#all of this to keep everything under HER control

[mikuluvu]

A/n: i dont think there's any new Mouthwash x reader fanfictions... Like every time i would visit the tag its just the same fic- so here!!! PLS FEED ME MORE MOUTHWASH FIC I CANT BREATHE PROPERLY WITHOUT IT.

A/n: So, what if fem!reader just hugs the crew behind 'em?

Warnings: nuh uh

Captain Curly

Captain Curly is in the cockspit, hunched over the controls, he doesn't know what to do. His jaw is tight, and the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.

Quietly, you step closer and wrap your arms around him from behind.

He freezes, his entire body stiff as a board. “What... are you doing?” His tone is gruff, but there’s a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“It looked like you needed this,” you reply softly, resting your cheek against his back.

He lets out a long sigh, the kind that carries weeks of stress. “You’re a strange one, you know that?” Despite his words, he doesn’t push you away. Instead, he allows himself to relax, just a little... Everything can wait.

For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze fixed on the console in front of him. The hum of the ship fills the silence, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped?

“You know, Captain…” you murmur, your cheek pressed lightly against his back. “You’re really doing a great job looking for the crew... but you barely take care of yourself.”

He exhales sharply, the sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “I don’t have the luxury of thinking about myself,” he replies, his voice low and gruff. “Not when everyone is depending on me.”

Your arms tighten slightly around his waist, a small gesture of reassurance. “That’s exactly why you need to. If you fall apart, who’s going to keep things running? The crew needs you, Captain. But they need you healthy and strong.”

He goes quiet again, his head bowing forward. You can feel the tension in his body, the weight he’s been carrying for who knows how long. “Easier said than done,” he mutters finally.

“That’s why I’m here,” you say softly, your warmth against his back. “You don’t have to do it all alone, Curly. Let someone else carry the weight with you.”

For a moment, you think he might pull away, but instead, he relaxes ever so slightly in your hold. “You’re persistent,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a trace of something softer—gratitude, maybe.

“And you’re stubborn,” you tease gently, leaning your head against him. “So I guess we’re even.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, “Alright, fine. I’ll try to take better care of myself... for the crew.”

“And for you,” you add firmly.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but you feel his hand lightly brush yours where they rest around his waist. “Thanks,” he mutters, his voice softer now.

Jimmy

Jimmy is pacing in the cockpit, muttering to himself about the dwindling food supplies and how they’re going to ration out the next few days. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

You wait for him to pause before stepping up and slipping your arms around his waist.

“What the—!” He jumps, turning his head in surprise. When he realizes it’s you, his wide eyes soften into something resembling relief.

“You’re lucky I didn’t punch you,” he says with a breathless laugh, "Wow, punching a woman?" you snort, resting his hands over yours. He leans back into you, chuckling.

He chuckles, placing his hands lightly over yours. “Alright, you got me there.” He leans back slightly, letting himself relax in your hold.

(a/n: i did want to make him like... Mean, perv and all, but maybe you guys wouldnt like that- feel free to comment if you want a version of it)

Anya

Anya is standing infront of curly, checking up on him while humming under her breath. You come up behind her, gently draping your arms around her shoulders.

She tilts her head back, glancing at you with a curious smile. “Well, this is unexpected.”

When you don’t let go, she chuckles softly. “You’re braver than most. I don’t usually let people this close.” She leans into the hug slightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as much as you’re grounding her. She really likes it, it makes her shoulders relax... “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

Swansea

Swansea is at the utility room, tools scattered everywhere as he mutters curses about faulty circuits. You approach silently and wrap your arms around his midsection.

“Bloody hell!” he yells, jerking up so fast he almost hits his head on a panel. He twists around, glaring at you. “What’s the big idea, sneakin’ up on me like that?”

When he sees your face, his irritation softens, though he tries to cover it up with a grumble. You and Swansea are like father daughter, he sighed “You scared me half to death, you know.”

You tighten the hug just slightly, and after a beat, he sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. Just don’t make a habit of it, yeah?” But the faint smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.

"Sorry... Dad" you giggle, and he just get stunned... Out of all nickname you could pick for him... Dad? (He secretly likes it)

Daisuke

Daisuke is nervously sorting through tools in the corner, clearly trying to look busy. His hands tremble slightly, betraying his unease.

Without thinking, you walk up and hug him from behind.

He freezes entirely, his hands hovering mid-air. “Uh… wh-what are you doing?” His voice is high-pitched, flustered beyond belief.

“Giving you a hug,” you say simply.

His face turns red, and he stammers, “I—I mean, thanks, I guess? This is… new.” He doesn’t move, too overwhelmed to react, but he doesn’t pull away either.

"Am I making you uncomfrotable?" You asked, you were just about to let him go, "Huh- N-No! It's just... I didn't expect you to do this... Randomly.." he laughs nervously... "Just dont let go..."

A/n; Thx for reading! Reposting and liking is appreciated! Support me through my ko-fi

[marvelousels]

oh fuck you! | 2

authors note — (if u wanna read pt 1 here) meh no one asked for a continuation but its my most liked post so im doing a lil part 2!! also i find it so difficult trying not to use y/n but i NEED to somehow use something to name the reader like...do u guys get me??

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

cry baby - the neighbourhood playing!

Caitlyn stood there, frozen, as if the rain had locked her in place. She couldn’t chase after you—not yet. Her feet refused to move, weighed down by guilt and the crushing weight of what she’d just let happen. Her hand lingered in the air where you had been, now clutching at nothing but cold, empty space.

The rain was relentless, soaking through her clothes and dripping from her lashes, but she barely felt it. The only thing she could feel was the absence of you. And, gods, it hurt more than any wound she’d ever endured.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.

She wanted to go after you, to make you stay, but what could she even say now? Every word she’d tried had been a nail in the coffin. Every step closer to you had been a step closer to losing you for good. And the worst part? You were right.

You’d been there for her through everything. Every scraped knee, every sleepless night, every time she doubted herself or the weight of the Kiramman name. You were her anchor, her constant in a world that often felt like it was spinning out of control.

But Vi… Vi was a storm, unpredictable and wild. She was everything Caitlyn had never been allowed to be, and that scared her as much as it thrilled her. She was drawn to Vi like a moth to a flame, even though she knew it might burn her—and now, worse, you.

She finally managed to take a step forward, the puddle beneath her feet rippling as if mirroring the chaos inside her.

“Y/N!” she called out, her voice raw and desperate. “Please—don’t go!”

You didn’t stop, your figure disappearing into the misty haze of rain. Caitlyn felt her chest tighten, panic clawing at her throat. Was this it? Was this how it ended?

“Dammit,” she muttered, running a hand through her drenched hair. She didn’t care about the mud splashing onto her polished boots as she sprinted after you, her heart pounding louder than the rain.

When she finally caught up to you, she grabbed your arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to make you stop. You turned to her, tears streaming down your face, blending with the rain, and it shattered her all over again.

“Just listen,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m so sorry for making you feel like you’re not enough—because you are. You always have been.”

You pulled your arm away again, this time with less anger and more exhaustion. “Then why, Cait? Why do you keep doing this? Why do I feel like I’m always the second choice?”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not second choice. You’re everything. I just… I don’t know how to make sense of all of this, and I hate myself for it.”

Her hands trembled at her sides as she looked into your eyes, her own brimming with tears. “But losing you? That’s the one thing I know I can’t survive. Please, Y/N, don’t let me screw this up. Don’t let me lose you.”

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to speak, but the words caught in your throat. For a moment, all that filled the space between you was the sound of the rain.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What do you want, Caitlyn? Right here, right now, what do you want?”

Caitlyn’s heart stuttered. She stepped even closer, her voice barely audible but unmistakably certain.

“You,” she said, her voice cracking. “I want you.”

The rain drummed steadily around you both, a symphony of chaos that somehow made the world feel still. Your eyes locked with hers, searching for any hesitation, any lingering doubt. But for once, Caitlyn’s gaze held only certainty—no broken compass, no wavering. Just you.

Her hand moved slowly, trembling as it reached up to cup your cheek. You didn’t pull away this time. Her touch was tentative, almost afraid you’d shatter beneath her fingers, but when you didn’t, her thumb gently brushed against your damp skin.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain. It was laced with so much—apology, longing, love.

And then, she closed the distance.

Her lips found yours softly at first, almost hesitant, as if asking for permission. But when you didn’t resist—when you leaned into her instead—the hesitation melted away. The kiss deepened, urgent and raw, as though it could somehow undo all the hurt, all the unspoken words that had lingered between you for so long.

The world around you faded—the rain, the cold, the ache in your chest—all of it dissolved into the warmth of her lips, the way she poured every ounce of herself into the kiss. Her other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if she were afraid you might slip away again.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath, her forehead resting against yours. Both of you were panting, rainwater and tears mingling on your faces.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice hoarse but sincere. “For everything.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at the lapels of her soaked jacket as if anchoring yourself. “Just… don’t make me regret this,” you murmured, your voice breaking slightly.

“I won’t,” Caitlyn promised, her voice firm now. “I swear, Y/N. No more doubts, no more running. Just you.”

And then, with a small, tentative smile breaking through the tears, you pulled her into another kiss, this one slower, softer, as if savoring the moment. For now, the storm didn’t matter.

All that mattered was this—her, you, and the fragile, beautiful hope blooming between you.

[just-a-itty-bitty-kitty]

Voice of the Smitten is a coping mechanism. (and so are the other voices)

The same thing applies to the rest of the voices, yes. But for my sanity, today, let's just talk about Smitten[I am ill about him].

Smitten is fixated on the Princess and on appeasing Her because he's born out of a belief that She's their only way to happiness and safety.

In Damsel's chapter 1, LQ establishes for themself that the Narrator is not a safe nor trustworthy person, but unlike Prisoner's ch1, instead of learning to be generally cautious and adopting an idea that there's no one they can fully trust, Quiet puts all of their trust into the Princess.

I strongly believe that, in order to shield themself from a dangerous, unclear, and scary reality, LQ dives into a sort of... 'fairytale' scenario. And that scenario, by extension, becomes the backbone of Smitten's whole worldview. He, just like the rest of the voices, is born out of a need for safety and control, and he knows of it as his purpose and his yearning. His mindset works as a mechanism that protects Quiet from a state of intense stress and discomfort.

So then, what is this mindset, exactly?

Well, for Smitten, expectations of certain roles appear. Roles that everyone has and needs to uphold: The Shining Knight, the Helpless Damsel, the Villain that's keeping them apart.

"Then you should know that we and the Princess are in love and the four of us will be foiling any and all assassination attempts you've got in the works."

These roles bring a sense of comfort. He has this vision of what the world is supposed to be, of what he's supposed to be. Fairytales always have happy endings, so with this vision, there comes a promise of everything working out.

"If he just makes everything go the way it's supposed to, then they'll be safe."

It gives Smitten the role of a protector, someone who controls the situation and wants the best for Quiet, as opposed to the Narrator who has an ulterior motive and clearly just wants to hurt them.

It gives him a sense of control.

So when something goes wrong, it feels like that control is yanked away, and that threatens his and LQ's safety. It takes away his happy ending that he tries so hard to keep.

"We'll get our happy ending, even if it damns each and every person who's ever lived!"

Another thing worth remembering is that the voices and LQ are at least under the impression that they haven't been living for very long. The only experiences they have to go off of, to learn from, are the ones we see in Chapter 1 and then on. To Smitten, the last time things went awry, they died horribly.

So it's no wonder he freaks out and feels like he has to push back for control. And that is also why he sees no problem with killing Quiet's body or even detaching himself from them entirely.

"Don't mind my sacrifice. It's a fair price to pay to give her everything she doesn't know she wants."

He places the responsibility for taking care of everyone on himself. Smitten is firmly under the impression that he "knows better". And he's even proven right a fair amount of times, which only solidifies the idea in his head.

"I told you! There's no life more worth living than that of a true believer!"

"I told you our love was insurmountable!"

But that also means Smitten unintentionally traps himself(and everyone around him) into a box, limiting his potential to just that, a shallow role. And that creates the feeling of inferiority.

His role is all there is to him, so if he can't uphold it, then it means there's something fundamentally wrong with him. It means he's failed.

In fact, Smitten seems to be laser-focused on his own shortcomings, at least when it comes to the Princess.

If She's somehow unhappy with anything Smitten has to offer, then it's not because She did something wrong, or because of some outside factor out of their control(he doesn't want to accept anything being out of his control, even if it would seemingly benefit him). No, it's because Smitten wasn't enough.

He idolizes Her while putting himself down.

"That's because she's perfect!"

It's a bit more complicated with The Long Quiet. On one hand, they are technically one person, but on the other, the voices like to distinguish themselves and seem to have a sense of their own identity.

If we take a look at one of Damsel's third chapters: The Burned Grey, Smitten is very distraught and angry at Quiet, and yet also berates himself at the same time.

"Ah, yes. The mirror. So we can see the monster we've become."

"No, my love! You did nothing wrong! I'm sorry! I'M SORRY, NOT YOU!"

So I think we can assume that it's a mix of both. He may feel angry at LQ but will ultimately blame himself.

Because it's his job to make sure everything went smoothly. It's his job to make sure that She was happy, because if She's happy – they're happy and they just threw all of his work away, but he was supposed to stop them. He was supposed to keep them happy.

He was supposed to keep them happy.

[waywardangel-wilds]

I think that bit in catching fire where Peeta doesn’t share much about his nightmares, he just admits they’re about losing Katniss, is a sign of his unhealthy coping mechanisms when it comes to his own pain.

