#and ‘you know with complete certainty that you are as safe as you will ever be’

[lovelessmotel]

since taz v dracula is over, ive decided to start steeplechase and justin mcelory made me cry just during the setup episode so like. what the fuck

[citrinae]

holding hands with them.

contents; cloying, tooth-rotting fluff. goes well with coffee to cleanse the palate. there might be one itty-bitty mention of marineford. 🎀 

ft. east blue 5

masterlist

⋆ ˚｡༄ luffy 

the boldest one out there. if he feels like taking you by the hand, he’ll go ahead and do it, no matter the time or place. like everything about him, luffy won’t be any subtle when holding your hand either, swinging it with the widest smile, whistling a merry tune as you head your way. his hands may feel a little sticky from whatever he’s eaten at the time, but there’s also a comforting warmth to them sending butterflies to your stomach. when he holds your hand, he does it tightly, assertively, like he has never ever doubted his decision to let you enter his life.  

sometimes the thought of having a special someone to explore new places with has him so excited that he just grabs you by the wrist, or cups his hand around yours. he will lightly squeeze your palm with his thumb each time he wants to grab your attention to something he knows will make you smile, laugh, or both. at least once he tried to see how far his hand could bend from yours (pretty far, it’s all rubber after all). 

in a dangerous situation, a fight especially, there will be times when he will unconsciously search for your hand, an unsaid promise that he won’t lose. he will also do it as a way to assure himself that you’re still there, and you’re safe, a habit that might have something to do with marineford but he hadn’t realised he picked up until meeting you. he can’t afford to lose you, and feeling your hand into his is the one certainty that he's grown stronger and capable of protecting his dearest ones.

⋆ ˚｡༄ zoro

even before it became clear to you that what you’re having breaks the norms of a friendship, it had been a habit to sunbathe together on the ship's deck. his lids would slowly fall close, tanned skin sliced in the light, hair ruffled by the breeze, and you would watch him fade into a distant universe as sleep took you over. 

you can’t tell if the first time it happened was more than the mere remembrance of a dream, but what’s certain is that soon enough you started to fall asleep to the peaceful sensation of his fingertips reaching yours, closer and closer each time, until one day you woke up to find your hand completely clasped in his. your mouth hitched into a small smile, wondering if this had ever happened before, or it was simply a moment you would forget before happening a second time. even now, you still find yourselves interlocking fingers in your sleep. he also likes to drape an arm over your shoulder, taking hold of your hand as he does, especially before falling asleep together. 

his hands are roughed up and battered from swordfighting; however they feel like velvet as they touch you, at first watchfully and only for a few fleeting seconds, and then with more certainty. he may still show some signs of hesitation when it comes to holding hands in plain sight, but he will gladly accept it if you’re the initiator. your hands will often find each other under tables, on his lap, around a bottle of booze if the two of you are out drinking. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ nami

from time to time she may come up with different excuses for holding your hand. at first, it was when she offered to help you carry your shopping bag, “i left my perfume in there, i can’t afford to lose it because you were careless with the loot.” your fingers touched, and she left them there for a second, the realisation that she could be affectionate with you without feeling vulnerable rushing to her head like a shot of rum.

soon after you would start to notice her fingertips linger on several occasions. passing the sugar, applying sunscreen, asking you to lay out some maps for her. her skin is smooth and laced with the smell of tangerines and coconut milk. extremely well-kept. if she knows you’re reaching a more perilous portion of the sea (which luffy will insist on crossing), nami will take you by the hand, and you will estimate how scared she is by the tightness of her grip. 

definitely a fan of the one-finger hold. whenever the crew is free to take a breather and wander about a new island, nami will cheerfully jump out of the ship and offer you her arm, the space between you remaining roped along the way by nothing more but your tangled pinkies. at the dinner table, your fingers will often stay linked in the same way, a casual, subtle gesture, but a reminder that you will always have each other’s backs. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ usopp

another one to hold your hand if the seas you’re going across are overfilled with monsters, but unlike nami, god usopp will do it to show off his bravery. he’s there to protect you, he goes on and on, and usually this will be accompanied by a story of his earliest travels on the sea. and yet, one questionable sound is all it takes for him to leap into your arms, later excused as his way to tell you that there once was this gruesome pirate lord who almost fell overboard in fear, but luckily he was there to catch them. captain usopp is nothing but a merciful soul.

extremely open and affectionate with his partner. when it comes to holding your hand, he won’t hesitate to do it in front of everyone so they all see he could pull someone as awesome as you. when he’s testing a new weapon, he loves it when you come from behind and place your hands on top of his, guiding each other towards your target. i feel that, with usopp, there will be plenty of moments where your hands will just top each other, during dinner or a party or simply while assisting him in the workshop. 

speaking of which. he works with his hands a lot, so they may catch a certain metallic scent, scarce traces of gunpowder under his nails and into his skin. but each time you end up cuddling under the stars and his hands tangle with yours, you begin to feel even more comforted since getting to notice these little things about him means you couldn’t be any closer. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ sanji

if it isn’t the ultimate sucker for hand-holding. believe it or not, to him this pretty much seals the status of your relationship, so at the very beginning when things were rather uncertain between you, his worst nightmare would have been to initiate such an intimate gesture and be rejected. that was also around the time you started to do grocery shopping together, two forms pushing past the lively crowds, taking the moment to enjoy each other’s company somewhere away from the crew. 

sanji jolted when he felt the back of your hands brushing against each other, and then your forefinger coiling around his own, an open invite that paused the world for him for a couple of seconds. loosening the knot of his tie, he took your hand in his, fingers eagerly interlacing into a most soothing grip. ever since your relationship became established, you’ve come to notice that he often attempts to hold your hand, and each time he finds it, it’s a promise that you will always have his full and irrevocable attention. 

his hands carry the smell of the cigarettes he smokes, combined with that of some herbs he’s used in the kitchen, and seafood at worst times. they are smooth like silk when wrapped around yours, and emanate warmth each time he gently starts to stroke the skin with his thumb. he’d hold hands with you pretty much anywhere, but the times he feels the most relaxed are at the railing of the ship, during a cigarette break, or while walking behind the rest, leaving the impression of a freshly married couple on their honeymoon. 

[tootiecakes234]

Satoru Gojo “Is the type of boyfriend” that:

Is ALWAYS in your personal space. He has to constantly be touching you when he’s in your presence.

Gossips with you about everything happening in the Jujutsu world. You know every scheme and secret.

Gets upset and throw tantrums when he feels he’s being ignored and the only way to make it up to him is through payment, the currency being kisses.

Never tells you when something is bothering him, but he gets worse at hiding it the closer he gets to you. Never denies you when you try to cheer him up.

Has a sugar crash after he’s gotten into a ton of sweets and whines to you before he finally tires out and falls asleep wherever he is.

Forgets to eat often because he’s so busy, but really appreciates that you feed him whether it is buying him a meal or cooking it for him.

Gets overly affectionate when he thinks someone is flirting with you. Kisses and hangs off you til they get the picture and back tf up.

Calls you the most horrendous pet names ie: baby cakes, honey muffin, wifey, turtle dove my love, any stupid thing that pops into his mind.

Watches reality tv with you and makes commentary with you about the entire cast.

Would end the entire fucking world if you ever got hurt especially if it had anything to do with him.

Does not mind dropping a bag on you. Something you want, tell him and it’s yours

Used to cry alone at night but now has a safe place to cry in your arms.

Tells you more about his relationship with Geto than anyone else. All the good, all the bad, and everything in between because he trusts you with complete certainty.

Actually brags to you about all of his students and how brilliant they are, specifically Megumi (secretly his fave even tho he says he doesn’t have favorites)

Receives love through physical touch and words of affirmation and gives love through physical touch and quality time.

Can’t picture his life without you and holds on so tight because he’s afraid one day he’ll lose you.

*these are very fun to do. I’m gonna do Kirishima, and Izuku as well…. May also do a Sanji🤭

Satoru Gojo Masterlist

“Is the type of boyfriend that” Series

Tootie’s Tags: @dreamcastgirl99 @xxvendettaxx @jays-adventure3 @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @mintsbubbletea @darkstarlight82 @anon-mouse223 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @i-literally-cant-with-this @flowerbedbaby @kit-katsukii @blaize-hewwo @tippy-toes @superlegend216 @liliththeunqualifiedsimp @burgvndy @yoyolovesdaiki @zaiban2989 @citrustsuki-2

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Against the wall

05/24/2024

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,917

Warnings: rpf, alcohol, pining, naughty thoughts, fluff

Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a room full of people to figure out you want nothing more than to be alone with that one person.

A/N: Guys, this was written in a fevered frenzy. Haven't felt the muse in months and don't know whether she did a good job, but I am so happy she is not dead.

Picture is a screen cap from this video

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

If you enjoy my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

She had forgotten how much she loathed being in a room full of people. Maybe it was a condition that came with age, to appreciate silence and solitude, or maybe, just maybe, it was entirely his fault. 

Her back leaning against the wall, his hand was splayed out right next to her head, supporting the weight of his body as he leant in slightly so he could focus on her voice above the noise of the bustling room. He had never been this close to her, so close she could smell the intoxication scent of his body, and in an instant the chatter was drowned out by the wild drum of her heart, which in turn made it one of the most challenging tasks she had ever had to face to string her words together into meaningful sentences. 

But it seemed she had somehow succeeded, against all odds, as he turned his head to look at her, his face so close now that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. And as if that had not been enough to clear every coherent thought from her head, he chose to turn his lips up into the most dazzling smile upon her silly joke. 

It made her dizzy, combined with the sparkle in his eyes it was an almost deadly combination, impossible to resist. It had captured her completely. He had captured her completely, occupied her every thought in a way that was bordering on concerning, for her sanity, maybe even for the idea of feminism she lived by, but even more so for the very essence of her existence. 

She had seen it all so clearly, a happy future, no one to bother her, especially no man to cause her even more worries than she already had. Just her, the path in front of her clearly mapped out. And then he had crossed her way, and it had dawned on her that what she had deemed the perfect life would seem like nothing but a cheap substitute next to a life with him. Certainly, she could still be happy without him—if she needed to. 

The problem was, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to live a life without the sound of his laughter, without his twisted sense of humour and the way he looked at her when they were engaged in a conversation, as if there was no one else in this world, as if it was only him and her. He made her feel secure in a way no one ever had. When he entered the room, she could feel her shoulders relax, her breath going more easily and the galloping of her heart slowing in pace. And when she talked to him, it was as if she had never done anything else in her entire life. There was nothing of the usual unease or urge to appeal between them that might, under different circumstances or with a different man, lead her to a point at which she had either moulded herself into a completely different person or where everything meaningful she had wanted to say and that had been phrased so clearly in her head became lost somewhere on the way from her brain to her mouth. With him though, she could just be herself, safe in the knowledge that he would not judge or tire of her at some point. 

