#and honestly I never thought I had it in me to write that much when it came to fan work but

[woantohae]

In my arms || (Bob Reynolds x reader)

Summary: The Thunderbolts are constantly on missions, busy trying to do good and save whoever they can. One of them was Bob Reynolds, the defenseless yet powerful man who is part of this team and family. However, he doesn't participate in these missions so he can continue practicing controlling his powers.

Despite telling them he's capable, the team prefers to give him more time to get used to them, until one mission, when a member of the team is injured. And all Bob can think about is the fury he feels when he hears Y/N being hurt. And how much he wants revenge on whoever did it.

content warnings: angst, he fell first and he fell harder, "avengers" tower, fluff, thunderbolts being a family, violence, curse words, SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*, Yelena and Bob being like brother and sister, "touch her and you die" trope.

Author's note: I WATCHED THUNDERBOLTS*!!!! And let me tell you, it was better than i imagined. Honestly, it became one of my favorites and it can easily be in my top 3 of Marvel movies. I just can't describe the experience with enough words, but the waiting was totally worth it ✨️ AND THE POST CREDIT SCENE 👀 MARVEL ATE WITH THAT ONE.

With that being said, i'm excited to tell you that i'm gonna write more of Bob Reynolds 👉🏻👈🏻 So here you go, a one shot with him, wich contains a few spoilers of the movie. At this point our reader will be polaris lol.

Hope you like it and comment what do you think of this one 💌

Bob was getting used to the place.

What had once been Avengers Tower had now become his new "home." He had an incredible view of New York City, several rooms to hang out in, thousands of dishes and meals he'd never been able to prepare in his life, and the pleasant company he shared every day.

The team had made him feel comfortable and part of something worthwhile, despite what they'd gone through to get to this moment.

Bob still felt guilty about what happened when Void took control of him and darkened everything in its path, even when Yelena reminded him it wasn't his fault and that he wasn't alone. The blonde had become a trusted person for him and was always there when he needed her. He told her his secrets and how he felt, and the Russian always gave him advice or a word of encouragement. Even with the trust he had in her, he confided in her something he never thought would happen to him. Or rather, something he thought was impossible to happen in such a short time.

He was attracted to Y/N.

The girl whom his other self had caused to see horrible things from her past, the one who could move metal objects with a simple flick of her fingers, and the one who made his heart race and his cheeks blush. It was a feeling that consumed him every time he was near her or even thought about her.

And Yelena, being the good spy she was and good at reading people, knew how Bob felt about Y/N. She always encouraged him to get closer and talk to her more, but Bob simply couldn't do it. It was not that easy.

"It sounds easy," John says, after hearing the plan for carrying out the mission.

Bob shakes his head to return to reality and ignore such thoughts.

"Wait until we get there and they welcome us with open arms," ​​Bucky says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"We still made it last time, and look at us here," Y/N replies, shrugging her shoulders.

Ava laughs and shakes her head.

"We'd better get moving," she says.

Bob looks at the group with hope in his eyes, but feels unsure about what he's gonna say.

"Can I come with you, guys?" he asks.

All heads turn to look at him with a mixture of surprise and sympathy for his question. They know he wants to help however he can, but after Void was under control and hadn't appeared for quite some time, they weren't so sure it was a good idea to expose him like that again.

"Bob..." Yelena begins to say.

Bob hurries to explain himself.

"I know what you're gonna say. But I think I'm ready, I know I can control it" Bob says with determination in his voice "I've been practicing and trying to talk to him, so maybe I can do it, today"

"We know, Bobby," says John, "But we must complete the mission without any mistakes or problems along the way."

The brunette looks down and clears his throat, nodding. He raises his gaze to smile and meet Y/N's gaze, who smiles back.

"No, no, I understand," he says dejectedly. "When the time is right, I can come with you."

Bucky pats his shoulder and Alexei gives him a thumbs-up. Despite their attempt to lift his spirits, he can't help but feel useless and without any reason to be in the group, other than washing dishes, tidying the place, or reading books he finds lying around.

He hates the feeling.

But it is what it is, right now. And he has to face it.

After the meeting to organize the plan, the group dispersed to look for the weapons and prepare the car in which they would go to the location. Bob watched from afar as the rest of them prepared, while playing with his fingers. He shifted his gaze to the large window overlooking the city and didn't feel Y/N's presence approaching him.

"Hey," she said in a soft tone.

Bob turned his head to look at her and smiled delightedly.

"Hey," she asked.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nods and laughs softly, pretending to be okay and swallowing the feeling that bothered him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine"

The girl mimics his smile and stares at him, while Bob feels the heat spread to his cheeks.

"Hey, how about we watch a movie when I get back?" she offers, patting his arm to get his attention.

Bob smiles.

"I was actually thinking it could be a movie night with just us. If you like that idea," Y/N says, crossing her arms and shrugging her shoulders with a smile on her face.

"A movie would be nice. I think it would be fun to have a movie night with the rest of the team," he says awkwardly "We haven't had one of those in a while, so..."

She lets out a soft laugh, thinking how cute he looks all flustered.

"Oh..." he remains silent to calm his nerves until he speaks again so as not to make a fool of himself. "Oh! Yeah, just the two of us. Of course. It could be fun. Count me in!"

Y/N smiles and laughs softly, wich sounds angelical to Bob's ears.

"Great. It's a date" she says.

Bucky calls her to let her know they're about to leave, so she starts walking away from Bob.

"See you, Bob."

"See you. Good luck," Bob says with a dazed smile on his face, remembering the girl's words.

It's a date.

Bob walks to his room with an excited smile, feeling happiness in his chest, but when he remembers the last thing Y/N said, his eyes widen.

"Oh shit! It is a date!"

He needs to prepare for it.

----------

Bob listened and watched from the communications room to see how the team was doing on the mission.

It wasn't going so easy as they planed back in the tower a few hours ago, as they had run into a group of mercenaries who weren't going to give up so easily. The brunette just hoped everyone was okay and managed to complete the mission—and he really hoped Y/N was okay and didn't get hurt.

A feeling of anguish and anxiety was causing Bob's chest to tighten. His leg kept moving as he played with the Rubik's Cube in his hands, unable to complete a color.

The sound of bullets filled his ears, and his jaw clenched as he heard and saw Yelena or Bucky being hit. Alexei grumbled as he tried to pull a man off John to help him, and Ava took care of a few. Y/N tried to stop the bullets as best she could, but there were some hidden snipers she couldn't sense with her powers so easily.

"There's to many of them!" John complains through the earpiece in Bob's ear.

"Fuck! If we don't stop the ones from the roof we cannot go back to the car!" Ava exclaims in an almost exhaustive voice.

"Shit. C'mon guys" Bob whispers while frowning his eyebrows at the scene.

"Bob, can you see how many are on the roof?" Yelena asks from the communicator in her ear.

"Uh, yeah, yeah" he says inmediatly "There's five on the roof. Three of them has guns and two of them are programming something on the computer. Seems like.... oh no"

"What Bob?" Bucky asks.

"It's a bomb! You need to get out of there" Bob says quickly.

"Shit," Yelena curses.

"I can try to stop them. But I need you to cover my back," Y/N says in a confident, hurried tone.

Bob watches as the girl begins to head toward the other side to attack the group of men with guns at the entrance. The others try to stop anyone from attacking her, and she moves stealthily between the bodies to reach the entrance. Bob focuses his attention on the cameras in the building that shows Y/N, his heart aching at what's happening in the footage. Or what could happen.

"Please, be careful," Bob whispers.

Y/N stops the guards' bullets at the entrance with precision in her movements and attacks some who plan to hit her. Bob's eyes glance at the rest of the team as they manage to escape thanks to the distraction caused by the girl with green sparkles flashing from her fingers. However, he doesn't stop for more than five seconds just to check on the girl again. He wants to make sure she's okay, even if it's from behind the computer. Far away from the place where she is right now —just the thought of it makes his inner self freak out.

Something it's beginning to awake inside of him. Something he thought he had buried for his own good.

Or rather someone.

"Y/N, all done. Let's head to the car. I'll try to get to you right away," Bucky orders.

"No. It's okay, I got this," she chimes in stubbornly.

Bob shakes his head.

But before she can do so, a stray bullet hits her shoulder, destabilizing the girl.

"Fuck!" she complains, touching her shoulder.

"Y/N?" Bucky asks worriedly.

"Y/N!" Bob yells, watching as one of the guards hits her with her gun on the back of her head, causing the girl to fall unconscious to the ground.

That's it.

Bob rushes out of the tower's communications room and runs to the balcony, where he takes to the air with determination. He doesn't stop for a second, because time is precious, especially after seeing Y/N getting attacked. The only thing that keeps repeating in his mind is the visual image of the girl being injured, so he moves quickly through the air until he reaches the others. He had seen the coordinates and the area where they were, so it was easy for him to arrive in time.

Bob tries to find the place that the camera allowed him to watched the area in wich the girl was back at the tower, and when he finds it, he is surprised to find that one of the men responsible of attacking Y/N is carrying her unconscious body in his arms. Fury courses through his veins at the sight, and he rushes to stop the bastard. It's as if he's being consumed by darkness, a sensation he knows all too well.

As soon as he's in front of the guy, he stops him and without a second thought, tries to attack him, careful not to hit Y/N. The man looks at him in horror and carefully places the girl's body on the ground, then raises his hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know..." he stumbles, but all Bob sees is red.

He growls and begins to mercilessly beat the man's body, making him bleed, and doesn't stop until he's unconscious. Blow after blow, unleashing all the anger he felt at seeing how the bastard hurt the girl. He can still see her grimace of pain and how her body fell unconscious to the ground, helpless, and who knows what they might have done to her if he hadn't arrived in time.

"Please...." the man begs almost unconscious.

Bob doesn't hear him. He doesn't want to.

And Void doesn't want to too.

The rest of the team arrives at Y/N's location, only to see her lying on the ground with a scarlet stain forming on the shoulder of her suit, while Bob kills the man. Ava approaches the girl's body and makes sure she has a steady pulse, while John makes sure that no one appears and attacks them by surprise.

"Bob," Yelena warns and tries to approach him to make him see reason.

"No! He hurt her. No one can touch her, or hurt her!" he exclaims in a mixture of anger and darkness. "No one! You heard me? Fucking no one!"

The others stare at the scene and notice how Y/N wakes up and observes the state Bob is in. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she rushes over to him and wraps her arms around him from behind, resting her face on his.

"Bob, hey. It's okay," she murmurs in his ear, feeling the man begin to slow down the blows, so she tightens her grip on his body. "I'm okay. Everything will be okay."

Bob calms down and brings his now covered in blood hands to Y/N's arms, then turns his body and hugs her with all his strength, trying to cover her body to protect her just in case, and also feel her in his arms and make sure nothing happens to her anymore.

"You are hurt" he whispers in her ear.

"It's just a scratch. I'll be fine" Y/N says with a small smile on her lips.

"He hurt you. I couln't allow him to do it" he says in a broken voice.

Y/N looks at the rest of the team and smiles at them, letting them know she's okay. Kinda. Bucky sighs and shakes his head at the girl in that state, knowing she must be screaming from the pain of the bullet, while Alexei smiles sideways and tries to encourage her from a distance. The blonde russian girl mouths to her that she will get the car ready to go, to wich Y/N nods and indicates her to do so.

"We still have our date," she tells him, still standing with the brunette, glancing at the man's lifeless body.

Bob lets out a sigh and nods his head against Y/N's chest, agreeing with her.

"Our date," he says in a soft tone, relaxing at the touch of her fingers in his hair. Although he can't help but feel anger again when he smells the metallic scent coming from the girl's wound.

"Yeah. Are we still up to that?"

"Definitely" Bob answers and lets out a small laugh.

She smiles and then pulls away from him to look him in the eye. Those blue orbits who watch her with a spark on his eyes.

"So let's go home and have our date, okay?" Bob nods and then lowers his gaze to the girl's wound.

"First, we need to treat your wound," he says, pointing to the red stain on her suit.

"Would you help me with that?"

"You don't have to ask me twice."

They both stare at each other with a small smile on their faces, understanding how much they care for each other and would do anything to keep them safe and viceversa.

Especially Bob.

And as long as Y/N is in his arms, he'll be okay.

[ellewritesx]

incidental charges

(part four of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: He takes what he wants. You give what's left.

Warnings: fingering, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, degradation, slutshaming, mild discomfort/pain, Harry's really mean, this is an angsty one i'm sorry

A/N: i'm lowkey very proud of this one but oh boy you guys are going to hateee me. i listened to ''i wanna be yours'' by arctic monkeys on repeat while writing this part so i'd 100% recommend listening to that while reading this if you'd enjoy that. let me know your thoughts when you're finished. enjoy (and good luck) x

Word Count: 3,587

...

You know something's wrong the second your phone buzzes. Come over. Now.

Not because the message itself says it, but because of everything it doesn't say. No teasing command. No filthy promise. Not even the ghost of a smiley face, like he sometimes uses when he's feeling particularly cruel. Just three words. Brutal. Unforgiving. Final.

You haven't heard from him in days, and this is how he chooses to reach out?

You shouldn't be this easy. Shouldn't feel your pulse quicken at the first sharp order he throws your way. But you're already tugging on the tightest, prettiest dress you own, already slipping into the shoes you know he likes for some reason, already rushing out the door like he's got a leash around your throat and a hand fisted in it.

You're already thinking about what you can give him, what you can do for him, to make whatever anger is coiled tight in his chest a little easier to bear.

When he opens the door, he barely looks at you.

No greeting. No dragging gaze over your body the way he usually does, savoring the little effort you make just for him. He just steps aside without a word, or even a simple acknowledgement, letting you pass like your presence is something he merely tolerates.

Your stomach drops, but you bite it down. You can handle this. You want to handle this.

Inside, the air feels electric, charged with something hot and volatile. His jacket is already off, thrown carelessly over a chair, like he hadn't even had the patience to put it away properly.

