracted to the wrong sorts of people, then it would be wise to take a break from dating and work on yourself, to understand how to finally break the unhealthy pattern.

(4) Are you relationship-ready? As a general rule, if you want a good romantic partner, you should first learn to BE a good romantic partner. Are there things about you that make you a bad relationship candidate or not relationship-ready? This is important because when you're not relationship-ready, you could meet the best person in the world and the relationship still won't succeed.

In order to determine whether you have some important work to do to improve your relationship skills, you have to undertake a brutally honest assessment of your past relationships. Unless you've been really unlucky in meeting too many sociopaths, it generally takes two people to wreck a normal relationship. What part did you play in the relationship falling apart? Is there a recurring theme in how your relationships fall apart?

For instance, you've already described a bit of a pattern in terms of not seeing people's flaws in a timely manner. This could indicate that your perception of people is too: naive or oversimplified; unrealistic or idealistic; infected with wishful thinking; full of denial or deflection; nitpicky or critical; etc.

It's important to remember that the level of your relationship skills plays a huge part in whether relationships succeed or fail. Relationship skills include: openness and trust; emotional generosity; expressing care and encouragement; perspective taking and empathy skills; communication skills; conflict resolution skills; assertiveness; curiosity; willingness to share; etc. Being skills, they can be learned, practiced, and refined. There is always more room for improvement.

(5) Are you too desperate? Companionship and love are universal human needs because we evolved as a social species. There's no shame in wanting love. However, when an important human need goes unmet for too long, it can turn into something dark and ugly, e.g., an insatiable longing, a desperate craving, an uncontrollable compulsion, or a spiraling addiction.

It's important to understand that human needs can be fulfilled or partially fulfilled in a variety of ways. It's unhealthy to believe that there's only one way and then keep chasing it at all costs. When you search too long for something and can't find it, it starts to affect your attitude. You can become pessimistic or cynical, just as you've described.

IMO, one of the best ways to find a good romantic partner is to stop looking so hard. What you should do instead is aim to fill your life with as much companionship and love as possible. Get up, get more involved in the world, and make more friends. Join clubs, volunteer, and be more active in your community. Use the contacts you already have to continuously expand your social circle.

Make yourself useful in the world and, over time, you'll find that people will start seeking you out rather than the other way around. When you live life with the purpose of being a loving person and injecting everything you do with love, you may get pleasantly surprised at how many romantic opportunities pop up when you least expect it.

If you want to believe in soulmates, then it's not a stretch to also believe that life has its own mysterious rhyme and rhythm. Trying to force something to happen when the conditions aren't yet favorable isn't going to bring you great results.

#infp #love #dating #romance #attraction #expectations #ask

25 notes · View notes

doe-eyed-fool · 2 months ago

Text

Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter Eighteen|

So much for going to the person Y/n trusted most. She knew well what the consequences for defying Heaven would be. She did not need Michael to remind her. Moreso, she did not need to be reminded that she and Lucifer would never be together.

Not unless she leaves.

But could she? In theory, yes. She could make a portal and go down to Hell. But staying there? Michael would find out, then God would find out. And then...

It seemed to be a failure no matter how Y/n looked at it. But then she remembered what Lucifer said. How he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and by his side. And while Lucifer was powerful beyond all comprehension. Michael was near perfectly matched his power.

And if God were to get involved...

It would not end well for anyone.

Y/n knew this. And therefore, her plan was a failure. She did not need to look to the future to see that. And yet, her yearning to be with Lucifer overshadowed any hesitancy she had, thought it was ever present within her.

So in the dead of night, Y/n flew to the outskirts of Heaven and opened the portal to Hell. But not before giving one last look at the paradise she once called home.

Heaven's city lights filled the night sky with it's brightness. It was a beautiful sight, no matter the time of day. Within the city, would be all of her friends who she would be leaving behind. She would miss Michael most of all, he was with her even in the darkest moments of her life.