Peeta seems to always take on Katniss’s pain, but he rarely shares his. I feel like this has to do with what’s alluded to us about his character flaws and how they connect to his childhood. He tries to keep all the messy emotional stuff about himself under control meanwhile Katniss can’t keep that stuff under control. And that all has to be because she didn’t have the witch in her house.

I feel like the perfect post mockingjay fic (if yall find it let me know) would show that part of him crumble somewhat. He needs to have some sort of breakdown moment. He needs to mourn for everything he’s lost. He needs to cry. It isn’t normal ( and this is what I don’t like about some fics) for him to just carry on like everything’s fine, because it isn’t. Even though he was briefly committed after the war, that still isn’t enough. He needs to process that stuff from the safety of his own home. I feel like that’s a big part of him growing and moving on.

[marril96]

La Petite Mort

Chapter 2: Distress

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: The incident has left you reeling. Can what was broken be made whole again?

Warnings: 18+, dark subject matter. Read at your own risk.

Editor: @cabinetofquriosities

Previous chapter.

You laid there, bare, shivering, for what felt like hours.

Agatha's attempt on your life had left you weak.

Her abandonment broke you into pieces. Destroyed every remnant of your will to live.

How could she leave you when you needed her the most? How could she ignore your pleas, your screams, your tears?

How could she turn her head and walk away?

She was scared, the rational part of you reasoned. She'd almost taken the life of the first person she'd allowed herself to love after the death of her son. It was the death that she knew was coming, but couldn't prevent.

Your death, she had almost caused.

That would break the hardest of hearts, let alone one as fragile as hers.

It had certainly broken yours.

It wasn't almost killing you that you resented her for. You knew she couldn't control it. Once she got blasted with magic, what followed was out of her hands.

What wasn't out of her hands, though, was what had happened after the accident.

She had chosen to reject your touch, to abandon you.

She was scared, of course she was, but so were you.

You were the one who'd had a portion of her magic stolen.

You were the one who'd almost died.

All you wanted was a hug. Nothing more, nothing less. She didn't have to utter a single word. All she had to do was hold you. The simplest of tasks, one she'd done many times throughout your centuries together. A wordless declaration that she was there, that she had your back no matter what.

Apparently, she didn't have your back at all.

Maybe she was that cold-hearted, selfish bitch the rumors talked about.

That's not fair, the rational part of you said. However, you paid that part no mind. Agatha had hurt you. She had demolished you on a level you didn't think was possible. You were allowed a moment of ill thought about her.

Even if it was a lie.

Wiping your wet eyes with your forearm, you sat up on the bed. The motion made you queasy, as if you hadn't eaten in days, and you had to press your palms to the mattress to keep yourself upright.

So much for being okay.

At least you weren't dead, you told yourself. This could've ended much worse.

The fact that it didn't was purely an accident.

No one had been able to stop Agatha before. Not even you when the two of you would practice on the witches she was draining. Once she started feeding, she was entranced and dead to the world. As if, for those few moments, she would stop existing. In her place stood a cruel, insatiable double.

It used to turn you on.

Now, the mere memory of her in that state sent your heart into overdrive, and not the fun kind.

It wasn't fun. It wasn't sexy. It was fucking terrifying.

She was fucking terrifying.

You pushed yourself to your feet, willing your weakened body to stay up, to not topple over. Your knees were jelly, quivering under you. Your muscles were weak as if you hadn't walked in weeks. As if a single step would send you face-first to the ground.

This is fine, you told yourself. You were fine. You were the first person in history to survive Agatha's insatiable power. Everything else was a walk in the park.

Throwing on a robe you'd discarded earlier, you took a deep breath and stepped forward. You could do this. It was just walking. A regular, everyday activity. So what if you were missing a bit of your life force? Agatha hadn't taken it all; she hadn't even taken half.

You were alive and you could fucking walk.

One foot in front of the other, you kept reminding yourself on your way to the door. The furniture made for great support. As long as there was something to hold on to, you would remain on your feet.

The hallway was dark. A chill crept up your body and you pulled the robe closed. Carefully, one hand on the wall, you pushed forwards.

How undignified this was. You were a powerful witch. Yet here you were, barely able to keep yourself on your feet.

Agatha would mock you if she saw you.

Let her try, you thought bitterly. She was the one who did this to you.

She was the one who'd left you on your own.

The betrayal stung like a slap to the face.

You would have preferred to have been slapped. At least it would heal relatively fast.

There was no healing this. It would remain an open, bleeding wound for the rest of your life. Whatever the future held for you and Agatha, what she did to you — or rather, what she didn't do — would lurk in the background like an ugly tattoo that couldn't be removed. A permanent stain on your relationship.

With a careful step, you started descending the stairway. This was going to be tricky, but you decided to throw all doubts to the wind. It had to be done. No one was going to do it for you and you couldn't rely on your girlfriend to help you down.

Even if you were to shout for her, you doubted she would come. That was what you'd been doing for the better part of the past hour and she didn't seem to care. If she did, she did a hell of a job at pretending not to.

You were on your own.

You gripped the railing with everything you had, which wasn't much. Your hands were no stronger than your legs. If anything, shaky as they were, they were even more likely to buckle under pressure.

Still, through gritted teeth, you pushed downwards. Step by step. Stair by stair.

You could do this. You weren't helpless. You still had your magic, even if you were too weak to use it. You had your will, strong as ever, and determination never deterred.

If you wanted to go down the stairs and make yourself a cup of coffee, you would fucking do it.

Just as the thought entered your head, your left knee gave way. You tumbled downwards, face first, smacking directly into the corner of the stairway. Your body rolled like a sack of potatoes, smashing against each stair on its way down. The hardwood felt like bricks against your skin, hitting, slamming, breaking; destroying you bit by bit until your body hurt almost as much as your soul. Almost for no amount of physical pain could ever match what you were feeling inside. It couldn't even get close.

You didn't have it in you to scream, your yelps frozen in your throat, locked up like a secret. What good would they do, anyway? It wasn't like there was anyone who cared.

The one person who was supposed to give a damn couldn't be bothered. She was preoccupied by her own inner turmoil, her own distress at what had transpired; at what she had done to you.

Agatha had always put herself first. You just never thought it would ever come at the expense of your wellbeing.

Lesson fucking learned.

The pain in your head was instantaneous, dull and throbbing. It was as if you'd been whacked by a hammer. Something warm and watery slid down the side of your face, to the corner of your mouth; the flavor of pennies, rusty, metallic, gave it away as blood.

"Fuck," you muttered, too weak to yell it aloud. You were too weak to do anything but lie there with your limbs useless and body aching.

At least you were alive.

Again.

It was barely a comfort, but it was something.

Though, given your track record, it would be completely on brand to survive the infamous witch killer's attempt on your life only to die by something as mundane as a fall down the stairs. Throughout the entirety of your life, luck was barely on your side. In fact, it seemed keen on playing practical jokes that only a sadist would find funny.

A thudding of steps made your eyes shoot up. The sudden movement sent a shockwave through your wounded neck and you hissed like a wild animal, cornered and frightened. Fucking hell.

"Y/N," Agatha said. Her eyes were wide, face etched with concern. She stood frozen in place, watching you, observing you. Taking in the pathetic sight of you on the ground, a useless, broken doll. "What happened?"

You hated how comforting your name sounded, coming from her mouth.

"What do you think?" you said venomously, like a snake biting into its prey; aiming to kill.

For a long, long moment, she just stared, as if uncertain of her next move. You felt like an animal in a zoo, lying there for her entertainment and amusement. As if it wasn't enough that she'd abandoned you, she wouldn't even offer assistance. She seemed to prefer to watch; to observe your trembling form as it slowly withered away with each breath you took. Her own personal snuff film.

Did she find you off-putting? Did seeing you so close to death — pale, cold, and so utterly broken — make her see you with different eyes? Did she think of you as nothing more than just another witch in a long line of many she'd drained; as susceptible to her power and as vulnerable as a mortal?

Taking in a deep gulp of air, Agatha padded closer, her bare feet soft on the hardwood floor. She stood over you, her mouth pressed into a tight line, features smoothened into an expression you couldn't read. Her walls were up, you realized. She hid behind a protective shield whenever the pain was too much to bear. She didn't want anyone else to witness her struggle. It was a mask not even the most observant of people could ever look behind without her permission.

Usually, you would get her to drop it through gentle coaxing.

But not today. Not now.

Agatha knelt by your side, her movements slow and calculated. It was as if she was still debating whether or not she wanted to be near you.

A pang of pain shot through you, squeezing at your heart. She'd been injured countless times over the course of your relationship. Many people had raised hands and weapons at her; be it witches, hunters, or just regular humans who'd had enough of her shit. The list of people who wanted her dead — who wanted to hurt her — was endless. Not once had you hesitated before running to her side. Not once had the possibility of leaving her crossed your mind.

Even when she'd deserved it, when the people who'd harmed her had valid reason to get back at her, you'd had her back. You'd shielded her with your body, taken swings and punches meant for her. You had once gotten stabbed by a knife that was thrown from a distance, aimed directly at her head, all so she wouldn't have to. If she was on the ground, bleeding and broken, your heart would have burst if she would have had to take any more.

You'd fought for her.

You'd killed for her.

You'd bled for her.

And now, when you needed her more than you ever had in your long life, she was the one having doubts.

Reluctantly, as if fighting the urge to run for the hills, Agatha cupped your left cheek. You hated how comforting you found the gesture and how safe the barest of her touches made you feel. She still held tremendous power over you, and you, the lovesick fool, allowed it.

The truth was, even after how she'd treated you, you couldn't hate her.

You doubted you ever could.

You'd given her your heart and it was hers to do as she pleased with. If she chose to tear it apart and stomp all over its remains, she was well within her rights to do so.

"You're bleeding," she said, unable to hide the concern from her voice. Her thumb brushed your forehead, right beside the wound. The touch was gentle, careful not to cause you further pain.

A bitter part of you found it ironic.

"Wow, really? I didn't notice," you said a tad more venomously than you'd intended.

She was a big girl. She could handle it.

After all, she was the one who'd started this war.

Agatha swallowed back the hurt. She allowed her features to soften in a quiet surrender and a show of peace.

"Come here, honey."

Contrary to what every instinct in you shouted, against your better judgment, you did.

You allowed her to hoist you up and get you to your feet. Allowed her to wrap an arm around you and lead you to the couch. The entirety of your body weight pressed against her as your legs were still too weak, too wobbly to take on the task by themselves. You allowed her to pat your back as you sat down as if you were a child and you weren't still pissed at her.

"Why the fuck would you go down the stairs in your condition?" she asked with a bit more bite than was appropriate considering the circumstances.

Rage swelled in your chest. She didn't get to speak to you like that. She didn't get to put the blame on you. "Was I supposed to wait for you?"

Agatha flinched as if struck, your words like a knife straight to the heart.

"For all I knew," you said, twisting the blade, digging it deeper, "you weren't even home."

Two could play this game.

She looked away, face awash in shame and guilt that was eating her alive.

Good, you thought. She should feel guilty.

Just to be petty, you grabbed her mug from the coffee table and took a large sip. The coffee was still warm, searing through your insides on its way down to your stomach in the most pleasant of ways. The sensation grounded you and made you feel present.

Agatha usually glared when you touched her coffee, but this time she had no reaction. Instead, she picked up a rag and ran it under warm water. Then, sitting back down beside you, she started dabbing and rubbing at your face.

The blood came away with ease, staining the pale fabric pink. Agatha was gentle, tender, and careful not to press on the cut on your forehead. She was careful not to make it bleed again.

This was the Agatha you needed an hour ago. This soft, sweet creature, so at odds with what everyone was saying about her. So kind. So loving.

Why did she leave you like that? Why didn't she come back?

Your coarse voice broke the silence that settled between the two of you. 

"Do you know why I said it?"

"What?"

"That I love you."

For a moment you were back there, on the bed, your magic draining out of you, your lungs burning as if they were on fire. There was pain, destructive and wicked, ravaging every single inch of your being.

A shake of your head brought you back to the safety of reality.

When Agatha said nothing, you continued, "I didn't want you to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for killing me. One of us had to love you." A dark chuckle escaped your mouth, a mask of your own, "If I'd known it would stop you, it would've been the first thing I said."

Tears welled in Agatha's eyes. One escaped, burning its way down her flushed cheek.

You resisted the urge to wipe it away.

"I never wanted to do that to you," she said in a voice too small and too low for her usual grand self.

"I know that."

You were still angry at her, still seething, but you couldn't deny her this tiny piece of assurance. It wouldn't be fair to blame her for something she had no control over. She didn't choose her power. She didn't choose for it to have a mind of its own when it fed. All she could do was be careful and work around it.

If anything, you were the one who'd fucked up. You were the one who'd forgotten to play it safe.

You had all the choices, whereas Agatha had none.

"It's not your fault," you said.

She looked at you, dumbfounded, surprised. She was unable to comprehend how you could let her off the hook so easily. "Isn't it?"

It would be so easy to scream at her and tell her that her mother was right. That she was a monster who couldn't be trusted, who was destined to hurt everything and anything in its path. As angry as you were, as much as you wanted to hurt her back for how she'd treated you, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. It wouldn't be fair.

You were mad, but you weren't cruel. Not to her. Never to her.

"I blasted you," you reminded her. "I should've been more careful."

Agatha swallowed. "If I could control it—"

"But you can't," you cut in, "I can. So it's on me."

She shook her head and said, "You didn't do anything wrong. It was an accident."

Yes. It was. One you swore would never happen again.

You knew better now.

"Exactly," you said, looking her in the eyes to drive the point home. To make it loud and clear. "It was an accident."

Which meant neither one of you was at fault.

Neither one of you should bear the blame.

Even if you both stubbornly insisted on it.

"Why did you leave me?" 