You frown. If there's anything you've learned about Harry since your arrangement started (which isn't much, honestly), it's that he's a very neat person. Never once have you seen his shirts wrinkled, or his tie crooked, or yesterday's clothes still on the floor. Never once have you seen dirty dishes in the sink, or crumbs on the kitchen counter, or even so much as a crinkle in his satin bedsheets.

His sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, veins bulging along the strong lines of his tattooed forearms. His jaw ticks once, twice, when he shuts the door behind you with a sharp, echoing click.

You turn to him instinctively, waiting for instruction, heart hammering against your ribs. But he doesn't say anything. He just stalks toward you with a hunger that's almost violent, yanks the strap of your dress down your shoulder, watches it slip halfway off your chest without even a flicker of appreciation.

It's not about how you look tonight. It's not about playing games. It's about need. About taking. About burning something off before it destroys him from the inside out.

You shiver under his hands but don't resist when he manhandles you backwards, walking you clumsily through the apartment toward the bedroom. You nearly trip over yourself, but he doesn't let you fall, just catches your hips in a bruising grip and drags you after him like he can't bear to waste a second more.

Still, you're so good. So desperate to soothe whatever anger he won't name. You don't even speak, just let yourself be pushed down onto the bed, legs falling open when he shoves at your thighs.

You want him to use you. You want to give him something real to anchor himself to.

Even if tonight, he's not reaching for you like a man reaching for salvation. Tonight, he's reaching like he wants to destroy something. And the worst part is, you want to let him.

You don't get a chance to breathe before he's crowding you on the mattress, pulling your dress up to your hips, baring your soaked underwear to his furious gaze.

''Course you're fucking wet,'' he mutters darkly, more to himself than to you, voice a low snarl. ''Knew you'd like being treated like this.''

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him, let him strip you without so much as a whimper, watch your panties join the discarded pile of clothing on the floor. You spread your thighs wider when he forces your knees apart, giving him whatever he wants to take.

He doesn't even bother teasing you.

Two thick fingers shove inside you, rough and unforgiving, a guttural noise ripping from his throat when he feels how tight you clench down around him. You jolt with a soft cry, hips trying to squirm back from the abrupt stretch, but he's already got a bruising grip on your thigh, holding you down, open, forcing you to take it.

"Stay fucking still," he growls, curling his fingers viciously, seeking out that devastating spot inside you without an ounce of tenderness.

It hurts. It burns. But you take it, tears welling at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming intensity, the sheer need to give him what he needs. Your hands clutch at the sheets, but you don't make a sound except the broken little gasps that slip from your throat when he pumps his hand faster, meaner, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit like he's trying to knock something loose inside you.

"You like that?" he sneers, watching your pretty face contort in helpless pleasure. "Like when I use you like a fuckin' toy?"

"Yes." Not really. You take a shaky breath, blinking up at him like he's the only thing that matters.

Something flashes behind his eyes, something sharp and vulnerable, but it's gone before you can catch it.

He pulls his fingers out roughly, shoving them into your mouth without warning, smearing your own slick over your tongue.

"You taste that?" he snaps. "That's what you're good for. The only thing you're good for."

The words land like a punch to the gut. You flinch, just barely, but he sees it. Sees the way your lashes flutter, the way hurt flashes in your eyes before you try to tamp it down.

He knows you don't like being talked to like that. He remembers. Knows exactly how much the insult must burn, sharp and humiliating on your tongue alongside the taste of yourself.

He wants it to hurt. Wants you to push him away, to finally shove him off and tell him to go fuck himself. Wants you to be angry with him, to look at him like he's the piece of shit he feels like tonight. It would be easier if you hated him. It would be safer.

But you don't.

You just suck his fingers obediently into your mouth, wide-eyed and willing, even as your throat tightens against the sting of his words. You take it, not because you don't feel it, but because you choose to stay anyway.

And that... that ruins him in a way he isn't prepared for.

Something almost like shame sparks behind his ribs, fast and unwelcome, but he smothers it down with the same furious instinct that made him lash out in the first place.

You don't fight him. You don't pull away, even when he fists your hair and drags you down to your knees on the floor at the edge of the bed.

"Open up," he orders, shrugging his pants and briefs off and tapping the thick head of his cock against your lips.

You do, without hesitation.

He groans brokenly under his breath as he drives himself into your mouth, too deep, too fast. Your throat strains around him, gagging, tears spilling hot and immediate down your cheeks, but you don't fight him. You dig your nails into his thighs and take it, blinking up at him through the wet haze clouding your vision, hollowing your cheeks even when you're fighting not to choke.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grits out, hips snapping hard enough to make you whimper around him. "Good little slut, lettin' me ruin you however I want. Aren't you, hm?"

The word slut cracks across your mind like a whip. You feel it hit, low and sharp, like scraping across an old bruise he promised he wouldn't touch. You'd told him. That night at the bar, when you first met, so many lifetimes ago, you'd told him that you don't like to be called names. That you take offense to it.

It makes something in your chest lurch, a bitter twist of hurt, betrayal, humiliation, and for one savage second you genuinely consider violently sinking your teeth into him.

You don't.

You dig your nails into your own palms instead, grounding yourself in the sting. You keep your jaw slack, let him fuck your throat, let him call you names you hate, because some wounded, stubborn part of you knows that's what he's trying to make you do. Trying to make you angry enough to leave. Trying to push you away.

He's picking a fight you refuse to give him.

And the longer you stay, the softer you look at him, tears slipping from your lashes, tongue still willing under the ugly words, the harder he fucks into you, like he can beat the tenderness out of you.

It hurts. It's messy and unrelenting and mean, but still, you look up at him with glassy, adoring eyes. You want him to know that you're here. That he can show you this side of himself. That you can be whatever outlet he needs you to be tonight.

You reach up, fingers mindlessly rubbing slow circles on the skin of his thighs, something to ground yourself, and him, while he uses your mouth like it's nothing but a hole to fuck.

And he feels it, the softness, the care threading through every touch. He jerks away suddenly, pulling out of your mouth with a wet, brutal pop, staring down at you like he doesn't understand you at all.

Then he's hauling you back onto the bed, shoving you down on your back so hard the air punches from your lungs. You barely catch your breath before he's wedging himself between your thighs, lining himself up, no teasing now, no patience.

"You want it?" he rasps, voice low and raw.

"Yes," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck instinctively, letting your legs fall open wider to invite him in.

He snarls under his breath like he hates how sweet you are to him. Then he drives into you with one savage thrust.

You cry out, back arching off the bed, hands clinging to him for dear life. He's huge, stretching you painfully wide, filling every inch like he wants to break you in half. He doesn't give you time to adjust, just sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping into you again and again, every thrust shoving you further up the mattress.

You cling to him anyway, one hand splaying against the sweaty plane of his back, feeling the muscles there bunch and flex with every furious movement.

You whisper to him between gasps, between whimpers. "It's okay, Harry. You can let go. I've got you. I'm here."

He groans low and vicious in your ear, fucking you harder to shut you up, but you swear you feel the tiniest shudder run through him.

You cradle his head to your shoulder, scratching your nails lightly over the short hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring soft praises between each wrecked moan.

"So good to me," you pant, kissing the shell of his ear, tightening your thighs around his hips. "You're perfect. Always so perfect."

His rhythm stutters.

Just for a second. Just a beat of hesitation. But you feel it. He buries his face in your neck like he can hide from it, from you, like if he just fucks you harder, he can fuck the weakness out of himself.

But it's too late.

You feel the anger melt into something messier, something achingly close to desperation, to want. You don't comment on it.

He slams into you harder, rougher, chasing his own release now, trying to outrun the gnawing ache swelling in his chest.

You don't stop touching him.

You don't stop whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

You just hold him, even when it hurts, even when your body is shaking from the force of his thrusts, even when you're barely holding yourself together at the seams.

And maybe that's what finally breaks him.

Because when he comes, buried deep inside you with a feral, broken sound, he doesn't even look at you.

And it stings.

It stings more than the bruising grip he's left on your hips, more than the ache between your legs where he's used you so carelessly.

Because Harry is always big on eye contact, he demands it. "Look at me, baby. Need to see you." "Eyes on me when you come." ''Show me those pretty eyes. There you are.''

He always wants you look at him. Needs you to, like the tether between you would snap otherwise.

But now, when you're lying underneath him trembling and cracked open, when you've given him every piece of yourself, he twists his head away, toward the wall, eyes screwed tight like he can't even stand the sight of you.

It guts you. Leaves you hollow and shaking, your orgasm wilting quietly inside you.

And somewhere, deep down, though he won't let himself feel it, it guts him too. Because he knows if he looks, if he really looks at the way you're still holding him, still whispering broken little praises under your breath despite your own pleasure fading, still caressing his skin like something sacred despite your own body tensing up.

So he looks away.

And it feels like the cruelest thing he's ever done to you.

He pulls out while you're still gasping for breath, yanks his pants up without a word, and disappears into the bathroom with the door slamming shut behind him.

The emptiness he leaves behind feels colder than any punishment he's ever given you. You blink up at the ceiling, heart splintering slowly in your chest, the mess between your thighs a humiliating, aching reminder that whatever has cracked open between you, he wants no part of it.

...

When he comes back, he doesn't say a word.

The bathroom light is still on behind him, casting a clinical glow across the floorboards, and his hair is a mess, cheeks blotchy from scrubbing. He won't meet your eyes.

He walks back into the bedroom like it doesn't belong to either of you, like it's a hotel room he's just checked into and you're the unfortunate occupant they forgot to remove first.

The air goes stiff.

You sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist, heart thudding unevenly. You're not sure what you were expecting. Maybe a quiet, reluctant, apology, maybe an awkward attempt at a joke, maybe just for him to lie back down and act like it never happened, but none of it comes.

Instead, he leans down to grab his phone off the nightstand. His screen lights up his face in a wash of cold blue, making him look even more unreadable, if that's possible. You watch the way his jaw tightens. His shoulders twitch like he's chewing back something awful. He doesn't look at you once.

''Are you coming back to bed?'' you ask, voice hesitant and small, and you immediately hate yourself for how it sounds. Like you're begging.

The silence that follows is thick and sour. It curls between your ribs and settles there, anchoring itself to your shame. He doesn't even glance at you. Doesn't ask if he hurt you, physically or otherwise, doesn't acknowledge the way your hands tremble slightly as you pull the blanket up to your chest, covering yourself like you can shield yourself from whatever's happening between you right now.

''Did I do something wrong?'' you whisper nervously. You wish you didn't care. You wish you could swing your legs out of bed and leave first, say fuck you and mean it. But instead you just sit there, quiet and insecure and hurting.

He finally looks at you, just a flicker, a glance, eyes dark and unreadable.

''No,'' he says after a beat, and it's somehow worse than if he'd said yes.

Because if you'd done something wrong, at least there'd be a reason. A fix. A way back.

''No,'' he repeats, turning away, ''You were perfect.''

It should be comforting, but it sounds like an accusation.

You watch him tug on a hoodie from the floor, and you notice his fingers are shaking slightly, though he hides it well. Everything about him is tight, movements too stiff, face too blank, like he's holding himself together by force.

''Harry…''

''I think you should go,'' he says, and it's sharp. Clipped. Dismissive. And it hurts. So much.

You blink. ''What?''

He doesn't repeat it. Just tosses your clothes at you, like throwing you out after fucking you raw is part of the routine. Like your heart isn't currently trying to crawl out of your chest and disappear under the floorboards.

''You said I should stay,'' you remind him, because that's all you can cling to now, his own words, said so easily just days ago when his hands were still gentle and his voice was still kind. ''You said I should always stay after a night together. That it's the respectable thing to do. That you don't want to worry about me out alone at night.''

''I changed my mind.''

He still won't look at you. Like looking at you would make this real. Like your presence is something he has to ignore completely to make this easier on himself. Like he's already rehearsed this moment and now he's just waiting for it to be over.

You try again, your voice cracking, soft. ''Harry, please—''

''I'm not in the mood,'' he cuts in, leaving no room for discussion. ''Just go. I got you an Uber. Don't make this harder than it has to be.''

Panic flares under your skin. Instinct more than reason, you move without thinking, pulling your dress up your body in hurried motions, struggling to zip yourself up. It's something Harry usually does for you, always making a show of it, always making sure to kiss your shoulder before stepping away.

You give up on the zipper halfway. You just want to fix this, want to make it better, the way you always do.

Before he can tell you to leave again, you step forward, reaching for him, sliding your arms gently around his waist from behind. You press your cheek to the broad curve of his back, kiss the spot between his shoulder blades the way you always do when he's upset, when he's stressed, when he's somewhere you can't reach with words alone.

For a second, you think he might let you. But then his body stiffens under your touch, breath hitching, shallow in his chest.

And he flinches.

He jerks away from you like you've burned him, shoulder twisting sharply out of your grasp, shrugging you off like you're something repulsive he can't stand to have near him. You stumble back a step, arms falling uselessly to your sides, blinking at him in shock.

''Don't,'' he says, voice low and vicious. ''Just... don't touch me.''

The words taste like blood in his mouth. Everything inside him screams at him to take them back, to reach for you, to apologize, to fall into your arms the way he always, always, wants to when it's you. But his walls are up now, higher than ever, and he doesn't know how to tear them down without destroying himself in the process.

So he stands there, rigid and silent, forcing himself to feel nothing as he watches the hurt bloom raw across your face.

It's not just the words. It's the way he spits them out, like your touch is something filthy. Like you're some desperate, clingy thing he can't shake fast enough.

Your chest caves in on itself. You nod, even though it feels like your heart is physically tearing apart. You don't try again. You don't say anything at all.

He doesn't either.

There's something feral in his eyes. Not anger exactly, more like desperate frustration. Like he's trying to get you to hate him. Like he needs to burn this bridge before you get any closer to the parts of him he can't control.

He sees the heartbreak behind your eyes. You know he does. You see the flicker of guilt, tiny, barely there, before he crushes it down and tosses another dagger instead.

''You should be used to this by now,'' he mutters. ''Not like this is anything serious.''

It's the worst thing he could've said. And you know he knows it. You know because he still doesn't look at you. Because he throws the words like knives and doesn't wait to see where they land.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, nod slowly, eyes burning. Your body still aches, slick between your thighs, bruises blooming from where he held you down, and now he's pretending you're no one. Like none of it mattered. Like you didn't try to hold him together while he was falling apart inside of you.