If only she knew with the same certainty if he felt the same. Obviously he did enjoy talking to her as well, or he wouldn’t be standing here right now, choosing to talk to her when he had a room full of people to choose from. But did he also hang on her lips like she did on his? Did he also wonder if they were just as soft as he imagined them to be? And would he like her to step closer, or pull him closer to her instead? And when her hand rested against his chest then, would she feel the same thunderous beat that drummed behind her own ribs? Would it start to flutter as soon as their lips met and refuse to fall back into its regular rhythm until their bodies lay sweaty and spent, their desire finally sated? And in their blissed out state, would he hold her? Would he pull her that impossible inch closer and press the softest of kisses to her forehead, telling her all she needed to know without uttering a single word? Would he still be there in the morning to see her tousled hair and sleep-wrinkled face and look at her with the same affection she thought to find in his gaze right now? Would he—

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” His back still turned on the intruder, he gave her the most dramatic roll of his eyes she had ever seen, making it very hard for her to hide a snicker. “Come, there is someone I need you to meet.”

She wanted to protest, wanted to do whatever it took to keep him close, but before her brain had even been able to form a protest, he was being dragged away from her, his lips forming a silent apology. 

This social engagement was tedious. The thought came as somewhat of a surprise to him. There had been a time when he had truly enjoyed this kind of event, but tonight something just was not right about this party. Well, not ‘something’ as in an unknown factor that made this party different from other parties. It was not unknown to him at all. In fact, this evening had been perfectly enjoyable up until that moment he had been so rudely separated from her. 

She was still leaning casually against that wall, the only difference being that he was too far away from her now. To be fair, any distance that exceeded an arm’s length was too far for his taste. She on the other hand did not seem to mind his absence much, as someone else had already taken his place by her side to engage her in what appeared to be a most entertaining conversation. Not one glance did she spare him, while all he could focus on was the ludicrous attempt to will himself back into his old position, close to her. So close that her breath would waft across his neck again as she spoke, the heat of her body crawling over his skin. Maybe her hand would find him by accident—or intentionally, which would be all the better. After a moment he would return the favour, finally giving in to his longing to feel the smoothness of her skin against his fingertips.

Instead all he could feel was his mouth opening as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip of champagne. Would he be able to taste it on her tongue if she allowed him to kiss her? He almost hoped he would not be, because what he really desired to taste was her, the exquisite, singular flavour only she possessed. 

And still, that would not nearly be enough to sate his hunger. He wanted to taste all of her. Her lips, her skin, the moist heat at the apex of her thighs. He wanted her so much he could feel his mouth drying up upon the ardor of his wish, no, need for her.

What would it be like to have her? He had imagined it a thousand times over and yet there were so many questions still left unanswered. Would she voice her pleasure or enjoy in silence? Was it her wish to be the director of their passion play or did she want him to lead the way? Would his name glide over her lips in a soft moan or would she scream in ecstasy when they had finally reached the peak? Would she stay serious, caught up in desire, all the way through or would there be giggles and laughter? And what then, after they had given themselves to each other completely? Would she leave, seeing this as an experience best enjoyed once only? Or would she stay, her naked body resting against his in peaceful slumber, and allow real intimacy to begin? 

If it were his choice to make, he would know exactly what to choose. But he could not blame her if she opted for something different. Commitment was tough, and there had been times when he had thought that he, like so many others, was simply not built for it. But watching her now, he could not recall how he had ever been this blind about himself in the first place. 

It had been strange at first, that sense of belonging that always befell him when she was around, completely unexpected. But ever since he had felt it for the first time and realised its true meaning, it was as if he had discovered a law of nature, complex and yet so easy to understand, as if it had always been an inherent part of him.

Once again, the dryness he had felt earlier returned to his mouth, more demanding this time, until it had managed to push every other thought aside for a moment. Instinctively he set the glass to his lips, his eyes not once leaving her until he had lifted the bottom high enough to block his view. It had only been for the blink of an eye, but now he found himself almost choking on his final gulp when his eyes returned to find her spot against the wall empty all of a sudden.

Leaving without a goodbye was childish, she knew, but she just could not shake this nagging feeling that had befallen her out of the blue, that being in the same room with him without talking  to him or being able to at least be near him without looking as if she was running after him like a duckling was far worse than not being here at all. 

With a sigh she set down the glass on an empty table she passed on her way to the exit. What a waste, as it was almost half-full, but somehow it did not taste quite right, and so she left the rest of her drink behind, like the dream that she would ever be to him what he was to her. 

It was dark as she entered the hallway and the air felt uncomfortably cool in contrast to the air inside that had been heated by all those bodies. Their chatter was still following her now, echoing from the walls left and right. 

It must have obscured the noise of his steps, or maybe they had not made any sound at all. Otherwise she would have recognised their rhythm from a mile away. But instead, she only realised that he was there as his warm hand closed around her wrist and gently brought her to a stop. And despite the fact that she had halted her steps almost instantly, she had not expected him to be this close now as she turned, so close that she could see the startled expression of her eyes reflected in his own. So dark, so green. 

He did not utter a single word. He did not have to. She knew when his grip on her loosened and his fingers softly glided between hers. She smiled, and so did he. And then, slowly, they began to walk.

taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

[worldlxvlys]

my eyes only (part 6)

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: cursing

a/n: hope you enjoy <33

previous part

CHRIS’S POV

what the hell am i doing ?

i just climbed out of her window like a teenage boy.

i needed to get out of there. all i could think about since she went to talk to charlie was what she said, “he’s convinced that you’re in love with me.”

the words themselves aren’t what freaked me out, so much as the fact that they were true.

of course they were true, who wouldn’t fall in love with her?

i loved her so much that it scared me. i was so dependent on her, i don’t know what i’d do without her.

i’ve known that i had feelings for her for a while, and i was even set to confess them to her right before her and charlie got together.

the words were on the tip of my tongue, but i chickened out at the last minute.

because at the end of the day, i’d rather be her friend and in pain than completely lose her.

i refuse to lose her. i have not gone through years of pining for her just to fuck it up now.

and, i will admit, fucking her and sneaking out of the window ? not my best move.

but i panicked in the moment, and resorted to what i do best, running from my problems.

it was too late to go back once i snuck out, but i was going to do everything in my power to fix it.

hence, the reason i was trudging through the rain towards the local plaza that was the perfect walking distance from her house.

i’m not fucking up this time.

READER’S POV

it had been an hour since chris left. i had no way to contact him, because he managed to forget his phone in my room.

him not having any way to communicate with anyone worried me, as he had no way to ask anyone for a ride home.

i had decided i was going to drive around and see if i could find him, just to make sure he was safe.

i grabbed my phone and his, along with my car keys and stepped out into the pouring rain.

i locked my door behind me and started to make my way down my drive way to my car, but stopped halfway when i spotted chris already there.

his hair was soaking wet, his once light grey hoodie now a darker hue as it was saturated in rain.

he held a giant bouquet of flowers in his left hand, a plastic bag hanging from his right.

“chris” i breathed out, as i walked towards him.

“you scared the shit out of me” i yelled over the rain, watching as his eyes widened.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have left like that. i just got overwhelmed and i didn’t even think before i left”

he placed the flowers down on the hood of my car, freeing his hand.

he moved my hair out of my face, cupping my cheek.

“i just- i’m in love with you” he spoke as he swallowed harshly.

my eyes widened at his confession, and my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest.

his cheeks and nose were red due to the cold rain dripping down his face.

“and i’m scared. i don’t want to do anything to fuck up our relationship, because i need you in my life. i’d never forgive myself for scaring you away” his eyes bounced back and forth between mine and my head began to spin under his intense gaze.

“and watching the way charlie treated you for so long killed me. but i’d go through that a hundred more times if it meant having you in my life. because then, at least i’d be here to take care of you. that’s all i ever want to do, for the rest of my life. i just wanna be here for you and look out for you.”

“and if i’m freaking you out we can pretend like this never happened, but please don’t run away. i can’t lose you, i need you” he spoke with certainty, like he knew for a fact that he couldn’t live without me.

“please say something” he whispered.

i continued to stare at him in shock, trying to process the fact that i wasn’t dreaming.

this was the moment that i’d been waiting for for years.

i spent so long wishing that chris would long for me the way that i did him.

and here he stood, in front of me in the pouring rain, telling me what i’ve been trying to muster up the courage to tell him.

it’s like i was living the life of a main character in a romance novel.

like the movie scene that every teenage girl dreams that she’ll find herself in.

it felt so surreal, i couldn’t even think of the right words to say.

so instead of speaking, i did the next best thing.

i grabbed the bottom of his hoodie, bunching it up and using it to pull his lips to mine.

this kiss was different than any of the other ones we’d shared, even a few hours ago.

every unspoken emotion that we shoved down and were too scared to express, was poured into the kiss.

it was almost like we were starting over.

the rain washed away every feeling of sadness and pain that we had previously experienced.

the kiss introduced us to the happiness, love, and passion that we had to look forward to.

it was always there, but sometimes it was easy for the negative feelings to overpower and bury them.

he dropped the bag that he was holding, snaking his hand around my waist.

i tilted my head, deepening the kiss as our lips moved against each others.

i silently prayed that he couldn’t hear the uncontrollable pace that my heart was beating at.

his wet fingertips grazed my jawline, making me shudder against him.

despite the coolness of his skin, every touch to my waist seemed to make my skin heat up.

when we finally needed air, we pulled away from each other.

my eyes were still closed as my swollen lips tingled, aching for the touch of his again.

chris moved in again, pressing his lips to mine tenderly, making me laugh.

i pulled away slightly, prompting his lips to follow mine.

before he could kiss me again, though, i spoke up,” i love you too” i whispered.

“and i have for years. my relationship with charlie was a sad attempt at getting over you” i said, making him chuckle at me.

“you’re the only person i’ll ever want, chris. it’s just you. and i’m not going anywhere, ok? you have me” i said as i smiled up at him.

a wide smile broke onto his face as he pulled me in for another kiss.

suddenly remembering something, i pulled away from him.

“hey, did you know that a rain kiss is on my bucket list ?” i asked excitedly.

“i know” he smiled at me before pulling me in again.

MY EYES ONLY ->

🌀🌀🌀🌀

this is literally based on @hearts4chriss + chris’s love story, i be taking notes when she tells me abt it 😝

main masterlist

my eyes only masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @heraakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette @leah-loves-lilies @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07

[xveenusx]

Three Seconds

Paring(s): jj maybank x fem!reader

Summary: three seconds is all it takes for things to fall apart

Side note: A lot of my writing is going to be either smut or heavy on the heartbreak lol, very few happy endings

Part 2: And Yet...

———————————————-

One. Two. Three

Three seconds.

One. Two. Three.

Three seconds of silence was all it took for him to completely shut me out. His blonde hair striking against the hue of the sky while his piercing blue eyes stare at me, pleading me to agree.

I opened my mouth to speak yet nothing came out. Instead, a wave of panic spread throughout my body causing an intense feeling of suffocation. My thoughts raced as I realized how serious the situation was.

“We’re sick of your shit.”

“Oh, my shit?” JJ let’s put a humorless laugh before shaking his head.

Kie’s eyes dart to mine before she takes a step towards him, looking at him with such disappointment. “You’re pulling guns on people shit.”

I can tell they’re all waiting for me to jump in, to talk some sense into JJ but for some reason my feet are glued to the floor and my throat is tight and no words are coming out.

Instead, my gaze is locked on the grey duffel bag set at his feet, filled with cash.

Cash that he stole from a drug dealer who had a gun to my head an hour ago.

Anxiety coursed through my veins as my stomach swayed with nausea. I wring my hands together trying to create some type of grounding.

