#again holding off on criticizing WHAT they are trying to say until they have said it

[blarrghe]

I really, really want to hold off on reviewing the DATV plot before actually, you know, finishing the DATV plot because I do see the potential for interesting twists and turns and fun lore ideas and there's some stuff that I think has been set up from the start that is still actually playing out in a nice way, probably. I hate being too harsh before having the full picture because there's a chance I'll end up one of those people who is like "no but if you actually PLAY THE GAME and READ THE TEXT." Like on some level I do think that the depth and meaning and interesting questions up for interpretation will be there in the way that has always made these games interesting to me.

but literally every time I play I get this feeling, especially from things like the solas regrets roundtable discussions and any other dialogue from characters telling you who solas is, that this game is REALLY trying to hold your hand through the potential debates. It like, lines up all the discourse points from over the years since Inquisition in a row and goes SEE. WE KNOW WHAT KIND OF COMPLICATED CHARACTER WE CREATED. LOOK AT ALL THESE DIFFERENT TAKES YOU COULD HAVE ON HIM AND THE PLOT AT LARGE.

And that's just... it feels really weird first of all, in a people-don't-talk-like-that (or more, stories-don't-play-like-that) kind of way where it's just. So much plainfaced exposition all the time, and if nothing else it feels just boring.

I also did not enjoy being told what the consequences of my actions would be on the first major decision point, and then having the consequences be exactly that no surprises. Again, don't know if that always happens, or if there will be little stuff counting by the end to surprise me, but having shit be just too spelled out really does seem like this game's main problem.

[cherbexr]

Meeting Sentinel HCs

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Warnings: Bad language, jerk-sentinel, brief stalking, brief mention of kill

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I'd imagine you'd be a sweet one. You aren't the type to just defy the laws like that, you aren't bold, you don't go around causing trouble, you're obedient and kept to yourself, just how he likes it.

I like to imagine that you're just an ordinary bot, maybe a medic or something and you just caught the eye of Sentinel when you happened to be passing by. He probably told Arachnid to fetch data on you or something and has been keeping an eye out on you ever since.

I can totally see this mech stalking you from afar. One day you were carrying some medical supplies or something and just so happened to bump into some big blue chassis and everything fell. You'd then hurry up and apologize and he reaches down to help you grab the stuff and you'd look up and be like "omg."

He'd definitely say, "Oh I didn't see you there!" (yes he did) and try to crack some stupid joke or say something stupid that would make you chuckle or giggle. He'd then carry everything for you like a manly mech while still trying to hold a conversation for you.

Sentinel is a wolf in sheep's clothing. I can see him constantly trying to see you, talk to you, show off, and show his kindness and generosity to others just to try to impress you and woo you over. Once he feels he's got you hooked, he goes in for the kill.

He would constantly ask you to go out with him until you said yes. If you said no, he'd most likely threaten you and your family which would then force you to go on a date with him (asshole).

Other than that, I feel like as a sparkmate he'd be pretty sweet. He'd treat you like royalty but would be very demanding, controlling, and just all-in-all a dick face...but hey he's rich and spoils you with all the paint jobs and upgrades you want!

I guess it won't hurt to try to date him, would it?

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a/n: omggg I haven't written a fanfic in like 7 years (I'm being so serious). Seven years ago, my fanfics were ASSSSSSS and had no sense of grammar what so ever. It lowkey felt good to do this again.

I'm getting back into my transformers phase and I'm loving it. I felt the need to get this off my chest and mind.

First time ever writing on tumblr, but idk what other platform people use to read/write fanfics besides wattpad and Ao3 but I feel like people barely use that.

This was NOT proofread, if you have any critiques or anything please tell me. I take criticism seriously.

Feel free to request anything!

[purifiedclitoris69]

Breaking point

a/n: Finally got to the nat version of silent comfort. It’s a little short tbh so sorry about that. hope you enjoy!

pairings: Natasha Romanoff x supersoldier reader

warnings: violence

You’d been with the Avengers for almost a year now, and in that time, you’d managed to carve out a space for yourself on the team. Sure, being the former Hydra experiment wasn’t exactly the most inviting introduction, but you didn’t let that define you. It wasn’t who you were anymore. You were the team’s go-to for a laugh, always cracking jokes, lightening the mood, and making it easier for everyone to handle the high-stakes pressure of their lives. What you didn’t talk about, though, was your past. Not because anyone had told you not to, but because you didn’t want to relive it.

Especially not now, when things were starting to feel... normal.

Normal was spending late nights on the couch with Natasha, arguing over which movie to watch but never finishing them because you’d get caught up in teasing each other. Normal was training together and catching her smiling at you when she thought you weren’t looking. Normal was her throwing playful jabs about how you talked too much, only to call you out on being unusually quiet when something was bothering you.

You weren’t sure when things had shifted, but somewhere along the way, the time you spent with her had become the highlight of your day. And judging by the way she always seemed to find excuses to stay close, you thought maybe—just maybe—she felt the same way.

Neither of you had said anything yet, though. It was comfortable, whatever this was, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

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

The quinjet hummed softly as the team prepared for the mission. Hydra remnants were regrouping, and the team had been sent to intercept a high-level target.

You were double-checking your gear when Natasha sauntered over, a sly smile already playing on her lips.

"You know," she said, leaning casually against the wall beside you, "I’ve noticed you spend an awful lot of time fussing over that utility belt. Got a secret stash of candy in there or something?"

You snorted, pulling a strap tighter. "Jealous I don’t share my snacks with you, Romanoff?"

"Please," she shot back, tilting her head. "If I wanted candy, I’d just take it," she shrugged her shoulders, "I always get what I want."

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try."

She stepped closer, her green eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, or I might have to prove it."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "You’re all talk."

"Am I?" She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of your belt, and for a split second, your heart skipped a beat. But instead of taking anything, she smirked and stepped back, clearly enjoying the way you were watching her.

"Tease," you muttered, pretending to focus on your gear again.

"You make it too easy," she quipped, crossing her arms.

Before you could come up with a comeback, Steve’s voice cut through the moment. "Gear up. We’re heading out in five."

Natasha straightened but didn’t move immediately. Instead, she leaned in just enough for only you to hear. "Try to keep up out there, rookie."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. "Try not to get distracted, Romanoff."

She laughed softly as she walked away, the sound lingering in the air long after she was gone.

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

Though successful the mission had been thoroughly chaotic, to say the least. Things had been going smoothly until Natasha went off-script.

You hadn’t even known what was happening at first. One second, you were covering her six, and the next, she was gone, chasing intel Fury and Maria Hill had deemed critical. It left you in a tight spot, trying to hold your ground without her, and you’d taken a few hits you shouldn’t have.

By the time the mission wrapped, you were sore, bruised, and too exhausted to joke around like you usually would. The tension on the jet ride back to the compound was thick, everyone keenly aware that Steve was seething.

The hanger was suffocatingly tense as the quinjet’s ramp descended with a mechanical hiss, and everyone piled out, the weight of the mission hanging heavily in the air. Conversations were sparse—exhaustion mingled with the unspoken tension. You were still catching your breath, the fight replaying in your mind, when Steve’s voice broke the silence.

“Romanoff, we need to talk.”

You glanced at Natasha, who was walking beside you. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t stop, striding toward the hangar floor like she hadn’t heard him.

“Natasha.” Steve’s voice carried more force this time.

She stopped, turning around slowly, her face calm but her eyes sharp. “What?”

Steve’s expression was stony as he marched toward her. “What the hell was that back there?”

“The part where we got the job done?” Natasha shot back, her voice icy.

“The part where you ignored orders and jeopardized the team,” he countered, standing toe-to-toe with her now.

You stepped closer instinctively, but for now, you stayed silent, your fists clenching at your sides.

“I didn’t jeopardize anyone,” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “I prioritized the bigger picture. Fury and Maria needed that intel, and I got it.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Fury and Hill aren’t the ones in the field. We are. And when you decide their priorities are more important than this team, you’re not just making a bad call—you’re making a selfish one.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look away. “I made a call that benefited everyone in the long run. You might not like it, but it worked.”

“Did it?” Steve snapped, gesturing toward you. “Because they almost didn’t make it out thanks to you.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit. “That’s not fair, Steve,” you said, stepping in now.

He turned on you, his voice rising. “It is fair. You wouldn’t have been in that position if she hadn’t dragged you into her little side mission.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice low.

But Steve ignored you, his focus still on Natasha. “You know, it’s always the same with you. You play both sides, keep everyone guessing. It worked for you in the Red Room, maybe even with S.H.I.E.L.D., but here? That doesn’t fly. We’re supposed to be a team, but you’re still looking out for yourself first.”

The mention of the Red Room made your blood run cold. You saw the flicker of something in Natasha’s expression—a crack in her armor.

“Watch your mouth,” you said, stepping in front of her now, your voice dangerously calm, as you met Captain America eye level.

Steve’s gaze snapped to you, his frustration redirected. “Stay out of this.”

“No,” you said firmly. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Or what?” Steve challenged, jaw tightened, his temper bubbling over as took a step closer, eyes blazing with anger.

The moment he moved, you acted. Your hand shot out, gripping his wrist and twisting with precision. With a sharp pivot of your hips, you flipped him over your shoulder. The impact reverberated through the hangar as Steve crashed into a nearby crate, shattering it into splinters.

The hangar went silent, the sound of the crash echoing in the vast space.

Steve was already scrambling to his feet, his eyes blazing with disbelief and fury. Bucky intercepted him, gripping his shoulder and holding him back

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky said, his voice firm but calm.

Natasha was in front of you before you could react, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushed you back. “Enough,” she said, her voice low but forceful.

You froze, the reality of what you’d just done hitting you like a freight train.

You glanced around the hangar, catching the wide-eyed stares of your teammates. The expressions on their faces weren’t just shocked—they were scared. Of you.

Your gaze landed on Natasha last. Her green eyes were glassy, her brows furrowed with confusion and something that looked too much like hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely audible. Then you turned and walked away, your boots echoing in the silence of the hangar as you disappeared into the compound.

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The rooftop felt like the only place you could breathe. The cool night air bit at your skin as you sat on the ledge, your hands gripping the metal railing.

What the hell had you done? You’d spent so long trying to prove you weren’t the weapon Hydra made you, but one moment of anger had torn that facade apart.

“Hell of a move back there.”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Natasha. Her voice was light, but there was an edge of something else—concern, maybe.

“Didn’t mean to wreck the crate,” you muttered, still staring out at the city lights.

She walked over, her steps soft, and leaned against the railing beside you. “The crate’s fine. Steve, on the other hand…”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, bet he’s thrilled.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just studied you with that piercing gaze of hers. “Why’d you do it? he was right, I left you out there."

You sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "I would've been fine Tasha, and I know you know that," you looked down to your lap, "besides I couldn’t stand the way he was talking to you. Like you haven’t done more for this team than anyone.”Her expression softened, and for a moment, the world felt a little less heavy. “I don’t care about your past, Nat,” you said quietly. “And I’ll be damned if I let anyone throw it in your face.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile as she reached out, her hand brushing yours. “You’re not who they made you either, you know.”

You looked at her, and for the first time all day, you felt like maybe you hadn’t completely lost yourself.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t have to fight for me," her gaze dropping to your lips as you both began to lean in, " but thank you for doing it anyway," her breath fanned across you. Before you could reply, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was well over do. Her lips were soft against yours, warm and grouding in a way that made everything fade away.

When she pulled back, she smiled—a real, genuine smile. “Now let’s go figure out how to apologize to Steve.”

You groaned, but for the first time that night, you felt like everything might just be okay.

[cherrylovelycherry]

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Insolence and control

pairing. Sunday x gn!reader cw/genre. angst, argument, some slow burn, TW(abuse), first time slap, criticism, synopsis. his control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves. full menu note. something short to keep up with the language heh.

As the Family's spokesperson with a hectic schedule, Sunday is arguably the busiest person in Penacony. His workday often extends beyond 15 hours, occasionally reaching over 19 hours. In short, he rarely makes it home, even when he desires to.

On an unusual Tuesday, he manages to arrive home before midnight—a rare occurrence. You casually sit on the living room couch, watching TV until you hear the front door open. It's Sunday. You promptly rise from the couch and assist him with the briefcases in his hands.

"It's okay, Y/N. I can manage them," he declined, visibly exhausted as expected.

You persist, attempting to take the briefcases from his hands, but his demeanor suddenly changes.

"I said it's fine! Can you just fucking leave me alone?!" he shouts, his voice strained. His sudden temper leaves you questioning what has come over him.

You freeze upon his unexpected outburst. His usual composed self was now replaced with a completely different aura.

Sunday drops the briefcases on the floor and takes a step back, averting his gaze. His breathing is heavy, as if he's holding back. The outburst was seemingly triggered by seemingly minor interaction.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted," he says, trying to regain his composure. He's still avoiding eye contact with you, but then his expression suddenly shifts to one of surprise.

His eyes widen slightly upon realizing something.

"Are you…wearing one of my shirts? A hint of irritation laces his tone as he finally looks at you, examining your appearance. You're wearing one of his work shirts that you had borrowed.

You nod, a bit confused by his reaction.

"I missed you—"

You thought he wouldn't mind you borrowing his shirt.

Although hey, he'd never found out you were using them, until now.

He grits his teeth, the irritation in his voice evident, but his eyes remain fixated on the shirt.

"Take it off." he says, his tone firm.

Your heart skips a beat at his command. The shirt suddenly felt too tight.

You look at him, searching for a hint of humor, but you're met only with his intense gaze.

"But why?" you asked, managing to push the words out of you, despite the growing knot in your stomach.

With a great notorious irritation on his face, he spoke again.

"Because you're going to dirty and wrinkle it."

You look down at yourself, noting that the shirt is barely wrinkled and clean, contrary to his statement.

However, the tension in the air was palpable.

You tried to protest, not understanding why he was making such a big deal about something so trivial. "But this won't - "

Before you could finish, he silenced you, his voice filled with irritation and authority.

"Don't argue with me. I said take it off. Now."

But oh right, he wanted to always have everything controlled and in place.

You hesitate, torn between obeying him immediately and questioning his unreasonable demand. But his stern stare leaves no room for argument.

Slowly, you lift the hem of the shirt, preparing to take it off.

However, the moment the shirt slides halfway up, revealing the midriff, he abruptly grabs your wrist.

His touch is firm, his grip preventing you from going further.

"Change in the bedroom, not here," he said.

He released your wrist but recorded your other hand before leading you towards the bedroom, his demeanor still emanating tension and irritation. You followed behind, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation.

Once inside the bedroom, he went to the closet to put on slightly more comfortable clothes.

You stood by the bed still puzzled, wondering why he was so upright about this. It was just a shirt.

But anyway, you approached your side of the wardrobe, to take out your own clothes and put it on.

Once you finish changing, you turn around to find him sitting on the bed, still visibly agitated.

Once you finished changing clothes, you left his shirt on dirty clothes.

You sighed and turned your body towards the bed, he was sitting there.

As you approach, he pats the bed, motioning for you to sit next to him. You comply, taking a seat next to him. The air in the room was thick with tension, each moment of silence felt uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze toward you. His eyes were filled with frustration.

He spoke, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation. "Do you know how long I've been working this week?"

You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice. "I know. It's been incredibly busy for you lately."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I've been working non-stop, sometimes not even coming home till midnight. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically."