You grab your phone without another word.

Your look for your bag, but you don't ask for help, don't let him see you search for it. You keep your head up. Refuse to cry in front of him. Not now. Not after this.

And when you walk out, heart in your throat, clutching your bag, you don't look back.

He doesn't either.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan @hoolabalooba @hisparentsgallerryy @txmhxllqnd @harringtonhundreds @freddyselmstreet

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc

...

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 4

Summary: After weeks of rainchecks, Spencer invites Reader and Maddie to a museum. Flowers, dinosaur facts, and a shared afternoon paintings lead to quiet feelings neither of them are ready to name.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: A sickening amount of fluff, Emotional vulnerability, brief discussions of fear of commitment, soft angst.

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: The upcoming week is final exams week, so I probably won’t have any time to write until Friday, so enjoy this one because the next chapter might take a while.

Series Masterlist

I hadn’t meant for it to become a habit.

But over the past few weeks, texting Spencer had become the quiet part of my day I looked forward to the most. Sometimes it was Maddie-related—funny things she said, books she liked, questions she asked that I didn’t know how to answer. Sometimes it was just… thoughts. A passing detail. A photo. A line from something I was reading that I thought he’d appreciate.

He always replied. Not immediately, but reliably. Like clockwork.

Sometimes, he even started the conversation. He’d send a picture of a book and caption it, “This reminded me of Maddie,” or text me out of nowhere just to make plans. And every time my phone lit up with his name, something in me would still flutter a little. Stupid, I know. But it did.

Honestly, I thought that would be the end of it—after that moment.

The woman in the café had smiled at us so innocently when she said it—“You guys make a cute family.” Like it was a compliment. Like she hadn’t just dropped a live grenade on the table between us.

Spencer had gone quiet. I had definitely paled. And Maddie, bless her, just beamed like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

The silence afterward only lasted a couple of days, but it was long enough for me to spiral. I was convinced I’d ruined whatever fragile, gentle thing we were building. That maybe I’d let things feel too comfortable. Let the illusion get too close to something real.

But then he texted.

No mention of it. No awkwardness. Just a quiet message asking if we were free for lunch. Like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t mind the way Maddie clung to his hand.

Like he hadn’t noticed the way I looked at him a little too long when I thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Since then, we’d gone on a few more outings. Parks. Coffee shops. A kid-friendly restaurant with a giant chalkboard wall Maddie still talks about. She always wanted to come along, and I never had the heart to say no. I couldn’t just leave her behind—wouldn’t leave her behind. Spencer never once asked me to.

Still, it all stayed... spaced out. Like we were dancing around something neither of us could name. Like we were orbiting each other on our own time zones.

And maybe that was okay.

Maybe that was safer.

Because the truth is, I still haven’t learned much about him. He’s good at steering conversations away from himself without ever making it feel like he’s hiding something. But I can feel it—there are parts of him I’m not allowed to see yet. Parts he’s still keeping folded up in the quiet. All I really know is that his name is Spencer, he likes reading, he knows magic tricks, and he wears mismatched socks. Maddie started doing that too, ever since he told her it was lucky.

But I want to know more.

And that… that’s the scary part.

It’s one thing to text. To share pancakes and crayon drawings and small talk.

It’s another thing entirely to let someone in.

And it’s not just me. It’s Maddie too. Bringing someone into our life means giving them a seat at the table we built from scratch. It means risk. Change. The kind of hope that creeps in slowly and then dares to stay.

I don’t know what Spencer wants.

But I know how I feel when I’m around him.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Because I can feel myself inching toward something I haven’t let myself want in a long time. Something soft. Something safe. Something that could break if I held it too tightly—or worse, if I let it go too soon.

And lately, with each little pause between messages, with every canceled plan, I’d started to wonder if maybe I was imagining it. If I’d read too much into a handful of slow afternoons and a few gentle smiles.

After the third reschedule in a row, I’d braced for the silence. I thought maybe that was it. That he’d let things fade the quiet way people do when they don’t know how to say goodbye.

But then, last week, his name lit up my phone.

[21:06] Spencer: I owe you both a raincheck or two��

[21:06] Spencer: Any chance Maddie likes museums?

Maddie had been counting down the days.

Literally. She made me draw boxes on the calendar so she could “X” them out every morning. And today? Today, she was vibrating.

She hadn’t stopped talking since she woke up—about the museum, about what she would wear, about whether Spencer would bring his magic tricks (I told her probably not, but she packed two small toys and a glitter pen in case she could convince him).

Getting her ready was a challenge. Every pair of socks was the wrong socks, every braid was too tight or too fuzzy, and somewhere in between breakfast and the meltdown about her shoes, I’d forgotten to get myself dressed.

By the time I finally did, I had seven minutes to spare, hair still damp, mascara uneven, Maddie sitting cross-legged on the couch in a sparkly skirt and mismatched socks, humming a song I didn’t recognize.

We were waiting in the living room when the doorbell rang.

Not a text. Not a honk. Not a call.

He rang the doorbell.

I blinked—thrown for a second. Every guy I’d ever gone out with sent a “here” text at best. One even asked me to meet him at the curb because he didn’t want to parallel park.

But Spencer? He got out of the car. Came to the door. And waited.

And it sounds stupid—maybe it is stupid—but something about that simple act made my chest tighten. Like I'd spent so long lowering my expectations that I forgot how to react when someone raised them without being asked.

I opened the door, still half-wrestling Maddie into her jacket, and froze.

He was holding flowers.

A handful of them. Nothing showy. Nothing polished. They weren’t wrapped in cellophane or tied with a bow. They looked like he’d picked them carefully, worrying if they said too much—or not enough.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

It mattered more than I wanted to admit.

Because no one brings flowers when they think you’re temporary. No one shows up like this unless they mean it—even if they don’t know they mean it yet.

For a second, my heart was too loud in my ears. I barely heard my own voice when I asked, “Are those for me?”

Spencer looked at the bouquet, like he’d just remembered he was holding them, then back up at me with this almost-bashful expression.

“Uh—they’re for both of you,” he said.

It wasn't smooth.

It wasn't practiced.

But it was real.

And it unraveled something small and secret inside me.

Maddie gasped beside me, clapping her hands. “I love flowers!”

Spencer smiled, relieved. “I hoped you might.”

We stepped out together, closing the door behind us. I held Maddie’s hand in one and the bouquet in the other, feeling strangely, stupidly off-balance.

He opened the passenger door for me. Not in that showy, performative way—just... quietly. Thoughtfully. Like it occurred to him that I might appreciate it, and so he did it.

I helped Maddie into the backseat, buckled her in while she mumbled something about wanting to see “real dinosaur bones,” and handed her the flowers to hold on the ride there. She clutched them carefully with sticky fingers and sleepy reverence, like they were a gift from royalty.

Spencer rounded the front of the car, still fiddling with the keys in his hand. He hadn’t said much since the door. Just smiled that small, nervous smile like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.

I slid into the passenger seat, heart still unsettled. Still processing the fact that someone had shown up for me—not just shown up, but done it kindly. Gently. Like I was someone worth showing up for.

He climbed in a second later and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

The drive was quiet at first.

Not uncomfortable—just… still.

Spencer had one hand on the wheel, the other resting awkwardly on his knee like he wasn’t sure where to put it. He kept his eyes on the road, focused, but every so often I’d catch the flick of his gaze in my direction. Quick, subtle. Like he wanted to say something and wasn’t sure if now was the time.

Maddie was humming in the backseat, still cradling the flowers in her lap like they were made of glass. She’d calmed down a little now that we were on route, her excitement softened by the slow lull of the car.

I’d been too in my head to speak.

Too focused on the weight of the morning—on how different it all felt. On the fact that Spencer had shown up. That he hadn’t honked or texted or waited in the car, but had come to the door, flowers in hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t. Not for me.

People don’t usually show up like that.

Not in my world.

Most of the time, it was all me. Me getting Maddie dressed, packed, calm, fed, out the door. Me smiling through exhaustion. Me covering up the gaps, the silences, the absences. Every date I’d ever gone on before had started with me calculating how much I was going to have to explain—and how little I could afford to feel.

But Spencer didn’t ask for anything. He just… arrived. Quiet. Awkward. Thoughtful. The way someone does when they’re not trying to impress you—just trying to be honest.

And that scared me more than any grand gesture ever could.

I kept staring out the window, pretending I wasn’t overwhelmed, when Maddie’s voice cut through the quiet from the backseat.

"Spencer... have you ever seen real dinosaur bones before?"

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, smiling faintly. "I have. A long time ago."

Maddie gasped, clutching the bouquet tighter. "Were they huge?"

Spencer chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. "Bigger than this car."

Maddie let out a soft whoa, completely awed, and went back to staring out the window like she was preparing herself for greatness.

I watched the exchange quietly, something knotting up and unfurling in my chest at the same time.

He didn’t talk to her like she was a kid he had to tolerate.

He didn’t talk down to her, didn’t correct her, didn’t rush to change the subject back to the adults in the room.

He answered her. Carefully, Thoughtfully. Like her questions deserved real answers. It was such a small thing, barely a ripple in the morning.

But to me... it felt enormous.

Because if there was one thing I'd learned in four years of doing this alone, it was that small things never stay small. They grow roots. They make space.

And somewhere deep inside me, in a place I'd spent a long time pretending wasn't empty, I could feel something beginning to take root.

“Mommy, did you bring my notebook?” Maddie piped up from the backseat, her voice pulling me gently out of my thoughts.

I smiled, twisting slightly in my seat to glance at her. “Yes, sweetheart. And your flower pen too.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked toward me, curious. “Notebook?”

“She likes to take notes,” I explained, trying not to sound as fond as I felt. “Drawings, mostly. But sometimes it’s very important information. Like how many birds she sees at the park, or which dinosaur skeleton is her favorite.”

Maddie beamed like I’d just announced her life's greatest achievements. “I'm gonna write all the dinosaur names today.”

Spencer chuckled, his hands steady on the wheel. “That sounds like serious work.”

“It is,” Maddie said, very seriously. “I’m gonna be a dinoscientist.”

I bit back a laugh. “Paleontologist, baby.”

“That too.”

Spencer smiled wider, a soft huff of breath escaping him. “Dinoscientist has a nice ring to it.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, the corners of my mouth still tugged up, and watched the city slip past the window.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself be still.

Not anxious. Just... here in this car. With Maddie humming to herself, and Spencer glancing over at me like maybe—just maybe—he was feeling the same thing I was.

The car rolled forward through the city, the hum of the tires against the pavement filling the spaces between us.

Maddie kept herself busy in the backseat, whispering to her notebook, practicing how she was going to introduce herself to the dinosaur bones. Every so often, I'd catch snippets of her "speech" — mostly promises to take good care of them if they needed it, and an offer to let them live in our apartment if they ever got tired of the museum.

Spencer chuckled quietly under his breath once or twice, but he didn’t interrupt her.

He just listened. Like what she was saying mattered.

And every time I caught him smiling to himself, it felt like something small and tender tugging at the edges of my heart.

The city slowly gave way to wider streets, older buildings, familiar signs. We were getting close now. Maddie must've sensed it too, because she started bouncing lightly in her seat, hugging her notebook to her chest.

“We’re almost there, right?” she asked, practically buzzing with excitement.

Spencer glanced at her in the rearview mirror and nodded. “Just a few more minutes.”

She squealed, kicking her feet a little.

“Maddie,” I said, fighting a smile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

She huffed in that way only a five-year-old could, but obediently clicked the buckle back into place, clutching her notebook tighter like it might launch itself out the window if she let it go.

Spencer glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh. Like he was soaking all of it in — the little chaos, the energy, the way the air inside the car felt full in a way that had nothing to do with noise.

And me?

I was soaking him in too.

The careful way he drove. The way he tilted the rearview mirror so he could see her better. The way he didn't act like any of this was too much.

I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t used to someone easing into my world without me having to make all the room.

He didn’t look out of place here. Not next to me, Not in this car. Not with Maddie babbling about dinosaurs and pens and flower bouquets.

He looked... right. Like he belonged.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, I didn’t feel like I was dragging someone into my life.

It felt like maybe—just maybe—someone was choosing to step into it on their own.

Spencer turned into a side street, the museum parking lot coming into view just ahead.

Maddie gasped the second she saw the giant banners hanging from the front entrance—one with a T-Rex, another with a sprawling star map—and I swear her whole body lit up like a firecracker.

“We’re here!” she cried, already reaching for the door handle.

I laughed again and reached back to steady her. “Hold on, baby. Let’s park first.”

Beside me, Spencer just smiled. Small. Soft. Like maybe he was feeling it too.

Maybe he was a little dazzled too.

As we pulled into the museum parking lot, Maddie’s excitement practically boiled over. She bounced in her seat, craning her neck to look up at the enormous banners fluttering over the entrance.

“There’s a real T-Rex in there!” she squealed.

Spencer chuckled, turning off the engine and shifting in his seat.

I unbuckled and turned around to check her straps, but she was already wriggling free, too excited to stay put.

“Alright, adventurer,” I said, laughing as I grabbed my bag. “Just remember you can’t actually touch the bones, okay sweetie?”

She nodded fiercely, already halfway to the door.

Spencer got out first, rounding the car without hesitation, and opened Maddie’s door for her with the same easy gentleness he’d shown all morning.

No grand gestures. No heavy-handed attempts to impress.

Just a man, showing up.

And somehow, that meant more than anything he could’ve said.

The dinosaur exhibit was exactly the kind of chaos you expect when you mix kids and ancient bones.

Maddie darted from display to display, her notebook clutched to her chest, peppering Spencer with a steady stream of questions he answered with more patience than I thought humanly possible.

We spent nearly two hours winding through towering skeletons, reconstructed habitats, interactive fossil digs. Maddie was determined to "catalogue" every dinosaur in existence, and by the end of it, even Spencer looked a little overwhelmed.

I thought that would be the end of the day—grab a juice box, head back to the car, call it a win.