The words were out of your mouth before you could think them through, followed instantly by a stream of tears you didn't even try to stop. You needed to know. You needed to hear it from her.

Agatha's mouth pressed into a thin, tight line. Her eyes fell to her lap, to the blood-stained rag clutched in her hands.

"I've been there for you through everything. The one time I needed you, you ran for the hills."

Each word was glazed in venom, the sort that aimed to ravage and kill. The pain of the rejection was fresh and searing. Your hand, the one she'd slapped away, stung with your skin prickling as if burned.

She said nothing, did nothing but sit there as uncomfortable silence befell the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be cut with a knife.

Like always in emotionally charged situations like this, Agatha shut down. When she was with other people, she tended to change the subject or go on the offensive. She would spew out the vilest things she could think of to send them running and hurt them as she hurt. She masked her own pain by causing theirs.

With you, she just remained silent and avoided your gaze.

If she ignored it, it would go away.

Not this time.

You weren't going to let her get away with it.

She had hurt you first. She didn't get to act as if it hadn't happened.

Just as you were about to unleash a tirade, Agatha spoke up. "I couldn't bear to touch you after… after what I did to you."

She finally raised her eyes to meet yours, baring her soul to you. She was lowering her walls down so you could see the pain that hid behind them. She showed you the complete and utter anguish that she was terrified to expose to so many throughout her extended life. 

Your heart broke all over again, this time for her. You knew how difficult it was for her to open up and show vulnerability. To admit fault. People tended to weaponize her mistakes and turn them against her.

You'd never done — would never do — anything of the sort. All you wanted was for her to talk to you. You wanted to hear her side of the story.

"I'm not blaming you for it," you pointed out.

"I'm blaming myself," she said. "How can I not? I almost killed you."

"We already agreed it was an accident."

"Yeah, because that's how these things work," she said with her tone dripping with sarcasm and mockery that made you roll your eyes, "We said it, and that magically makes everything sunshine and rainbows. You're all healed and I'm not a monster."

"You're not a monster." It shot out automatically, like you were on autopilot. No hesitation and no holding back.

She could sell this tall tale — this blatant lie — to someone who didn't know her to the depths of her soul. She was no angel, far from it, but in no way was she a monster.

"Come on, Y/N. It's time to face the facts. I mean, look at me. Look at what my power does to people."

You did. You hadn't taken your eyes off her since the two of you had gotten together.

Your opinion remained the same as it had been the very first time you saw her drain someone dry. Your feelings for her never faltered. Not even once.

"Is that your opinion," you said, taking a breath and wishing you had a shot of something hard for courage before continuing, "or your mother's?"

Agatha froze, her face draining of all color. Her mother, dead long before the two of you had met, was persona non grata in your relationship. From the moment Agatha was born, that woman had made sure she didn't experience an ounce of affection. She'd berated her, put her down, and beaten her. She hated Agatha when, as the one who had given her life, she should have been the one to love her the most.

Agatha had broken that cycle with her own son. She had loved him the way that she should have been loved, but not even that was enough to heal the oozing and gaping wound on her soul. The unloved and abused little girl inside her could never be made whole. She could ever heal the damage that had been inflicted on her. She would carry it for the rest of her life.

"She lied, sweetheart. You know that,” you whispered.

Bringing up Evanora crossed a line you rarely dared to cross, but it needed to be done. You needed Agatha to finally let go of her toxic influence. 

"She was a miserable bitch who just wanted to hurt you,” you continued, “In fact, it's probably thanks to her that you can't control your power."

If the old hag had taken the time to mentor her daughter and guide her instead of calling her evil to her face, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe Agatha would have learned to rein in her magic.

"She stole your childhood," you said, heart twisting with anguish and sympathy for the woman you loved. With love, despite the anger that still had its hold on you. "Don't let her steal the rest of your life."

Agatha turned her head as tears flooded her eyes. She knew that you were right. All the resentment she had for herself, all the hatred, was because of her mother. When she talked down to herself, the words that came out of her mouth were the words she'd grown up listening to.

She may have been born with power that was unlike that of the other witches, but it was her mother that had molded her into the killer that she had become. It was her mother who had tried to make her into a monster. It was her mother that had whispered into her ear to leave you when you'd needed her the most.

You expected Agatha to flee and refuse to engage in the conversation any further since these were the sorts of things that she'd made clear more than once were off limits.

Instead, she reached for your hand and squeezed it like you'd been wanting her to from the very beginning. Your anger instantly dissolved like a pill in sparkling water. Warmth flooded your veins, comforting and safe. It was as if everything was suddenly right in the world again. As if you hadn't nearly died and then been abandoned.

"You're right," she said with eyes fixed on your linked hands, "I'm not a monster. I'm just… me."

You loved her as she was. If anything, that was what had made you fall for her in the first place. Her confidence. Her drive. The way she took what she wanted, no questions asked. The way she lived her life free of anyone's rules. The way she was herself unapologetically. Somehow both an open book and a nicely-wrapped surprise.

Her.

Just her.

Her wet, pained eyes met yours. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I just… I was scared. I thought you wouldn't want anything to do with me after what happened."

"If that were true, I wouldn't have called for you, would I?"

There were very few things — if any at all — that you could never forgive her for. An accident, even one that almost resulted in the loss of your life, wasn't one of them.

You loved her too much for far too long to allow for one mishap to destroy your relationship.

"Agatha, there's nothing that would ever cause me to not want you around. Nothing."

That was why her rejection hurt so much. You wanted her there. You needed her more than anything in the world and she'd just coldly walked out. She'd slapped your hand away as if it were filthy and you meant nothing.

As if you weren't worth staying for.

Agatha nodded, taking in your words. She grit her teeth to stop the blooming sobs from overwhelming her. 

“What can I do to make this right?"

You smiled, all resolve dropping. It was dangerous, this power she had over you. One look into her puppy eyes and you would do anything for her. She didn't need to cast any spells or incantations. She didn't need to weave her purple between her fingers. All she had to do was look at you and your defenses were down. You were hers to do with what she pleased.

"Just be here," you said. 

It still hurt, what she'd done, but it was in the past. You could move past it. She regretted it and she wanted to make up for it. It wouldn't change what happened or erase the pain of that moment, but it could be forgiven. It already was forgiven. 

"And don't do it again,” you said.

"I promise you," she said with the same intensity as when she cast the most demanding of spells, "I will never leave you again."

Then you were in her arms and she was holding you so tightly it hurt, but you didn't say a word. Instead, you allowed yourself to get lost in it, lost in her, so warm and safe against you.

The vibrations of her heart so close to yours soothed you. For a moment you hoped it would last forever. You no longer felt weak, drained, or cold. You were just you: a woman and a witch. You were embraced by the love of your life. Cherished. Cared for. Loved.

That was what you wanted from the start.

Agatha.

You did not want her power, as great as it was. You did not want some over the top apology or a grand gesture that was supposed to buy your forgiveness.

Just her.

She delivered perfectly.

Just like that, you knew that you would be okay. Your wounds would heal. Your magic would recharge. Your life force would replenish.

Agatha would make it so.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange @lift-heavy-be-gay @katieswain123

[narcissisticsmoker]

The door clicks shut behind me, and the weight of the day clings to me like a second skin. The house smells faintly of her, a mixture of her perfume and the scent of comfort that’s uniquely ours. I follow the faint hum of her game into the living room, my shoulders still tense from the endless grind, but the moment I see her, everything shifts.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, her oversized shirt riding high on her thighs, her headset on, completely immersed in the screen. Her hair is slightly disheveled, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she concentrates. She hasn’t noticed me yet, and that’s fine—better, even. It gives me a moment to take her in, the way she sits so comfortably in my space, the way she fills it with a quiet chaos that grounds me in ways I can’t explain.

I step closer, silent, and let my hand drift over her shoulder. She stiffens, just for a second, before relaxing into my touch. She glances back, her eyes wide for a moment before softening when she realizes it’s me.

“You’re home,” she says, her voice distracted as she turns back to her game, the controller still clutched in her hands.

I don’t respond immediately, leaning down instead to press a slow kiss to the side of her neck. My lips linger there, feeling the way her breath catches, the way her body instinctively leans into me. “Yeah,” I murmur against her skin, my voice low, roughened by the day. “And I’ve been thinking about you all damn day.”

She chuckles softly, her fingers moving on the controller. “You always say that,” she teases, but there’s a shakiness to her voice now, a telltale sign that she’s not as composed as she pretends to be.

“You always give me reasons to,” I reply, letting my hands slide down her arms, over her waist, tugging her slightly back against me. She stiffens again, her grip tightening on the controller, but I smirk, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, “You think you can keep playing, baby?”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t answer, her stubbornness making her double down on her focus. I move my hands lower, gripping her thighs firmly, my thumbs brushing the bare skin just under the hem of her shirt. Her body tenses, her fingers faltering just slightly, and I chuckle softly, darkly, enjoying the way she fights to keep control.

“You’re really going to make me work for it, aren’t you?” I growl, my voice teasing, my teeth grazing her earlobe before I press a hot kiss just below it. “Fine. Let’s see how long you last.”

My hands move higher, slipping under her shirt, tracing the softness of her stomach. Her breathing grows heavier, uneven now, and I can feel the slight tremble in her body as she tries to keep her composure. My lips trail down her neck, leaving a path of heat and purpose, each kiss designed to unravel her.

Her hands are still on the controller, but they’re trembling now, her grip faltering as I press my body against hers, pinning her slightly against the couch. “Still think you can keep playing?” I murmur against her skin, my hands sliding up to cup her waist, pulling her into me. “Because I’m not stopping until you forget that damn game exists.”

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she sets the controller down, her head falling back against my chest. I smirk, victorious, and turn her face toward mine, my fingers tilting her chin up. I kiss her deeply, my lips claiming hers, my hand sliding into her hair, gripping just enough to make her gasp against my mouth.

Her body melts into mine, her hands clutching at my arms as I take my time, pouring every ounce of frustration and need into the kiss. When I finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“Good girl,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her jawline. “Now, let me show you what happens when you make me wait all day for this.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond, my hands sliding lower, gripping her thighs as I lift her effortlessly into my lap. Her legs straddle me, her hands gripping my shoulders as I pull her flush against me, my lips finding hers again, rougher this time, more demanding. She moans softly, her body pliant in my hands as I press her closer, deeper into me, erasing any distance between us.

The game is long forgotten, the controller abandoned, the sounds of it fading into the background as I take her apart piece by piece, every touch, every kiss leaving her trembling, breathless, and completely mine.

[monarisse]

— The Hex paradox [arthur nightingale x gn!drifter]

Arthur asks, why are you still here.

You can't believe that he thinks you see them as pets.

SFW, second pov, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, angst with a happy ending | 3.6k

ao3

There is a flex of a hand — meat under the skin is terribly tense, just like their owner. Long unclipped nails, map of the old scars with pigment just a little bit lighter than everything else. Further: burn, raw marks from laser. Further: a contaminated virus from the elder beast of Deimos. Further-

This is just a body that holds your consciousness when there are no more metallic constructs of dead people that should be controlled. It was... actually, not so horrible to unfold the truth behind the creations of Ballas. Or others. There was always something more than you in these turned-to-be-bones metallic wires and engines. Always lurking in shadow; just not enough to be found, but enough to feel the sudden twitch of a cobalt fingers or unknown step of feet. Sometimes, even more: dance with a weapon, full of joy; murmur in an unknown language; search for something behind the back. Unnecessary. Unasked. Unprovoked. But... familiar, almost to the pain in your drifting mind.

It's ironic — that they all called you The Drifter. Not The Operator — not anymore, at least. Even if there was someone, in this time of the universe, who would gladly use this title on you, it would not be the truth. And you will not allow it. Hundreds of years after all of this, there would be a child with angry eyes and a thirst for power, who changed too much and too little to be completely you again. So you give them the future and keep yourself in the past — it seems right. Especially because (it's ill-fitting, it's wrong, and it's foolish, but deep down it's what makes them and you one person), The Operator can't travel here. They ask in rare times together how it was.

And for you, it's never "was." It's still here.

———

After winter, spring and summer together, they became steadier, softer. Smoother. Happier. Amir sleeps better. Angered only by some unnecessary presence before, now Quincy finds serenity, covering your back on missions. Aoi plays on the borrowed piano from the music store, and Eleanor whispers in your mind stories that she read in the past about Great Britain. Sharpened on the edges Lettie, today holds her hand to yours, so her beasts could crawl on the skin of this body with hushed squeaks, smelling with their little noses acid and kerosene, that scaldra pours on you every day. Lettie clicks her tongue in disappointment when she sees a new wound on the meat of shoulder — because in this body you can't heal as fast as they, and it's hypocritical to come out of frame when they're — the Mighty Hex, batch of soldiers of the future, your Friends, in the end — still here. And-

It's so. Fucking. Funny. A snicker falls from your lips before you can stop it.

Lettie furrows her eyebrows. In her eyes — something eats the previous light joke and fills it with thick tension.

"What did he do?" Anita squeaks, runs to her siblings, and you just blink.

"Who?"

Oh, it's not a secret. You... can guess who she talks about. And Lettie knows it.

"¡Pendejo! You know who. Don't play an owl with me."

Sharp teeth of the future crash into each other. Smile on these lips — sugary sweet from lies. This is not something new. How many people "The Great Hero" of the New War has deceived around the years of the Narmer regime?

"Nothing. Why you-"

She smacks your arm.

"Shut up. Don't want to hear your explanations. His brooding takes its toll on you," she painstakingly cleans her fingers from void-touched blood. From all of them, Eleanor is one who can feel lies, but Leticia is... another deal. She doesn't have the need to hear your thoughts. Magic of doctors, you guess.

