#and like yes i am so lost and so confused but still its so much fun

[bembembembis]

she be reading harrow the ninth rn and is actually losing her mind

[thecherrygod]

man knowing that there are parents out there controlling what their kids watch and read is. wild to me. like as soon as i was able to read subtitles i was sitting in the living room with my family watching whatever the fuck my parents wanted to watch. the first tv series i watched was sopranos i think, to the point its been long enough that i dont remember a lot of it. like. i feel im at the opposite side of the spectrum there

[icarus-suraki]

I don't like wading into Ao3 debates, but I want to give my professional opinion on Ao3 with regard to archives vs. libraries.

I am a professional librarian (MSLS) and I have worked in both archives and public libraries and a lot of the confusion and concern I see surrounding Ao3 is a fundamental misunderstanding of How Archives Work.

An archive is a collection related to a subject. That subject is often a person but sometimes a field or concept or project. And the purpose of an archive is to keep everything. And I mean everything. I was going to say "short of biohazards" but since I know there's a sealed R. Crumb Devil Gal chocolate bar in the UNC Chapel Hill archives, we really do mean everything.

When a collection of materials--which are usually unique and original and can be photos, manuscripts, letters, recordings (audio and/or visual), notes and notebooks, objects, published books, whatever--on and/or from the subject arrive at the archive, they are examined, preserved for longevity, accessioned and cataloged (added to the archive's records), and added to the archive. You measure collections in linear feet. As in, once it's all preserved and boxed and secure, you note how many feet of shelf space it takes up. And some of y'all on Ao3 have a lot of linear feet to your name (and I'm proud of you).

This is an archive: it is designed to preserve the original materials related to a subject. That is its purpose. Archives are how we have the original scroll manuscript of On the Road, for example, or the Lomax recordings of American folksongs, or Tijuana Bibles, or James Joyce's loveletters to Nora.

Now you, a member of the public, can access some archives. Some are easier to access than others. The one I worked in was open to the public; good luck getting into the British Archives without a good reason.

So now apply this to Ao3--which is an archive both in name and in purpose. It is intended to preserve fan-created content long term. And this means everything, whether you personally like the materials or not. It is a repository for as much as possible.

And the "whether you personally like the materials or not" is important, hence why I mentioned Jim's loveletters and Tijuana Bibles in particular. (RIP Jim, you would have loved pegging.)

If it's made by fans and it exists, we should keep it to document the history and progression of fandom. That is the point. We have lost enough materials related to the subject of fans of media and we don't need to lose any more.

The fact of the matter is that Ao3 is only one facet of the OTW, which preserves other fan-related materials (convention booklets and zines, for example). Somehow Ao3, an archive on the subject of fanfiction, has been divorced from the rest of the project, mostly by way of "purity culture" and panic over "dangerous" fiction.

The fact that you can go through an archive and find interesting information is the other side of archives. No, they shouldn't be like the banker's box of old letters stuffed in my closet. Yes, they should be organized and as accessible as is appropriate for the state of the materials.

It's really, really cool to find stuff in an archive, I'm not even going to lie. I have done it before and I will do it again. And yet there are other items in an archive that I might not want or need or be interested in at all--but they're still there. That's the cataloging and accessioning: to keep up with what's there, to stay "on topic" with collecting, and to be able to find things in that archive. Bless the tag wranglers who are doing the cataloging at Ao3.

The pearl clutching seems to come from 1. the creation of "dangerous" fanworks and 2. public access to those "dangerous" fanworks. These are issues of "purity culture" and opinions on censorship and should not involve Ao3.

Ao3, under the umbrella of the OTW, is a documentation and preservation project first and foremost.

[thegleamingmoon]

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

[olderthannetfic]

There is something confusing to me about older queer people (which is to say, older than I am, at a relatively young 24 years old) who get mad at original fiction whose worldbuilding involves neopronouns. I'm hoping maybe, ONTF, since you've been in queer spaces a lot longer than I have, you can explain why people have such a negative reaction to the idea.

Basically, I'm working on a novel based that takes white-throated sparrow biology and uses it for building blocks in the same way A/B/O takes (now debunked) wolf science and used it for building blocks. This means there are essentially four genders, the two viewed as more intelligent (brown-haired men and women) and the two viewed as more physical (white-haired men and women). Those two groups then get further divided along the lines of 'women are better at making smart decisions under pressure' and 'men are better at staying home and defending the children, as God intended'.

So it seemed natural to me that this worldwide quaternary system would result in at least some languages having pronoun sets for each of the four options. Some languages in real life have more complicated pronoun systems than that, particularly ones where there's a bunch of formal and informal pronouns. It'd also help the reader keep track of who was a part of what group without my having to turn around and state people's coloration constantly. Yes, these people are human, just as humans in A/B/O are, but society is fundamentally very different. I'm not throwing this in to just complicate things or sound smart or something. It's here because my minoring in Anthropology and majoring in Linguistics taught me language usage reflects the needs and values of a people.

The writing group I'm a part of IRL is mostly queer, mostly 40+, with some cishet women who are also present and active writers. The writing group I'm a part of on DW is mostly DWRPers, in their 30's and up, though no older than 50, and entirely queer. I did not expect these to be groups that were uncomfortable with the idea of "different world, different pronouns".

Instead the reception has ranged from suggestions it's pretentious or overthinking things to requests I reconsider doing it. I've been informed this could be seen as mocking the real life queer people who go by pronouns other than she, he, or they. One person asked if this was went to be me "artificially justifying" nonbinary pronouns and implying I didn't find them valid in the real world. That was an awkward conversation, to say the least.

In reality I wasn't really thinking about real life people who use nonbinary pronouns when I was writing. I was just asking, "Logically, wouldn't it make sense for things to work very differently under a quarternary than it does under a modern European binary?" and following my brain along to its' conclusions as it processed that.

I have gotten zero negative feedback from my queer friends my age regarding this. So obviously, generation and the experiences informing a generational context are key, here. I'm just... still lost on how anyone finds this objectionable.

Help?

--

Ahaha. Oh god.

Well, as a reader of sff in the 90s, the first reaction I have to such things is "IS THERE A CONLANG AND A MAP?" Because, man, the conlang people were some of the most tedious motherfuckers I ever had to deal with in sff spaces.

But broadly... I think the reasons queer people get annoyed about this stuff boil down to a couple of big factors:

Disrespectful children who don't know history

Idiot old people harrumphing about "history" they clearly failed to pay attention to while it was going on in the first place

I personally hate being asked to use new words most of the time. A few bits of fandom slang I'll pick up at once, but I'm usually like "Why would I call it 'spirk'? We already have 'K/S'!" *shakes cane*

If you're American, they're your "roommate", not your "flatmate". No, I don't care how much more precise this foreign term is, you pretentious wanker. (But then I'll use 'wanker' because fandom adopted that years ago...)

So my reaction to being asked to say aloud any pronoun not in very frequent circulation in my offline life is "Urrrgh. Do I have to?"

However, the reality is that people have been messing around with pronouns in English since forever. Do you see 'heo' in Modern English? No, you do not! (Not that it was gender neutral, but the point is that even words as ancient as pronouns have changed quite a bit.) The early internet was full of pronoun stuff in MUDs and the like. You had a choice of a lot more than just three in a bunch of these. People besides men and women have always been in queer communities.

So some people like to cry about neopronouns being actually neo, and they're just wrong.

As for the why do you care part...

There is a nasty habit in contemporary queer spaces to act like gay rights issues are solved. Bisexuality? Passe! etc. Gays and lesbians finally got a little mainstream acceptance only to suddenly be treated like the worst of the establishment by the queer youth. How dare?!?! It's even more egregious with bisexuality where the focus of a bunch of queer activism finally swung that way in the 90s... only to be sharply cut off in the 00s.

There's a real "You already got yours. Where's mine?" vibe to some queer discourse today, and it's directed at people who never got theirs. It shows up in demands for mentorship by people who've barely had a chance to escape a rocky start and figure out who they are themselves. It shows up in yowling about this or that bit of queer media we finally got not being progressive because it's the wrong letter of the acronym.

None of which has a damn thing to do with what pronouns you use in your novel, obviously, but I think some unresolved embattled feelings are why some older queer people are very weird about pronouns.

Some of them are also doing the old person version of throwing the weirdos under the bus to placate the normies. Respectability politics became a term long before the behavior was rife on tumblr.

--

If someone really does find it pretentious, though, and not just as a cover for crying about nonbinary identities being fake, I suspect they just remember how 1970s SFF was full of privileged anthropology students misunderstanding kinship systems from elsewhere in the world and then trying to tell everyone how ~deep~ their extremely contrived novels based on them were.

I'm not saying your writing is like this or that every one of these old sff novels was either, but when I hear "anthropology student", I groan internally. It's an instinctive reaction. It's less about the real fields and more about the bevvy of dilettantes I've run into over the years who'll say they study those things but really want to talk my ear off about Joseph fucking Campbell or the strong form of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis or something.

--

Those birds are a really cool source of inspiration. Like with A/B/O, the first thing I wonder is how queerness works in that context and how much people like to defy their designated roles.

Omegaverse started on porn logic, so "The one I say tops always tops!" makes sense. When it gets expanded to try to make it make logical sense as a whole world, I often enjoy it, but it can break down quickly if treated as biology is law. I don't know how often the birds veer off of their set patterns, but humans certainly would.

One place where I get a strong "Oh god, this again" feeling from people's plotbunnies is when they're trying to make up a sff society that strikes me as too rigid in a way that real humans aren't. I'll see people using fake wolf biology (not just for horny reasons) but never looking at what's going on with gender in contemporary Thailand or whatever. Like... Le Guin may have made sedoretus feel plausible, but nobody I've ever seen stanning the concept as something fandom should play with has. That's probably because Le Guin was using over-complicated social norms as a thing that breaks down and causes trouble, and "This should be the next A/B/O!" posts are treating it as something that actually works and is a good way to get the pair you don't ship separated while shipping poly.

"It'd also help the reader keep track of who was a part of what group without my having to turn around and state people's coloration constantly."

This, in particular, gives me that cold shudder of recognition from when Homestuck fandom was everywhere and everyone wanted to over-explain those stupid playing card suits and why I should care.

Your concept sounds neat, and I think a set of four pronouns could easily make sense there...

But I also think that if people need the pronouns to keep track of coloration, you haven't set up a system that feels organic enough or haven't given enough cues about how characters are treating each other or why. Use the pronouns too, but just keep that in mind. It's like the "m/m is hard because the pronouns don't tell me whose hand is where" problem. It's almost never actually a pronoun problem.

--

Anyone else have thoughts here?

[python333]

task force 141 reacting to [reader] clinging to them — python333

— — — —

synopsis just as the title says bb!! just some headcanons of the boys reacting to the reader clinging to them and basically following them around like a lost puppy!

relationships platonic!tf141 & reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings written in 2nd person pov [you/your/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], non-scottish reader [or could be read as scottish with less of an accent], probably ooc :{

note this is so. self indulgent. BUT i need to get my thoughts out rn about these boys because its too much to contain my silly little brain won't let this go and i need to just hdjhsdfjdhj. if anyone wants to request something for me to write pls do it because this is the only thing thats gotten me out of my writers block.

JOHN "BRAVO SIX" PRICE

➥ i honestly don’t even think he’d notice at first.

➥ about a week after you’d gotten to know everyone on the team and started to get used to their quirks, you decide your target to cling onto is gonna be price… because why not?

➥ when i say cling i mean following him around like a lost puppy, just about watching his every move, basically being his shadow.

➥ it’s not until about three days of you doing this when he realizes you’re shadowing him.

➥ when he confronts you about it, it’s less of a confrontation and more like him saying “... do you need something?” and then brushing it off when you shake your head ‘no’.

➥ he’s not really irritated or angry about it, more confused but generally okay with it.

➥ so when he realizes you’re gonna be doing this often, he can’t tell whether he should feel honored or bothered.

➥ spoilers: he ends up feeling honored. it’s his fatherly instincts, y’all already know.

➥ he’s awkward about it at first, now that he actually knows you’re following him, he’s constantly checking over his shoulder and — yep, you’re still there.

➥ so he doesn’t confront you about it again, and just lets you follow him around, and once y’all get closer he teases you for following him around like a duckling would with its mother.

—

You’d been following Price around for a few days now. He hadn’t noticed so far, thank God, but he was definitely close to finding out. You could see the way he’d occasionally glance over his shoulder and see you following him, then keep eye contact with you for a moment before going on with his day — which really confused you at first, but who cares as long as he’s not stopping you? — and letting you follow him.

You had been following him out of habit. You didn’t mean to follow him in particular, it just… happened. Something about his demeanor, you’d convinced yourself, He just feels safe. It’s inexplicable and we will not be diving into my underlying issues to figure out why he feels safe.

So when he’d confronted you about it—or, asked you about it is probably more accurate—with a questioning tone and the words, “Did you need something?”, you shook your head ‘no’, and that was that. The older man had looked at you for another second, eyes looking over your expression as if trying to read you like a book, then went on with his day. You had let out a sigh of relief, and continued your little routine of following him around and being his little shadow.

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he’s such a silly guy, man.

➥ he’d notice but pretend he didn’t, just for the sake of seeing how long you’ll follow him.

➥ if anyone points out your presence he’ll ignore it and change the subject.

➥ of course, once he realizes you aren’t letting up your clinginess, he confronts you about it in the most professional way possible!

➥ “Do ye trail everyone ‘round like that, or am I jist special?”

➥ it takes you a moment to figure out what he just said because holy fuck that accent is THICK.

➥ but you figure it out after a quick moment of thinking and struggle to respond, before offering a quiet, “... Uh. I guess you’re just special?”

➥ he is very happy about this.

➥ he nods approvingly and goes on with his day, letting you trail behind him.

➥ he really doesn’t mind, and actually enjoys having you trail behind him.

—

Following around Soap was more of a challenge than you’d intended. It was fun, for the most part, and you liked that he didn’t acknowledge you at all. The main reason you had kept following him was because he didn’t bother you at all, and didn’t even glance back at you as you followed him, no, he simply let you follow him around and shadow him all day.

Of course, you still had training and practice, but the moment you had gotten out of the showers and were done for the day, you’d gone back to following Soap, once you’d found him. Your daily routine was basically: wake up, eat breakfast, follow Soap, go to the training room and follow your CO’s orders, shower and eat lunch or dinner, find Soap, follow Soap, sleep, repeat.

Then one day, on a particularly idle day, Soap had turned to you and popped the question — “Do ye trail everyone ‘round like this, or am I jist special?”

Maybe you were just being dramatic, but holy fuck , his accent made it almost sound like he was speaking a whole different language. You process his words for a moment, before responding with a quiet, “Uh… I guess you’re just special?”

He seemed pretty satisfied with that answer and never really bothered you with it again.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ he realizes immediately and ohhh boyyyyyy.

➥ “Do you need something?” “Did you need something?” “Why are you following me?” “Stop following me.” “Do you need something?”

➥ he is. Very bothered.

➥ constantly looking over his shoulder just to find your annoying ass following him.

➥ will always ask you why you’re following him, and when you shrug or give a bullshit excuse, he gives an exasperated sigh and goes on with his day.

➥ sometimes he’d even try to lose you in the crowd, and when you miraculously continue to follow him through it, he’d somehow become even more miserable. it’s impressive, your dedication to following him around like this.

➥ he’ll warm up to it eventually, maybe a month or two after you’ve started following him.

➥ by month one he’ll stop constantly asking you why you’re following him, and by month two he’ll stop constantly glancing over his shoulder.

➥ and eventually, he’ll stop trying to lose you in the crowds, and instead look for the easiest way to get through them with you trailing behind him.

—

Ghost should’ve known from the moment you persisted with your following of him through thick and thin that you’d never give this up. Honestly, it’s impressive how dedicated you are to trailing behind him like a little shadow, never even speaking to him, just following him.

However, Ghost could persist as well.

You’d follow him around as much as possible, starting at the break of dawn and briefly pausing your following to do whatever training your CO instructed and then resuming your following till curfew. Day after day, Ghost would interrupt your following by questioning it, then when given an answer, he’d give an exasperated sigh and storm off, not waiting for you to catch up.

At first, he thought you wanted to win over some sort of attention or affection from him. So, he made sure not to give you any. He didn’t spare a single moment for you, besides glancing at you over his shoulder and questioning your presence, and yet you continued to follow him. So he experimented with it a bit — he didn’t spare a single glance at you one day, didn’t speak to you one bit, didn’t do anything. Just went around as if you weren’t there. And yet, you continued to follow him, not put off by his behavior at all.

So, he just stopped thinking too much about you, in the nicest way possible. He wouldn’t glance back at you and question your presence, but he also wouldn’t try and lose you around the base. He wouldn’t storm off and leave you running to catch up. Sometimes, he even forgets you’re there at all. He warms up to it, albeit after a few months, but he still warms up to it nonetheless.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ i think he’d notice fairly quickly but wouldn’t point it out right away.

➥ like, he’d glance over his shoulder and see you following him, but gaslights himself into thinking you’re just trying to get to the same place he is, so he doesn’t confront you about it or anything.

➥ so when he realizes that you’re following him and not just trying to get to the same place he is, he’s kind of weirded out, but still doesn’t confront you.

➥ he’ll ask soap for some help on what to do and the damn idiot just goes ‘[c/n] probably has a crush on you’ so now gaz thinks you have a crush on him.

➥ i mean, he’s flattered, but also he has no idea who you are, so…

➥ he’s now even more awkward.

➥ so then he goes to price for help,

➥ and price is just a tinge more reasonable.

➥ price tells gaz that you’re probably just shadowing him because you see him as some sort of mentor, or maybe there was someone in your past that was similar to gaz and you followed them around as well.

➥ his reasoning doesn’t help all that much, because what the fuck is gaz supposed to do with that, but whatever.

➥ he really doesn’t know what to do about you, to be honest.