But just as we were making our way toward the exit, Maddie spotted a set of signs advertising a newly opened exhibition upstairs.

Gustav Klimt.

My heart stuttered a little.

“Mommy that’s your favorite isn’t it?”

Maddie chirped, tugging at my hand.

I froze for half a second, caught between a smile and something heavier.

It wasn’t something I talked about much—art, favorites, the pieces of myself that existed outside of work and grocery lists and getting Maddie to preschool on time.

Spencer looked at me curiously, waiting for me to confirm or deny.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said, a little more quietly than I intended. “He’s… always been my favorite.”

Spencer’s mouth tugged up at the corner in a soft smile. “Then we should go.”

He glanced at the sign, adjusting the strap of the bag he'd offered to carry without asking, then looked down at Maddie. "You up for one more room, kiddo?"

As soon as we stepped into the Klimt exhibition, Maddie practically vibrated with excitement. She clutched her little notebook to her chest and announced, loud enough to earn a few amused glances, that she was going to copy all the paintings.

"Can I, Mommy? Please?" she asked, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The gallery was wide and open, the flow of people calm and easy to track. After a quick sweep of the room, Y/N gave a soft laugh and nodded. "Stay where we can see you."

Maddie took off without hesitation, setting up camp in front of the nearest painting with her crayon poised like a little scholar.

We found a bench nearby, where Y/N and I sat, watching her from a distance. Every few minutes, Maddie would dash to a new painting, plop down cross-legged on the floor, and start scribbling furiously in her notebook — her hair bouncing, her entire body committed to the task like it was the most important thing in the world.

“So,” she said, tilting her head toward the entrance of the exhibit, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What do you know about Klimt?”

I opened my mouth automatically, ready to recite something — dates, movements, facts. It’s what people expected from me. What I expected from myself. But the truth was, I didn’t know much about him. Not really. Not beyond the basics you could find on a museum plaque.

My hand found the back of my neck, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. “Actually… I’m not too familiar with him,” I admitted.

She blinked at me, visibly surprised. But she didn’t tease. She didn’t laugh.

Instead, she smiled. Something soft flickered across her face—something I didn’t quite know how to name. And for reasons I couldn't fully explain, the way she looked at me in that moment — like my flaws didn’t scare her at all — made something in my chest go strangely, stubbornly warm.

“I have this one book about Klimt,” she said, her voice picking up that soft, thoughtful rhythm that made it impossible for me to think about anything else, “Talking about Klimt’s work, life story, etc… But what I really like about his work, is that he didn’t just paint pretty women with gold leaf. Most of his famous works were about femmes fatales.”

I blinked, trying to keep up, but mostly just stunned by the way she talked. The way her eyes lit up at the sight of the paintings, and talking about how she interpreted them.

“Dangerous women. Women who were beautiful and powerful, beautiful, sensual and a little terrifying.”

I barely heard the rest.

I nodded along, but the truth was—I wasn’t processing most of the words.

Because I was too busy watching her. The way her hands moved when she talked. The way her eyes lit up when she described the paintings, her voice dropping into something soft, almost reverent.

She kept stealing little glances at me like she was trying to see if I cared.

I did.

I cared more than I could explain without embarrassing myself.

I opened my mouth—wanted to say something smart in return, “Did you know—”—but every single fact I had ever known about anything scrambled in my brain like a thousand puzzle pieces tossed into the air.

I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry and I wasn’t even sure I could nod without giving myself away.

She turned toward the biggest painting in the room—the one even people who didn’t know Klimt's name would recognize.

The Kiss.

“Let me guess…” I said, tipping my head. “The Kiss is your favorite?”

“It’s more than just The Kiss being my favorite,” she replied, smiling softly, like she knew a secret I didn’t yet.

“What do you mean?”

“Well... it holds a lot more symbolism than you might think,” she said, her voice warming. “Sure, it’s beautiful. The technique is brilliant. But it’s more than just a beautiful painting.”

“Do explain,” I said, leaning in without meaning to.

She glanced back at the gallery, then at me, her voice dropping a little, like she was letting me in on something sacred.

“My favorite thing about Klimt’s work isn’t just the paintings themselves. It’s the way they fit together. The whole collection tells a story — a subtle one. About the femmes fatales... They keep appearing, over and over again throughout his work.”

I watched her, completely, helplessly captivated. The way her voice curled around each word, the way she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear without even thinking about it.

“Sometimes it’s the same woman, painted in different ways... different poses, different moments. But this one—” she nodded toward The Kiss, her voice dipping even lower, “—this is the only time he shows the woman surrendering.”

She turned back to me then, and there was something unguarded in her face. Something almost reverent.

“But it’s not weakness,” she said. “It’s not defeat.”

Her eyes held mine.

“She’s giving herself to him. Choosing to. Choosing to give yourself completely to someone — whether it’s physical or emotional —” she paused, her smile tilting almost shyly, “—I think it might be the most romantic thing ever.”

And I knew, in that moment, that if I lived to be a hundred years old, I would never—never—recover from her.

My knees felt weirdly, ridiculously weak.

Like if I didn’t keep shifting my weight from foot to foot, I might just sink into the floor and let the museum tiles swallow me whole.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

But all I could manage was a whisper.

“That’s beautiful…”

She smiled — a little sad, a little knowing — like maybe she could see right through me.

“It is, isn’t it?” she said, voice quieter now. Then, before I could catch my breath, she asked, almost too gently, “It’s also scary. Giving yourself completely... Have you ever felt that way about anyone?”

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Have I ever felt that way about anyone?

Yes, my brain supplied instantly. Too fast. Too loud.

Once.

But the words caught somewhere between my chest and my throat — tangled up in everything I was too terrified to admit out loud.

I glanced down at my shoes, like the scuffed leather might offer an answer.

"I... I don't know," I said finally, because anything more honest felt too dangerous. "Maybe. I think... I think I wanted to..." I swallowed hard. "I don’t think she wanted me to, though."

When I looked up, she was already watching me — so intently it made the back of my neck burn.

Not judging. Not pitying. Just seeing me — with all the sharp, unfinished edges I usually tried so hard to hide.

"Wanting to matters," she said quietly.

Her words landed softer than I deserved. Like she wasn’t trying to fix me. Like she wasn’t expecting more than I could give.

I shifted my weight, needing somewhere else to put all the feeling buzzing under my skin.

“What about you?” I asked, before I could think better of it.

She smiled — small, almost bittersweet — and turned her gaze back to The Kiss.

"I have," she said. Her voice was steady, but there was something behind it — something tired and tender and breakable. “To Maddie."

The way she said it — not as a shield, not as an excuse, but as the absolute, sacred truth — cracked something open inside me.

“I have given myself completely, body and mind to her since she was born. She’s my everything.”

I swallowed, struggling to find the right words, because how do you respond to something like that? How do you look at someone who has already poured everything they are into someone else — and still dare to want more from them? I didn’t know if it was admiration or something closer to longing that tightened in my chest, but I knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was, it was irreversible.

"That’s..." I started, my voice rougher than I intended. I paused, searching her face for some kind of anchor, and found nothing but honesty looking back at me. "That’s the bravest thing a person can do."

For a moment, she just looked at me — really looked — and I had the distinct, terrifying feeling that she could see right through me. See the parts of me that wanted things I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want. Things like this. Things like her.

She smiled, a small, worn thing that hit me harder than it should have. "You say that like it's a choice," she said. "It wasn't. Not really. She needed me. That was all it ever took."

I nodded, even though a part of me still marveled at it — the way she said it so simply, like it wasn’t extraordinary. Like giving yourself away so completely was just breathing. And maybe for her, it was. Maybe it was just in her nature to love like that, fiercely, even when the world had given her every reason to guard herself.

"I think that's what makes it so rare," I said after a moment, my voice lower now, quieter. "Most people spend their whole lives afraid of giving too much."

She tilted her head at me, studying me in that way she did sometimes — curious, but patient. Like she wasn’t afraid of whatever answer she might find.

"And you?" she asked. "Are you afraid?"

The question landed heavier than I expected. I shifted my weight, glancing back at The Kiss like maybe it would save me, but all it did was remind me that once, once in all his paintings, Klimt had dared to show someone surrendering — and it had looked like this. It had looked like choosing to fall.

"I think I am," I said honestly. "But... maybe not as much as I used to be."

Her mouth softened at that — not quite a smile, but something close. She turned slightly, facing the painting again, and for a few seconds we just stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the same quiet, golden air.

"You know," she said after a moment, almost playfully, "you still haven’t told me what your favorite piece is."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, grateful for the shift. For the way she gave me room to catch up when my heart was still tripping over itself.

But before I could, Maddie wormed her way between us, her little hand reaching up to grab mine. She squeezed my hand. A simple, tiny squeeze.

My pulse spiked so fast I actually felt it behind my eyes.

I’ve been shot at, drugged, kidnapped, nearly killed… and somehow this—this—is what sends me spiraling.

She reached for her mom’s hand too, linking us together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

But my heart?

My heart absolutely could not handle it.

I could feel it hammering against my ribs, loud and hot and fast. My whole body went warm—too warm—and suddenly the sweater I was wearing felt like it was trying to suffocate me.

Without thinking, I tugged my cardigan over my head in one quick, awkward movement, ruffling my hair and nearly dropping Maddie’s hand in the process.

I was still trying to recover when Maddie piped up brightly, “I’ll put it in my backpack!”

Before I could object, she yanked the sweater from my hand with surprising strength and stuffed it into the tiny purple bag hanging off her shoulder like it was a prize.

I stared at her, dazed. Then looked up.

And saw Y/N watching me.

Smiling.

Not laughing at me.

Not teasing.

Just—smiling. Soft and a little surprised. Like maybe she was seeing something she liked.

And I stood there, overheating in the middle of an art museum, absolutely done for.

We wandered the Klimt exhibition a little longer after that, Maddie skipping ahead sometimes but never letting go of either of our hands for too long. Every once in a while, Y/N would point out a detail in a painting, her voice low and reverent, and I'd pretend I was listening when really all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

By the time we made it to the exit, Maddie was starting to flag—her steps slower, her voice quieter.

We passed by the museum gift shop on the way out, and predictably, she lit up all over again.

"Mommy! Spencer! Look!" she cried, tugging us toward a display of postcards.

There, right in the center, was The Kiss.

She pointed at it like it was a treasure chest. "Can I get this one? Please?"

Y/N started to answer, but I was already moving—reaching for the postcard and bringing it to the register before either of them could argue.

As Y/N wandered the shop with Maddie, I caught her picking up a small Klimt keychain—gold and black, understated, but somehow exactly her.

She turned it over in her hands once, then tucked it back onto the rack like she didn’t really need it.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed it too.

At the register, I set both the postcard and the keychain down.

The cashier smiled at us warmly. "That'll be it for you three?"

Y/N opened her mouth, already shaking her head. "Actually, it's separa—"

"Yes," I said, before she could finish. "That's it for us."

There was a flicker of something in her eyes.

Surprise. Maybe a little softness too.

She didn’t argue.

The cashier bagged the items with a knowing smile, and I followed them both out into the sunlight, my heart doing something stupid and unmanageable in my chest.

The drive home was quiet.

Maddie fell asleep halfway there, her head tilted awkwardly against her car seat, clutching the little bag from the museum like it was a lifeline.

I stole a few glances at Y/N while I drove. She was staring out the window, one hand resting lightly on her knee, the sunlight catching in her hair.

I didn’t know how to name what I was feeling.

I just knew I didn’t want it to end.

When we finally pulled up outside their apartment, I parked carefully and turned off the engine.

Neither of us said anything right away.

Y/N unbuckled and climbed out, circling around to Maddie's side to lift her out of the seat with a soft, practiced motion. Maddie stirred only a little, murmuring something I couldn't catch before settling back against her mother’s shoulder.

I got out too, awkwardly patting my pockets like I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

When Y/N reached the door, juggling Maddie’s weight and her bag, I hurried to open it for her.

She smiled at me—small. Tired. Soft around the edges.

"I think she had a really good time," she said quietly, adjusting Maddie against her shoulder.

I swallowed, my throat feeling too tight. "I did too."

For a moment, we just stood there — caught in a long, heavy pause where I didn’t know if I was supposed to stay or leave.

Didn’t know if I was allowed to ask if I could come inside. If I even wanted to, considering how flustered I still felt from the museum.

The entire Klimt exhibit was still buzzing under my skin like static, and I knew if I stayed, if I crossed that threshold, I’d probably say something ridiculous.

I might need weeks — months — to recover from today.

Y/N smiled then, just a little. A soft, knowing thing.

Like she could hear every panicked thought rattling around in my head... but decided not to call me on any of it.

She didn’t say anything else.

And neither did I.

I just gave a small, awkward wave — fingers fluttering up and falling almost immediately — before backing away toward the steps, feeling like I was leaving a part of myself behind.

The drive home was agony.

Every song on the radio sounded like her. Every red light stretched too long. I couldn't stop thinking about her — not for a single second.

Her words clung to me, looping through my mind.

Her face — the way she smiled, the way her eyes softened when she talked about surrender and choosing love — made my heart thud so hard it almost hurt.

I kept picturing her painted into one of Klimt’s works — all gold and light, beautiful and powerful and untouchable — like if I reached out, I might smudge her into something even more breathtaking.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was convinced I wouldn’t sleep for a week. Maybe longer.

And maybe she was thinking about me too.

Because as soon as I stepped inside, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

[19:34] y/n: Hey, you forgot your sweater in Maddie’s backpack.

[19:34] y/n: We’ll be at home all day tomorrow. Feel free to drop by for your sweater.

I stared at the screen, a smile tugging stupidly at my mouth before I even registered it.

[19:35] Spencer: I’ll stop by :)

I locked my phone and stood there for a long moment, sweaterless and half-delirious, grinning like an idiot in the middle of my empty kitchen.

Tomorrow suddenly felt like the only thing worth waiting for.