You moved your gaze to his face. Dark rings under his eyes were visible, evidence of his tiredness.

He continued, venting his frustration. "And what do I find when I finally get home? You, wearing my shirt as if it's nothing."

His voice rose, the irritation in his tone evident again. "That's not just some random shirt; it's mine. It's supposed to be clean, pristine, hanging neatly in my closet. Not being casually worn and wrinkled on you."

"I'm sorry," you replied, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. "I just missed you, and I thought you wouldn't mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You've been living here, in my house, with me, for how long? You should know not to 'borrow' my belongings."

The tension in the room was escalating quickly, and you found yourself feeling defensive.

"It's just a shirt, Sunday," you said, trying to stay calm. "I thought you wouldn't mind."

He shot you a stern glance, irritation evident in his gaze. "It's the principle, not the shirt itself. I have specific ways I want things organized and kept in order."

His control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves.

"I wanted to feel closer to you, that's why I wore it. Is that such a crime?" You said.

His jaw tightened at your response as he shot back angrily, "You could've done that in a different way; not by disrespecting my belongings,"

His control started to leak out of him completely. The outburst was not only about the shirt, but the frustration built up during the week, from his stressful work to the lack of time you both had for each other.

He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "I expect more from you, especially as my partner. You should understand and respect my boundaries,"

"Boundaries?" you replied, the frustration in your voice evident. "Is it really about boundaries, or is it about control?"

You were starting to lose your patience.

"I do respect your boundaries," you added, your voice starting to rise. "But there's a line between having expectations and being ridiculously controlling. And right now, it feels like you're being the latter."

Sunday's eyes narrowed, clearly not appreciating being challenged. He retorted, "I'm not being controlling; I just have high standards, and I expect them to be met. You know exactly who you're living with."

His voice grew more frustrated. "And instead of understanding and appreciating that, you're questioning me, and accusing me of overstepping boundaries. I demand a certain level of order and respect. Is that really too much to ask for?”

"Are you serious right now?" You snapped back, your frustration reaching its peak, "Of course it's too much to ask for! You're acting as if this is all my fault. You're being completely unreasonable,"

"I can't just sit here and take this—this verbal abuse because I wore your stupid shirt," you exclaimed.

The room was thick with tension.

"Verbal abuse?" Sunday's voice rose, clearly offended. "I'm not abusing you; I'm expressing my expectations and frustrations. There's a difference."

He pointed his finger at you, frustration etched on his face. "And yes, it is your fault. If you had respected my boundaries, we wouldn't be having this argument. It's not about the damn shirt, it's about your disregard for my wishes."

You let out a slight laugh in mockery, as you rolled your eyes.

"You know what? Fine, you win, I'm not going to touch your stuff," you said, as you got up from the edge of the bed.

Sunday's eyes followed you, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Where are you going?"

You replied, "to the living room, i need some space to cool off."

He let out a scoff, clearly not satisfied with your response. "You want space? Fine, take all the space you need. But come back here when you're ready to apologize and accept you're in the wrong."

Your eyes narrowed at his insistence that you were in the wrong. You retorted, "I'm not going to apologize for something that doesn't make sense,"

He clenched his jaw, his tone stern. "You know what, maybe you shouldn't come back until you see reason."

His words stung more than you expected. The implication that you weren't being reasonable made your heart flutter, mixed with the hurt of his cold statement.

You crossed your arms, your voice filled with determination. "Fine, I won't. Consider this a break from your 'expectations and rules.'"

His eyes flared with anger as he responded, "A break from my expectations and rules? You make it sound like I'm controlling, but those boundaries exist for a reason."

He got up from the bed, his voice raised, "And if you can't respect them or me, then maybe we need more than just a break."

The tension between you both palpable, your relationship suddenly hanging on a precipice.

You let out a hollow laugh, the hurt and frustration bubbling up within you. "Maybe that's what we need – a break from each other."

You moved back towards the bedroom door, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'll go stay somewhere else."

His expression hardened, a mix of surprise and stubbornness evident on his face. "You can leave. Go ahead."

You opened the door, your hand gripping the handle tightly. The urge to turn back, to argue further or something, was strong.

"Fine, I will," you said, your voice quiet, almost resigned.

You took one last glance at him, noted his tense stature, and then walked out the door, shutting it behind you with a sharp click.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the apartment, leaving Sunday alone in the quiet room. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing with frustration and anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. He looked down at the floor, the argument still fresh in his mind.

You didn't end up leaving the house, first of all, or know where to stay.

So you stayed in the house, huddled on the couch.

As the hours passed by, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. Sunday still hadn't come out of the bedroom.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

You lay on the couch, choosing to sleep.

You didn't know how much time passed, but you felt someone pushing you a little bit, to make room for the couch.

As you stirred from your sleep, you felt someone gently pushing you on the couch, attempting to make room. You opened your eyes slightly, groggy from the disrupted sleep.

You noticed Sunday hovering above you, a tired expression on his face.

"Move over," he said, his voice softer than before, but still holding a hint of tension.

You shifted slightly, creating space for him on the couch. He slumped onto the spot you just vacated, his presence immediately filling the room with his energy.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, sighing heavily.

The two of you stay there in silence for a moment, the weight of your unresolved argument still lingering between you. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim bedside lamp, casting shadows on the walls.

Sunday broke the silence first, his voice a low rumble. "You didn't leave."

You looked at him, your gaze meeting his weary eyes. The tension from your earlier fight still hung in the air, but his comment felt almost like an olive branch, a hint that maybe he didn't want you to leave either.

You replied softly, "I didn't know where to go."

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, after a few more seconds, he spoke, his voice holding a hint of resignation.

"You could have gone to a friend's place. Or a hotel. Anything but here."

You responded, your voice quieter this time, "I didn't want to go anywhere else."

He shifted his head to look at you, your eyes meeting his. His expression softened for a moment, before the tension returned.

He continued, his voice slightly strained, "You'd rather stay here, even after what happened?"

You nodded, your eyes not breaking contact with his. "Yes. Despite our argument, I didn't want to leave."

He inhaled deeply, his eyes still fixed on you.

After another moment of silence, this time you spoke first.

"Couldn't sleep?" You asked, seeing his tired look.

He let out a weary sigh, stretching his tired figure a bit.

"No," he admitted, "I've been tossing and turning in bed for hours."

His eyes searched your face, studying your expression.

"Why is that?" You asked, curiosity piqued.

He shifted his position once again, clearly not wanting to give a direct response.

"The bed felt too empty," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let go of a little 'mhm' while also moving yourself a little on the couch, looking for comfort.

"Then let's sleep," you said, closing your eyes.

There was another moment of silence, this one felt heavier.

Sunday didn't say anything at first, but then you suddenly felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

You allowed yourself to intertwine your legs with his, feeling more comfortable so you could sleep on the narrow couch.

You both settled into a rather tight, but somewhat comfortable position on the couch, with your head resting on his chest.

The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body were strangely soothing, despite the lingering tension between you.

His arm remained around you, his hand gently tracing light circles on your back.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again.

The sky outside had started to darken, dusk painting the horizon in hues of purple and deep blue. It was getting late, signaling the end of another workday.

Sunday was still at work, finishing up a few tasks before returning home.

You were sitting on the couch once again, scrolling through your phone when you heard the sound of keys in the front door.

The door opened, and in walked Sunday. He looked weary and tired, exhaustion evident in his gaze.

This time you didn't get up to try to help him, because the last time you did he was too irritated to be kind.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, as you turned your gaze towards your phone again.

He closed the door behind him, locking it as he always did.

He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door, his movements weary.

He turned to face you, his expression revealing his fatigue.

He couldn't help but make a grimace when he saw you sitting there.

"Did you wash the dishes?" He dared to ask, as if he knew the answer.

You immediately felt the irritation rise in you. Despite your attempt at not letting it affect you, his first words felt like another challenge.

You replied, trying to keep your tone even, "Yes, I did."

He walked over to you, stopping in front of the couch.

He didn't seem convinced, as he raised an eyebrow and asked again, "Are you sure?"

His tone was laced with skepticism.

The doubt in his voice made your annoyance flare up even more, the feeling of being constantly questioned and disbelieved by him was wearing thin.

You shot him a look, before answering again firmly, "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't lie about something as simple as washing dishes."

He shifted, leaning his arm against the back of the couch, towering over you.

He responded with a dry tone, "And how am I supposed to know? You've been known to forget before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his skeptical gaze with your own. "I'm not a child, Sunday. I'm perfectly capable of doing basic chores, without being questioned and doubted constantly."

He didn't respond and headed to the kitchen, where he saw for himself that the dishes were clean.

But not in the right way.

Or at least that's what he thought.

"Y/N, did you dry the dishes with the cloth for the dishes or to dry your hands?" He raised his voice, from the kitchen, so that you could hear his words.

You felt your frustration rising again. Why was he always so nitpicky about every little thing?

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. "What difference does it make?" You replied, trying to keep your voice even. "They're both clean, aren't they?"

He looked at you, his expression stern. "It does make a difference. One cloth is supposed to be used for the hands, not as a drying cloth for dishes."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The way he was picking on such a trivial issue was mind-boggling.

You retorted, "Sunday, this is ridiculous. It's just a cloth, and it serves the same purpose, right? The dishes are clean."

He shook his head, his expression remaining stern.

"No, it's not just a cloth. The dish cloth is for the dishes, and the towel is for your hands. It's about order and organization," he responded matter-of-factly.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm going to wash them again and dry them with the right cloth," you said, in a tense voice.

As you approached to start putting the variety of dried dishes inside the sink.

He stopped you with a gesture, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Wait."

His tone was firm, preventing you from moving forward.

"Let me do it. You'll probably just use the wrong cloth again." he declared, his gaze fixed on you.

You let go of an unconscious mockery after his words reached your ears.

"How nice," you said, as you left the kitchen.

You left the kitchen feeling frustrated and annoyed. The fact that he thought you couldn't handle such a simple task as washing dishes felt like a blow to your pride.

You sat back down on the couch again, still see something but trying to control yourself. You picked up your phone, pretending to be distracted, all while feeling his presence in the next room, taking care of 'your mistake'.

And yes, you thought he was just irritated and it would only be the only times he would make those kinds of comments.

Oh, aeons. How wrong you were.

Time after time again, every time he came back late at night, he insisted on criticizing the things you did, from how to fold your clothes, to how you eat.

At this point you were starting to feel frustrated, and of course, you couldn't help but defend yourself, sometimes speaking badly or raising your tone of voice.

It wasn't the best way to speak for you, but it was infuriating for you to criticize everything.

And obviously, he didn't like your attempts at defense and tone of voice.

At this point, you were sitting on the couch, somewhat relaxed not to have Sunday in the living room.

You were now glad that he spent so much time away from home.

The door opened once again, revealing the tired figure of Sunday once more. As he stepped into the room, his gaze instantly focused on you, sitting on the couch. The moment he saw you, a disapproving frown settled on his face.

He closed the door behind him and approached the living room, his footsteps reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stern. "You're sinking into the couch again. It's going to wear it out."

You couldn't believe it.

He was now criticizing how you were sitting on the couch. It was as if everything you did was wrong in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure.

"I'm just sitting comfortably," you replied tersely.

But Sunday wasn't satisfied.

"You're sinking in the couch," he repeated, his tone disapproving. "You know it's not good for the couch, or your back, to sit that way. You need to sit up straight."

His constant criticism and corrections had been wearing on your nerves, and this latest comment was the final straw.

"Oh, for Aeons sake, Sunday," you snapped, your frustration boiled over. "Can you just relax for a moment? I'm tired, I'm just trying to relax."

He didn't take your response kindly. His expression hardened.

"And I'm tired of coming home every day to find you slouching on the couch," he replied firmly. "It's not respectable, or good for you."

Your eyes widened at his words and this time, you lost it.

You stood up, your voice raised and filled with frustration. "Respectable? Are you serious? You're more worried about how respectable I look on the couch than how I feel?"

He was taken aback by your outburst, but stood his ground. "It's about maintaining a certain standard… "

You interrupted him, your voice filled with sarcasm. "Oh, spare me, Sunday. We're not living in some uptight Victorian house."

Sunday's expression tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Watch your tone, Y/N. I'm just trying to help you be more presentable… "

You laughed bitterly. "Presentable? Is that all you care about? My appearance and how it reflects on you?"

Sunday tried to maintain his stern expression, but the tone of your voice was starting to chip at his composure.

You continued, your irritation rising, "You're always criticizing me, finding faults in everything I do. I can't relax without you nagging at me to be 'more respectable' or to do things your way. It's like I'm walking on eggshells every moment you're here."

Sunday clenched his jaw, clearly growing irritated. "You're exaggerating. I just want you to have some basic decency and standards,"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Decency and standards?! Is that what you call it? I call it suffocating and controlling. I can't even relax in my own home without you breathing down my neck, telling me how to sit, how to fold my clothes, how to talk‐"

Sunday interrupted you, his own irritation seeping into his voice. "Because you're not doing it right! Someone has to keep things in order around here. You think the house will magically stay organized and tidy without any effort?"

You retorted, "I'm not saying we need to live like pigs, but there's being tidy and then there's being overly obsessive about every little detail."

"You're making me feel like I can never do anything right, and it's driving me insane."

"It's about showing some self-discipline and self-respect. You're always so slovenly and careless…" He said.

You felt like you couldn't take his comments anymore. "Slovenly?" you replied, your voice filling with incredulity. "I'm not a slob, Sunday. I'm just being comfortable in MY own home."

The tension in the air was palpable. Sunday's irritation was now almost palpable, and he looked like he was on the verge of losing his composure.

"Your 'comfort' is an excuse for being undisciplined," he said, his voice growing louder. "You think because you're at home, you can just relax and do whatever you want. You have an obligation to yourself to maintain a certain standard of behavior and appearance."

'Obligation?'

You snapped.

"Who the hell do you think you are to dictate my behavior and appearance?" Your frustration boiled over. "You're not my boss, Sunday. You're my partner. You're supposed to support and respect me, not nitpick and control every little thing I do. This isn't a military drill, it's a home."

Sunday's own frustration flared up as you stood your ground. "I'm just trying to help you be better. If you'd just listen and take my advice - "

"Oh, so it's 'advice' now?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not advising me. You're ordering me around like a damn soldier."

"I'm not just supposed to sit idly by and watch you act carelessly. It's my duty to guide and correct you when you're veering off the right path." he shot back, his voice rising in volume.

You couldn't help but use sarcasm again at his loud tone of voice. "Oh, right, right."

"In the process, teach me how to breathe, yes? I'm sure I'm doing that wrong too."

That comment clearly hit a nerve and Sunday's irritation turned into anger.

"You're being sarcastic and disrespectful again," he said.

"Disrespectful my-!" Your words were quickly cut off.

By he stepped closer, towering over you.

"How insolent!" And the moment he spoke, his hand rose above his head.

Just as you were about to retaliate, your words were cut off by a swift and firm slap across your cheek.

The sudden shock left you stunned, your mind spinning for a moment. Your hand gingerly touched your now stinging cheek.

Sunday stood there, his face filled with disbelief. It was as if he was just as surprised as you were by what he had just done. For a moment, both of you remained silent. The air was filled with shock and a tense silence.

You knew Sunday was stern and strict, but this was the first time he had ever raised a hand at you.