➥ after way too long, he asks you why you’re following him.

➥ and when you shrug or give an excuse as to why you’ve been trailing behind him ever since you’ve gotten here, he shrugs back and goes on with his day.

➥ doesn’t mind all that much, so yippee!!

➥ eventually, when you two get closer, he tells you that you can walk by his side instead of behind him.

—

Making Gaz your target was probably the best idea you’ve ever had.

He’s pretty quiet, doesn’t actively try to get you to go away, and best of all, he really just walks around and does any tasks he needs to. It’s oddly nice, just watching him do his work. He doesn’t talk to himself under his breath like Soap or Price does, and doesn’t do his work in complete silence like Ghost does. He’ll often hum to himself or whistle, a noise that’s quickly become weirdly comforting to you.

It’s kind of disappointing realizing you have to go off to training, honestly. Following Gaz around has quickly become the pinnacle of your day. Which sounds really sad now that you think of it, but who cares.

About a month of you following him later, he finally asks you why you’re following him. In the nicest way possible, of course.

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me around all month?”

When you shrug or give an excuse for your actions, he thinks about your words (or your wordless shrug) for a moment and mutters a quiet, “Alright, then,” and goes on with his day.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Spookycorp

"Oró mo leanbh beag Fan na luí ag mo thaobh Ná scar uaim

(Oh, my little baby Always stay by my side Do not part from me),"

Lena wakes to pain. She shudders and opens her eyes, only to wince at the glare of green light.

When she'd gone to bed that night, she'd curled under her covers in her bed, in her penthouse, where no green light existed. She'd been crying herself to sleep, broken and alone, knowing that no one was coming to save her. Not after what she did to Kara. Not after Non Nocere. Not after Hope-Eve was arrested in her place.

Her fingers sink into loam, the texture fluffy and gritty. Not her bed.

Her head aches, and she pushes herself to her knees.

Opening her eyes cautiously, she realizes she's in a forest. Or what might be a forest. Bright orange tree bark melds into the red and yellow leaves, each fluorescent and glowing. The green light seems to come through the rays of sunlight that curls around the branches like a sensuous light snake.

What the hell?

She's pretty certain she did not take any drugs last night. Nor did she drink much more than two glasses of scotch. That's not enough to cause hallucinations. Surely not? Unless someone poisoned her? She wouldn't put it past Alex, if she felt the need to eliminate Lena due to what she'd done.

She'd deserve it. Guilt merges with her fear and confusion.

The crack of a twig catches her attention. She turns her head to see several mice crawl out from under a bush. They line up in a row and stand on their hind legs to sniff the air.

"A human." They say in what sounds like a foreign language but the words translate in Lena's mind. Which is preposterous, and yet here they are talking.

Their words bounce between each of them. "What's a human doing here?" says one. Another interrupts, "A human! Humans are a myth." A third cuts in, "no, look, it's looking at us. It's real." A fourth adds, "A human here? How strange!"

Lena blinks and wonders if she's lost her mind. "Talking mice?" she says out loud. Considering all that has happened, maybe she has lost her mind. Seems the Luthor way.

The mice hop backward at her words. "It speaks!" One squeaks. Another, who wears pants on its lower half and a vest on is top half like some sort of Disney character, chatters, "Is it intelligent?"

"Yes," Lena says, irritated. "Where am I?" She really is mad for talking to mice, but she needs to figure this place out so she can return home.

"She doesn't know?" Says the smallest one. "How does she not know?" the clothed one replies. A third one, the roundest of the quartet, says "They must not be intelligent." The fourth one interrupts, "Oh, but they are here. We must answer."

The way they talk over one another annoys Lena further. She grips the bark of the nearest tree to leverage herself to her feet. Dizziness assaults her, and she has to briefly close her eyes until the world steadies. When she opens them, nothing has changed. The mice still argue, the colors are all wrong, and the sun beams seem almost alive.

"You seek answers. Seek the Mad Hatter," the clothed mice says. "Yes, yes!" chatter the others, "The mad hatter knows all!"

What the fuck? "That's a children's story. Alice in Wonderland." This must be a tripped out dream. There's no way she was in wonderland.

The mice hop back and forth in excitement, chanting, "the human knows after all! Smart human. Good human. See the mad hatter!" They dart back into the bush.

Lena's left wondering how in hell she'll find this mad hatter, and why would she want to talk to someone mad. That sounds like an opportunity for disaster.

But considering she has no idea where she is, she dusts off her pajamas -- the Supergirl ones she'd bought years ago as a guilty pleasure, ironic that she'd worn it last night. Even after everything, she can't let go of Kara. She starts down the narrow trail through the psychedelic forest.

Whispers and crinkles of creatures in the forest herald her progress. One sounds suspiciously like a lullaby she hasn't heard in years.

"Oró mo stóirín Thug tú dochas mo stóirín Go mbeidh mé slán

(Oh my darling You give me hope, my darling May I be safe)"

The sun beams continue to snake and seethe with an alarming energy. Several times, one of the beams slithers over her shoulder, and it burns. She jerks away, her clothes smoking and a charred mark on her garment.

The path curls around massively colorful trees, their roots seeming to appear out of nowhere as if to purposely trip Lena. Branches catch locks of her hair, and she has to untangle herself in a fit of fury. She starts to duck each time a branch moves even a quarter of an inch.

The path stops abruptly at a massive stone wall. The stones are layered like an old medieval fence, and it looms at least ten feet if not taller. Trees crowd her right and left, and Lena can't see any other way forward.

Unless she climbs.

Her feet ache in time with her head, as she's barefoot and the ground a litany of bruises and cuts with each step. Sure, why not add climbing to her soreness?

She grips a stone above her head, and nestles her foot on a lower one close to the ground. Slowly, she maneuvers up the stone wall. As she progresses she feels the middle of the wall expand outward then retract, almost like it breathes.

The fuck?

"Oh," a deep voice echoes around her. "Oh... feels good." The words are said slowly as if the creature chews on each.

Lena freezes, clinging to the wall. "Who are you?" She scans the area, but she can't see anything beyond the wall and the trees, who crowd the wall as if the path she'd taken never existed.

"Oh... you climb me...." the wall expands and retracts as each word takes almost a minute to complete.

"You got to be shitting me," Lena mutters. "A talking wall. Talking mice. Light snakes. What's next?"

"Haaaaats," the wall replies. "Preeetty haaats. Climb human. Seeeeee for yourself."

Lena frowns and resumes her climb. Better to get the fuck off this creature before it decides to eat her or something. She scrambles up the last few feet and pulls herself atop it. Her breath catches in her throat.

Bright blue grass flows outward from the wall and coats rolling hills. In the distance she can see clusters of buildings around a stream that glows green, and beyond that, farther away, a massive red and white tower looms like a threatening sentinel. Dark clouds with lightning hover above the castle, but the sky above the rolling hills is cloudless and bright. The sun above a green hue with the faint imprint of what looks almost like a face.

Lena looks away before the sun can burn her eyesight. She turns and looks behind her, only to see the canopy of the psychedelic forest stretch for miles until they reach what looks like massive mountain peaks, or more like rocky spires.

She doesn't see any hats though. She wonders if she misheard the wall. It did speak far too slow.

Right. She's pondering what a speaking wall said. Great. Definitely losing her mind.

The wind whistles around her, and for a moment, that song returns.

"Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…

(Sleep peacefully, sleep peacefully Sleep peacefully, my sweet child…)"

Hadn't her birth mother sang that to her when she was alive?

Unnerved, she hurries down the pasture-side of the wall. Because she's in a rush, she misses one of her footrests and slips. She tumbles and lands on her side. Pain blossoms in her arm.

"What a fall!" an unfamiliar voice says. "Beautiful fall. But not graceful fall. Eight out of ten. Yes, yes, eight out of ten."

She pushes herself upright and comes face to face with a massive rabbit, who wears a bright red top hat and a scarlet vest with blue pants. Stunned, she stares at rabbit, speechless.

"Aw, what do you see?" The rabbit hops around her. "What captures your eye, fall-er? Do you wish to fall again? Improve your score? What a game! Let us fall, tumble, prance, dive." The rabbit leaps upward, bounces off the wall, and crashes to the ground next to her in a badly done roll.

"Who the hell are you?" Lena dusts dirt off her pants and tries to adjust her clothes to look at least somewhat dignified, and not at all like she stood in pajamas in a tripped-up world.

"Ah, she asks questions! Questions require answers. Oh, how shall we answer?" The rabbit hops up to her, and beady black eyes survey Lena. "Mad. We are mad. You are mad. We are all mad. Come. You require tea. Everyone requires tea. Tea requires tea."

The rabbit pulls a golden watch out of their vest and looks at it. "Oh dear, oh dear indeed! We will be late. We cannot be late. Come, come, we must be tea. Tea must be us. We will drink tea. Tea requires us." It hops up a hill and pauses to look back at Lena.

What the hell, she has no idea what else to do. "Fine, I'm coming." She stomps up the hill, angry and irritated. The pain in her arm throbs in tune with her feet and head.

The rabbit moves far faster than Lena. She struggles to keep pace and resorts to a jog. The rabbit -- Mad Hatter maybe? -- keeps up a strange commentary that dances between topics faster than Lena's grumbling protests.

"-- look at the sky. Clouds hide from the sun. Did you know the sun is a sun? What is a sun? The sun is the sun. What a strange word, sun. Three letters, like the three of the sun."

What the hell does that even mean? "Slow down," Lena grumbles under her breath.

The rabbit ignores her. "Humans. What is a human? You are a human. Humans are human. No a sun. Not me. I am not human. Or am I human? Tea is tea, and humans like tea. I like tea. Is that enough to be human? What suffices?"

"Humans are more than tea-drinkers," Lena retorts, somewhat offended.

The rabbit finally slows as it approaches a clearing with wooden walls and vines hanging along the walls. Once they're within three feet, the walls open and the rabbit darts through. Lena stumbles through, only to stop in surprise.

A table and chairs are set up atop checkered tiles. Tea pots litter the table, and tea cups sit in front of each place setting. A few other animals sit at some of the chairs -- mice, a giraffe (she's baffled as to how the giraffe fits on that tiny chair), an elephant (half of it doesn't seem to exist in this world as it keeps fading in and out), a dog, a cat, and a tall, golden-haired person with her back to Lena.

The person hovers over a stove and hums a tune that sounds strangely like the song Kara used to sing all the time during her pop-techno phase. This one hits her hard as Kara sang it each time they'd cooked together.

"Tell me, how do you fight a machine? You follow the sound of your heart in the dream Áddjá I've got change in my eyes But I'm singing for you Mun jearán áddjás."

The golden hair sweeps down the person's back in tight ringlets. Voluminous pants swish as the person moves back and forth as if dancing to the tune. The shirt has ruffles around the neck and large, balloon like sleeves. The colors are blue and red, and the person feels familiar.

Yet, it can't be. Lena stares, stunned, motionless.

The rabbit tugs on her arm. "Aha, tea party! It is nearly time. Time, time, time, we can't be late now." The Mad Hatter taps its pocket watch. "Come, we mustn't be late. Late is poor etiquette, bad. Not good. We cannot allow not good. We must be good. Wonderful. Happy. Come!"

She lets the rabbit pull her across the short distance to the table.

When she reaches an empty chair, that's when the person turns with a ridiculously ornate pot of tea in their hands -- a pot that looks oddly like a tea with a bulb-like base. Sapphire eyes meet Lena's, and a smile curves the rosy-pink lips. Her tanned skin glows almost in the green-tinted light.

She looks like Kara Danvers, but that can't be.

She stares, frozen to the ground, unable to move.

The last time she saw Kara had been at that icy fortress. She'd unleashed her anger and pain, but even as she had told Kara the truth, poured out what she'd done, what Kara had done to hurt her, she'd desperately wanted Kara to fix it.

Or was that just a dream? She struggles to remember, but the memory feels hazy. Indistinct.

Maybe the last time was when she pressed the signal watch to trick Kara into coming to her so Andrea could infiltrate the DEO.

Or did that happen? Is it another dream? Her memory feels patchy, unreal, and the world around her seeps through her with a chill that leaves her trembling with fear.

Is this really Kara? The one she loves? The one she hates? The one she can't escape?

"Kara?" she breathes out. She trembles and looks around for a way out, but the wooden trellis that circles them has no doorway. Only wood and vines.

The person tilts her head. "Kara?" she repeats. "Odd." She pours tea into one of the animals' cups. She realizes that the animals all wear hats of different colors and styles, and their vests are glittering. "You are a funny human," the Kara-like person says in Kara's voice.

"If -- if you're not Kara, then who are you?" Lena feels unmoored.

"Who am I indeed?" Kara-like person grins. "Come, join us. It's tea time. We mustn't be late."

Fear drips down Lena's spine. She sits down gingerly. Something is majorly wrong here, but she can't figure out what to do. How to break whatever spell has her trapped in this hell place.

"Ah, tea!" cries the rabbit. It raises its cup, this one decorated with flowers that writhe across the porcelain. "Tea invigorates. Rejuvenates. Tea is tea. Tea becomes us. We become tea. Drink, friends. Drink to the One Who Sees All!"

The chorus of animals cheer and raise their own intricately decorated cups. The Kara-like person approaches Lena and pours her tea. It's an amber-liquid, and her sapphire eyes bore into Lena. "Drink, Lena," she says. "Drink and be one with the tea. Becomes the tea, the tea becomes you. The One Who Sees All delights in your presence."

Lena pushes away from the table. "No." The world around her flickers as if an unsteady television show. All the animals turn and stare at her.

One in particular-- the violet-hued cat, grows in size, and its grin expands dramatically. "Ah, the humans fears us. How delightful. Come, come, drink, human. Drink and be tea." Its body starts to slowly vanish until only its grin and blood-red eyes glare into Lena's soul. "Wash away your troubles. No more pain. No more suffering."

Lena backs away until her back hits the vine-crusted trellises. "No. No, that's not right."

The cat blinks out of existence. The giraffe turns to her next, its body rippling like water. "You call to us. The drink calls you. The One Who Sees All appreciates your work." The giraffe laughs, until its body fades into a silhouette of its outline, but then that too fades.

She has to get out of here. "Kara, please," she turns to the only other human. "You said my name. We need to get out of here."

The Kara-look-alike tilts her head, only to tilt it more and more until it's almost at a ninety-degree angle with her body. "Kara, Kara, you say Kara, but is it Kara you desire? Or Kara you wish to dominate you? Kara you wish to destroy? Kara you seek, you reject, you hurt, you save."

Terror grips her, and she tries to climb the trellis, but the vines whip around her wrists. Tugs her firm against the wood, and she's trapped. Tied up and unable to pull free. It holds her fast.

The Kara-like person jerks back into a more human form and then briefly vanishes, only to reappear closer. A teacup is in her hands. The liquid isn't amber-hued anymore. It's blood-red.

Lena clamps her mouth shut and turns her face away.

"Drink. Drink. No more pain. No more suffering. No more life. All is one. We see all. We are the One." Kara's voice sounds sweet, gentle almost, but her words carry a horror that twists Lena's stomach. "The One Who Sees All gives us life. Is that not what you desire?"

She's only a foot away, and she raises the cup of blood-like liquid. "If not tea, perhaps wine? You love wine. Wine loves you. We all are wine too." She grins, her teeth sparkling white, and her eyes crescents almost in her face.

The feel of this fake-Kara's hands on her face gives her a strength she didn't know she had. She screams and tears one leg free. She kicks the interloper and rips free an arm. She punches that perfect face.

"No. You aren't Kara!" She tears free of the vines and bats away the cup. Blood splashes across the blue grass and it wilts into brown.

The Fake-Kara stumbles backward. All the animals vanish, except for the rabbit, who jumps on the table and cackles.

"You fight! Human fights! Fighting human. Can you free yourself? Stop the madness? Go, go, and fight the One Who Sees All. Then and only then truth will appear."

It won't shut up. Lena throws a fist of soil at it, but the rabbits dodges. "The truth tea, the Tea of truth. The tea to end all teas. Ha, the human is foolish. Foolish and late. Late, late, late." The rabbit bounds up and over the vine-encrusted walls.

She's suddenly alone.

Her breathes come fast and ragged. Soil dribbles from her fingers. The table is empty except for cups and wine bottles, the tea pots gone. Red liquid spills across the table and stains the wood.

Lena's angry. Furious. How dare this place mimic Kara. How dare it! Kara of all people doesn't deserve this vile imitation.

"One Who Sees All!" Lena shouts. "Show your measly face! And leave Kara alone!"

The sky clouds over, and lightning flashes. Thunder roars and rain erupts. It floods the ground, washes away the vine-trellises, and the table floats away like a boat. The water tugs and pulls at her legs, threatening to toss her asunder.

The wind howls its song. "Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…"

Distracted by the song, she loses sight of the table. Something slimy grabs her legs and tugs her under. Water gushes into her mouth, and horror pierces her chest.

NO! She thrashes against the cold hand on her leg, and slams her foot into something soft.

Abruptly, she's released. She breaks the surface with a gasp.

Desperately, Lena struggles to stay afloat, but then the table floats just close enough for her to snag it. The wood splinters pierce her skin. Blood dribbles as she hauls herself atop it. She shivers and stares at what almost became her grave.

The waters raise higher. Her raft floats and spins as the waters continue to rise. Bits and pieces of debris litter the waves, and the lightning cavorts as if laughing above her, forming eerie grins.

She clings to her make-shift raft with all her strength. Hands pierce the water's surface, and she's drenched by another wave that forms into hands that tug and pull at her clothes and hair. She kicks the watery arms away.

The massive red and white tower looms before her, still a few miles away, but as the lightning grins once more, she sees a figure atop the tower. One with black hair pulled into a ponytail, and a large white cloak across their shoulders. The face is clouded in shadow, and the vision splinters at the next crack of thunder.

