#and to those of you who have lost someone?

[fear-is-truth]

mature content ; mdni

˖˚⊹ 𝓙’s note: post-prison spence is just sooo pent-up but also touch-starved during sex, someone sedate me pls

after everything, he’s finally back, and it’s almost unreal having him here again. spencer’s different now, though. prison’s left its mark on him.

maybe he thinks you’re the only part of him left that feels unsullied. he’s quieter, more intense, less of the nervous, endearing man who fumbled with his words and shyly avoided your gaze. instead, his eyes are locked on you, never drifting when he’s fucking you.

almost as if he’s lost pieces of himself in those walls and found something else he hadn’t known was there.

there’s a possessiveness to him now that wasn’t there before. the old spence was gentle, careful, almost timid in how he’d reach for you. but now, he is ravenous. even when the two of you were connected in the most physically intimate way possible—with him grinding his pelvis against yours and burying himself into the deepest parts of you, somehow it’s still not enough. his hands are tracing greedily across the planes of your skin, the curve of your spine, relearning the lines of your body. mapping you in a way that feels both familiar and foreign.

sometimes, the spencer you knew surfaces. his hips stutters—that tale-tell throb accompanied by the catch of his breath, you can feel the tremors running through his entire body as he clings to you, pressing his face into your shoulder. when you thread your fingers through his hair, tugging gently, he lets out a broken whimper as he spills himself inside of you.

there are also moments when you catch a glimpse of something darker in his eyes, a hardness that wasn’t there before. it unsettles you just as much as it thrills you, but even with that edge, he’s still your boy. your spence.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Ok I’ve seen some doomerism post-election that has clearly lost touch with all reality but this is next-level. If you’re thinking this way:

1) breathe.

2) go get some sunlight and maybe talk to a human being offline and/or not about Trump

3) step away from the go bags and emergency plans, because I guarantee you that whatever you are packing and planning in that state of mind isn’t actually going to be what you need if/when you need it. He doesn’t come into office until January. You can do this tomorrow or next week, once you’ve taken care of yourself. You can’t prepare for anything if you’re spiraling this badly.

4) breathe.

5) there will be history books. I know this because there have been kingdoms, and dictatorships, and empires where accurate literature was outlawed. They all fell eventually, and we know about them because someone somewhere wrote them down.

6) Even if you or I or we don’t survive this, if there are people still left in the world this history will be told and remembered. If there aren’t people left in the world, our stories will still be visible on pages and in photos, even if there’s nobody to remember. The concept of recorded information is not going to disappear. Our records will outlast us in the end.

7) if you are so worried about there being no histories, no truth, no stories left from those who are impacted, then I want you to pick up a notebook or piece of paper or napkin, or open a word document if you know a place (like a public library or school) that offers free printing services. Write now, write later, write what’s happening, copy and paste screenshots from social media, and hell copy/paste whole news articles, and print them. Write in class, write at work if you can, write before bed and when you wake up. This is how stories survive when they’re illegal. Take your pages and notebooks and printouts and put them in something watertight and secure, that you can carry with you, or give them to a trusted person with a house and bury them in old clothes, or make a time capsule. If you are afraid of the history of this time disappearing, it is in your power to change that.

8) or don’t. You don’t have to do it now, or this week, or this month. It’s something you can do, not something you have to do. Do it if it makes you feel better. Do it if it makes you worry less. Do it if it makes you feel powerful. You can also write or draw about things utterly irrelevant. It’s still your voice. Otherwise? Rest, be kind to yourself now.

9) breathe.

[ellecdc]

Thoughts on bodyguard!james x reader in a hostage situation? I'm thinking like full Olivia pope bag over the head high stakes hostage situation. Would also love it as an established but secret relationship at this point. (obviously reader can stay unharmed but maybe they advertise as if they've hurt her?) and James and the team come in and get her out....

I looooooove some high sakes hurt/comfort. now, please note I've never seen scandal? but I felt like I knew enough about hostage situations to give it a try? idk, hopefully it turned out okay, and thanks for the prompt!!

bodyguard!James Potter x fem!reader who James [et al.] find [1.5k words]

CW: hostage situation, swearing, NCA = UK's version of the FBI, minor injuries, panic

James could vaguely register the sound of NCA members shouting from up ahead as the team cleared the first floor of the abandoned factory they’d tracked you to, but he could only focus on the raised hand of Remus - crouched beside James at a stairwell - who was waiting for their signal to move up to the second floor.

James knew three things: he was probably going to throw up whatever was left in his stomach from the last time he could manage to ingest more than a banana or an energy drink, the NCA team was definitely beginning to regret giving James one of their vests, and you were in this building.

Ultimately, that last fact was the most important. 

James also knew this was what Remus had warned him about; the conflict of interest when he finally admitted to himself (and thus to Remus and Sirius) that he definitely fancied you as more than just his principle. 

“You’re not going to be able to remain objective, James.” Remus had said to him. Not unkindly, of course, but James didn’t like the insinuation that he was incapable of a) doing his job or b) keeping you safe.

Of course, both of those seem to have been proven true, seeing as you were here; regardless of the fact that Remus insisted this wasn’t his fault, regardless of the fact that his hand off of your care to Peter that night had been fucking seamless - it was James who lost you. 

His ire wasn’t due to the fact that he’d lost a principle, nor even that he might lose his job because of it. 

No, what made him fucking sick with worry and rage was that you were here, you were scared, you were being harmed.

And that is what kept him from barging past Remus - NCA instructions be damned - and burning the entire fucking building down to look for you.

“Clear!” An agent called as James heard what he knew to be Sirius’ gait rushing towards them.

“Not on the first floor.” Sirius whispered; out of breath from racing through the building in search of you. 

“Fuck.” James breathed out as he stood, but Sirius - god fucking love him - pushed up against his back and kept him moving.

“We’ll find her, Jamie.” He promised. 

There were two teams of the NCA unit on the second floor by the time James, Remus, and Sirius made it up the stairs, and that’s when they heard it. 

“What the FUCK DID YOU DO?!” Someone bellowed, followed by a desperate sound. It was coming from you.

“I didn’t…I didn’t-”

“You fuckin’ call that boy of yours? Huh? He come runnin’?”

“For your sake, he better have our fuckin’ money.” Another voice threatened, and the three of them moved towards the door where the voices were coming from.

James, Remus, and Sirius flattened themselves against the wall next to the door, faces pointed at the NCA agents who were doing the same on the other side. One agent wearing head-to-toe riot gear nodded at their teammate with the battering ram, poised and standing at the ready. At their mark, the team moved. 

The NCA announced themselves and paired off with the suspects rather quickly whilst Sirius took off after one who tried to flee, Remus right on his heels. 

The abandoned building had high, exposed ceilings which your captors had suspended thick construction grade cord from.

You were tied to the rope by your wrists, both of which were bound together and suspended over your head as you tried to balance on your tiptoes to the best of your abilities. You were clearly exhausted though, and the moments of relief you managed to garner for your shoulders were brief when your body ultimately went slack one way or the other. 

James rushed towards you as he surveyed you for any other visible injuries; you were wearing the same clothes he’d dropped you off at your flat in - a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt, though your jumper was missing - with the addition of a fucking sack over your head. He was only marginally relieved when couldn’t see any blood on your person.

His hands made contact with your waist first when you flinched violently; body swaying furiously as you swung your legs out at him, shrieking in fear.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay, angel. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me.” He chanted, his heart working itself further and further up his throat with every panicked puff of air you let out of your lungs. “It’s James. It’s me; you’re okay, love.”

“Jamie?” You keened, and James felt the first tear of relief fall from his eyes.

“Hi angel, hi.” He let out in a whisper; one arm circling around your hips and lifting your weight to relieve your shoulders slightly. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“I want to go home, James. I want to go home.” You cried.

“I know love, I know. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” He promised as a NCA member came to assist in getting you down. He stood on a chair and sawed away at the rope with a blade, barely managing to catch your wrists as the rope gave way and the rest of your weight fell into James’ awaiting arms.

“Don’t, don’t!” You shouted, struggling in James’ grasp. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

“Y/N-”

But by the time the NCA agent let go of your wrists, you all but went slack in James’ embrace, and James understood your panic. 

“Okay, okay.” James placated softly as he placed you gently in the chair in front of him, untying the drawstring at the bottom of your sack and pulling it off of your head.

Your face was stained with tears both old and new; tracks etched into your skin that James wondered if they didn’t scar from the past three days of being alone and utterly terrified. Your eyes were wild and glassy as you assessed the space; watching NCA agents and members from James’ own company milling about the room. James wasn’t sure you’d ever seen the room you were being kept in, depending on when the bag was placed over your head. Your bottom lip was busted and swollen along with some bruising at your jaw, and the eye on the opposite side of your face was also bruised with a small cut to your eyebrow, but all of those injuries appear to be from the first day you’d been kidnapped as you struggled against your captors. 

James took a moment to saw away the rope still binding your wrists together - red, raw, and bloody - and though you remained perfectly placid, you were shaking something fierce. 

“I want to go home.” You repeated, as you stared unseeingly over James’ shoulder. You sounded so determined that James half expected you to stand and start marching out of the building on your own accord, but you simply sat in the simple wooden chair, eyes darting frantically around the room as you held onto James’ arms quite literally for dear life. 

“I’m going to take you home, angel, I promise. But we need to make sure you’re okay first.”

“I’m okay.” You argued quickly, still not looking at James. “I’m okay, I’m okay. I swear it, Jamie. I want to go home.” 

“Angel-”

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You all but sobbed; the force of the breath that escaped you saw you deflating significantly in your chair. “I want to go home.” 

“Okay.” James settled on, because he couldn’t help but agree; he didn’t really want to be here anymore, either. He wanted nothing more than to get you home and perhaps never let you leave again. But he couldn’t leave without having you looked at first.

“Oi! Where the fuck are the paramedics?” James called towards Sirius who was just returning from his chase. James made to stand, but you screeched and dug your nails into his arm.

“Don’t James! Please. Please, please, please.” You begged nonsensically; eyes imploring and desperate, though James wondered how well you could actually see out of them with the way they pooled with unshed tears as you looked up at him. 

“What? What is it, lovie?” James - perhaps embarrassingly - cooed at you; both of his hands reaching to cup your face, and his heart splintered when you leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, forcing the tears to fall. 

“Please don’t leave. Please. Take me with you - take me home.” 

“I’m going to take you home, Y/N. I will, okay?” James promised as Sirius made his way over; his heartbreak written all over his face as he spoke into his microphone to check in with the EMS on James’ behalf. “I’ve just found you, angel. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.” 

You seemed appeased, though you never did let go of his hand as the paramedics made it to you and completed their assessment.

James’ never let go of yours either, mind you.

He thinks he might never let go of it again.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 11: Free Fall

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

How many nights did you wish someone would stay? (Lie awake only hoping they're okay?)

(In which an angst writer makes her comeback in more ways than one)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff if you squint?

Words: 8.0K

TW: Swearing (that's probably it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Y'all are the sweetest people ever for being so patient with me but it's finally here! I'm hoping that I don't put y'all through this again but it is almost finals season so...fingers crossed. While you read this chapter, I'd like y'all to keep in mind how much you love me and how much y'all wanted a new chapter and of course my favorite phrase: for the plot! I tried to edit but I hate reading my own work back and so it's not as thorough as it should be and there's probably typos so lemme know. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely week my angels!

May 2025 

It’s her first ever WNBA game -Dallas Wings vs Washington Mystics- and the first thing Paige notices as she steps onto the court is that the two courtside seats right by the Mystics bench are empty. The sound of music streaming through the speakers clashes against the raucous crowds; the lights are dimmed and there’s a riveting thrum of energy swirling the arena in anticipation for a generational talent’s professional debut. Paige has spent the days leading up to her first game immersed in basketball. Since training camps, she hasn’t let herself think of anything except how to make sure the ball went through the hoops, how to make sure the person in front of her didn’t score, how to win. 

It’s easier that way. Because then she doesn’t have to think about how empty and cold her bed feels at night, doesn’t have to think about how much she craves to press call on a number she knows she should have blocked, doesn’t have to think about how the pieces of her shattered world are barely bound together by a tape of pretend. Paige can’t think of any of that and so she’s spent every second awake, clearing her head of all potential distractions and focusing on preparing for this moment. 

Except, the moment is here now. 

And all Paige can fixate on is the empty courtside seats. 

The memories come back to her in waves; the two of them in those seats, pressed together -as close as it could be acceptable for their façade of best friends to be- as they weaved dreams of it being their turn on the professional stage. If she listens closely, Paige swears that amidst the chaos, she can still hear the echo of a promise that had once been made casually in conversation. 

“When you play here for the first time, I’ll be right here cheering you on. Every single time.”

Another broken promise. 