Previous Chapter │

taglist : @smithieandy @kspencer34 @person-005 @diffidentphantom @23moonjellies @reidssoulmate @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @Reidrs @un-messed @rhinelivinglife @Skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx **@alrat13 @saskiaalonso**

[delicateperspective]

I think people who assume Harry is completely free tend to overlook a lot—especially things he shows during his concerts and in some interviews. Starting with the queercoding, but also those really vulnerable moments. You can literally see it in his face what it means to him when he waves a rainbow flag. And when he says things like “that doesn’t happen to people like me”—it’s heavy.

And I don't blame them because Harry's public image has been pushed very hard, especially with dwd and that stunt with the director. But If you really pay attention to the details, it’s pretty clear that Harry isn’t fully free. He’s just doing what he can, playing the game with everything he’s learned along the way.

I’m sure he’s negotiated as much freedom as possible over time, and what we see is a gradual result of that. I really hope in this next chapter, with all the leverage he’s gained, he’s been able to secure even more freedom.

I honestly just wish the best for both H and L.

yes exactly. you put it so well — that’s the thing about public perception. in order to see H & L the way that some people do, you have to be willing to accept a version of events that genuinely doesn’t make sense unless you ignore… well, everything.

to believe that version, you have to believe that:

harry was a womanizer from the very beginning. that he dated half the girls at bootcamp and then moved on to older, high-profile women who just happened to boost his image (taylor, kendall, olivia). that he’s a commitment-phobe who’s never had a long-term relationship. that he leans into queercoding and wears obviously queer clothing just to sell albums — even when he doesn’t know he’ll be photographed. that he writes intimate songs about home, about loving the same person through every season of life — despite having no personal experience with any of that. and that he deliberately distanced himself from the other boys in the band — especially louis — because he thought he was better than them.

louis, meanwhile, apparently changed his entire personality between 2011 and 2013 for no reason. that he got angry at a magazine for implying he supports LGBTQ+ rights. that he got a triangle on his achilles heel because he just… liked the shape. that he wears t-shirts and brands with overt queer symbolism (Tchaikovsky, All Out, Only the Brave, Maison Margiela) without realizing or caring what they mean — even though he loves fashion. that he used to call himself “camp” and “flamboyant” all the time, but only as a joke. and that he had a long-term girlfriend during the band, which is clearly why no fans ever had a shot — not because he was gay.

and that’s just the surface level stuff.

the more you pay attention, the worse it gets.

you have to eat a lot of narrative gymnastics to believe that version. honestly? in some cases, you have to make more illogical leaps than even the most unhinged larries do. you have to completely discredit every contestant who’s ever spoken out about x factor. every person who’s criticized modest management. every lyric change — like: “women just don’t feel right”, “i’m hoping someday i could be open”, “i can’t compete with my boyfriend”, "hopelessly devoted to Lou", etc. — has to be chalked up to coincidence or queerbaiting or… misheard. and you have to believe that none of it means anything — even when it obviously does.

i’ll always go back to the metaphor harry gave us in the As It Was music video — the red pill and the blue pill. just like in The Matrix: the red pill means you wake up and see the truth. the blue pill means you stay in a comfortable illusion.

so many people would rather take the blue pill. and honestly? i don’t blame them. it’s easier. it’s lighter. it doesn’t force you to confront how corrupt the industry is. how normal homophobia still is. how much trauma they endured. to accept that kind of truth — especially about people you love — takes a toll.

because once you see it, you can’t unsee it. you’ll always question the narrative. you’ll always feel that unease when something doesn’t add up. you’ll always see through the bullshit.

and yeah — sometimes I wish i could close my eyes too. especially in this world, in this moment, where everything is already so heavy. but i can’t.

so we keep paying attention. we keep listening between the lines. we keep hoping the next chapter brings them more peace, more truth, and more freedom.

because they’ve earned it. and they deserve it.

[luna-azzurra]

I bought all your books. Every single one. Even though I honestly can’t afford them right now...like, I’m properly broke. But I didn’t even think twice, because something about your writing just... mattered to me in a way nothing else really has lately.

Before I found your work, I was about ready to quit writing. I’d convinced myself I had no talent, that I was just pretending, wasting time chasing something I was never going to be good at .Just this quiet kind of hopelessness, like I didn’t see the point anymore. I didn’t understand what made a character human like, or what made a story work... I just felt lost.

Then I read your books. And something clicked. Not in a magical “I’m cured” way, but in a real, grounding way. You made me feel seen. Like I wasn’t alone in the mess of trying to create something meaningful, even when you doubt yourself constantly.

I don’t even know you, but I’m so thankful for you. Your writing reminded me why I started in the first place. Why stories matter. Why my stories might matter, too, even if just to me.

I hope you write a hundred more books. Hell, write a thousand. I’ll buy them all, even if I have to dig for coins in my couch cushions. Thank you. Really. You gave me something back I thought I’d lost.

<3 <3 <3 <3

Wow. I honestly don’t even know what to say... your message hit me straight in the heart, in the best possible way. I had to read it twice just to take it all in.

The fact that you said my books helped you believe in yourself and your writing again... that means more to me than I can properly express. I’ve doubted myself so many times. Wondered if any of it matters, if anyone even cares what I’m putting out into the world...

Please don’t stop writing. Even when it feels pointless or too hard or like you’ll never “get it right”, your voice matters.

Thank you for writing to me. It’s one of the most meaningful messages I’ve ever received. Keep writing. And if you ever forget why you started, come back to your own words, they’ll remind you.

And they remind me, too.

With so much love, Luna <3

[towasdandelion]

YOUR SUGGESTIONS ARE OPEN!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆ HAI I HOPE YOURE DOING WELL!!! as always no pressure to write this but i have had an idea rotating in my head since like uhhh two weeks ago?? nd i think it would make for a very fun smau ♪(´▽｀)

LETS JUST SET THE SCENE: mc is hanging out with a ghoul who is a very good friend of theirs!! THEN the ghoul leaves their side for one reason or another, and someone else swoops in and starts flirting w the mc (someone like haku or rui for the sake of ghoul rivalry?? or maybe just some random general student who knows.)

mc texts them something to the effect of IM BEING HIT ON HELP and the ghoul comes RUNNING!!!!!

ofc you can do with this what you will these are simply my brain worms <3 (if i may ask for ritsu to be included pleasepleasepleaseplease okay THANK YOU)

and ofc thank u for you writing as always!!! hope u have the best day ever (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Hiiii! They are they are hehe (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) honestly I never even imagined getting any! Maybe that's why they make me feel a bit overwhelmed at times (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ writing for someone is fun but it definitely feels different! I'm doing good now though thank you!! That's a very nice idea by the way so let's get goooo. I decided to kinda do a mix, a few with ghouls rivalry and a few with general students since I couldn't decide!! This was so much fun to write (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Sinostra and Obscuary ghouls when someone flirts with you

Ritsu would be there in the blink of an eye. He would be like "Excuse me? I do hope you're aware you're breaking law right now. You can't touch people without their consent" (Proceeds to recite a whole ass paragraph) to which Kaito just pales before leaving in hurry without another word. He would then make sure you're okay and after that.. he'd drag you to the library, sit you down and open the Penal code, telling you to read the paragraphs he pointed to until you can recite them. He wants you to be able to fend off anyone who dares to get too close in case he's not around. Very thoughtful!

Taiga wouldn't usually care, but there's this important thing - you're his lucky charm. And that really changes things. He's there in literal seconds, glaring at the student as he approaches you, draping his arm loosely over your waist. "Ya lost or somethin?" Is all he needed to say to make the poor guy shiver. He would stand there frozen until Taiga grins at him, showing off his sharp teeth. The student gulps before quickly excusing himself. Problem solved. Without another word Taiga would smoothly escort you to his room, where he then make you pick a gun he'd later train you with... Extreme measures you say? Please, it's Taiga we're talking about.

Romeo would mutter to himself on the way, complaining how useless you are, not even being able to rid of some random guy. He gets furious upon noticing the student reaching for you, immediately slapping his hand away. "Just what do you think you're doing touching her!? Scram if you don't want me to make you beg for mercy!" The student's eyes widen. The guy is not even able to utter a single word. Finally he just let's out an awkward laugh and walks away. And now finally, Romeo can scold you for being so apathetic in this situation. If you dare to tease him about how protective he got just a minute ago I can't guarantee that you'll come out of this alive...

Rui lets out the biggest dramatic gasp upon seeing Haku openly flirt with you when he arrives. "Hey, hey buddy! Sorry but the role of her simp is already taken, thanks though!" He would say before throwing an arm over your shoulder and swiftly leading you away from the potential suitor, not even giving him a chance to say anything. Poor guy just got rejected not by the girl, but a ghoul who appeared to be your boyfriend. Yes, that was Rui's goal. Even if you two weren't together, it was more fun that way! He will pout playfully until you reassure him he's still your favorite flirt.

Ed, just where did he come from? You could have sworn you never heard any footsteps approaching yet there he was standing behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and looking at the guy with a lazy smirk. "My, my, and who is this gentleman? Is he a fresh meal for me? How kind of you" He'd lick his lips and you just know the guy wishes he never spoke to you in the first place. He sweats profusely before muttering a lame excuse and running as fast as he could. A shame, Ed admits but then he teases about you becoming his meal as a reward for scaring away the guy. By any means, feel free to get this idea out of his head.

Lyca's brows furrow the moment he spots you talking to Rui. He approaches you without hesitation, taking a stand between you and the blonde. "She's not interested in you" he states flatly, glaring at his 'opponent'. Surprisingly, he will then lecture him, saying to never ignore girl's body language and to never touch without consent. Rui blinks in confusion but nods along nonetheless, before laughing it off. He quickly excuses himself before walking away. Lyca doesn't understand the look on your face though. Why are you staring at him like that? Did he do something wrong?

[marimayscarlett]

You know what really fucks me up?

The fact that Richard most likely wrote songs and lullabies to Maxime.

He did mention writing songs to little Khira, like the beginning of Mutter was a melody for her so it's safe to assume he did so for his youngest one too and that's just 😩😩😭🥹🥹🥹🥹

And it's also sad that he never got a chance to do that for Merlin ☹️

Hi 👋🏼

Richard definitely likes to express his love and appreciation for the people in his life through the thing he excells at - music 🎶🤍

I'm not familiar with Mutter being written for Khira in the beginning - here's the demo version of a very early draft of a song which turned into 'Mutter', and apparently, Richard told a fan who asked about the story behind the song that he wrote it for a wedding. But who knows if that’s exactly true 🤷🏻‍♀️

What is proven, however, is that Richard writes or continues songs with his children in mind. As far as I can remember, 'Babe' on his first Emigrate album is dedicated to Khira, and both 'Rainbow' and, of course, 'You're So Beautiful' are dedicated to Maxime.

"With 'Rainbow' you know I had just become a father and that changes a lot of things in life, you know. It’s one of the biggest creations you can do as a human being – creating another human being – and this inspired me to write this song. It was interesting because somehow I could never nail the vocals of this song. I almost gave up and said, "It just doesn’t work, like something’s just not there, it sounds so weird." And then one day my daughter, who is three right now, shows up in the studio, and somehow I felt like: let’s do it right now while she’s here. And while I was singing it, it worked – in the first take. So I was glad she came by. (laughing) I’m just so glad it worked out. [...] My daughter is so funny, you know – she’s the opposite of the German stereotype. Like, we’re seen as cold, but she’s half American, and when she sees people on the street she says good morning to everybody, and people think she’s crazy. She’s such a beautiful girl that I could talk about her all day... let’s talk about music. (laughing)" (music injection)

- Q: Some songs, though, are closer to major tonality – 'You’re So Beautiful' from the second to last album, and 'Come Over' from the new one.

Richard: "Funny you mention exactly those two. Those are songs I dedicated to my children. They have the power to pull me out of dark worlds." (Fidelity)

Whatever Richard’s beginnings with Merlin may have looked like, Merlin definitely had an influence on the musical development of Richard’s latest album – because there was this old, unused song of his father’s that he really liked:

Q: Did you still recognize the Richard from back then?

Richard: "Partly. But sometimes I was honestly quite surprised. (laughs) 'Come Over' was such a case. I thought: What on earth was I thinking back then? But then I remembered how my son was absolutely obsessed with this song, how deeply it moved him. So I continued writing it with him in mind. I probably would never write a song like that nowadays – but I didn’t want to deny the past either." (The Circle)

And I'm very glad for Merlin's influence here since this is one of my favourites as well 🤍 From what we see (as fans, from an outward perspective on a man we actually do not know as we shouldn't forget) it really does feel like he cherishes his family very much, which is quite nice to witness 🤲🏻

[ashcroft-writes]

Thoughts on Cad Bane in Tales of the Underworld

I almost never post analyses of my fave fandom things! But I've been thinking about nothing but this show for a solid 24 hours, haha. Honestly, I've been pretty light on sharing my thoughts on the beloved blorbos previously because I don't often care for engaging in the hot take trading in Star Wars fandom... and I also know things tend to grow on me over time, even if something bothers me at first. I’m also in times when people like me worry for their lives and futures, so the me that shows up for Star Wars anymore honestly just wants to have a little fun with it and appreciate what these creative teams manage to do, especially today, when I get Cad Bane content so enchantingly rarely!

BUT, these episodes definitely had a big effect on me. So I've sat with them a little, let ‘em roll around in my head, and though there’s parts of the narrative I think I would have also liked to see… what was done with this story, I ultimately really enjoyed.

But let's dig in deeper, because it IS fun.

THE RELATIONSHIP

Alright, to get it outta the way, anything that involves showing a past relationship for a character seems to set off a bomb inside fan heads. And as a queer writer with an MLM Bane series, some folks have seemed to kind of want to feel me out on this one!

Honestly, the Bane and Arin relationship intrigued me, and I like her.

But first, before I dig into why, I have seen some folks uncomfortable with the idea of a character that's had a blank slate backstory past now being given a "love interest," so I'm going to speak to that first. What is presented here doesn’t change all that much about what we know of Bane as a character—this was a relationship that was definitely physical and involved SOME sort of emotional attachment, but that's about all that was said, and I don't see how it really threatens most interpretations of Bane. Yes, even and especially the queer ones. One can write Bane and/or Arin with any earth-equivalent sexuality, gender, or romantic preferences (or lack thereof) that you choose and these interpretations would still work within this canon information (if you even want to keep canon information in your works!) I've been looking at this relationship from the angles of queerplatonism, aromanticism, bisexuality, pansexuality, heterosexuality, gay with a confusing puberty, etc. etc. etc.. And that’s just if Arin is in fact a woman in the sense that many earth humans mean it.