“You need to tell him. Tell him this isn’t what we’re doing.” Pope steps in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders.

JJ’s gaze was burning a whole right through my head and it took every bit of strength I had to meet his stare head on.

I understood him. Everything he’s ever done, as rash and reckless as he was, there was always a reason. That was something our friends never understood about him, they just played it off as JJ being JJ. This money, as stupid as it was, he needed. It could give him every bit a freedom JJ needed away from his dad.

Luke was cruel and uncaring. Consistently spitting venom at him, reminding of how disappointing and useless JJ is. So, I understand. I would have taken the money too if it gave me some peace away from home.

Sarah and Kie, as sweet and loving as they are, will never understand. They were born Kooks, had homes on figure 8 with parents who love them. They didn’t need this money, but we did. And yet, I knew he couldn’t take the money. We were entering entirely knew territory with gold and guns and there was no certainty that we would be safe.

Barry knew exactly who we were. The moment he pulled the gun, the nuzzle pointed directly at JJ, the boy I’ve been in love with since I was 14, all color drained from my face. My body trembled in fear as I let out a shout and reached for him but Barry switched positions. Suddenly, the gun was pressed against my temple as he shouted demands. But for a brief moment, there was a sense of relief because it was no longer on JJ and I could breathe again. This feeling, this sickening choking panic, I don’t ever want to feel again.

The cut was a small place and if not taking the money meant JJ would be safe then it was a small price to pay. But, I know him. I know he’s not going to understand how I see it but rather take it as a betrayal.

One. Two. Three.

JJ says nothing as his eyes rake over every inch of my face. Three seconds was all it took for him to completely close off.

That choking panic I mentioned earlier? Came back tenth-fold as it finally clicked.

“Jayj…” I reached out to touch his arm, the bracelets I gave him mockingly dangling from his wrist as he jerks away from me.

“Don’t.”

My chest tightened as I drew my hand back, fumbling with my fingers nervously.

JJ ripped his hat off his head before roughly running his hand through his hair. He started to pace, twisting the hat in his hands before stopping in front of all of us.

My heart ached at his obvious distress but I knew my input was the last he wanted now. As far as he was concerned, I didn’t care about him.

Pope let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re acting like a maniac-“

“Pope, I took the fall for you man. Do you know how much money I owe because of you?”

“I’m going to pay you back. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I just did. I just did pay it back. “ JJ takes a step forward, pressing his palms on Pope’s chest, shoving him back. “Right here, right now, by myself.”

“Let’s just calm-“ JJ’s glare stopped me in my tracks. He regarded me coldly, his face giving nothing away to the storm that raged in his ice blue orbs.

“Oh what? You suddenly decide you have something to say? Where were you five fucking minutes ago?”

I swallowed hard. “Can I please just explain-“

“Explain what? The fact that you know I need this money and you’re going to act like this is some big moral issue, ” JJ kept his hard set gaze on me, drilling holes into me, daring me to move. “How did you like having a gun pointed at you, huh?”

“You mean the same gun that I stepped in front of because seeing it pointed at you nearly made me sick to my stomach?” I spat, shaking my head at him.

This wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to do this to me. Not now.

He said nothing to me, instead he turned his gaze to the Twinkie, twisting his ring around his finger anxiously.

“JJ, you take this money, you open the door for a whole lot of other shit. You think Barry’s just going to let you take it?”

“Listen to your girlfriend, man.” John B stepped up, clapping JJ on the back.

JJ shrugged him off as he took three quick steps towards me, forcing me to tilt my head up at him.

“What girlfriend?” He spat, his eyes darting in between mine, before settling into a sick satisfaction at my sharp in take of breath.

“JJ-“

“You know what?” He stated, bending down to grab the duffel. “I’m going to go off by myself.”

“You don’t get to do this shit.” I snapped as I reached for the duffel and tugged it towards me. “You want to treat me like shit? Fine, I dont care as long as I don’t find you dead in a ditch.”

JJ blinked at me and said nothing. The only thing giving away his emotion is the tightened grip on the bag.

“Go, then. Since you’re so eager to leave, but you’re not taking the money.” My breath came out short as the anger pounds through my blood.

“Or what? You’re gonna stop me? Last time I checked, I didn't need a god damn hang on.” I wince at the anger in his voice and fight the urge to shut down.

"Stop acting like you don't care , JJ. "

“I expected this from them, but never you.” His ring covered fingers danced along my chin, before he gripped it tightly forcing my eyes on him. “You were supposed to have my back. You told me that you got me, that you understand me. All I know now is that you a fucking liar.”

“I’m trying to protect you.” I plead, “Why can’t you see that?”

JJ scoffs, “Protect me? What do you think is gonna happen if I don’t pay back the restitution?”

“We can find another way-“

“I DONT have anything else.” He shouted in my face, his façade finally cracking under the pressure. “What don’t you understand? This is all I fucking have.”

I felt my grip on the bag weaken as I processed his words. It was normal for JJ to lash out when he felt cornered, but it was never directed at me.

My body trembled as I stared at him with a look I can only describe as broken. “You have me.”

I spoke the words softly knowing if I spoke any louder, the shake in my voice would give me away.

One. Two. Three.

Three seconds was all it took for him to completely and utterly break me.

“That’s not enough.”

Whatever fight I had left, fled from my body as my fingers let go of the duffel. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting back the tears that threaten to escape.

“You win, JJ.”

My eyes slowly traced every part of his face. From the sun grazed blonde strands that laid in a messy heap on his head, to the bronze tan arms from spending hours out on the waves that complimented his bright blue eyes.

I waited for what felt like hours, but was a mere moment, for JJ to take it back. For him to apologize and pull me into his arms. Instead, we just stared at each other, no one saying a word.

Then, he tilted his head turned around and left, leaving what felt like a blazing trail of carnage in his wake.

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of my body. Small hands wrap themselves around me as my legs suddenly feel like they’ve been kicked out from under me. The familiar sweet scent of Sarah filled my nose, as she pulled me into her arms, physically holding me up.

[reneglowzs]

Under His Control

844wrds

Song of the story: I Put A Spell On You - Annie Lennox

She stood in the center of the room, heart pounding as she waited, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze lowered to the floor. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a sweet tension that coiled tight in her stomach. She could hear his footsteps approaching, each one deliberate, measured, sending a shiver of both excitement and nervousness down her spine.

When he finally entered, the air seemed to thicken, the weight of his presence making her feel small, vulnerable, yet safe in a way that only he could make her feel. She didn’t look up, didn’t move, knowing that he wanted her to stay just like this—waiting, ready for whatever he decided.

"Lewis," she breathed, his name a quiet plea on her lips, though she wasn’t even sure what she was asking for. Maybe permission, maybe reassurance, maybe just a sign that she was doing everything right.

He came closer, his fingers brushing her cheek, a soft touch that made her skin tingle. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice calm and controlled, yet carrying a weight that sent warmth flooding through her. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to look up, to meet his eyes, but knowing that he preferred her like this—obedient, willing.

He tilted her chin up with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with a heat that made her knees weak. "You’re mine tonight," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "You’ll do exactly as I say, won’t you?"

"Yes, Lewis," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, not from fear but from the overwhelming need to please him. The way he looked at her, the way his words wrapped around her, made her feel cherished, treasured, but also completely at his mercy.

He smiled, a slow, approving curve of his lips that made her heart race. "That’s what I like to hear," he said, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "Now, be a good girl and kneel for me."

She sank to her knees without hesitation, the act itself a submission that made her feel both vulnerable and empowered in his presence. She waited, her hands resting lightly on her thighs, her head bowed, knowing that he was watching her and taking in every detail of her obedience.

Lewis stepped closer, his hand sliding into her hair, tugging gently but firmly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "You look beautiful like this," he said, his voice low and filled with satisfaction. "So eager to please, so willing to submit. Are you ready to be mine?"

Her breath caught, her entire body humming with anticipation. "Yes sir" she answered, her voice filled with quiet certainty. "I’m ready."

"Good," he whispered, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Because tonight, you’re going to be everything I want."

"Hands behind your back," he commanded softly, his voice dark and smooth like velvet, a tone that made her heart race. Without hesitation, she complied, feeling the thrill of submission as she placed her hands behind her back, her fingers trembling slightly with the eagerness to please him.

She heard the soft clink of metal as he retrieved the cuffs, the sound alone sending a wave of heat through her body. The cool touch of steel against her skin as he fastened the cuffs around her wrists was a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands. 

With her hands now restrained, she felt a surge of vulnerability, but also a deep sense of trust. She was completely at his mercy, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. He stepped around to face her, his gaze intense, filled with a dark promise that sent her pulse skyrocketing.

"You look perfect like this," Lewis murmured, his eyes tracing the lines of her body, taking in the sight of her standing there, bound and willing. "So ready to be taken, aren’t you?"

She nodded, her breath hitching as he reached out, his fingers tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Yes, Sir," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of desire and anticipation. "I’m yours."

He smiled, a slow, predatory grin that made her knees weak. Without warning, he pushed her back onto the bed, his movements quick and decisive. She landed on the soft sheets, her hands still secured behind her, her body arching slightly as he leaned over her, his presence overwhelming.

He didn’t waste time. His hands moved over her body, exploring, claiming, his touch a mix of rough and gentle that left her gasping for breath. With her hands restrained, every sensation was heightened, every touch more intense, more electrifying.

"Do you know what I’m going to do to you?" Lewis whispered against her ear, his voice low, sending shivers down her spine.

She shook her head, unable to form words, her mind clouded with need, with the overwhelming desire to submit completely to whatever he had in store.

"I’m going to take my time with you,".

"Make you beg for it."

[is-on-its-way]

The moment Mulder quits

A point in which Mulder was ready to quit the minute he saw Scully hold a baby in season 7 and its effects in season 8

*this is my headcanon, its not gospel obviously Firstly, two scenes that are very linked in my head

Season 7 Ep 22 Requiem and Season 8 Ep 16 Three Words

Look at that face. That dead serious, at all costs face.

Season 7

Requiem. The culmination of Scully and Mulder's secret yearish? long quest for a baby. They've tried for a baby with IVF already. Mulder has promised her he wont give up on a miracle for her and they're well... trying basically, throughout season 7. Perhaps I would call it "hoping" for a baby. Maybe Mulder is hoping and Scully is characteristically ambivalent? Fully not using any contraceptives and I know there's a fic in there somewhere, anyway

The first scene above is why Ive never watched past the season 8 finale. nothing past them agreeing to be a family makes any sense because of Mulders face here. People knock Duchovny for not showing out when acting, but I will always be a defender of subtle acting. The way he can say an entire monologue of dialogue with the minute expressions on his face is quite breathtaking here.

Hes goes from sorrow at Scully not being able to have a baby, sorrow at her loss, sorrow at not being able to give her that; to regret at what he thinks is all his fault, at dragging her into this life; to pure love and affection for her seeing this baby in her lap and how good she is with him; and then a smile peaks out. A smile of hope that could compete with the Mona Lisa. Hope for their future and the certainty with which he knows what he wants so clearly, maybe for the first time in his life. His own family.

Like for the first time hes really deciding the cost is too much and he chooses her over the mission. He chooses their future over everything. And he's hopeful and perhaps even happy about it. which for someone with his amount of family trauma is a seismic shift. For so long he's chased the past in hope of fixing it, completely discombobulated and reckless in his search for well, his family.