The truth is that the last few weeks as much as it’s felt like Paige is walking on a carpet of roses, there have been countless sharp thorns woven through the petals. She’s tried to avoid them -focusing on what she had, instead of what she’d lost- but they’d found a way to perforate through her skin anyways. And Paige knows she’s bleeding but she can’t scream, so she swallows the pain away instead. Memories of the past are piercing her feet and it feels like she’s leaving a trail of it feels incomplete without you behind her as she navigates the journey through her present, stepping towards a future that would be nothing like the one she’d imagined when she’d been a naive girl sitting in those courtside seats. 

The courtside seats that are empty tonight. 

Really it’s exactly what she should’ve expected. And there’s something so final about this moment, like the last flicker of a candle that had burned in secret. Paige hadn’t even realized she was still holding out for something but as she drags her eyes away from the seats and towards her father and brother who are practically vibrating with pride, she can feel the tautness of the string that she’d held onto. Because she hasn't told them; hasn’t told anybody about the breakup. 

Something about vocalizing it had felt just a little too real and Paige had evaded any potential situation that would warrant her having to reveal the tirth. But it hits her now, looking at those damn empty seats that should've been -in another life would’ve been- filled by her other family, that the words she’d been too scared to say out loud -for fear of them being enshrined into reality- had already probably been spoken into existence by someone else. And it hits Paige now, that maybe she’s desperately holding onto a rope that has already been let go of. 

“You good Bueckers?” she whirls around to find Arike looking at her, eyebrows raised in concern. 

“I’m fine,” Paige lies; she’s gotten so incredibly good at that, ���just thinking a lot of thoughts.”

Arike nods in understanding, “fair enough. But you got this dude,” she reaches out a hand to squeeze her rookie’s shoulder, “whatever you’re thinking, when you get on that court, none of it’s gonna matter. All that matters for 40 minutes is the game and that we come out of it with a win. You gonna help us win Paige?”

“That’s the fucking plan,” Paige smirks, earning her a matching one from Arike before the shooting guard saunters onto the court, ready for tip-off.

All that matters is the game. 

Paige sucks in a deep breath, letting herself look over at the courtside seats one more time. This is her reality now. There’s no point in waiting for a regretful phone call or a surprise midnight knock on her door because it’s not going to happen. She feels a sense of hollowed acceptance as she finally turns away from the seats, plastering on a confident smile as she takes her place in the Dallas Wings starting five. And Paige is faced with the same truth that she’d learned at a far too young age; that people would leave her but the game never would. 

***

Dallas wins the game by 17 points. Paige’s statline is 21 points, 6 rebounds and 8 assists with 2 steals and a block. It’s a respectable statement from the rookie and her teammates are overjoyed. She’s surrounded by them as they celebrate winning their first game of the season and there’s a sense of hopeful excitement about how the rest of the season could go. Her eyes go over the top of them to find the cute Dallas local reporter that Paige had befriended shooting her a congratulatory wink and she blushes a little bit, looking away bashfully. In the distance, Paige can make out a small crowd of people decked in custom Wings #5 jersey, whistling in excitement. Despite the home fans, their celebration still echoes around the stadium and the loudest cheer comes from her brother who stands next to her father, both of them beaming with pride. And It’s almost enough to prevent her eyes from wandering back to the empty courtside seats. Almost. 

***

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. With the quick transition from the college season into the draft, Paige hadn’t had found time to go home inbetween. And so when the Wings had been making hotel arrangements for DC, she’d opted to stay with her dad and Drew in Maryland instead. But as she stands in the doorway to her bedroom, staring at a wall filled with pictures that are an ode to the past - collages that are practically a shrine to her broken relationship- Paige finds herself longing for the cold, unfeeling exterior of a foreign hotel room. 

Paige’s life can be split into two parts. There’s the Before Azzi and then there’s the With Azzi. And the truth is that there isn’t much from the Before Azzi left in Paige’s life. Every inch of her current life has been touched by the brunette, illuminated by her presence and now, it’s tainted by her absence. Especially in Maryland. Since she’d met the Virginia native, the DMV area had always been synonymous with the Fudds for Paige and she can’t remember a time when she’d been here -when she’d been in this bedroom- and not had plans to see them- to see Azzi. 

She takes a hesitant step inside, eyes gliding over each photograph and it’s like she’s being transported through time. The memories are as vivid as ever, bursting with color as they ellipse her mind. Paige can picture every moment like she’d lived it yesterday. She can still hear their laughter echoing through the air, can feel the softness of their hands -their bodies- brushing against each other, can still taste the lingering sweetness of their lips meeting halfway as they breathed silent promises against each other’s skin. 

A silent sob wracks through Paige’s body as she brushes her fingers over the most recent image of them from December -the last photograph she’d had time to print out. It’s one that Drew had taken of them in the kitchen- Paige propped up on the counter and Azzi in between her legs, one hand on the counter with the other resting right against Paige’s heart. Neither of them had even noticed the little boy, too wrapped up in each other; they were in their own world like they often had been. Azzi’s head is thrown back in laughter -probably at some ridiculous joke her girlfriend had cracked- and Paige has that goofy - just for Azzi- grin on her face as she gazes at the brunette with nothing but adoration. 

The picture is from barely six months ago but they look so young to Paige, so innocent, so naive, so fucking happy, so completely unaware that in a couple of months, one hesitantly spoken word would dissolve that happiness into a puddle of rubble. 

No. 

She thinks that one simple word is destined to echo through her ears, like that unpleasant screech of nails scratching against a chalkboard, for as long as she still has the ability to hear. Paige hadn’t even really heard it at first; it had been said so softly, so quietly, so brokenly and she’d barely seen Azzi’s lips move. For the briefest moment she’d tricked her mind into believing it was just the sound of the wind around them. But then there it was again. 

Louder. 

Stronger. 

No.

Paige’s hands instinctively clasp around her ears, fingers tangling tightly through her blond hair, because she can still fucking hear it. Here in this bedroom, where every corner still holds a little part of Azzi -holds a little part of them- the sting of rejection is louder than it’s been since it had first hit. Because it’s not just the pictures. It’s all the little pieces of them they’d left scattered over Christmas break, thinking they’d come back to it together.

 It’s a set of Azzi’s earrings -one Paige vaguely remembers picking out for her when they’d gone shopping a couple of weeks before- placed delicately on Paige’s dresser. It’s the pink sweater -that neither of them are sure who it originally belongs to but like most of their clothes, is basically a shared item at this point- haphazardly thrown over a chair. It’s that stupid book they’d started reading together -Paige lying across her girlfriend’s lap, toying with her curls as Azzi read the story out loud- still lying on the nightstand, waiting to be finished. 

Despite being alone in her room, Paige finds herself rapidly shaking her head. Because she can’t do this. Can’t spend a night in this room that had barely ever been just hers, had always felt more like theirs. She can’t sleep on that bed, no when her last memory of it is being tangled in the sheets with Azzi on a cold wintry morning, their legs intertwined with each other as they’d giggled to themselves in between languid lazy kisses. And maybe it’s pathetic of her but she can’t find it in herself to unmake the bed, not when her last memory of the two of them in this room is her leaning against the wall, shamelessly checking out her girlfriend as Azzi neatly made the bed, chiding Paige for the nth time on the importance of tidiness. 

“When are you gonna learn how to make your bed,” Azzi had sighed. 

Grinning, Paige had wrapped her arms around her girlfriend from behind, slotting her face into the crevice of Azzi’s neck and brushing her lips against the patch of skin, “I know how to make my bed. I just never have to because I’ll always have you to do it for me.”

Except for the last few weeks, Paige has had to make her own bed and she fucking hates it. 

Breathing sharply, Paige slowly backs out of her bedroom, gently pulling the door shut. She leans her forehead against the cool mahogany frame, trying to calm herself down. There’s been a nonstop dull ache in her chest since that night but tonight feels different, like the cold hands of the past have managed to dig under her ribcage and squeeze her heart  -something sharp digging into her arteries- so hard that it hurts just to exist. Paige gives herself a couple more seconds, creating half-moons as she digs her nails into her palms, before she finally pulls away from the door, heading towards her brother’s room down the hall. 

“You know you really should start knocking before you come into my room,” Drew says with a mock annoyance that’s betrayed by his large grin, as Paige slips into his room, “I’m almost a teenager.”

Despite the heaviness that’s still lingering between her lungs, Paige suddenly finds it a lot easier to breathe. Her little brother’s bedroom is dark, save for red LED lights and dim glow of the TV. Drew is reclined on his bed, gripping a white gaming controller between his hands. 

“You’re always gonna be a baby to me Drewski,” she teases, stepping towards him to ruffle his hair, laughing when he ducks her hand and shoots her an irritated glare in response. 

“Not the hair,” he whines and then groans as his eyes flicker back to the screen, towards the game he'd been playing, “damnit Paigey you just got me killed.”

“Hey hey hey, don’t blame me for your incompetence,” Paige chides. 

Drew rolls his eyes, before reaching over to hand over the other controller, “you wanna play?”

Paige shakes her head, gently pushing his hand away, “nah I just-” she chews at her bottom lip, shuffling her feet with uncharacteristic nervousness, “I was just uh- just wondering if I could stay in here tonight? We could have a sleepover? Like old times? Just you and me.”

It’s heartwarming the way her little bother’s eyes light up -like he’s still the little boy that used to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, not almost a teenager who’ll eventually be taller than her- as he nods excitedly, scooching over to give his older sister space on his bed. Paige crawls gingerly onto the bed, hesitating for a second, before she lays her head on her brother’s lap, curling into herself. Drew is warm and inviting and familiar and for a second she almost forgets that serrated pain shooting through her nerves. But then it all comes rushing back and Paige has to swallow harshly to keep herself from giving into the fresh new set of tears that are re-emerging on her waterline. 

“Paigey,” Drew whispers softly as he runs his finger through her delicate blonde hair, clearly sensing something’s wrong, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine Drew,” she means to keep her voice strong but it comes out as broken as she feels. 

“Paigey,” the little boy’s voice is more worried now, “should I call Azzi?” 

This time the whimper escapes before Paige can stop it as she tightly closes her eyes. She knows her brother means well; know that Drew doesn’t really remember Paige without Azzi- doesn’t remember a time before his sister knew how to heal without the brunette’s touch. He’d watched Paige celebrate all her victories with Azzi and he’d seen the same hold his sister in all her tragedies, putting her back together every time she broke with promises of you’ll have always have me. From the moment Drew was old enough to understand his sister’s feelings, he was also perceptive enough to understand that Azzi was always what she needed, no matter how she was feeling. And it’s still true, Paige thinks; she wants nothing more than to say yes, wants nothing more than for Drew to call Azzi, so Paige can tell her how much she fucking misses her- how much she fucking needs her. 

Perhaps it's pride or maybe it’s fear, but Paige doesn’t say what she wants. Instead she vigorously shakes her head in her brother’s lap, “n-no it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s late and Azzi’s busy-”

“Azzi’s never too busy for you,” Drew says indignantly, “I’m gonna call her.”

“Drew stop,” Paige’s voice is much firmer this time as she wraps a strong arm around her little brother’s knee, stopping him from moving, “we’re not calling Azzi.”

She could tell him now. After all, she’s going to have to when he inevitably asks why he hasn’t seen Azzi -why he hasn’t seen the girl who’s been a part of his life for more than half of it- in so long. But even though the words sit scratchily on the tip of her tongue, she still isn’t quite ready to spit them out; isn’t quite ready to confront reality. 

“Why not,” petulance coats Drew’s tone. 

“Because I’m fine and I don’t need- I don’t want to talk to her,” Paige lies. 

The little boy scoffs, “you always want to talk to her.”

He doesn’t know the way that simple sentence turns the cracked pieces of Paige’s heart into dust as she tightens her grips on his leg, “Drew please- please just let it go.”

“Why,” Drew argues stubbornly, “why can’t we call her.”

“We just-” Paige’s voice breaks, as she scrambles to wipe her tears before they can wet her little brother’s shirt, “we just can’t okay?”

And there must be something in her voice -the anguish that no amount of trying is able to hide- that Drew pieces together to understand that this isn’t a battle he can win, no matter how much he and Paige might both want him to. The young boy slowly droops his body back to its reclining position, his fingers returning back to Paige’s hair as he begins to stroke her head again. 

“It’s gonna be okay Paigey,” he whispers with all the hopeful innocence of a blissfully naive little boy, “everything gonna be okay.”

And god does Paige want to believe him. But the courtside seats were empty tonight. And she’s in the DMV with no plans to see the Fudds- to see Azzi. And she’ll never know the ending to that stupid book on her bedside table. 

She wants to believe Drew but Paige isn’t sure how anything’s ever going to be okay again. 

***

May 2033 

It should be a joyful moment -the three most important people in her life congregating together- but instead as Paige quietly observes the scene in her living room -Drew silently seething, Azzi fidgeting nervously with her thumbs and Stephie babbling away amidst it all- she feels suffocated by this heavy gray cloud of apprehension lingering above her head. If she’s honest with herself, she’s been on edge for a couple of days now, since training camp had begun to be precise. Since she’d moved to the Bay Area, everything else in Paige’s world had been eclipsed by Azzi and Stephie. The mother-daughter duo were all-consuming and if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been more than happy to let her thoughts -and her heart- be consumed by nothing but the two of them. 