Lena's head splinters with pain. She grabs the table, and holds on for dear life as it spins and splashes. Water soaking her to the bone.

Time ceases to hold meaning. She knows not how long the table spins out of control on the raging waters, but it eventually comes to a stop against a massive boulder. She shivers and looks up to see black rock, shiny like obsidian almost. The table is lodged between two boulders. The waters have receded, and a path forms between the massive rocks.

Lena tries to wring out her pajamas to no avail. Giving up, she slides off the table and hits the mud. It squelches under her feet.

There's no where else she can go but forward. She clenches her fists and stalks up the winding path.

Exhaustion weighs on her. Her feet crunch against the gravel, and the creepy silence wraps tight around her. She feels blocked in, trapped, as the black rocks loom over her. Only a small sliver of sky peers into the gorge, the sunbeam twisting and turning but not quite reaching her.

She walks in gloom. It saturates her with a growing despair.

That's when the whispers start.

"Don't you dare, Alex!" Kara's voice echoes softly, despite her tone sounding like she shouts, and yet it's so faint, Lena almost misses it. "We haven't exhausted our options! I won't let you do this."

Another voice whispers. "We don't have time to deal with this. She chose this. Let her face the consequences." Cold, calculated Alex.

"Lena, Lena, what's wrong?" Kara again.

"Goddammit Lena, answer your damn phone! Don't make me come out there. You don't get to ghost your own goddaughter." This time it's Sam.

"Why won't she reply, Mom? Something's wrong, isn't it?" Ruby whispers.

"I'm sorry," Lena chokes out the words and tears sting her eyes. She'd avoided answering Sam's calls, and well, everyone's calls. She'd focused only on Non Nocere, her single-minded focus turning her into a spear of revenge and anger.

"What do you think is happening?" It's a voice she doesn't quite recognize. "I liked our project. This isn't solar energy. You don't think she's losing her mind like her brother?"

Workers. Her workers at L-Corp.

"This doesn't make sense. What could this part be for?"

"I won't do it. I'm quitting. She's just like her brother. Just hid it longer."

She shivers and puts her hands over her ears but it doesn't keep the whispers out. If anything they grow louder with each step she takes.

And weirder. As if now they shift from past to potential futures.

"I feel strange, Mom," Ruby says. "Like I can't think."

"I know, hun. It's..." Sam's voice sounds confused. "We are safe. Everything is okay. We are free now." Her voice changes to a dull tone, one that echoes eerily with some of the animals at that tea-wine party.

"Mom! Mom, what's wrong with you? What's wrong with everyone?" Ruby cries.

"Hush, we are all fine. We are all fine." Sam's tone is calm, unrelenting.

"Stop it!" Lena shouts. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want Sam and Ruby hurt. "Leave them alone!"

More whispers trickles through the black walls that enclose her in darkness. She stumbles over rocks she can't see, forced to feel her way forward.

"Alex? Alex, what's wrong with you?" Kara frantically says.

"Nothing is wrong, Kara. I feel wonderful." Alex's voice intones in that same dull tone Sam had. "I feel free. Unburdened. Don't you?"

"No, no." Horror sour Lena's stomach, and she stifles a sob. She has to get out of here. She begins to run, but she trips over an unseen boulder. "This isn't real!" She screams at the invisible voices, the black walls, the darkness that throttles her with despair. "Stop being a coward! Face me!"

Her words echo through the dark tunnel, and for a moment, the whispers stop.

Instead, the sound of something large being dragged starts up behind her. She turns and squints. A faint light pulses behind her, and with each pulse, she briefly sees the obsidian path light up. The road lifts up and rolls like paper.

She turns and runs away from the rolling ground. It squelches closer. She keeps tripping, the darkness pitch-black and makes her eyes ache.

"Kara, please," Lena whispers. She pushes off the ground after another fall. Her knees and hands are bloody, and her head throbs with pain. "Please, I'm sorry. I never wanted this..."

But did she? She made Non Nocere. She'd forced Eve to become her AI's body. She'd done horrors that rival Lex's.

Or was that all a dream too? Lena's not sure anymore. Her memories feel destabilized, like she's dropping backward in time, losing bits of herself the longer she's trapped in this nightmare.

This is all her fault, isn't it?

Everyone she loves is in danger, aren't they? Darkness smothers her, and steals the breath from her lungs. She chokes on her hubris, her foolishness, her horror.

Despair brings her to her knees, and she sways, ready for the horror behind her to pierce her chest. To end this torment finally.

"Lena..." a soft voice murmurs her name with a tenderness that Lena rarely heard. "Lena, luv, keep fighting. Keep moving. This is not your end."

That Irish accent -- it sounds almost like her birth mother. Or what Lena had imagined was her mother's voice. "Mom?" she gasps out. Pain sears through her wounds, and she struggles to her feet.

A wind brushes against her cheek from further up the path. A soft melody ripples along its currents.

Oró mo leanbh beag Agus paidir ó mo chroí Tá do tsaol romhat

(Oh my little babe And a prayer from my heart For the life in front of you.)"

A glow of yellow appears up ahead. A woman who looks eerily like herself, but with softer cheekbones and jaw. She smiles, and it's a tender one. "Follow, luv. Don't look back. Come." As she moves, she sings the same song the wind whispers.

Lena stumbles to her feet. Behind her, the grinding of collapsing roads and boulders echo with a growing cacophony, but she doesn't look back. She pushes toward the glowing figure, who turns to walk steadily up the steepening road.

Up and up she climbs. The ground shakes under her feet. She falls against the obsidian wall, it's stone freezing cold. She jerks away and keeps moving.

A soft Irish lullaby serenades her ears from the figure ahead. The Irish Lena can't remember how to speak, but it soothes her despair, gives her courage to keep moving, to keep trying.

"Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…"

She tumbles out of the obsidian paths and onto a tundra studded with flowers. The sudden sunlight nearly blinds her, and she shields her eyes at first. As her eyes adjust, she lowers her hand.

"Mammy?" the Irish slang for mother falls from her lips, and she feels small and scared.

Her mother stands a few feet away and smiles at her. "You are okay, luv. You don't face this alone."

"Mammy," Lena stumbles toward her, the ground uneven. "Why am I here? I just want to go home."

"Luv, I wish I could take this pain from you, but I cannot." Her mother's smile turns sad, and her green eyes pierce through to Lena's soul. "To return home, you must defeat the darkness within. Let light fill you, luv. Don't look back. Do not give in to the temptations."

"Mammy...." Lena reaches for her, but her hand passes through her mother's arm. Tears cloud her vision. "Mammy, please..."

"I'm always with you, luv. Just close your eyes and listen to the wind sing." Her mother's ghostly hand tenderly touches her cheek. It's warm, far warmer than she expected. "Now go, luv. Save your the ones you love."

Lena closes her eyes and feels the warmth of her mother's hand, and that's when she hears it -- the wind sings the Irish Lullaby as it sweeps across the mossy rocks and flowers.

Oró mo leanbh beag Glac mo chomhairle cinnte Mo grá go sámh

(Oh my little babe Take my sure advice My peaceful love)."

Determination cements within, and Lena opens her eyes with a smile. Her mother has faded, but the gold of her form swirls along the wind and flows across the tundra toward the red-white tower.

The tower raises high above the mountainscape, and its windows glare with a darkness that oozes and crawls down its walls like streaks of mold.

Lena takes a deep breath and walks toward it. Behind her, she hears the crunch of boots. The swish of something slicing the air, and its screeching howls chills her bones.

She refuses to look back. Her pace quickens into a jog, but the one pursuing her persists.

"At least I won't die a fool," Lex's voice taunts her from behind. "You can't even see what's in front of you!"

"No." Lena starts to run. She's so close to the tower now. "I see clearly for once!"

"Fool. You think you act of your own volition? I seeded your project, planted and nurtured it, and it blooms. Oh, how it blooms. You are my final weapon, Lena."

Lena grits her teeth with a growl. "Not anymore, Lex!" She skids around a boulder. A whistling sound hurls toward her, and she ducks instinctively. A spear embeds itself in the stones ahead of her. She starts to dodge back and forth, to keep herself as harder target.

More spears whistle and shatter against boulders.

One nicks her shoulder when she fails to dodge in time. Pain blooms, and blood trickles from the wound. Still she refuses to look behind her.

Stay focused. Keep moving. Don't look behind her. That's what her mother told her.

So she keeps pushing forward. The tower leers down at her, and that silhouetted figure atop it stands at its turrets, their hands on the stone, and their body leaning outward to watch her. Black hair billows in the wind, but the face stays shrouded in shadow.

Distracted, a spear slices along her side, and she gasps with a stumble. Her hand presses against the cut, blood staining her pajamas.

She hears the whistling of a throw, and lurches to the left.

Another spear slices through the air just where her head had been. Laughter surges behind her as her assailant closes the distance between them.

She scrambles to her feet and rushes forward.

Ahead the doorway to the tower glows a blood-red, its doorknob white-hot. Steam rises from it.

Another spear slices through the fabric of her pajamas, barely missing her skin. Shit. She dodges to the left, then right.

"You can't escape destiny, Lena." Her brother cackles behind her, his voice loud. "We are Luthors. We destroy. We conquer. We are Power, and we will rule. Give in. Become us. Become our weapon."

"Never!" Lena throws herself at the door. It burns her hand, but she twists the knob and shoves her shoulder against the wood. "I'm not a full Luthor, Lex. I'm part Irish, and I won't forget my roots."

The door creaks and a gap appears. She ducks at another whistling sound, and a spear embeds in the wood above her head. Another crash of her shoulder against the door, and the gap widens just enough. She slithers through, and quickly slams it shut behind her.

Darkness greets her along with an all-encompassing silence.

No, not fully dark. She sees a sapphire and emerald lights at what appears to be the start of a spiral staircase. The light casts long shadows, and she sees bodies.

So many bodies, many of them distorted and twisted in on themselves. Like someone had turned them into living knots. They moan and groan in pain.

"Save us," they whisper.

She shivers.

These aren't all humans. Some are aliens.

Aliens that Lex tortured in Kasnia. Others who'd been trapped in the power plant, and still others who died by Medusa or Lex's Red Sun attack.

"I'm sorry," Lena whispers. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to touch one of them. Warm skin under her hand.

The alien looks at her with wide brown eyes. Their body untwists at her touch, and they breath in relief. The warmth drains into a deathly cold. "Thank you..." Their body stiffens in death.

Tears scalds her, but she walks the length of the room and touches each victim. Each one whispers a thank you and fades into death. She can't save them.

She was too late to save them.

The stairs loom, and when she looks up, she sees the coils of darkness that swirl just out of reach of the burning torches. The blue one burns brighter than the green.

That's the one Lena grabs. As her fingers curl around its metal base, she feels a surge of warmth and the soft, brief whisper of the Irish lullaby.

Oró mo leanbh beag Agus paidir ó mo chroí Tá do tsaol romhat

(Oh my little babe And a prayer from my heart For the life in front of you)."

As she climbs, her torch spills blue light over her body and in a circle that is at least a foot in radii.

Beyond the light, the shadows seethe and howl like banshees. Faces loom in the walls, and as her torch light plays over their sunken features, she realizes they are yet more dead, more innocents tortured by Lex.

One she recognizes as the man who died during her Harun-el trials, the one who'd eagerly joined the trial in hopes of walking again.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, in pain. She hadn't meant for him to die. She'd been so sure it was safe enough for human trials. And yet, his face glares back at her. Judging her.

She looks away and climbs higher.

Whispers tug at her eardrums, but they make no sense, most gibberish, but others sound almost like past conversations she's had.

She hears her own voice speaking to Andrea, how she'd used Andrea to hurt Kara. Another memory surges of her speaking to Kara and Kara's mother, where she'd handed over the Harun-el and its recipe.

"Stop it!" she shouts. But the voices continue.

"Leave me! Save the chemicals!" she hears herself shout.

"No, never! Climb Lena, Climb!" Supergirl -- no Kara -- shouted back.

Tears dampen her cheeks. How many times had Kara saved her? How many times had she saved Kara?

Each step weighs her down, and she struggles to lift her feet for the next step. The torch sputters in her hand.

Each segment of memory haunts her, each shared moment a reminder of the bonds she has with Kara, Sam, Ruby, and Kara's friends.

She can't escape them.

She doesn't want to escape them.

She wants to go home.

"Home," her own voice growls. "There is no such thing. We can trust no one."

"No," Lena says, weakly. She's so, so tired. More and more steps await her, and the top of the spire looks impossibly far. More and more faces are etched in the walls, some trapped in a screaming pose.

"Yes, all we trust betrays. They will all pay."

"No." Lena says more firmly. "No, I will not fall for this." Her mother told her to keep going. To defeat the darkness within, and she refuses to let her mother down. She'll finish this even if it takes all of her strength and willpower.

She clenches her jaw and looks ahead at the gloom. Shadows dance at the edges of her light. Squelches and screams echo around her, and behind her, she hears the clomp of another set of feet.

Don't look back. She picks up her pace and raises her torch higher.

"Turn around. Around you turn. See the truth." The faint Irish accent sounds like her birth mother, but there's an odd echoing quality.

"No. I won't." Lena resists the urge to check.

The voice changes to Kara's sweet tones. "Lena, I'm here, just look back. I can help."

"Nice try, nope." Up another set of stairs, higher she holds the torch. Each step shakier, her legs trembling from the strain. Cold bites into her, and she shivers violently.

"Oh come on, Luthor, you can't do this alone. Let us help." It sounds like Alex and yet not.

"Hun, we're here. Just look back." This time it's Kelly.

Something stalks her, and hurls the voices of those she cares about like spears.

Lena resists and scrambles up a set of steps that are strewn with bones. Most don't look human, but instead are too long or too thick or too bird-like. Alien bones.

Cold air brushes across her skin, and laughter cackles around her. The footsteps grow closer.

Sweat dampens her roots, and she almost trips at the next step. Her torch flickers dangerously as it tumbles out of her hand, rolling to the edge of the step.

For a brief moment, darkness descends. Slimy tentacles curl over her body, around her throat and arms.

"Get away!" She leaps forward and snags the torch before it falls. The blue light flickers but steadies, and she desperately waves it back and forth.

The shadows hiss and dissipate into a sour smoke.

She shudders.

The footsteps behind her clomp just below her, and she hears the sound of creaking. She staggers to her feet and leaps up the steps. The thud of metal on stone echoes behind her.

Shit. She looks over the walls, but there's no other weapon. Only faces twisted in agony, the blue light of her flickering torch, and endless stairs.

"Fuck." She scrambles upward, frantically. The footsteps continue, each thrust of its weapon clanging against stone, her dodges barely in time.

That's when the whispers start up again. "Save us, please." The faces plead from their stone coffins. "Release us. Save us. Please"

"I'm trying." Lena scrambles up another set of stairs. Her muscles ache, and her head throbs. She's too slow in her dodge, and metal cuts along her leg.

She gasps at the burning pain.

No, she can't stop. She pushes forward.

"Avenge us. Release us." The chorus of dead surge in volume. She is deafened. She can no longer hear the sound of movement behind her, but still she races upward, dodging right and left to keep herself from being an easy target.

Pain seethes through her, and the shadows whip at the edges of her light.

A landing up ahead. Lena takes the steps two at a time and reaches it just as a spear embeds in the wall to her left. The face pierced screams.

She runs along the landing, toward a door ahead. Shadows screech around her. Tendrils dance into her light to pull at her hair and clothes. The blue light sears them, and with a scream, they retreat.

The metallic stomps sound like armor, and her pursuer persists.

Don't look back. She chants it to herself, but the urge to check grows with each dash forward. There's no places to hide here, and her light's circle has shrunk. More tendrils rip at her clothes and hair.

A monstrous body slithers into her light, no arms or eyes. Its legs propel it forward. Lena leaps away from it, but it squelches behind her to circle around and reappear on her left. She waves her torch at it, and embers fly off.

The creature screeches when the embers touch it. It slithers away.

Lena's feet hits against scattered stone. She nabs one, and when it slithers back, she hurls the rock at is faceless face. The rock sends it skidding into the wall. Lena snatches another and hurls two more for good measure. The creature lays motionless.

Breathing heavily, Lena picks up another rock and holds it like a knife. The door glows in front of her. With a running start, she slams herself against the door, and it swings open at her momentum.

She stumbles out of the stairwell and into a large room full of bookcases, red carpet, a piano, but dust coats it all. A sheet covers the piano and the sofa. The books smell of mildrew, many ruined, but a few glow softly.

Confused, she walks up to one and studies is spine. She can't make out any words. She reaches up to touch it, but a chill emits from the tome, it frosts her hand, burning with cold. She snatches her hand away.

The books and her torch are the only lights.

"Come now, Lena, don't slouch. Shoulders back, chin up." Lillian's voice emits from a different book.

"Honestly, you are hopeless. Did you think you'd ever amount to your brother's greatness?" The hiss of anger sears through her. She recoils from the bookcases.

But Lillian's voice stalks her. "You took my family from me. I never wanted you, but here we are. All that's left." Hatred mixed with love coats Lillian's words.

Lena freezes in the center of the room. Beyond the piano, she sees another door, this one metal and ornately carved with Luthor symbols.

"You're a Luthor, Lena. Act like one. It's time you take up the mantle. Become us."

"No..." Lena shakes her head.

A creaking of a rusted joint catches her attention. She looks to her right, and barely dodges the punch of a Lexosuit.

It twists and dives at her. She throws herself forward just in time. It crashes into another bookcase.

Green energy lights up its right arm, and the headless suit turns to point its cannon at her. She throws her rock, but it only harmlessly dents its side.

Lena dives behind the piano. The blast incinerates part of the bookcase. Her torch sputters. Dammit, low on fuel.

Clomps as the suit rounds the piano to face her again. She looks down the barrel of the cannon.