Though, from the beginning of that moment in the rainy graveyard, he has slowly unconsciously coming to regard Scully as his family. In small gestures, a hand on her cheek or voicing out loud how important she is to him; to big gestures, giving up who he believes is his actual sister to save her.

We are lucky here, to be able to witness the moment the sparks of unconscious thought bloom into the flame of certainty. He follows up as well. Tells her she has to stay, that the cost doesn't outweigh the price anymore. Sure he wants to finish out this case, but he doesn't work without her, thats been established. Him telling her to stop, is his resignation as well. (There's a fit there too, with Skinner and him on the plane probably Skinner already knowing he's done.)

Thomas Flight praises subtly in acting better than I could ever articulate here:

Season 8

Mulder was weird and the PTSD was implied, but I choose to see it everywhere. After the moment in three words where Mulder tries to let them go gently because he thinks he's too damaged to be a father (Thanks @randomfoggytiger for the meta on that) (there's a fic here obviously where Scully gives him the space to be broken and also hers) After this though, he's not the Mulder as we've seen, ever. He's not the Mulder who

cares about exposing the government so he can say I told you so

cares about saving the public from the invasion

cares about finding the ultimate truth that has driven him since he found the X files

cares about solving cases and one upping the FBI, trying to force them to admit the truth out loud.

Mulder is fighting the entire season for his family.

he cares about exposing the conspiracy so everyone including his child will be safe.

he cares about saving the earth for his child's future

he cares about his childs and his families safety

he has zero concern about the FBI and what they do anymore.

In the second scene above, he's about had it with the entire conspiracy and he's downright pissed. He wants it all to end he doesn't care how. He wants to protect his child above everything. Sure he's usually reckless but this isn't for him and his self involved cause anymore, it's for his family, his wellbeing be damned at some points along the way. He states his thesis in three words while breaking into FBI files in an astonishing show of recklessness

"Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

I always wondered why he was putting Scully through all that, without realising this was the reason. Poor guy. There's nothing else in his purview anymore besides that baby who's in danger, and his family, so much so, when he is ultimately fired from the FBI, he's positively giddy at his newfound freedom.

If he had then gone down a path temporarily where he murdered his way through the remnants of the syndicate to assure the safety of his family John Wick style, I would've absolutely believed it.

It would've been insanely intriguing look at an evolving dynamic between Scully and Mulder. Scully law abiding Mulder reckless as always but with a different motivation. Becoming what he's always feared, to protect the family he has never had. A family he feels like he's only grasping at, as they're slipping through his fingers due to the danger and his recent and past traumas.

There's a reason a lot of the fandom sees Mulder as a happy stay at home dad post wherever they decide to end watching. Thats what he's been searching for his entire life. A happy family with loving parents. When he let go of that dream for himself in Closure, he found he could want that for his future family whatever that looked like (adoption, a miracle, etc.) in Requiem. And I personally don't believe he ever would let that dream go once he realised, I mean we all saw the devotion he had to his sister right?

In other words these are my reasons season 9 onwards make zero sense and I regard them as AU

[starlightshadowsworld]

Bsd except the Agency never gets the tiger case.

Atsushi ends up in Yokohama and manages to steal the wallet of a passerby. There's not much but after being homeless for 2 weeks and starving, it's more than enough.

He gets some chazuke and leaves while some bandaged weirdo starts flirting with the waitress.

Atsushi knows he should get away, he can't stay in one place for too long. But he's tired and one bowl of chakuze is hardly enough to fill him for long. He curls up under the bridge and takes a quick nap.

The police detectives are too proud to ask for the Agencies help and go all out. When the tiger is seen in Yokohama, they manage to set a trap and detain it.

Things become a lot more complicated when day breaks and the man eating tiger turns into a scared boy. An ability user, and though many are suspicious Detective Minoura is not.

He sits by the cell of the kid, Atsushi and asks his questions. He learns Atsushi was kicked out of an orphanage 2 weeks ago, lining up with the tiger sightings.

And he has no idea he's the tiger, a conversation that was not fun to have. He knows Atsushi is genuine, that's he's scared. He'd love to let him go. But kids dangerous, too dangerous even if he's never hurt anyone.

It hurts his pride as a detective to even consider what he's about to do. But his pride should never come at the cost of innocent lives.

"So that's the story, if I was going by the book the kid would be arrested. Whether he knew it or not he caused a lot of terror, fear and a lot of property damage."

"And yet you aren't going by the book, you instead came here to me." Said Fukuzawa, taking a sip of his tea as he oberseved the police detective. "He doesn't deserve it. I couldn't get much out of him, but the kids been through hell. I'll take the punishment if it gets him out."

Fukuzawa nodded "we don't often meet eye to eye detective, but today I can say with certainty we do. You've done your job, now let us play our part."

Minoura nodded, relieved.

"Just... Please don't send Mr Super Genuis to deal with it." Fukuzawa chuckles, there's a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and Minoura sighed inwardly. He wanted to regret this but he couldn't.

Not even when Ranpo waltzed into the police precinct like he owned the place with a bright smile at getting to order the officers around.

His smile wavered slightly when he took in Atsushi. Minoura could see concern and anger flicker across his face before the smile returned and he told Atsushi he was breaking out of here.

The light returning to Atsushi's eyes told Minoura he'd made the right choice.

Atsushi was cautious. He stuck by Minoura the whole time as the paperwork was completed. Which was fair, he was maybe the only person who'd treated him kindly and Ranpo was a lot for anyone.

And yet, Minoura could tell Ranpo was putting on his best behaviour.

Seeing Atsushi's hesitation Minoura sat him down. "Hey, kid. These are... Friends of mine, they'll keep you safe." Seems like the kid wasn't used to hearing that and Minoura softened.

He scribbled down his number and handed it to him. "You ever get in trouble. You ever feel unsafe or afraid, you call me okay." Atsushi was surprised but took the written phone number like it was something precious.

He'd be okay, Minoura might not like the Agency but they were borderline feral in their protectivness over their loved ones. And hell, if anyone gave that kid trouble he'd make good on his promise.

[dennieshmany]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ʀᴇꜰʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴇʟʟ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ

-Chrollo holds onto your soul, even long into your demise-

-Word count: 800-

(Yandere!Chrollo X Dead-GN-Reader!)

There was an eerie feeling in the air, a pensive tension that couldn't be dismissed. Of course, you wished nothing more than for peace, for freedom from your current cage of hell. 

But with such sweet certainty, there was no way in hell you’d ever escape the grasps of who caught you. Not even death would allow you freedom. 

To your admission, you’d met Chrollo before. But by meeting, that meant a brief glance every time you passed him on the street, within the safe bounds of your street, your home, a place you’d never suspected to have criminal activity. You’d had no conscious idea of what he was capable of. 

Like a caged animal you’d soon become, prey to a looming predator, you were clueless. Meaninglessly brushing shoulders as you crossed the road that were forgotten on your mind were forever engraved into his. But like prey, it always dies at the hands of the predator.  

You’d never held a conversation with him, never once spoken a mere word. Exchanges of glances at most, just as you did with every passerby. 

To everyone else, it was almost as if you were a ghost, even long before your pitiful demise. 

Perhaps if you had been more attentive, more interested, you would never be caught in the mess you were in now. 

Chained to a post in a bedroom that you could not call home. 

At least the chain allowed for complete freedom within the bounds of those four walls. But the moment you stepped too close to the door, leading to who knows what, a burning sensation would break out along your skin. A tug would pull at your ankle until you were forced back into submission, back into the small convinds. 

You sighed softly, watching the steam from your breath disappear as if you’d never breathed in the first place.

A window was the only place you could dare to venture to. It was small, but it showed you a peace from the outside world that you longed for. 

Even if it was just cars passing by, looking like tiny ants from the high up apartment you’d been coddled into. It let you know the world was still going, still moving. 

Which in itself was a comfort. 

Chrollo had vanished a couple of hours ago, leaving you to your window with attempts of a sweet domestic goodbye, one you did not reciprocate. 

You hated him.

More than life itself. 

Death. It was the only path of escape reasonable, but with the baby proofing done to ensure your safety, you couldn't even begin to fathom a way for you to harm yourself in a way that would end your life relatively quickly. At least, for when you were alive you had hoped for such. 

Even then, hours of pain and suffering would be worth it if it would escape his bounds. 

“You stare out that window alot, my love.” You hadn’t heard him come home, or enter the room, but even if you’d been paying attention, what good would that do. 

You tucked closer in on yourself, holding your legs close to your chest. “Outside is prettier than in here with you.” Your words were soft and muttered, fear for if you lashed out, he would constrain you further, chains preventing you from properly being able to see out of your only source of freedom. 

“Oh dear, prettier than I,” he chuckled smooth like honey. “Prettier than you?” 

“How would I know?” You whispered, eyes slowly turning to him. “The only reflection within this hell is in your eyes.” 

He approached, reeking of washed off blood. Sharp and metallic along your senses. “Then why not stare until you see what it is you are looking for?” 

Your face pulled into disgust, though you were quick to whip it off. “Because I fear a monster like you would turn me into stone.” 

“A beautiful statue you’d be.” His words brought yet another bitter look to your face, head turning away. 

“Your vanity should be studied.” 

“I'd allow you to study me to your heart's desires.” You could feel a small heat radiating off him, indicating he was close, far too close. 

“I would rather study anything else.” You blinked, noticing his reflection within the mirror, but not yours. 

You sighed softly, looking over at him. 

“What is it, my love?” 

“You hold onto nothing more than a memory of me, Chrollo. How long will you allow these chains to rot against my skin.” You words were said with a ghastly air, in vain and in pain. 

“For even in your death you comfort me, my love.” His hand reached out for you, but it was all too evident that he would never touch nor reach you. 

“Then you will die of your own obsession as I did.” 

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

First time I've ever posted anything on Tumblr (lowkey shitting balls). Just a small dribble of something that I couldn't get off my mind! I hope to write more in the future <3

[bigasswritingmagnet]

The End - Or Lack Thereof

Fandom: Girl Genius

Pairing: Oggie/Oggie's Wife

Summary: Radka has a surprise for Ognian, but before she gets a chance to figure out how to tell him about their little plot twist, he surprises her with one of his own: it's his turn to be offered the Jägerdraught.

If he lives, it's a comedy.

If he dies, Radka gets to be the main character in her own romantic tragedy, complete with a child to remember him by.

If she leaves and never comes back, she never has to know.

AO3 Link

Radka had been standing in the road for approximately ten minutes, staring blankly at the Jӓger camp that sprawled before her like a rotting wound on the once-green farmland. Crops had been uprooted, fences smashed, animals...well. The less said, the better. Judging by the column of smoke, somewhere in the heart of the clusters of tents was a farmhouse, and it was burning.

It was a familiar sight, one that usually inspired excitement and anticipation—of new stories to trade, coin to be made, a bed to be warmed.

Her hand pressed against her abdomen.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Everyone knew you drank your maiden’s cup anew each morning, but Radka, in her great wisdom, had acted as if it ran on a clock. As if it kept working right up to the last second, that she would be just as safe at 23 hours and 59 minutes as she was an hour after she drank.

Radka realized she was berating herself as a way to delay the inevitable, and forced herself to walk. Her feet were almost as heavy as her mind, which was struggling to think of how to even begin this conversation.