It had been so easy to forget everything else and the tentative verbal three-way deal she technically had with the Valkyries and the Liberty had pretty much ceased to exist in her thoughts. That is until Angie Davis -the lynchpin in this agreement- had been selected, just as everyone had predicted, to the Valkyries. The Stanford PG had shown up to training camp with a shy smile and an eagerness to learn that all the rest of the vets on the team had warmly embraced. But all Paige saw in the girl was the ticking time bomb of a decision she’d forgotten she’d have to make. And it isn’t just the reminder of the decision that has Paige feeling at unease; it’s why she has to make this decision in the first place, the reason behind why she’d agreed to this deal in the first play, why she’d been so adamant for Talia to make sure she didn’t get stuck here. 

Eight years ago, Azzi Fudd had broken her heart and Paige has spent every moment since, trying to collect the shattered pieces and reassemble them. 

And the last thing Paige had wanted to do was give Azzi the hammer to smash her barely fixed heart again. 

That’s what it had felt like when Talia had first brought up the Valkyries offer. It wasn’t that she and Azzi hadn’t been in each other’s orbit the last couple of years -it was impossible not to- but since the breakup, they’d never been around each other long enough, never quite been in the right situations, for that opportunity to present itself again. But Paige had known that if she came to the Valkyries, it would be an inevitability. That belief had only been strengthened the day she’d visited the Bay Area. She’d been adamant from the second she’d gotten on the flight that she couldn’t be persuaded to join Golden State, no matter how much she respected the organization and how well she’d fit into their system; no matter how much she adored the city and its love for her favorite sport.

But then she’d met a little girl who had an identical smile to the one that had held her captive since she was fifteen and barely knew what love was. And if Stephie with her doe-eyed wisdom that Paige would look great in purple wasn’t enough, then there was Azzi. Paige had expected Azzi to tell her to decline the offer. In a way that’s what she wanted; the masochistic need to feel the sting of that rejection again so she wouldn’t be tempted to burn herself in the fire again. But the brunette had done the opposite and Paige had known by just how quick her resolve had succumbed, that she’d been right to fear the inevitability. And it was that fear that had prompted the verbal agreement with the Liberty; an escape plan she’d forgotten she’d devised. 

Because escaping had been the last thing on Paige’s mind the last few weeks. 

All of Paige’s fears and apprehension had seemed to take a backseat the moment Azzi had smiled -hesitant but real- and said she was ready to try, the moment Stephie’s tiny hands had fit perfectly into her own. 

But she can feel it all coming back now, bubbling to the surface and threatening to spill over like lava, wiping out this paradise she’s been in with Stephie and Azzi. It had started with the reminder of the Liberty deal but it’s Drew’s presence -his scowl directed at Azzi that feels like one of a brother still betrayed on his sister’s behalf- that had heightened it. Her little brother’s anger, and the genuine hurt that lingers behind it, feels like a dark reminder of Paige’s own heartbreak. 

Suddenly she feels like she’s 23, playing her first WNBA game and instead of celebrating a solid debut, she’s sobbing in her little brother’s lap over the girl who had walked away. 

“Miss Buecks,” Paige looks down to find Stephie crawling into her lap, “are we ready to order the pizza now?”

The little girl’s arms wrapping around her neck eases some of Paige’s discomfort as she smiles down at Stephie. 

“I’ve been ready for ages. You were the one yapping away,” she teases. 

Stephie pouts, “I don’t yap,” she turns her body towards Azzi, “Mama I don’t yap do I?”

Azzi’s own tense body seems to relax a little as she smirks at the two of them, “you definitely yap Stephie-”

“Mama,” Stephie protests, looking betrayed. 

“But not nearly as much as your Miss Buecks yaps,” Azzi’s eyes twinkle with mirth as Paige splutters, jaw dropping open with mock offense, “between the two of you, it’s a miracle my poor ears haven’t fallen off.”

“Just for that I’m not adding veggies to the pizza,” Paige sticks her tongue out, causing Stephie to giggle and Azzi to roll her eyes at the display of immaturity. 

Paige slips out her phone, pulling up their usual pizza place on doordash and quickly plugs in her memorized orders for everyone in the room as Stephie gets herself comfortable on the blonde’s lap. The five-year old leans her head back against Paige’s chest, who instinctively wraps her free hand around Stephie’s waist, keeping her securely in place. 

“So uncle Drew,” Stephie says with a grin, slightly leaning forward as she addresses the man sitting rigidly on the edge of the sofa, “did Miss Buecks yap a lot when she was younger too.”

“Be careful how you answer that,” Paige warns with a good natured glare in her brother’s direction, trying to lighten his mood. 

It works to an extent as a small smirk slips onto the edges of Drew’s lip, “oh she was a chronic yapper.”

“What does che-ronic mean?” Stephie asks, scrunching her nose in confusion.

Drew laughs, eyes glittering with mischief, “it means she didn’t know when to shut up.”

“Drew Thomas,” Paige guffaws, “you’re supposed to be my little brother, protecting your older sister’s honor and all of that.”

“Hey,” Drew raises his hand in surrender, “my older sister taught me to never lie, especially not to children.”

“Did you really talk that much?” Stephie asks, turning to Paige with wide eyes. 

“Don’t listen to him Stephie-bean,” the blonde says, brushing her hands through Stephie’s curls, “it’s all bullsh-”

“Paige,” Azzi hisses immediately as the older woman bites her lip to stop the curse word from escaping. 

“Bullsharks,” Paige amends, “fake news. False advertising. I was a calm and quiet kid for sure.”

Drew snorts, leaning back into the sofa and Paige lets out a soft sigh of relief at seeing her brother relax. Her eyes flicker over to Azzi, feeling a sense of calmness when she sees the younger girl’s nervous fidgeting has stilled and there’s a tentative smile on her face. 

 “You weren’t calm or quiet,” he says pointedly. 

“Was too,” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“Yes you were,” Drew presses, “Stephie if you don’t believe me, ask your Mama,” he turns to Azzi, “tell her Azzi. She literally yapped your ear off into becoming your friend.”

Azzi blanches, clearly shocked at having been so cavalierly addressed, and even Paige is a little surprised by the expectant “agree with me look” that Drew is giving the brunette after having spent the last moments practically glaring at her. But really it probably shouldn’t be that surprising. Because Drew and Paige are cut from the same material and letting Azzi into the folds seems to just come naturally to both of them. And it’s so familiar to when they’d all been years and years younger -two college students and a little boy - so familiar to the countless nights spent in Minnesota and DC and Connecticut where several silly arguments like this between Paige and Drew had ultimately ended with them both turning to Azzi -the forever moderator- in hopes that she’d side with them. 

She’d always sided with Drew -much to Paige’s chagrin, though she’d been secretly enamored by the relationship between her girlfriend and her brother- and this time is no different as Azzi shakes off the shock, replacing it with a cheeky expression. 

“Didn’t shut up for 14 whole hours,” she laments, her voice filled with teasing but she smiles at the blonde as if she’s reminiscing it, reminiscing the moment that began it all for them and Paige can’t help the hopelessly sappy smile she gives her in return. 

“14 hours? You talked for 14 whole hours, Miss Buecks?” Stephie’s eyes are comically large as she echoes the number. 

“Of course not,” Paige defends, eyebrows creasing as she glares at the other two adults in the room, “this is bullying. Stephie,” she whines, nuzzling her head into the little girl’s neck, “they’re ganging up on me.”

“There there Miss Buecks,” Stephie says diligently as she pats at the older woman’s cheek. 

“We’re just telling the truth,” Drew shrugs. 

“Exactly,” Azzi nods solemnly, “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

She grins, reaching her hand out for a high five and Paige watches as Drew raises his own hand, ready to reciprocate. For a second it feels like everything is coming together; like the past could just stay in the past. But then he stops midair. The easy smile fades from his face and the previous tautness comes rushing back. He pulls his hand back, turning away from Azzi, who’s face slowly falls back. The lightheartedness from mere seconds ago is replaced by the tension from before and that burden of all that’s happened between us returns as a heavy weight pressed against Paige’s heart. 

“Paigey used to yap a lot,” Drew says slowly, “like I said you couldn’t get her to shut up and then one day,” he pauses, angry eyes darting towards Azzi, “one day she just got quiet- she shut up- she stopped yapping all the time.”

“Why?” Stephie asks softly, her tone a mixture of concern and genuine curiosity. 

Paige’s arm tightens around the little girl in her lap as she shoots her brother a pleading look, “Drew-”

“Because someone-” there’s so much venom in the word that it makes Azzi visibly flinch and Paige wants to soothe away the creases forming in her forehead, “someone broke her heart. And it took years- it took years to get her back to normal, to get her yapping again. To get my sister back to who she was.”

There’s pindrop silence as Drew seethes at his own words and Azzi rapidly blinks back tears, until Stephie turns around in Paige’s lap, tiny hands cupping the blonde’s face as she tries not to let her emotions show in front of the little girl. 

“Someone broke your heart?” Stephie looks so upset by the idea that Paige wants to vehemently deny it, “how could anyone break your heart Miss Buecks?”

She means well -just a child concerned for one of her favorite people- but she has no idea of the dagger she’s just twisted in her own mother’s heart as a faint whimper escapes Azzi’s lips. Paige opens and closes her mouth, hopelessly looking at the brunette who’s digging her fist into the sofa, despair embedded all over her face. 

“Stephie-” Paige tries to say. 

“Don’t worry kid,” Drew cuts in instead, his voice steady and firm, “it happened once but I won’t-” his eyes burn with fire as he looks at Azzi, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Stephie,” Paige says quietly after a moment, her gaze transfixed on Azzi whose doing her absolute best not to let her emotions show in front of her little girl, “sweetheart how ‘bout you show Uncle Drew around the house.”

“I don’t want to see the house,” Drew says petulantly as he stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest

“Yes. You. Do.” Paige grits out, trying not to curse when her younger brother rolls his eyes at her. 

“C’mon Uncle Drew,” Stephie says cheerfully as she slips off of Paige’s lap and reaches a hand out for the man instead, “Miss Buecks has a really cool house and maybe we can go steal some of her cool clothes.”

Drew sighs but he’s not immune to Stephie’s infectious energy. A hint of a grin sneaks through the cracks as he accepts the little girl’s offer. Stephie starts to pull him towards the staircase but the perceptive girl stops for a second in front of her mother, a cautious look on her face as Azzi musters up a grin to mollify the little girl's concern and Drew adamantly averts looking at the other woman. 

“Go on bean,” Azzi urges softly, keeping her shaky voice under control, “go show him the house.”

Stephie nods before gently pressing her lips against Azzi’s cheeks, eliciting a deep breath from her mother, before she practically drags Drew towards the staircase, already speaking a mile per minute.  

There’s a pause, filled with a combination of the quiet rumble of Stephie blabbering upstairs and Azzi’s uneven breathing. Then the tears that the brunette had been trying so hard to barricade behind her eyelids starts cascading down her cheeks and Paige almost trips on her own feet as she moves towards her. She falls to her knees in front of Azzi, gently brushing her against her cheek, before wrapping her hands around her tightly formed fists. 

“Baby don’t cry. Please I hate it when you cry,” Paige whispers softly, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s, “he’s just-”

“He’s right,” Azzi cuts her off, shaking her head. 

“Az-”

“He hates me-”

“He doesn’t-”

“He does,” Azzi presses, her tears falling faster now, “and he should. Paige I did break your heart,” they both flinch at the blunt statement, “and he doesn’t trust me because of it and he hasn’t forgiven me for it. I haven’t forgiven me for it.”

“Baby,” Paige echoes again, unsure what else to say. 

“Have you forgiven me?” 

The question lingers in the air as Azzi looks expectantly at her and Paige stumbles over her words, trying to find the right ones. She doesn’t really know how to answer the questions; hadn’t been expecting to be confronted with it tonight. Paige wants to say yes; she wants to take away Azzi’s guilt so fucking bad. These last few weeks had been so perfect, Paige had convinced herself she was over what had happened almost a decade ago. But if she’s honest with herself -if she’s honest to the memories of every night she’d spent sobbing into her pillows, missing the girl in front of her and resenting her for walking away- Paige doesn’t really know if she has forgiven Azzi. 

“Paige?” Azzi ask again, her voice breaking on the one syllable. 

Paige’s face crumbles as she looks at the girl defenselessly, “ Az, I-”

The doorbell rings at the exact moment and Stephie comes excitedly barrelling down the staircase as the two women scramble away from each other, trying to compose themselves. 

“Miss Buecks, Mama,” the younger girl hollers, “pizza’s here.”

Paige looks at Azzi who’s rushing to wipe away the remnants of her tears. She opens her mouth, desperately willing herself to find something, anything that could offer the girl in front of her some comfort; that could take their relationship away from the precipice of this cliff they’ve somehow found themselves on. But the right words don’t materialize and instead Paige closes her mouth and turns away, slowly heading towards Stephie as Azzi’s question continues to wreak havoc in her mind. 