The atmosphere in the room was now even more tense. You felt a knot forming in your stomach and throat, fear and anger mixed together forming a confusing sensation.

The realization of what had just happened was slowly reaching your brain.

He slapped you. He actually dared to lay a hand on you.

The room echoed in deafening silence, the only sound was your own breath, which now came in and out rapidly.

Sunday stood there, his hand still slightly raised as if frozen in time.

Sunday's breathing started to quicken as he began to regain his composure.

His eyes widened after realizing what he had done, his gaze fixed on your reddening cheek.

Your own mind was reeling, trying to process this moment. Just moments before, the conversation was heated, but it had never crossed the line into physical violence.

The stinging sensation on your cheek was slowly turning into a dull ache.

You could feel tears start to sting the corners of your eyes, at that point, you couldn't identify whether it was because of the fact that he had dared to do that or because of the sudden sharp pain in your face.

Sunday's expression morphed from shock to something akin to helplessness. He had crossed a boundary that he never thought he was capable of crossing. All this time, he thought that words were enough to guide and correct, but for the first time, he had crossed the line.

He tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was silence.

The tension in the room was palpable.

He finally managed to speak in a shaky, low voice. "I… I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I don't-"

But you were already at the brink of breaking down. The pain on your cheek combined with the emotional turmoil was becoming unbearable.

You couldn't hold it back anymore.

A soft sob escaped your lips, your tears starting to spill down your aching cheek.

Sunday's heart ached as he saw you starting to break down before him.

He captiously took a step forward, his hand reached out towards you, but stopped midway. He didn't know if he should comfort you or keep his distance after what he had just done.

His voice was a hushed whisper. "Please, let me-"

The sight of him trying to touch you after what he had just done sent a shockwave of fear and anger through you.

"Go ahead," you said, trying to get your voice out without any sobbing.

"Go ahead," You repeated, turning your face a little, pointing to your cheek that wasn't hit. "slap me again,"

At no time did the tears stop, practically you spit out the words between cut-down and agitated breaths.

"Surely this is how your 'father' hit you," you said again, with hatred in your tone. "Surely he did the same for you to be obedient,"

Your words, despite being fueled by anger and pain, stung like a dagger through Sunday's heart.

He stood frozen in place, shocked at the comparison you had just made.

Sunday had revealed to you in a previous conversation how strict Gopher Wood was, raising him to be obedient and disciplined. Growing up, there were times him had used physical means to discipline him for mistakes.

He couldn't deny that his upbringing had influenced his way of thinking and acting, but he had never, ever considered crossing the same boundaries Gopher Wood had.

He had never spoken about it with pride, and in fact, he often looked ashamed when he spoke of the times he was reprimanded in such a manner.

He shook his head, voice shaky. "I'm not like him, It's not the same-"

"Isn't it?" you cut him off, your voice quivering with pain and anger.

"Why? Because you love me?" you continued, the tears now flowing freely down your face.

"Because your father didn't love you? That's the difference?"

Sunday clenched his jaw, your words hitting him deep.

You continued, your voice choked with emotion. "If that's the difference, then you're just as bad," your words cut like blades.

"Maybe even worse, because you should know better." you finished, your voice a broken whisper.

The room was once again heavy with silence, the only sound being the occasional soft sob that escaped through your tears.

Sunday's face was pale, a mix of shame and helplessness.

All he could do was stand there, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

The sight of you broke his heart, but the knowledge that he had caused this breakdown weighed heavily on his soul.

He didn't know what to say, how to justify this to you or even to himself.

He just stood there, feeling like a complete failure.

"I hate you, Sunday," you murmured, As you passed your hands across your face, be careful not to dry your tears abruptly, down your sensitive cheek.

Maybe he is a failure.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[fastandcarlos]

Not So Insulting : ̗̀➛ Logan Sargeant

summary: although the fans around you don't seem to have logan's back, you most definitely do

You could see watching Logan from afar, his shoulders were low and his expression blank. His eyes kept glancing to a group of people stood just to his left, almost as if he was tuning into their conversation and not exactly enjoying what he was hearing. 

After a few moments, you walked across and stood in front of Logan, distracting him from what was around him, heart breaking at the disappointed expression that you saw on his face. 

Ever since it had been announced that Logan would be leaving Williams it almost seemed as if people suddenly had the freedom to say what they wanted. There had always been some conversations, but now they seemed to be getting louder with people relieved to see the potential end of Logan’s career in Formula 1. 

Yet, as you stood there too, things didn’t change, if anything their voices became louder, almost as if they wanted you to hear exactly what they were saying, 

“He’s been a waste of a seat for the past two years,” one of them spoke, immediately getting your back up. 

A faint sigh came from Logan, his eyes shutting as he tried to block out what was happening around him. You reached forwards and took a hold of his hand, reassuring him that you were there, trying your best to distract him once again from listening. 

“We might actually see Williams be successful again now,” another added, another stab into Logan’s back. 

“They must have been desperate back then to ever think about signing someone like him.” 

As much as Logan tried his best to not let you see how much the comments were getting to him, this time it was obvious. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, his teeth bit down hard on his bottom lip as he tried to keep his emotions in check and not let people see how bothered he was.  

You stood and braced yourself for the next comment, but luckily for you both it didn’t arrive. You could still hear their giggles though, finding the funny side of berating Logan and his career together.  

It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last time, you’d had to stand back and listen to Logan be criticised from the moment he walked through the door, and it seemed it was going to carry on until he said goodbye too. 

You’d spent the past two years having to stand back and do nothing, but with your loyalties only with Logan now, there was nothing to hold you back from doing what you had wanted to do for the past two years. 

“Are you proud of yourselves?” You loudly asked. 

The figures in the group all looked around, neither of them knowing what to say as they spotted you, a nervous looking Logan just behind you, anxiously watching as he tried to figure out what you were doing. 

After a moment you cleared your throat, staring them down. “You’re supposed to be professional journalists and this is how you behave? Would you ever write what you’ve all just said in an article and deliver it to your boss?” 

Logan reached out in an attempt to take your hand, but you shrugged him off, knowing that you’d both let it slide for far too long. 

“I’ll be happy to write up about this in an article, the headlines would love this.” 

“Do it, see if I care. I’m sure if your boss knew how you spoke about other drivers then you probably wouldn’t even have a career anymore, right?” 

“We speak the truth.” 

“Do you? Because the Logan that I see is a hardworking, talented driver who has dedicated himself to that team over the past two years and it’s about time all of you saw that in him too.” 

A couple of them went to speak again, but before they could, you took a hold of Logan’s hand again and spun around, walking as far away from them as you could into a much quieter part of the paddock where you could be alone. 

Logan stumbled behind you as he tried to come to terms with what he had just seen, stunned by how you had come to his defence, finally managing to silence his critics, even if it was just for a few minutes. 

The two of you sat down behind the Williams garage, Logan’s arm immediately wrapped around as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, letting go of the heavy breath that he had been holding onto. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he whispered closely into your ear. 

Your head shook, dismissing Logan. Having spent the past two years standing back and doing nothing, it was a now or never as to whether you were going to truly have Logan’s back. 

Logan smiled back to you as you looked across and met his eyes. “No one seems to be standing up for you these days, so that’s where I step in. I’m not going to stand back any longer, we’re not tied down to anyone anymore.” 

“I guess I’ve just gotten used to fighting for myself.” 

“You don’t have to look nice for Williams anymore,” you reminded him, “the only person you need to think about is you, that’s the only person I’m thinking about.” 

You felt guilty for taking so long to stand up for Logan but you never wanted to get in the way of his career. Now, you didn’t care, there was very little Williams could do soon, they didn’t have a hold over you like they once did. 

If they decided to post about your confrontation, you didn’t care.  Being posted about for protecting your boyfriend was never going to be a negative in your eyes, you were just wanting to show everyone else what they should have done for Logan too. 

“I don’t want them to forget how amazing you are Logan.” 

“I definitely don’t think you’ve let them do that,” Logan chuckled, kissing the top of your head once again. “Honestly, it just feels pretty cool to have finally had someone have my back, even if I’m not racing next year at least I’ll have you by my side to cheer me on.” 

In a way, you were glad to see Logan walking away from Williams, a team that had rarely bothered with Logan or showed him any support for such a considerable time. 

“You’ll be racing, somewhere, I’m sure of it,” you assured him. “The right time will come along, a team who see how brilliant you are and want to have your back too.” 

“Do you think a team will be able to handle the protective girlfriend that comes with signing a contract with me?” 

“As long as they help you and stick up for you, they won’t even know I’m there,” you laughed, “however if they treat you like nothing, I’m not going to stand back anymore.” 

Logan’s smile was wide as you spoke, his heart full knowing that you were there, even if no one else was, Logan could absolutely always count on you. 

“I’ll make sure to warn them,” Logan teased, nudging against your side. “They’ll probably make you sign a contract to make sure that you stay quiet.” 

If there was one thing you were definitely not going to do, it was stay quiet about Logan. You’d spent two years having to stand back out of the spotlight, but not this time around, wherever it was that Logan ended up going next. 

“Thank you for having my back today, well, every day. I love having you by my side and knowing that I’ve got you right there with me.” 

“I love you, I’ll always be there for you.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

painting his nails

(cw: age gap 25/41, size difference; talking about König's occupation being a soldier, scars from his injuries, military stuff; tickling, smut, nsfw, mdni)

part before: waking up in his bed

“Hold still.”

“This is much more tedious and annoying than I thought it would be.”

I swipe at his lower lash line again, leaving more eyeshadow there. He is blinking excessively, his eyes watering.

“You’re a big baby.”, I tell him, wiping some of the excess away that fell onto his cheekbones.

He shoots me a look. “I just wanted you to paint my nails.”, he grumbles. When he asked me if I could bring some nail polish to paint his nails (black, of course), I was surprised at first. He always wanted to try it, but he didn’t know how to do it properly, so it looked like shit when he did it himself (his words). And I was more than happy to oblige, and then some.

“I got distracted.”, I defend myself. I couldn’t resist coaxing him into putting on some smudgy eyeliner because I knew it would look hot on him. And of course, I am right. I hand him the make-up compact that has a little mirror.

“I look like I didn’t wash off my eyeblack properly.”, he mumbles, critically eyeing the make-up in the reflective material.

“What’s that?”, I ask.

“It’s uh- like black grease paint? Body paint? For like the eye area that still shows in balaclavas.”, he explains.

“Oh, I see.”, I say, getting the gist of it, but still wondering why that was necessary. I tuck that information away for later, to maybe look it up myself, as I open up the little flask of nail polish.

I take his hand in mine and like every single time I’m astounded by the size difference. Yes, he’s like two heads taller than me and over twice my weight. And I don’t think I’m that small. But compared to him I feel tiny. Like right now with his hand splayed out on my thigh while I paint his nails.

I admire the tattoos on his hands, while I paint the first nail. I always try to not pay attention to the parts of his skin that are disturbed by cuts and scars, because they remind me of how he got them. That his work isn’t some kind of accountant desk job. His comment about the eyeblack showed that as well. How different his frame of reference is from mine, even when it comes to small details like that. And how I still don’t know that much about him.

The questions swirl in the forefront of my mind, unsure of how to phrase them, until I finally start to speak. "What's your work like?", I ask carefully. "What... are you like at work?”

He just shakes his head, avoiding eye contact. "I don't..." Opening his mouth, hesitant to say something more.

"I'm sorry, I just- Sorry for being nosy again, just forget about it.", I deflect, painting his middlefinger’s nail next, my eyes darting up to him, smiling apologetically.

He shakes his head again, this time more like to himself. "No, it's okay. I understand.", he says, the smile struggling to form on his face, the emotions in his eyes illegible to me. "I just don't think that you would like me very much at work."

"I don't believe that.", I say softly, even though I’m not so sure myself, with the way he said it. But I couldn’t leave his comment that seemed like a jab at himself like that.

He scoffs. "You'd probably run away screaming if you saw me in my get-up alone.", he grumbles. And I get it. A 6'10'' 300 pounds hulk of a man in full tactical gear sounds scary. Most of the time, I think he would want people to cower when they see him. But there surely also had to be situations where he didn't want to come off as intimidating, but he still might. Like with me.

"You got a picture?", I ask, carefully, adding quickly: "Uh, you don't have to show me though, of course."

At first, he just looks at me, then he sighs and reaches for his phone. "Maybe… I have to look for one.", he mumbles, scrolling on the little screen.

It doesn't take long, and he finds one. I can tell by the way his brows furrow in discontent, but he turns the device to me anyway. It doesn't have the best quality, yet my eyes scan every little bit of it.

He’s huge, duh. Dressed in tactical gear. Protectors on his shins and forearms. A bulletproof vest. Beige cargo pants. A helmet on his head. A rifle in his hands, but don't ask me what kind, because I have no fucking clue.

And he does look scary and intimidating, for sure.

The most surprising part is the mask on his face, not one of those usual masks you would see, but a hood that looks – selfmade? From a shirt or something similar, hiding his whole head and his neck, almost falling down to his chest. There are stains on the front, reddish streaks right under the eyeholes.

My eyes shoot up to look at him, the question on the tip of my tongue. “The mask?”

He shrugs. “Most of the guys at work wear one. And I have worn a similar thing, ever since I wanted to become a sniper. They didn’t let me join the squad because I was too big for that.”, he explains, and I can feel that there is more to the story than he lets on. “I used to wear some type of mask whenever I went outside. Even when I was on leave. But I don’t do that anymore.”, he adds on.

“I see.”, is all I say, my eyes still scanning the pic. Trying to connect his two faces in my mind.

The man I see on the picture is so different from the one whose lap I’m currently sitting on. But I can see bits of both of them, right here before me and also on the screen. Like the band of red beads around his wrist. The big burly stature, dressed in dark clothing. The certain attitude that shows in his posture. The broader than life stance mirrored in the way he’s sitting on the couch.

“My Oma always hated the mask thing, but then again, she didn’t like me joining the military anyway.”, he says then. ('grandma')

“Because?”, I ask curiously, continuing to paint his nails.

He shrugs. “I mean, I understand it, I- it’s difficult to explain. With Austria’s past and what my grandma knew of war… I understand why she wasn’t thrilled that I wanted to become a soldier. As a career.”, he explains, putting the phone away again.

“Oh, right, I didn’t think about that.”, I say, squeezing his fingers lightly, while I move to his other hand, pulling it onto my thigh. His fingertips dig into the softness, as I start to paint his left thumb.

“Yeah... That was probably the only time we ever really argued. About my work.”, he says, his voice calmer than the look in his eyes.

“How did you even know you wanted to be a soldier?”, I ask him then.

“How did you know what you wanted to do?”, he asks back.

“I don’t know, I was kinda good at it and it paid money.”, I say, shrugging my shoulders.

“Exactly. I was in compulsory military service and when we ran drills for the first time… it just made sense, it clicked. The simplicity of it. The structure.” He stops talking for a second, like the list could go on, but something’s keeping him from listing it off. I’m not interjecting, just listening.

“And the prospect of even getting paid for it long term kind of sealed the deal.”, he says instead. “The sniper thing didn’t work out, but somebody of my height and build… well, it took me far as a specialist to break into things. Got out of Austria pretty quickly. And at that time, I also started to use König as a name.”