And that's why she could not leave without saying goodbye. Of course, she did this through a letter. For a moment, she thought it might be a foolish thing to do. However, Michael already knew of her plans. He would figure out where she was eventually. So it didn't matter if she left that letter or not.

Y/n could only hope, that he would understand.

With one more look, she turned back to the portal and entered through to the other side.

Once through, Y/n looked up at the hotel before her with a small smile. Her eyes trailed up further to the apple shaped tower, where Lucifer resided. She unfolds her wings and flies to the balcony, before gently tapping at the glass.

When there was no answer, she knocked a but louder. This seemed to have done the trick, as light filled the inside of the tower. Then, the curtains that blocked Y/n's view opened, revealing Lucifer. His hair was messy and he was wearing a pair of silly, but admittedly cute, duck patterned pajamas.

Once his tired mind caught up with him, his eyes widened as he spoke with a gasp. "Y/n!?" His voice was slightly muffled by the glass, causing Y/n to chuckle. She raised her hand and gave a small wave.

Lucifer quickly opened the window, and the two caught each other's eyes. "You really came back?" Lucifer murmurs. Y/n nods. "I couldn't stay away from you. Not for one moment longer." She spoke softly.

Lucifer's mouth turned up into a grin, he held his hand out for her to take. Y/n gladly did so, and she was pulled inside of the tower. She was brushed against Lucifer's chest, as the two embraced. Y/n closed her eyes and let out a breath of content.

"I'm...breaking a lot of rules, doing this." She said quietly. "They'll find out, and when they do-"

"When they do, I will take care of it." Lucifer adds. His hand caressed her hair gently. "I promised you, they will have to go through me first, if they wish to take you back."

Y/n opened her eyes and pulled back to face him. "I believe that won't end well. In fact, I know it won't. And that's without my future vision to tell me. I just...I don't want to be the cause of a conflict. And I know, my actions will indeed bring conflict of some kind. But..."

Y/n placed her hand at Lucifer's cheek, he leaned into her touch. "I just can't keep myself away from you."

"Neither can I." Lucifer tells her. "If there were any way I could enter Heaven, I would have brought you back here myself. All I could do was wait, and hope I'd see you again somehow. But now." Lucifer brings her back into a hug.

"Now I don't have to wait anymore. You're here."

"Yes." Y/n holds onto him tight. "I'm here, with you."

Y/n was unable to sleep that night, fearing that any moment, she would be forced to return to Heaven. Though, the night went on, and day soon came.

And then the next day.

And the next.

And the next day after that.

It was...baffling, to say the least. Why hasn't anyone been sent to return her to Heaven? Surely, they've noticed her missing. Surely Michael had seen the letter she left, and informed God of her actions.

And yet, there was nothing.

Perhaps, God had planned out what to do after she left. Perhaps there was no need for her gift anymore.

Perhaps there was no need...for her.

As much as Y/n was happy to be here with Lucifer, that alone, made her heart ache. There was no need for her anymore. If that were the case...

Y/n tried to ignore it, tried to settle into her new life. Charlie, for one, was thrilled to have her stay. She knew how happy Y/n and Lucifer made each other, and she got along with Y/n rather well.

Y/n got use to everyone else in the hotel as well, even Alastor, as unsettled as he made her feel at times. Though, he seemed to have known better than to harm her, and risk bringing upon the wrath of the princess and king of hell as a result. So, he kept his threats and scares to himself.

Y/n and Vaggie got along well too. Seeing that Vaggie was an angel herself, made Y/n feel a little less out of place.

Angel Dust was one of Y/n's favorite hotel residents. He was easy to talk to, and surpassingly kind hearted. He was a girl's girl, and the best one there was honestly.

Husk was another one that Y/n liked. After getting through his harsh exterior, Husk was a decent man to have a conversation or two with.

Niffty was....Niffty. Y/n didn't mind her, but she did still get a unhinged and murderous vibe from her. Though, the little cyclopes was more interesting in hunting bugs, much to Y/n's relief.