And she wishes she could rewind the clock and freeze them where they had been just a couple of hours ago, freeze them in a moment where the past hadn’t weighed so heavily on the present. But perhaps the past had always been there and they’d simply just done a marvelous job ignoring it. Except tonight, they can’t seem to ignore it anymore. 

***

Paige thinks pizza has never tasted so terrible in her life. The mood at her basically unused dining table is numbingly sober; even Stephie has stopped her chatter, the little girl clearly picking up on the tense atmosphere around her as she quietly nibbles away at her slice of pizza. It’s in stark contrast to the innumerable dinners they’d had in the last three weeks; the three of them -Paige, Azzi and Stephie in between them- at the table or the counter or sometimes even the couch, raucous with laughter and smiles. Paige doesn’t understand how moments can shift like this; how last night could have been filled with giggles and grins and tonight is filled with nothing but a silence filled with too many unspoken words.

Her eyes flicker over to Azzi, who’s making a concerted effort to keep her own everted from both Bueckers siblings. The brunette’s question from before feels like a loud horn blaring in Paige’s ears, one that she can’t seem to find the off-switch for no matter how hard she searches for it. They’re barely a couple feet apart, sitting opposite each other with Drew next to Paige and Stephie next to Azzi, but the width of the table feels like it stretches for miles. Paige misses the warmth of Azzi’s body pressed against hers, misses the sly brush of their hands before their fingers would inevitably curl around each other’s underneath the table where Stephie couldn’t see. 

“Miss Buecks,” Paige swallows, trying to shake off the feeling of is this us crumbling again, as she diverts attention to Stephie who’s smiling at her with that cheeky grin that means she wants something. 

“What’s up Stephie-bean?” Paige asks and she’s convinced there’s magic in the little girl’s existence because despite the tightness she still feels in her chest, having Stephie close feels like a reason for her to breathe through it. 

“Can I have a soda?” Stephie asks, using the palm of her hands to frame her slightly tilted face as she juts out her bottom lip in a pleading. 

Paige grins, ready to concede as she often is with the little girl but Azzi speaks first, “no soda Stephie.”

Stephie pouts, “why not?”

“Because I said so,” Azzi says bluntly and Paige is taken back by the sharpness of it. 

“Mama please,” Stephie begs, “please, please, please.”

“No Stephie,” there’s a warning edge to Azzi’s tone but Stephie doesn’t pay much heed to it continuing to plead and the irritation on her mother’s face -clearly exacerbated by other things- gets more and more apparent. 

“Please Mama. Pizza just doesn’t go down right without soda,” the little girl argues, “can I please just have a little bit. Just a teeny tiny bit Please, please pretty please please-”

“Stephie, no” Azzi repeats, pinching the bridge of her nose as Drew and Paige exchange nervous glances. 

“Stephie, yes,” the little girl argues, stubbornly crossing her hands over her chest. 

“Ste-”

“I want soda. I want soda. Please, please, please, plea-”

“I said no Stephanie,” Azzi all but yells, startling Stephie into being quiet and making both Drew and Paige flinch. The little girl is wide-eyed for a second -not used to anything but her mother’s normally gentle way of dealing with her occasional brattiness- before her lips begin to tremble and big fat tears begin to spill down her cheeks. She scrambles out of her chair, beelining towards Paige and climbing onto her lap as she burrows her face into the blonde’s neck, wetting her shirt with tears. 

“Shhh, shhh sweetheart it’s okay,” Paige whispers to the little girl, gently rocking the two of them back and forth as she strokes her hair. 

She glances at Azzi, who’s adamantly looking, her face stone cold but regret gleaming in her eyes, “Az-”

“No,” the younger woman says immediately. 

“C’mon,” Paige says exasperatedly, “you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“If it’s about giving her a soda, I don’t wanna hear it,” Azzi warns, “you can’t just give into all of her demands all the time, you have to learn to say no and she needs to learn to hear it.”

“I hear you but Az it’s a Friday-”

“Paige-”

“A tiny bit of soda to start the weekend can’t hurt. In fact,” Paige smirks down at the little girl in her lap as she coaxes Stephie’s face out of her neck so she can wipe away the tears on her blotchy red face, “I think a little soda to start the weekend is probably good for you.”

She feels her heart soar when it makes Stephie giggle, letting out a couple teary hiccoughs in between as she clutches onto Paige. 

“I think so too Mama,” the little girl echoes, looking back at her mother with a timid grin. 

“Give in Azzi,” Paige matches the pleading smile on Stephie’s face as she turns her focus onto the brunette, “she deserves a little treat 

“I know what she deserves. I think I know what’s good for my daughter,” Azzi says steely and Paige feels something cold squeezing through her ribcage, “no soda Stephie. End of discussion.”

My daughter. 

The thing is Paige doesn’t even really think she has the right to be upset over Azzi’s statements. Really, it’s nothing but the truth. Stephie is Azzi’s daughter and Azzi definitely knows what’s good for her daughter. So why does it sting like this? Why does it feel like little shards of ice piercing into her heart, leaving deep gashes that have her whole body feeling like it’s freezing over? Paige knows why, knows that these past weeks had been enough to trick her mind into believing the mirage that Stephie was hers. But now Azzi’s flicked her fingers against it causing the whole fantasy to come crashing down and Paige feels herself slowly getting buried under the rubble of it. 

“Right," she says softly, trying to keep her voice steady, “she’s your daughter and you know best,” she ignores the tinge of guilt in Azzi’s eyes as she turns to Stephie who looks like she’s ready to protest again, “you heard your Mama Stephie. No soda tonight.”

“But Miss Buecks-” Stephie whines. 

“No sweetheart,” Paige says gently, shaking her head. 

The little girl narrows her eyes before letting out a frustrated groan as she slips off of Paige’s lap. She loudly stomps her feet, glaring at all the adults in the room before she angrily storms upstairs. It’s so unlike the usually even-keeled little girl that Paige thinks it’s probably a reaction to the tension she can sense between the adults. Her eyes drift over Drew -who’s chewing at his lips in a similar manner to how his big sister often does- before locking with Azzi’s and she feels that familiar guilt of there’s always collateral damage for our mistakes pooling at the pit of her stomach. The brunette breaks eye contact first, letting out a heavy sigh before she follows behind her daughter and Paige lets her face fall into her hands, 

It feels like everything’s in free fall, like during an earthquake when everything shakes and the books -the complicatedly tangled stories of the past and present- go flying from their shelves. Paige rubs at her eyelids, trying to make this helpless feeling go away. Her fingers are coiled tightly around a rope, just like they had been on that night eight years ago and just like that night, she can feel the tips of them starting to bleed. She can feel Drew’s gaze fixated on her; can tell he’s contemplating whether to say something or not. Swallowing, Paige pulls her face out of her palms to look at her brother, a decisively defiant expression on her face. 

“Something you wanna say?” she asks him, cocking her eyebrows as if she’s daring him to speak. 

Drew hesitates for a second before an almost identical expression crosses his face, “what the fuck are you doing Paige?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige replies airly. 

Drew narrows his eyes at her, “seriously?”

“Seriously,” Paige shrugs. 

“This was supposed to be a temporary arrangement Paige,” Drew says, ignoring the way his sister flinches at the reminder as he drops his voice lower so they can’t be overheard, “you were supposed to be with Golden State for one season, hopefully win a championship and then you’d be off to New York at the end. That was the plan but clearly all of that has gone flying out the window. You’re getting attached to this city, this life, to them.” 

A barely believable “of course I’m not,” flutters weakly off of Paige’s lip as she blinks rapidly at the accusation. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Drew curses, “Paige your bed looks like it hasn’t been slept in, in days. There’s almost no groceries in your fridge or your pantry. From what I saw of the garden, it’s basically been left for dead. Your closet is half empty and it sure as shit isn’t because they’re all in the laundry because as Stephie puts it, Azzi says that their laundry basket is three times heavier than it used to be with all your clothes.”

“I-I don’t-” Paige stutters, “that- that doesn’t- doesn’t mean-”

“It’s been two months -if even that- two months Paige and I think you're in even deeper now than you were the last time,” Drew spits the last two words out bitterly like their flames on the tip of his tongue and the sparks of it singe Paige’s skin. 

“That’s not- I’m not-” she tries to justify but it sounds hollow to her own ears. 

“You are,” Drew says exasperatedly, “what are you gonna do when she walks away again? When she lets you go again, what are you gonna do Paige?”

Her little brother isn’t cruel but Paige swears she’s never heard anything more aimed to hurt than these perfectly directed arrows he’s launching straight at her heart. The defense of she’s not going to leave me stays stuck in her throats, battling against the harsh thoughts of she already has that are taunting her. 

“She- I- you- this- I don’t- you can’t-” Paige doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say; she feels like a fish spluttering outside of the water, desperate to breathe air that seems to kill her the more she inhales it. 

Drew looks away, his face crumpling slightly, a mixture of sadness and guilt gleaming in his eyes, and Paige can tell that he hates himself a little for being the one to cause her this torment, the one to make her face the darkest possibility of her reality. 

“I was there Paige,” he says softly, “I was the one who watched you break in ways that I didn’t even think you were breakable,” his voice snaps, “and I was the one who watched how hard you had to work to put yourself back together. I don’t wanna see any of that again.”

“Drew,” Paige whispers. 

“And it wasn’t just her,” Drew continues, “you lost her family too.”

Paige gulps at the reminder, “they were still there. They came to games. They were at my wedding.”

Drew shakes his head, “but it wasn’t the same and you know it. You lost her and you lost them and this time,” he bites his lip, like he wishes the next words weren’t sitting on his vocal chords, waiting to spill out, “this time, if you lose her, you’ll lose a lot more.”

“What do you-” Paige heistates, unsure if she even wants to ask, “what do you mean?”

Her little brother pauses, mouth opening and closing like it’s painful to speak, before his eyes drift towards the stairs and Paige feels her heart sinking even before Drew says the words she knows he’s about to say. 

“You’ll lose her daughter. You’ll lose Stephie.”

“No,” the whispered syllable is out before Paige can even stop it, “no, no, no, no-”

“Paige-”

“Stop it Drew,” the blonde says louder than she wanted to as she clutches at her heart, trying to keep it whole as the tears overflow over her waterline. 

“Stop what Paige? Stop saying things you already know deep down but are choosing to ignore? Is that what you want me to stop doing?” Drew asks harshly. 

“Drew-”

“There’s a reason you didn’t want to commit to the Valkyries and you know it. There’s a reason you only wanted to be here for this season.” her younger brother says firmly. 

“I know,” Paige whispers, “I know.”

Drew’s eyes soften, “stick to plan Paige. Let the Liberty be the end goal. You’ll be in New York by the end of October.”

Paige bites her lip so hard, she can taste that morbid taste of iron on her lips as she opens her mouth to say something. She’s not sure if it’s to argue with Drew or to agree and she doesn’t get a chance to find out. Instead there’s a sharp intake of breath and then a quiet, timid voice laced with accusation and Paige feels the blood drain out of her body as she slowly turns around to find Stephie and Azzi -their faces ashen with identical expressions of betrayal- staring at her. 

“Miss Buecks, you’re moving to New York?”

[crazy-pages]

Okay but you know what? I've seen a lot of suicide activism, and attended training sessions on how to help people back from the edge, and for godsake my mom is a psychologist and my sister lost both of her best friends to suicide when she was a kid. This isn't exactly a topic I'm unfamiliar with.

And yet this brings up something incredibly obvious which I haven't seen pointed out before. Which is that behavioral modifications which motivate people to stop a maladaptive behavior are very ineffective unless you replace that behavior with something positive that gets the same benefits (in the case of suicide attempts, an undeniable signal that you need help and your situation is unendurable and/or relief from the unenderuable).

This is extremely well known when it comes to substance abuse. Like, it's not enough to just tell somebody to stop drinking. People drink for reasons, from enabling emotional vulnerability to numbing pain to soothing sensory distress to emotional coping, the list goes on. So interventions oriented around just getting people to stop don't work great. You need to remove the need for drinking as a coping mechanism by replacing it with alternative forms of management, ones which aren't just stoicism.

And when possible, this does mean removing the underlying cause of those symptoms. Help someone who's lonely find friends, get someone with an infected tooth dental care, etc. And obviously suicide interventions focus on this. But! There's another component. Which is that you can't just treat the cause, you also actually have to improve the symptom management, even if you can treat the cause.

Because nobody isn't lonely at some point in their lives, people with chronic pain issues can't just fix their pain and they may have flare-ups, people with sensory issues can't just manage their environment - sometimes they have to go to the airport or something. And when somebody has alcohol or other substance abuse as a learned coping mechanism for that which they know works, relapse in the face of external stressors can be a constant looming possibility. You can't just treat the underlying cause, you need to help people develop other release valves for that shit. Even other maladaptive ones, so long as they aren't addictive and aren't as bad as the substance abuse.