"Not this time," she growls. She shoves the torch into the cannon and sprints for the door. An explosion rocks the room, and she stumbles. Shards of metal cascade around her, several slicing into her arms and legs. One cuts her cheek.

She reaches the door and tugs it open with all her might.

Green-yellow light floods the room, and she steps onto the wide balcony at the top of the tower.

The figure with black hair stands with her back to her, her hands clasped at her back. "So you've made it," she says in Lena's voice.

Wind whips her hair around her face in a veil of black. It howls a despairing lullaby, one that sounds like her mother's but distorted by pain.

She's coated in bruises and cuts. She has no weapons, no torch, and the wind tugs at her ripped pajamas.

"Who are you? And what do you want?" Lena lifts her chin and speaks with a confidence she doesn't feel.

"Don't you know?" The figure turns.

Lena takes a step backward in horror.

It's her face. The Other-Lena smiles, but it's a twisted grin, one born of malice.

"Ah, so you do recognize me. You are not as stupid as I assumed." The Other-Lena stalks toward her. Her clothes are hidden by the sheets of armor, pieces of a lexosuit forged into a more lithe and compact suit. Except for her right forearm, where a cannon sits attached, it's green pulsing along its wires.

"You're my darkness," Lena says.

"I am more than you could ever be," Other-Lena snarls. "I will finish what we started. No more pain. No more suffering. All will be at peace."

Lena shakes her head. "That's not possible. I see that now. Suffering can't be erased. But we can do better. We can make people's lives better without stealing their free will."

Other-Lena laughs. "Fool. You have nothing with which to defeat me." She stops a foot away and raises her right arm.

Exhaustion and pain coats Lena's body. She needs to dodge, to find a place to hide, to figure out how to fight back, but she's so tired.

The wind curls around her, and with it comes her mother's lullaby.

Codladh sámh, codladh sámh Codladh sámh a páiste mo chroí…

(Sleep peacefully, sleep peacefully Sleep peacefully, my sweet child…)

Warmth and love saturates her from the sweet melody. Her mother's love gives her strength, and she holds up her arm.

The green erupts from the cannon, but a yellow shield appears on Lena's arm and the blast sweeps around her, leaving her unharmed.

Other-Lena snarls and rushes her.

Lena holds her ground, her shield arm still upraised. A verse from the lullaby ripples again along the wind.

"Oró mo leanbh beag Glac mo chomhairle cinnte Mo grá go sámh.

(Oh my little babe Take my sure advice My peaceful love)."

Her Mammy's advice: Don't look back. Keep fighting. Lena raises her other hand, and a spear of light forms in her hand.

Other-Lena slices down with a sword pulled from her back. Lena blocks and pirouettes to the side for a lunge.

Other-Lena blocks with her arm and slices faster than Lena can dodge. The blade cuts into her skin, but she tears herself away. Blood drips down her shield arm.

Her vision splinters, and for a moment, there's two Other-Lena's. Both rush her in a flunge.

Lena brings up her shield. The crash pushes her backward, and she stumbles, pain along her arm. The shield flickers, a crack along its horizontal axis.

Again and again, Other-Lena beats her back with fencing moves so swift, that Lena can barely block in time. Her energy flags, and blood and sweat coats her pajamas and her hair.

She can't lose, but she's so tired.

Again the wind swirls around them, and the song starts up once more.

Oró mo leanbh beag Agus paidir ó mo chroí Tá do tsaol romhat

(Oh my little babe And a prayer from my heart For the life in front of you)."

Love pours from the lyrics and revitalizes Lena. This time, when Other-Lena attacks, Lena drops in a Passata Sotto, where she evades under the blade, one hand briefly on the ground, while she straightens her sword and plunges it forward.

It cuts deep into Other-Lena's side. Her adversary hisses and staggers backward.

Lena straightens and shifts her stance. The buzz of her mother's love tingles through her still. She's not alone in this.

She lunges, and her slice cuts into Other-Lena's shoulder. Her opponent growls and rips free. She stumbles backward, raises her sword, and dives into a remise.

Lena parries each attack, but the force of them forces her backward. She has no armor, and her wounds slow her far too much. She searches for an opening, but Other-Lena's suit seems to rejuvenate her.

She needs to destroy it's power source, but where is it? She parries yet again, but this time performs a second intention, where she first feints and provokes an attack. She glides through another parry and strikes at the opening on the left. Her sword slices between armor pieces, and this time blood flows from the wound.

Other-Lena jerks away and scrambles backward. "Foolish." She lifts her cannon. "You can't win this." The colors on the cannon had been faint, but it pulses brighter again.

It'd been recharging this entire time. Shit.

The blast slams into Lena and throws her hard against stone. She slides to the ground, dazed. Laughter assaults her eardrums, and her vision splinters again.

She needs to get up. She can't lose.

She can't lose.

But the pain throbs through her, and she struggles against the crushing fatigue. It'd be so easy to let go.

Other-Lena laughs again and stalks closer, her emerald eyes burning with a fury, her sword upraised, and her cannon slowly recharging.

The wind buffets them, whips their hair to the left.

Another voice swirls along the wind, but this time it's Kara's voice singing. This time one of Kara's favorites.

"I will take the fight, I will stay up all night I'm not running away Mun jearán áddjás Chain me to the wall They cannot break us all I'm not running away."

That's right. Lena pushes off the wall with a surge of Adrenalin. She's not running away. Not anymore. They can't break her or those she loves. No matter how many times they try to chain her down, to use her, she fights back.

She'll always fight back, but this time, she does so with love burning in her heart.

"No more will you haunt me," Lena says. "You cannot break me!" She charges with a shout.

The cannon glows again, but Lena sees the bulge along the belt. The battery pack, and the wires flow up along Other-Lena's side and into the arm cannon. She aims, and in a swift feint, she catches Other-Lena off guard.

Long enough to slice through the wires.

The cannon spins down.

Other-Lena howls as if in pain. Lena pushes forward and her sword cuts deep into Other-Lena's side.

She drops with a gasp. Darkness wafts off her form. Glassy emerald eyes regard Lena. "Kill me then," she taunts, her voice hoarse.

She thinks of her mother's words. She hadn't said "kill" but "defeat." And isn't darkness apart of everyone? Even Kara harbors it, she's seen that darkness.

But that doesn't mean she needs to let it rule her.

She drops to her knees in front of her dark self and brushes her hand against her cheek. "I don't need you anymore. It's over. I choose love."

Yellow light pierces through the clouds, and the storm breaks apart. It floods the top of the spire, and light shears through her dark self. Other-Lena shouts and evaporates into dark dust that swirls on the wind above Lena's head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the dim figure of a man, standing atop the wall of the tower. He winks at her and vanishes in a puff of blue smoke.

She frowns, but she can't stand. The pain and exhaustion swamps all of Lena's senses. She falls forward and tumbles through the stone.

Down, down, down, until she hits a soft surface.

Her fingers curl into the fibers of a carpet. She struggles to push herself upright, but she's too weak. There's a door, a familiar door in front of her.

It's Kara's apartment door.

She grunts and pulls herself forward. Blood blinds her in one eye, and her head burns with pain. She raises her fist and knocks.

The door swings open.

At first silence greets her, but then she hears a gasp. "Lena! Oh no, Lena..." Kara's arms circle around her, pulls her against her chest. "Oh gosh, okay, gonna get you to Alex. Please, stay with me." Her voice shakes with a tender emotion, one that pulls at Lena's heart.

Her eyelids flutter, and she raises her hand to touch Kara's cheek. Blood cakes her hand still. "I chose love, Kara," Lena whispers, her voice hoarse. "It's going to be okay now." 

[brnesblogposts]

I just wanted to say I LOVE YOUR FLUFF STORIES. ITS SO FLUFFY IM GONNA DIE! 🥰🤣💙 and... I was wondering if you could you do a story were reader (girl) is on a walk in the rain with an umbrella, and spots a guy (Bucky) sitting on a bench in the soft rain with no umbrella. She sits near him and ever so sneakily shares her umbrella? Bucky could appreciate the strangers kindness despite not knowing him. The story can be as long or short as you like! 💙 Have a great day/afternoon/night! ♡ Thank you! 

thank you so much! means the world, and this is my first request so i’m really excited 🙈!

i hope you like what i came up with :)

It was the worst kind of rain, it was a fine but heavy rain that soaked everything rather quickly. Luckily you had your umbrella on you and quickly popped it open before you got too wet, despite the rain the walk through the park was beautiful, just what you needed to clear your mind.

A couple minutes later you noticed a man sitting on a bench, his clothes looked wet and his hair was starting to get soaked by the fine droplets, he didn’t look like he was going to move nor did it look like he had an umbrella. In fact it looked like he was lost in head a thousand yard stare on his face.

Approaching slowly you acted as if you were just taking a break and sitting down, he tensed up a bit as you did so but you tried to keep as much distance as possible as not to make him uncomfortable. Slowly but surely you managed to inch your umbrella further and further until it was covering the both of you, the rain was getting heavier now and he should not be sitting in it because he could get sick, but you weren’t one to judge, the man could be going through something.

Bucky noticed you straight away, he was weary as he is with most people. He was surprised when you sat on the bench, the same bench he sat on. People usually kept their distance from him, they were scared of him, of who they thought he was.

He started to relax again once he knew you weren’t a threat and he continued to stare into the distance, before long he noticed it had stopped raining, he looked up- an umbrella?

You were just sat there holding the umbrella for as long as he needed it, then he glanced at you and your heart jumped. His eyebrows were furrowed as if he were trying to figure out why you were sharing your umbrella.

“Sorry, didn’t want you to get sick” Your smile melted his heart and he continued to stare at you bewildered for a few seconds.

“I can’t get sick” He stated before seeing your confused face “The super soldier serum- it prevents me from getting sick” He explains but still your face doesn’t change actually you look more confused.

“You don’t know who I am?” He asks curiously because it’s so refreshing not to recognised and automatically feared.

“You’re a man on the bench sitting in the rain getting wet.” You smile gently “Should I know who you are?” He shakes his head and takes a few seconds to think something over.

“Bucky” He nods his head at you in a sort of greeting and you do the same introducing yourself.

“Do you share your umbrella with soaking strangers often?” There’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face, you feel proud you broke through his tough exterior.

“Only the really handsome ones” To your surprise he blushes and you can’t help but smile at how shy he gets, he looks so tough but he’s not, really.

“Now you know I can’t get sick, keep the umbrella for yourself” He smiles softly.

“Do you have the ability to feel cold?” You inquire.

“Yes”

“Then the umbrella is staying” He finds you amusing, how you’re not intimidated by him.

He notices you’re shivering though.

“You wanna- um- wanna get a cup of coffee? Hot chocolate? Something to warm you- Us up?” He’s blushing again clearly nervous.

“Sounds like a plan, do I also get to know the handsome man whom I shared my umbrella with?” You stand as he does and he takes the umbrella holding it over both of you as he’s taller.

“Sure” He smiles and you both walk to a near by cafe. Bucky can’t wait to tell Sam about his afternoon, Sam will never believe him.

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my bucky tag list!

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Hiiii

So I was thinking about drakes spoiled brat (as I do. Quite a bit) and while scrolling through the DSB tag on tumblr I found those posts talking about epilogs and how that would look. And honestly-just imagine being a normal civilian at the end of this story and all you know is that Timothy "trash" drake is abruptly adopted by the Wayne's and suddenly is very very chill??? Like lol that would confuse the shit outta so many people LMAO

Timothy: I'm a cisgender heterosexual rich Christian white man. And I am better than all of you who are not all of those things. And even if you do check all the boxes, you still aren't me and therefore will never compare.

*the next day*

Tim: I'm uhh gender? Shit next question. Sexuality? Uhhh boys. And girls? Yes. Christian? Shit- fuck- no I'm an atheist...I'm rich and white I wasn't gaslighting myself about those two. So technically it cancels out. Anyways. Uh. Shit man idk I'm running on fumes rn ive been awake 51 hours straight...don't tell Bruce.

The general public: *slow blink* ...who are you and where is Timothy.

The bats: *low key getting some amusement over Tim fumbling*

Anyways. Idk if this is coherent lol I'm just bein silly. I love your fic so much and it's inspired me for some ideas of my own so thanks. You're a very talented author <333

Oh don't worry about coherency hon its brainrot and I just so happen to be a native speaker- and thank you for the praise <33

I will say that Timothy isn't your "classic" wolf on wallstreet guy-

Gotham rich people are a whole new breed because yeah there are social expectations and what not, but once you reach a certian class its mostly "fuck all as long as the investors are happy"

The public perception of Timothy is like a guy who you WANT to feel bad for, and can easily go "yeah that explains a bit of his behavior-" but your still making it REALLY hard to take your side

Most of his "Scandals" have come from him verbally assaulting people, underage drinking/drugs use, and just doing stuff that was not PR approved. To some hes a fucking menace, to others he's as entertaining as those two birkin boyfriends.

Yes he's an asshole, but he's also a kid who lost his parents pretty horribly (wink wink for future lore) and instead of being free as a young nepo baby should be, he's tied down to Gotham, keeping his parents company alive and dealing with all sorts of shit behind closed doors.

Of course hard to feel pity for a rich asshat so there are absolutely a decent percentage of people who roll their eyes whenever someone brings up "Timothy Drake" and everyone has a story of someone with a shit experience

BUT he gets adopted by the Wayne brood and is suddenly- half decent?? Most people would just accept of "Good- everyones favorite himbo gets a new kid, a bit of a fixer upper but lord knows he needed it"

Anyways heres MY ramblings in turn- will definently explore more of Tim and Timothys relationships in Gotham in the future so this is due to fluxuate but as of rn this is generally the perspective <33

[keravnous]

treat me like a s!ut ; tangerine x fem!reader (smut, 18+)

read pt. 1 here | read pt. 2 here | read pt. 4 here

Tangerine comes home to you scrubbing the blood out of one of his button-downs in the bathtub. He always had a thing for seeing his favourite plaything on its knees.

word count: 9,5 k

warnings: spanking, fingering, oral (male receiving), cumshot, toys, bimbofication, housewife kink (that a thing??), mean/strict dom!tangerine (but he's actually a big softie), negotiated objectification, uh face slapping - once or twice, daddy kink, pet names, spit kink, size kink, name calling, multiple orgasms, edging, (heavy) squirting; this man is into some nasty shit - convince me otherwise, my feminism left my fucking body alright, the angry man™ makes my knees go weak

i listened to kim petras' slut pop ep and listen, it-, I-, so -, yeah. Lost control, I guess. I also saw the pictures of atj in a million little pieces and that didnt help much

thank you mel for encouraging me and thank you v for enduring me while writing this

You barely hear the door of the town house falling shut over the splashing of the water.

You are currently kneeling - very much to the protest of your upper back, which has been causing all sorts of pain during work at the office today - over the tub in your spacious bathroom, water still running into the already half-full, half-bloody bathtub. Your arms are wet up to your elbow from trying to scrub out some nasty and very resistant bloodstains out of one of Tangerine's shirts.

He had been in a nasty pub brawl after last week's West Ham victory and, knowing it was one of his favourite shirts, you had tried your best to get it clean. But even two rounds in the washing machine didn't do much. Thus, you decided to give it a good old handwash.

"Love?", you hear a familiar voice calling out and you huff with exhaustion, sinking back onto the heels of your feet.

"Yeah, I'm in the bathroom!", you answer and a moment later he appears in the opened door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

"What're ya doin' there?", Tangerine furrows his brows. He is wearing one of his suits, hair still neatly combed back like he hasn't been out for 8 hours, doing God knows what.

"Hand washing this shirt of yours, stains won't go out in the machine", you pull the fabric out of the tub, water slushing down. There's little improvement. You decide to rub a little harder.

Tangerine says nothing - just watches you, dressed in nothing but a big shirt and what he assumes are panties hiding underneath its hem; watches the way it scoots up every now and then when you scrub with more force, confirming his suspicions. It is a tiny light blue string made from fine lace, one, that he had bought for you a while ago.

He swallows, feeling himself growing hard in his slacks. It is not just the sight of you - even more so it's you doing this for him. Cleaning something up, that he had messed up.

Actually, he's thankful that you are going out of your way to clean up his clothes. He knows that it is a hell of a job to get blood out of any sort of fabric and he feels guilty for somehow putting you through it, especially since it is painfully obvious where the stains come from.

He knows it was your decision to stay - to stay with him - to keep up with the life he leads, and the job that brings in the tons of money keeping you afloat comfortably.

Still, he feels like making it up to you. There is something about you kneeling there, doing chores, that remembers him of something you had said to him a while ago. Something that now has his blood pumping, making him feel like he's about to burst.

"Darlin'?"

"Yes?", you say, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead, a few drops of water running down your cheek.

"Get up, love."

You look up, eyes furrowing with confusion. "Why? I am nearly done with -"

"Wanna properly say Hello to my little housewife, me", there is a mischievous gleam in his eyes and it has your heartbeat picking up immediately.

You know what that means. You have been speaking about this: the idea of him coming home after a long, maybe even dangerous day and just taking you, bending you over the nearest surface because it pleased him - that the thought of him treating you like nothing more but an obedient housewife, cleaning up, keeping everything tidy and clean for him, and taking his cock whenever he pleased, made you wet. That the thought of being nothing more than a stupid little hole to him excited you.

The first time this particular thing had come up, had been after Tangerine returned home late after a delayed flight. You'd been up still, cooking him dinner. What was intended as nothing but a sweet gesture of adoration - knowing that he'll be both hungry and exhausted - turned into something else, after he had grabbed your hips from behind and bent you over the countertop for a quick fuck. It made something in your brain click, a new desire taking over your fantasies.

Now, you swallow, his shirt slowly sinking back into the soapy water - with its swirls of dried and darkened blood of some poor soul who was unlucky enough to meet your man on a particularly violentday - as you get up.

"You don't have to, you had a long day", you say softly.

"It's fine, lemme do this for ya", grabbing the nearest towel you dry off your arms and hands before coming closer to him. He stretches one hand out.