It's strange that she cares about you. After all, these six are a team. And the seventh angle doesn't belong in the hexagon, even if it forces itself inside.

But, for Lettie, you let it slide. Hold her palm in yours and blink a little bit slower.

"I take care of that. Promise"

———

You know it — even too much of something good can be poisonous. Like trivia: this body was not ready for the delicious food that they have here, so on one night with beer and Hex you threw up in the bathroom on the second floor. But... Compare this and... your genuine worry for Nightingale seems like a wrong play of komi, where no one could win.

Worse: you remember Umbra. His blind eye and this wordless trust between him and The Operator. This wordless care that travels with them everywhere. How could you not feel envy when this child not only found the way from Zariman 10-0, but even saved the frame that could think without Tenno? Well, now you have protoframes. They joke with you in their bones, and they help you when it becomes unbearable — this world, this time, this loop. So why, when you stretch out your hand only how you can, it turns out... It is too much. Or too little.

And... what even happens in this thick skull of his, when he abruptly leaves a conversation on KIM, then agrees on Amir's play and, after... drowns you in questions?

Broadsword

So what is it? Pity? Or are you stupid as well as crazy?

Broadsword

Stop dodging! Why. Are. You. Still. Here?!

There is a reminiscence of a dull ache from Duviri. Another swing of an axe above the head. Endless swirl of colors. And buzzing in the skull. This body trembles, unable to comprehend all emotions from a feverish mind, and you pull your hand to clean your face from... something. Anything.

How could he even ask this shit? Like you some bystander that already left them after a week of knowing, just to start a new adventure far far away. Like you didn't search abandoned markets for his favorite beer, didn't bring special ammunition to Quincy, didn't practice with Aoi and Amir on the transmission of intel. Just some guest, not important to add in their ranks.

Nidus quietly shrieks when you transfer back to him. It is something of a habit. You can't even feel the exact moment when his broad frame already exits the backroom, too busy with boiling emotions inside your mind (the biggest question there: what if Kid would be able to help them without this mess of emotions. What if Hex liked the Operator more?).

Höllvania Central Mall never sleeps. Especially now, when there are not seven, but many more breathing shadows waiting for the other day to live, so... It is a little bit of awakening — see disbelief and caution in the eyes of bystanders when the form of Nidus makes his way from the second floor to the first in one jump. But still not enough to stop the heavy steps of the infested frame.

He's in his usual spot, crouched between some ammo for his rifle and computer, and Arthur... seems a little bit surprised. Like it wasn't you who he wrote just seconds ago.

Pity. He called your carefully crafted relationships with the Hex "pity." And you, yourself: crazy and stupid.

"You could just-" There is something more behind his dazed expression, some dark undertone, but it is not about him. Not anymore.

"How could you," Nidus freezes like a mannequin in the doorframe. This body constructs itself right against Nightingale; scarred fingers cling to his shoulder to feel something else beside the usual eerie words of KIM-messages and hushed phrases under the sick sky. His brows rise up even more now, "How could you even think of something like that!"

Arthur's lips twitch.

Prince of fire Lodun, in all his ugly glory, paints your mind with blood and red.

"It's bothering me already enough time to just let it slide," his words twist something in the pit of your stomach, and Lodun's voice screeches somewhere around the frontal lobe. He shouldn't say such words to you. It is blasphemy. Lie. His hand rips your own from himself almost like you hurt him, and the scar around the palm that he left you with starts to pulsate, "You walk around the Mall like everything is okay and we're not just some dead meat to your future."

He is poisonous. Some sort of divine punishment for you, as if you didn't suffer enough for years and years of survival. There are no more light jokes, no more strange, vigorous words with the undertone of something bigger. Only a stern glance on this body.

Prince Lodun fist his finger and crack another hole in your mind walls.

Body of the Drifter winces.

"Are you fucking kidding?" teeth clacks. The jaw's strained to its limit. All of this time together, just drained in the sink, "What do you think? That I stayed here just to forget about you all in the next minute?"

He doesn't need to say it aloud. The answer is written on his face already, and it's making Lodun more loud in your mind.

"How many times have you already done that?"

Lodun roars. This head is pounding.

"What?!"

It's unbelievable. He looks at you with such a sardonic expression, as if he knows that you did something so bad that you even can't stand with him in one room, and... you want to go right in his head to fucking show Arthur how terribly wrong he is.

The worst of all: he keeps going.

"It's convenient, isn't it? To play "friends" with people you can just leave behind," his grip tightens, and Arthur steps forward. A little more and it would become a fight.

You hold back. Just a little bit, but the patience in this body already wears itself.

"So that's what's stuck in your head?" You snarl, "Not bad enough, don't you think?" One step to him, and you feel — one more, and you can crash in his metallic chest. Eyes squint, "Make me a villain more, why not? Maybe I should take control of one of you and dispose of everyone else, huh?" Luscinia weeps in the corner of your mind with these harsh words, but you are unable to hear her — spiral of Loduns anger in its all-power captured you. There is something of a hurt in Arthur's face. But you only use his own method on him. It's almost like he didn't think of this — that you could use his friends against him or even make him a bystander in the nonexistent massacre.

"You can," his voice drops lower. Grip tightens even more — soon bones in this body would be broken by his fingers. "So I advise you to stop pretending like we're important to you," Nightingale bends his head, and you can see the hues of his blind eye for the first time, "and put us all out of this misery."

You're tugging this hand away — alas, it's not working, and a wave of dull pain passes through the body. He never thought that it was as hard for you as for them.

Luscinia crying. The Sorrowful Soprano of Duviri weeping like a mother who lost something too precious for her, and with Loduns anger, it's too much to feel in one moment. Your mind makes itself the battleground of the old Tales.

You want to say: maybe you're right.

You want to say: maybe I should just leave things like they are.

But... the Hex already made themselves important for you. So much that you gladly would stay here forever, with this ancient technology and people of the past. The Operator has their people. Why shouldn't you have yours?

You take a deep breath. Close tired eyes.

"If you think that I should go, I'll do it." There is something too heavy in these words, so you can't raise this head anymore, with your gaze a little bit blurry. Not from tears, "You all became too important for me, so if it would be better for Hex, I'll be gone to my time."

You know: without you, they will all be dead in the New Year of 1999. The reactor will blow up, and Arthur will bleed on the floor of the radiated room, near the bodies of Aoi and Amir.

And you can just feel the power of Spiral, to send it all back in January, to start again.

"Don't make yourself a martyr. You can leave when you want."

That's it.

You snap.

"My fucking Sol," you twitch this head, "you are as dense as Razorback," Nightingale becomes a little bit puzzled by the unknown comparison, but you continue, "What should I say? "Sorry, Arthur, I stayed here because I know that without me you all will die." Your voice becomes louder and louder; it breaks in some words, and you feel: the dam was broken, "And I developed feelings for you, and all of this embarrassing flirting was so bad because I had never done it before? You know, because I was trapped all of my youth in an endless loop of my own death, and I didn't even think that I could feel something like that"," his grip finally becomes loose, and you break the palm from him, only to point the finger at Arthur, "Everyone knows about it. I thought that you-"

Wait. You thought that he already knew about your feelings for him — it was so obvious that Eleanor even asked you not to think about her brother on united missions. But... You shut this mouth and looked at Arthur. He's... flagger-basted. No more anger in his eyes, only genuine surprise, and — worst of all — he continues to keep silent.

"Great," you roll this eyes. Fuck it. Maybe he knew, just feelings weren't mutual, and Nightingale didn't acknowledge it, to leave things as they were. But now you spelled it all aloud, and there is only one way to turn it back. Maybe... no. You don't want it.

Sol, you should just go to the backroom and decay in some corner.

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be going to throw up somewhere on the second floor from embarrassment," you transfer back to Nidus, "don't message me," and head towards the escalator.

Worst: he didn't even stop you.

———

Quincy screams in your comm and it's almost unbearable how he just throws a stash of Scaldra supply on the garage floor, just to head back to civilians in the old supermarket without another word to you.

Blew up the tank without care of flying too far away to not be hurt; melted one of the other stashes; almost got Kalymos dead. You've gone more hectic. But it's still better than lying on a couch with nausea and a sorrowful expression (it's still better than nothing — you remind yourself — you still feel something, and it's better than apathy).

Funny: if the Kid could see you, they would be furious. Throwing some tantrum about how such a mindless thing would wreck you, The Drifter, to some pathetic ordinary human. They were always like this: more hard than you, more prideful. They could chew Arthur's words and twist them so much that the man would not be sure what he even wants anymore. But the Operator is too far away. And you are too arrogant to travel back to them. Lotus would calm you down, embrace you in a motherly hold; however... you don't want it right now. One thing that surely helps: killing. Scaldra or Techrot — doesn't matter.

"I'm worried about you," tells Aoi when the sharp talons of Garuda give her a package full of CDs, "I heard your argument with Arthur." She seems a little bit sheepish, but... you know, that you actually can trust her. Of all Hex, Aoi is the most understandable. You can tell her all your worries, and she wouldn't laugh or write off your feelings. "It's hard with him sometimes, but Arthur cares about us all," of course he is, "you included."

You hum. The sound comes a little bit muffled.

"I'm sure." No, you're not, but there is no need to talk about it right now. Aoi squints her eyes in disbelief. "Sorry, Aoi. It's between me and him and i-"

"Drifter," his voice is too loud in Aoi's lair, but you don't turn to Nightingale. Maybe he will disappear if you don't acknowledge his presence. "We need to talk," Morohoshi shows some kind of gesture that you don't recognize, with her big finger pointed out, and she shakes her head, smiling.

If there were only two of you, you'd find a reason to just vanish in the air.

Damn. Why is it harder than killing an archon with a bow?

"Alright," you sign. Garuda turns around to Excalibur and he is already heading somewhere in an unknown destination.

What does he want to say? That he made a decision to stay with you on friendly terms so that you could save Hex's lives? That he'll save them by himself? Good luck with that. You'll still be here, even if he wants to banish you from others, just not in his line of sight. And when clocks turn 23:56 without catastrophe, you'll let them go and transfer yourself back to Loid, to solve problems of Deimos.

It's some sort of warehouse — you've never been here before, and it's strange how music from the hall becomes only disoriented muffles when Arthur closes the door. You stand a little bit farther from him than usual — not to make yourself comfortable here.

Arthur leans on some kind of cabinet.

Heavy silence falls on you two.

And when you think that this was a bad idea — to come here with him — Arthur starts talking.

"You know that all my life I was a military man," he spins that damn sword — Arthur's voice... not so loud. He speaks almost carefully, like his words already were chosen before this talk, and... you don't know what to think about. Emotion without name, without personification in Tales of Duviri, born in a pit of stomach, "and... I think I was ready to leave some things behind," he's not looking at you; his gaze stops on scratches on the floor, "because there was not enough time, or... I didn't try to understand others more."

You gulp. Garuda's scales tremble.

"And I tend to search for enemies where there aren't any." Finally, Arthur looks at you. There is more than tiredness from endless nights; quiet longing, a hint of uncertainty, something... tender.

He sighs.

"And," Arthur chuckles, and you grit your own teeth, thrashing about to step from Garuda or stay in her bones, "I'm not even entirely human. I mean, look at me," he gestures at the metal skin of his body, "not a usual choice of the mass."

Still, it's better to talk face to face. Especially on topics like that, you make a decision in one moment, to reappear beside him in another.

"Arthur," your own voice strained with hoarse hesitation, "you're a good person. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that." There is a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips, and Arthur blinks a little bit slower.

"You're always saying such things that give me hope." Spinning of his blade comes to an end, and the warehouse becomes more... steady. Peaceful.

Nightingale clears his throat.

"Did you mean it?" comes almost in a whisper, "that you have... feelings. For me."

You tear your gaze from him and put it down, not able to look in his eyes. Yes. It is definitely harder than killing an archon.

Fingers dip in the elbows.

"Yes."

Nothing more. Just a short, clear answer to put any misunderstanding behind.

Remarkably, the stomach stops swirling. All of this body became... calm, like all the worries just disappeared with this one word. Even if Arthur doesn't feel the same, you are glad that you two talked about it. Finally, you can open a new page in-

"It's mutual."

What?

You snap this head to him, and, for the first time in an eternity, you see Arthur smiling. Without some undertone in it, without pressure. Just a clear, happy smile on his scarred face, and you even see some little dimples on his cheeks.

And, maybe it's too early and you should wait some time to do such things, but these hands — your hands — reach out to him, to bury your fingers in his hair and press an uncertain but full-of-burning-emotions kiss to his lips.

It's raw — skin to skin, first too gentle to feel something more than the texture of others, but with every passing moment, all of this bottling adoration for him seeps through the motion. And Arthur answers you, laying his metallic palm in the crook of your neck, to deepen the kiss — he opens his mouth, presses you to himself more, to finally give you something that you wanted too long to confess.

In reality, it's still better than in imagination.

When there is not enough air in your lungs, when your shuddered inhale mixes with his own and both of you break away for a moment, you press your forehead to Arthur's, holding onto his shoulder.

"You know," he starts after a moment of silence, with a voice a little bit rough on the edges. You open your eyes and move your head a little bit to look at him once more. Cold fingers start to play with the strands of your hair. "If someone had told me that I would want to kiss someone from the future who trespassed my mind, I think I would kill them," Arthur breathlessly laughing and-

"Sol, you're unbelievable." You smack his shoulder and move to get out from his grip, but Nightingale presses you even more into himself, and you feel how his laughter starts to seep through your bones.

"You're stuck with me now. No refunds, sweets." Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, and... you hug him, closing your eyes back.