And though Cherri wasn't officially apart of the hotel, she was still one that Y/n liked. Especially since she was so caring of Angel.

Y/n soon understood why Sir. Pentious loved these guys so much. The thought of him made Y/n hopeful for each and every one of them. They could all have the chance he had, to live a better after life.

Y/n also hoped that the council would keep their word, and Sir. Pentious would be taken care of until the Lute situation was under control.

Other than that, Y/n looked forward to each day she got to spend with the find people of the hotel.

"Y/n!"

Speaking of.

"Yes, Charlie?" Y/n asks, looking up from her drink that Husk had so kindly made for her. "Do you have anything planned for this evening?" Asked Charlie with a grin.

"Well, your father and I had planned on visiting Gluttony. He wanted me to meet Beelzebub." Y/n answered, thinking about what the Gluttony ring was like.

"Ohh." Charlie said. "You'll love it there! There's always a party of some kind, going on down there."

"Is that right? I didn't figure you father as the party type." Y/n chuckles. Charlie gives a little laugh as well. "Not that I can remember." She says. "But maybe he wants to show off."

"Show off?" Y/n asks. Charlie laughs it off before continuing. "Well, the reason I ask, is because I want to take you out on a little shopping day! I know my dad magic-made you some new clothes, but I was hoping we could hang out and do our own shopping spree."

Y/n looked down at her dress she wore, it was one of the many Lucifer had given her since she came back. It was a simple white dress that hung off the shoulders, and reached down to her calves. And while Y/n immensely appreciated Lucifer's gifts, she had to admit, seeing what the shops of Hell had to offer intrigued her.

"Well, I'm still free for the next couple of hours, if you wanted to go now?" Charlie beamed at Y/n's words. "Of course! Just let tell Vaggie and I'll meet you outside!" She rushed off in a hurry, Y/n smiled at her enthusiasm before walking out of the hotel lobby.

Y/n stepped outside and took a look around, she was started to get use to the look of things here. Though, Hell's residents was still a tough spot.

Just yesterday, some demon tried to attack her because he noticed she was an angel. Worst part is, he didn't attack because he felt threatened, he attacked, because he wanted to keep her wings as a trophy along with some other...unsavory things...

Luckily, Lucifer wasn't too far and swiftly took care of that demon.

Since then, Y/n decided it would be best if she dressed less angel-like. She even began to hide her wings and halo, thanks to Lucifer's help.

Charlie opens the hotel doors and joins your side. "Is Vaggie not joining us?" Asked Y/n, slightly confused. "Not today." Answered Charlie. "It's just you and me, if that's ok?" Y/n nods with a smile. "Sure, that's fine."

And so, the two made their way to the nearest mall.

The mall was actually a lot better than Y/n expected it to be. The shops were pretty decent and had some good looking clothes. Y/n found more than a few she liked. The only problem was some of the stores employees thought a couple of nice faces, like Charlie and Y/n's, would be easy to fool. So they charged more than what the price was originally.

One was particularly aggressive and Y/n didn't like the confrontation that was starting to build from it. So, she figured she just go shopping elsewhere. But Charlie had other plans in mind.

She was polite and civil with the demon, but of course, they weren't having it and even had the nerve to jack the price up higher. That's when Charlie became...less nice.

She didn't need to remind the foolish demon just who she was, the simple glare of her demonic eyes was plenty to put that demon right back in their place. The fool even sold them the clothes for even less than originally priced.

Charlie calmed herself down and paid the demon with a sweet smile before taking Y/n by the hand and walking out.

"That was very impressive, Charlie." Y/n giggles. "I could have sworn they were about to cry." Charlie laughs as well. "I don't like using the whole "royalty leverage" when it comes to tiny things like that. But my dad taught me to never take shit from demons, and I stand by that."

"Well, he's taught you right." Y/n smiles. "Oh, speaking of. Do you know what time it is?" Charlie looks at her phone. "Almost five." She answers.