Hey Oggie, guess what?

Oggie! Remember how you said you liked surprises?

Hello Ognian, so good to see you. How are you? I’m pregnant.

Damn it all.

They had never put a word to this thing between them. Red fire, Ognian was still, after three years, always pleasantly surprised when she walked into his tent and began to take his clothes off. The topic of children was not something that came up casually in conversation—and why they ever think to speak of such a thing, when there was no they to be doing the thinking? It was just her and him, two lives that occasionally intersected.

And he was…what he was. Thrilling and dangerous in a not-dangerous-to-her-personally sort of way. She could not even take an educated guess as to how he might react.

Abruptly she shot out of her revery and realized that she was alone. The tents were empty. Cooking fires had gone out, even the coals gone dead from neglect. It was not a case of everyone dropping what they’d been doing, though—she could see tent flaps tied down neatly, weapons stored away.

In the distance, she heard revelry.

It was a muddle of laughter and shouting that spoke of more excitement than high spirits, the kind she heard on the times she had come across them before they’d struck a town, rather than after. Normally, Radka would change direction, find a town they had already passed and try again later. Long before the Jӓgers, Radka had learned that pre-fight nerves in soldiers made for a boisterousness that did not lend itself well to listening.

But she knew for a fact this wasn’t the case. She had just passed through Tottenburg—or what remained of it.

She pressed her hand to her abdomen again, and followed the sound.

The farmhouse was indeed aflame, a roaring bonfire around which every monster, human-shaped or otherwise, was carousing, drinking heavily and laughing and chanting soldier’s songs of blood and sex and brotherhood. The fire burned so hot she could feel it even at a distance, the wicked heat of flames run wild.

For once in her life, Radka did not want to be the center of attention, so she hovered at the edges, moving carefully and quietly, searching for Ognian. So frenzied were the Heterodyne’s men, no one even noticed her.

She found him as one of five humans half-lost under a pile of Jӓgermonsters, who were all slapping them on the back and ruffling their hair, howling with laughter and excitement.

A sick certainty filled her, ice flooding her insides.

Their eyes met, and Oggie’s face lit up in a way that was normally very pleasing; he squirmed out of the tangle of bodies and charged towards her.

Ognian snatched her up by the waist and lifted her off the ground, whirling her around as he laughed wildly. The light of the fire gleamed off his teeth and shadowed his eyes, making him look sharp and dangerous. For the first time, she could see him for the nightmare he was to Europa—and could imagine him as the nightmare he wanted to become.

“It’s my turn!” he cried. He dropped her back down on her feet and kissed her, hard. Breathless with exhilaration, he said “Tonight, Hy drink de Jӓgerdraught.”

The cold feeling turned to a sweeping numbness. She forced a smile.

“Congratulations,” she managed. Oggie did not notice the strain in her voice; too caught up in the moment.

“Come drink vit us!” he said, grabbing her hand and tugging her forward. She dug in her heels and and tugged back.

“I have a better idea,” she said. “Let’s go to your tent and burn off some of that energy; I don’t want you to explode before you even get a chance to—” Her throat closed on the words, but again Oggie didn’t notice. He just laughed and soon they were racing through the empty rows of tents.

They tumbled into his tent, mouths locked together, but Radka’s mind wouldn’t shut up. She couldn’t remember the exact numbers—was it a little over half who survived? Less than half? One in ten?

“When tonight?” she said when she managed to get her lips free.

“Vut?” Oggie asked.

“You said tonight, the sun’s already setting.”

“Midnight,” Oggie said and burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that was less about something being funny and more a way to let out all the emotions boiling inside of you before your chest exploded.

Radka tossed her bag aside and buried her hands in his hair, dragging her teeth against his lip, trying to kiss him hard enough to quiet the thoughts in her head.

It was such a coincidence. The timing was perfect. The day, the exact day, and this time, just after the announcement, within hours of the event. If she’d gone a little slower, decided to wait until morning, the deed would have been done. She could be told that the father of her child was already dead, and she could leave some lover’s trinket to be buried with him, then wander off and grieve in peace.

But this.

Ognian, utterly ignorant of the maelstrom in Radka’s mind, tumbled them both down onto the bedroll—taking care as always to not land directly on top of her. He tried to untie her belt, but fumbled the knot so badly she had to slap his hands away and do it for him. Ognian grinned sheepishly.

“Nervous?” she asked. His grin widened.

“Nah,” he said, with utter confidence. “Hy’s too stupid to die, remember?”

She was going to have to be there when he died.

No, she wouldn’t be allowed to be present; she’d have to sit in the tent and wait for someone to come tell her. Sitting on the edge of her seat, waiting for the end. Would he live, would he die? Tragedy or comedy?

She was going to have to watch them bury him. Oh, but take comfort, dear audience, for she has someone to remember him by.

“Not if Death himself took you by the hand and showed you where to go.”

Radka dragged his shirt up over his head and he put his mouth to her neck, teeth dragging against her skin. She canted her hips to allow him to slide her trousers off. His hands moved slowly, his touch gentle, incongruous with the desperation of the mouth that was dragging teeth and tongue across her collarbone and breasts.

Nerves made her impatient; the moment her legs were free, she wrapped them tightly around his waist, pointedly. Though he held her close and trembled with need, he still moved so slowly.

Enough, she snapped at herself, enough. One way or another, this could be the last time, so pay attention.

Radka was not going to think about the future. She was not going to think about what would happen at midnight. She was not going to think about stories and endings.

She was not going to think about the fact that, however it ended, she would always have a piece of him with her.

They were both too full of nerves to be able to lay still and hold each other, so once they’d caught their breath, they got up and got dressed. Radka snuck glances at Ognian from the corner of her eyes. He was still tense, still excited, but no longer seemed like he might vibrate out of his skin.

“You’re really not nervous?” she asked, unable to stop herself. Ognian shot her a grin.

“Hy’z a comedy, remember? Ken’t be a tragedy unless Hy die.”

That’s not how it works, she wanted to tell him. It’s the other way around. You don’t know it’s a tragedy until you—

She paused, partway through buttoning up her top.

You never knew til it was over. If you got up and left the play partway through, then for you, the story never ended. The actors stayed where they were, suspended in that moment forever. Not living, but not dying, either. You never had to know.

Ognian suddenly stepped in, nudging her hands aside and doing up the buttons for her.

“Hy got a qvestion,” he said.

“Uh oh,” she said, automatically.

“Hyu still goink to let me kiss hyu vhen Hy get de new teeth?”

Ognian was not subtle. He might as well have just asked the question he was actually asking, for how it was written all over his face, and the way he wouldn’t look at her.

Will you still want me, when I am no longer human? When I have fangs and claws and wild eyes, will you still desire me? If I grow spikes and extra eyes, a third arm or a pair of antlers, will you still…care for me?

They’d never put a word to it.

She pressed her hand to his cheek. He glanced at her, then back down to the buttons, pretending to check if they were all done correctly.

That would be his tragedy, she realized. To survive the Jägerdraught, to get what he had wanted so much for so long, and have it cost him her…affection. For her to drift away, out of reach, as day by day he grew less and less human.

And Radka could not allay his fears because Radka wasn’t sure. The Jӓgermonsters did not repulse her, but neither did they attract her. Perhaps that…affection for Ognian would overcome it, but she would never know until they got there.

Questions you didn’t want an answer to were always questions you desperately wanted an answer to—but only if it was the one you wanted. They both wanted to know this would be a comedy. They did not want to know if it would be a tragedy.

Lying by omission was still a lie, but she did it anyway.

“Just promise you’ll learn to be careful with said teeth.”

He grinned and laughed and pulled her in close and she felt like a monster herself.

“Come up vit me to de party,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“No, I’ll just get in the way.”

“Vould make a real good story,” he wheedled.

“It’ll make a better one if I’m not getting in the way. Besides, I’ll have to leave for the big event anyway. Go,” she insisted. “Go have fun.”

She kissed him, and let the kiss linger, trying to lock every little bit of it into her mind.

Then he left.

Then she left.

And she did not look back.

[loveinhawkins]

you’re too young to be lost

Part 1 Part 2 ao3 (Complete)

Faintly, Dustin can hear Steve’s voice get calmer, but no less insistent.

“Eddie, what’s…? Okay, okay, I’m—”

The bathroom door clicks shut. Dustin strains to listen, but their voices are low and muffled; he can’t make out any words.

He sits up shakily, moves his leg with both hands so it’s stretched out in front of him. Remains on the last step, rests his head on one of his knees and just…

Breathes.

Footsteps, quick and light.

Steve.

Dustin doesn’t know when exactly he learned to tell who’s coming without looking, but he does remember thinking in The Upside Down that if everything was suddenly plunged into darkness, he’d still be able to know where Steve and Eddie were, just by listening to their footsteps.

Steve comes to a stop halfway down the stairs. Dustin hears him sigh, like he’s relieved and sad at the same time. Then he keeps walking, slower now, until Dustin can feel him sit down beside him, on the last step.

Dustin sniffs against his jeans. “Is Eddie okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Steve replies, and he says it reassuringly, but Dustin can’t help noticing that it’s not exactly a ‘yes.’ “He wanted me to come check on you.”

And that’s said like it’s what Steve would’ve done anyway. Like it’s an absolute certainty.

A hand in Dustin’s hair, gently ruffling through it.

“C’mon, lemme help you up.”

Dustin takes Steve’s hand reluctantly although it turns out he needs the support, his bad foot still unsteady beneath him. He doesn’t get it; he’s walked on it by himself in far worse circumstances, had done so in The Upside Down while Steve… took care of Eddie. Sure, he thought he was going to throw up from the pain, but he still managed it.

“There you go,” Steve says, and he guides Dustin over to one of the couches in the living room. His voice lowers, as if talking to himself: “Okay, ice, elevation…”

He props Dustin’s foot up with a couple of cushions before heading off to the kitchen. When he returns, he’s holding an ice pack, all official looking, kind of like the ones the school nurse has on hand.

“Okay, twenty minutes with this on it,” he says, carefully pressing the ice to Dustin’s ankle, “then we’ll rinse, repeat in a few hours.”

Dustin nods.

Steve tilts his head a little, forehead creased—like he doesn’t know what to do in the face of Dustin’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Can I take a look at your neck? Wanna make sure it’s clean.”

Dustin nods again.

Steve’s motions when he cleans Dustin’s neck with antiseptic wipes are practised, steady—the air of someone who’s done this countless times before. He probably has, Dustin reasons.

“Yeah, speaking from experience,” Steve says, and his voice sounds like he’s trying very hard to keep things light, “you don’t wanna just slap make-up straight on there.” He moves closer, hisses through his teeth when all the foundation is removed. “Shit, Henderson.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dustin says. “It didn’t even bleed, really.”

Steve blows out a breath. “Dustin—”

“You’ve had worse.”

Much worse.

Steve stares at him. “That… that doesn’t make it all right.”

Dustin shrugs. Looks away. He thinks of saying, Figured I should finally pull my weight when it comes to taking hits, something along those lines, but he knows Steve would never hear him out.

He’s thought about it, though. Had an awful lot of time to reckon with it, while waiting for Eddie to wake up in hospital: the thought that Eddie had leapt into danger to keep him safe. That Steve, too, could’ve easily been in a hospital bed multiple times over the years—escaping that possibility by the skin of his teeth.