The Harbinger of Joy, Mathilda, smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

No Amount of Wishes

|| Sheriff Grayson x fem!enforcer!reader

|| Warnings; injured reader (concussion/broken arm/coma), Grayson worried for reader and feeling guilt, hospital setting, injured on the job

|| Summary; Grayson stays to keep an eye on reader, only to realize she's got to go to work. Then... reader wakes up.

Requests closed!

Started; December 31th

Finished; December 31st

HurtCember2024; Day 25, Accident

~~~

She didn't mean for this to happen.

For you to get hurt on the field. Everyone kept reminding her; "Grayson, it was just an accident. None of this was your fault." But she knew. She knew. It was her decision to send you out there. It all comes down to her in the end. Grayson was the Sheriff. She was supposed to be better than this- you were never supposed to get hurt. We really can't stop everything, can we? No matter how hard we try... beg the Gods. Nothing ever comes of it.

Grayson sighed, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. You'd been hospitalized for a couple of days now, stuck in what felt like a never ending coma. Grayson couldn't bare the sight of you like this, but she hated the thought of leaving your side even more. Of course, she wasn't able to stay as long as she wanted to. The people still needed her. The city wouldn't rest just because you were bed bound. No amount of wishes could change that.

Looking to the clock on the wall, Grayson could see that her time with you was just about up for the day. This was the hardest part for her. Leaving you. She knew the hospital staff was good. That you were in good hands; even still. Grayson wanted to be the one to take care of you. She always had, it didn't matter how many times you told her you could handle things yourself. That you had it under control. Something, somewhere would go wrong.

"Grayson?" She had started to stand, removing herself from the seat. Her limbs ached, a sign of how long she had been sitting. It took her a moment to register your voice. You calling to her. At first, Grayson was sure she had imagined it. Her mind playing tricks created by her desire. Her desire for you. She still turned to look at you, just for the off chance that...

You were awake?

"Gods," Grayson breathed. Feeling a sense of relief run through her entire body. She rushed to your side, hand on yours while the other cupped your cheek. Her eyes never leaving yours, memorizing the colour and every detail. Assuring herself that you were there.

"I missed you," you murmured. You knew by the look she was giving you that you'd been out for a while. The fight you'd gotten caught in on patrol really did a number on you. The first was the broken arm. Having received quite the blow to your dominate side. Then a blow to your head that finished the job. You could feel a subtle pound that seemed to only get worse the longer your eyes were open.

"I'll always miss you more," the Sheriff murmured. Earning herself a smile from you. The hand that cupped your cheek trailed your jawline. Fingers ghosting your skin, sending shivers down your neck," the doctor explained that you had a concussion and broken arm. The blow to the side of your head was heafty, you'll be suspended for the next couple weeks until you've fully recovered."

Your eyes widened. Suspended? How were you supposed to spend your time? You'd get bored waiting around doing nothing. With a concussion and broken arm you'd be even more limited. Great, "yippee..."

Grayson laughed at your enthusiasm, or lack of," oh don't you start pouting with me. I may just have to kiss it away, you know."

"Oh really?" You smirked, glad to see that Grayson was in a better mood. You knew she had to have been beating herself up over this, whether the flirting was a way to hide it or not you weren't sure... but it made your heart flutter all the same," I'd take you up on that. First, though... you okay?"

"To be truthful, no. Seeing you like this..." She trailed off and shook her head, leaving you to fill the blanks. You had a good idea what she was saying. It hurt her, probably just as much as you'd actually been hurt.

"Gray... none of this was your fault, you know that. Don't you? My reaction time was off, I was slower, weaker. My opponent just had a better hand against me. But none of it comes down to you. That was my usual patrol line, it's not like anything changed from the normal scheduling. Just an unlucky day," you tried to comfort her. She did seem to ease, but not fully.

"I... suppose you make your points." She sighed, looking to the clock on the wall again. She was late for her shift by now, but.. if she's already late anyway, what's the harm in spending a few extra minutes with you?

[lunarmoonanons]

Mother's Love

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Tyrell Reader misses her mother, she's so young giving birth. A child has a child.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

9 Years Ago

YN missed her mother. She missed all of her family but being six months into her first ever pregnancy at fifteen. She was terrified and felt all alone in the Red Keep. Alys Harroway was rude and spiteful, constantly wondering aloud why Maegor would wed a child rather than remain faithful to her only. Cerys was kind to her, but since her death YN felt she had no friends in the Keep. Tyanna frightened her and she kept her away from herself and her pregnancy. Her stomach was larger than she noticed her sister’s was at six months of pregnancy. She feared labor and feared birth, just a few months ago she was excited to get a new doll from her Aunt, just a year ago she was just old enough to stay up for the festivities at Highgarden. 

Now she was carrying a child or many in her stomach, dressed in Tyrell fineries and jewelry. He didn’t listen when she said she preferred pearls over stones, decking her out in rubies and diamonds. Even the Tyrell dresses she wore were decked out in Targaryen fineries.  Everything was dripping in Targaryen lust. She wished she could have her simply gowns back from Highgarden. Though in an effort to please his newly pregnant wife, Maegor transported flowers from Highgarden and littered them around the gardens. Specifically her favorite: Lilies. So there was some respite when she went to the gardens. Away from the jealous glare of Alys and the intimidating glance of Tyanna. 

It was night now, and her rose petal bath was drained by the maids who were too frightened to talk to her. She was wrapped in a nightgown and a robe and was sitting in front of her desk with a paper and pen in front of her. She was thinking of what to write to her mother. She missed and needed her. She couldn’t write to her beloved, Addam, knowing her letters were being read. Probably by Tyanna, most likely by Maegor. 

YN tapped the feather end of her pen on the desk, wondering what to say. She only wrote one letter to her family before and the action of doing so made her cry. YN played with the end of her hair and looked around her room. Staring at the doll her Aunt made for her, making her tear up at the sight. She was still mourning her Aunt, having no one to talk to about her grief. Eventually she turned away from the doll and back to the paper on her desk. She held to pen tighter and began writing from her heart. 

“I am six months with child. I am frightened. But please do not come to Kingslanding, I don’t want him to have control over you. Mommy please write back, I am frightened.” 

She signed it with her uncertain hand and stood from her position. Making her way to the entrance of her room, she caught the attention of her guards and held out the letter to them. Commanding them to deliver this letter to her mother in Highgarden. They nodded and she knew they were going to take it to Maegor first. Just like they did with her first letter. She theorized that he was spending the night with Alys. Or talking with his mother. 

Visenya. 

That woman frightened YN. She was beautiful but with her beauty came a harshness and a frightening personality. She held a tight grip on the court and watched the youngest bride with vulture-like eyes. Making her feel small and frightened as she did when she was a younger girl. YN avoided her at every turn, which was harder now that she was the only bride who was pregnant. Maegor couldn’t keep his hands off her and Visenya watched her more intensely. Everything she did was scrutinized and watched. 

YN grabbed her doll and laid down in the soft bed. Holding the doll close and tearing up at the thought of her mother reading her letter. She wiped her tears when she heard her door opening. Sitting up and hiding the doll under the pillow, looking at who entered her room. Of course it was Maegor. He looked troubled and walked toward her bed. YN lifted her blanket to get up but he held out his hand to stop her. Coming to the bed and sitting on the side edge a few inches from her curled up legs.

Maegor sighed and brought a hand to her hair, stroking the side of her head. YN remained frozen, staring at him in fear. Wondering what in her letter made him come to her room. She wanted to cover her face, hide under the covers like she did when she was younger. He brought her hand to the end of her hair and twirled a lock in his fingers. 

“I am not a good man.” Maegor broke the silence. YN swallowed and when he brought his hand to her cheek she flinched. “I know what I am, there’s no changing me. But I want you to know, I am not heartless.”

“I never said-” She tried to explain, but he cut her off. 

“I know you think I have no heart. Since I cut down your aunt, since I took you to bride. But I am not without a heart.” He sighed and put his hand down. “I know you miss your family.”

YN wanted him to leave. Thinking he was going to bring her family to Kingslanding and keep them here. Something she dreaded. She in no way wanted her family to be under the control of Maegor. Her brothers would do something rash and honorable. Her mother would never leave and she was frightened Maegor would bed her against her will. 

“You need not torment yourself. I can bring your mother here. I can make you happy.” Maegor suggested. 

YN shook her head and brought her knees up to her torso. “No my lord. I want them to be free in Highgarden. I don’t want my brothers and their families to do something rash. Please leave them alone.” She begged. 

Maegor sighed and stood from her bed. Pushing down her knees so he could touch her stomach. His large hand remained on the top of her belly, he smiled when he felt the baby kick. But the soft encounter ended when he grabbed her chin and made her look at him. His harsh gaze made the breath catch in her throat. 

“I hope this child is a boy. I know you won’t disappoint me.” Maegor said with laden threats in his tone. 

YN’s eyes were wide as she nodded in fear. Holding her breath as she watched him let her go and walk out of the room. She grabbed her doll when he left and held it close in one hand as she rubbed her stomach with the other. Begging the gods for a healthy baby, someone she could give her doll to. 

~~~

4 Months Later

YN finished her letter to her mother, talking about her babies and how much it hurt. That’s what she remembered from the labor, the pain. She didn’t know what else she could say. Everything hurt, and the memory of the pain stayed with her a month later. She stood from her desk and walked to the cribs that she demanded remain in her room. Smiling at the babies she grabbed one of the boys and placed him on her bed. Then bringing the other two to the bed she laid them down in front of her. Smiling at the helpless little things in front of her. 

She reached for her doll and held it in front of her babies. “This is my doll. She’s very dear to me. I think one day one of you will have her.” 

The babies did nothing but coo, making the young girl smile and lean down to kiss their silver haired heads. She smiled at their helpless little bodies. They were so little and so sweet. YN didn’t think there could’ve been any sweeter babies born. 

“I think you three are so perfect. My oldest sister has three children, and they are very sweet.” YN felt sad when talking about her sister. Missing her dearly, missing her nephews and nieces as well. 

“I hope one day you could meet them.”

@gulnarsultan

[thecoolerlucky]

Chapter 7: How'd Your Plan Go, Lynette?~

Contents (Warnings/Mild spoilers): Not according to plan. (Angst and lore info )

Wordcount: 3,000+

"Why shouldn't I take a moment to savor my sweet little meal?"

__________________________________________

(Sept. 15th, Thursday)

Alexander didn't understand it.

Lev, who had always been candid about his dislike for making pizzas, let Alexander take the registers. When both of them worked together, and their boss didn't assign anyone specific to the front, Lev always insisted they play a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to determine who stays in the kitchen.

Despite Alexander's arguments about his indifference to where he worked in the pizzeria, Lev coaxed him into playing and losing every time. Lev's lack of effort to talk to Lynette also struck him as odd. The last time they all worked together, Lev showed a keen interest in getting her. Alexander wasn't aware of anything that happened between them. Not that he was in a position to judge—Alexander dreaded working next to someone so edible.

He made a conscious effort not to look at her, shit eyesight without his glasses or not. His eyes weren't the problem. It was his nose—oversaturated with her aroma and its promise to ease him. His stomach wouldn't stop nagging his brain with premeditated motives to grab her. A pivot, pinning of her arms, size-shift, and done. The temptation irritated him more than anything. He felt young and out of control again. No, Alexander realized it was foolish to think he managed it in the first place. It would never stop. His tongue rested under his teeth as he bit down. He'd follow the rules and keep himself in check.

Throughout the two hours, they exchanged very few words. Lynette occasionally asked him for something on his side, and he did the same to her. Other than that, Alexander was grateful she had the hang of everything else. The last thing he needed was to prolong their closeness. He drummed his fingers against the surface of the register, the sound punctuating the quietness. She hadn't mentioned a plan either. Did that mean she was done fighting, or did she forget? Rather than ignoring it, Alexander spoke up.

"No big plans today?" The deep, resonant thrum of his throat said. Its tone was more derisive than he meant. There was no reason to ridicule a presence that hardly represented competition or threat.

Lynette jumped at his voice's deep inflection like most people. After the grueling forced adaption of his body and the life-saving surgery, his sound was one thing he couldn't change. "I'll be fine today." She was shaky and projected little optimism.

"I'm not going to fall for the same trick twice," Alexander laced his warning in caution toward her and stole a glance from the corner of his eye. He couldn't shake off the discomfort of her surprisingly diminutive height. It was unsettling for him to see—he could almost envelop her face with just one hand.

Lynette's eyes remained down on her register. "Well, it's a good thing this plan is different." Alexander doubted she had something else up her short sleeved uniform. All he had to do was wait to take his lunch in the middle of their shift, and she couldn't escape. She abruptly turned and walked toward the kitchen doorway. "I'm going to lunch."

The lines weren't lengthy, just a few people scattered here and there, and Viola was ready to take his place at a moment's notice. So why did she leave? Her action allowed doubt to momentarily grip Alexander. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that maybe her confidence wasn't misplaced.

After a stiff exhale, he decided to go with the most plausible reason—Lynette played off a clever bluff, and he'd go to lunch to disprove it. Viola traded spots with him, and he was off. He trailed behind her scent, scanned out, and quickly found her in break room 1, his usual hangout spot. She backed to the door that interconnected breakroom 3 and 1. Did she believe she could outrun him? He was faster than her without size-shifting; he could bound the distance. He'd only have to be careful not to crash into her, but he could get to her before she left the room. She held her hands up like she was under arrest. Alexander tried to shut off his brain, convincing himself he was in no mood to talk. He got ready to size-shift, then noticed where her eyes led. They hadn't been on him—they looked at who was behind him.