"C'mere", Tangerine smiles, all bright teeth and lines around his eyes and you do - taking his hand and then he pulls you against his firm chest, your hands resting on his shoulders. You inhale deeply, taking in his scent - wood, vanilla, orange - that wraps you in like a heavy blanket and you sigh.

"Don't burn yourself out over this fuckin' shirt, dove", he mumbles into your hair, arms wrapping around you, one hand confidently grabbing your ass cheek.

"I wasn't", your nose brushes over his throat, lips peppering gentle kisses to the soft skin. His hand firmly brushes over your tense shoulders, feeling the hardened tendons and both of you know that you are lying.

"Relax, love", he whispers, lips ghosting over your ear, "Let Daddy take care of ya."

And your body obeys to him as quickly as it always does: sinks against him, muscles going a little slack. You allow yourself to surrender to him fully, body going limp and mind going blank as you hand control over to him.

Tangerine's hand brushes through your hair, cups the back of your scalp and gives you a few gentle, patronizing strokes while one of his strong arms wraps around your waist, keeps you pressed against him upright.

"Y'good, love?", he says quietly and you release a satisfied hum.

"Words, poppet, be a good girl."

"Yeah -- yeah, I'm alright, keep going", you whisper against his chest, "Please."

The hand stroking your scalp vanishes, fingers brushing over your cheek and cupping your chin until it is lifting your head up. Your eyes meet his.

"So, what did I say?", Tangerine says sternly, gaze boring into yours.

You swallow, breath hitching a little and your chest heaves with it. The tone of his voice has your head swimming, your tummy tingling with want. The hand on your cheek is warm, the cold tingle of his rings on your skin grounding you.

"What did I say?”, he says again, squinting at you. It makes your knees buckle.

"N-never scrub without a brush", you whisper, lust making you choke on your words.

"Mhm, exactly", he hums, nods, "Then, why didn't ya do it?"

"Because --", you suck in air through parted lips, thighs rubbing together, eyelids fluttering, "Because I am stupid, stupid girl."

"That you are, m'little airhead", he says softly, voice growing deep, "And what do stupid little girls get?"

"Punished", you whisper, eyes glowing with excitement and stomach tingling with it just the same. You know, that he is not really mad and it sure does feel like a lot like it, making you bite your lower lip.

Tangerine nods again, thumb caressing your cheek. "Get on the bed, get naked - ya can still do that for me, can ya, silly? Or did ya little brain already leave your pretty head, there?"

You shake your head, fingers clinging into the expensive jacket of his suit as you stand up straight again, mind already a little hazy.

"Good", Tangerine nods slowly, eyes darting down to where your bodies meet. His hand leaves your cheek and you whine but it crawls down, one long finger hooking in the collar of your shirt and pulling it down. He tilts his head a little, as he's looking at your cleavage, tits pressed up nicely by his chest. You're not wearing a bra and he smiles - cold and cruel. "Get going, love, I wanna see what's mine."

You nod, swaying a little on your feet as you take a step back, arousal pooling in your abdomen. "Don't take too long", he says, gives your ass a lazy slap as you walk past him.

You do as you're told, carelessly dropping your shirt and panties on the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, before climbing onto the soft mattress. Splaying out on your stomach with your feet dangling in the air you wait for him until he finally, finally enters the bedroom. He is still wearing his suit, only dropped his jacket, and is carrying a small pink bag. You know what's inside, stomach tingling at the thought.

Tangerine tosses it onto the bed and sits down next to you, hooks his slender index finger beneath your chin, guiding your head up. His thumb brushes over your lower lip and your jaw goes slack, tongue darting out and rubbing over it. He grins and pushes the digit in, has you obediently closing your lips around it, sucking on his thumb.

His other hand wanders up to his tie, loosens it and then carelessly drops it to the floor, pops open a few buttons of his shirt.

"Stupid lil' thing, hm", he hums, "Sucking on my thumb like it's my cock? That needy already?"

You nod nod nod, blinking up at him and his other hand cups your chin, keeps your head in place. Your tongue rubs over the pad of his thumb and Tangerine licks his lips, eye twitching a little. "Listen here", he bows down a little, voice nothing but a growl, "Ya gonna take what Daddy gives ya, y'hear me? If I wanna see your little cunt cum ten times, then that's what we're gonna do, 'lright?"

You nod around his thumb, excitement fluttering in your tummy but he just tsks at you. "Thought so -", pulling his thumb from your mouth he pats his thigh, "Time for your punishment, love. Only good girls get rewarded, don't they?"

"I wanna be a good girl", you whisper, as Tangerine deliberately and carefully rolls his sleeves up. Eagerly you crawl over his lap and then sink down, upper body on the mattress, hips on his thighs with your ass in the air. You can feel his already rock-hard dick pressing into your stomach and your whole body tingles with lust at the sensation.

"You wanna be a good girl?", Tangerine says, mocking your tone, as one large ringed hand grabs your ass, kneads the flesh, "D'you know what good girls do?"

Biting your lip you shake your head, looking at him over your shoulder, through your lashes. "They don't fuck up simple tasks."

"'M sorry, Daddy", you say cutely and he fucking growls at that, a dark shadow dancing over his blue eyes, turning them navy - into a stormy sea. Tangerine's hand rubs over your ass, the other presses down between your shoulder blades. The stretch in your back is delicious, and the way it presses one side of your face into the mattress has your head swimming, eyelids fluttering. "Legs together, dove", and you obey, pressing your thighs together, "There ya go. What d'ya think? Fifteen?"

You mewl, feet kicking with excitement, wetness pooling between your legs. "Want you to say it", Tangerine's hand plays with your ass, grabs one cheek and spreads it apart, thumb digging into the flesh and kneading it, "Go ahead and tell Daddy you want him to hit ya."

"Uuh", you mumble dumbly, heart racing and pussy already wet, and he scoffs at that meanly, "Wanna - Daddy, please - want you to hit me!"

"For?"

"F-for being a stupid girl."

"Atta girl", his hand gently strokes your ass cheek, "You'll get fifteen - no whinin', no yappin'."

"Y-yes", you nod, biting your lip in anticipation, readying yourself for the first hit. And he wastes no time, gives your ass a light squeeze and then his ringed hand comes down, hits your right cheek with a loud smack. You gasp, eyes falling shut as you feel the tingling burn spreading through your backside.

The second and third hit follow, making you moaning quietly - warmth spreading on your skin, the slight burn tingling.

Tangerine watches your skin slowly turning into a soft pink and grabs a handful, thumb brushing over the forming bruise. He hums quietly to himself, hand wandering down, caressing your inner thigh - his rings are cold, bracelet rustling, and shivers run down your spine.

He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, hand wandering dangerously high and you hum, but it vanishes before being close enough to your cunt. The other hand on your back adds a little more pressure, and you gasp at the stretch.

"Such a pretty girl", he hums, bounces you on his legs a little, "What a shame you're so silly."

You whimper, hands aimlessly darting over the sheets. You want him to hit you again, with your ass already feeling a little sore and the way the slight pain runs straight to your core, makes your pussy so so wet.

"Can't even clean a fuckin' shirt", he tsks just as his hand comes down once more, two quick blows on your left and right cheek, has your ass jiggling with the force of it. He watches it, then grabs a handful and feels you up.

His thumb digs into the flesh close to your crack as he toys with your ass, and you can feel the way it spreads your folds apart. Your pussy is desperate for any sort of friction and you gasp as your clit throbs, rubbing your thighs together.

"Uuh-huh", is all that leaves your mouth dumbly, with his hard cock pressing against your stomach, hot and twitching through his slacks. It's hard to think, to form a coherent thought - all that's on your mind is his thick cock. "Daddy--", you gasp, rutting your hips down on his thigh, fresh wetness running down your legs and onto his trousers.

"Stop - fuckin' - movin'", each word lands another blow and you cry out, trying your best not to move on his lap, but the sharp pain has your hips jolting upward, shoots riiight into your cunt, hole clenching.

"Oh, you're really enjoying this, aren't ya, poppet?", Tangerine scoffs as you moan, your legs falling apart a little, "I can smell how wet you are, darlin'. Lemme see."

Your fingers claw into the sheets, wanting nothing more but the smallest touch. His large hand brushes over your ass, rings cold on your hot and reddening skin and then it dips between your cheeks, brushes down your crack and between your thighs.

"Fuckin' hell", he whispers as his index finger runs through your folds. He wasn't wrong - you are incredibly wet, thick watery slick makes his finger slip over your pussy smoothly as he assesses your arousal. Easily, he slips one ringed finger into you, bottoms it out. Your cunt clenches around it and he marvels at how tight you are, a trembling moan leaving your lips. It's not enough, you want him to fuck you - hard and fast - but it has your chest fluttering nonetheless.

The finger retreats as quickly as it entered you, circles your hole and thehand on your back crawls down, gives your left cheek a light pat that has you squirming.

"Nothing but a set of pretty holes f'me, aren't ya, love?", and you mewl, feet kicking a little as his fingers continue to run through your folds, his other hand now landing another blow on your ass. It stings nicely and you moan, desperately trying to roll your hips onto the finger rubbing lazy circles over your clit.

"D'ya want Daddy to put it back inside?", and you nod nod nod, but he just laughs.

"Words, silly, good girls use their words, don'they?", and you inhale a shaky breath, before lifting your head a little, looking over your shoulder.

Tangerine looks at you, one brow smugly cocked, and it's only the slight flush of his chest visible underneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt that betrays him. That, and his hard dick pressing against your stomach.

It makes your head swim, blinking up at him dumbly, lips falling agape a little. "Uhh", you breathe, "P-please--"

Tangerine lands another blow on your ass and you gasp loudly, followed by a desperate noise leaving your throat. "Words, slut."

You look up at him with big, watery eyes. "P-please", you say, voice shaking a little, "Finger m-me."

"There ya go", he says softly, finger abandoning your clit and pressing into your hole a moment later. He slips it in with ease, buries it deep inside of you and immediately starts to thrust it in and out.

"Yeah, wan'me to use you, eh love?", he fucks into you fast and deep, squelching sounds filling the air, "Want Daddy to stuff your pretty little hole, don't ya?"

"Y-yes", you plead, feeling his finger brushing over your walls, his golden ring against your hole. You can hear him hum and then his hand comes down for two more hits on your ass, has you clenching around his finger, moaning against the sheets.

Tangerine wastes no time, adds a second finger, stretches your tight hole out with the way he pushes them in, cold rings slipping in a little.

The sensation nearly has you going insane on the spot, rutting back on his fingers which earns you nothing more but another blow on your right cheek. "Keep on movin' and I tie you to a fuckin' chair for the rest of the day, whore", and you moan, hips stuttering and he pushes a third finger in.

Obscene squelching sounds of your hole being fucked and filled, of your slick wetting his fingers, emerge between your legs and you gasp as his digits brush over your favourite spot. Your loins ignite with it and your abdomen clenches, cunt squirting against the palm of his hand.

"Please, p-please - oh - fuck, fuck", you brabble, eyes tearing up and he tsks, shakes his head.

"Ah ah ah c'mon, words, love. Don't ya curse - you're too pretty to curse like Daddy always does, aren't ya? M'pretty lil' thing, eh?"

His hand comes down on your ass hard, has you gasping loudly, wincing in pain while his fingers continue to fuck you.

"One more, baby", and your hips buck, "Can my slut take one more?"

Tangerine's hand caresses your reddening ass, where a bruise in the form of his hand forms, an angry red and dark red where his rings hit your skin. His bracelet rustles and he grabs a handful, jiggles your left cheek. "Y-yes", you moan, his fingers rubbing your walls, making your legs tremble.

"Ready up", he says and you can hear him grin. Still, nothing can prepare you for how hard his hand comes down and how loud the blow echoes off the bedroom's walls, how the pain shoots through your ass and right between your legs, has you crying out with both: pain and pleasure.

Your walls contract around him as your lower belly contracts, squeezes his fingers and he knows what's about to happen, knows your body like his own.

"Don't you fuckin' cum, now", he says sternly, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, pushing your slick in and out in and out, and then in once more, as he nestles his fingers deeply in your tight and hot cunt halting any movement, "Be a good girl and hold it fo' Daddy."

Your muscles clench and your thighs contract, as you're giving your best to hold back your release, chest heaving as you moan into the mattress.

Tangerine leans down a little, his other hand wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Don't" - he whispers, the fingers inside of you start moving again, their pads very very slowly rubbing along your walls - "You" - his tongue darts out, licks over the shell of your ear, moustache tingling a little, "Cum now."

Your chest heaves with every ragged breath that you suck in, hips trembling and cunt squirting against his fingers, lust pulsating wildly through your loins and making your head swim as you are trying your best to just not cum. Tangerine chuckles lowly, gaze wandering over your body, taking in the way your legs tremble and feet kick - he can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers and he really, really wants to get you on all fours and just bury his cock inside of you, fucking you senseless until you're a brabbling, drooling mess. His dick is so fucking hard, pressing against his slacks and it has him on the edge, the beast inside him tearing at the seams, but he knows better than to just act upon it, wants to make it better for you.

Tangerine watches the muscles is your legs and back relaxing over the passing minutes that you warm his fingers, walls and pussy growing plush and warm warm warm, as you hold him inside of you, breath slowing down a little with it, too.

"Mhm, there ya go", your hole flutters around his fingers as he pulls them out and you mewl, legs wobbly with your denied orgasm, cunt aching for just another small touch. You can feel it pulsating, your clit throbbing.

"Daddy", you whine helplessly, hips lifting a little, "N-need your cock." And he's gonna give it to you, feels like he's about to burst anyways.

"Shh shh", Tangerine coos, sticky hand rubbing over your sore ass, the slight pain igniting your lust even more, has fresh wetness pooling between your folds, "Good girls get rewarded, don'they?"

You nod frantically, thighs rubbing together. "Well," you can hear the grin forming on his face, "Get on your fuckin' knees, then."

Tangerine parts his thighs a little and you scramble from his lap hastily, sinking down between his spread legs. Your ass is sore and burns and as you sink on to your thighs you can feel the sting, eyes tearing up a little and you blink up at him - hands resting obediently on his knees.

"Look at ya", he whispers, a dark shadow dancing over his eyes, as he licks his lips.

Tangerine cups your face with both hands, carefully brushing a few loose strands from your cheeks and forehead. Your hands brush over his thighs, feeling his muscles twitch beneath the expensive fabric and then you lean in. You're all cock-drunk, needy and wanting with your cunt pulsing between your legs. Your tongue runs over the outline of his clothed dick, leaves a damp stripe behind and Tangerine groans, eyes growing even darker. "Fuckin' hell, you really need't be stuffed, huh", he watches you running your lips over his bulge and he feels like he's about to burst; creaming into his pants like he's fucking 16 and living on the streets again, watching some hooker giving a City man a gobby behind a dumpster.

"Stop it", Tangerine husks, grabs your hair, and yanks your head away, breath already a little ragged, "Fuckin' behave ya'self."

Your eyes gleam up at him and he grins, thumb brushing over your temple gently. "C'mon, get my dick out, will ya?"

You comply, fingers hastily fumbling open his belt and pulling down the zipper, opening the fly of his pants and yanking his satin boxers down.

Tangerine inhales sharply as his long and thick dick springs free against his abdomen, tip flushed pink and glistening with precum. Your mouth waters at the sight and he wants to drag it out, he really wants to, feel arousal pumping through his veins - gets high on it like only adrenaline usually does it for him.

But it's physically impossible - the way you're looking at his hard cock with watery, dopey eyes and flushes cheeks while kneeling in front of him naked has his boner fucking aching. "Fuckin' get to it already, slut."

And you do, one hand grabbing his dick at the base, tongue darting out and licking a wet stripe up to the tip, flicking your tongue over it and licking his precum up.

You love his cock, you really do. Nice and long and thick, cut and resting between neatly trimmed pubic hair. You love the way he fucks you with it, too, how it never misses the spot that has you seeing stars and white spots, how it feels like it has been made for your pussy and yours alone.

You love how it tastes, salty and musky, and you wrap your lips around its tip, resting it on your tongue - not sucking, not licking - just feeling and tasting his dick.

It's fucking huge anyways, looks like it too, wrapped in by your slender fingers. You close your eyes, tongue swirling around the tip before your close your lips around it, gently sucking while your hand strokes the base of his cock.

"Mh, that's how it's supposed t'be, ain't it, sugar?", he hums, hands brushing through your hair, "Me coming home to ya, my pretty little housewife, ready to please."

You hum around his cock, slowly letting him in deeper, tongue rubbing over the bottom while your lips suck. You can hear him breathe deeply and your gaze flicks up to him.

Tangerine looks down at you, eyes dark and shining with lust, one hand gripping the edge of the bed, his chest flushed. The look on his face makes you wet wet wet, wanting to please him.

You keep your eyes on him as you take more of his dick into your mouth, relaxing your jaw but still gagging a little as the tip grazes your throat. He chuckles meanly.

"C'mon love, you can do better than that, can't ya?", Tangerine fists your hair and you hallow your cheeks, your jaw going slack as you let him in further.

You want to be good for him - good girl good girl good girl - your body practically igniting with every little praise he grants you and you want to hear it again. Thus, you move your head around his cock, sucking him off, tongue rubbing over the bottom his dick.

Quickly, you are overdoing it, choking, and gagging around it, eyes tearing up as you hastily suck in a few breaths through your nose.

"Look at ya, all pretty tits and tight holes, but no fuckin' brain", Tangerine mocks, thumb stroking your cheekbone, rubbing over your temple, and then wandering through your hair, cupping the back of your head, "You look so pretty with my cock in ya mouth like that. Only thing you're good for, eh?"

He doesn't wait for you to regain your breath, rolls his hips once, holds your head in place as he thrusts into your mouth.