There’s a lot of wide narrative holes for creatives to nest in here, and I'm really happy I can say that, because I'm already building a nest. And, besides all THAT, Bane’s a cowboy alien?? Like. I think we should all keep getting weird with it, because he SURELY would be up to things outside of our earthly human day-to-day perspective.

So yeehaw. Do Whatever You Want Forever!

Moving on.

THOUGHTS ABOUT ARIN HERSELF

I really like her. I love the idea of this young person who was kind, who was trying to pull Cad back from the worst parts of his nature, who was wiser than he was about the possibilities of a future past the violence of their world. That is part of what my own OC Nuni was when I wrote him. And now in canon, there were at least two people—Arin and Niro—both trying to pull Cad back from his fixation on gold and blood, and I like that theme!

Was I curious how Cad and Arin came together…? Yeah. Of COURSE. But I know this was limited time we had, and decisions were made about how to convey the most telling details in shorthand and the story in broad brushstrokes—so here, I settle for the subtle body language, which honestly was very deliberately rendered. It’s clear Cad is attached on some level to Arin; the way he works easily alongside her and doesn’t leave her behind when the going gets tough isn't without meaning at all. For him, it seems as close a relationship as he's able to have. But a lot of their interaction regardless comes across as a very Cad way of handling someone, especially while younger, rasher, his anger hotter. He doesn’t confide in her, he snips, he barely listens. He hardly looks at her or even touches her, though her own gaze is often on him, analyzing, hoping, bidding for him to let go of what doesn’t matter. But he doesn’t consider her needs for a single second as more important than him coming out on top. And this… this was a relationship I’ve seen before in life, in which one side is too focused on what they’re chasing to properly, truly notice the other person, even if some facet of having the other person around comforts them. I couldn't help but wonder if Arin was indeed startled by how easily Cad hugged Niro, when Cad just doesn’t seem to be like that with anyone else that we see, not even her. So yes, his and Arin’s relationship was strange, one-sided, with so much unspoken… but it was a lot we can glean from very little.

I wish in some ways that Arin had still been alive in the final episode, but I am sensing perhaps why it was decided that she wouldn’t be. There’s a narrative hole here I’m going to have to speculate inside, but—when Bane returns an unspecified amount of time after he was arrested, he’s grown up a fair amount. Got new scars. He has crew coming to meet him as if they want to give loyalty, when he didn't exactly come across as Lazlo's second in command previously. And now, the community council seems like they’re wetting their pants about him showing up, and they ALL know and seem to fear his name, whereas when he was arrested, they absolutely didn’t.

Frankly, the writing seems to imply that there was some serious stuff that happened in the interim between when they arrested him and he made his way back to his old stomping grounds. I don't know if it was a situation in which Bane still managed to make trouble from inside his cell, pulling strings, or if there were periods in which he was free, then arrested again.

But either way, Arin was left behind for a long while, just like Niro was once. Enough for Cad to get up to his own mischief, forge at least some part of his intimidating legacy. But again, he’s been so sucked into his own workings that the world he left behind moved on without him. I don't think he ever says that he was coming back for Arin when he does arrive; that’s a guess everyone ELSE is throwing around. He’s seemingly just there to settle accounts in general, and the mention of Arin having married Niro just seems to stick him in the pride. Either way, he's come back far too late to have done anything about it. They've both long moved on, and he wrote her off as a traitor long ago. Arin's had a life alongside a kinder person, and now is gone, and perhaps Cad could have tried to learn anything at all about what had happened before now, found a way for someone to bring him intel, wrote a letter, etc. But he didn’t.

He only returns to old places in this story when it’s time for revenge.

I think it fits his character fairly well, so unwilling to deal with these emotional difficulties that any question of Arin he still held in his heart was answered by a life fully lived without him, one he stayed ignorant of until it came back to needle his ego. The fact that Arin is dead isn't the point. It was that he didn't know she was dead, years gone. If that isn't a character statement, I don't know what is.

So yes, despite the missing parts, Arin is a character I like. I see some folks mentioning the concept of her being “fridged,” but I personally don’t think that entirely fits. Fridging is… specific. She wasn't there in the story only to die of violent or sad means, all to inspire the protagonist into having character development. Conversely, Arin doesn’t pass the Bechdel test, no, and I wish she did! Regardless, the tragedy is that Arin DOES have agency and uses it to live, not die—and her sacrifice doesn't inspire or change Cad, because he was hurtling down into the dark all on his own. She chose to end the violence, defy Cad and steal his gun because she’s kinder and wiser than he is, and knows how to let go and move on. She only died after having lived a life she chose, even an offscreen one, Cad’s choices be damned. I can’t call it a fridging. I do still wish she had more time to tell us more about who she was, but I suppose fic is here, and I’m just going to have to write something about it sometime.

CAD BANE’S SON

I yelled when he appeared. Jfc what a cute kid. This story also told us Cad was a cute kid too. And the narrative spares neither of them. :(

I’m going to get it out of the way: the only thing, literally the only thing, I am having difficulty accepting about this story is the kid’s name. Isaac. What? What?? EXCUSE ME. IS THE BOOK OF GENESIS IN STAR WARS?? I’m going to need ten linguistics and history enthusiasts in my replies immediately so we can figure out what the hell happened culturally with the Duros and Judaism in a galaxy far far away.

BUT I DIGRESS. This kid Isaac looked into my soul with those big eyes and I opened a door in my heart for him and now I’m in hell, so whatever I guess.

I AM IN HELL AHHHHH.

But. The moment when Cad looks in that kid’s eyes and knows EXACTLY who the father is was almost startling. Like, he even reaches out for a second. Just a split second. It’s this razor-sharp shard surprise-cutting him inside his moment where he thought he was just wrapping up all the loose ends. All that gloating to Niro about “I’ll take care of him like you did Arin” had so little real caring behind it that I doubt it was any kind of real promise.

But it’s then that Cad sees. For one of the few times in this story, Cad looks into someone else’s eyes outside of himself, and he properly sees them.

And he reaches out.

But that’s shut down fast. The interfering mayor clearly knows who Isaac comes from, just like Cad knows now. And neither of them say anything about it, but their understanding is clear, and Cad walks away, quietly agreeing, perhaps, that it’s the right move to do so. What he’s become can’t help this kid in any meaningful way. He’s just made another abandoned orphan like he was, and who knows what kind of life is in store for that child now?

Obviously, later in canon, Cad will have a go at helping another kid’s journey, mentoring Boba Fett. I wonder if, perhaps, he did it to try and prove to himself he could, gnawing inwardly over what happened on this day with the son he’ll now never know.

After all, he's not very good at letting things go.

THE STORY IN GENERAL

I’m kind of working backwards with my thoughts, from this very specific musing regarding the important relationships to the larger story... I haven't even gotten into Niro! Did you see that moment where Cad was the one to hug him, and he couldn't quite manage to do it back? When the last time they saw each other, he was the one being abandoned? How he faced Cad in person, and so is NEVER the person running away to save himself? I am gently patting this Duros' face. Excellent. But. I am going to have to wrap this up eventually and save any other thoughts for later.

At the end of the day, there was a lot inside this short little visit into Bane’s life that really delighted me. The scores of different Duros characters (shoutout to the guy in that giant hat, hahaha. LOVE A DUROS IN A GIANT HAT <3) The love given to the modeling, texturing, and overall craft of this production... all my love to the Star Wars animation team. The small look at the culture in the area Bane lived in as a child. The way he discourages his friend from buying a little toy their hearts clearly want, in favor of that which is practical. That moment when child Bane gets a taste of what money can do, hungry, licking the box clean that held his first real, good meal in a long time. The moment when Niro tries to get him to walk away from Lazlo’s scheme, and he immediately spins around and agrees it’s not worth it unless they’re paid twice as much—the budding negotiator!

Being fast, agile, sliding over the hood of a car as he runs from the cops.

Choosing to save himself, then the instant regret, lack of surety, fear—drowned in his first handful of gold.

The visual of him as an adult seeing his childhood self in the glass before shooting that thought right through the heart… the foreshadowing. Goddamn.

Like, I do have mixed feelings on some level. It was too big a story in too small a space. The first episode was plain excellent, but the latter two suffered from the broad brushstrokes preventing us from being able to get to know some of the new faces introduced, and raised a lot of questions about other things—truly, we never get to see what Lazlo comes to mean to young Colby, why he inspired a boy to become so like him. We never see when Colby decides to leave behind his old name and why. We never see where Todo comes from, or why Cad chose Arin to spend his time with. It also doesn’t show the why’s and how’s that made Cad Bane the Legend exceptional at what he is.

But it did give us tantalizing tidbits, the smallest pieces of the before-times we can explore more on our own. It showcased that Cad Bane's greatest strength as a bounty hunter, why he's so feared, is the precise fatal flaw that made his life the way it is: the fact that once he has the scent of his goals, he’ll never let go, not ever—he'll chase them from one end of the galaxy to the other to settle accounts, inexorable, deadly.

And it hasn't brought him happiness.

[ilona2nerrie]

Mer JL au:

Barry: Indo-Pacific Sailfish.

(These baby boys are the speedsters of the ocean, and their really cute. I love them, I love him, it works. I’m a big fish person if you can’t tell. And the retractable fin can be purple or blue, and its interchanges with the weather for him. Fast as flip boi.)

Dick/Richard: Four-Winged Flying Fish.

(I know everyone says he’s a flying fish, and I agree! But I’d prefer if people started naming which one. i know there’s at least six different types of flying fish, and I’d like that acknowledged. Anyway, I think the four wing suits him best. Their more powerful and look much cooler. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.)

Hi! Author’s note, thank you for all your support for the first part and second part of my story! I’m really glad you all are enjoying and apologise for the late chapter, I’ve just been de-motivated and tired. But I hope you enjoy either way! Please LMK any ideas, enjoy part three!

Every part I think I’m just going to try to add two more species of Mer, like I did in the first part. The first part will be linked under the people who asked to be tagged, if you want to be tagged PM me.

Tagged:

@ancientdreams-in-a-modernland

Part one linked: Clark finds himself a friend. Bruce finds himself a meal ticket.

Chapter Two: Clark almost gets caught. Bruce tries to communicate with him.

chapter four: Clark finds the family. Bruce needs a nap.

Enjoy the story!

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

The meeting, in fact, was a fluke. It was called automatically when one of the members got hurt and it sent out an alert which called the meeting. Barry didn’t get hurt per se. he just decided it’d be a fun idea to try out-swim a boat and crashed into it. So, the alarm went off because he got a blood nose. Clark was upset but decided to just continue on with his day.

He went back to the reef daily to look for Bruce. He honestly missed the other, they never really spoke, but he felt listened to when they were together. Well, he liked to think he was listened to. He had spent the morning in his apartment writing a report. It wasn’t the most fun, but by the time lunch rolled around he was definitely ready for a break.

He heads off on his way to the reef again, holding his pad and trying to memorize the flash pattern he figured out last time from Bruce. When he got there, he weaved in and out of coral, taking note of the damage, it had sustained. “not good,” Clark mumbled, running his fingers over a part that had a particularly nasty gash in it. He winced.

Clark saw a flash of black and turned with a grin. Seems Bruce had been looking for him too. Bruce sat perched on a piece of coral, looking down his nose at Clark intimidatingly, as if still trying to show Clark they weren’t buddy-buddy. Clark thought Bruce was being funny, a little bit dramatic. Until he saw a flash of silver behind the other. Peaking over Bruce’s shoulder was a Mer-pup, no older than 12, starring at Clark. He clearly wasn’t the same species of Bruce, not even close to it.

Dick was a four-winged flying fish Mer, silvery blue in colour and absolutely stunning. He had short, thick and plentiful black hair like a dark crown contrasting with his tan skin. He had a freckle under his eye, and when he made eye contact with Clark he waved slightly, wings twitching absentmindedly.

Clark waved back, staring at the pup. He was surprised Bruce had a pup, let alone one that seemed too attached to him. He was about to speak but heard a quiet. “hello.” From Dick. Clark didn’t know he could talk. “Uh- hi? What’s your name? kid?” he asked, about to swim closer, Bruce coiled himself. He was normally ok with Clark, but this was the first time Bruce brought his pup to meet him. He was a bit more hostile than usual.

Dick frowned and nuzzled under Bruce’s chin till he calmed down, before responding. “I’m Richard. But everyone calls me Dick.” He said, grabbing Bruces hand.

“My dad told me you’ve been meeting with him?” Dick asked, curious.

“Yeah,” Clark said feeling slightly confused, but mostly intrigued. “You can communicate with him? How?”

“Flashes,” Dick said, pointing at Bruces tail. As id sensing it, Bruce twitched his tail, flicking Dicks finger while Dick chuckled.

“I had to learn to decipher them quick, you know? He did take me in.”

Clark’s expression softened at Dicks words, eyes flicking to Bruce, who looked at Clark as if daring him to hurt his baby. “So, he isn’t your biological dad?”

Dick held back a laugh at that, staring at Clark. “Were two different species completely? That’s ridiculous. He took me in when my parents passed. Even if he doesn’t speak English, he understands it. He’s a good dad. For the most part.”

Clark smiled. It was cute, seeing the small bright pup talking to his dad. Who was currently eyeing Clark like if he fucked up his guts would decorate the ocean floor. Clark knew he was being tested. And he was not going to lose this time. Not now, not ever.

“You hungry, kid?” he asked with a smile. “oh, yeah! Dad said the fish here are good. And that he doesn’t have to catch them because you do- “

Bruce covered dicks face with his tail, a small flush dusting his cheeks.

“ - . ~  - - -  /  -.. ~ ..  ~ -.-. ~  -.-“

Bruce flashed, giving the pup a look, as he made an embarrassed face. Dick huffed and stuck his tongue out, but Clark got the idea and went to go grab some fish.