Normally, everyone inside the building had some sort of smell. To Alexander, monsters didn't have unique differences in their aroma like humans. No two humans smelled the same, and he remembered everyone he encountered. Lynette's, in particular, was suffocating, like a thick syrup coagulated in the air around her, and because Alexander's range was so wide, the whole pizzeria was overtaken by it. Meanwhile, monsters smelled awful, the only exception being Drake, who smelled fine. His best friend's unique circumstances were the cause of that. With everyone else, Alexander learned to drown out the smell of other monsters. However, two people in the pizzeria were scentless.

And one of them, unfortunately, devoured monsters.

She pulled him back by his arm, almost playfully, so Lynette could flee to the next room. Alexander flipped back to Zilla, now knowing that Lynette sold his ass out.

...

I ran into break room 3, and the door shut behind me. Once it was closed, there weren't any noises from the other side. So, their confrontation would remain a mystery. My heart squeezed in rebellion to that decision.

Why do I feel guilty tricking Xander? He was going to eat me. I played fair. Or is it because this felt like less of my victory and more like I used someone else to win for me? Thinking that struck the nail head. I curled my lips apprehensively and hesitated to move ahead. I put both fists to my forehead and let out a quiet, anguished groan, "Aaarrgh." Why am I like this? It's not hard, don't look back. What do you expect to do? Go in there and ask Zilla not to eat him? Change her mind and hope he doesn't eat you. He's a monster, he will, and most importantly, you don't like being eaten. The chill, by the mere thought of it, ran up my spine like someone scrapped an icy rod along each column. Yet, I swiftly flipped around to head back.

I took not even a step, abruptly halted by another male's chest. "It's very nice of you to throw yourself at me, Lynette~." His heavy, honeyed tone hummed. I threw myself in the opposite direction. Where did he come from? I was so focused on running that I didn't check around me. His gaze danced across the floor meticulously, like he traced the path of each of my previous footsteps and tallied their exact location. Then, having gauged the distance between us, he leaned forward and poised like a predator about to pounce. Instinctively, I spun on my heel and fled.

I had never considered myself particularly fast—my only weekly activity was rock climbing, a non running sport. He slammed into me from behind and wrapped his muscular arms around my waist, anchoring me against his bent body before he effortlessly lifted me off my feet. My back pressed firmly into his chest.

I flailed my arms and legs wildly, mimicking a child in a temper tantrum. "Why are you at lunch, Lev." How could I forget about him? He works the same shift as me. I blamed it on the fact that he hadn't interacted with me much today, nor did Zilla say a thing about him.

His voice hovered just beside my ear, low and smooth. "Isn't it obvious?" His laughter reverberated against my back with its sinister caress. "You let yourself get eaten by Wendie on Monday, and I couldn't let that happen again."

What do you mean? As the truth dawned on me, a wave of dread told me to push harder. His grip felt looser when I did. "You were working with her!" This is the catch. There's always some kind of catch with everything! I threw my legs once more, and his arms let go. I collapsed to the ground, unable to catch myself because of his unexpected release. The next thing I knew, the room's stillness erupted with a loud POP.

It felt like a massive balloon had suddenly burst, releasing a powerful gust of air that swept over me with surprising strength. The rush of wind made it hard to get back on my feet. I was ready to turn around and glimpse at what happened to make that noise but disregarded that idea when the lights above me were swallowed. The shadow loomed, and I yelped as something curled around my legs.

I was dragged, and my palms and fingertips desperately slid across the surface. The tables were too far to reach. I gasped, exasperated when I no longer touched the ground. Hopelessly suspended in mid-air, my body curled up to cling to what held me and to keep my shirt from falling to my face. It looked to be an arm, much like my own, except with dark, near-crimson scales with black trim fanning in and out along it. The palm was padded, and its warmth made my legs sweat underneath my pants.

"Impressive core strength." A whisper brushed me with heat. Knowing how close he brought me made me lose my small grip on one of his fingers. Now, I hang entirely at his mercy. My eyes were locked on his mouth, which was uncomfortably level with my head. My heart raced with fear; refusing to look down, I tried to divert my attention to the rest of his face.

Some scales crept up the sides of his neck and face, like armor, though they looked to be moving. There were a few scales encasing horns, and two sets of horns jutted from his skull—one set small, curving inward, like the larger ones. His bangs fell perfectly, splitting around the horns carefully arranged. Everything else on his face looked surprisingly still human.

Barely being able to speak, blood slowly rushing to my head, I uttered, "Y-you look more human than I thought." His grip on my legs became even tighter, and I could feel the sharp pressure of his claws digging into the fabric of my jeans. I insulted him, didn't it?

Lev's grin rose, showing his ivory fangs that fit so well together they were like a bear trap. "Well, if I was in my actual form, you wouldn't be worth having." He lifted his other hand and pressed his clawed digit into my back, "speaking of having…" He brought me closer to his jaw, "Let me see why Wendie picked you." Opening it up, it looked like a suffocatingly black void. The only flash of color amidst the blackness was the pointed gray tongue, slick and serpentine.

I resisted the urge to kick and fight, thinking if I did, I'd become a stain on the floor for Viola to mop up later. His tongue approached my face, and I tightly shut my eyes to protect them. It shoved against my face, leaving a trail of unwanted, clear slime.

Once he flicked it off at my chin, I threw up one hand to wipe my eyes while the other still held my shirt. Ewww. It luckily didn't smell like anything; then again, if he was anything like Alexander exclusively eating humans, I wouldn't expect it to. There are so many better things to eat than people!

His spade-headed tail swayed excitedly, with hypnotic lashes from side to side, and behind closed lips, he played with the taste. He made sure I was watching and listening before he swallowed it. "Mmm, you're certainly the best human I've ever had, Lynette~" He delightfully murmured.

Afraid, I faced away—my hand still sloppily scraping off what I could. The rules didn't say anything about mentally hurting your coworkers, did they? No, it's strictly physical. "All my blood is rushing to my head-" I stopped when his face got closer, exhaling methodically over me.

"Go on," his tempo was gentle, even being as close as he was. I expected to lose my eardrums to the concussive blast from his height or for it to sound as bad as sitting next to a heavy metal concert speaker.

"I-if you're going to," he cut me off, licking me again. He put a finger to the back of my head so I couldn't get away as he got me much slower. Once he finished, I squeaked, "Just eat me already."

His eyelids dropped with his smirk. There was an evident satisfaction he indulged in hearing me whimper because my plea made his sharp pupils widen.

He remarked quietly, ignoring what I said. "You're shaking." His hand moved, making a cupping motion under me, and he released my legs so I slumped into his padded palm. The texture my arms brushed was akin to weathered burlap, coarse and prickly. I was larger than his hand, so I brought my legs close. My ponytail barely had anything but a few strands and I looked at him through scraggly curls. He inspect me, holding me so I only saw the top of his head and eyes. I was still as if his sight was based on movement.

He said he likes fear. And I was giving it to him. I had nowhere to go—jumping off would be certain death. He can't kill me. The reassuring thought meant little as his claws lingered overhead like a guillotine. One of them poked directly at the top, ready to pierce my skull.

"There's no reason to rush, Lynette. I have so much time left," he said, a mischievous glint flickering in his fixed and burning sun-yellow eyes. Lev tilted his hand down, and I was slipping closer to him. His grin widened, reveling in his devilish intentions. "Why shouldn't I take a moment to savor my sweet little meal?"

It was rhetorical, yet I answered, "Because you pity me."

"Oh, my dear, Lynette." He exhaled another breath over me, "not-at-all."

He proceeded to toy with me for the rest of his lunch period. Repeatedly running his tongue along my face and any limb I tried to fight him with. It was useless, and my body weakened the more he did it. It was similar to being inside Alexander, except it took much longer.

I freed several fatigued breaths. My muscles twitched, unable to move, and my eyes strained to stay open. "I wore you out, didn't I, poor thing." The condensation strode from his mouth and strangled me. "I wish I left you with enough energy to struggle." He dangled me above him, swinging back and forth until it all meshed together. The last thing I heard was his childish dissatisfaction. "It's a shame to eat something so alive and lifeless."

...

I sat up in the infirmary bed. Another bed squeak went off close to mine. Alexander got up from his, stretching his arms up as he did. He's here too? Does that mean he got eaten? I tensed at the thought. It's all so… I hunched forward. How could they be okay after doing that? There's just no point.

"Tristan said you're slightly dehydrated, but other than that, you're fine and healthy." Alexander patted the table beside his bed. He touched his hat several times, and the frustration on his brows deepened until his hand smacked down on his glasses. Is he really that blind? My head pitched the idea of hiding his glasses to keep himself from finding me. I'm not stealing a blind guy's glasses. He put them on and put on his hat afterward. He grumbled. "Jerk."

I shifted, gathering what few bearings I could, and sat at the edge of my bed. "I'm not a jerk!"

He snapped sharply, his expression read annoyance. "Like hell you aren't," he said, his voice raised in frustration. "You fucking sold my sorry ass to Zilla." He pushed his glasses up and scoffed with contempt. "And look at where that landed you. Back where you would have been if you just..." His voice trailed off, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

I stared at the floor, unable to raise my tone to match his. "She tricked me too, I-"

"Sure. Covering your ass."

I lifted my head, "I'm serious!" Seeing his stare, nothing but hunger, frightened me. Don't fight with him. "A-anyway, we-we're even. You tricked me into coming here, and I tricked you." I said, trying to make amends. Though arguably you've been worse because I don't do anything to you except get away from you. I hugged my upper arms. Lev's awful, too. Getting eaten, in general, is.

With a scrunched nose, Alexander groused, "Fine then, from here on out, you can talk to me all you want, but when lunch comes around, I'm not losing to you anymore."

Taking in a deep breath, I gulped, inching forward off the bed. "I'll do…whatever I can to keep that from happening."

He smiled seemingly done with me and our conversation. “Then,” grabbed the handle. "It's on." He threw the door open and left, shutting it as he did. I was alone in the room with my thoughts.

I threw myself back onto the bed and covered my eyes with the palms of my hands. Alexander is mad at me, great. Reaching any understanding there was gone. I don't want to do anything with Lev either. I tossed my head back and forth. Does avoiding them matter at this point; if I ditch Alexander, I get stuck with Lev. And I don't want to give myself to Alexander to avoid him. I sniffled in self pity. I just want to work

I ran my hands down my face. "I don't want to play their games." I focused on the word, games. They play video games. It was like my mind was attempting to comfort me with the positives today, finding out what I did and being reminded that Drake and Alexander play video games. Yeah, they play…games?

I lifted my fist to my mouth, biting the pointer finger gently. Would they agree to that? Maybe if I could get Drake on board, Alexander would bite. I didn't know about Lev. His schedule was different from mine anyway. Alexander was my everyday problem.

I scrambled up, hearing the door. I cocked my head, afraid it might be Alexander. It wasn't. The black-haired nurse met me the day I was hired; he was working registers then. I met him again last weekend on Saturday. He was very cut dry and to the point. He fixed his half-cut frames, "Sandra would have scolded me again if I didn't offer you the resignation slip like last time."

I pushed off the bed, took my hat from the bedside table, and though it was weak, I smiled with vigor. "I don't need it. Thank you for checking up on me, Tristan."

"You look happy?"

"I have a really dumb idea that might not work, but if it does, I'll be coming in here less!" I bowed my head to him, wishing him a good rest of the night, and went home to plot out what I'd do for this insane, luxurious, and livable income.

...

Preview for the next chapter: 

My head wanted to meet the counter so bad. The steady stream of customers kept me from indulging the urge. WHY DID I ASSUME I WOULD BE THE BEST AT THE GAME! I could really only beat Wicks, and he never plays video games!

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR READING AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY! (Non-negotiable).

( @bellascarousel, @the-golden-comet).

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Catch up or check for release dates down below ↓

What I’d do for a Livable Income - Master-List!

[bellamyblake]

Hey everyone! This list was made by the wonderful @b4bethsstuff who's a relentless reader of fics (old and new) and posted all year long, keeping us interested in the new stuff and reminding us of old precious gems that I personally reread!

This is her list that I was inspired to recreate with a banner. (There's just a few additions of mine but everything else is hers!) Hope you'll enjoy!

This is also a former thank you to the amazing writers who created for us this year! Without you we'd be nowhere, so thank you so much!

Region 7 by winterseasalt- Alternate universe-Met on the Ark Station, Canon divergence, Slow burn, Fake/Pretend relationship: When they reached the door to Bellamy’s unit, Clarke’s suspicions were all but confirmed. His hand reached out to scan his arm in front of the lock pad, but froze before it got there. Clarke looked up at him, and he threw his eyes back at her wildly. Bellamy opened his mouth and closed it again, like he couldn’t find the words he was looking for, his arm still suspended in the air a few inches from where it would open the lock. He looked absolutely terrified.

Between Earth and Sky by Firelily_14-Alternate universe-canon divergence, Sexual tension, Drinking games, Blood and injuries:

Bellamy and Clarke broker a peace deal with Trikru. They bring down the Mountain and the 100 can finally breathe a sigh of relief. With peace secured, living on the ground becomes the 100's top priority, but living on Earth is challenge enough.

An exploration on what the 100 would be if there was no more war, no mountain men, and the characters were given a year to breathe. Bellarke focused.

Prize by honestlydarkprincess-Alternate universe-Modern setting, Roomates/Housemates, Getting together, Mutual pining;

Bellamy and Clarke make a bet for who can last the longest for No Nut November.

Or, the one with just so. much. pining.

Boss by Mia_Emilia-Alternate universe-Mob, Arranged marriage, Alpha, Beta, Omega dynamic,Angst;

The Blake household, it certainly makes sense why her mom didn’t want her messing things up with him and based on the little information she has gathered so far and the way people look at him, he must be The Boss.