I perk up when he drops that last bit of information. “I thought that that can't be your real name.”, I smile up at him, before I look down again to make sure none of the colour spills.

He laughs a bit, but it's not a happy laugh. “Yeah, I went through some stuff.”, he says, kinda flatly, and then he sighs. “Got over the need to constantly hide my face, even when I'm not working. But König stuck. Must have quite the ego to call yourself king, hm.”

I’m surprised at the little self-deprecating stab. Well, I guess, his ego fits his stature, but… “I never thought that your ego was overinflated.”, I simply say. Silence falls over us, for just a moment.

“You're not gonna ask about my real name?”, he asks then, the tone in voice unreadable.

I stop my movements, looking up at him. “I might be nosy, but I feel like I already asked too many questions today.”, I answer, a serious expression on my face, needing him to see that I’m being genuine about this: “And I know a boundary when I see one.”

“Right, sorry, I didn't mean to imply-“, he says, breaking off in a curse.

“Don't worry.” I press a quick kiss to his lips, to shut him up. “I don't need to know your ‘real name’ to…” I stop for a moment, trying to find the right thing to say. “If you ever decide to tell me, that's fine, and if you don’t, that's fine too. Okay?”

He nods, the little smile on his face as he looks down at me finally seeming genuine again. “Okay.”

I would have never known that the simple act of painting his nails could be this intimate. But I guess, our closeness, how I’m sitting on his lap, music softly playing in the background – I think, he put on some Pink Floyd Best Of vinyl. The repetitive act of painting nail by nail, picking up colour with the little brush and then coating them carefully. The warmth of his hand on my thigh. His voice filling the space around us, as he tells me about his work. At least the parts he wants to tell me. And I’m soaking everything up, learning more about the man. The man whose real name I might never know.

I can feel how careful he’s being with how he's wording things. Holding himself back a few times. Like he's afraid about telling too much. I'm not naive. I don't know the exact details, but I still know what he does for a living.

I get that the soft version he is with me isn't his default setting. And I know that he is trying so hard right now, not letting that other side shine through too much, because I might see him differently then, while still giving me bits and pieces of himself.

I admire my paint job, the black nails fitting the rest of his left hand. DIE in big bold letters on his knuckles, the lettering pulling up into the skull that spans the back of his hand. The cold dead tree that adorns the inside of his arm sprouts its roots in the eyeholes.

His palm still rests on my thigh, his fingertips softly digging into my skin, like he is holding on.

“You’re done.”, I tell him then. He lifts his giant hands to look at them as well, a grin stalking onto his face, and I miss the warmth of his touch already.

“Thanks.”, he says and presses an almost chaste kiss to my lips.

“You’re very welcome. Even though I needed to use half the nail polish to have enough for your plate-sized nails.”, I comment tongue-in-cheek.

“I’m gonna buy you a new bottle.”, he answers simply.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”, I wave it off.

“And? How do I look?”, he asks, almost striking a pose.

“Good.”, I answer, grinning at him. “Real goth.”, I add jokingly, and we laugh a bit.

I lean against him, my fingers tangle in his shirt, and silence falls over us. He presses me against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. His cheek nuzzling the top of my head. I feel how he’s moving, like he wants to start to speak. Like he is looking for the right words.

“I hope you’re not afraid of me.”, he finally says, mumbled into my hair, so quiet I almost can’t understand him at first.

“I’m not.”, I simply say, knowing that a more elaborate answer wouldn't have convinced him any more. Snuggling into him even, my cheek pressing against the soft pillow of his chest, the palm of my hands caressing over his back. Holding him for a moment.

I pull back a bit, to look up at him, not letting him hide away in my hair any longer. “Uh, btw…”, I start, trying to hide the giggles that want to escape me.

"What?", he asks as he sees the sparkle in my eyes.

"Did I ever tell you that I have a mask kink?", I say, fully grinning from one cheek to another, which pulls a little laugh from him.

“Of course you do, Fräulein.”, he says, but I can see the heat in his gaze, as he quips: “I’ve seen the bands you listen to.”

I playfully smack his bicep. “Rude!”

He just laughs again, grabbing me and pulling me into him again.

“Nooo, your nails are not even dry!”, I wail, giggling, as he peppers kisses all over my neck. I try to escape his grasp, to escape his tickling touches, but it’s like fighting against iron restraints. When he lets go of me, I reprimand him for messing up his nails, and paint those again where some colour came off.

He makes sure to apologize properly, carrying me up to the bedroom, where he strips me naked and sets me on top of his face, telling me to ride it. His hands grab my thighs, letting me admire how good his hands look like that, with the tattoos and the freshly painted nails.

I’m sitting on his face, properly sitting on it, because he wouldn’t accept it any other way. “If I go out like this, so be it. Now, please, sit on my fucking face.”, he rather orders than begs.

His mouth, hot and warm against my wet pussy, is working me tirelessly. His hands steering the pace of my hips that grind against his lower face. His fingers toying with my holes, while he sucks on my clit.

He doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied and his face sufficiently soaked with my juices. He lifts me off his mouth and onto his dick – after getting a condom, of course. I sink down around him, relaxed and so wet, until I’m seated on his lap, his cock filling me to the brim.

I chuckle as I look back and see how his eyes are fixed on my ass, watching it move up and down his length, my pussy swallowing him up, again and again and again. His mouth fell open a little, and it almost seems like there isn’t anything on his mind right now, other than me fucking him reverse cowgirl, with a prime seat for looking at my butt.

“You wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer.”, I taunt him, lifting myself from his lap slowly, making sure he sees every inch slipping out of me.

His eyes snap up to my face, a clear ‘watch it’ written on his expression, until his slack jaw turns into a smirk. He leans forward, catching my wrists and securing them behind my back, with just one hand. My back arches as he jerks me down onto his cock, my asscheeks hitting his groin in a slap. My mouth forms to an O, a moan being pulled from my lips.

“You were saying? Hmm?”, he teases me, pressing kisses to my neck that send shivers down my spine. The little ‘hmm’ a soft growl.

“Nothing.”, I breathe, my eyes rolling back as he starts to fuck me like this. Fucking up into me, his tip hitting me deep in this position, pushing up against my cervix. The intense sensations have me screaming, pulsing around his dick.

And when it would be time to pack my stuff and go home after spending the whole weekend together because I have to work tomorrow, I just don’t. It’s late already, so I stay another night, sleeping next to him in his bed, like I did the past two days. Using him as my personal heater because that huge burly man gives off more heat than any radiator would, and it’s impossible to flee his grasp.

next part: on the phone with👑 or more stuff in the Masterlist ~

a/n: this chapter has been brewing for a long time (it was the second scene i ever started, i think) and there's a lot of stuff in there that keeps rumbling around my head when it comes to könig in general and mh!k specifically some of it is canon-diverging headcanons about how he came to be a soldier (you realistically can't really join the austrian military before 18), what that must have meant to him and the people who were close to him, especially his grandma, who was the most important person in his life (also in the context of austria's past) mh!k is a much more toned down now at his age, better adjusted, not the much wilder younger version; he still very much is a König, but he got better over time at not letting his work dictate his every minute, especially when he is on leave he doesn't have the best image of himself, because he knows how he is, how he can be and what he has done, while at the same time being just fine with it all the same, because that's just who he is with reader, it's a little bit of a different topic, because he kind of doesn't want her to see him that way while he also understands her curiosity you see, lots of thoughts xD anyway, thanks for reading <3

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

One thing I adore about Bad Batch is how well it balances presenting two (or more) perspectives while allowing us to understand why each side has that perspective.

Take, for example, one of the most tragic scenes in season 1, where my heart just breaks for Crosshair...

Come on, Bad Batch, Crosshair has just saved Omega. Even if it might have appeared at first that he was pointing his rifle in Hunter's face, it's now clear that wasn't his intention! Can y'all stop pointing your weapons at him??!? 💔💔💔

And yet... I can still understand and sympathize with where the rest of the squad is coming from.

Months prior, Crosshair had started acting a little bit... off, rambling on about being good soldiers and criticizing Hunter's every move (including the decision to not shoot civilians). Then, the squad was imprisoned; then, Crosshair was singled out; then, as the squad was going to get him, he found them and shot Wrecker and threatened the rest of them. And they had to flee.

Oh, there was talk about inhibitor chips influencing clone behavior, maybe even controlling it; but the squad had precious little information to go on.

And then Rex gives them more information and dire warnings, and they see firsthand the dangers of the chips when Wrecker (of all people) goes all murder rampage, and it's abundantly clear that this must be why Crosshair is acting the way he is.

And immediately thereafter, Crosshair finds them... and when Hunter attempts to talk him down (because now they really understand what's going on), Crosshair "aims for the kid" and then keeps them trapped in an ion engine with the intent of incinerating them.

... Well, Wrecker had just tried to kill them all too, so it's understandable why Crosshair is acting this way. Not exactly ideal - especially since he doesn't want to listen to them and he has Imperial backing - but understandable.

And eventually Crosshair succeeds in actually capturing them. And he goes on and on about being better than everyone else and the value of serving an Empire whose definition of "order" involves terror and subjugation. But hey, apparently he's not trying to kill them this time... Until Hunter says no to joining the Empire and Crosshair makes it clear he considers this to be traitor talk... But then Crosshair helps them defeat the droids, so Hunter tries again to talk to him about the inhibitor chip.

"Wrong," Crosshair says. "I had my chip removed. A long time ago."

Just look at the confusion on Hunter's face as he grapples with the implications:

And then we are granted Tech's and Wrecker's reactions, with Tech's being more apparent since we can see his eyes - the shocked surprise followed by the eyebrow furrowing that reads to me as Tech trying to fit this revelation into his understanding of Crosshair's behavior:

(Remembering, of course, that Tech was the first to bring up the possibility of the chip influencing Crosshair's actions.)

"Since when?" Hunter continues in shock.

"Does it matter?" Crosshair shrugs.

"YES," Hunter insists.

"This is who I am," Crosshair responds.

And then Crosshair pulls his rifle (which we know isn't set to stun) on Hunter.

For months, Crosshair's brothers had been giving him the benefit of the doubt even as he repeatedly and deliberately endangered them; but now, he leaves them to wonder - Was Crosshair acting of his own volition when he shot Wrecker and tried to lure the others out that fateful night on Kamino? Was it his own choice to try to roast them to ash on Bracca? Was the chip involved or not when he chased them down as they were trying to leave Bracca?

He apparently doesn't have the chip now, and yet he's gone from holding them hostage to fighting alongside them against the droids to threatening Hunter again, all in the space of about 5 minutes.

And he insists that "This is who I am."

Crosshair is behaving dangerously, violently, and unpredictably, and he's said that he considers them to be his enemies since they won't join the Empire. And he keeps arguing with them every step of the way as they set out to escape an orbital bombardment.

Is it any wonder, then, that his brothers don't trust him holding a weapon, even when he's saved Omega's life?

[solarmorrigan]

Movie Nights

For the @steddie-spooktober day 25 prompt: Frankenstein Friday Rated: T | Words: 1514 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, outsider POV, I know the movie is over 90 years old but I didn't actually watch it myself until a month ago, so just in case there's anyone else out there who hasn't seen it, Frankenstein (1931) spoilers Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Part 3 of the Good Neighbors series

Gladys can appreciate new things. Books, television, music – the little joys to be found in new discoveries are what make life worth living. She isn’t as set in her ways as some people her age can be, but she does have her favorites.

She loves her mysteries and her thrillers above all else; the likes of Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, and Arthur Conan Doyle line her shelves. She’s dipped into the genre of spies and intrigue, digging into Ian Fleming and John Le Carré. She’s even been known to appreciate a good horror film now and then.

Emphasis on “good.”

“So this is what passes for horror these days?” Gladys asks as a young man on the TV screen is sucked down into his bed, only to be spat back out as an absolute geyser of blood.

Eddie chuckles, glancing up from the screen. “Not your cup of tea?”

Gladys leans on the back of the couch, resting her arms there. She’d only come over to the boys’ apartment to see if they had a spare baking dish she could borrow; they certainly hadn’t invited her in to critique their choice of entertainment. But all the same–

“I just think they should try a little harder to really scare people. These days, it’s all shock and gore. All they have to do is shower people in blood and call it a day,” Gladys says. “I remember a time when they put real effort in.”

“Back in your day?” Eddie teases, grinning at her.

Gladys tsks, cuffing him upside the head – not hard, barely more than a tap, but he still falls sideways onto the couch with a gasp, clutching his head, and then rolls right off and onto the floor with a thump. Gladys rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother to hide her smile at his antics.

“Hey, will this work for–” Steve exits the kitchen, a glass baking dish in his hands, and stops as his attention is almost immediately diverted to Eddie. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Gladys attacked me,” Eddie replies.

“Oh. Good for her,” Steve decides, holding up the dish again. “Will this work for you?”

“That would be fine,” Gladys says, accepting it as Steve passes it over.

“She also thinks my movie is trash,” Eddie says brightly as he levers himself back up onto the couch.

“I did not say it was trash,” Gladys says. “At worst, I said it was cheap.”

“Okay, but that’s not better,” Eddie says.

“I’m not a huge fan, either,” Steve leans in to stage whisper to Gladys, “but it makes him happy.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s a critic.” Eddie rolls his eyes, then leans back a bit so he can look up at Gladys. “What would you call a good horror movie, if not the genius of Wes Craven?”

Gladys purses her lips, thinking for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen the classics? Dracula, The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

Eddie lets out a thoughtful little noise, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Well, you ought to. You’ll see where it all began, then,” Gladys says.

“And I get the feeling you’d enjoy showing us,” Eddie says, wiggling his eyebrows up at Gladys.

“’Us’? Who’s ‘us’? When did I get roped into this?” Steve asks, and Eddie reaches out to take one of his hands.

“We’re a package deal, baby, everyone knows that,” Eddie says.

“No one around here but Gladys knows that,” Steve reminds him.

“Everyone important knows that,” Eddie amends. “Anyway, what do you say, Gladys? Feel like educating a couple of horror philistines such as ourselves?”

“Well,” Gladys says slowly, “I’m sure I could come up with something.”

This is how she ends up in her armchair the following Friday night, the boys both sitting on the loveseat, all watching as the audience is warned of the frightening nature of the upcoming film playing out on the television.

“Now, this wasn’t Universal’s first horror film, and it wasn’t even the first movie adaptation of Frankenstein,” Gladys says when the opening credits come on, “but it is a bit iconic. I thought you might get a kick out of it.”

“But is it scary?” Eddie teases.

“Well, I don’t know about scary, but maybe a bit shocking. Look at it this way:” Gladys says, “it was 1931. Graverobbing and murder might seem mundane to you, but we weren’t quite as desensitized to seeing it on the screen back then.”

Steve glances over at her. “Do you remember when this came out?”

“Oh, barely.” Gladys wiggles her hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. “I certainly didn’t go to see it in the theater, I was only six or seven at the time.”

“Still, that’s pretty cool,” Steve says, and Gladys favors him with a smile.

If they aren’t altogether horrified by the movie, the boys are at least engaged, keeping up a running commentary that has even Gladys laughing. (“He had that coming,” Steve says when the monster finally catches Frankenstein’s assistant. “Yep. Rest in pieces, Fritz,” Eddie adds.) However, as they reach the midway point, the father onscreen bidding his daughter to go play with her cat while he works, Steve shifts uneasily in his seat.