Clark knew the other adult was embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but smile to himself as he hunted. He was slowly building trust with the other. He knew Bruce talked- well communicated with his kid about him when they were home. He knew Bruce had a kid now. Hell, since dick spoke English maybe he could get dick to write what the flashes were- or even just the key so he could learn to talk with Bruce on his own.

When Clark got back, he gave dick a fish and Bruce the rest. Bruce, as per normal, ate in regal silence. Simply enjoying his meal. He reluctantly let Clark sit next to his Pup, eyeing the two frequently as they spoke. But Bruce knew his pup needed someone to talk to. Especially if he couldn’t offer that part to him. So he let the two talk.

Meanwhile Dick and Clark were working. Clark had handed Dick his JL pad. Probably against the protocol, he knew it. But he took it to the personal notes side. Dick had walked him through what the flashes meant, helping write down some of the basic words then a key for an alphabet. Dots were short and sharp flashes, lines were flashes that lasted a second, after each letter the light would flicker, and after a word the flashing would stop for three full seconds. 

It was incredibly helpful to Clark.

Dick did enjoy his fish, not as much as his dad but he had a thought that his dad came here mostly to look at the other, bright mer. The fact that his father was an excellent hunter was not lost on him.

When it got dark dick said his goodbyes, smiling at Clark and tagging along with his father as they swam off. Clark was about to turn and leave when he caught Bruce’s eye. Bruce had looked over his shoulder to Clark, and Clark felt the air knocked out of him when before Bruce disappeared with his pup into the dark, he smiled at Clark softly.

And gave him a little wave.

[meteorella]

PASTOR'S DAUGHTER!ELLIE ✘ FEM!READER

cw: this chapter contains — first person perspective, cursing obvii, usage of y/n.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: not proofread💌 chat did i just lowk got out of writer's block😳 april was absolutely THE WORST month this year. the april theory is real guys... anywhooo, this fic is based on real events btw..... well, there are some parts that i added to the plot (and character) just to spice things up a bit. i mostly see some ellie x pastor's daughter!reader, but not pastor's daughter!ellie, sooooo why notttt! this chapter is more like an inteoduction so there's not much to read here, but I'm just testing the water for now, yk🥰🥰i almost think that my writing style has changed.... probably from reading physical books more often than fics from the internet. but anywaysss, intentional lowercase, as usual, and i also wrote this in first person on accident... but idk, is it kinda icky for u guys🤷🏻‍♀️? please lmk ur preference <3 and ALSO (when is this gonna stop, honestly) i'm probably dividing this into 2-3 parts hehe. lastly, likes and reblogs are MUCH APPRECIATED💞 alright, enough of me yapping, enjoy!

i look around and took in the familiar setting one last time. the seats are covered with a thick layer of black cloth, it's fabric smooth and silky. the stage is filled to the brim with blossoming flowers, their stems wrapped snugly with silver ribbons. the gold and white curtains are draped gracefully over the background in which the students had prepared together with great thought and pampering, not sparing a single detail.

there is a palpable sense of finality in the room, and the last words of the speaker fades into silence. the students slowly rise from their seats, their faces filled with a mix of relief and pride. there are occasional bursts of laughter and tears, while some are snapping some pictures along with their families, friends, and lovers.

"heyyy, what's wrong?" i asked, walking towards my friends as i took in their tear-stained faces and smudged mascara. addie let out a laugh, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "i just can't believe we're graduating, i feel so fucking happy and so fucking sad at the same time," she croaked. "i know, me too," i replied, smiling wryly. "i'm gonna miss you guys, even if you're a bunch of assholes." we shared a laugh, and i pulled them into a tight hug.

cat sniffled, then suddenly brightened. "okay, enough crying, we totally forgot to take pictures!" she pulled out her phone, and we quickly fixed our hair and wiped away each other's tears. it was a bittersweet moment for sure. all the countless memories we created, all the dumbest decisions we ever made, all the weirdest shit we dared each other… is something that i will never forget.

cat snapped one last photo, and we gazed at the screen, our arms around each other. like nothing in this world could possibly break us apart. "perfect," addie whispered, "promise we'll still keep in touch?" her voice still trembling. "we promise," i replied, smiling softly. we exchanged looks, our eyes still glistening with unshed tears. even as we went our separate ways, the bond we'd formed would always remain. always.

as the crowd dispersed, we exchanged our final goodbyes. addie and cat headed off to meet their families, while i lingered behind, taking in my surroundings. i guess this is it. i'm finally leaving this fucking hellhole. i took a deep breath, savoring the moment, before turning to make my way back out. as i was walking, i heard my name being called by a familiar voice from a distance.

"hey," i turned to see ellie's figure standing a few feet behind me. "ellie, congrats!" i beamed. "yeah, you too! so… which college are you heading to?" she asked, curiosity etched on her forehead. now that, i hadn't really thought about. and that left me wondering, where am i going to study? i couldn't really form an appropriate response. "still thinking about it. you?" i blurted out, tilting my head to one side. "i don't know, actually. but i hope we end up going to the same school," she chuckled. i swear my heart skipped exactly 3 beats. "me too."

we just stood there, staring at each other's eyes filled with amusement. and… something else?…. longing. "anyway, i should go," she said, her voice smooth and gentle, "congrats again!" i smiled, feeling my heart flutter slightly. as ellie turned to leave, i watched her go, my gaze lingering on her retreating figure. i felt a flush rise to my cheeks, and my mind suddenly began to whirl. i hadn't realized how much i'd miss her until now.

we weren't really close. well, i just hadn't really mustered up the courage to talk to her. or maybe it's because i was slightly ignoring her… i've had a small crush on ellie for a while now. i'd catch myself stealing glances, my heart racing when our eyes met. sometimes, i swore i saw something behind her eyes, a flicker of connection that left me wondering. was it just my imagination, or did she feel it too? but i don't know, i will admit, i am a little delusional, so it's probably just my delusions feeding me.

—

the sheets were crumpled, and the pillows were scattered across the bed. the sunlight beamed its way directly into my eyes. the continuous buzzing from under my pillow shattered my peaceful slumber. "are you fucking–" i cursed under my breath in annoyance as i reached for my phone from underneath the crevices of my pillow. i clicked my phone open and— holy shit i have 13 unread texts from addie.

[7:04] helloooo

[7:04] girl are you still sleeping rn.

[7:10] what??? it's 7 in the morning

[7:10] are you srs rn🙂

[7:10] anyway, you coming later?

[7:11] where?

[7:11] girl do you even read messages on our gc

[7:11] what gc

[7:13] oh

[7:13] i DONT KNOW HOW TO SWiM😭

[7:13] you'll live

[7:13] sooo you coming or what?

[7:14] idk, are u?

[7:14] yeah, me and cat

[7:14] CMON iT'LL BE FUNN i PROMISE

i was never really the type to like going out. especially swimming. but perhaps i could go out just this once, and besides, me and my friends did plan on going out for a post-grad celebration. and i'd have ads and cat there with me, i probably wouldn't drown… probably.

[7:16] fine, but i'm only going bc you and cat are

[7:16] YAY

[7:16] pick me up?

[7:17] yep, be ready by 10

[7:17] wait what

"who the hell goes for a swim at 10? they are fucking insane," i sighed heavily and sat down in my bed, eyeing my wardrobe from across the room before shuffling towards it in lazy, and uneven steps. the door creaked open as i twisted the knob, revealing the various clothing hung neatly on the steel bar. some shirts and pants folded in their designated cubbies. my eyes scanned the view in front of me, "what do i wear…" a rash guard? wouldn't want my skin to burn from the sun's radiation. a bra or something? eh. some basic pants? sweatpants, maybe? alright, why the fuck was i thinking of wearing pants to a freaking pool? "you know what, fuck this," i grabbed whatever was infront of my face, not even bothering to check if it was swim-appropriate. but, who cares? we're just going for a swim, anyway.

my surroundings were bright and the space felt confining. the sound of the water falling down the tiles bounced off the walls. as the cold water streamed down my body, my mind wandered to ellie, will i see her there? well, it wasn't entirely impossible, given that half the students in my class will be coming along. even so, it's not like we'd talk anyway, we rarely did. our interactions were limited to discussing school projects and assignments. but i do vividly remember when our class was shooting a film for a project. they paired me and ellie together, and boy, when i found out i was dumbfounded. me? paired with ellie? in a gay film? it felt like the most cliché shit ever. we had the most random conversation ever whilst they were filming us just so it could look like we were actually talking about something. but, we did end up talking about some LGBTQ+ shows and books, and i even gave her one of my favorite novel. now that was definitely cliché. from that point forward, my crush for ellie really sparked. i found myself inheriting her gestures and speech patterns. god, am i just a hopeless romantic.

as the sound of running water pulled to a stop, i stepped out of the shower and wrapped my body with a soft towel. i grabbed the clothes i picked out blindly and inspected it, "whatever". the towel covering my body dropped down to my feet and i carefully slid my head inside the shirt. i lifted my feet and stepped into the short's fabric. i scanned my figure from the mirror, a cropped, collared shirt paired with high-waisted shorts the same color as the top, "this'll do."

after a few hours of waiting for addie's presence, my phone chimed in notification,

[10:02] i'm here

i snapped my phone shut and grasped the tote bag i had prepared, overflowing with essentials i could possibly need while i was away. i rushed down the stairs as i met addie in the driver's seat and cat on the passenger seat, singing along with the music playing in the car's stereo. "s'been about time we hang out before college drains our brains out" cat quipped, grinning over her shoulder as i took my seat in the back. addie, then caught my eye in the rearview mirror and smiled. "ready for our last hurrah before college mode kicks in?" she hooted, her voice bubbling with excitement. cat leaned back in her seat, eyes sparkling with mischief. "i've got a playlist curated to distract us from impending doom—aka student loans and ramen noodles." the music swelled, and we launched into a lively discussion about the future events for later, the soundtrack of our favorite songs providing the perfect accompaniment.

before i knew it, we were pulling into the driveway, the resort's lush greenery and vibrant flowers greeted us. addie expertly maneuvered the car into a parking spot, and we piled out, stretching our limbs after the drive. "finally, we're here!" cat exclaimed, grinning at us.

we made our way to the entrance, where we were met by jade, mike, darcus and some other acquaintances, chatting and laughing together. they waved at us as we approached, and we exchanged greetings. "hey, guys! are you ready for this!?" mike hooted, high-fiving addie.

we followed the others into the resort, winding our way through the pathways to the cottage. the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the sound of people chatting. inside the cottage, we dropped off our bags and began to settle in.

we decided to walk around the resort, taking in the scenery, cat suddenly suggested, "hey, let's take a dip!" me and addie agreed, and before long, we were splashing around in the water, laughing and having a great time. meanwhile, some of our friends were busy cooking food in the kitchen, but we didn't think twice about it—we were too caught up in the moment.

after a while, we climbed out of the pool, feeling a sense of guilt for not helping with the food preparations. "maybe we should've helped with lunch first," addie said, wringing out her hair. we nodded in agreement and headed towards the kitchen to lend a hand.

as we joined the others, the smell of sizzling barbecue and smoke filled the air. we pitched in, helping with the cooking and setting up the tables. just as i was helping putting the hotdogs into their sticks, jade approached me with a mischievous grin. "hey, have you seen the video yet?". i raised an eyebrow, curious. "what video?" i asked. "you might want to check out ellie's part. it's pretty interesting," she grinned, and headed back to where she came from. my curiosity was piqued, and i wondered what was so interesting in ellie's part?

i wandered a few steps away from the crowd, the distant chatter of my friends fading into the background. i reached for my phone until i came across the video. when i hit the play button, i was met by a lively music playing in the background, accompanied by a slideshow of pictures and videos from our class, it was adorable, really. the 10 minute video consisted of our memories from school and ended with an interview segment . after darcus' long ass speech stating all the fun and unforgettable memories we shared, ellie's face popped up on the screen. her hair was gathered in a messy bun, her freckles ever so vibrant in the warm lighting.

"so, are you gonna confess or what?" jade called out from behind the camera. "what?" ellie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. the camera suddenly jerked to the left, lucy's eyes and forehead coming to view. "y/n, ellie likes you!" she giggled. ellie charged to the camera, attempting to stop the recording. that's when i put my phone down, suddenly fascinated by the rocks and the pavement beneath my feet.

was lucy telling the truth? judging by the way ellie reacted—the way her face flushed—the answer was pretty clear. that's when it finally hit me, "she likes me back!" i blurted out, feeling my heart jump out from my chest. i felt an uncomfortable number of eyes gazing over my direction and i quickly spun around, my palm slapping over my mouth in embarrassment.

“y/n!” i heard cat call out from behind me, “come join us!” i took a deep breath, trying to compose myself as i turned around to face my friends. "just a sec!" i called back, attempting to sound as normal as possible despite me acting like a total weirdo over a freaking video about a minute ago.

i rejoined my friends and continued helping with the hotdogs, trying to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. we chatted and laughed while cooking, the savory smell of grilled food filling my nostrils. "hey, pass me another hotdog, would ya’?" addie asked, and i handed it to her. "thanks," she smiled, rolling the hotdog on the grill alongside skewers of marinated chicken and pork satay.

the atmosphere was lively, with upbeat music playing in the background and the sound of laughter filling the air. jade effortlessly flipped the grilled pork chops, while mike was busy grilling slices of bell peppers and onions. we were all having a great time, but my thoughts were elsewhere—on ellie.

as the time grew older, me, addie, and cat sat at the edge of the pool. the conversation flowed easily, each of us sharing stories and jokes. the heat from the sun beat down on us. after a while, addie suggested we take a dip in the pool, and we all eagerly agreed. we spent the next hour swimming and playing in the water, the cool liquid splashing on our faces.

i floated on my back, feeling the sun's warmth on my skin, and my thoughts began to drift back to ellie. i couldn't stop thinking about the video. should i text ellie and ask her about it? or would that be too forward? my mind was whirling like a tsunami, and i couldn't seem to shake off the feeling that i needed to talk to her, to at least confirm if what i saw in the video was real, that she actually felt something for me too.

as i swam back to the side of the pool, i made up my mind. i'm gonna text her. i climbed out of the pool, grabbed my towel, and dried my hands. i took a deep breath, sucking all the oxygen i can possibly get and pulled out my phone. my fingers swerved along the keyboard, typing out a message. i hesitated for a moment, my thumb hovering over the send button, before finally hitting it.