Starcourt. Steve yelling at him to go.

Your fault.

Steve sighs. “Hey, look at me?” When Dustin does, he says, both gentle and serious, “Did you ever think that maybe, like, the one silver lining to getting the shit knocked outta me was so that you wouldn’t have to?”

And his voice has got this tone, a patience beyond his years, like he’s explaining that’s just the way the world works.

It rankles Dustin. He remembers Mike admitting once that before Will disappeared, the angriest he’d probably ever felt was when Nancy came home from school crying—that it suddenly didn’t matter if she was older or not: just that she was his sister, and he wanted to fix the world for her.

He thinks he feels something close to that anger, now.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You… you were a kid, too.”

You still are, he adds inside his head.

Because yes, he’s obviously always known that Steve’s older, but he equally knows that there’s not such a huge chasm between them. That Steve might try and carry himself like someone much older, like Hopper, but he shouldn’t be there yet, not even close—as if The Upside Down and everything else has forcibly pressed fast forward on his life.

Steve nods like he’s conceding the point. Then he says, “Yeah, but I got to be, what, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…” He trails off, counting the remaining years on his fingers. “All that without any alternate dimension shit.”

Dustin doesn’t think that’s all that good of a rebuttal. The thought must show on this face, because Steve chuckles and says, “How about we just agree that we’re both stubborn as fuck?”

Dustin tries to smile. “Yeah, okay.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m sorry, I… didn’t mean for Eddie to—” He glances down. “Didn’t mean to upset him.”

“You didn’t,” Steve says immediately and doesn’t back down even when Dustin shoots him a look of disbelief. “He’s… he was just scared for you, Dustin.”

His eyes linger on Dustin’s neck, the silent, ‘And so am I,’ made clear.

“Listen,” Steve continues after a pause, “remember when we went looking for your weird little slug? Dash or whatever.”

Dustin smiles and rolls his eyes. “Dart.”

“Sure, him. I think about that all the time, man.”

Dustin frowns in confusion. “You do?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve’s eyes go a little distant for a moment, like he’s walking the railroad tracks all over again. “Just damn grateful I bumped into you, like, you can’t even… And I’m so, so glad you told me stuff.” He gives Dustin an earnest look, eyes imploring. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“I just…” Dustin swallows. “I just wanted it to be over,” he admits in a whisper.

And Steve smiles sadly, like he can already tell Dustin isn’t talking about Gates and Monsters.

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s not your fault other people are dicks, okay? It’s not your fault.”

And Dustin can hear the unspoken Please tell me as loud as anything.

He digs deep. Opens his mouth.

Talks.

He does his best not to falter, tries to recount it like he would if he was on the walkie, just bringing everyone up to speed.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard.

When he gets to exactly what had been said that led him to throw a punch, Steve goes very still. He doesn’t say anything, like he’s holding in his anger for Dustin’s sake.

Dustin almost wants to tell him not to bother, that his own fury has kept burning ever since he heard it. That they can be angry together.

But then he reaches getting pushed up against the bathroom wall, and he finds that breathing is becoming more and more difficult.

He feels another sharp twist of guilt—that the point is surely what had been said about Eddie—but he suddenly can’t help thinking about what might’ve… He can almost feel the knife against his throat.

Nothing happened, really.

But he… he could have—

“Hey, hey,” Steve says softly. “You’re okay, Dustin. You’re okay.” He cups the back of Dustin’s head, breathes in and out slowly, a guide for Dustin to catch his breath.

Dustin tips forward slightly, heaves out juddering breaths as Steve holds him up. Eventually, little by little, his breathing comes easier.

“That’s it,” Steve says. “That’s it, just… yeah, there you go.” He squeezes Dustin’s shoulders. “Just gonna take the ice off for now, okay?”

He says it with a quiet reassurance, like he’s also saying You don’t have to talk anymore, not if you don’t want to. I’m so damn proud of you.

Dustin finally manages a good, deep breath as Steve removes the ice pack. Steve must notice, because as he stands up, he gives Dustin a relieved kind of smile.

“I’ll be five minutes max, all right? Just sit tight.”

Dustin listens to Steve go up the stairs. He again tries to pick up on any conversation coming from above, but he can’t hear anything—and in the silence, soon finds himself in a losing battle with sleep.

The next thing he knows, he feels a gentle hand on his head. It’s Eddie: he can feel the bottom of his rings, the care taken to ensure that they never once catch in Dustin’s hair, no matter how boisterous his hugs are.

Dustin’s getting slowly lowered down until his cheek rests on a pillow. He must make an involuntary, sleepy noise at the movement, because he hears Eddie whisper, “Shh, s’only me.”

The almost silent sound of a blanket being unfolded, then placed over him. Warmth.

He just hears fragments of speech, like the sensation of nodding off in a car—knowing that it’s him rather than the radio fading in and out.

“… he asleep?”

“Yeah, I… thought he… must be exhausted…”

And then he loses track of all words, of everything.

-

A faucet running. Scrape of a pan being brought out of the cupboard. Clatter of bowls on the counter.

“… just feel like… never gonna…”

“I know. Look, I can… talked to… gonna go up to the school.”

“Since when have… ever fucking cared?”

“I know, but… trying my best here.”

“… I know you… shit, Steve, I’m sorry.”

Dustin keeps his eyes closed. He drifts back into consciousness, becomes aware of the entire conversation around him when he hears Eddie mutter, like he’s despairing at himself, “Just what the fuck did I think I was doing?”

The click of a burner on the stove being switched on.

Steve’s reply is slow and careful. “What do you mean?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Hellfire. School. The whole fucking thing.”

“Eddie. Come on, you couldn’t have known that—”

“No, just let me—god, I might as well have painted the damn target on his back myself.”

Another click: the burner getting turned off.

“Eddie—”

“Don’t—I chose to—but he—” Eddie’s voice is growing increasingly strained. He inhales shakily. “Sometimes I wish I’d never—he’s just a kid, man, he shouldn’t have to—”

His voice breaks.

Dustin, ever so slowly, raises his head. Peeks over the top of the couch.

Eddie’s back is to him. He’s standing by the counter, shoulders shaking.

Steve is stepping away from the stove. He reaches Eddie, murmurs, “C’mere,” and just…

Holds onto him. Presses a kiss into his hair.

-

Dustin feigns sleep for another ten minutes or so, then begins to gradually ‘stir.’ Steve spots that he’s awake first, retrieves another ice pack for his ankle.

Eddie sits down on the other end of the couch, seems to make himself as small as possible in the corner—hunched up, staring as Wheel of Fortune plays on the T.V, as if suddenly fascinated by it.

Dustin repeatedly checks his watch, like that will make his allotted twenty minutes go any faster. When the time’s up, he immediately flings his ice pack off—“Oh sure, just get that all over the floor!” Steve calls from the kitchen, but he doesn’t sound all that concerned about it—and crawls gingerly over to Eddie.

It takes a few moments for Eddie to notice that Dustin’s moved; when he does, his eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Careful with your foot,” he says, too quiet.

“I’m fine.”

Silence. Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple times, deliberating.

“Hey, um. Henderson, I’ve—been thinking, and it’s… it’s fine if you don’t want to, uh… I’ll understand if—”

“Shut up,” Dustin says, as firm and gentle as he can make it.

Because there’s no way he can listen to Eddie finish that thought, no way he can listen to Eddie even suggest the idea that anyone should regret knowing him—as if that’s even possible. As if Dustin ever could.

“Starting high school would’ve sucked without you.” Dustin says it with as much feeling as he can, tries to make it impossible for Eddie to argue. “Dude, you know the Party rules: friends for life. No take backs.”

Eddie exhales with a slight shudder, like he’s been winded. Then, voice a little hoarse, he says, “O-okay. Can I… make another rule, then?”

Dustin pauses. Nods.

“If you’re…” Eddie swallows. “If anything like this ever happens again, you’ve gotta tell someone. Me or Steve or your mom or… just. Someone. A-and you… you’ve gotta give the full picture, I don’t care how ugly it is. Just. Christ, all that matters is your safety, okay?”

“That’s not all that matters,” Dustin says impulsively, thinking of dirty looks towards Eddie, of poisonous words.

“Yeah, it is,” Eddie says, a finality to his tone, like he’s somehow heard Dustin’s thoughts. “Look, Dustin…” He sighs. “It’s not your job to—to defend me, got it? Trust me, it… it means so much that you’d… means more than you’ll ever know.” He gives a knowing, bittersweet smile. “But you can’t fix the whole world.”

“I can try.”

Eddie laughs, choked with emotion. “And that’s a goddamn admirable sentiment. But nothing’s worth you getting hurt.” He hesitates, then opens his arms, and Dustin shuffles forward into a hug. “I can’t fucking bear the thought of you—of you—”

“Okay,” Dustin says. Hears Eddie’s breathing hitch, and holds on tight. “I’m okay.”

-

Steve makes spaghetti and meatballs, balances his own bowl on his knees while he sits directly on the floor—occasionally looks over at Dustin and Eddie sitting sprawled across each other with a fond smile.

For all the past heaviness, the rest of the night is light. Dustin takes advantage of Eddie’s distraction when he’s shouting out answers to quiz shows and steals a couple of his meatballs—though he suspects Eddie knows and just lets him get away with it.

And then, as it gets late, he begins to doze off, leaning against Eddie’s side. Feels a pair of arms around him.

Sleeps.

-

When he wakes, he’s back to being laid out on his usual spot on the couch, tucked in with the blanket.

He turns his head to see that Steve and Eddie are sleeping on the floor, atop a mattress they must have somehow brought downstairs without waking him up.

While Eddie has his back to the couch, Steve is facing it. And Dustin can tell from how they’re mirroring each other, arms outstretched, that they must’ve fallen asleep holding hands.

He smiles. Keeps smiling when Steve wakes up and catches him looking. He watches as some sort of understanding lights up Steve’s eyes; he winks at Dustin, as if in gratitude.

“Too early still,” Steve says kindly. “Go back to sleep.”

Dustin almost does so without thinking, but…

“I’ll be late for school?”

Steve shakes his head. “Called in for you. Said you’re sick.”

And at hearing that, Dustin feels a sudden flood of relief. He sighs. “Thanks.”

Steve shakes his head as if to say it was nothing. He continues, voice low so as not to disturb Eddie, “Got a meeting with the principal on Monday. Told Mike and Lucas to be careful, but that dickhead’s getting suspended already.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Steve says softly. “And… hey, we can talk it through later, but I think you should tell your mom. Thought we could go the meeting together.” He makes a face. “I know it’s not exactly gonna be, like, plain sailing, but… it’ll make things better, in the end. Trust me.”

Dustin pushes back the knee jerk discomfort around the thought of confiding in his mom, pushes back the instinct to not tell her anything. That belongs to the days of The Upside Down.

This is…

This is different.

And despite his initial misgivings, the idea of Steve and his mom being a united front makes him smile. They’ll be unstoppable, he thinks.

“Mm-hmm, trust you,” Dustin mumbles.

He knows there’ll still be a steep hill to climb; they can’t fix everything just like that. And yeah, the meeting might suck. But it kind of feels better already, that Steve and Eddie know. That he’s got a few days here, away from everything.