The Blake’s are arguably one of the top three largest and most well respected, also feared, families in the country. Two years ago they had attended the funeral of the former head of the family Vincent Blake, the man was old. They had called his son “The Rebel King”, he was known for his particular brutality, cunning, and is supposed to be incredibly tactical. He has no problem going against the norm to get what he wants hence the name. And yet, if it wasn’t for the coldness in his eyes, nothing about his face screams blood thirsty, ego manic.

You don't deserve it by bellofthetolppl-Alternate universe-Canon divergence, Post series/season 3; Hurt/Comfort; Angst;

Post 3x16-Kane feels horrible for hurting Bellamy and almost killing him when he was under ALIE's control. He wants to help him out, take care of him just like Clarke but he refuses it due to his stubborn seflless nature. But also because Bellamy doesn't believe that he deserves to be saved. Everyone else try to prove him wrong. Angst and fluff ensue.

An Unkindness of Stars by LoverGurrl411-Alternate universe-Canon divergence; Friends to lovers; Slow burn; Angst and hurt/comfort;

Bellamy and Clarke meet on the Ark when they're 13 and 11 years old. Octavia's been discovered, Bellamy just wants to save his sister, and Clarke just wants to help. Somehow, a crazy plan later, Clarke and Bellamy stand together against all odds, even when they're millions of miles apart.

In the backseat of your Rover by ohsupernaturall-Survival, Dehydration, Aftermath of a nuclear apocalypse;

Eden- Missing Moment #1 (I strongly recommend you read this too though without it, the fic makes sense as well)

Little drabble that follows Bellamy and Clarke during the Eden-verse.

After Praimfaya, Bellamy and Clarke are sitting in the Rover, with nothing except each other, some music and confused feelings.

Sleeping beauty by ohsupernaturall-Fairytale, Princess Clarke Griffin, fairytale curses, protective Bellamy Blake;

Because every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. --------------------------------------------- I walked with you, once upon a dream. Or A Bellarke spin on Sleeping Beauty

let the cold come in (you'll chase it away) by itsagamefortwo-Alternate universe-Canon divergence, Fluff, Sharing clothes, 5+1 fics, five times Clarke steals Bellamy's clothes;

clarke learns she hates the cold the hard way, bellamy keeps showing up to keep her warm. aka 5 times bellamy gives clarke something to keep her warm and the 1 time clarke gives something to bellamy.

and we found heaven and time by billiedawn-Alternate universe/No Praimfaya; Unplanned pregnancy, Guilt, Shame, Fluff and angst;

Clarke Griffin is pregnant. No one knows, except her. So far.

In every universe by lightyears-Alternate universe-Modern setting; they love each other a lot;

Clarke meets Bellamy by chance. Sometimes, it stresses her out thinking about the possibility of them not meeting.

Star Crossed Business Partners by Silverloc-Alternate universe-Modern setting; Fake/pretend relationship; Fake dating;

The Griffins and the Blakes have always hated each other in a feud that has gone on for decades. But now, Clarke and Bellamy have secretly united to bring down their families' companies and take back control. One problem however: his sister thinks they're dating.

this is what winter feels like by headxheartwriter-Alternate universe-Canon divergence; Post S3; Sharing a bed, Love confessions; Angst and romance;

Bellamy’s silence spoke volumes, his gaze shifting from the floor to meet Clarke’s, revealing a tumult of emotions he struggled to articulate. Clarke, perceptive and direct, cut to the core of the matter. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice steady, probing the depths of Bellamy’s feelings with a question that demanded honesty.

You were never not mine by griffenly-Alternate universe-Modern setting; Fluff; Everyone thinks they're together;

Everyone they meet assumes that Bellamy and Clarke are dating. And, really - they're not.

Once bitten by anonymous-Alternate universe/Mob; Arranged marriage; Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics;

Clarke is 17 when she meets the man she’s going to marry. It’s nothing romantic at all. There’s no lightning, no fireworks, no fabled mate bond snapping into place. The alpha just looks her up and down, turns back to her new stepfather, and says: “She’ll do.”She barely has a chance to get a look at him before she’s hustled off: Bellamy Blake, capo of the New York Outfit. He looks— young.

To Capture a Witch by Mindlikeariver-Alternate universe-Fantasy; Alternate universe-Werewolf; Alpha Bellamy Blake;

Clarke is a witch on the run from her mate, Bellamy, who just so happens to be the Alpha of his pack. She was doing so well at it too, at least until she helps a runaway. Suddenly Bellamy is on her tail, and he refuses to lose her again.

The day they stopped counting by Lexi_Noctura-Alternate universe-Canon Divergence, After Praimfaya, Family fluff;

Praimfaya has long past, and finally Bellamy was happy. It was almost prefect. He had Clarke, their son Percy as well as Madi, and the rest of his friends all around him, alive and happy. And instead of just surviving Earth, they were thriving, living.

Something to talk about by grace_and_lucidity and kguptill- Alternate universe-Canon Divergence, Pining Bellamy Blake; Angst;

Leadership is a lonely business. No one knows that more than Bellamy Blake. He admires Clarke for being able to lead in ways he can't, by talking to people. Only what if she's doing more than talking? His suspicions build until he decides to confront her for a discussion of his own.

Noise complaint by superficialseer-Alternate universe-Modern Setting; Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamic; Roomates/Housemates; Sharing a bed;

"We'll need lots of rules," Clarke whispers, a little too eager to feign believable hesitance. Jittery, aware of the looming disaster inevitably ahead and still willing to acquiesce. "Boundaries." It's hard to think straight, hard to pretend to be concerned with something as terrible as being away from each other when being so close; every shared exhale kicking up a tantalizing undercurrent of mouth-wateringly familiar scent.

wreck my plans, that's my man bellsrke-Alternate Universe-Modern Setting; Friends with benefits; Boss/Employee relationship;

When Clarke made the offer to go down on her boss two months into her internship, she hadn't fully expected him to say yes. She definitely hadn't expected them to end up in a secret, no-strings-attached, mutually beneficial agreement, but it's easy and uncomplicated - at least, until she starts to develop real feelings for him. Then it's suddenly not so easy and uncomplicated at all.

Voiceless by Moonlight1234-Alternate universe-Canon divergence; Torture; Medical Expirimentation; Suffering; Injury; (I had to add the whump, I'm sorry, not sorry!!!!!)

There’s a noise to his left near the treeline, immediately drawing his attention. He grabs the pistol tucked into his waistband, eyes scanning for anything moving. A small cylinder rolls towards Bellamy, and he’s at least half convinced that it’s about to blow up. It doesn’t though, and it just starts spewing smoke. Bellamy tries not to breathe it in, but he ends up passing out anyway. He’s in a cage when he wakes up, and immediately starts to panic in his head.

we turn the page by whatspastisprologue-Alternate universe-Canon divergence; Post canon; Fix-it; Fluff and Angst;

After over a year (in Earth’s time) on Sanctum, Clarke was convinced she had seen every party imaginable. But she wasn’t prepared for the absolute extravagance of the New Year’s Festival. People began making (and selling) elaborate ball gowns (and bespoke suits) months in advance. Jewelry, both old and new, was bartered or loaned between families and friends. Small charms and tokens began popping up everywhere for people to buy to celebrate the past year and the hope for a happy, prosperous and peaceful new one. Businesses shut down, schools closed, and everyone came together to celebrate, enjoying the new community that had sprung up from the ashes of their old one. Clarke was absolutely dreading it.

It Had to be You bellarkegriffin_blake-Alternate universe-Modern setting; Angst with a happy ending; Cheating; Rekindled love;

Clarke is tired of living in constant depression after her long term boyfriend randomly left her a year ago, so she decides that a new job and a new part of town would be a good start for her new life. What she learns instead is that her past can’t easily be outrun or forgotten, especially when your new neighbor is exactly the person you were running from.

[hailturinturambar]

Thoughts on Charlie Vickers's interview (PART II)

This was supposed to be the last analysis of 2024. But for some reason yesterday my account was canceled and it took me a long time to recover. (I still don't understand what happened) So I'm posting it today, but I'll still write the analysis of the vote!

Happy New Year everyone! :)

I think this was the moment I was most looking forward to in the show. The moment when we would have Sauron, but as the true Enemy. Evil Incarnate, let's say. Halbrand was interesting, of course, but Sauron is THE Tolkien's Villain most loved by the audience.

The fight between Sauron and Galadriel was when the mask finally fell. Because everyone expected him to kill Celebrimbor, but somehow the audience believed it would be different with Galadriel. I liked that he was as cruel to her as he was to the others. He's the Bad Guy, isn't he?

Celebrimbor's prophecy was so impactful. For those who read the books or watched the trilogy, we know how Sauron will end.

It's his tragedy, isn't it? How Sauron spent so much of his power and essence on the Rings and in the end, as Celebrimbor predicted, it only took one to defeat him.

Charlie is a Sauron fan, I love that. My favorite part was the illusion part too. The contrast is scary. While Eregion is being destroyed, Celebrimbor is trapped in his mind, believing the world is at peace.

What I liked most about the scene is that it shows how powerful Sauron is. Eregion is under siege, but he is still strong enough to trick Celebrimbor (for a while) and keep him busy with the rings.

Wicked, isn't it? We have fallen into illusion in a way, too, our eyes are also blindfolded. Like Celebrimbor's. In my opinion, when Sauron freed Celebrimbor from the illusion it was even crueler, because he forced Celebrimbor to contemplate all the death and destruction in his kingdom and the ruin of everything he had built.

The crying was an interesting touch to the moment. We have Sauron murdering Celebrimbor in a blind rage, frustrated at being denied, desperate to get the Rings back. Then he starts crying? It shook us all, I'd say.

Crying is a very contradictory emotion. People believe it is about sadness and/or weakness. But it is not just that. In general, in moments of great frustration or anger it is extremely common to cry. Or in moments of disappointment, and Sauron was disappointed, wasn't he?

Celebrimbor was supposed to be his partner, his ally. The one who would help him heal Middle-earth and bring peace. But as is often the case in Sauron’s life, when people don’t see his point, he kills them.

Like he tried to drown Galadriel in season one, like he brutally murdered Celebrimbor. This is yet another moment of Sauron’s difficulty with being rejected or denied.

In Sauron's mind, he is the great victim. Because Sauron truly believes he wants peace and healing. But it is not the ideal healing or the right peace, because everything under Sauron's control is corrupt and twisted.

Sauron is the Great Deceiver. And his greatest deception is his own. Because to Sauron, he is not like Melkor. He does not seek to destroy, he seeks to heal, even if he follows the path of destruction to do so.

It's almost the same thing, isn't it? However, Sauron believes it. He is the hero of his story.

The curious thing about Tolkien's universe is that it is possible to like countless couples. Míriel and Elendil? Not a couple, but it could be. Sam and Frodo? Not a couple, but it could be. The same with Annatar and Celebrimbor.

I would say that it is obvious that the producers did not think about the romantic context, but that this idea may not have been completely discarded. Celebrimbor and Sauron is a very old couple idea in the fandom.

And the chemistry is there thanks to the wonderful acting of Charlie E. and Charlie V. I don't think Sauron would get romantically attached to anyone, but I think it's like Charlie said, attraction comes from mutual respect. So I believe Sauron could "like" someone. And Celebrimbor was fascinated, but who wouldn't be? We all were.

Thank you Charlie! Can we all see the light now and stop fighting? I would say it is almost impossible for Sauron to love someone. Especially if it is romantic love.

I believe Sauron considered Galadriel to be somewhat of an equal. Someone he could use in his plan, but also someone he hoped would understand his side.

Sauron, in my opinion, saw himself in Galadriel. A being attracted to darkness, to power. Sounds a lot like him, doesn't it? I don't think he wanted her as his queen for the romantic idea, but for the partnership.

The final fight was fantastic to watch. The connection between the characters and the actors helped make it all more real. It was a chaotic but interesting reunion. Galadriel and Sauron were meeting after their last argument. It was definitely an intense moment for both of them.

Sauron was not made to love like Elves and Men. Sauron is a Maia, he lives only by partnerships. Morgoth, Celebrimbor, Galadriel. Sauron expected an ally on his path of "healing Middle-earth" and I agree with Charlie, he preferred to kill Galadriel when he understood that she would never help him.

It's obvious he didn't think she was dead, right? Since Sauron was able to be in Galadriel's mind at Lindon, he could then just check when she fell if she was alive, right? Elves are strong, the wound from the crown was the biggest risk, not the fall.

Not to mention Nenya, he must have imagined that the Elven Rings could help Galadriel.

Yes! The mind prism was so interesting. If you think about it, it's a terrifying power of Sauron's. His victims are trapped in his total control. No matter what's going on in the world around them, they are blind to it.

Sauron makes his victims puppets in his hands. That is why he kept Celebrimbor isolated, is it not? Others would notice the destruction of the forge and alert Celebrimbor.

Looking back, this was how the scenes were taking place. Galadriel was not on the high seas, only her mind, everything around her remained the same. And I believe that if Elrond had arrived a little earlier he would have discovered everything.

The same with Celebrimbor. Everything around him has been twisted so that he believes he is in the forge in peace and safety.

Charlie is a Tolkien boy in the making. The show is what sparked my interest in Tolkien's universe even further. I've read a lot of the books since the first season. I'd love to hear Charlie's thoughts on Sauron in the books.

I'm really curious to see how Charlie will be in the new season. Honestly, I loved Jack as Mairon/Sauron and would like to see more flashbacks of his character.

However, I hope Sauron retains Charlie's essence. I understand it this way, Jack's Mairon was Sauron's original form after he left with Morgoth. And Sauron loses his ability to take a fair form after the fall of Númenor.