You relax your throat, letting him in, the tip of his cock hitting the back of it. Still sucking in air through your nose your eyelids flutter, readying yourself for what you know is about to come.

Knowing him, you're not wrong as he starts to roll his hips again and again, groaning with the sensation of his dick burying itself deep in your throat.

Tangerine watches how his cock vanishes in your mouth, bulges your throat a little and he can't hold back anymore. His hand grabs your neck, thumb pressing against your scalp and starts to fuck into your mouth. "Fuckin' hell", he huffs, your spit slicking his cock as he slips in and out of your mouth.

You moan, sending vibrations through his cock that has it twitching in your throat, making your eyes tear up, gagging a little.

Being used by him like this has your heartbeat picking up, bruises on your ass still stinging and cunt throbbing and you rub your thighs together, hands clawing into his slacks.

"Yeah, that's it -- get's you all fuckin' wet choking on my big cock like that, dunnit?", it does, has you sputtering around the thick base, spit running down your chin, wetting his trimmed pubes.

Holding your head in place Tangerine fucks into your mouth, groaning and moaning occassionally, watches your chin turning wet with spit, eyes wet with tears - your thighs rubbing together. The way he ruts into you has his bracelet and chain rustling.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ", he groans and you can feel his thighs clenching underneath your touch, the muscles underneath his waistcoat hardening and his cock twitching, pulsating on your tongue. You know he's close and you ready up for --

Suddenly, Tangerine pulls his dick from your mouth - has you gasping for air - and takes your hand, the one still firmly resting on his thigh. He holds it in his and then wraps it around his cock, your hand resting beneath his on his dick as he starts to jerk himself off with it. His hand is so much larger than yours, cold jewellery hard and heavy against your fingers, that wrap delicately around his hard cock.

"Keep your eyes open 'n look at me", he rasps, and you can feel his dick twitch in your hand as your gazes lock and then he moans, deep and feral - thick, hot ropes of white cum shoot out of his cock onto your cheeks. He strokes himself through his orgasm with your hand, sucks in a sharp breath as he paints your face white, marks you up.

Your eyelids flutter as you try your best to keep them open, his cum missing your eye by mere millimetres.

Tangerine groans as the last bit of cum lands on your face, goosebumps raising on his skin. His dick slowly goes flaccid after he sucks in a few breaths. Looking at you, he grins, licks his lips.

His free hand brushes through your hair, keeps the strands out of his cum, gently stroking your forehead. "Put m'cock away, will ya?"

You comply, kitten licks cleaning the few droplets of cum from the tip and then his hand lets go of yours, allows you to carefully put him back into his boxers, pulling the zipper back up.

Watching your blown-out dark eyes and puffy lips, he sucks in another deep breath, cheeks reddened a little and the colour spreads down down down his throat, tints his chest in a pretty pink beneath his chest hair, vanishes underneath his unbuttoned shirt. "Y'wanna cum, too, hm silly?"

And you nod, nod, nod.

"Atta girl, jus' a second - we should get ya cleaned up, shouldn't we?"

Tangerine's slender fingers run through his cum plastered on your cheek, scooping some of it up before tapping your lips. You open up obediently and he wastes no time pushing them in, feeding you his cum like it's cream. "There ya go, lick 'em clean", and you do, tongue swirling around his fingers, before he pulls them out and moves them across your face, collecting some more of his cum until he is pushing them back into your opened mouth, "Least that ya clean up well."

You can feel your cheeks turning red, the taste of them mingling with his cum and the remaining taste of sucking him off, has you moaning around his fingers. "Maybe I should fuckin' cum on everything I want'ya to tidy up? Would you like that, whore?"

Your eyelids flutter, nodding like you are fucking possessed. "Yeah, bet you love that. House would be fuckin' spotless. Bet I could fuckin' shoot a load on the floor and you'd lick it up, huh?"

You hum around his fingers and his lips tilt up. "And what would you say then, hm?", his clean fingers, sticky with your saliva, slip from your mouth.

"T-thank you for keeping me busy", you croak.

"So ya do have manners after all", he mocks, looking genuinely amused and gives your cheek a light pat, rings connecting with your sticky skin, "Alright, get back on the bed. I ain't fuckin' done wit'ya."

Tangerine gets up, grabs your hand, and helps you back on your feet, watches your naked form as you crawl onto the mattress. He is still fully dressed and your whole fucking body tingles as you catch him staring, eyes roaming over your flushed backside, your plush and aching cunt resting firmly and exposed between your thighs as you kneel on all fours before rolling on your stomach. You bite your lower lip and - deciding to make a show out of it for him, to finally, finally get what you want and need - you stretch one leg out delicately, arching your back a little.

Tangerine huffs. You look so fucked-out, used, with your swollen lips and dark, lustful eyes. Your cheeks are flushed and your hair a mess, nipples hard and cunt all puffy. But you can't help it - you feel like you're on fire, hands darting out for leverage as you spread your legs, exposing yourself to him.

He kneels between your spread legs, the mattress dipping a little and his hands run over your thighs. You hum, gaze flicking over his strong arms, as one of his hands brushes higher, over your hip and waist, cups your tit and squeezes your nipple.

"Back to actin' like the whore you are, eh?", you squirm as he toys with your nipple, pleasure shooting through your body, fresh wetness pooling between your legs. His other hand brushes up your thigh and his fingers quickly dip between your legs, running through your slick. "C'mon, spread your legs f'me", following his command your knees fall to the side, giving his gaze way to your wet and aching cunt.

Tangerine licks his lips, giving your tit one last squeeze before running down your body, spreading your folds apart with both hands.

"Jesus Christ, you just have the prettiest cunt, don't ya?", Tangerine's thumbs stroke your outer labia, pulling them apart while he watches your cunt throb, hole fluttering open, wanton for his attention. "Wouldn't want to fuck another one, 's perfect."

He grabs the pink bag that had been laying discarded on the mattress and ziiips it open, reaches inside. You stomach tingles as he pulls your favourite vibrator out of it, tosses a bottle of lube onto the sheets. It is slightly curved and has just the right girth and length to be sufficient; you love to fuck yourself with it when he is away, having him cooing pretty things into your ear over the phone while he jerks himself off to your sweet sounds.

Your breath hitches and you watch his every move, cunt aching for any sort of friction and the unspoken promise of being fucked by him with the toy has you going a little dizzy. It's not quite like being fucked by his dick, but it's strong and usually leaves you with shaky legs.

Tangerine's gaze flicks over your face and a smug grin dances across his lips, one hand running over your thigh. "Y'gonna let Daddy have some fun with your cunt?", he brushes the toy over your sensitive clit and the cool silicone has your hips bucking immediately, "Wanna see ya come, such a pretty thing." You roll your hips onto the cold and quickly dampening toy, the friction being nice enough to make you moan quietly.

"P-please", you whisper, "T-turn it on."

Tangerine lifts an eyebrow. "You gotta speak up, whore, don't act like you still got cock in ya mouth."

His command has you blushing, eyelids fluttering. "C-can you", you swallow, speaking up a little, voice shaky, "Can you please turn it on?"

He scoffs, one hand grabbing your thigh. "Oh, of course. Why didn't you say that earlier, hm?"

And then, his thumb presses down onto the little button, has the vibrator coming to life in an instant, presses the tip down on your clit.

"Oh my god", you gasp, throwing your head back, hands grabbing the sheets. "Jus' me, love", he grins, licks his lips and presses the toy flatly onto your cunt. The vibrations are running through your abdomen, and you moan lewdly, grinding against it.

Your cunt pulsates and your clit throbs against it, mouth falling agape - moaning and panting in rhythm with your hips rolling onto the toy.

"Look at my silly little whore", he grabs your chin roughly, his gaze boring into yours as you look at him heavy-lidded, mouth slightly agape. Tangerine runs the vibrator through your folds and you arch your back into it. Squeezing some lube onto your cunt he is running the toy through it, until he decides it's slick enough and pushes it into your hole with one rough, quick stroke. Your hips buck with the sudden intrusion, the way you can feel it vibrating inside of you has you moaning, throwing your head back.

Tangerine gives you no time to assess to the feeling as he starts to immediately fuck you with it fast, obscene sounds filling the air as he pushes the toy in and out of you.

You gasp loudly, closing your eyes and fisting the sheets below you. Incoherent, dumb little sounds escape your throat as you moan and gasp, lips parted a little. The stimulation quickly becomes a lot, nearly too much, has your head falling to the side and eyes darting open, watching how his hand shoves the toy in and out of you. It's also not enough, had your stomach tingling and loins feeling they are on fucking fire, a strong pulling sensation in your lower belly that makes you feel like you might go insane.

"Daddy", you plead uselessly, clenching around the toy, "'S not enough."

"Ah, you poor thing - too bad", Tangerine tilts his head a little, smiles at you meanly, "You'll take it."

His hand abandons your chin and runs over your chest, roughly cupping your tit and giving a light slap before running back up up up, over your throat and then grabbing your chin again. Your gazes meet and something dances over his, dark and dangerous and you know that he is holding back just a little. And you know, that you don't want him to. Do it you mouth and his eyes fall shut for a split second, before opening up again, dark navy hazy with lust.

Your brain goes all foggy and swims with anticipation, as his hand vanishes. It comes back down on your cheek with a loud smack, throws your head to the side.

You moan like you are some cheap whore out of some fucking porno - high-pitched and loud -, throwing your head back with your hands grabbing the sheets hard as your body rocks down on the vibrator.

Tangerine scoffs at you - watches the way your slick mixes with the lube and spreads around the pink shaft - makes his fingers all sticky with it - shakes his head a little. "Needy fuckin' thing."

It's all too much and your legs fall shut, knees pressing together as your body tries both: to flee the immense stimulation and to embrace it, drown itself in it. But Tangerine is having none of it, grabs your knee forcefully and spreads your legs back apart, grabs your thigh and holds it down onto the matress. You whine, chest heaving and body shaking, has your tits bounce with it - his eyes follow the movement hungrily.

"'S too much", you whine, throwing your head to the side, eyes falling shut. You feel like you're on fire, toes curling and eyes rolling back, your cunt all plush and plump and throbbing and so so ready to fucking cum already but you just can't, it's just not enough.

"You'll take what I fuckin' give ya", and your whole body rocks with it, the pent-up pleasure running rampant through your body and you pull one knee up, angling your leg, feeling the toy gliding in deeper. You moan desperately, eyes watching how it drills into you, hips and legs starting to shake.

Tangerine grins at you, tilts his head a little. "Oh", he pouts at you playfully, cocks an eyebrow while his eyes gleam down at you, "Does she wanna come? Does she, yeah?"

His tongue kisses his teeth as his thumb flicks over the button on the vibrator. The sudden increase of the vibration has you gasping loudly, a very vocal Oh leaving your lips, followed by a high-pitched moan. One of your hands darts out and grabs the pillow above your head, giving you some more leverage to thrust down onto the toy.

You can feel the vibration of the toy pulsing through your whole lower body and it has you gasping with it.

"Yeah, that's it, innit?", his thumb presses down on your clit, rubs small circles and it has you coming loose, finally, a near scream ripping from your throat, shaking, and rocking onto his thumb and the vibrator. You squirt, wetting his arms and wrists, jewellery shining with your juices and the sheets get sticky and wet with it. Tangerine whistles lowly, watches how you come undone in front of him - tits bouncing and cheeks flushed - moaning and gasping, the ecstasy has your face in a near angelic expression.

And it gets him so fucking hard.

He knows that you will be ready for him again in no time, edging you leaves you wet and horny even after an orgasm and he just has to feel you now.

Tossing the toy onto the mattress, he runs a finger through your hot and sticks folds, has you whining and squirming. He feels you up, asses your slick and teases your hole for a short while, until sweet sweet moans replace your whining, until he can feel your clit throbbing beneath his finger.

"C'mon", Tangerine unbuckles his belt, "My stupid little whore has another one in her, don't she? One more f'Daddy?"

You whine, knees falling apart like you are his personal fucking sex doll, hole clenching around nothing. Your hands run over your tits, squeezing them while you watch him getting undressed - shredding the waistcoat first, followed by his tie and shirt and then his pants - one of them wanders down down down your body, lazily circles your clit.

Your eyes dart down to his hard dick that springs free as he tosses his boxers away, curving against his abdomen, the taste of it still on your tongue and your head swims with it.

"Don't ya fuckin' touch yourself", he swats your hand away and leans in, spits onto your hot and plush cunt, thumb immediately rubbing over your sensitive clit. Your legs shake, hips bucking and it takes only a few strokes of his finger for you to squirt again, adding fresh wetness to the sticky sheets below you. "No one touches you like I do, eh?", and you shake your head, eyes tearing up a little with lust, "Mh, thought so - not even yourself. Always need me to get ya off nice and proper, don't ya?"

He's right. Whenever he is gone and allows you to touch yourself over the phone you do come, but it's nowhere as good, toe-curling and le-shaking as it is when his tongue and fingers are on your cunt, dick buried deep deep inside of you. And thus, you nod -Yes yes yes escaping your lips like a chant.

He is so much taller, so much stronger than you - could snap your neck in a blink of an eye, rip your throat out with bare hands - and it has your head swimming while you watch him stroking himself, tip of his hard dick flushed pink and your brain practically shuts down fully at the sight. It tips you over, has your mind enter a foggy state and limbs going slack as subspace embraces you.

"You like that? You like being my slut, don't ya?"

"Y-yes, Daddy -- l-love it", you moan sweetly and then he looks up at you, lips curling into a crude smile.

Stretching his hand out towards you, he tilts his head a little. "Spit then, slut", and you do, leaning forward and spitting into his hand. Some of your saliva runs down your chin and he scoffs at that, wets his dick with your spit. You watch how he spreads your saliva around the flushed skin and your lips fall agape, a soft moan crawling from your throat. Your legs spread further, hands running over your thighs - up up up - spreading the lips of your cunt apart.

His gaze flicks up, watches how you expose yourself to him, practically offering him your hole, stretching it out for him. "Jesus Christ", he huffs, feels his heartbeat picking up and then he grabs your ankle forcefully, pulls you closer. You barely have any time processing him manhandling you as he lines his cock up with your entrance, pushes in with one strong stroke, buries himself fully in your pussy.

He grabs your hands and pulls them away from your folds, carelessly drops them at the sides of you body, holds your hips up by your waist - watches the way you split on his dick while you gasp and pant.

His cock is so much bigger than the toy, longer and thicker and you gasp as he pushes in. The way your hole stretches around him is delicious, slight pain igniting your loins. No matter how often you take his dick, you are never fully used to it - the dull pain increased by a tenfold with your overstimulated and plush cunt, welcoming his cock home. "Ssh, there ya go, take it all", Tangerine coos, and you moan as his cock pushes in all the way, rests between your walls, hot and pulsating.

"Such a tight fuckin' cunt", he hisses, as you squeeze around him, while he starts to move slowly inside of you. Tangerine watches your lower belly bulging a little with his large cock, sees where it is fucking into you through your skin. One of his hands hooks around your knee, lifts your leg up a little, the other one gently caresses the small bulge in your lower stomach, feels himself beneath your skin.

Tangerine starts to roll his hips faster, angles his thrusts deeper as he looks at you, brows furrowed a little, hand cupping your lower stomach. You whine and mewl with the agonizingly slow way he pushes his cock into you, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches your face slowly coming apart, eyelids fluttering while you watch him fucking into you.

"You feel so fuckin' good, takin' me so well, eh", Tangerine's thrusts speed up, and your body slightly rocks with it, your hips meeting his. Your head falls to the side and you loose yourself into the way he fucks you - losing all track of time, your body going a little numb, feeling nothing more than his cock inside of you, his hands on your body.

"You fucking slut - fuckin' made to only please me", and you hum, a little drool gathering in the corner of your mouth, slooowly creeping out and dropping onto the mattress. Tangerine's gaze follows it hungrily and his eyelids flutter, while you look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Shit", he huffs, hips bucking into your hole wildly, hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into them hard.

You are so fucking pretty to him, all fucked-out with your body obedient to him and your mind buried deep deep in subspace and a part of him wishes you'd never come back - staying in this blissful and stupid state, chasing nothing but pleasure and waiting for him at home, on your knees and offering your waiting holes to him.

And Tangerine can't stop his mind from going there, conjuring up the delicious image of you bend over the kitchen table in nothing but a tiny apron, cunt stuffed with some fucking toy, waiting for him to come home and take you. And that's what he'd do, drenched and dripping in blood, would leave red stains all over your soft skin when he grabs you, pushes his dick into your hot cunt.

It makes him moan, head falling forward a little, a few strands of hair coming loose. He has to hear you say it, feels his balls tensing at the thought. His eyes dart up at you through hooded eyes and dark lashes.

"Who d'ya fuckin' belong to?", he growls.

"'M all yours, fuck fuck fuck", sweet sweet moans fall from your lips and it has him going fucking feral. Tangerine moans deep in his throat, wraps one arm around your waist and with all his strength pulls you up, rests you on his muscular thighs. His shins are resting on the mattress as he hammers you down onto his dick and it has you seeing stars, the way his body presses against you, cock pushing into your hole deeper and deeper.

Desperate for any sort of leverage your arms wrap around his neck, fingers clawing at his shoulders while you turn into puddy in his arms, as he lifts your hips up and bounces you on his dick, manhandles you while you fuck yourself with it. Your tits bounce against his firm and sweaty chest, his breath tingles on your throat.

"There ya go", he grunts as you roll your hips, toes curling with the way the thick head of his dick brushes over the spot that has you seeing stars. You moan and gasp, head falling back as you rock onto him, chasing your release.

"D-daddy", you pant, breath hitching in your throat, blinking away the tears forming in your eyes. It's all too much but not enough and you need him to say it - need him to tell you that it's alright, that you're allowed to come. "'M gonna cum, p-please, I-I -- y-you", you whine incoherently, looking down and watching how his cock drills into you, your juices wetting his pubes and abdomen, running down your thighs, sounds of naked skin slapping onto each other filling the air.