He listens to Steve yawning, to Eddie’s deep breathing, and lets them both lull him back to sleep.

[fishylikeakoi]

I think I fell in love with a vigilante - Jason Todd x Reader

First time trying in this format, let’s see if I’m still kicking lol.  

I (GN23) think I'm in love with one of the vigilantes in my city and this makes everything more complicated for the simple fact that he makes my job 10 times more difficult, being a nurse where I live is not an easy task. The vigilante (M23) in question isn’t someone accessible on a daily basis and is often seen as deadly by the criminals I end up looking after, I don't blame them, if I were one of them I would also die of fear just seeing the silhouette in the shadows. We met when he was almost unconscious and having a lot of difficulty getting from one ledge to another, landing disastrously on my balcony and casually covered in blood as if he had plunged into a river, I gathered all the strength in my body at the time and took courage to bring it inside my cramped apartment and, apparently, against the man's wishes.

After tending to his wounds properly and giving him some food, he disappeared through my balcony door and after that, we unconsciously created a routine by the way he returned daily and sometimes approached me on the street during my walk home, claiming that it was 'dangerous for me to walk alone through the city streets at such a late hour'.  - “The window is open, be careful with these shits.” He said, already entering through the window.

The hospital also benefited from this secret interaction, receiving large donations of equipment and money in the name of the security guard, now the criminals were “cataloged” by blood type and even some organs that were functioning for donations and I remember well having commented on this problem with him on one of our nights eating together. He is someone very kind despite his appearance and that is what caught my attention the most from the first day, from the way he makes sure my entire apartment is safe to putting his number as an emergency contact on my cell phone, fighting with me for not eating right and staying silent when I talk about his completely healthy habits like staying awake for more than 72 hours at a time.

He, with all the certainty in the world, must know who I am even though he didn't ask anything, after all he buys my forgiveness through things that interest me, homemade food and motorcycle rides until the wee hours of the morning even though he knows that I would forgive him easily, he insists on do this. I, on the other hand, don't question much about his life, even though the scars tell me it's painful and I probably won't like hearing the end of it. Every time I remember him my heart beats faster and my stomach stops working and my hands itch to touch his, to cover his helmet in kiss marks and then leave even more marks beneath it.

Honestly, I feel like a teenager confessing here, but my friend from work S (F19) insisted on writing and seeing what you think I should do, even though I knew the answers would be obvious at this point in the tournament. I don't know whether to update as I make some progress in our relationship (?) or pretend to have dementia if nothing works out, but one thing is certain; 

If he ever sees this, know that I won't try to deny it anymore, Red Hood.

[alexis-royce]

I had an absolutely delightful time at Goblin Market’s Fallen London LARP last night at GenCon! We were to be attending a New Year’s party (1899. The first time), and auction. There was an excellent mix of people familiar, unfamiliar, and those who only knew rumors about the setting, which made for a sumptuously cryptic atmosphere.

As you can see above, the hosts gave me a character who fit perfectly into my wheelhouse, and even included the major goal of obtaining an esoteric and completely safe volume of study on the higher secrets of The Correspondence.

The auction items had really fantastic and setting appropriate props chosen. It was fun to mention to the player looking for a soul that “that bottle looks quite interesting, don’t you agree? By the way, have you spoken with that kindly Devil yet?” I was a correspondent after all, so facilitating communication between people was a good extra goal to give myself. I would highly recommend that anyone who plays a LARP considers adopting this as a goal as well; getting the right people connected with each other is where Parlor LARPS shine brightly.

There was also a section of the room set aside to function as Parabola, so that people could share honey-dreams and certain factions could be included. They handwaved a little of the normal function so that players who didn’t want to do fictional drugs could still go to parabola and be included, and I think that was a smart choice.

Everyone was so much lovely fun to play with, cagey and secretive but honestly all so willing to work together, which you love to see. I often play folks with big secrets, so it was really fun to bluntly tell my goals to anyone and everyone I met. I also used my knowledge of the setting to speak cryptically about The Correspondence, giving my poor Nightmares 6 character too much to ever dream of communicating clearly.

Folks seemed to enjoy my character! I promised to share my research openly if I obtained the book, but I didn’t really have to do a lot of wheeling and dealing to get several learned Londoners funding my research. I also had my fude nib inked with my very own violant, and made a few echos jotting off quick (non-canon) correspondence symbols to those curious to learn “new words.”

The auction was still neck and neck, as an alchemist and I continued to outbid each other. Peace terms were offered, and rejected. After a heart-pounding bid in the last ten seconds of the auction, the forbidden volume was all mine. The GM informed me that my character was now aware of the nature of the Judgements and The Great Chain, and that the volume made an exceptionally compelling argument for the breaking of said chain.

My character subsequently (well, with an eye on the clock and an effort to ensure things were timed well enough that I wasn’t interrupting other plot lines) had a complete breakdown, telling all who were interested to bring as much prisoner’s honey for everyone who “wanted to know the truth.”

I cannot relate to you the specifics of what happened to those dozen people who found themselves sharing a honey-dream as I read. The only thing that can be said with certainty was the chanting, first quiet, then terribly loud, fists pounding against the surfaces of the Is-Not…

Break the chain.

Break the chain!

BREAK THE CHAIN!

Long story short, lovely party and charming company, would love to attend the next New Year’s of 1899.

Ta~

[fioredeciliego]

Chapter 4

Seoul, South Korea

2024

The evening light was fading, casting the Seoul skyline in hues of purple and blue. On the rooftop, Irene, Aeri, and Yizhuo gathered silently, each weighed down by the significance of their reunion. Below, the city buzzed with life, oblivious to the collision of past and present turmoil unfolding above. Irene, ever the observer, noted the subtle signs of tension in her teammates, the glances exchanged, the unspoken words heavy in the air. She could sense it—the memory of that night in Busan hung over them, cloaking them in a shared silence.

"Three years and we're back here again," Yizhuo finally murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of traffic. "Do you ever wonder if we could've saved them?"

Her words lingered, each syllable sharpening the edges of a memory none of them could escape. Aeri didn't answer immediately; she stared out across the skyline, jaw clenched, her fingers gripping the edge of the rooftop railing. She didn't need to speak—the pain in her eyes betrayed her answer.

"We're stronger now," Irene said flatly, her tone as unyielding as her gaze. "Focus on that."

But even as Irene spoke, her mind drifted back to that night, recalculating every detail, each decision, and each fault line that had formed between them. She had her reasons for pushing them to the brink, but a part of her wondered if she had been too harsh—if she'd underestimated the strength of those bonds.

Busan, South Korea

2021

The echo of the doors slamming shut behind them was deafening. Jimin, Y/N, and Minjeong stood frozen in the dim corridor, only the blinking red of the alarm lights casting shadows on their faces. Trapped. The weight of the realization sank in, each of them feeling the pulse of danger ratcheting up their heartbeats.

"Stay close," Jimin's voice was steady, a rare certainty cutting through the rising fear. Her fingers tightened around Y/N's, anchoring both of them.

Jimin's protective instinct surged, overriding her own fear. Every fiber of her being was focused on keeping Y/N safe, on finding a way out of this nightmare. She glanced at Minjeong, nodding for her to follow. But as Jimin moved forward, the walls seemed to close in, the oppressive sounds and shadows playing tricks on her mind.

Y/N could feel the walls closing in too, panic gnawing at her edges. But the sight of Jimin, calm and steady, grounded her. She trusted Jimin completely; even in this chaos, she felt an unbreakable bond between them. Yet something else flickered at the corner of her awareness—a glance from Minjeong, quiet but intense. Y/N couldn't shake the discomfort, even as fear overtook her thoughts.

Minjeong's gaze was sharp, her eyes betraying a conflict she could barely suppress. She had always admired Jimin's strength, but watching her with Y/N, a dark jealousy surfaced. She kept it hidden, pushing it down, knowing this wasn't the time. Still, the possessive edge remained, twisting her resolve into something stronger and darker.

"There's no way out, Jimin," Minjeong's voice was calm, though her eyes betrayed something else. "Not without backup."

Jimin's jaw tightened, and in that moment, Minjeong caught a flicker of acknowledgment from her—an understanding that went beyond words. But Jimin didn't respond, focusing instead on guiding Y/N through the narrow, dark hallways.

--

Aeri sat tense in the van, her eyes fixed on the monitor showing the three red blips still inside. Her fingers clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel, each second stretching painfully as the team's escape window began to close. Aeri could hear their voices in her earpiece, and each echo felt like a tightening vice. She caught Irene's calm voice through the line, but her own mind was consumed with one thought: they had to go in.

"We can't just sit here, Irene!" Aeri's voice was uncharacteristically strained. "They're trapped in there. We have to get them out."

Beside her, Yizhuo was equally tense, her eyes never leaving the monitors as she watched the dots move deeper into the complex. The usual light-heartedness in Yizhuo's demeanor was gone, replaced by a rare solemnity that struck Aeri as even more unnerving than the alarms blaring through their comms.

"Wait," Irene's voice was cold and calculated. "They need to find their own way. We'll only risk more lives if we move too soon."

Aeri shot a frustrated glare at the building, unable to comprehend Irene's calm. In her mind, every second counted—every breath taken without action was a betrayal of the team's loyalty. But Irene's words were as final as stone, and Aeri knew better than to argue further. Her gaze flickered to Yizhuo, hoping for support, but Yizhuo, too, seemed hesitant to cross Irene's commands.

"Trust me," Irene's voice broke through their hesitation. "They're capable of getting out."

Seoul, South Korea

2024

The Seoul skyline was bathed in twilight as Aeri's gaze hardened. She turned to Irene, the frustration she'd buried for years finally breaking free. Yizhuo stepped closer, her rare anger surfacing, standing beside Aeri in silent solidarity. Together, they demanded an answer for that night—why Irene had chosen to risk their lives, why she'd been so calculating in the face of their friends' fear.

"We could've lost them, Irene," Aeri's voice was thick with emotion. "You pushed them too far, and for what? To prove something?"

"We aren't just pawns, Irene," Yizhuo added, her gaze unwavering. "That night—everything fell apart because you wanted to test us."

Irene remained still, her expression unreadable. But her eyes betrayed a flicker of something—regret, perhaps. For a brief moment, her gaze softened as she looked at Aeri and Yizhuo, her carefully constructed mask cracking just slightly.

"Every bond has a breaking point," she replied quietly. "I needed to know yours."

The rooftop fell silent, the weight of Irene's words settling over them like a shroud. She turned away, casting her gaze over the city below, feeling the tension simmering but refusing to back down.

Busan, South Korea

2021

The shrill blare of alarms ricocheted off the walls as Jimin, Y/N, and Minjeong moved through the darkened corridors, their shadows flitting like hunted animals against the dim red emergency lights. Each of them breathed heavily, their lungs heaving from the relentless sprint, but they couldn't afford to slow down. The urgency coursed through them, thick and bitter.

"Jimin," Y/N's voice was strained, breath catching. "Where are we even going?"

"Anywhere that isn't here," Jimin shot back, glancing over her shoulder to offer her a brief but reassuring look. "We just need to keep moving."

Her fingers stayed locked around Y/N's, a silent promise that she wouldn't let her go. But as they turned a corner, Minjeong grabbed Jimin's arm, forcing her to halt. Her expression was tense, her jaw set as she scanned the hallway.