"Gosh, we've been out for a while!" Y/n gasps. "I almost forgot I had to meet with your father soon!" She and Charlie step outside of the mall. "Don't worry." Said Charlie. "I'll get you back there on time." She dials a number on her phone.

"Hello. Yes, we're outside now." Charlie speaks into the phone. "Mhm, thank you so much!"

Within less than a minute, a fancy limousine rolled up next to them. The driver side window rolled down, revealing a well dressed Hellhound. "Miss Morningstar." He says with a bow of his head.

"Thanks again Marty." Charlie says before opening the passenger door for Y/n.

Y/n hops in and scoots over to make room for Charlie as well. Once Charlie joins her, the limo drives off, presumably back to the hotel. "Now, you just leave the bags to me and Marty. Here you said you liked the dress in this one, right?" Charlie hands Y/n a bag as she continues to speak. "You go right to my dad and have a great time, alright?"

"Thank you Charlie, and thank you for taking me out today. I had a lot of fun." Y/n says with a warm smile. "Anytime." Charlie smiles as well.

Soon enough, the limo parked right outside of the hotel. Marty stepped out to help Charlie carry the bags inside, while Y/n hurried to get dressed. Once she was finished, she quickly made her way to Lucifer's tower and knocked on his door.

"Y/n, there you are." Lucifer said after he opened the door. He takes a closer look at her outfit. "You look lovely." Y/n gave him an apologetic look. "Aw, thank you. And I'm sorry for being late. I was at the mall with Charlie and we lost track of time."

Lucifer's grin grew at her words. "Did you two have a good time?" He asks. Y/n nods. "A very good time. So, are you ready to go now?"

"Yep!" Lucifer snaps his fingers and a portal. "My lady." Lucifer offers his arm with a teasing look. Y/n rolls her eyes playfully. "My lord." She says as she joins his side and steps through the portal.

Y/n looked around, confused. Lucifer had seemed to have portal them inside of a living room. A very large, and expensive looking living room. There was a hint of a honey smell in the air. "Lucifer? Where are we?" Y/n asked.

Lucifer walks ahead of her to one of the many large windows of the room, and motioned for her to follow. Y/n walked over and looked out. There were hundreds of Hellhounds and even a few imps outside, all appearing to be having a great time. Y/n could faintly hear the bumping of music from outside. Was there a party going on somewhere?

"Oh, is this Gluttony?" Y/n turns to Lucifer, who nods his head. "Yep. I would have teleported us outside but...you know, King of Hell." Lucifer points to himself. "It'd be a little weird for me to just make an appearance out of nowhere. I've locked myself up in my home for several years now so uh....yeah."

"I see." Y/n says, turning her attention back to the scenery. "Do you think they would swarm you? I've noticed being royalty is a lot similar to being celebrities down here."

"That, and potential assassins who would try and kill me." Said Lucifer bluntly. "It's happened a few times, believe it or not." Y/n gives him a concerned look. "Really?"

"Yeah but, being the king and ex-angel comes with it's perks. The demons down here can't do much to harm me. Anyhow.” Lucifer waved his hand. “Where is she? She’s later than we are.”

“She?” Just as Y/n spoke, there was a loud noise coming from the front door. She and Lucifer looked over to see a tall Hellhound, entering the room. Her multicolored hair moved around like the goop in a lava lamp. Her tiny wings fluttered as she saw Lucifer.

“Luci! Baby! It’s been a fucking hot minute since you showed your short ass around here! What the fuck? Where have you been?” She flies over to him, arms crossed.

Lucifer laughs weakly. “Yeah, been busy with uh…things.”

“Mhm.” The Hellhound smirks. “You still playing around with those toy ducks?” The demon’s eyes landed on Y/n. “Hey, is this your new lady friend?”

Y/n blushed slightly. “U-Uh…um I….” She stammered, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully Lucifer took the lead. “This is Y/n, yes. And Y/n.” Lucifer takes her hand. “This, is Beelzebub.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. The Beelzebub? The sin of Gluttony.