There's a heavy pull in your loins and you gasp loudly, sweetly, hips stuttering.

Small tears of pent-up arousal run down your cheeks and he cups your face with one hand, leans in and licks them away, tongue gliding over your cheeks. "Shh shh", he murmurs, his dark blue eyes prettily framed by long lashes as they transfix your fucked-out gaze, "I'll let ya cum, love - whenever ya want, jus' let go."

"C-can't", you stutter, goosebumps on your skin as you gasp, fingers entangling his dark locks that curl right above his shoulders and pulling on them lightly. And that, that gets him fucking going.

Tangerine moans loudly, his cock twitching deep inside of you. He grabs your chin roughly, holds your head in place. "You fuckin' slut", he growls and you can't help but to tug again, completely out of it and unaware that it might have consequences for you - you just need to feel his cock twitch inside of you again.

It does, has you moaning, lips falling agape. "Fuckin' behave", he growls and then, in a blink of an eye, his hand leaves your chin and connects with your cheek with a loud smack, throwing your head to the side. It tips you over.

You squirt heavily around his cock as you cum, milking him, while rocking down on it and spreading your slick, making it shoot up and wet his abdomen, skin glistening with it. His trimmed pubic hair rubs your overstimulated clit and you release more wetness, obscene squelching sounds filling the air.

Tangerine's cock pulses inside of you as he comes, too, shoots thick ropes of hot cum into your cunt that seem endless while filling you up. You squeeze around him and you feel so so full, his cum already pooling at the base of his dick, pushing out of you, and mingling with your creamy release.

He roughly pushes you back onto the mattress, hands grabbing your knees and then he is rutting into you with near inhuman strength, fucking both of you through your cojoined orgasms. Tangerine's cum squelches in and out of you and you cry out as waves of pleasure roll through your body, makes your limbs tremble and squirt shooting against his dick, wetting his pubic hair and abdomen like you're a broken hose. You can feel it run down your legs, dripping down onto the sheets.

"Fuck fuck fuck", you cry out, shaking wildly and then everything goes white - your own body feeling far far away. Your limbs feel so so heavy but you also feel light, like flying, not a single thought remaining as you feel your orgasm running through your veins, making you shake with it.

It takes a while for your body to snap back out of it, slowly drifting back into reality. The first thing you feel, is a warm body pressing against your back.

"Are y'lright, love?", Tangerine whispers, strong hands running over your arms, your sides, your hip. Your body feels so, so heavy as your mind is slowly coming back.

"Yeah", you croak, throat sore and voice raspy.

"Don't ya move, dove - I'll get ya cleaned up", you turn your head and blink at him, still a little out of it and he smiles at you, presses a soft kiss on your sweaty forehead, his stache tingling a little, "You did so good for me, didn't ya? 'M so proud of ya."

You nod lazily, your hand brushing over his strong forearm. "Thank you, babe", you whisper quietly, all worn out and tired, "I really needed that."

"Mh, you're welcome, love."

***

It's the faint smell of coffee in the air that carefully tickles you awake the next morning. Outside the opened window birds are chirping.

The first thing you notice is, that your legs hurt. The second thing is, that the other side of the bed is empty.

You call out your lover's name, his actual, real name but there's no answer. Groaning, you get up, legs heavy and sore from last night, and walk out of the bedroom. You can hear water running and follow the noise.

"Babe?", you peek through the half-opened door of the bathroom. There he is - in all his glory, with no shirt on - freckles dusted over his back like stars, scars and tattoos on full display, a cigarette dangling from his mouth while he is hunched over the sink. His hair curls over his shoulders, a little damp from what you assume must have been a recent shower. The air is still a little damp, despite the opened window. You can hear water splashing.

"Mornin'", Tangerine says, puffs out a cloud of smoke.

"No smoking indoors", you sigh, suppressing a yawn and he chuckles at that, deep in his throat.

"'M sorry, love, won't happen again."

"We both know it will", your hands brush over his shoulders and then you lean against him. You inhale his scent, feel his warmth against your palms. The muscles in his back and shoulder are working, flexing beneath the skin and you close your eyes, feeling the way his body works beneath you. He is oddly alive like this and you hope that he'll be home for a long time, won't leave again soon.

"Why are you up already?", you mumble against his firm back.

"Wanted to wash the stains out", and he sounds so, so annoyed by it, "But it's no use - it's either gonna be the dry-cleaner's or the bin, innit?"

[percervall]

Mamma mia, here I go again {pt5}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: talk of pregnancy, mentions of a past relationship, Mark being a dick Word count: 2.5k Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj @szobosz @vellicora

Part 5 of the Mamma Mia series

Despite the fact that you had just had the summer break, not having a race weekend after Monza comes as a welcome breather. It allows you to catch up on tasks you had been neglecting. You finally managed to clean your flat and had just finished the last load of laundry that morning. It also allowed you time to finally schedule an appointment with a clinic to get a scan done. It had felt surreal, getting the black and white confirmation of the pregnancy. You’re still not sure if having a baby is the smartest move right now, but the relief you felt when you saw that the pregnancy was where it’s supposed to be and the heartbeat left you feeling even more confused about the whole situation. Trying your hardest to push all of that to the side, you change into your workout clothes and roll out your yoga mat. At this point you just need 15 minutes of not thinking about anything and you had found yoga to be a great help. As you centre yourself, focussing on your body and breathing through the poses, you begin to feel calmer. Taking another deep breath, you move into the next pose. The calm energy is rudely interrupted by your phone ringing. For a second you consider just letting it go to voicemail but the sound of the phone buzzing on the table is too much of a distraction to ignore. Huffing in annoyance, you get up from the floor.

“Hello?” 

“Hello to you too, sweetheart. Am I interrupting something?” 

“Yes, my workout,” you retort, rolling your eyes at Mark’s tone.

“Mm, if you need a hand let me know,” he says and you can just picture the look on his face. Smug son of a bitch.

“For fuck’s sake..” you mutter, “Get to the point or I’m hanging up.” 

“Oh sweetheart, I’m only teasing.” 

“Mark, I’m not doing this. Again, get to the point or I will hang up,” you reply.

“RIght, yes. I’m in your neck of the woods this week for some meetings and I was wondering whether you’d like to come over for dinner on Thursday? I know typically you’d take a girl out on a date, but I think there’s a few things that have gone left unsaid for far too long.” 

“I-.. I’d like that very much, Mark.” Despite his constant flirting, you’re grateful that he offers the both of you an opportunity to talk.

“I can pick you up if you want or you can drive so you have an out if you need it. I don’t-.. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You can hear the sincerity in his voice and it breaks your heart a little bit that this is what is left of the relationship you once had with him. 

“Thanks Mark, I don’t mind driving. Not because of the reasons you named, but I don’t want to inconvenience you by having to drive this way twice. Just text me the address and a time and I’ll be there.” Your phone buzzes against your face, indicating you have received a new message.

“You should have it now. Okay, I’ll let you get back to your workout.” You both say your goodbyes before hanging up. You put the phone down on the table and stare out of the windows in your living room, lost in memories. 

Mark and you met in 2012, while he still drove in Formula 1. You had just graduated university with a degree in Mathematics and Engineering, and your thesis had somehow made its way to the desk of Christian Horner. And so, there you were: 23 years old and bright eyed, using the tool you had developed for your thesis to analyse simulator data and translating that into adjustments needed to the set up of the car to extract its maximum potential. While you mainly worked on Sebastian’s side of the garage, you often bumped into Mark during race weekends, always ready with a comment that should’ve gotten him written up. Mark was everything you needed in a man at that point in your life and it felt so good to feel wanted, to feel desired. And then 2013 happened. 

You have to physically shake your head to stop going down that rabbit hole, only now noticing how hard you’re gripping the back of a chair. Exhaling deeply, you let go, flexing your fingers to get rid of the tension. Despite knowing you need to have this conversation before either of you can even think about second chances, you’re not looking forward to reliving how it all fell apart. 

+

Thursday approaches a lot faster than you had anticipated, work keeping you busy even if there wasn’t a race. Having already showered, you’re now standing in front of your wardrobe trying to decide on what to wear. The old you would have gone for something frilly and short. Mark loved seeing you in these tiny summer dresses, and you loved how his hand felt on your bare thigh, allowing him to easily slide up under your dress while you were out for team dinners and tease you mercilessly. Chewing your bottom lip, you peruse your options. Despite it being September, it’s still a balmy 22 ℃ although it will probably cool off during the course of the evening. Feeling the need to reclaim a part of you that Mark stole from you, you decide to go for a dress. Even if you no longer wear those short, cutesy dresses, you still love how dresses make you feel. There’s a femininity that you sometimes feel out of sync with because of your job. It feels empowering, dressing up in a world built for men. Your eyes fall on a recent purchase –a flowy midi length dress in a gorgeous burnt orange. Slipping it on, you brush your fingers over the soft linen fabric, admiring the way the gold buttons catch the sunlight. It’s casual enough for tonight, but it gives you that little boost of confidence that you know you will need to make it through Mark’s relentless flirting. Closing the door of your wardrobe, you slip on a pair of sandals and grab your purse before heading out. 

It turns out that Mark lives a lot closer to you than you had expected when you first looked at the address he sent you. You park the car on the paved driveway in front of the detached house in the outskirts of Oxford, taking in its grandeur. You remember Mark telling you about how his family would come over for the holidays sometimes and so the extra bedrooms make sense. As you slam your door shut, you spot Mark in the door opening.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets you and you let him pull you into a hug.

“Hey,” you reply softly, following him inside. Mark leads you to a large open kitchen-dining space before offering you something to drink. 

“Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to eat outside or not,” Mark says as he hands you a glass.

“Might as well make the most of this warm weather,” you reply with a smile. Mark returns your smile and takes you outside through the large French doors in the kitchen. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll join you in a moment.” 

You do as he asks, taking in the landscaping from your spot on the patio. It doesn’t take long for Mark to start bringing out the dishes, refusing your help. 

“I might’ve gone a little overboard,” he admits sheepishly as he brings out the final dish. The grilled asparagus should’ve been a giveaway, but you can’t help but feel touched when Mark places a lamb roast on the table.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” you say, throat closing with tears.

“How could I forget? It’s not every day you find a pretty girl crying quietly in the corner of the garage after a race –which we won by the way– because she missed her nan’s Sunday roast. She always made lamb, right?” Mark says. You nod and try to swallow back tears.

“Thanks Mark, this-.. This means a lot to me,” you whisper. Mark smiles softly and gives your hand a squeeze. 

During dinner, the conversation mainly revolves around catching up. Mark tells you all about managing McLaren’s rookie driver and how he’s finding it to work at Channel 4 with David. You update him on your appointment, showing the little sonogram picture. 

“So everything’s okay with the baby?” he asks, an anxious look in his eyes.

“Uhu, so far so good. They estimated that I’m about 7 weeks along now.” Mark looks back down at the picture on your phone, a large finger tracing it gently as he smiles. Seeing him so enamoured by the tiny blob on the sonogram brings up a mix of emotions for you; it warms your heart to see him like this, but it also terrifies you that those feelings for him never went away and how easy it is to fall back in step with him. 

“You’d look so hot in those maternity dresses,” Mark comments, his tone flirtatious, “You always look hot in a dress. I still dream about that pink one with the hearts you wore to dinner after Silverstone. You looked so innocent in that dress, but we both knew you were anything but.” 

And then he goes and says shit like that, and it all comes tumbling down like a house of cards. 

“I no longer dress for you, Mark. You lost that privilege a long time ago,” you retort, voice even but there’s an edge to it. You remember the dress he is talking about, remember what he is referring to. Before your food even arrived at the table, Mark had dragged you into the bathroom. He had made some comment about how pretty you looked but how you’d look even prettier on your knees with your mouth wrapped around his cock, and so that’s what you did. That was how your relationship worked: Mark would make a suggestive comment and you would obey without a second thought. Of course he always made sure he took care of you; he was the one who helped you discover you could experience multiple orgasms, would always clean you up afterwards and run you a bath. But despite all this, he always took what he wanted from you first. You wish you could have protected your younger self against the heartbreak that was headed your way, against the feeling of being lost at sea after Mark left you alone in that hotel room with nothing more than the remnants of his fingerprints on your skin. After the dust had settled, you had promised yourself never again; you would never allow yourself to be in that position again. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, breaking you from your spiralling thoughts, “for- I’m sorry for how it all went down, how I treated you. You deserved so much better than that,” he adds, referring to the note he left you after that final race in Brazil. 

“Why did you leave me?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Because I couldn’t drag you into my mess. You had your entire career still ahead of you while I needed to get out. That last season was a shitshow, despite the fact that Seb won the Driver’s and RedBull the Constructor’s. I was sick and tired of how the team favoured Seb. I had nothing left to give..” 

“You shut me out, I thought we were in it together.. Or was I just a means to get back at Sebastian?” It’s impossible to not sound bitter, hurt evident in your tone.

“No, Jesus, no sweetheart. You know it started out as a way to annoy him, but my feelings for you were genuine; I loved you, and in many ways still do.” Regret is written all over his face when your eyes meet his. You know your relationship back then was complicated. Of course there was the age gap –Mark is a good 13 years older than you– which somehow trickled into the bedroom where he showed you things that made your previous boyfriends look like clueless little boys by comparison. And as every naive 20-something-year-old with daddy issues would have done, you fell head over heels in love with him, giving him your heart and your body. 

“You broke a piece of me that day that I might not ever get back,” you whisper.

“And I will spend the rest of my life regretting the way I handled things. You’re right, I should’ve been open and honest with you instead of walking out on us,” Mark says, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve spent ten years avoiding you. The ghost of you haunted me in that garage and so when Mercedes called, I took it with both hands. I was a mess those first years, somehow still hoping you’d come back for me. And then it became painfully clear you weren’t and I mourned the loss of you all over again. I hated you for what you did to me, hated myself even more for ever allowing you to get close enough to hurt me, for still being in love with you despite it all. The last ten years I’ve spent building up walls so I wouldn’t have to feel like that version of me again, and look where that’s gotten me.” You laugh humorlessly, biting your lip to stop the tears from falling. “I have become the very definition of a cliche, entangled in a love square and too scared to let any of them in.” 

Before you really know what’s happening, Mark pulls you out of your seat and into his lap. Your legs dangle over the arm of the chair and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I need you to listen carefully, okay sweetheart? If anyone deserves to take the blame for what happened, it’s me. And if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how worthy of love you are. I know all three of us will. You might have a hard time letting us in right now, but baby you need to know that we’re all in if you are. You are worth waiting for.” You take a deep breath, inhaling his cologne. The scent of it helps to calm you down, it reminding you of the lazy mornings spent in bed cuddling. 

“You’re the second person to tell me that,” you mumble as you look up at him. Mark smiles, brushing away your tears with his thumb and cradles your cheek in his palm.

“Then it must be true.” 

You smile back at him, albeit timidly and snuggle into him once more. Alice’s words from a week prior echo in your head. “Keeping your heart shut like this, it’s safe but also lonely.” You’re beginning to wonder whether the cost has been far greater than the benefits of keeping romance at bay. Doing so hurt a good man; had you been able to allow Kevin in completely, you know he would have made you feel safe and loved. You also know Kevin deserves better –hell, you deserve better, but knowing and doing are two very different things, and right now you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready for this level of love –from any of them.  

Welp, there you have it. Date no.2 🙊

Again, a massive thank you to @curiousthyme and @szobosz for being my beta readers for this chapter, and a shoutout to @monzamash for helping me with figuring out the details for this date

Please feel free to let let me know what you think; your comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me 💜

I'm gonna take the holidays off from posting this fic to just relax (and maybe get some more writing done, who knows?), so the last date will be posted in the new year on the 6th. Wishing you all a merry Christmas and all the best for the new year!

[akookminsupporter]

Namjoon gave a good interview to Vogue Spain and in it he said a few things that I thought I'd share with those of you who may not understand Spanish.

This was at the end of the article but I want to write it first:

One thing that needs to be made clear about this album is that, no matter how much the rumour mill is trying to spin it, it is by no means the end of the successful band. "Oh, I'm not leaving BTS. Absolutely not. This is the first time I'm launching a solo project like this, so I'm trying to stand up and take my first steps. But I'm ambitious and I have willpower. So I don't want to miss the opportunity to do both. So I will try my best not to lose control and steer these two ships at the same time. A lot of bands split up and fall apart, but I hope that doesn't happen to BTS. I just love the music, I love my job, I love the band members and I love myself. If I can keep both projects going, I think it can be something legendary in the long run".

Other important parts of the article:

"The k-pop industry hasn't stopped growing since we debuted with BTS [in 2013]. It's become a lot more complex and has brought a lot more people into its structures. I think there are a lot of lights, but also some slippery shadows. Many of us started our careers very early as a group: we slept and lived together as teenagers. We became a real family, which is great, but this culture has also affected me a lot, because sometimes I find it difficult to be treated as an adult who has autonomy in his decisions. I'm perceived as just another cog in the crew, in the context of a mass phenomenon",

Did you ever feel like you were getting completely lost in this delirium of success? "I used to think so, but the funny thing is that I am fully aware that it was my own choice to devote myself to the k-pop industry. Nobody pushed me into it. But yes, I have lost myself at times. Although perhaps saying this is an excess of 'self-empathy'. There is no answer. Except that, if k-pop is about recharging the batteries of a mass audience and I'm responsible for doing that recharging, then I have to keep my feet firmly on the ground. As an adult, as a musician and as a human being. And these ten years of my career have helped me define who I am and learn to love myself. But I'm still in that process, you know? All these internal struggles will be recorded on records and videos," he explains.