And like. Yeah. Holy shit. How did it never occur to me, and how did I either miss or never run into this concept, that you don't just need to handle underlying issues when it comes to suicidal ideation. You need to develop an alternate mechanism for cries for help!

And yeah, that mechanism can be pissing yourself!!

im

[thedivinetarot]

Chakras check-in

All about your chakras current energy and blockages

☆How to chose the perfect pile for you?

Okay, Take a deep breathe. Close your eyes, clear your mind and ask the question in your head. You can ask your spirit guides to guide for the information that is meant for you.

☆ Who this reading applies for?

- All people there's nothing specific.

- If you are not into spirituality don't read.

☆ Note:

- Thank you for 600 followers. I'm very grateful that our community is growing in number. Also I'm happy to connect to those beautiful souls💕.

- I'm feeling soft so I chose the pink theme 💗.

- I'm also very happy and grateful for your positive feedbacks. I feel proud when the reading resonates with a lot of people.

- I felt very called to do this reading even though there's another reading that is almost ready but I chose to do this because I felt like my intuition is drawn to it.

- Put on the seat belt because this is going to be a long reading.

Pile 1 - Bunny nose 🐇

Your current energy:

Hello pile 1, how are you? I hope your are doing good. Right off the bat I think that you may (in the past) had a rough childhood where there was not enough financial stability. I see that you went through poverty and now you are trying to recover from it. This piles energy is very strong, swift and young. Also I feel like I'm intimidated, you intimidate people pile 1 I feel the dread all of sudden. You may look scary? Or your appearance make people uncomfortable? People may have claimed that you are intimidating and your aura is so frightening. I see that you may be young or your energy is young I'm picking up on someone between 17 to 30? The age is not important but it could resonates. I don't know I feel intimidated and in awe of you I feel also suffocated, do you have respiratory issues pile 1? Tell me in the comments. Anyways, back to the reading; I feel also that my mind suddenly went blank. I feel like I wanted to say soooo much things and it all went blank. You may have trouble in concentrating, I feel also that some of you suffer from sudden panic attacks. Okay, I feel like some of you are very unhappy with how things are in your home. Your family is so annoying or they interfere with your life a little bit too much. I see that you feel unhappy with them and some of you are quite talented. You are a master manifestor pile 1. You can manifest your dreams, I see also that after the energy have gone (I mean the intimidation) I felt warm. Maybe this is your personality. You may frighten people at first and when they warm up to you they feel warm. I see that you are someone who is very skillful, I see that you are creative, enthusiastic, and determined. You may feel very stimulated in philosophical conversations, I see that you may like debates that aim to change people's points of view. I'm sensing major INTJ, ENTP vibe. Unapologetically scary, sassy and smart too. I'm sensing that some of you already live far away from their family. You may be a college student living in dorms and doing their own things. (The energy is so intense omg).

Confirmation placements for you:

Taurus, Sagittarius, Pisces, gemini, Venus in taurus. Mars in sagittarius or mars dominant, neptune, uranus, mercury dominant. Sun or moon in the 2nd, 3rd, 9th, 12th house.

Your crown chakra

Well, I see that some of you are atheist and if not then you may have lost faith in God. Pile 1 you have a spiritual gift and you are connected to God more than you think. God always listen to you and God give you updates too but you are unaware of them. I feel like whenever your intuition tell you something you think that it is pure crab and you think it is just your inner dialog. But it is more than that! Pile 1 I see that God or universe is trying to heal you so it send you a very sweet and caring spirit guide. Your guide loves you and want you to know that no matter how much you deny its existence they'll always be there to guide you. They are telling you that they want to show you the magic or manifestation, they always listen to you talking and rambling about stuff and they want me to tell you that "be careful of what you say because it will come true". They also want you to listen to the updates given to you and never ignore them.

Your third eye chakra

I told you pile 1, you may be clairvoyance. Because your third eye is open and the energy is flowing through it. But the problem is your connection to the universe or God, you need to balance the crown chakra in order for you to get regular updates and guidance from the universe. I see also that because your third eye is open you can see through people. Some of you may see auras and if not them you can see through people's intentions.

Your throat chakra

Your throat chakra is blocked. I see that you may have a crush on someone but you are too discouraged by approaching them and telling them how you feel. I see also that you may have problems in vocalizing what you want during intimacy because you are afraid that your partner or crush or bf won't help or care about you. I see that some of you at first think that romance is cringe but when you warm up to someone...you show them how you truly feel. You need time to heal this chakra but it will be worth it. For some of you (not all) want to get married so bad because you feel so lonely and you want someone to be in your life. But you are hesitant to tell anyone because of that blockage. See how blocked chakras affect our life? You need to heal it.

Your heart chakra

Hmmm, I see that you are too attached to the idea of love and not love itself. You may have toxic attachment and you don't know how to deal with it. I see that you do not take serious practical steps to heal them but instead you cage your heart and build WALLS around it so you don't get hurt. I see also that you may have been disappointed a lot in love and relationships. Some of you got betrayed from your friends and due to this; your heart chakra got blocked too. I see that you may go for unconventional relationships just because you don't want to be vulnerable and because of this that relationship probably end up and it is just a shallow connection. Like you see that one person who want love sooo bad but they are too afraid to let someone in? That's what I'm seeing. You may even rationalize your feelings because they are too cringe.

Your Solar plexus chakra

I see that your self esteem is swaying between I'm that confident b*tch/motherf*cker and I will never be enough. But regardless, you have inner faith because you believe in yourself and your own potential. No matter how much you have been hurt and discarded you'll always get on your feet stronger. Love will heal you, I see that you may be someone who feels very happy and confident when their partner complement them. Also you have a duality to yourself, sometimes you are confident and happy other times you are just so gloomy and sad. Also you know when to give and when to take you have boundaries and you believe in them. I don't feel like this chakra is blocked more likely you need to work on your self esteem so you can have a strong foundation.

Your sacral chakra

You may be young as the energy check told me. But anyways, I feel like you are someone who is very creative and at the same time you may channel your sexual energy into art or work it out. I see also that your sexual needs aren't being met. In other words you may be single since birth or chronically single. I see that this chakra is not blocked but the thing is you may be someone who is ashamed of their sexual or you may consider things like sex as something sinful or bad. Sometimes, your sexual energy take the best out of you. I see that because you refuse to acknowledge your needs you end up rushing to the bathroom or your room to touch yourself and end of story. You may have a lot of sexual energy but you try soo hard to ignore it.

Your root chakra

I see that you may be someone (because in the energy check, you suffered from your family) so now you feel like you don't belong anywhere. I see that you believe that you need to diplomatic and smart when dealing with people and sometimes you doubt their intentions because your crown chakras energy is unacknowledged also you have a lot of anxiety and pessimism of who is going to treat you right and who won't. People here are quite unsure of where they want to belong and above this, there's this view that life is only black. You look at life realistically to the point of melancholy which is not so good for your mental health. Also you have trust issues, you tend to doubt that any opportunity driven to you is going to destroy or disappoint you even if it is for your OWN good. Thank you for reading this and take care💕.

Pile 2 - Angel energy 🪄🔮

Your current energy:

Hello pile 2. Let's start your reading. I see that there was a period of stagnation and insecurity that haunted you for the past few weeks. You might have felt insecure and all your old bad beliefs resurfaced again into your day to day life. But lately; I see that you are actively trying to look at yourself in a different light. Not just this but also you are trying to be more optimistic. I see that you might just registered to the gym and you are trying to take care of your health. Also I see that you are feeling a little nostalgic but at the same time you are looking at the thing that you are nostalgic for in a detached way. What I mean is this thing you are nostalgic for is no longer affecting you in a positive or negative way. I see also that you might have dated someone with earth placements and you might be a water sign or placements yourself. I see that you thought that this relationship was meant to be but you felt sad when it was over. I am talking about soul contracts, this person was only meant for a short period of time to teach you a lesson and leave. But don't worry, good things will arrive in God's timing. Oh... now I got it! Maybe your started working out so you can distract yourself from what happened! I won't say this person is not coming back, because they always do. Anyways, Some of you may be saving money for a trip somewhere green (maybe a green place) idk why green just flashed in front of my mind eye. I think it is a park out of the state? A forest? Mountain? I'm not sure but this place is very famous of it's green nature.

Confirmation this is your pile:

Leo, Aries, Cancer, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Taurus as placements in your chart. Venus in Aries, sun in Scorpio, Neptune, Sun, Mars, Jupiter dominant in your chart. Your sun or moon in the 1st, 9th, 5th, 4th, 8th, 2nd house in your chart.

Your crown chakra

First; I see that your crown chakra is blocked pile 2. I feel like you are disconnected from the creator or God or the universe (I'm not sure what you believe in) you might be believing in more than one creator and some of you have multiple deity that you believe in. I see that you get spontaneous downloads from the source but you chose to ignore it because you feel like the creator have turned their back on you. I see that you have a toxic subconscious beliefs about the creator and the energy in your crown chakra is stagnant. You might pour your focus on materialistic things and you forget that the creator is going to help you. The creator want you to know that you are not alone, and you should try to heal your subconscious thoughts about them.

Your third eye chakra

I see that you have a great imagination, you might have inherited your psychic abilities from your grandmother or grandfather. I see that one of them was a healer, and in this life time you are meant to be a healer too. I see also that as I said above you might be too materialistic or too realistic that you don't see this as a gift because you don't want to connect with it. I see that because you focus too much on this side your abilities diminish but one day; you'll get a wake up call and you'll connect to that side again.

Your throat chakra

Okay, your throat chakra is not blocked at all which is good. You might be someone who say the truth directly without sugar coating. I see that you hate lying to people and you hate being lied to which frustrate you too much. Also I see that you are someone who is very cunning and smart, you might be claircognizant which means that the downloads you receive are through clear knowing. You know things, you just know everything (the keyboard kept typing the words despite me deleting it for 5 times). Also what you say can become real so be careful, your words are like magic. Speak with caution.

Your heart chakra

Your chakra is not that blocked but still you carry a lot of negative beliefs about God and love. I see that you are someone who is very deep, very emotional but you don't let people see that side of you. I see that you are building a wall around your heart because you are afraid of getting hurt. I see also that when you are in love you become a poet (here comes the throat chakra part) you know how to express verbally how much you love your person. I see also that romantic relationships are meant to awaken the divine in you. Also it meant to teach you how to be balanced emotionally.

Your solar plexus chakra

Okay, this chakra is blocked. First you tend to TRY to balance your views on yourself BUT you either fell in a delusional episode that you are daring and confident and then your inner critic appear and you start talking negatively to yourself. I see also that your views on yourself are very much linked to other people around you. Also you might be someone who is very dependent on other people's praise and words of affirmation to get through your inner-critic you might be one of those people who needs constant reassurance that your partner is still in love with you and they see you beautiful. Which can be good and bad at the same time.

Your sacral chakra

Hmmm, you might be someone who lack stamina. I see that one round can make you feel like they are ten. But anyways, even with that you might be someone who is considered very fertile so be careful of unplanned pregnancy if you are a woman and if you are a man (you don't have enough stamina) I'm not judging. Also, you might get very protective of your sexuality. In other words; you don't have sex with random strangers. You need commitment to feel comfortable. I'm not seeing blockages here it might be underactive (the chakra).

Your root chakra

(I've written this paragraph 3 times and each time I save it; tumblr delete it. I got very impatient but at least I hope this will resonate with you).

I see that you started getting very comfortable in your loneliness. This came as a result of a very devastating breakup that caused you to stay away from people and detach from them. Well baby, this chakra is blocked too. I see that you don't even feel comfortable in your own family. I see also that growing up, your surroundings wasn't safe enough for you to grow and blossom. As a result in your current energy, you either avoid people (build a wall around you) or trying to find someone who have the same communication style as you. Also I see that you might be afraid of repeating the same experiences which drive you away from your soul family. Thank you for reading and take care💕.

Pile 3 - Angel wings 🫀

Your current energy:

Hello lovelies, how are you?. First; I don't know why I'm feeling hesitant. I kept typing question marks even though I have no questions right now. Do you have any questions that you feel like you can't find answer to? I feel like this pile have been overthinking a lot. You may be pursuing someone or you might be pursued by someone I'm not really sure, so take what resonates okay? Let's get into the reading. Anyways, I feel like you might be in a connection that you feel it is destined to happen. Maybe this connection is a soulmate connection or you are feeling a soul tie to this person. I feel like this person or you (the one who is going to pursue the other) is quite detached. Like yeah, I love you and I want you BUT I will not put everything in my life on hold for you. It is like this person know their worth and their persuasion is coming from a place of love not neediness or desperation. Whatever the case I see a beautiful relationship that will blossom into something long term. I see that this person sees you their queen or king. I see also that they want to feel you and enjoy life pleasures with you (food, fine clothes, s*x etc..). So, their approach is "I want you because I think we are compatible not because you are going to do a list of things for me. I see that if your or their persuasion succeeded (omg I keep typing question marks! It is like this person or you want the other sooo bad but they are unsure where to start!) It is going to be a very beautiful and healthy relationship. Also there's passion and a lot of it. This person is sooo excited to be with you. Like they want you right now but they are trying to control their fires. I see that whenever they want to text they say yo themselves "hold your horses and act cool" then they squeal because they can't talk to you. Also, I feel a strong mint taste in my mouth all of sudden. Maybe you use breath Refresher that taste like mint? If you or the person is pursuing you does that tell me in the comments deal?