“Nice to meetcha.” Beelzebub says, outstretching one of her four arms. Y/n took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Miss reads the future, all the way down here in Hell? They kick your ass out too?” Asked Beelzebub. “Oh, no. I actually…ran away.” Y/n says awkwardly. “It’s a long story.”

Beelzebub shrugs. “Eh, you don’t gotta explain yourself. Besides, it’s way better down here! Heaven is so fucking stuck up. Down here? You can do whatever the fuck you want! And it’s all thanks to this little shit.” She playfully elbows Lucifer.

Y/n couldn't help but smile. It's no wonder she was so comfortable and close Lucifer. The sins all fell shortly after Lucifer did. They've all been in Hell just as long as he has been.

"Now!" Beelzebub began. "While we get to know more about each other, how about a drink?" She snaps her fingers and two cocktails appeared out of thin air. "You drink?" She asks, Y/n.

"Occasionally." She answered.

"Good thing I made these light, then." Beelzebub chuckled. "I don't think you're quiet ready for the hard stuff. Hell, Lucifer can barely handle it."

"Hey now." Lucifer raises an eyebrow. "I'll have you know, I've built up quiet the tolerance over the years." Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How about you put your money where your mouth is?" Lucifer chuckled. "Another time" He wasn't about to get sloppy drunk in front of Y/n, he'd die of embarrassment.

So instead, Lucifer, Y/n and Beelzebub all had a nice evening of drinking and hanging out. Y/n quickly understood why Lucifer liked Beelzebub so much. She was very down to earth and caring, only wanting the people around her to have a nice time during their afterlife.

Eventually it came time for Lucifer and Y/n to head back to the hotel. They both wished Beelzebub goodbye, and promising to visit again soon, before portaling back.

"She was nice." Y/n said, a light yawn escaping her. "Are all the sins that friendly?" Lucifer lets out a short laugh. "Nope. But Asmodeus and Belphegor aren't that bad. Mammon's the absolute worst of them though. He's a great source for headaches."

"Is that so?" Y/n asks. "Motherfucker tried to steal my amusement park idea." Lucifer huffed. "He really thinks replacing, "Lulu World" with, "Lulu Land" makes it completely original! Asshole."

"You have an amusement park? Why am I just now hearing about this? What's it like?"

"Oh just your standard amusement park, only...a thousand times better." Lucifer boasted. "I can take you there soon, if you're interested."

"Of course, I'm curious to see what your take on amusement parks are like." Y/n tells him before another yawn leaves her. "You seem tired, it's not that late. Did you sleep at all last night?" Asked Lucifer, slightly concerned.

"Oh uh, well...Not really." Y/n admits. "It's just...Ever since I got here I've been so worried. Worried that at any moment, I'll be forced to return to Heaven." Lucifer cups her face gently. "They won't take you back." He says firmly. "They haven't attempted to so far."

"But don't you find that strange?" Y/n asks. "Why haven't they come looking for me?"

"Perhaps they know better." Lucifer starts. "They'll be entering my domain, first of all. And I am not going to give you up without a fight, and it seems they know that."

Y/n wished it didn't have to come down to that. To a fight. If that happens, someone could be hurt or killed. She didn't want that for Lucifer, or Michael, or anyone involved.

There has to be some way to fix this...

"Y/n." Lucifer snaps her out of her thoughts. "Would you like to stay here with me tonight? I know you have your own room but, maybe I can take your mind off of things for a while? If you don't sleep, I won't sleep."

"I don't want to intrude." Y/n murmurs. "Nonsense." Lucifer tells her. "I want you to stay." A small smile forms on Y/n's face. "Alright." She says softly. "But on one condition."

"Yes?" Lucifer asks.

"Tell me more about Lulu World."

Tags-

@bloody-delusion-expert @ruyaas-world

@simbalioness @vififofum

@annybah

@alientee

@yourmom132

@voxrei

@hotbabe1999

@yui-onnero

@divineknightmare

@just-a-simpe

@animecrazy76

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel

27 notes · View notes