“Wait, they’re not going to do anything to the cat, are they?” he asks, cutting a worried glance at Gladys.

As if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until Steve voiced it, Eddie sits up straight in his own seat. “Gladys,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at the screen, “you’re not showing us a movie where they kill a cat, are you?”

One brow raised, Gladys regards the pair of them. “You’re worried about the cat, but not the child?”

Steve scoffs. “It’s 1931, they’re not gonna kill a kid,” he says, while Eddie nods in agreement.

Both brows raised now, Gladys only gives them a little “hm,” and turns back to the screen. With some suspicion, Eddie and Steve do the same, watching as the scene unfolds.

“Oh, shit,” Steve says, taken aback as the monster tosses the little girl into the lake.

“Damn. Guess we should’ve worried about the kid, after all,” Eddie says.

“You have to have some idea of how this movie ends,” Gladys says, shaking her head. “Did you really think they’d form an angry mob over a dead cat?”

“I would,” Eddie declares, then looks down at Steve, who at some point in the last half hour had ended up tucked into Eddie’s side (when, Gladys isn’t sure, but it’s sweet; it’s a pleasant feeling knowing how comfortable the two of them are here). “Steve, would you form an angry mob with me if someone killed our cat?”

“We don’t have a cat,” Steve says.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie insists, and Steve relents.

“I would come with you if only to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed,” he decides.

“I’ll take it,” Eddie says with a shrug.

The rest of the movie plays out on the screen – the forming of the mob, the confrontation with the monster, the burning windmill, and, at last, the peaceful conclusion.

“Wait,” Eddie says, brows furrowed as he watches the end credits play, “that’s it? That’s how it ends? A toast to the house of Frankenstein, the end?”

“Yes…” Gladys says slowly. “Why? How should it end?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about a little restitution for the guy whose daughter got murdered?” Eddie demands, shooting up out of his seat so quickly that Steve has no time to brace himself and falls sideways onto the loveseat with a little ‘oof.’ “How about a little accountability? I mean, seriously, this is just typical; some rich, entitled asshole plays around with things he can’t control, creates a problem he refuses to solve, and the poor end up being the ones to pay the price!”

“Now you’ve got him started,” Steve mutters to Gladys as he sits himself back up.

“Is there any way to get him to stop?” Gladys asks, though she’s a little fascinated with the theatrical way Eddie throws himself around the living room as he rants.

“Uh.” Steve glances over at Eddie and back away again, and there actually seems to be a little color rising in his cheeks. “Not, um…”

“Take him home first, if you’re planning to do something like that,” Gladys says primly, only to lose the fight to her laughter when Steve looks over at her, aghast.

“I wouldn’t–!” he protests indignantly, his face going redder.

“Are you guys even listening to me?” Eddie demands, turning back to face the pair of them.

Gladys declines to answer, asking instead, “Eddie, dear, how did you like the movie?”

“Oh. Aside from the ending, it was great.” Eddie drops back onto the loveseat, reaching out absently to tug Steve back over to his side. “What else ya got?”

“Well,” Gladys says, picking through the stack of tapes she’d managed to dig up at the video store. “If you like entitled rich people, let’s see how you feel about Dracula.”

[gothamite-rambler]

When Superman First Met Batman's sidekick

Superman (raising an eyebrow): This is your sidekick?

Nine-year-old Robin (Dick Grayson) sat on the ground, captivated by a bug while munching on crackers. He felt a gentle nudge on his back from Batman's shoe, urging him to pay attention. Looking up, he stood to his feet.

Batman (deadpan): Yes, don't say it.

Superman (curious): Hm… is he not a little boy? Because I'm seriously doubting he's just a little grown up.

Batman (stony-faced): You wouldn't believe me if I lied. Robin, introduce yourself.

Robin (waving excitedly): I’m Robin! I can do flips and tricks. Hug time!

With that, Robin threw his arms around Superman, catching the mighty hero off guard and leaving Batman looking slightly annoyed. He had thought he was the only one who got hugs.

Robin (cheerfully): I’m a big fan!

Superman (smiling warmly): Oh… I needed that right now. Thanks, kid.

Superman patted the kid on the top of his head with a smile.

Batman (yanking Robin back to his side, a tinge of jealousy in his tone): Yep, he can do flips and tricks. Not hug strangers!

Batman gave the boy a friendly pat on the head. Superman blinked, trying to process the whirlwind of information.

Superman (alarmed): Right… um, circling back then. That's a child!

Batman (exasperated): He's my son.

Superman (wide-eyed): That's worse!

Batman (making it worse): I adopted him after his parents… died?

Superman (concerned): What? Did you—

Superman looked at Robin.

Superman (shocked): Did he murder your parents?!

Robin (tapping his chin in thought, mischievous): Hm… I'm not sure. Maybe some candy will help me answer the question.

Batman (sighing): After the mission. I promise, I will take you to the candy store.

Robin (grinning): I'm remembering that and no, he did not kill my parents; a mobster did.

Batman (to Superman, slightly defensive): There, he told you the truth. Are you satisfied?!

Superman (frustrated): He's still a child!

Batman (controlled fury): Why does everyone have this reaction when they meet him? I've had to deal with crooks in Gotham with hypocritical reactions of "Oh my gosh you have a child!" Like they didn't just commit murder! But I thought you'd let this go!

Superman (crossing his arms): Okay, I'll indulge you then. Cool, you have a child sidekick; how old is he?

Robin (sweet, prideful tone): I just turned nine.

Superman (rage shouting): WHAT?! Shut the fuck up! No, he's not! What the fuck is wrong with you, Batman?

Robin hid behind his father's leg, slightly scared at the yelling from the God-like superhero. This made Batman angry.

Batman (shouting): Hey! Don’t cuss in front of my son! He already has to deal with the Joker, but you, of all people, will not swear in front of my boy! You can criticize me for many things, and I won't care, because they aren't true, but don't tell me how to raise my son! He picked that suit—throwing that in there to get it out of the way! And he wants to be a hero!

Robin nodded enthusiastically at Batman's words, especially the part about the suit.

Robin (beaming): Yeah, and no cuss words! Just beating up bad guys! Until I turn 16, then he said I can do both!

Batman (pointing a finger at Superman): Yes, he's right about everything he said. And if you want to say anything else, Man of Steel, tread lightly. I am not the one! He is my son; I care about him, and I will punch you while holding kryptonite if you scare him again!

Superman (sighing): Oh, geez, okay, I’m sorry.

Batman breathed deeply to calm himself.

Batman (calmly): Your apology is accepted. I'm just tired of this reaction.

Robin (defending his father): Yeah, me and Papa are good heroes! I love crime fighting; it’s fun! Don’t judge us for our awesomeness!

Batman (gently): Robin, I appreciate the awesomeness part, but please don’t call me Papa while we’re on a job or meeting other heroes.

Robin (apologetically): Oh, sorry, Batman. I love you, Batman!

Robin beamed and hugged his father tightly.

Batman (softening): L… Love you too. You’re in a hugging mood today.

Robin (excitedly): It’s a good day! I met your future best friend!

Batman flushed with embarrassment as Superman glanced back and forth between Robin and Batman.

Batman covered his face, heaving an exhausted sigh that reminded Superman of his dad. He could see that Batman was trustworthy.

And Robin took this as his chance to sneak away and climb a tree.

Superman (smirking): I mean… if this kid makes you less of a jerk and realizes we’re friends, then I guess I’ll overlook the potential kidnapping charges.

Batman (sighing in exasperation): I didn’t— Great, thanks. Robin, let’s go— Where did he go?!

Robin (sitting on a tree branch, gleefully): Batman, look how high I climbed!

Batman (frustrated): Dang it, Robin!

Batman rushed to the tree to help Robin down, while Superman simply shrugged, accepting that the man in black had a child sidekick.

[nina-renmen]

Just wanted to pop in and say that I love your writing ✨ it makes my day when you post!

Also whenever you have time and the motivation, would it be okay to have another part to the polar bear reader?

Thank you! Hopefully I’ll be able to keep making these stories!

Part 1

Warnings: Minimum nsfw themes and a bit of fluff, I kinda rushed this so please let me know if there are any mistakes. Constructive criticism is welcomed

Price wasn’t sneaky. At least with you he wasn’t. Your monster form was more adapted to the wild than his. You were younger, faster. Even though he was undoubtedly stronger than you he wouldn’t be able to use it if you could always outrun him. Your jaws were more powerful than his and yet you surrounded yourself with him.

Sometimes the older male wondered why. If he were you he wouldn’t even spare himself a glance. He’d try to find someone stronger than himself.

“Stop thinking so hard about it.” Y/n’s voice snapped Price out of his thoughts. She laid on the snowy ground, chewing on a bloodied bone from a human she’d hunted.

“Hard not to when spring is coming around.” Price said in a gruff voice. That’s right, mating season was coming quickly. The more he looked at you the more he found himself looking at your hips. Thinking about the way they’d hold his cubs nicely. He wondered if you’re stomach would show or if you’re body would keep his children hidden.

When y/n stood up that snapped him out of his thoughts once more. A growl ripped from her throat causing the male to stand up as well. His muscles tense until he spotted one of his men.

“He’s friendly.” Price put his hand on y/n’s shoulder.

“Looks like you found yourself a new pet Captin. Isn’t this the one that slashed Gaz’s face?” His voice was gruff, almost like Price’s.

“Gaz got his punishment for provoking her. End of discussion Ghost.” Price argued, standing in front of you.

“First soap now you….great.” The unknown man said sarcastically.

“What do you mean by that?” Price questioned, getting more defensive over you. “Nothing! He means nothing.” Another male voice pipped up. It was the man that gave you back your food. Price turned around, looking at soap suspiciously. “What do you two have going on?”

“Spring is coming up.” Ghost said.

“And? You don’t necessarily have a mating season.” Price retorted. Folding his arms over his chest. “But Soap does. I owe him one for saving my ass the other night.”

Price pulled you behind him. “Nobody’s touching her.”

“Oh com’on Captin.” Soap interjected, taking a step toward you. His hands reaching out, letting y/n lean into the warmth of his hands. “You see the way her legs clench whenever she’s around you or me. It’s obvious the little thing-“

“You back the fuck off.” Price grabbed your arm, pulling you away from him. “She’s mine-“

“I’m not anyones!” Y/n exclaimed, tearing herself away from Price’s grasp. “You all need to leave…go back where you came from. Obviously the cold isn’t good for any of you.” Y/n spoke in an urgent voice.

“Y/n wait I didn’t mean-“ Price trailed off seeing your back turn towards him. Leaving the premises.

It wasn’t like team 141 could just get up and go. They were to be stationed there for quite some time. You were going to run into them again. It was inevitable. It snowed one last time just before spring would come by. Y/n was in the cold attic waters, a fish in between her locked jaws as she made her way back to her den. The sound of twigs snapping caught her attention. Turning around quickly the person behind her put their hands up in surrender.

It was that damn bird hybrid.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at Gaz. Her distrustful gaze locked onto him. “I-I’m friendly.” He stuttered. “What do you want?” Y/n muttered as she began walking away, giving Gaz the choice to follow her. To which he did.

“To apologize.” He spoke up above the snow that was slowly growing heavier. “I thought you were a panda or-“

“I get it.” Y/n grumbled as she walked towards her den. “So….you’re not mad?” Gaz asked. Crouching down by your den but not going inside. “I’m not one to hold grudges.” Y/n said as she curled up in her den. The snow had picked up. The winds growing harsher. Y/n looked over at Gaz sensing his unease with that harsh weather. The poor bird didn’t even have any feathers to keep him warm. “Come on…you can lay with me until the storm moves out.” Y/n said, switching into her monster form, moving to her right in other to give the harpy some space.

The man was hesitant. Rightfully so. But nevertheless he entered the den. Sitting a safe distance away from y/n. But as the minutes passed by the den soon began getting cold. And within an hour the two were practically snowed in.

The bear hybrid woke up. She looked over seeing Gaz huddled in a corner. Trying to collect as much warmth as possible. “Are you just going to freeze to death or are you going to come over here?” Y/n asked, motioning the male to come closer to which he did.

His cold body coming in contact with y/n’s warmth. She was like a warm blanket to him. Within minutes Gaz was asleep, his soft snores filling up the den. Lulling y/n to sleep as well.

“Captin…have you seen Gaz?” Soap questioned. “I’ve been looking for the lad everywhere but I can’t find him.” Price only shrugged his shoulders. To which Ghost spoke up. “He left for the forest by the creek.”

Soap glanced worriedly at the Lieutenant. “Isn’t that where y/n lives?” He asked. “Shit…..you’re right.” Price stood up. Grabbing his jacket. “You just let him go?!” Soap exclaimed turning towards Ghost to which he only shrugged. “I’m not his father.”

Johnny scoffed. Following his captain out the building. Who knows what could be happening as of now. You could be mawing the harpy’s face off now. And with the spring rolling by who knows how out of wack your emotions could be.

He just hopped he wasn’t too late.

[pleasantspark]

HelluvaHazbin Selfaware AU Rewrite: Mammon Sticks It To Beezlebub.

The room was silent as Mammon stood back, he seemed to be quiet, he tried to ask Leviathan (albeit awkwardly.) about catching up as they haven't been hanging out in awhile at all. But Levi mistook it as him trying to flirt with him.

That's when that fat shaming son of a bitch Beezlebub chimed in. "What's wrong, Mams? Mad because no one will fuck you? Look at how sloppy and disgusting you are."

Mammon's hold on the bucket of chicken he had tightened as his face turned a shade of red, he didn't let it bother him. No. He had better things to do instead of worry about what people said.

"Oh piss off you tosser!" He shouts back at Beezlebub, "Aren't ya the one who indulges in yerself? I thought the point of Gluttony was to pig out! Why are ya JUST now directing your disdain of me, a male indulging in my whims? I'd thought you of all people would be in support of it, or is it because rules of thee does not apply to me."

Silence.

It was far worse silence then Fizzarolli attempting one of the many, many, many tricks he had him perform only for the same imp to fail each and every time leaving Mammon to punish said imp for failure. Something he never liked to do, but had to do. Something he regretted.

The Silence dragged on until Asmodeus' smooth voice broke them from their respite.

"Actually, Mammon is, correct. Morally speaking why do you get to decide if what he was indulging in is gross? Come to think of it, aren't we all sins? Aren't we all just bad people?" Asmodeus asked.

"I have never thought to see the day where Asmodeus sees eye to eye with Mammon of all people." Satan rolled his eyes.

"Hey, we may have bad blood back from the days of the circus, and how he treated Fizz, but I won't hesitate to call out hypocrisy. I just don't get why it's okay for other people to do things that Mammon's doing, but when they do it, it's morally acceptable."

"Sometimes there's no real logic in way things work Asmodeus, sometimes you just have to accept that things are the way they are. This may be Hell, but that gives no excuse for people to be disrespectful to those without warning. Reminder, Hell doesn't give you the excuse to be far worse. You are your own person. You're not some person in a show that was centered around one point before turning into a literal fanfiction. Or written by someone who lacked basic actual context clues. You are a being that is in control of his own actions."

As Satan says this, the group looked towards the screen. Before turning back to their own works.

"It feels like I am written by someone who lacks basic understanding of nonce who thinks that all Aussie's are evil mustache twirling POS who are fat and unoriginal." Mammon said.