Confirmation placements for you:

Gemini, Cancer, very strong Taurus energy omg, sagittarius. Mars, venus, saturn as dominant planets in your chart. Stallium in the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 9th house in your chart.

Your crown chakra

I feel like you guys are resistant to divine downloads. I feel like God/universe or anything you believe in are trying to guide you and show you the way but you are too stubborn to follow. Which is causing you to get stuck! I see that you feel emotionally imbalanced and you are very anxious. Guys, you need to trust the signs that you are seeing, you are not deluding yourself by seeing and wanting to follow them. I keep thinking of "catastrophizing" so, maybe you are complicating things on your own. Stop doing that, it is frustrating!. You are keeping yourself stuck because you think that there's no way but your own way which is not really working in your favor but against you. This chakra is not blocked, you are resistant to it. Be open and listen the universe is talking to you but you don't want to LISTEN!.

Your third eye chakra

Anyways, your ancestors was very spiritual and they passed you this gift which is Clairvoyance. You can see things too in your dreams, in your third eye. You can search for it if you want to. I feel like you get visions and images that flashes in front of your mind eye but you think that you are imagining things. I see that if you nurtured your talent you'll be a great psychic. You can search on YouTube to see how to develop them but be careful! Some people do it the wrong way and they become insane, let it develop naturally but be careful. This chakra is not blocked, it is developing but you are unaware of it. Also, you are getting psychic messages from your twin flame or soulmate constantly. Enjoy them💕

Your throat chakra

Looking at your throat chakra I feel like you keep things to yourself in hope that you can solve them on your own. I see that you might be very observant of others and details cannot go unnoticed by you. But somehow I feel like when it comes to your emotions you become very sensitive and you don't know how to talk it out? I feel like you guys may be so in love but you can't express your feelings? You keep everything to yourself because you think that no one cares? Dear pile 3 the right person cares as much as you do so don't burden yourself with sadness💕. Anyways, I see that you may also be a bit timid when it comes to say your truth. This chakra us underdeveloped. Try to balance it.

Your heart chakra

I see that you crave commitment but somehow you are afraid of committing to someone who is not going to give you the emotional fulfillment that you dreamed of. I see that you are ready to commit or at least ready for your first long term relationship. I see that you put in a lot of work to heal this chakra. If you are asking about the past; you totally healed and moved on. I see also that right now your heart chakra is balanced and open for love. You want to love without attachment and detachment which is great yeayyy👏🏻.

Your solar plexus

I feel like you still have insecurities from the past. Especially about how you look physically. I see that you don't trust yourself or have self confidence. I see that when you get compliment from someone you think that they are lying to you and they are just being nice. But it is more than that. I see that sometimes you get a strong surge of confidence and other times you just get sooo insecure you wish to hide in the darkest hole in the world. I see that in romantic relationships, you tend to really care about the opposite sex view when they look at you. And you overthink A LOT about how you present yourself to people. You need to balance this chakra or else you'll be in a lot of doubts of yourself especially in romantic relationships.

Your sacral chakra

I see that you get sudden urges to have s*x multiple times per day. I see also that you are motivated by emotions. EMOTIONS turns you ON so freaking bad. I feel like when you are in LOVE you want to do it with your partner non-stop and other times when you are alone you ignore that part of you like it never existed. Also you tend to be lazy when it comes to that thing so you just distract yourself. Also I feel like you are someone who is very fertile with good sexual drive but you don't know how to channel your sexual energy into anything. Try to channel it into craft (any) and see the results.

Your root chakra

Hmmm, I see that you have a LOT of people that you know. Basically; I feel like you know everyone everywhere. I think you are the type of person that can get along with everyone easily. Also your relationships with others are quite balanced. This chakra is very balanced but sometimes you tend to get lazy and overwhelmed by change. Give yourself some time and everything will be alright. You might be someone who moved a lot from house to house during your childhood? I think that you feel very tired if you have to even change furniture right now, this feeling is a result of childhood. Thank you for reading and take care💕.

Pile 4 - Lace teddy 🧸

Your current energy

Hello pile 4, welcome to your reading. (Note: this reading is a message for a specific audience, especially for people who are on a twin flame journey since I got many cards that was referring to that. If you are NOT on a twin flame journey then this pile might not be for you). Okay let's start; I see that you have unfinished business with your twin. This person, I am picking up on wants to reconnect with you. If you are in no contact/ separation right now. I see that they want to reconnect with you and tell you about the work that they have done and that they are very overwhelmed without you. I feel like (look I really don't know the stages of twin flame but I guess it is the last meeting before you go your separate ways). I see that you two are not meant to be in each others life. I see that you'll probably either reconnect and heal together and forgive what happened in the past and move on. I'm not seeing abandonment here; no. I see that both of you will talk things over and about the amount of frustration that both of you faced in your life without the other but at some point you'll realize that they or you are no longer (emotionally or mentally) want to be involved in each other's life. I see also that if you chose to move on from them you'll be faced with two people one of them have fire placements and the other have air placements and you can chose one of them to be in a healthy fulfilling relationship with. I see that your next relationship (if you decided to move on from your twin) will be very peaceful and balanced. You have the choice pile 4. Chose wisely.

Confirmation that this reading is for you:

Sagittarius, Scorpio, Taurus, Gemini, Aries, Pisces, Aquarius as signs for them or you. Jupiter, Venus, Mercury, Saturn, Pluto as dominant planets in your chart. Your sun or moon is in the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 12th,9th, 11th house in your natal chart.

Your crown chakra

I think you guys get a spontaneous downloads from the universe or God. Some of you do really know how to work and interpret them and actually believe in that. I see that you see God or the universe as salvation. Some people in this pile are religious (whatever your religion). And you do really pray and worship a deity or a God. This chakra is not blocked but you need to balance it a little bit by meditation and connect to the source.

Your third eye chakra

Guys... why are you forcing your third eye to open? I feel like some of you are really focused on forcing it to open and you do those YouTube exercises to open it. Guys this exercises are going to overwhelm your third eye and as a result the energy in your third eye will be resistant and shattered? I don't know, whatever you are doing is not in your favor. Let it be; it'll open on it's own. Don't force it. If it open suddenly you won't like what you are going to see. I've warned you.

Your throat chakra

I see that this chakra was blocked before and unbalanced. I see that you worked really hard on balancing it. Maybe you were someone who played the victim and put all your bad luck on others and now I feel you stopped blaming people on your circumstances and took the lead to heal. You took your power back. I see also that you are now someone who doesn't sugar coat, you give plain truth to others which is good as long as they can take it. Also, I see that you keep nurturing this chakra, Good for you pile 4 👏🏻.

Your heart chakra

Okay, I see that this chakra is kind of imbalanced. I see that you anxiously hold to people in your life. You might have anxious attachment style and also I see possessiveness. You might be too possessive of people in your life. You are a control freak to people in your life. You need to acknowledge that people are not a private property for you to own. Try to balance this chakra so you can have more closeness and trust in your relationships.

Your Solar plexus

You have high self esteem. I see that your caregiver was really aware of that part. The part of your own identity. I see someone with strong identity. Even if your caregivers didn't nurture that, you have healed and built yourself a strong character foundation. I see that sometimes people mistaken your high self esteem of being egoistic. Others just appreciate how good is that in you. This chakra is not blocked.

Your Sacral chakra

Hmm, I see that you guys have had a terrible past that affected you in a bad way. I see that you might have had trauma regarding your sexuality. I see that there was either beliefs or incident that really made you fear intimacy. But, I feel like you have healed it. I see that right now you are very open with your sexuality and you healed the shame of intimacy. And if not then I see that you right it out ( you channel your sexual energy into art). Which is wonderful.

Your root chakra

This chakra is blocked. Why? I see that in this pile people feel like they don't belong anywhere. I see that you overthink the tiniest interactions with other people. I see that you also feel discouraged and emotionally imbalanced. I feel like the problem is in your beliefs pile 4. Your beliefs about belonging is what make you suffer. I see that many of you feel stuck in life or in a circumstance that you feel that you cannot leave. I see that you feel also disappointed because your dream life is in fact a dream and nothing change. Honey, you need to work in order to get that life nothing comes for free. Take care and thank you for reading it💕.

Post date: 9th of Nov-2024 / Sat

*Feedback is appreciated

[sasheemo]

Long day, huh?

Pairing: Detective!Agatha (Agnes O'Connor) x Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend Agnes Agatha, lost to the Scarlet Witch’s spell, has no memory of you or the life you shared. But tonight, you have a daring plan to bring her back.

Tags: Smut, Established Relationship, Strap-ons (Rr), Car Sex

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: So, first Agatha smut! Hope it doesn't suck that bad - would love to hear your thoughts if you’re up for it 💜

Read on AO3

It’s torture, seeing her like this. Agatha, your Agatha, right there yet completely out of reach, trapped under the Scarlet Witch’s spell. You’ve been together for centuries, standing side by side through battles and blood, through the kind of love that’s spanned lifetimes. 

You were there when she first sensed something off in Westview, when she decided to investigate what was happening, and you offered to come along. But everything went south, and now she’s here, roaming around the streets of Westview every day as a ghost of herself, believing she’s someone else entirely. Every moment you see her as this rough, almost bitter stranger, this ‘Detective Agnes’, it drives a wedge through your heart. But tonight, desperation gives birth to a reckless idea: if she can’t remember who she is maybe you can make her remember.

It’a a Friday night, and the most popular bar in Westview is pretty packed, humming with a low murmur and the occasional clink of glass. 

You step inside, searching, and your gaze falls on her almost immediately. She’s right there, Detective Agnes, a rougher, possibly even quirkier version of the woman you’ve loved for centuries, sitting alone at the bar, absently nursing her drink. In the dim light, she looks as alluring as ever, though that familiar playfulness you knew is buried under layers of frustration and some sort of hard-earned dominance. And yet, you have to admit, part of you doesn’t mind it. In fact, you find yourself… intrigued. 

There’s something thrilling about this version of Agatha. Agnes is rough, unapologetically bossy, carrying that particular brand of perpetual irritation that somehow only makes her more magnetic. Not that your Agatha didn’t have these traits, but this… adaptation of her takes them to a whole new level.

You’ve always loved the way she embodied both her feminine and masculine sides so seamlessly, owning every part of herself with that perfect blend of charm, ambiguity, and raw sensuality that defies any simple definition. Agnes though, leans heavily into her masculine side, and you’re definitely not complaining. Not one bit.

You smooth down the short black dress hugging your figure, fingers adjusting the purple gemstone at your collarbone. With slow, intentional steps, you close the distance, sliding onto the stool beside her. The heavy air around her feels electric, an unspoken charge palpable even through her indifference. She’s flipping idly through a small notebook, likely filled with dead ends from whatever “case” has been haunting her lately.

You lean in, letting the bar’s low light and smoky scent curl around you both. “Long day, huh?”

She doesn’t look up right away. She lets out a sigh, flipping another page in her notebook before her gaze shifts in your direction, mildly annoyed. The moment her eyes meet yours, you feel a spark, realizing those mesmerizing blue eyes will always have the same effect on you, no matter what. 

“Would’ve liked to have a quiet drink.” she mutters, lifting her glass as if to punctuate her point. “Not exactly in the mood for small talk.”

“Good thing I’m not here for small talk, then.” You smile, tipping your head slightly, and you see her interest flicker, even if her eyes narrow.

There’s a beat of silence, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. She radiates that annoyed, no-nonsense attitude, but there’s something in the way she holds herself tonight that makes you wonder if there isn’t some part of her that still recognizes you, that feels the pull between you. You watch her expression, the rough angles of her face, the way she leans back, sizing you up with all the caution of a predator who’s just discovered someone bold enough to trespass.

“I don’t think I know you.” she says finally, a challenge in her voice.

Your smile doesn’t falter and you lean in just a little closer, enough to catch a whiff of her. Agnes carries this scent of cold air and something darkly earthy, stark and distant. It’s a sharp contrast to Agatha’s usual rich, heady fragrance, the kind that clings to your clothes and fills the room long after she’s gone. But somehow, this raw, unfamiliar scent only adds to her allure, drawing you in deeper. 

“Guess that depends on what you think you know.” your voice drops to a low, almost mocking purr, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your mouth. You hold her gaze, letting the challenge hang in the air between you, your eyes glinting with just enough mystery to keep her guessing.

She lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, but something in her eyes shifts, something curious, as if you’ve stirred something in her she can’t quite place. She looks at you a beat too long before shaking her head and turning back to her drink, as if trying to ignore that spark.