[2:28] heyyy

[2:28] soo, i saw the video…

divider creds: @strangergraphics

[apple-yan]

The Problem With Generosity

Fae Prince Saffron (male Yandere) x G/N Reader

TW : Yandere, Fae shenanigans, Family death, reader smokes

Apple's Note : if you would like me to label specific triggers in my yandere writing, please feel free to ask me to. Thank you.

You were always taught to be a caring and considerate child growing up. Sharing your toys and snacks without being asked, giving up your turn on the swing for a younger child, even letting a classmate have your favorite backpack charm.

All this, and just because you had always been told by your grandmother that it was polite to give to others. That doing the right thing mattered more than getting what you wanted. You knew (you hoped) that eventually your kind actions and selfless behavior would be repayed, and so you remained patient.

When you turned twelve years old your family moved to a new house in a new town, closer to your grandmother. Whilst helping her water her garden (as you so often offered) she warned you that Fae Folk lived in the woods surrounding the small town, and that you should never do anything to offend them.

Considering your Grandmother's advice, and your giving attitude, you instantly thought of a solution to make the fae like you. Each night, before you'd go to bed, you would sneak into the backyard and leave a candy and a handwritten note just by the edge of the trees.

"I hope we can be friends someday!"

If only you had known just how well your plan had worked on the redheaded boy watching you from the branches.

---

It had been years since you had visited your parents house, and the wet cold of the area was something you thought you'd never adjust to whenever you visited home. Though it never snowed in this area, the frigid wind and the soggy ground made for an awful time walking between your parked car and your childhood home.

You had come back to town for your grandmother's funeral. It honestly shocked you how long she had made it, living on her own until 98. You had seen this coming for a while, but you couldn't help the tears when your mother had called with the news.

Your father was a wreck, as much as he didn't show it, so you did your best to make things easier on him. You had been the one to arrange the majority of the funeral planning, including the hotel reservations for the family that would have to fly in.

As you walked towards the entrance of your parent's house, knowing full well where the spare key was and that they were both asleep and would greet you in the morning, you were surprised to see your favorite childhood candy sitting on the table beside the front door. Next to the candy, there was a handwritten note, "Welcome back, (Y/N)!"

You smile, how thoughtful of your parents to leave you a gift even though they couldn't stay awake to greet you. You pop the piece of candy in your mouth as you quietly make your way inside, luggage in tow.

Somewhere distantly, you almost think you hear wind chimes.

---

The service and memorial had been tiring, a three hour passive aggression competition between your aunts and uncles who had never even visited your grandmother in her old age.

As each of them gave speeches about how wise and kind she was and how they didn't know how they could go on without her, you had begun counting the seconds on the clock.

You were unsurprised when there were people attending who you hadn't known. High school and university friends of hers, book club members, neighbors and people in the community who she had helped in various ways in her charitable old age.

One such guest had caught your attention though. A man with striking red hair and green eyes. You don't think you've ever seen him in town before, but then again it has been years. You find yourself wondering who he is, and who your grandmother was to him.

Eventually it was time to get leaving, and as everyone funneled out you caught him staring at you just the same way you had stared at him. Something about his eyes felt strangely familiar.

---

Sometimes when around family for too long, you needed time to yourself. Somewhere to escape to, to cool off.

The family had all gathered in your parents' house after the funeral, and you found yourself becoming frustrated quite quickly with the conversations being had. "Who gets the house?", "Did she have life insurance?", "She told me that ring would be mine!" blah, blah, blahblahblah.

You were sick of it. Such selfish people taking advantage of their own mother even after she was dead. You excused yourself to have a smoke outside.

After a long drag, you heard what sound like a wind chime coming from the forest, and you glanced up from your phone to see the redheaded man standing just a bit to close for comfort. Startled, you dropped your cigarette and phone while jumping back, your heart-rate going a mile a minute.

"W-Who-?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spook ya. You may call me Saffron. I'm deeply sorry for your loss, Helen was a wonderful woman."

Calming down, you nodded. He must have joined the dozens of nameless faces that had piled in to your father's family room after the service. "Thanks. Uh, how'd you know her?"

"She lived here a long time, her and my family were... acquainted." He smiles, "We live a bit outside of town, past the woods, so you and I must have never really bumped paths. How strange."

You nodded, pretending to listen while you pick up your phone and now muddy cigarette, putting the cigarette in your pocket to throw away later.

"Ah, by the way, I didn't catch it earlier, may I have your name?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it's (Y/N)."

"Great. I was waiting for you to give it to me. You have always been so generous, haven't you?"

When you had glanced back up from wiping dirt off your phone screen and seen the pointed ears and impossibly bright eyes, it was already too late for second guessing.

[bagels-and-cream-cheese333]

yeah I don’t mind being double tagged!! <333 I love y’all too much to be annoyed by that.

fav character and why: raphael… raphael. Idk man just something ABOUT him.. (trauma it’s the trauma that’s why it’s trauma and the fact I kin him a teeny tiny bit wait who said that). Honestly there’s this whole story where for the first time when I watched the show, I couldn't pick between leo, donnie, and Raph and was like “no they’re all my babies I have no favorite” but was also like “eh it’s prolly not Mikey tho” and now here I am with Mikey and Raph as my top favs…. whoops

least fav: uh. uhhhh…. maybe repo/crab men. Repo’s kinda cool but just meh villain and idgaf abt the crab guys

character I think is attractive: oh cmon you can’t ask me to choose JUST ONE ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME.. if I had to choose my top favs it’s gotta be raph and big mama tho… like PLEASE

fav villain: big mama obviously!!! Sighhhhhh she’s so shaped I love her <3 a lot of fanworks depict her badly/inaccurately and it makes me really wanna write smth with her but I have absolutely no ideas to what that might be. Sooooo she’ll forever be trapped in my mind as fav villain!!! Yay

least fav villain: yup soaptastesfunny said it damn right. crab men.

fav duo: yikes guys you’re asking me to choose between sunset duo and magnetic twins? haha… that’s…… you’re asking a lot of me here… fiddlesticks guys.. but seriously no I cannot choose between those two. I love em too much what can I say

fav ship: does oc x canon count bc technically Yuichi isn’t even in Rottmnt…. uh I’ll say RaMona (but with my specific version of her) and if not then capril. God do I love capril.

why I like Rottmnt: colors, character design, characters themselves, jokes, THE TRAUMA, the trauma, the community <3333!, the animation, how nothing about it is truly bland, I just… I dunno. Never thought I’d be here but by god am I happy.

tags!! <3 @sloanz-speakz @ineedseveretherapy @snowbriar @faydoodlez @graphoon @toulouie @poisonisweird :)

Calling all ROTTMNT fans

Hi i'm new and I've been seeing these on Tumblr, so I thought to do one :) Btw tag your Rottmnt friends to do this to!

Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is Donnie because he's funny XD)

Least Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is the Leader of the Kraang bc of what he did to Leo..)

A character you think is attractive(Can skip if you don't have one): (Mine is DONNIE >:))

Favorite Villain: (Mine is Kendra, or Big Mama)

Least Favorite Villain: (Mine is same as my least fav character)

Favorite Duo: (Mine is DISASTER TWINS)

Favorite Ship: (None tbh)

2 reasons why you like Rottmnt :3: (Mine is because it's a genuinely funny show, the humor in it is great, and the characters are so well done.)

Your tags: (Mine: @donniecrazy20, @geese-ball, @mycomars, @tonystarkwasrobbed, @ihateitallsomerandomguy, @yourlocalmia, @sockkllyy, @strawberryswirl4321)

[britneyshakespeare]

Had the extremely upsetting experience of a mutual of like 6 years going off on me for occasionally making posts about supporting Harris because apparently that makes me a g n cide denier who refuses to learn and grow, with all of my views just being assumed not even from what I've told them I believe or what I've posted before, but just because I DON'T post particularly the kind of things they THINK I should be. When I pointed out how much they were just completely assuming about stuff I'd never talked to them about, I was told it doesn't matter what I do in real life or "care" about if I simply disagree with their conclusion and vote for her anyway. Like they were absolutely not sorry for the level of maliciousness they not just assumed of my character, but for some reason thought appropriate to bring directly to me before unfollowing me. No apology whatsoever for how discomforting or upsetting that might be and certainly no acknowledgment that I could disagree with them and still be a good person. I just got another even longer rant about how they fundamentally can't fuck with me because of this one thing, no matter WHAT else I do in my real life (which I pointed out that they do not know), and how I'm directly supporting fascism.

Like seriously what is it about Tumblr that makes people think they know someone based off of occasional posts? There were just such DEEP assumptions they were making of me and going off of very little or absolutely nothing. Around the time I first became mutuals with that person I used to express my personality and beliefs and talk about what was going on in my life a lot more openly, but I've significantly scaled back on doing that in many ways for many reasons. One of my major ones is privacy and the way I've had strangers outside my followers and following circles just find random things I say and dogpile me for it. I was fundamentally changed after some T Fs did that to me like 3 years ago. I also just didn't have many conversations w that person anymore (I message people in general on here like 10x less than I did circa 2018-2019, which I'm somewhat sorry about!). My point is to say I think this person felt comfortable assuming that they knew me, especially who I am in 2024 at the age of 25, much better than they actually did.

One of the specific things they accused me of was being afraid of learning and growing (because I don't perform social media activism on here like they think I should). Like AFRAID to take criticism. When again I've never received criticism from them or had to respond to any criticism on here before as pertaining to my views on... well, absolutely any of the issues they accused me of not caring about. They essentially treated it as if the only thing in the world I cared about was the US election and characterized me as the most out-of-touch liberal they could possibly imagine, because I'm not "pushing" Kamala Harris to be better (Oh?? Should I do that on here?? Does she read my blog??).

And most hypocritically what they said was that I only *sometimes* *vaguely* post pro-Harris things (I often post like 5 or fewer things in a day though?). But here's the kicker. "Because I know I'll get shit for it. And rightfully so."

Really????? Not a single person, anon or not, in my messages or in a tagged post or anything, has ever given me shit before for saying who I'm voting for. I'm actually NOT afraid of "getting shit" for that opinion, I just don't start fights with people who are anti-voting. And why should I??? I genuinely don't believe in trying to change the minds of strangers on the internet about that sort of thing. I'm just not confrontational about it; that is so not the same thing as being "afraid of getting shit." I'm not posting ENOUGH about my support for Harris, therefore I'm afraid. But therefore they can also make all these assumptions about me being their strawman for an ignorant Harris supporter.

I'm afraid of getting shit but I still post anyway? But if I weren't afraid of getting shit I'd be posting a lot more?? This is ALL based on their assumptions of what my blog *should* look like, based on what I really and truly believe. My level of posting every now and then is an accurate gauge of my feelings on complex, sensitive, global issues. Because I'm voting for the Democratic presidential candidate and I'm ok sharing pretty much just that little glimpse of myself.

I really don't think that person knows just how inappropriate and insulting that is to just say all of that to me. Like they really know what's going on in my head. Their first message began and ended with like "I'm sorry I love you I just can't take it anymore" but they clearly weren't sorry enough to try and be more respectful to me, and they didn't love me enough not to default to extremely ungenerous assumptions and attacking me based off of those instead of any actual words I've said that they take issue with.

Online radicalization is real and it's not necessarily bad because your political views can start to fall well out of the contemporary Overton window. The way you find it appropriate to treat people whose views, however common, seem to fundamentally misalign with yours... that does matter. You can't just assume the worst of everyone and then act on that in how you approach them as individuals. And then be shocked that you don't stay friends with them. You can't be confrontational with someone about an issue you've never had an honest conversation about, and then expect them to take your bad faith in them as reasonable well-meaning criticism.

I'm afraid of criticism??? I'm afraid of criticism. No I'm not. This person and I have never had an issue before where they criticized me and I got harshly defensive. It was ALL projection. The entire tone of their messages was as if all their anti-voting posts recently were somehow in communication with the occasional go-vote-for-Harris posts that I make. That's not a conversation. I don't post for your satisfaction. I don't post in "response" to my mutuals I disagree with. I just post what's on my mind, sometimes, about some things. I really again can't stress enough how baffled I am by this

[skitskatdacat63]

Often punch myself for not taking the chance to draw weird fanart when I had the passion since the spark will never be the same after the fact. Not saying I don't have passion now, I mean specifically the at minimum 10 unhinged blorbo fantasies I have whenever I consume media

[apoeticwasteoofspace]

Knowing What You Will Never Know

If only I could've never known

If only I had never realized

Everything is different now

But I don't know if it could be for better or worse

I never thought I'd endure this curse

I always thought of it as something only others felt

But no one can compare to you

And I hate that it has to be you

Everything was fine

Because you were my everything

When you were just a friend

All I could and can think about is you

Every time you look at me my heart will sing

But now I know why

Until you I've never been shy

You are my everything

And I hate that I wish it was your arms around me

It feels like such a cliché

To be experiencing this feeling everyone seems to have in this way

That I'd never considered till now

I want to be with you

My face burns and my breath quickens

But I wish I could be that one

Knowing it's something that could never be done

Knowing you would never want me

You were the first make me feel loved

The first to make me feel like more than a waste of space

You listen to me

Every time I start to feel as if I'm being pushed out of the light

You take my hand and invite me back in

No one compares

And no one will ever make me feel the same

There was no way I could've prepared

To feel like this

Why must it be you?

You do not deserve this.

You are the world, the moon and the earth and the wind rushing through my hair

I hope you don't notice my adoring stare

It really isn't that bad

If I'm being honest, I'm honestly glad

I've never truly felt this way

It's new and strange

But I'm happy to watch from the sidelines and bask in your glow

Wrapping myself in the warm feeling I never thought I could have

Knowing what you will never know

[bitegore]

ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.