"There's another way," Minjeong said, her voice low but steady. "The east wing has fewer guards. We'd stand a better chance."

Jimin's eyes narrowed, but she didn't let go of Y/N. Something in Minjeong's calm grated at her nerves, like an itch she couldn't scratch. There was a hint of something more, an unspoken challenge that lingered beneath her words.

"And how do you know that?" Jimin asked, her tone edged with suspicion.

Minjeong met her gaze, her expression unwavering. "Trust me, Jimin. I know this place's layout. We don't have time to argue if you want to get her out alive."

Y/N's fingers tightened around Jimin's hand, a silent plea that barely masked her fear. Jimin clenched her jaw, battling the instinct to counter Minjeong's plan, but she forced herself to nod. She couldn't let her pride or her rivalry with Minjeong endanger Y/N.

"Fine," she bit out, finally letting Minjeong take the lead. But her eyes flickered with a challenge as she added, "But don't think for a second I'll let you take control."

Minjeong's mouth quirked in a faint, almost taunting smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, she led them down an unmarked corridor, her footsteps echoing in quick, sure strides. Y/N glanced between them, sensing the unspoken friction building in every exchange, the tension radiating like static electricity. But there was no time to dwell on it—the echo of heavy boots reverberated in the distance, signaling the guards' approach.

They rounded another corner just as three guards came into view, and Jimin's instincts kicked in. She shoved Y/N against the wall, pressing her close as she put herself between Y/N and the threat. Minjeong followed suit, her body poised like a coiled spring, hand hovering over the pistol strapped to her thigh.

"Stay still," Jimin whispered, her breath warm against Y/N's ear. "They won't see us if we don't make a sound."

Y/N's heart thundered in her chest as she watched the guards approach, each step sending a fresh wave of terror through her veins. She was acutely aware of Jimin's steadying presence, her protective stance a reassuring constant in the chaos. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Minjeong's intense gaze flicker between her and Jimin. Even now, Minjeong's focus was split, her attention split between the mission and the subtle rivalry simmering between her and Jimin.

The guards moved past them, oblivious to the trio concealed in the shadows. As soon as they were out of earshot, Minjeong signaled for them to keep moving. Her pace was brisk, calculated, and as they dashed through another darkened hallway, Y/N felt her pulse quicken. Every step felt like a heartbeat, pulsing with fear and adrenaline, amplifying the charged silence between them.

--

They finally reached a stairwell, but as they began descending, another alarm blared, followed by the clamor of footsteps below. Minjeong cursed under her breath.

"They're closing in on all sides," she said, glancing back at Jimin. "We're going to have to split up if we want any chance of getting out."

Jimin's grip on Y/N's hand tightened, and she shot Minjeong a hard look. "Absolutely not. We stay together."

"Then you're going to get us all killed," Minjeong snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. "Let me take Y/N. I know the way."

Y/N's gaze darted between them, her panic flaring as she sensed the conflict coming to a head. But Jimin's resolve was unbreakable, her eyes blazing as she pulled Y/N closer.

"Over my dead body, Minjeong," she said, her voice a dangerous whisper. "If anyone's getting her out, it's me."

Minjeong's eyes darkened, a glint of anger flashing in them as she took a step closer. "Always have to play the hero, don't you, Jimin? Always have to be the one she depends on."

Jimin's lips parted in shock, caught off guard by the intensity of Minjeong's words. But before she could respond, a new wave of guards began pounding up the stairwell from below, forcing them back.

"We don't have time for this!" Y/N cried, her voice breaking with fear. "Please, both of you—let's just get out!"

Jimin swallowed hard, pushing down the surge of emotions Minjeong's words had stirred. She turned her attention back to the stairwell, her mind snapping back to the immediate danger. In a split-second decision, she led them up instead of down, pulling Y/N along as they sprinted up to the rooftop.

--

They burst onto the rooftop, the cold night air filling their lungs. But even as they took a moment to catch their breaths, a fresh wave of dread washed over them. Guards were already spilling out onto the adjacent rooftop, their flashlights sweeping the area, casting long, ominous beams across the concrete.

"There's no way out," Minjeong said, voice laced with grim acceptance. "They've got us surrounded."

Jimin's jaw clenched as she surveyed the scene, her mind racing for an escape plan. Her gaze flicked to Y/N, who was staring at the guards with wide, terrified eyes. She knew she couldn't let this be the end.

"We jump," she said firmly, nodding toward the edge of the rooftop where a narrow gap separated them from the adjacent building. "It's our only shot."

Y/N's face drained of color, but she nodded, trusting Jimin's judgment. Minjeong gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

"You're insane," she muttered. But she positioned herself beside Y/N, determination hardening her gaze. "If she jumps, I'm jumping too."

Without another word, Jimin gripped Y/N's hand, her eyes locking onto hers with fierce intensity. "On three," she said, voice unwavering. "One... two..."

Before she could say "three," Minjeong pushed forward, leading the jump as she sprinted toward the edge. She leaped across the gap with an agility that defied the fear simmering beneath her cool exterior. Jimin didn't hesitate, pulling Y/N with her as they ran and launched themselves across the chasm. Y/N's heart lurched in her chest, but Jimin's hand was firm, grounding her as they landed on the other side, breathless but alive.

But Minjeong didn't wait for them. She was already scanning the building, looking for the quickest route down. Her jaw was set, her expression hardened as she glanced back at Jimin.

"If you want to play hero, fine," she said coldly. "But don't expect me to play second to you anymore."

Her words were barely a whisper, but they cut through the night air, sharp and unforgiving. Jimin stared at her, a flicker of realization dawning in her gaze. But there was no time to respond; the sound of footsteps and shouting guards filled the night.

Together, they ran down the fire escape, every step a reminder of the frayed edges between them—the rivalry, the jealousy, and the unspoken words that loomed larger than the danger closing in around them.

Seoul, South Korea

2024

Back on the rooftop, Aeri and Yizhuo stared at Irene in silence, their expressions a mixture of anger and resignation. Irene's face, as always, was inscrutable, her eyes cold but reflective.

"I know you don't trust me anymore," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. "But I need you to understand... this mission, it's everything. And this time, we won't fail."

Yizhuo glanced at Aeri, her face softening with a grim acceptance. They'd been here before, drawn together by Irene's calculated plan. This time, though, they were stepping forward with a new purpose. As Irene's gaze settled on the city below, they each made a silent vow that this mission would not end like the last.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

a knife in the dark, pt. 2

[adar/oc]

read: part 1

Set in the "Awake, Arise"-verse (I'd recommend reading at least chapters 1-9 if you haven't already to get the history of these characters) PREMISE: Erenyë is reembodied in Valinor, but Mandos shrouds her memories of Utumno, hoping to spare her pain in her new life. But she is restless in Aman, sensing that something is missing... She boards a ship heading for Middle Earth, hoping to discover just what that is.

How could he know her name? How could he possibly know her name?

She recoils, dragging herself away from him, retching. There is a roaring in her ears—she feels an unrealness surrounding her, surrounding them, alone in this ash-covered glen.

She knows she has precious few moments to decide what to do; the blow she’d dealt, while hard, will not be enough to keep him unconscious for long.

With great effort, she drags him toward a scorched but yet still sturdy-looking tree and binds him with a length of elven rope Telemnion had given her before they’d set out from Pelargir.

That task complete, she scrambles a safe distance away, crouching in the dust, eyes fixed upon his twisted face. The oncoming dawn paints him with its cold light, and she studies him, every contour, every jagged scar, as though expecting to find answers written across his skin.

But she does not receive answers—only a jumbled mess of images and sensations that seem foreign to her mind but strangely at home in her body, as though her very bones remember them.

A voice—that shares his same tone and timbre—speaking a broken, bastardized language… twisted things, whispering in the dark… green eyes above her, eyes that mean home, but a home to which she can never return—they can never return.

The longer she studies him, the clearer one single picture becomes. She remembers his face, his eyes, swimming just above her, filled to their depths with anguish… and she remembers pain. A body-breaking pain, impossible to be captured by a scream. Her hands move automatically to her abdomen, the place from which it radiates. She does not understand, she cannot make any of it make sense.

She wraps her arms around herself, shaking, as he stirs across the glen.

His head lolls back against the tree, leaving his throat exposed. A pained, plaintive sound passes through his lips, and without warning, she imagines him beneath her, writhing in anticipation, his head thrown back against soft grass as she seeks with her lips for the place just above his clavicle, the one that makes him shudder in bliss—

No. She shudders. Not imagines. Remembers.

He lowers his head, reclaiming more of his consciousness. The sun is stronger now, and a soft, golden light begins to fill the clearing.

She has never seen him in sunlight. She knows that fact to be true. They had existed in darkness together—first a peaceful one, and then one that was wholly evil one. But how—when?

“Why do I remember you?” The question bursts forth with urgency.

He makes no answer, but a glassy sheen appears over his eyes, and with a shock, she realizes that he is on the edge of tears. At the sight of his distress, her feet move of their own accord—the need to go to him is a reflex over which she has no control.

As she draws near, she abandons any certainty she has ever had in her life, about her life. For she feels it now, greater than ever—this magnetic pull toward him, something that she knows she cannot fight. Yet she still cannot bring herself to trust it fully, and she maintains her firm grip upon the dagger.

He drops his eyes as she stands over him, and strands of his long, dark hair fall across his face, obscuring his countenance from her.

Frustrated, she moves the tip of the dagger under his chin, tipping his head back up, forcing him to meet her gaze. She is taken aback by just how haunted he looks. Could it be, she wonders, that he, too, is an equal party to the mystery at hand?

But as the moment lengthens, she reads a knowing look in his mournful, tear-stricken eyes, and an emotion that she would only describe as shame—and she concludes that he must know some awful truth about whatever it is that connects them.

Impatience overtakes her, and her own irate tears begin to prickle. “Tell me who you are,” she demands. “Tell me why I have these terrible memories… these visions of darkness and pain. You were there—why were you there?” Her voice breaks as her hand again moves to clutch at her stomach, as that throbbing, phantom agony returns. “How do you know my name?”

His eyes follow the movement of her hand, and his grey skin turns pale white.

“No,” he moans in horror. “That cannot be all you remember.”

She kneels before him, desperate, keeping the dagger poised at his throat as her other hand moves to grip him roughly by the neck. She puts her lips close to his ear, all but snarling the words.

“Tell me what you did to me.” She digs her fingernails into his flesh as hard as she can—ready to claw the answer out of him if she must.

He leans into the pain, pitifully, his face coming dangerously close to hers. “It was him,” Adar rasps. “He broke us both. He ruined our bodies and our minds….”

“Who?”

“Morgoth.”

She recoils, gasping at the name of the black foe, the one she’d heard spoken in hushed whispers in the streets of Tirion.

Adar weeps freely now, tears cutting tracks through the ash and dust upon his face. “He took us… his servants stole us from our home.”

“My home is in Valinor, in the Blessed Realm,” Erenyë retorts, but even as the declaration leaves her lips, she feels the unsteadiness of the statement, as the foundations beneath her world begin to crack.

“Your home,” his voice breaks. “Was Cuiviénen.”

@catz4ever @toddthekiwibird @eowyn7023 @mylovelylittleobsessions SPICY TIME COMES NEXT I PWOMISE!