You watch her for a moment, her fingers curling around the glass, her body language guarded, closed off. But there’s that trace of interest, the smallest crack in her armor. She’s intrigued, even if she won’t admit it.

She might be Agnes right now, but you still know how to push her buttons “Looks like you could use a distraction, Detective. I’ve heard it’s been nothing but dead ends for you lately.” you murmur with a sly smile.

Her hand pauses on the glass. The annoyed look is back, but this time it’s different, that reluctant curiosity now obvious on her face. She sets her glass down with a thud, meeting your gaze head-on. “Careful, doll. I don’t do well with strangers thinking they know more than they should.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You raise your hand, as if in surrender. “I just happen to know that sometimes the best way to clear a clouded mind is a little… fun.”

At that last word you can see her tense up, her shoulders straightening, gaze sharpening. A hint of a smirk crosses her face, but she quickly tamps it down. Agnes may be all business, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes that’s raw, hungry.

“Dance with me.” you say softly, your fingers reaching out to brush the cool glass of her drink. “Who knows, might be exactly what need…”

She lets out a soft snort, like she’s about to dismiss you, but then she pushes back from the bar. Standing, she adjusts her flannel shirt, slipping the small notebook into the inner pocket with a quick, practiced motion as her dark eyes stay trained on you with an intensity that makes the air thicken. She’s a predator through and through, and for a moment, you feel the weight of her gaze like a physical thing, binding you in place.

She holds out a hand, and you take it, feeling her strong fingers and the roughness of her skin against your own. She pulls you toward a crowded corner of the bar where people are already moving to the low, steady beat thrumming through the room. Dim lights cast a warm, hazy glow, bodies swaying close around you, amplifying the charged atmosphere.

Agnes holds you with a firmness that’s almost possessive, both hands at your waist. Her gaze locks onto yours, and in this moment, she’s both a stranger and achingly recognizable, the rough edge of Agnes mingling with the soul of Agatha beneath. Every inch of her exudes assertiveness, her energy powerful and magnetic as her hands rest on your body with unbreakable certainty.

The dance starts slow, a sway more than anything else, but as the tension grows, she pulls you a little closer. Her gaze flickers down to the necklace at your collarbone, the deep violet stone a stark contrast against your skin. You catch the faintest twitch in her expression, her eyes darkening as she lifts her gaze to meet yours again. There’s a hunger there, a dangerous, simmering intensity that speaks of possession and intrigue.

“You’ve got a strange way of introducing yourself.” she murmurs, her voice low, carrying an edge of danger. “Most people don’t… walk up to me like this.”

You lean in, your voice a whisper against her ear “I’m not ‘most people’, Detective.”. You let that last word linger, savoring the irony of it, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you think of the illusion she’s wrapped up in.

She chuckles, a rough sound that vibrates through you, and her hold on your waist tightens, fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric. “Maybe you’re just a little too bold for your own good.”

You don’t bother to reply, feeling the intensity between you coil tighter as her hand slips around to the small of your back, pulling you firmly against her. Her gaze holds yours, dark and fierce, that rough, predatory edge simmering into something more primal. The dance transforms, becoming less about the music and entirely about the electrifying connection between you, every look and touch stoking the fire higher.

You press closer, letting your hips grind against hers in slow, deliberate circles, matching the pulsing rhythm that fills the room. Each movement is calculated, provocative, testing the limits of her restraint. You can feel the tension radiate through her hands as they grip your waist, and her breath seems to hitch every time your body sways against hers.

In the dim light, shadows fall across her face, but her eyes glint with a deepening hunger. You reach up, one arm slipping around her neck as your fingers trace along her skin before threading into her hair. The contact is intimate, possessive, and she leans into it, visibly captivated by the press of your body and the brush of your fingers. With a mischievous smile, you let your other hand glide up her face, fingertips trailing along the line of her jaw as you bite your lip, savoring the spark of control you have over her. 

In an instant, something snaps. Agnes moves with a swift, unrestrained urgency, her hands locking onto your hips as she spins you around, pulling your back against her with a possessive force that steals your breath. Her body presses flush against yours, fitting perfectly, her grip on you strong and unyielding.

The rhythm of the music seems to fade as she matches your movements from behind, grinding into you in time with your slow, rolling pace. The friction between you is scorching, each press of her hips intensifying the heat building between you. Her hands slide along your waist, her fingers digging in as if anchoring herself to you, claiming every inch of space between you.

With Agnes pressed firmly against your back, one of your hands finds its way behind her neck once again, fingers weaving into her hair as your bodies move together, grinding in sync to the steady beat. The desire simmering between you is overwhelming, each movement intensifying the tension coiling in your core.

But as her grip stays firm on your hips, you become aware of something else, something hard pressing insistently against you. The firm, unmistakable pressure against your ass makes your breath catch in your throat, the perfect trigger for a molten rush to spread through your veins.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk, voice low and teasing. “Is that what I think it is, Detective?”

The smug grin spread across her face makes it clear she was waiting for your reaction, every inch of her expression dripping with satisfaction. The look only fueling the heat pooling between your thighs. Her fingers travel up your sides, leaving a trail of sparks across your skin. She grazes just beneath your breasts, her touch light but deliberate, the fabric of your dress doing little to dull the fire she ignites. 

“Behave.” she whispers, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. There’s an edge to her voice, rough and commanding. “And maybe I’ll reward you.” she continues, a low purr full of promise.

But you’re here on a mission, not to behave. Definitely not to behave.

Letting the music and her warmth embolden you, you reach back with your free hand, fingers slipping between your bodies to trace a slow, tantalizing path downward. She doesn’t stop you, if anything, she presses in closer, her breath hot against your neck.

Your movements halt for a split second as your fingertips brush the cool metal of her belt buckle, a shiver running through you at the sensation. Biting your lip, you continue your descent, fingers tracing slowly along the rigid line of her zipper, feeling the unyielding heat straining against it. When your palm finally presses against her, you can feel the hard, thick bulge beneath the fabric, and the sensation sends a surge of desire straight to your core. A low, breathless moan threatens to escape, and you barely hold it back, relishing the sensation as the need builds, leaving you aching for more.

Your fingers trail along her length teasingly, taking your time, and you feel her body tense behind you, hear the soft, low growl in her throat. She drops her forehead to your shoulder, her breath rough as you continue your movements.

You tilt your head back, allowing her see the satisfaction in your eyes, a look you know will get to her. Her breath catches as your fingers continue to tease her mercilessly. “Mmm” you hum with deliberate appreciation. “I knew you’d be… impressive.” you murmur, voice low and dripping with praise.

The effect is immediate, and exactly what you’d hoped for. Her nails dig into your waist, her restraint slipping further as a husky sigh escapes her. She presses into you and raises her head to meet your gaze, the challenge in her eyes flaring, daring you to push her further. 

You’ve always loved how, deep down, Agatha is so desperate for praise. She always had that little spark of pride that flares with each admiring touch, each appreciative word. But with Agnes, that need seems to linger closer to the surface, raw and unapologetic. In this form, she practically soaks up every word, every look of admiration you give her, like she’s reveling in the attention.

She’s holding herself back, barely, and you can feel the restraint beginning to crack, the thrill of it washing over you as she takes one grounding breath. “Keep that up…” she mutters, her tone both a warning and an invitation, “and you’ll see just how impressive I can be.”

With her words still in the air, she thrusts her hips forward, grinding firmly against your hand so you feel the full, hard length of her strap straining through the fabric of her pants. Simultaneously, one of her hands moves to your throat, fingers curling possessively around it in a strong, yet gentle, grip. Instinctively, you arch into her touch, pressing closer, wanting to feel every inch of her as she is pushing against you. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back the moan that slips from your lips. 

Her body freezes at the sound, and for a heartbeat, everything is still. Then, without a word, she grabs your hand, her grip firm and unyielding as she pulls you toward the exit. You can barely keep up with her long strides as she navigates through the bar, her silence and focus only heightening the anticipation that’s been building between you. The moment you step outside, the cool night air hits you, sharp and bracing, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your veins.

Agnes doesn’t pause as she leads you across the dimly lit parking lot, her hold on your wrist commanding, purposeful. But just as you near the shadowy corner where her car is parked, she suddenly turns, and with a fierce intensity, she presses you against the rough brick wall of the bar. The shock of the cold surface behind you only fuels the fire inside, and before you can catch your breath, her mouth is on yours.

The kiss is raw, unrestrained, her lips claiming yours with an urgency that’s nothing short of devastating. Her tongue parts your lips, exploring with a fierce hunger that’s both intoxicating and overwhelming, each movement igniting something hotter, deeper. She moves against you with a possessive need, her hand tangling in your hair as she tilts your head back, deepening the kiss even further.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” she mutters against your lips, voice thick and dripping with need. Her other hand moves down to grab your ass, pulling you against her, her grip rough and unapologetic. You can’t hold back the gasp that escapes you, the thrill of it leaving you breathless.

Your hands find their way to her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as you pull her closer, every inch of her body pressed firmly against yours. She tastes like whiskey and something darker, something that only fuels your desire, making you want more, need more. 

“Teasing me like that all night… you knew exactly what you were doing.” her voice is almost a growl against your lips, her frustration and need laid bare, her words punctuated with another possessive press of her hips.

Your heart races, and you find yourself grinning through the haze of desire. “Maybe I did.” you whisper, a daring edge to your tone.

Her smirk deepens as she leans in, mouth brushing against your ear. “Good.” she breathes “Because now… you’re mine.”

The intensity of her words leaves you dizzy, every nerve lit up, aching, ready for more. She slides a leg between yours, pressing firmly against you in a way that makes your instantly whimper. The sudden pressure tugging at your last restraints, making it impossible to hold back. You pull her into a fierce, consuming kiss, your mouths crashing together, hot and unrestrained, her taste filling all of your senses.

With a deliberate move, you catch her bottom lip between your teeth, biting down just hard enough to pull a throaty moan from her. The sound makes something inside you snap, a fire igniting that feels like it’s burning you from the inside out. You let your tongue glide over the spot you just bit, slow and teasing, savoring the slight tremor that runs through her in response.

Your eyes meet hers, hooded and dark with lust, each breath mingling as you hold her gaze, refusing to look away. “I want you to ruin me.” your voice is barely a whisper against her lips, but every word is thick with hunger. You let the desire in your eyes say the rest, the intensity of your gaze leaves no room for doubt, a challenge and surrender all at once.

You watch the way her pupils dilate, her eyes flashing with something feral and ravenous. Without another word, she grabs your hand again, leading you the last few steps to her car, parked in the shadowed corner with only a few other cars nearby.

As you near the car, you instinctively move toward the passenger side, expecting her to get in and drive you to her place at speed light. But Agnes doesn’t head for the driver’s side. Instead, she stops just behind you, her presence looming as you reach for the passenger’s door handle.

“Other door, doll.” she murmurs, her voice dripping with intent. A shiver runs down your spine as the implication sinks in. You glance over your shoulder, finding her gaze steady, intense, and unmistakably clear. She’s not planning on taking you anywhere.

You release the handle, heart racing as you step to the rear door, her gaze burning into you with every move. Inside of the car, the familiar scent of leather mixed with something distinctly “her” fills the small, darkened space. Agnes follows, sliding in close beside you, shutting the door to enclose you both in a cocoon of shadows and anticipation.

The air is charged with an unspoken understanding as her hand finds your bare thigh, fingers pressing possessively as she leans close, breath warm against your cheek. There’s a pause, enough to let you savor what’s about to unfold, before she brings her mouth to yours, claiming you with the raw hunger that’s been simmering all night.

Her hand starts to move in a slow, tantalizing journey upward, fingers tracing your skin and slipping beneath the hem of your dress, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against her mouth as her touch becomes bolder.

As her fingers graze your inner thigh, both firm and unbearably light, a whimper slips out of your lips. She pulls back just enough, gaze momentarily dropping to where her hand is inching closer to where you need her most, her breathing heavy as she watches you unravel beneath her touch.

Each slow, deliberate movement seems meant to drive you wild, her smirk making it clear she’s relishing each shaky breath you take. Without breaking eye contact, her hand ventures further, until her fingertips reach your clothed core, brushing against the patch of wetness that is seeping through the fabric. Her touch sends a surge of pleasure through you, hips arching as you crave more. She lets out a low, pleased hum, leaning close as her mouth grazes your ear.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” she whispers, her voice dripping with mockery and satisfaction, every word laced with a condescending edge that leaves you trembling. One of your hands grips the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in as you brace yourself, as the other slips between your legs, pushing aside your panties in a bold, undeniable signal. Agnes’s gaze flickers with mischief, her lips curving in a smirk at your willingness, at the silent plea in your eyes.

“Look at you…” she murmurs in that low, almost scolding tone that makes you clench around nothing. “Such a needy pet.” Her fingers finally dip down to graze your drenched folds, now exposed to her touch. Her fingers glide up and down with ease, a deliberate slowness that leaves you panting, every movement igniting raw need within you.