Before anyone can answer. The door opened, Satan expected Stolas to arrive but what he didn't expect was one of his kind, an imp.

"Who is this?" Satan asked, as the imp made her way up to Mammon and sat on his lap. She gave him a kiss on her cheek.

"Oh her?" Mammon smiled, "This is my wife, Seraphina."

Watching as Beezlebub's mouth drop open, and Mammon spoke again.

"Now, what was that about how, 'No one will fuck me' Bee?"

A/N: I hope you liked it, if you are all aware, my AU (the self aware au) is supposedly gonna affect everyone BUT Stolas, as this is meant to be for shits and giggles. This is tied to my @seraphinacriticizes and @mammoncriticizes accounts, I generally wanna get into rewriting the series and redesigning them. So if anyone wanna work together feel free to ask me in inbox or dms! I wanna work on redesigning everyone and adding new characters + characters from Zoophobia! The Criticize Blogs are somewhat of a group effort, I know I left the critic community but I would be around somewhat to talk about critical stuff or even making rewrite/redesigns! Let me know how this was.

[shotanzz]

seunghan as your bf and ideal type please

SEUNGHAN AS YOUR BF ~ based off astrology obsv.

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Libra Sun: ofc this man has venusian influence do you see how fine he is. He's super charming and flirty and most def has a way with words with you since paired with a charming libra sun he has mercury in virgo which makes it exalted (meaning the placement is well expressed). He has sun square saturn which can possibly make him a big perfectionist towards both himself and you as well. His sun is trine neptune so hes VERY sensitive or on the more emotional side. Might also try to make his relationships have a "dream" like quality to them (even situationships)

Sagittarius Moon: literal happy pill. He'd enjoy feeling "free" in a relationship and for there to be extreme trust and for things not to be too possessive or would prefer if there wasn't much jealousy from his s/o (would probs be better with someone who isn't too sensitive). Would want to party and have lots unlimited fun with his s/o. I've noticed every dude I met with a sag+libra influence are super into smiles and nice teeth so that would probably be something he consistently compliment you about. Might suffer from impulsiveness when the relationship seems too stable and will "shake things up" Would definitely tease+make fun of you especially paired with that virgo mercury. Might run away from his problems/feelings if they're too severe or intense in the relationship. His moon is trine jupiter so once again an indicator of him using his feelings to navigate the relationship

Virgo Mercury: His mercury is exalted which means the planet expresses itself pretty well and properly compared to its detriment/fallen counterparts. He's a pretty good communicator which is lowkey ironic since he avoids conversational conflict but..having an exalted mercury (paired with a libra sun) he might be super good at talking himself out of/diffusing arguments with you. Pays attention to the small details and points of what you say; similar to Shotaro he remembers A LOT about you, things you've said, the things you love. Could be a little critical once again, might tell you where you fucked up but will try to be funny and lighthearted about it since his moon is in sag. His mercury is square pluto which also explains that he CAN communicate but sometimes he feels like words are too much and would rather be affectionate to show his feelings. Like if he missed you on an extreme level he'd prefer to just lay in bed with you holding you tight until you both fell asleep.

Libra Venus: has luck with the ladiesss most definitely. the headcanons of having to deal with girls approaching seunghan might be true I fear. but with the right person he’d have a good sense of devotion. Gloats to his friends about how pretty, perfect and attractive you are and probs enjoys people being jealous of him for having you (similar to sungchan). Dates would be a balance of idealistically romantic dates but combined with simple super fun dates like you two trying new things together or even going out partying/drinking together as a pair. Lowkey might constantly bring up how you two “compliment” each other or “balance each other out” or maybe even people outside of the relationship may think so. Would be super into gift giving and physical touch as love languages. Would love getting/giving expensive high quality gifts. Venus is sextile Pluto so he likes romantic/sexual intensity and control !!

Pisces Mars: Tries to be on the middleground especially since his sun/venus is in libra so he'd most likely be passive and indirect when it came to disagreements and arguments. Would try to subdue the situation rather than actually talk it out. He might even use affection or buttering you up to end the conflict ngl LMMFFAOOO. Imo he might need a more mature partner to help him actually participate in hard conversations. His mars is conjunct Uranus and that paired with his sag moon he might once again be pretty impulsive and do/say things just for the sake of it like imagine he suddenly does something risky as fuck with you in public and then when you ask him about he'd be like "wdym bae 😗". Also has mars square lilith so ngl...he'd try to use physical affection after an argument or upsetting you to make you feel better PLEASEEEE.

Authors Note: Sorry for the lack of answered requests I have 45 in my inbox and have been swamped at work LOL

[billdenbrough]

another prompt from @naturecalls111 for my shower warm ups, this time kevaaron + haircut, where kevin asks to cut aaron’s hair (grown out a little long, kevin likes playing with aaron’s hair, no huge drama if kevin is bad at it, etc). kevin kinda forgot the task at hand for a bit (was engaged in gay behaviour) but that’s where we’re starting with this lmao

It’s not until he’s got Aaron sitting in front of him and the scissors in his hands that Kevin hesitates.

Aaron notices, because of course he does. They set up a mirror on the bed, propped up against a cushion so Aaron can keep an eye on proceedings. He’d rolled his eyes as Kevin had insisted, but had dutifully adjusted it until he vowed he could see both his hair and Kevin through it. Now he uses it to quirk an eyebrow at Kevin.

“Don’t freak out on me now, Day,” he says. It's that weird-awful mix of goading and gentle that only Aaron can pull off, that specific tone that never fails to tug at the base of Kevin's stomach. Even now, all this time later.

Sometimes it hits Kevin, in moments like this. Growing up, he’d never have thought he could end up here. He wouldn’t have wanted to, wouldn’t have known how. All he had was his mother, and then Riko and Exy and victory, and then it was all torn from him in one fell swing.

But here he is now, in a home that’s his, sunlight streaming through the window and spilling out over Aaron’s bare knee. He’s sitting here, on the bed he sleeps in with the boy who once spent three hours trying to teach him how to play Halo 3, and Aaron is half-smiling at him through the mirror. Aaron is sitting cross-legged on their bed, wearing one of Kevin’s shirts, trusting Kevin so easily.

“I'm not a professional,” Kevin warns.

The snort Aaron lets out is unnecessarily exasperated, Kevin thinks. It’s undeniably fond too, though. Affectionate enough that Kevin feels warmer just by hearing it.

“You’re not a professional anything except Exy player and pain in my ass,” Aaron mutters, then holds up his index finger. “Don’t,” he warns, twisting his torso a little to place the finger against Kevin's grin.

In his defence, Kevin wasn’t actually going to say it. He was just going to preen smugly in Aaron's direction until the message got conveyed. He's a little pleased that Aaron could tell where that was going to go even without Kevin getting to that point. Reminds him that he’s known.

Betsy told him once that knowing could be a form of loving. She said it when he was talking about his mother—trying to detangle why he held on so tightly to the pieces of her he held, and Betsy had looked at him, and said, Kevin, in many ways, the act of being known is an act of love.

Kevin thinks about this, with Aaron's finger pressed up against his lips, fond exasperation in the crinkles around his eyes, and Kevin aches with it. Just this little thing, this little moment, this life he has now, made up of so many of them.

He puts the scissors down for a moment. Before Aaron can tease him for it, Kevin runs his fingers through Aaron's hair. He lightly scratches at Aaron's scalp. Aaron not only allows this, but leans into it, making a huffy, contented noise that’s so cute that Kevin wants to run a mile just to deal with it.

But this is what life is, like this, so Kevin does not do that. He just leans forward and kisses Aaron, finger still caught between their lips.

“Kevin,” Aaron complains, retrieving his finger, but he clearly can’t be too annoyed, because he kisses Kevin back.

“Okay,” Kevin announces after trading a few more kisses. “I'm ready.”

Aaron huffs a laugh. “So generous of you,” Aaron says, but he twists back into his original position. Kevin was originally going to kneel behind him, but he decides to stretch out his legs, bracketing Aaron in between them, Aaron's knees pressing against and on top of his thighs.

“Shh,” Kevin says, picking up the scissors again and running his other hand through Aaron's hair, eyeing it critically to decide where to start. “I'm working.”

“Oh my god,” Aaron mutters, but when Kevin glances at the mirror—just quick, a flash of a thing, just wanting to see Aaron in that moment—there’s a fond smile drifting across Aaron's face. Kevin swallows, smiles. Looks back at Aaron’s hair, humming.

[redbirdandbluebird23]

Navigating

Written for the Jason Todd Centric Exchange for @37nightwalker

Masterlist

“I need your help on a case.” Jason announced as he climbed (uninvited) through Dick’s window. 

“Hi, Dick. How are you doing, Dick? Are you free this evening for a chat, Dick?” Dick said, not bothering to look up from the pot of boiling water he was stirring. “Hi, Jason. I’m good, thank you, Jason. I might be able to squeeze you in for a short chat, Jason.”

“You know everyone likes to say I’m the dramatic one, but I don’t think they hold a torch to you, Richard .” Jason said, rolling his eyes as he pulled the window shut. He was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and his non-armoured leather jacket, with no obvious weapons, which suggested whatever he needed help with wasn’t that urgent, so Dick continued to focus on his pasta.

“I still have a video of you doing Shakespeare at school, little wing, so you might want to reconsider that statement.” He looked up just in time to catch Jason’s cheeks go pink, though he immediately tried to cover it with a scowl. To most other people, that scowl probably looked downright dangerous, but all Dick could see was the tiny twelve year old who made the same expression the first time Dick teased him in front of the Titans. 

“What are you making?” Jason asked, scowl still in place and his cheeks still dusted pink. 

“Pasta, with whatever that sauce is.” Dick gestured to the little jar on the side. Jason grabbed it and looked it over with a critical eye. “Do you want some? I was making extra anyway.”

Jason set the jar back down. “Sure.”

“What’s the case?” Dick asked as he scooped out a piece of spaghetti and bit into it to see how much longer it needed. 

“It can probably wait until after food.” Jason said as he leant back against the kitchen counter. He was clearly trying to appear relaxed, but Dick could see the line of tension running through his whole body. He knew from experience that meant the case was a heavy one, most likely involving kids or subs (or even both), so he didn’t push as he drained the pasta and then stirred through the sauce. 

Jason thanked him as he handed him one of the bowls before they made their way over to the sofa to eat. Dick turned on some kind of nature programme on the TV and they ate in comfortable silence. They’d been hanging out more frequently over the past few months and it had been almost too easy to fall into a comfortable routine. Dick couldn’t complain, it was nice getting to know the man Jason was now, not the boy they lost. 

“So, what’s the case?” Dick asked again, once they’d finished eating and cleared their plates away. 

Jason pulled a memory stick out of his pocket and handed it over. Dick grabbed his laptop off the coffee table and plugged it in, aware of the way Jason was fiddling with his hands as he tried to look interested in the TV. He took a deep breath and dived straight into the files, already mentally preparing himself for what could have Jason so on edge. He was right, Jason was so tense because it involved subs and children. The more he read through Jason’s research on this particular band of traffickers, the more he wanted to break someone’s face. 

Read on Ao3

[ilikekidsshows]

I think it's wild how the show gaslight the audience into believing Marinette as the great leader, a caring partner, best love interest etc etc when she's not. The fandom also doesn't help in this matter since any reasonable criticism to her character means flame and people who doesn't like Marinette is misogynist incel who couldn't handle to see a strong female lead while I'm here be like : strong female lead, where? 🧐

---

Time times Marinette didn’t act like the sole flawless hero protagonist she supposedly is until someone else gave her a proverbial kick in the butt or patted her on the head and called her a good girl first:

Pharaoh: The mere mention of other Ladybugs makes Marinette mope and Tikki has to shower her in praise to get her over it

Evillustrator: Cat Noir has to tell her that it's her job to protect Chloé from the super villain that wants to hurt her and she still abandons her duty

Rogercop: Accuses everyone else of being a thief to cover her own skin, and only realizes how bad that was when her dad pointed it out

Lady Wifi: Cat Noir has to help her focus on the job while he’s the one injured

Origins: Both her dad and Cat Noir comfort her after she felt like she failed

Antibug: Refuses to listen to the obvious clue Chloé gave to her about where her best friend’s Akuma would be, and when Cat Noir pointed this out, she gave excuses

Antibug (again): Antibug is threatening to kill Cat Noir, but she wouldn’t even try to save him because she wasn’t transformed until Tikki told her to

Volpina: Was instantly ready to give up her Miraculous to Volpina at the mere chance that she had the real Adrien as a hostage, even as Cat Noir was right next to her pointing out it was more likely to be an illusion

Zombizou: Cat Noir is busy holding off the zombie horde and still has to tell Ladybug to buck up and go do her job instead of standing around and getting mind controlled too

Chameleon: Tikki pep talks Marinette out of an Akumatization

Mayura: She’s is ready to pack up and go home until Cat Noir gives her a pep talk 

Miraculer: Cat Noir tells Ladybug that she has to tell Chloe she's off the team but she still won't do it

Gamer 2.0 Cat Noir gets Ladybug in the zone to actually beat Gamer in his own game 

Ladybug: Tikki comes up with the idea to clear Marinette's name

Heart Hunter: Luka comforting Marinette when she has a mental breakdown

Miracle Queen: Cat Noir gives Ladybug a pep talk after Fu gets captured to get her to save him

I have said it before and I will say it again: Ladybug has never managed to win the day on her own when there’s an extra tense situation / a season finale going on. Heck, season 5 showed us that, when she tried to, she lost and the world was destroyed. Ladybug is not a self-made hero who never needs support.

There's nothing wrong with needing other people’s help and support to do things; humans are incredibly social creatures and there’s evidence that taking care of each other is exactly why we’ve come so far as a species. However, when you write a protagonist who needs support every fifth time to even get her to attempt to accomplish her hero goals, you lose the right to claim she never needs help and always accomplishes everything on her own. The problem with Marinette isn’t that she needs help; it’s that she actively leans on other characters for support and then turns around and claims she never does that and always takes everything on alone.

Once again, the writers are lying about what happens in their own show. They can’t commit to depicting Marinette a certain way. They can’t decide if Marinette needs support or if she’s a lone girlboss who never needs anything from anybody. They want the projecting audience to view her as the latter in order to sell the power fantasy, but they also want her to get sympathy from the audience through making her vulnerable constantly. The end result is that it makes her come across as a lying showboat when her actual accomplishments don’t match her claims. 

Marinette is like a showrunner who goes on interviews to talk about how much she contributed to the creation process and never mentions anyone from the production crew by name, because she’s the leader and that means all the praise should go to her. Just like her dad, am I right?

[hoeforalbedo]

Chapter 3

———————— ♱ ————————

WARNING: PLEASE READ

Sensitive topics including vague details of SA. Reader will display many mental health such as depression, PTSD, and anxiety. I will also discuss after effects of said trauma such as hyper sexuality, over-sexualizing oneself, over trusting, and many more. (Many cope in different ways however I am more familiar with this side of the spectrum as I have taken this information from my experience.) Suicidal topics. Horror. Manipulation. Blasphemy. Religious horror and possibly hints of religious trauma. Demons. Paganism. Witchcraft (I try to depict witchcraft as accurate as I can however if I make it too accurate, it will seem boring so I did add magical abilities. I write it based off of how I practice it). Possession. Death. Murder. Exorcism. Sex. Ritualistic sex. Female reader. A bit of crack (reader doesn’t take things seriously. Humor is the way of coping 😭)

If any of these themes trigger you, please do not read. You have already been warned.