"Music is really necessary for the world, but, when it comes to my music, sometimes I feel like I'm producing something unnecessary. If I were to die tonight, I don't think anything would change. It might matter to some people for a while, but a farmer or a street sweeper is more relevant to the functioning of society. When I ask myself about the role of our generation in historical terms, when I look at all the digital platforms and communities out there, I am overcome with confusion. There are a lot of people who don't want to think. They have frenetic lives and turn to music or television to escape, so the last thing they want is someone trying to lecture them from a pedestal. In that context, I wonder how I can make my music matter. I haven't found an answer yet, but I keep trying to bring my own perspective to it.

As to whether he is afraid that the army he has on Instagram (42.4 million followers) might one day turn against him for a silly mistake or a blunder, RM answers bluntly. "Yes, it scares me. It scares me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When I was younger I tried to come across as a cool guy who doesn't give a shit what other people think, but I don't think that's right anymore. I care about the publicity dimension of my career and the influence I can have on others. It stresses me out, yes, but I think I can handle it. That's why I don't retire or do things like go out and drink the night away and then drive drunk. I'm human, I can make mistakes, but I will do everything in my power to be the best version of myself. One of the keys is to treat this job for what it is: a job. I don't think artists have any special rights or status.

Note: if you would like me to translate another part of the interview, let me know.

[libby-for-life]

I wanna see more greek mythology au 🥺 also i wonder what happens if like at some point Charlie and the crew or like Sera and such meets him again😙

Read the other Greek Mythology au first.

Previously: The entirety of Hell shakes and splits open as twelve-foot-tall people radiating power and light storm in, all wielding weapons that, despite not being angelic weapons, are powerful enough to kill sinners.

They will find Persephone.

Meanwhile, Lucifer soon catches wind of these godly beings and goes to confront them. He sees Adam for the first time since the dawn of Eden and nearly has a heart attack. Adam. The First Man. He was back.

And he was PISSED

Adam spots the one he feels is in charge, pointing his scythe at him. "WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?!"

Lucifer too stunned to speak for a moment just stares at Adam. Then he reels back.

"Wait...who?"

"PERSEPHONE! WHERE IS SHE?!"

"Oh dear gods, this place is a mess." A man with what looks like a war helmet says.

"I love war as much as the next person, but this seems...excessive..."

A man in black with a gold circlet looks disgusted. "Is THIS what they think my domain is?!" (Hades has always been salty about the miscommunication of the Underworld)

"I have much more class then this!"

"Please, focus you two." A woman with long blonde hair says. She carried a spear and looked wise beyond her years.

Adam just stalks up to Lucifer, radiating the feeling of a famine, a sweltering summer, wildfires started from his angry breath

He giveth mankind his bounty, he taketh is away just as fast

"WAIT! I don't know who this person is, but I can help you find her! Did her soul pass through here?"

This only made Adam angry. "A goddess doesn't die." His fury is controlled but Lucifer could tell that this...glowing new Adam wanted to pummel him.

"Yes. Besides, Earth needs her. Without her, Spring can't come." A man wearing a tunic said and...was he carrying a...lightning bolt? Interesting weapon choice.

Lucifer heard rumors of the Earth taking on sentient life of its own, but he didn't believe it. These were Primordials! They held just as much power as the Elders so long as they were on Earthly domain. They were literally gods.

And...Adam was one of them?

"Are you this realm's leader?" The female said, shifting the weight of her spear. "If what you say is true about you helping us, then you WILL provide."

Hades steps up. This may not be his realm, but he is STILL Lord of the Dead. "Speak, or I will have every soul here tear and burn this place to the ground before turning them up on you."

Lucifer shivered. He could tell that he wasn't lying. "Yes. I am their King. If Persephone is here and not a lost soul, I will help you find her and bring out of Hell."

Adam looked at the man. He seemed familiar but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He supposed it didn't matter. If he didn't get Persephone back, then he was going to flood this place and then burn it into the ground. They didn't call him The Reaper for nothing.

"How about, while we search, I can offer you a place to stay? My daughter runs a hotel."

Charlie did not expect Dad to show up with the fucking Primordials

"Uh...welcome?"

Hades is beyond offended at the lack of structure in the afterlife. "Why the fuck isn't this place more organized?! So much chaos! Why aren't they on the reincarnation route?"

"Hu? Reincarnation?" Charlie asked confused.

"YES! If you're not an absolute beast of a human being, you reincarnate! Attain a good life three times and you get Eternal Paradise!"

Athena just shakes her head and gathers her brothers towards some open seats. A snap of her fingers makes them fit better so they can all sit down. They needed to know the layout of Hell. She knew strategies like the back of her hand.

"Now. You're the Princess of Hell?" Athena asked Charlie before a small one-eyed woman pointed a spear at her.

Athena tilted her head. "You will do well to lower your weapon child. Before I show you the power of a Goddess."

Ares laughs. "This one! I like her!" Taps Vaggie's spear, turning it gold and giving it a more wicked design. "This will draw more blood from your foes!"

Vaggie stumbles back and looks at her spear. Athena looked at her in the eyes and suddenly she saw her literal life flash before her eyes. This Goddess meant business....she shouldn't threaten someone this powerful. "You always did like the brave." Hades said.

"Brave or foolish?" Athena said with one more glance before turning to Charlie. "Well, are you the Princess or not?"

"I...I am. Uh, how can I help you?"

"My daughter, Persephone has gone missing. She was kidnapped and taken here." Adam said. "I can sense her here but I don't know where exactly....too many layers here."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Persephone... I've heard that name before."

"You should," Zeus said. "She's the Goddess of Spring. She's what brings that Earth beauty."

Some silence.

"....I thought Demeter was a woman."

Adam turned to what looked at what seemed to be a spider demon. "I've been depicted as such. I prefer the male form better." His form flickered and he turned into...well....a she. A well-endowed woman who looked regal and beautiful as she was angry. The form flickered and Adam was male again. "Demeter is one name I go by. Only my family calls me Adam."

Angel blinked. "So you're male leaning gender fluid. Cool."

Adam tilted his head. "If that helps you comprehend it better."

"No, that's Zeus, the God of Whores"

Zeus gasped at Ares.

"No, you're thinking of Apollo."

"What do you know of the layers here?" Adam asks.

Ares turns to Lucifer. "Anyway, shortsack, we didn't catch your name."

Adam glared at the interruption but looked to the King who was been...quite for some time.

Adam blinked. Something was digging at his memory. Something he wanted to forget...."The layers, Princess. What do you know of them?"

It's better to not dwell on the past.

Only, his family exchanged glances behind his back before they turned unreadable looks to the King of Hell. Adam might not remember chose not to but they remembered when Adam was young and innocent. Back when he would cry about how his two friends left him. Lucifer and Lilith. Two uncommon names that humans don't typically call their children.

[mymelodymia]

i'm still here // dad!thor odinson x daughter!reader

!!!ENDGAME SPOILERS!!!

Summary: your brought back after 5 years...

Warnings: literally a single cuss word from rocket, fear of being alone, crying, character death mentioned, overall fluff,

Age: 16

A/N: hope yall like this one too 🥰

+•°+*°•+pt 1 here+•°+*°•+

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

You felt weightless, like you were floating. You gained physical consciousness soon after this. You were laying flat on your back on the forest floor, arms curled up as if you were trying to hold something.

You sat up and looked around to see more avengers also confused. You looked around and realized, your dad wasn't there like he was before you passed out.

"Dad?" You whimpered out, trying to find him. You whipped your head around as you heard sparkling behind you.

"Who the h3ll are you?" Rabbit asked (srry i love calling him that)

"Come on its been five years, we...the avengers need you" strange told you all. You blinked at him a few times in confusion, "its been how long!?" You shouted, eyes wide.

Strange helped you up and you all fell into the portal.

You had just started fighting the alien dogs. Not knowing what to do. You soon found yourself outnumbered by these dogs. You were trying to get them away but it did nothing.

You were pinned on the ground, they kept trying to get to you but tony flew by and blasted them for you. "Thanks!" You yelled at him, he nodded in response before flying off to the distance.

You stood up to brush yourself off, and your father was standing a few feet away from you, just staring in shock.

You gasped as you made eye contact with him, tears welled up in his eyes.

He pulled you Into a strong hug quickly. He squeezed you so hard you thought you might d!e.

He pulled away to look at your face, he let out a sad chuckle as he looked at you, innocently looking back up at him.

He held you to his chest as he sobbed. Yes, your father always acted like nothing and no one could make him cry, or even make him emotional. But when it came to you, he was a verryyy delicate flower.

"Im still here." He whispered to you.

He had lost everyone in his life, his mother, his father, his brother, his best friend, his lover, and the one person he couldn't let go of, You. But you, unlike anyone, came back to him. And healed his broken heart. He was the only person you had as well, after losing your uncle and watching it happen before your eyes hurt like no other.

Another space dog ran at you two and tony, once again, swept past and blasted it. "Second time! Not helping you anymore" he quickly spoke before flying away.

"We should help" you told thor. "Yes, we should" he smiled sadly, finally having something in life.

You both continued to fight together. You looked to your left after a while, to see tony, on his knees, with the stones.

Tony acted like your father when thor wasn't around, he was also your best-est friend, other then thor. Even once accidentally calling him dad. And though he would always deny it, he saw you as his daughter.

You gasped and covered your mouth as he said the words, "i.... am.. iron man" and snapped. You ran over to him immediately, Peter got to him before you. He sobbed out a small, pained "tony..." you held him as he cried.

You were the first one to Kneel before tony, a helpless tiny human, had saved the universe on his own. Everyone followed your actions.

You sobbed for days after this tragic event, your dad had to hold you up on his funeral because you were crying so much.

"Im still here" thor muttered to you as he held you close too him. It took a while to get over but eventually, it happened.

You found out through pepper that you and peter were the god parents for morgan 😭 thor was with every step of your healing, he thought leaving your side was a bad idea. Or he just missed you over the years lol.

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

Tags

@animealways // @white-wolf-buckaroo // @tonystark-au // @yummyangy // @zebralover // @carellmcu

[cocogum]

Let’s TALK about episodes 9 and 10 people… (part 2)

PART 1 : HERE

(‼️SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4‼️)

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And of course, we got Qilby who’s finally got the eliatrope dofus back and left the chat. I liked how he was talking to Shinonome tho even if she was still in their shared dofus. This taught me that even if one sibling is alive, they can still communicate with their twin in their dofus.

And here we go again with Qilby wanting to make A NEW ELIACUBE. Only this time, he’ll name that one the “Eliasphere”.

Because of this, it was finally confirmed that Lokus was a mechasm. And it all makes perfect sense now.

When Qilby finally reached Lokus’ heart, we get flashes and quick imageries of those very same mechasms. When we pause on every single one of them, we get to see these:

(I love how these mechasms kinda look like biblical angels tho lol)

Yeah, we’re screwed.

And then we’re back with Yugo and my god he keeps convulsing so much I’m so confused as to how he can keep talking so normally after all this.

I didn’t even try to screenshot this at a good angle, this is exactly what happened when I just took it. It’s perfect.

ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS SHOT?!? I know how some of us have seen this scene as a preview for the episode but I just LOVE how good this looks. The colors and the vibe are sending me!! I still also remember how people used to theorize on who this could have been lying down in front of Toross back when we didn’t know it was Yugo. I heard things like Amalia, Nora, Yugo obviously, and even Efrim. Those were some fun times…

Bro. I can’t stop staring.

I know he’s going through hell right now but like….damn he’s built. He’s such a slut.

*clears throat*

😩❤️‍🔥💖🎶DADDY’S HOME🎶💖❤️‍🔥😩‼️‼️‼️

I believe his growth and powers should get elevated to fight stronger opponents which is why I am happy that he grew 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢 I only want the best for him after all 🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢🧢

Yugo just accepted death when you think about it. When Oropo explained to him what the necromes would do and what would become of him, Yugo was lost yes but he accepted it. He welcomed it even. Right after that, we see him fighting with Bouillon and smiling. He’s smiling when he shouldn’t be. But because Oropo told him he’d make him stop thinking about the outside world, he’s smiling. The slow process of his death was currently happening and Yugo couldn’t do a thing.

That’s what frustrates me but makes me admire Yugo. It’s the fact that he always gets so close to death but when he learns that there’s finally nothing he can do about it, he just accepts it.

I think that’s pretty respectable but….

WHY DO U THINK LIKE THAT?!?!?

Honestly he can be even dumber than Dally sometimes.

He’s such a dummy THAT HE’S SMILING LIKE A DUMBASS CHILD WHILE FIGHTING BOUILLON

I just-

I can’t handle his smugness stop.

STOP!!!

But in all seriousness tho I gotta address Nora.

Because omg Nora.

I genuinely feel so horrible for her.

She spent thousands of years searching for her mother with Efrim. She spent so many years of her life looking for her mother and never gave up. She almost lost the connection and then got it back and when she finally found her, she lost Efrim, then went with her mother and has done nothing else but listen to her mother, give out orders for her, and try to be the center of the family circle so she could keep its balance.

She has realized that she will no longer be able to be reborn like her other siblings and will eventually stay stuck in her dofus for all eternity. She is aware that when she dies, she won’t be remembered by her other siblings and her place in the council of six will fade away as if all those thousands of years spent with them happened for nothing. The only one who will remember her will be Qilby who will think of her as the long-lost sister none of the others remember and will ever get to meet her. She will disappear in the face of the krosmoz and will never come back.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, she gets tricked by Efrim and gets statufied so that her powers can be used by Toross whenever he wants to. Her situation became ironic, even laughable too. Because now, instead of dying and not being able to go back to her dofus, she is physically incapable of moving and will forever be used by Toross. No matter the outcome, Nora can’t come back to her dofus. Compared to Yugo, Toross doesn’t let out a tear at his action inflicted on Nora and instead thanks her. Nora’s last memory of all of this is Toross telling her how the world will have nothing but hunger.

“You can't do this! Have mercy! Don’t make me responsible for the end of the world!”

In the end, her last word was her brother’s name.

Nora deserved more.

All she had done as of now was help others and try to fix what she could. She never stopped to think about what she could’ve done for herself.

That Qilby vs Lokus fight is just *chef’s kiss*

“My brother, my king.”

Qilby is a real legend.

Now some people might wonder why his death was considered a sad one when he can just die, get reborn, and not lose any of his memories. While that is technically true, he’s not losing anything. And that’s exactly why it’s sad. Qilby can’t lose anything no matter what he does. Which is why he had no trouble dying. If dying meant helping Yugo find some way to obtain Lokus’ heart, then he’d do it. Unlike his siblings, he’s the only one able to confidently have that mindset and say it’s nothing to worry about. He did it for his king so that like he told Yugo:

“I hope that when we wake up, the planets will still be here.”

And this is why Yugo cried for him.

Despite being rejected over and over again, despite being called a traitor, despite being called a monster and a killer, Qilby stayed true to himself even until the end. Qilby’s sense of wonder and curiosity, the very same things that had made him look like a freak to Yugo, is what saved his king.

[womenloverlmao]

13 Days of Halloween - Day 1

Carrie - Charlie Walker X Reader

Charlie loved you, and everything about you. He loved your looks, your mind, your heart. He even loved your weird obsession with books, one that is known among quiet teenage girls. His favorite thing about that, though, was when you were done and he got to watch the movie adaptations of the books you read with you. When Twilight first came out, you read it, and he got to see it with you. There were many other stories like this, but with the speed at which you read, it was too many to name. 

Recently, you had read Carrie for the first time. You enjoyed Stephen King as much as the next person, but you weren’t a huge fan. You knew the general plot of it before you read it, but you were pleasantly surprised when you read about it despite its anti-religion connotation. You loved the book, and this time you were happy to be able to watch this movie with Charlie. 

You got to snuggle up that night with a couple snacks and watch a movie together like you did once or twice a week, depending on how you felt. It was a fun event for both you and your boyfriend to enjoy. You never really pointed out the book vs movie stuff, feeling no need to cause an argument between you and Charlie even if it was all in good fun. Carrie was no exception. 

As Halloween started to come up, you knew what you were gonna be. You loved the book, and you liked the movie, so you knew that you were going to be Carrie White. You told Charlie that you were going to go as her, and he didn’t think much of it. You were specifically looking forward to doing a book accurate portrayal of her, because you didn’t like that they got it wrong in the movies. I mean, that’s what the whole point of a film adaptation is, isn’t it? 

You were gonna go to one of Kirby’s parties and bring your boyfriend with you, and so you got ready on your own before you would go to pick up Charlie. You were wearing the red dress, you had managed to thrift one that didn’t look exactly as described–specifically with the sleeves–but was good enough. You had put some fake blood on your face, but not much. You put the crown on and then added some on there too, letting some get into your hair. It was gross, but you knew that you had succeeded and this was one of the best costumes you had done. 

When you went to pick Charlie up, he was confused. “I thought you were being Carrie White?” 

“I am Carrie White,” you told him. 

“But her dress is white…?” 

“No, that’s only in the movie. I guess it’s supposed to portray an innocence or some sort in the movies, but actually, Stephen King had originally mentioned that it was red and actually went into detail about what the dress was supposed to look like. In the movie, they don’t follow any of it. I actually don’t really like it, and I don’t like a lot about how the movie was made, but still…” 

“Why would they need to portray innocence if she was just going to kill everyone anyways?” 

“Well, you know how the pig's blood gets poured? When the red gets on her, that symbolizes that innocence being lost.” 

Anyways that conversation went on all the way to Kirby’s, and as soon as you saw her, she immediately said. “Damn, girl. You’re beautiful, I…am gonna assume you’re Carrie?” 

“Thank you. And, yes. As of tonight, that’s my name,” you said with a smile. “Charlie doesn’t believe that I’m Carrie because my dress isn’t white.” 

“Don’t get me involved in one of those conversations, I heard it happen about Eragon back in like…Freshman year.” 

You laughed, but you looked over at Charlie. You gave him a smile, one that said I win. 

Anyways, you had a lot of fun with your boyfriend that night. After winning that little dispute, it truly was a Happy Halloween for you.