So I believe that Sauron's new form (Halbrand) should influence his new forms, because I don't think he can look like Jack (red-haired Sauron) anymore.

If season 3 is set in Númenor, this Halbrand Annatar mix would be perfect. Ar-Pharazôn saw Sauron in the Palantír, it's the form he knows. But the addition of Annatar would give Sauron more divinity. I'll be thinking about that now, damn it.

Yes yes! Just release a third season, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth. I don't care, I would watch it until the end of my days.

I was going to say "I cried at the arrow scene" But when have I not cried watching the show? That scene was so powerful and profound. When it was announced that Sauron would be playing Annatar in Eregion, everyone was expecting that scene. But I don't think we really imagined what it would be like.

It was different from the book, yes, but I liked it. And I think that this moment taking place only between Sauron and Celebrimbor made it more intimate and intense.

Ah! What I wouldn't give to see Charlie training with archery and missing all the targets. And especially to see Morfydd being good at archery. As I said before, Prime Video, release a big bts of the entire production!

So is there a chance of this scene happening? Don't fill me with doubts, because I'm so curious! If this scene happens I'll die (both from joy for following the books and from sadness!)

For a show that gets so much hate from haters and has so many fights between fans, I'm happy to know that the experience is still a good one. That they can still enjoy their time together and find joy in the show.

Charlie seems like a lovely person. I have enjoyed all of Charlie's shows I have seen and I was captivated by his acting. I hope he's enjoying his life as a married man and father. I wish the best for Charlie and his beautiful family.

Like Charlie, I would like to witness all of these events. And I believe that the Fall of Númenor will happen in the series, as well as the creation of the One Ring.

Maybe it will be towards the end, like the war between the Elves and Sauron, but I have strong hope that we will witness all of this.

When we have Sauron at the end of episode eight, alone on the cliff with Fëanor's hammer, I believe that was when he decided that he would need to be the villain to heal Middle-earth, that for him that was the only way forward.

Who will win the nine rings? This keeps me up at night. Will Sauron disguise himself as the king of the Southlands to deliver the Rings to Men? After all, apart from the Elves and Dwarves, humans don't know that Sauron is Halbrand.

I hadn't thought about it until now, but I know it won't leave my thoughts any time soon!

[pinkcelestialstar]

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧*̥˚ the runaway bride *̥˚✧

--- • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆----

Context: Bada Lee and you have been girlfriends for almost 7 years. And today she was getting married but not to you, to an old man who was almost 60 something, who her parents chose since he was wealthy and they could benefit from the money too.

Warnings: smut with a plot. Exhibitionism.

You were standing in the crowd wearing a sundress as you watched the love of your life being married to someone else, your eyes stinging in tears. Bada was holding the bouquet too tight as her knuckles turned white. She was shaking in controlling the tears.

The priest asks her to say the vow, "I-" you scream, "Stop this! Stop this! Stop this!!" You say as you run to her, crying, and throw yourself in her arms.

She catches you easily, lifting you up and spinning around in a tight hug. The dress flares out around you both as she cries too. She sets you down and kisses you deeply, not caring about the shocked gasps from the guests or the angry glares from her parents.

Breaks the kiss slowly, but keeps holding you close. Her voice becomes firm when she addresses her parents "I've been trying to tell you both - I don't want this life. I want her. I want our life together." She gestures between you and her

Her father stands up, his face red with anger "You ungrateful little-!" But Bada cuts him off, her voice cold and commanding "No. I'm done being ungrateful. I'm done being a pawn in your schemes. I love her."

He gets angry, "guards! Get this stupid girl out of here!" He points at you. You pull out a pocket knife from your dress pocket and show it to them as your hand shakes slightly. "Don't you dare".

Her father chuckles, "Dumb girl, you think a pocket knife can stop them?" You then pull Bada by the arm and place the knife on her throat, "I guess, now it would. If she isn't mine, she'll be nobody's."

Everyone freezes. Guards try to get close to you. "Stay where you are, or she'll be gone" you threatened, all panic. You whisper discreetly in Bada's ear, "Babe, play along, act scared."

She whispers back "Love you." Then louder, with a slight tremble in her voice that's half-pretend "She means it... she's crazy enough to do it."

The room goes completely silent, the tension palpable. The guards begin to sweat, clearly uncomfortable with this standoff. Bada's father's face turns a deeper shade of red, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Bada's father stays rooted to the spot, his eyes locked onto the knife at his daughter's neck. He swallows hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He sees the cold determination in your eyes and realizes you're not bluffing.

You pretend to drag Bada towards the exit by her arm while the knife is still in your other hand. "Guards!" Her dad screams, you quickly throw her in the passenger seat as you get in the driver seat of your car which is ready and drive away fast.

You drive it fast as you hear the guards and her parents' car following you behind. You take many turns trying to lose them. Finally, when they lose you, you pull the car to a secluded place.

You throw yourself to her and cry in fear and adrenaline rush from all the stunts you both pulled. She catches you easily, pulling you closer despite your shaking. She kisses you passionately, her fingers tangling in your hair. When the kiss breaks, she gently strokes your face "You were brilliant," she whispers, her voice full of admiration.

You sniffle, looking at her with tear-filled eyes. She then says, "We can't stay here for long; what now?" You say, "Let's go somewhere else and start over everything...?" She smiles at your idea. A new life with you, away from her toxic parents is the best she could ever ask for. She nods.

"Fine, starting over it is. Why don't we just book a place to stay for today and plan everything out?" She asks, to which you nod.

After checking into a sleek, modern hotel under a fake identity, Bada leads you to the room. Once inside, she locks the door and turns to you, a small smile on her face. "We're safe... for now," she says, setting your bag down on the nearby table.

You fall on the bed, calming yourself from the high of the events that took place. "Finally, we can breathe," she says softly, starting to unzip the back of her elegant gown. She moves gracefully across the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor "Though I must say, seeing you boss my father around was quite... exciting."

You chuckle, your eyes fall on her body now that she has taken off her gown, leaving her in lingerie. "Hmm....now that we're here...why don't we relax for a while...?" You say suggestively, while your eyes roam of her figure.

"Relax? After all that?" She moves closer to the bed, her eyes sparkling with mischief "Well, you did save me from an unwanted marriage..." She reaches to the straps of your dress, "So I guess we can..." She slowly begins to slide the straps down.

You bite your lip, getting excited already, "So wanna do it?" She smirks, slowly nodding as she continues to push your dress down. The dress falls further, revealing more of your skin. "I thought you'd never ask," she murmurs, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. Her hands roam over your body, exploring every curve, pushing you back on the bed.

She follows you down, her kisses growing more urgent as she settles between your legs. She pulls the dress up and over your head, tossing it aside before reaching for your underwear. "These have to go," she says, hooking her fingers into the sides and pulling them down your legs.

You nod, eyes hooded as she takes your panties off. "The bag...strapon....there.." you say breathlessly as you point to your bag. Her eyes widen in realization, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She chuckles darkly, reaching into your bag. She pulls out the strap-on, holding it up by the harness. "My favorite toy,"

"ngh...I thought it would be useful in ....emergencies..." you say breathlessly.

She laughs, attaching the strap-on to herself. She climbs back onto the bed, between your legs. "Well, I'd say this is an emergency," she teases, grabbing the lube from your bag. "Hold still," she commands, squirting a generous amount onto the toy.

Her voice drops to a husky whisper "Tell me how you want it..." She positions herself, running the tip of the toy between your thighs "Hard? Slow? Maybe both?" she teases, knowing exactly how to drive you crazy with anticipation "Or should I just..."

"However you like," you say, your voice ragged. Her expression darkens with lust. "Silly answer," she scolds, slapping your thigh playfully. She spits on the toy for good measure, rubbing the lube and her saliva over it.

Meanwhile, her parents who were looking for their innocent daughter who was "kidnapped" by you, were afraid of what you might have done to her. They somehow find your location and come there, with the old groom. They barge into the room only to hear and see....

"....mommy!!" Your desperate cry and you were on your fours getting pounded by their daughter, who was just in her lingerie while you were naked. Without missing a beat, she grabs your hips and continues to thrust slowly inside you, "Tsk tsk tsk... Father, Mother... weren't you taught to knock?" She speaks with a sultry voice, intentionally drawing out each word.

The old groom gasps and his jaw drops at the sight. The old groom accused her parents: "You both planned to marry HER to me?! She isn't a Virgin probably and doesn't even act like a proper woman!!"

The room was just filled with your cries and moans and skin-slapping sounds.

She slaps one of your ass cheeks, leaving a red handprint, wrapping her hand around your throat as she rides you on your fours, "That's correct, I'm not a virgin... I've had her many times now, like this...and we've done every possible thing you can think of when it came to sex." She increases her pace, driving into you harder and faster. "And I fucking love it!"

The old groom's eyes widen in disbelief and outrage. He turns to Bada's parents, pointing an accusatory finger. "You lied to me! You told me she was a virgin, pure and untouched! But she's not, she's a filthy whore who fucks women and enjoys it!"

Bada's mother gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Her father's face turns red with anger and embarrassment. The old groom continues ranting "And she isn't even acting like a proper woman!"

She slams into you especially hard, making you moan loudly "That's right! I love being a whore for this one. And I'd choose her over any old man any day!" She slams into you again and again, enjoying the show they're putting on. You shake violently as she keeps hitting that one spot; you're crying loud, and all you can do is moan.

With another smack on your ass, you cum hard. Bada's mother finally finds her voice, standing up and pointing at you. "You... you filthy, disgusting creature! You've disgraced our family!" The old man keeps blabbering since he didn't get what he wanted.

Bada chuckles, "If I had married you, I think your asshole would be in danger since I'm not the type to be a bottom. Right baby?" She tells the groom as she slapped your ass, to which you whimpered. The old man stands humiliated.

She continues fucking you steadily through your orgasm, deliberately ignoring the scandalized reactions from her parents and the old groom. "We don't give a fuck about the pathetic societal rules anymore" Reaches around to pinch your nipples.

The old groom storms out, disgusted. Bada's parents look at each other, horror-struck. Her father finally speaks, his voice shaking with anger and disappointment. "You two... you're disgracing our family name!"

"Great, another reason to hate us," Bada says sarcastically, continuing to play with your hair as she lies behind on top of you, still connected by the toy. Her mother speaks up, her voice trembling. "Bada, act like a lady!"

Stays positioned inside you, not pulling out "And what exactly would a 'lady' do in this situation? Politely thank the groom for his wedding proposal while spreading her legs for him? No thanks... I'd rather be a 'whore' with the person I truly love."

Her parents stand there, frozen in outrage and disbelief. Her mother finally finds her voice, spitting out the words. "You ungrateful, shameful, disgusting...!" She points an accusatory finger at you. "You're a perverted influence on our daughter!"

Her father steps forward, his face contorted with anger. "You think you can just throw us out and live happily ever after with our daughter? We'll make sure you two are outcasts! No one will accept you as a couple!" He told you before turning to Bada "And you..."

"You'll be disowned. You'll have no family, no inheritance, nothing." He spits out the words, attempting to hurt Bada with the threat of losing her family's wealth and status.

You both don't seem affected by their words. He storms out, slamming the door behind him. His wife follows, casting one last glare at the two of you before leaving. The room falls silent, finally empty of Bada's parents.

You both laugh together. She pulls the strap out of you and lays next to you, pulling you onto her chest and holding you close. "Seems like you're free now" you chuckle as you told bada. Grinning mischievously, she cuddles next to you on the bed. "Seems like it. We're officially outcasts now. No family, no friends who'll support our marriage, nothing." She giggles "We're on our own."

"wanna move to a new place and get married?" You ask, eyes gleaming.

Her eyes light up with excitement. "Let's do it. Let's pack our bags and move to a new city, where nobody knows us. We can get married there, start a new life, just the two of us." She squeezes you tight in her arms.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

My exams are close, I'm doomed....bye

[zoennes]

“We met up once and it wasn't even a date. I did it for Amber. You know how she's always going on about Senne. So… Last Friday I asked him to cancel that gathering. But in exchange, for half an hour I had to…”

“Kiss?”

“Talk [to him].”

Zoenne + 30 minutes

[abyssal-ilk]

i have mixed feelings overall about the dialogue between vivienne and cole, mainly because cole's prodding at her (and all of the other companions, really) feels so invasive and there is nothing we can do to get him to actually stop, BUT.

i cannot get over this piece of banter. it's forever living in my head

[bittersweetresilience]

say hi to me i don't know, i just remembered being so much brighter, i guess

cigarette ash like wildfire burning holes in the nighttime open scars feel like barbed wire white lies flying high like a ceasefire dropping flags on the shoreline this is as far as i can feel right 'cause what you don't know can haunt you

and all we ever wanted was sunlight and honesty highlights to want to repeat let's get away from here and live like the movies do i won't mind when it's over at least i didn't think for a while

don't drag it out living like that doesn't mean a thing

so let's, make a great escape and i'll be waiting outside for the getaway it doesn't matter who we are we'll keep running through the dark and all we'll ever need is another day we can slow down 'cause tomorrow is a mile away and live like shooting stars 'cause happy endings hardest to fake

and i wanna let you know i wanna let you go but i just can't bring myself to speak but this is how it goes the end credits, they roll this bridge was built over kerosene but we can watch it and all i ever wanted was sunlight and honesty highlights to want to repeat let's get away from here and live like the movies do i won't mind when it's over at least i didn't think

so let's run, make a great escape and i'll be waiting outside for the getaway it doesn't matter who we are we'll keep running through the dark and all we'll ever need is another day we can slow down 'cause tomorrow is a mile away and live like shooting stars you can wish away forever but you'll never find a thing like today