Writing criticism is appreciated since I want to get better in writing.

Summary: Agatha Harkness decides to create the new Scarlett Witch. I’m joking. It’s just you know. . . Agnes. . . Agatha. It was Agatha all along. Also, I swear all men are liars. HEAVY MENTIONS OF TRAUMA. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

———————— ♱ ————————

A low melodic hum drowns out the sound of lightning and thunder. There’s a lack of rain, making it a dry storm. Three men are gathered in the middle of the woods before a huge oak tree. An altar is set right under. The hums continue, a combination of sopranos and bass notes.

You can’t see who the man is. It’s as if you are seeing through his eyes. He intertwined a red string around a red candle and a white candle. It has engravings but you don’t understand what it means. He spilled wax of a black candle onto a small dish before placing the bound candles onto the dish. The black wax holds the candles stable.

The more the man moves, the more you notice that there are other things on the altar. Incense is being burned. Silver jewelry and crystals litter the table as well as food. What stood out is the antlers of a deer. There’s a bowl of water, although it isn’t too deep, and the man submerges the candles. The water ends a few inches over the candles, allowing the candles to burn for many inches until it hits the water. Right in front of the bowl is black candle. Now that you’re looking at it, you realize that it has a sigil carved into it.

“Earl Furfur, I invoke the past, present, and future of my undying love. Please accept my offer so that you guide us to clarity,” The man says sternly. He sounds familiar and comforting. The two men behind him ring a bell, waking and sending a message throughout the woods. Many deers poke their heads out of the bushes to witness what these men are doing. “Earl Furfur hear me for I request assistance once more.”

You then feel a sinking pressure and you’re back in your room. You try to look around but you can't move. Your door opens and a shadow is cast against your walls to what seems to be antlers. What emerges from the door is a woman dressed in green. Her brown hair is unkempt and disheveled. She doesn’t look like she belongs in the era. She walks to you with a curious look. “I’ve seen you before, but I believe you don’t know me.” She sits on the edge of your bed. “You saw something you shouldn’t have,” She hums. “Wake up,” She blows on your face and when you blink, she’s gone and you can move again.

—————————————————————

“You finally decided on therapy,” The man before you cuts through outer breading before slicing through the meat.

“I didn’t realize my psychiatrist would be you. Is that even legal?” You ask. “Yunho, this is some good Wellington, by the way. It’s not pork or beef.”

“I’ve been experimenting. It’s deer," he states. The deer perched over the fireplace, looking over the dining table, makes you shiver in your chair. Yunho places his cutlery down then pushes his glasses up his nose. He always looks so professional and he makes a turtleneck look so good. “I can also make a few adjustments. If you really insist I be your psychiatrist, we can even informally arrange appointments.” He clears his throat, “Or what you call hangouts.”

“I only trust you. Only you.”

Yunho chuckles, the sip of wine leaves a sweet taste in his mouth. “You’re putting too much trust in me.”

“You’re my best friend. Well friends who fuck but you know. . .”

“For all we know, I could be a serial killer,” He scoffs.

You take his hand, looking deep into his eyes. “That would be so hot.”

“I fear therapy isn’t enough for you. You’re too gone. I know of an amazing psychiatric facility. They’d treat you amazing,” Yunho jokes, however he has the most serious face. You’ve grown to differentiate his jokes after the many years you’ve known him.

“Wow, can’t even handle a compliment,” You roll your eyes sarcastically. “Between the both of us, I’m the one with the best skills for the scalpel.”

Yunho smirks, placing his chin on his folded hands that are propped up the table. “I think you forget that I was a prodigy as a student. I would have been an amazing surgeon if I hadn’t switched over to forensic psychiatry.”

“We lost one of the good ones,” You sigh. “Neurosurgery would have loved you.”

“I bet so, too. I promise you, I’m still very much skilled with a scalpel, and a knife.”

“I can tell,” You pick up a thinly sliced cucumber from your salad. Each and every cucumber looks identical, knowing that it takes great precision to cut so thinly and accurately with each one.

“I’m making use of my talent.”

“You remind me of Hannibal Lecter too much. The Mads Mikkelsen one.”

“You tell me every chance you get.”

“And you still haven't watched it!” You huff.

“I’m a busy man. How else do you think I get these meats? Hunting takes time,” He shrugs.

“But you don’t hunt- oooh! Good one,” You laugh after grazing over his joke.

His lips curl as he watches you bite into the meal he took the time to make. “Would you like to tell me what happened when you came back to your hometown?” He asks ever so professionally.

“Is this one of your psychiatrist thing, again?” You frown.

“My apologies, I mean this as a friend,” He definitely does not. Sometimes, he can’t help but see you as a patient. Oftentimes, you have the tendency to self-destruct.

“I hated it. My parents are shit. The town is shit. Everything is shit,” You huff, the way you’re cutting through the meat becomes more like stabbing into flesh. Yunho takes notice.

“What about it is shit?”

“You’re mean,” You glare at him.

“But you love it,” He leans back on his black leather chair, swirling the red wine around his glass.

“The first thing I got was getting slut-shamed,” You sigh.

“And how did that make you feel?”

“You should be getting paid for this.”

“Why? We’re just close friends discussing our experiences.”

You abandon your food, no longer finding it delectable. “Sometimes I feel like they are right. I know that it’s wrong but then again, I never fought back.”

“That is very common within victims, not just rape, sexual assault, and everything of the spectrum. It also often happens during any sort of abuse. Your brain triggers your fight or flight when it senses danger. Some may fight but others won’t. That’s the brain’s idea of flight. Some may just freeze, their brain not understanding what action they will take. Others take it kind of like how animals play dead to survive. Of course there are other explanations to explain your cause. Merely, your body does what it can to survive,” Yunho explains, making you feel suddenly aware of yourself. You don’t like it. It feels strange and Yunho’s psychoanalyzing is making you feel small.

“Oh,” Is all you can say. “So it’s normal?”

“Normal to a specific person. People respond differently to threats.” Yunho states. “And how about your parents?”

“Still misogynistic as ever,” You roll your eyes. “Women should stay in the kitchen blah blah blah,” You mock them.

“And yet you can find that men populate most jobs involving the kitchen,” Yunho points out the fact that contradicts their logic. “I prefer keeping the kitchen to myself. I can only trust the food that I make.’

You chuckle, “Just like Hannibal Lecter.”

“Of course,” Yunho plays along. “And that’s not deer. His name is Philip who just happened to irritate me.”

“You’re getting too scarily good at this,” You shiver and now that you're looking at him, you realize just how empty his eyes look.

“You make the correlation, I indulge you.”

“You’re so hot.”

“Thank you. So, anything new in the town?”

“Sit tight because you’re not going to believe this,” You warn him as you start ranting about everything you encountered including your affairs with Hongjoong. “Yunho, I think I’m becoming schizophrenic.”

“I see,” He hums, eyes empty and unfazed. You don’t know what he’s thinking. You never do.

“I hope you have room for dessert.”

Yunho pushes the chair back and disappears to the kitchen. A thud comes from the front door so you get up to check, as Yunho is taking out the desserts and plating them so elegantly. When you open the door, there’s nothing. You look around and you see a deer walking across the road into the forest. That’s not strange at all when Yunho lives by the forest.

“What was it?” Yunho asks you from behind, making you jump.

“Oh my god don’t do that!” You gasp.

“Sorry,” He brusquely says. You both go back to the dining table where the desserts are placed.

“This is good,” You hum.

“I apologize for not paying attention to your deteriorating mental health,” Yunho says so suddenly. “I am a psychiatrist but I didn’t bother to pay attention to the signs. I was terrified when I saw your name in the files.”

You remain quiet, eating the tarts on your plate. You admit that you’re a little mad at him. He’s supposed to help you. He’s supposed to notice but you admit that only those who want to be saved can be saved, and those who admit they need help will be helped. Yunho tells you that all the time. He’s seen people who make little progress only because they aren’t actively trying to let him in and help.

“Did you know you can substitute blood for eggs,” You spouted a random fact to change the topic.

“No, I did not,” Yunho laughs. “Who’s the cannibal now?”

“Yunho, this trauma is cockblocking me. I wanna fuck you right now, but I’m scared that some random flashback is going to stop me.” You sigh. Ever since you left the town, you’ve become a party freak, getting into trouble here and there, but you’d be fine because Yunho is there to take care of you. You’ve always been a hypersexual person and maybe God punished you for it.

“It takes time and a person you trust to get over that fear. Instead of pushing the thought back and stopping everything you’re doing, you could always acknowledge it and remind yourself that you’re the one in charge.”

“I can’t even masturbate,” You scoff. Even when you know you’re in charge, memories play through your mind. Those sorts of memories were an exaggerated version of what happened, but it was enough to turn you off.

“I can help you.”

“Please,” You pleaded with him. “Right now.”

“Get on my bed. I’ll follow you right after I clean up.”

You nod, scrambling up the stairs to find his bedroom door at the far right. Yunho quickly cleans up the leftovers, putting the tray of tarts in the row over bags of defrosted meat and organs he got from a trusted butcher.

You lay on his bed, inhaling his comforting scent. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something sexual with Yunho. However, this is the first time you’ve done anything with him after the incident. You’re scared. What if you can’t do it? What if you mess up? What if you can never have sex again?

“I promise you, you're safe with me,” Yunho assures you as he takes his glasses off and places them on the nightstand next to you. “I would never hurt you without your consent,” He crawls over you, his body easily engulfing yours. “And I’ll make sure no other bastard hurts you ever again,” He whispers low, words radiating with anger. He’s so sexy.

You pull him into a kiss, melding with him perfectly. This feels familiar. It feels right. You feel safe. You don’t know what Yunho could possibly do if anyone ever hurts you, but you know that you can trust him. He always makes you feel loved.

“Can I touch you?” He asks breathlessly, and your core aches, missing his touch.

“Please do. I miss you,” You whimper.

His large hands easily engulfs your breasts, squeezing them through the fabric. He wants to test your limits. He’s so attentive, watching what makes you squirm and what makes you repulse back.

“Yun,” You mumble, begging for more of his touch. He helps you out of your blouse and expertly removes your bra to allow your tits to spill out.

“So beautiful,” He gazes at you hungrily. “You’re always so beautiful, a goddess. Remember that.” You try to ignore the wetness between your thighs, wanting to take this slow.

Yunho rubs one of your nipples testingly, watching to see if he’d get a positive response. When he notices the way you squirm, he pinches them between two of his fingers. “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge myself.”

“Yunho please,” You look at him pleadingly, eyes so innocent and doe-like.

“Fuck,” He mutters, his turtleneck suddenly feeling suffocating. He discards it immediately, exposing his lean body. His head dips down to suck on your right nipple as his fingers pinch and tweak with the other.

“Oh shit!” You moan, running your fingers through his hair and giving gentle tugs with each tingly feeling that clouds your senses. He doesn’t neglect the other, as he alternates nipples, nipping and sucking at it. “Oh my god,” You mewl, lifting your hips up to grind on his thigh.

Yunho parts away, a trail of saliva connecting him to you. He kisses you once more before mumbling between you. “I want you to touch yourself. I want to watch you, and I’ll guide you. Understand?”

You nod obediently as he pulls away to sit at the foot of the bed. You sit up, removing your dress pants and discarding it to the pile of clothing on the floor. Your pussy is drenched, and if Yunho didn’t have any self control, he would have ravaged it by now.

“I want you to trace your slit,” He instructs you. You rub up and down the entrance of your cunt with your middle and ring finger. “Yes, just like that. Up and down. Don’t put it inside yet.”

Your lips tremble as you revel in the stimulation. It’s teasing you. You want more. It’s not enough.

“Now press down on your clit for me,” Yunho tells you, eyeing your pussy like a starved man. He is a sophisticated man but your cunt makes all sense of control crumble.

“Yunho, I need more,” Your voice trembles.

“You can rub it, sweetheart. Go on.” You thank him with a moan as you circle your fingers around the nub. “Good girl. I need you to go faster than that. Can you do it for me?”

“Yes, yes I can,” You nod as your eyes flutter close as you quicken your pace. The fact you haven’t had any action made you so sensitive, and it’s enough to quickly drive you close to your orgasm.

“Are you enjoying yourself? Does it feel good?” The man of your trauma appears behind Yunho. He then shifts to the woman from your sleep paralysis. She wears that familiar green dress. “Oh how you’ve fallen from your past graces,” She chuckles. “Looks as if one isn’t enough! Although I can’t argue. You do have good taste,” She scrunches her nose.

“Get out!” You scream at her which made Yunho jump. She scoffs then vanishes.

“What happened?” Yunho asks heavily with concern.

Tears prick your eyes as your fingers slow down and you give up in frustration. “I’m sorry Yunho, I couldn’t do it,” Your voice trembles.

Yunho is quick to cup your face, whispering praises. “You did so good for me, my love. Wanna tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” You sigh.

“That’s absolutely fine.”

“I wanna go again,” You tell him. “But I don’t think I can. Not right now. Can we do this again next time? I really want to get further but right now, I just don’t think I can.”

“That’s absolutely fine, my love. I won’t rush you. We can do this at your own pace,” Yunho comforts you.

“Thank you.”

—————————————————————

“How unfortunate. This isn’t the first time you’ve summoned Earl Furfur and yet here you still are,” Wooyoung chuckles in amusement. “What does he even do?”

“The Earl works in ways that we can’t understand. You know that as much as I do myself. We’re never one to give a straight answer.” Hongjoong growls, a wave of pain and vertigo surging through his body. He gulps down the red wine, hoping it’d do something. “This priest!” He hisses, smashing the glass in his hand. “I need that damn grimoire!”

“Why don’t you choose someone more suitable?” Seonghwa suggests, lighting an incense.

“I owe this man a reward. He was the best medium there is,” He swells with pride. “He was a great devotee.”

“That is unfortunate. You are a demon! You are a king! And yet here you are wallowing in your pain because some angel cursed your vessel,” Wooyoung scoffs then glares at Seonghwa.

“Don’t start with me Lilith,” The deacon growls at Wooyoung.

“Oh I wasn’t talking about you, but if the shoe fits. . .” He hums mockingly.

“This is only temporary. Once I get my hands on my grimoire then I can open hell from here,” Hongjoong interrupts their argument.

“You didn’t tell me this!” Seonghwa bursts in anger.

“Relax, angel. This town is infested with those angels already, it’s bound we introduce them to the concept of balance,” The priest rolls his eyes. “Why do you care anyways? You were casted out by them and then you came running to me for help.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t say anything.

“I will continue the killings, not just because it benefits me but because it’ll get the attention of those angels,” Hongjoong states. “It’s about time they start coming out.”

—————————————————————

You approach the patient on the table, instruments laid out as surgical technicians and other surgeons gather around you. She’s a young woman with a tumor in her brain. It’s unfortunate. Why is it that people who want to live are threatened with death, but those who deserve rest for their pain are forced to continue enduring?

“Scalpel,” You say, words muffled behind the surgical mask. The area has been shaved of hair, allowing you to make a cut directly where the parietal lobe would be, the middle top of the brain. You make a precise cut, watching how the red quickly seeps out the wound, pouring out. You look in confusion. It shouldn’t bleed that much. “Gauze. Give me gauze,” You panic to try and stop the bleeding. You turn to the machine but it isn’t beeping to indicate some sort of abnormalities. “What’s going on,” Your brows furrow as you look back at the patient. The woman’s eyes open suddenly.

“Come back Y/N! Come back!” The patient grasps your wrist making you gasp.

“Doctor! Doctor!” Another surgeon calls you, snapping you back to reality. You find that all you saw was not real and you have been sent into panic. “Doctor, I think you should step out for a bit,” The surgeon tells you. A technician aids you out, helping you take off the surgical gloves and scrubs you’ve been wearing.

Your lips tremble. You feel so guilty. You’re the best surgeon there is in New York and yet this breakdown has made you useless. Your feet have taken you to the huge lobby of the hospital. Patients pour in and out of the sliding doors with all sorts of illness. People are dying in this hospital and yet here you are, wallowing in self pity. You don’t deserve your license. You could have killed that patient.

“Y/N,” A voice breaks you out of your stupor.

“Yunho!” A sob breaks within you and you claw at him.

He thought it's best that he took you to your apartment. The skyscrapers blanket your surroundings. People are bustling about, running errands, going to work, or whatever else. Everyone seems to have their own things going on. Traffic is also heavy. There’s constant sounds of horns and curses from other drivers. Amidst that, you were sobbing. By the time you get to your place, your cries have been put to rest.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Yunho asks as he takes his shoes off. He places his keys and wallet down the small little table at the front door.

“I’m taking a leave. I think I need it. Everything has been too much,” You nod, voice hoarse as you speak. “Yeah. It’s the best way.”

You look at the city skyline before you with a sad smile. The sun is still bright and the city is busy. Even when it’s night, there’s no difference in noise. You like it that way. The cacophony silences the loud thoughts in your head. At the same time, it makes you feel small and irrelevant. Nobody in this city actually cares for you. The world keeps spinning regardless of the things you’re going through.

Yunho doesn’t understand sadness. He doesn’t understand your pain. You can’t truly understand someone unless you’re them. You haven’t had their dark thoughts cross your mind. You didn’t experience it yourself. You aren’t them so how can you understand them? Empathy is so complicated. The reason he became a psychiatrist in the first place is to create a formula in his mind that is foolproof and would help him understand human emotions. What kind of psychiatrist doesn’t have good interpersonal skills? However, Yunho can feel his heart clenching with the way you look so vulnerable and sad. He doesn’t understand how you feel but he doesn’t like the tears you shed. He wasn’t given the task to protect you and he failed.

“Look, if you need to talk, I’ll always be here,” He comes up from beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your head. He’s a tall man, easily towering your physique.

“Thank you,” you croak weakly.

“I have something for you. I was going to give it to you after an eventual date but I believe it’s a good time to give it to you now. Let me just get it.” He goes to the closet, taking a box out of the inner pocket of his jacket. He goes back to you with long strides.

He opens the box and takes the jewelry out. He places the sliver of the necklace against the skin of your chest. The black pendant rests above your collarbone. Intricate designs of silver wraps around the oval crystal.

“Looks beautiful on you,” He whispers.

You’d look much better with the necklace wringing your neck, just like the way a noose would hug your neck. Yunho gave the chain a tug, and one tug turned into a pull. You choke, trying to get his name out your throat. What came out were strangled cries.

“What do you think?” Yunho’s voice asks warmly. He holds the phone camera to reflect you. You’re fine. You haven’t been choked. You’re seeing things again.

“It looks beautiful. Thank you,” You force a smile as you admire yourself on his phone.

“It’s so that,” He starts speaking in a low soft voice. He tucks away a strand of hair behind your ear then kisses your neck. He presses his lips off just enough so that his lips graze upon your skin. “Whenever you’re feeling down, I want you to remember that I’m always with you.”

You turn to face him, wrapping your arm around his neck. “Thank you Yunho. Really. You’re the one and only who has to deal with my problems.”

“I failed you once. If I fail you again, I give you permission to kill me,” He says, pecking the tip of your nose.

“I don’t think that would ever happen,” You shake your head then lean up to reach for his lips. He hurriedly obliges you, locking his lips with yours.

A loud slam makes the both of you jump. You look around to see what it was, and when you turn to your floor to ceiling windows, there’s an evident mark of blood. It was a crow that slammed into your window, and it is sliding down the glass.

“That doesn’t happen. That has yet to happen.” You feel a chill down your spine.

“I think you’re reading too much into it. Go rest. I still have a few things to do but I will check in on you tonight, is that okay for you?” Yunho asks.

“Yeah, you’re right,” You nod, ignoring the growing pit in your stomach.

——————————���——————————

Focus.

A shrill makes you suddenly aware of your location. You stand behind a purple couch adorned with yellow pillows. It’s a weird color for a couch but once you observe your surroundings, you notice that everything seems out dated besides the tv. Above it, many frames are nailed onto the wall. Each frame has a mother, a father, and a child. Each picture shows them progressively aging.

Odd, isn’t it? Your mother doesn’t seem to be aging.

“No! Abel!” A shrill of a familiar voice snaps your neck to turn to the direction. You start to run to the stairs out of pure instinct. Before your foot makes contact with the first step, you freeze.

Do you really want to go there? You won’t be able to unsee the events that are about to unfold.

You ignore the voice and continue climbing up the stairs. “Stop it! Stop it!” The woman continuously screams as she drives the end of the crucifix into the chest of a man. Her 50’s-style yellow plaid dress is stained red with blood. The same shade of red lipstick that adorns her lips is also splattered over her well maintained makeup.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp and you quickly slap a hand to your mouth. You look at the woman before you. She doesn’t hear you. “Mother,” You tremble as you walk closer. She looks like a mess. He She straddles the lifeless body of a priest. Of Hongjoong. After tiring herself, your mother collapses on her side.

You want to puke. It’s disgusting. A mix of blood, bones, and flesh spill out from where he was stabbed repeatedly. “Hongjoong!” You gasp.

Oh no! Is he dead? How unfortunate. Such a handsome man too.

“Will you shut up and help me?” You snap. By your side appears a woman in a green dress. The same woman who’s been terrorizing you.

“Help you?” The woman cackles. “Why would I help you?”

“Please,” You whimper.

“Ask my name first at least,” She chuckles as she stands by your side.

“What’s your name?” You mumble.

“Agnes.”

“Agnes, please help me.”

She sighs, twirling her hair around her finger. “Cross my heart, hope to die. Go on. You know the spell!”

“What?” You scoff. “That’s it? The fuck is that supposed to do.”

“Do you want him to die?” She raises a brow.

You turn to the lifeless body. “Of course not! But you’re not much help either!”

“Oh I am of great help. The spell. You should know it,” She looks at you coldly, pressing her body against yours intimidatingly. “Do you remember? You said it to me, it’s a blessing or a curse. You cursed me, but you can bless him. Go on,” She pushes you towards where he lays.

You kneel down next to him. You don’t know. You don’t know what to do. “Say it. The more time you take, the more his soul gets deeper into the underworld.”

You take a shaky breath, “Cross my heart and hope to die. Take apart and see eye to eye.” You’re confused. Suddenly the words come out naturally.

“You’re gonna need a knife for this part,” Agnes smiles giddily as she holds out a dagger.

“What is this for?” You ask.

“Oh you think that’s all? You need to give half your heart. I still have your previous one here,” She pats her chest.

“Wouldn’t I die?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes “You’re not even awake!”

“Will it hurt?”

“Of course not. Do you need help?” She offers.

“Yes.”

Without hesitation, Agnes stabs into your heart excitedly. “Oh how I’ve waited for this!” She laughs.

“You lied! This hurts like a bitch!” You cry as she pulls out your beating heart. The fact that there’s no blood is a miracle in itself or this is just a very vivid lucid dream.

“Do you want me to cut it in half too?” She offers.

You take the organ and the knife. “I’ll do it myself.” You cut your heart in half. “What’s mine is yours and yours is mine,” You hover your heart over Hongjoong’s chest and yours. “Take these two souls and make them one.” You slip the hearts into your body as well as his. You turn to Agnes. “Now what?”

A gasp is heard from behind you. You turn around and there is Hongjoong, sitting up as if he never died.

—————————————————————

Yunho notices many things once he opens the door of his house. The music box he placed by the entrance plays the tune of the nutcracker. It’s a good song, and he enjoys the classical songs, however that’s not something he should feel good about. He’s charmed the music box so that it plays if something has slipped past his protection wards.

Second, he can feel a pit in his stomach. It hadn’t left him. In fact, he had felt it since he was at your house. Something is off. For now you should be fine. The necklace he gave you has an obsidian pendant. It should protect you for the time being, but if this being managed to slip through his powerful wards, he’s unsure of how long a crystal can protect you. Whatever that being was, it did nothing, not even a hex or curse. It’s like it walked in and walked back out.

He hangs his jacket in a closet then walks through the narrow hallways to get to the living room. His gray couch and loveseat are positioned exactly at a 90 degree angle. A black carpet is laid pristinely under the black coffee table. Yunho is a minimalist besides the deer heads perched on the walls, a trophy for his kills.

A fruit fly whizzes past his head. Perhaps the fruits have started attracting them, but that’s not usual for a home like Yunho’s. He enters his massive kitchen. The fruits on the kitchen island look fine. A bigger fly buzzes and lands on his hand. Something must have gotten really bad. Now that he noticed it, something smells really bad. He circles behind the island to check his fridge. When he opens it, a wave of flies fly out, invading his house.

He looks at the food and bags of organs and meats he planned on cooking that day. They all look fine but it seems flies have made their way into the bag containing a deer’s heart. Clicks his tongue and sighs. He’ll still have to throw everything out. He isn’t risking any contamination. At this point, he should also cleanse his house.

His phone lights up before it starts ringing. Your name is displayed. There’s nothing unique to it. It’s just your name the same way he does it with everyone else. He picks up your call then immediately scrambles out his door. A protection spell can wait. Lord Asmodeus would have his head on a platter if you were to be in danger. The last time he felt his wrath, he wished he was dead.

—————————————————————

“The grimoire? Where is it?” Agnes demands, sending electric currents throughout your body.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cry in pain. You have already been confused about the spell that came to you so naturally. You don’t even know if that was real.

“You don’t know?” She hums. “Have I not awakened you enough?” She mumbles in thought. “Well if that’s the case, I’ll just take a peek into your soul.” She places her fingers on both sides of your temples. “I’d like to warn you, this will hurt,” She smirks as dark waves of magic intrudes your head, causing you intense pain.

You can’t move and you feel like your head is about to explode. You can’t even scream. Every fiber of your being hurts and it feels that one small movement would bring you worse pain. It’s like being burned alive.

“No, that’s not it either,” Agnes mumbles. “Oh how scandalous,” She gasps as she sees images of you at clubs, flirting and fondling both men and women. “Who knew a previous convent girl could be this shameful,” She says with amusement. “Oh where is- oh what’s this?” Agnes enters a darker part of your soul.

These memories aren’t yours, or not from this current time. The first moment that plays through your mind is an angel holding you in his arms as you bleed out, life being sucked away from you slowly. It rewinds back further to a bloody scene, most of the coven massacred by angels. The high priestess cries as you stand before her, not knowing what to do.

Agnes goes further back and sees a shadowy dark figure with a head of a bull, a man, and a ram. His figure would shift from something demonic to a beautiful man as he gently leads you to a large bed covered in velvety blankets. He lays you on your stomach and pushes your hair over your shoulder to give a clear view of your bare back. He shifted his form into something human as you can tell by the way he leaves soft pillowy kisses down your warm skin. “The mark of Asmodeus,” Agnes gasps as she feels your pain. She feels the way the burning sensation turns to pleasure, something Asmodeus gives the pleasure of, if you were a trusted and loyal devotee. You must have done something special. It is something that both parties must give consent to. You allowed him to brand your soul.

“Now it’s bound to be here.” She goes deeper, as deep as she can go but suddenly she’s crying tears of blood and your pain begins to subside.

“I recommend not going there,” You say as you can see your memories play through your mind like a VHS recording. You don’t know why, but you feel like something bad will happen if she dives even further.

“What?” She scoffs. “Now why would I stop?” She laughs as she ignores the pain creeping through her skin. Suddenly, she’s forced to stop. It’s like an iron door keeping her out. “There it is. It has to be here!” She says excitedly as she forces this metaphorical door open. She uses a huge wave of magic to make an attempt of opening it, but with each second, it feels like she’s being drained.

“Oh Agnes, you never learn,” You chuckle mockingly.

She hesitantly looks into your eyes and she quickly scrambles back. They are red like the pits of hell.

“Do you think that with guarding something so powerful, I wouldn’t put up some safety precautions from thieving witches? Don’t get me wrong, you are the least of my worries but I’m not stupid,” You walk towards her, each step feeling heavy and intimidating.

“What did you do?” She looks bewildered as she looks at the way her hand turns black as coal. It hardens and starts to chip slowly.

“I cursed myself and everyone who enters what they shouldn’t. You taught me that,” You smirk. “But I guess I owe you a thanks for waking me up. I need to make a few preparations before the prophecy is in full swing and while I’m still awake.” Agnes grunts as mystical chains appear out of nowhere and bind her. Around her appears a binding circle with glowing sigils. It is an automatic response for triggering the curse. “Have fun escaping this one. I have no doubt you will, but this should keep you entertained while I find a better place to contain you and get my magic back,” You smirk. You walk out the bedroom only to turn back on your heels and walk back into your room. “Sorry, I forgot I’m still in pajamas.” You walk into your walk-in closet, perks of being a neurosurgeon, then come out a few minutes later in a cute off the shoulder white long sleeve sweater and tiniest pink skirt.

“You look like a prostitute,” Agnes scoffs.

“Well prostitutes have to look hot to pull this off, right?” You ask innocently. “Modern clothing is so fascinating. It’s like borderline being naked rather than having to hide these ankles.”

“You might as well go out naked,” The other witch rolls her eyes.

You gasp, “Should I? Oh I’m just kidding. I still have some human decency.”

“Oh who would have guessed,” Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Well time for me to go,” You wave and walk out the room. You slam the door behind you.

Agnes heaves a sigh of relief only to hear the door creak open.

“Behave,” You say before closing the door for real.

“Y/N, I’m here!” Yunho slams the front door open in a frenzy.

“Oh what took you so long? Whatever. You’re coming with me to Oakheart, Asmodeus’s dog,” You say nonchalantly.

Yunho freezes and he’s tempted to pull out his wand. “What?”

“Just saying, you do a poor job at being his dog. You’re a puppy at best. Seriously? A crystal? I do love my obsidian but seriously you should have given me a boulder instead!” You hand him the necklace with the broken pendant. “I guess it did its job. Barely. An actual protection spell would have worked better. A warding too.” You shake your head and click your tongue in disapprovement, “Not even a sigil!” You go on, looking at Yunho who looks aggravated by the second. “I got distracted. Let’s go.” You wave your hands, expecting fire to engulf the both of you and dissipate once you’ve arrived at your destination. That didn’t exactly happen. “I forgot I’m stuck with realistic witchcraft!” She curses. “Oh I need that grimoire so bad! I’m gonna lose it!”

“I can drive,” Yunho offers. It’s the least he can do. Asmodeus has prepared him for this. It’s his only purpose, to serve the King and his bride.