“Mm, so wet for me.” she whispers to herself, pressing her fingers a little firmer, coaxing a soft moan from you. Your grip tightens on the seat as your breathing grows ragged, her touch leaving you helplessly craving more, every nerve under her control.

Her movements are teasingly, atrociously, slow. An impatient thrill rushes through you, impossible to ignore, and without a second thought you straddle her lap in one swift motion. As you settle onto her, your dress rides up around your hips, baring more skin as your legs fall on either side of hers, bracketing her firmly on the back seat. Agnes’s eyes widen in surprise, excitement unmistakable as her hands find your exposed thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as you begin to grind against her.

The angle presses her strap perfectly against your core, each movement sending a pulse of pleasure as you rock in her lap, the coil in your lower abdomen growing tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips. A low growl escapes her as she watches you take what you need, movements relentless and hungry.

Lost in the moment, you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her into a kiss that’s messy, unrestrained, moans spilling shamelessly between your mouths. “Fuck… I need you.” you murmur, hips rolling harder in her lap, grinding with a desperate rhythm that has your heartbeat racing. You feel her cock press on your clit through her pants, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if you might come just from this.

But Agnes has other plans.

Her hands slip from your waist, leaving you whining at the loss of contact as her fingers find the buckle of her belt. She undoes it with slow precision, followed by the button and zipper of her pants, her gaze locked with yours for the whole time, challenge flickering in her eyes as she smirks.

Her hand slips between your legs once more, sliding over your sensitive core, fingers teasing your hole as if to confirm just how ready you are for her. You bite your lip, completely unable to contain yourself. “Please.” you beg, voice low and trembling.

The smirk that crosses her face is dark, satisfied, as though she’s savoring every word, reveling in how desperate you are to have her inside of you. Desperation starts to kick in as your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers between your folds, desperate for the friction she’s barely giving you. You grind against her hand, each movement sending sparks through your body as you cling to the delicious, aching need building inside you. Your breathing is ragged, and you can barely focus, until you catch sight of her other hand moving down to her waist.

With a fluid motion, Agnes reaches into her boxers, freeing her strap. The anticipation and the sheer intensity of the moment making your breath catch in your throat. As she draws it out, you take in every inch, noticing how it’s bigger than what Agatha would normally choose, yet not the biggest she’s ever ruined you with. But there’s something about the way she holds it, about the way it fills her hand, that has a rush of arousal pooling low in your stomach.

You swallow hard, desire flaring in your eyes as you let yourself imagine how it will feel inside of you, stretching you, abusing your needy hole. Agnes doesn’t miss your reaction, her smirk deepens, that predatory, knowing look in her eyes as she catches you staring. She shifts her hips, letting the strap press against your inner thigh, teasing you with what’s coming.

Her voice drops to a murmur, gravelly and low. “Think that pretty pussy of yours is ready to take it, doll?” she asks, tone both a tease and a command, daring you to say otherwise.

Without hesitation, you meet her gaze, biting your lip, eyes blazing with need. “Yes.” you whisper, breathless. “Fuck yes.”

A shiver runs through you as Agnes aligns herself, the tip of her cock pressing teasingly at your entrance, one of her hand resting firmly on your hip, grounding you. Slowly and deliberately, she begins to sink into you, stretching you inch by inch. A soft, breathy moan escapes you as the fullness sets in. Your fingers dig into her shoulders, clinging to her, every nerve ending lighting up with raw pleasure.

Agnes watches every reaction with a possessive gaze, clearly enjoying the way your body responds to her. She pauses, just for a second, letting you adjust. “Just like that. Mm, I wish I could feel that tight cunt wrapping around me. I bet it would feel so good.” she murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction.

And then, with an agonizing slowness, she presses further, filling you completely until there’s nowhere left to go and she’s buried deep inside. The feeling of fullness settles within you, every inch of her stretching you in a way that leaves you teetering on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. Your gaze drops instinctively to where your bodies connect, where her strap disappears into you, a sight that sends a deep, pulsing ache through your core.

But as you look down, your eyes catch on something else. The purple gemstone of your necklace, nestled against your skin, begins to glow, casting a soft, pulsing light in sync with the pounding rhythm of your heart. A slow smirk spreads across your lips, it’s almost time.

You teasingly wiggle your hips, signaling that you’re ready, craving the friction only she can provide. Agnes tightens her grip on your hips, nails digging into your skin. She meets your challenge, leaning forward just enough to capture your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. In the heated clash of tongues and teeth, her hips begin to move, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward, filling you again.

Her pace is torturously unhurried, letting you feel every second, watching the way your face reflects each wave of pleasure. After a few measured thrusts, her hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers kneading your skin before delivering a sharp, satisfying spank that sends a shock of pleasure through you. A gasp slips from your lips but, before you know it, her hips have stilled and she’s watching you with a provocative glint in her eyes.

It dawns on you that she wants you to move, to put on a show just for her. You hesitate, breath catching, and her voice drops to a low, rough murmur as she smirks. “Come on doll, you gotta work for it. Let’s see how you bounce for me.”

Her words ignite a fresh wave of arousal and, taking a steadying breath, you start rolling your hips. You move slowly at first, savoring the stretch but it doesn’t take long before you start lifting and sinking your full weight down onto her, each movement drawing a low hum of approval from her lips.

Lost in the rhythm, you quicken your pace, each bounce bringing you down harder, making the base of the strap pressing firmly against her clit. Her hands guide you, watching you arch and take her deeper and deeper, her gaze full of admiration and raw desire. 

The car fills with the wet, needy sounds of your arousal as she fills you completely. Your breaths turn to soft, broken moans, mingling with curses spilling from your lips. “F-fuck… Aggie…” you stammer, the familiar nickname slipping out before you can catch it. “Feels so… so good.” you murmur, half-lost in the haze, voice thick with need as you ride her harder, body pressing into her with abandon.

Agnes’s eyes flash, and for a split second, you wonder if she’s even noticed the slip or if she’s choosing to ignore it, letting it pass without breaking the intensity of the moment. Her grip tightens, voice dropping to a rough whisper that sends a shiver down your spine “Good girl… you’re taking me so well.” One of her hand slides up your back, nails scratching your skin and leaving red marks under your dress. “This is exactly what you were made for, isn’t it?”

Her words ignite something deep inside of you, urging you on as pleasure builds with each movement, your head tipping forward as you release a shameless moan. Your steady, rhythmic bouncing sends waves of pleasure radiating through you, each one stronger than the last, the friction inside you maddeningly perfect. You can feel your own wetness slickening each movement and dripping down your thighs, the glide of her strap effortless as she pushes deeper, unrelenting.

Agnes is utterly captivated, her gaze darting between the raw expressions of pleasure on your face and the sight of her strap disappearing into you. She drinks in every movement, every tremble, barely able to restrain herself.

As if sensing her focus, you open your eyes. You catch her gaze and stare right into her as you bite your lip, slowly and purposefully sinking down onto her cock, daring her. And that’s all she needs.

One hand wraps firmly around your throat, grip strong and commanding, while the other moves to your hip, pressing you down on her lap. For a moment, everything is suspended, you’re pinned under her gaze as the intensity of both the pressure at your throat and the deep ache within makes you shudder, caught between pleasure and anticipation.

Then, without warning, her hips snap up, driving into you with a devastating shove that forces every ounce of breath out of your lungs. She thrusts hard and deep, filling you completely, each movement unrelenting and precise, striking that spot that has you gasping and moaning uncontrollably.

Your hands clutch at her shoulders, desperate for some anchor as she pound into you without mercy, driving you relentlessly toward the edge. Your eyes flutter shut in overwhelming pleasure, but her grip tightens on your throat, pulling you back. “Eyes on me, pet.” she growls, voice low and commanding. “You begged me to ruin you. Now, look at me while I give you exactly what you asked for.”.

You force your eyes open, and the instant they lock onto hers, her pace quickens. The smirk on her face is a mix of dominance and admiration as she keeps pushing you further with every movement. The feeling is all-consuming and, as she continues, you feel yourself surrender completely, helpless under her control, barely holding on as pleasure engulfs you.

Her hips are snapping forward with an intensity bordering on devastating, her feet planted firmly on the car floor, adding force to each thrust. Her hand finds its way between your legs once more, fingers moving in practiced circles over your sensitive clit, coaxing you to the brink.

The purple stone around your neck pulses brighter as your orgasm builds, filling the car with an otherworldly glow that syncs with the rhythm of Agnes’s relentless movements. 

“Mmm, I missed this… I missed you.” the confession slips out you in a raw whisper. For a second, Agnes’ expression falters, something flickering in her eyes that seems to recognize the truth. Before she can react, the light from the stone intensifies, flooding the space between you with a bright, shimmering glow. Her gaze drops to the gemstone blazing against your skin, entranced as though the light itself is unraveling something within her.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you seize the moment and murmur the spell.

Ancient Latin words leave your lips like a quiet chant, each syllable carrying the force of longing and magic, woven with the raw passion building between you. The words wrap around you both, charging the moment, and as the final word slips from your mouth, she gasps like someone just knocked all the air out of her lungs. Agnes’s eyes meet yours, and in that instant, you know the veil has been lifted.

Agnes is gone and Agatha, your Agatha, is back. The full force of who she is, and who you are to her, rushes back all at once. For a moment, Agatha simply stares at you, the love of her life who broke her from that maddening spell… on her lap, strap buried deep inside you. The sight renders her speechless, her expression a mix of wonder and fierce devotion as she processes what’s happened.

Finally, her voice returns, smug and rough yet laden with emotion. “So, this is your idea of a rescue mission? Can’t say I mind, sweetheart.” She leans in, breath ghosting over your lips as her fingers trace your cheek, gaze softening though hunger remains.

You suppress a moan as her hips shift involuntarily, pushing deeper, and she gasps, realizing the full impact of the spell being lifted. She can feel you now, all of you. Every slick, heated movement as she fills you, every pulse of pleasure passing through you both in sync. The raw feeling of you, tight and warm, clenching around her cock, sends sudden jolts of pleasure through her. The boundary between you dissolved completely.

“Fuck… I can feel you again.” she murmurs, voice thick with awe and desire. Her voice drops, thick with satisfaction and yearning. “I’ve waited too long for this, and now… now you’re all mine again.”

Her breath catches, and her hands tighten on your hips, guiding you as she thrusts up with renewed purpose, as if proving to herself that this moment is real, savoring every second of this reconnection. Her eyes glint with pleasure as her nails dig into your skin, pulling you down harder with each thrust, her control slipping as she begins to feel herself approaching her own edge.

A ragged growl escapes her as she whispers against your ear, “You’re still so damn tight, sweetheart. Do you know what you’re doing to me?” Her breath shudders, and a smile plays on her lips as she admits, “I’m already close too… After all this time, I don’t think I can hold back.”

The rhythm between you intensifies as her hands roam over your body, holding you close as she loses herself in the feeling of being truly connected again. You’re nothing short of a moaning mess as her voice guides you closer to the edge with her, whispered praise and promises mingling with the tension building in both of you, pushing you both to the brink.

Agatha is fucking you at an unforgiving rhythm, the intensity blurring everything else. Her gaze never leaves you, watching you come undone as you both reach the edge, every sensation building to a breathtaking crescendo.

Soon, her rhythm turns erratic, her restraint fully unraveled. Her eyes bore into yours, dark and fierce, filled with desire and something deeper—a yearning that transcends this moment alone.

“Mm fuck baby… yes, just like that…” she murmurs, breathless, almost reverent.

Your thighs start to shake, each movement pushing you closer, and you can barely form words as the pleasure tightens, an unbearable ache. “Ah fuck Agatha… d-don’t stop.” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck fuck fuck…” you stammer with each of her relentless thrusts until your voice breaks, overcome by waves of sensation crashing through you.

The car is filled by the sound of your low, breathy moans, mixing with Agatha’s rough, primal groans, all blending together as her hands slide up your back, possessive, grounding, bracing you for what’s to come.

You’re so close, and you know she is right there with you, her body tensing as she growls, “Come with me, now.” Her voice thick, dripping with desire, her words pushing you over the edge.

Your body arches instinctively as you shudder, every nerve aflame as waves of pleasure wash over you. Your head tips back, unable to hold back the cries escaping your lips. Your thighs twitch uncontrollably, your hips moving wildly on Agatha’s lap as your walls clench around her cock, releasing all that built-up tension in one of the most powerful orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

Agatha’s hips snap up one last time, her breath catching as she reaches her own release, her hands pressing you close as she gasps. “Mine… all mine…” her words, raw and filled with emotion, resonate through you, pulling you even deeper into the moment.

Your bodies tremble together, chests heaving, hearts racing as you slowly come down from your high. She holds you there, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her eyes softer but still burning as she meets your gaze. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, savoring the afterglow, feeling completely and utterly entwined.

Slowly, she leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, one that holds all the love and longing she’s felt, buried beneath the spell, and everything you’ve both been waiting to express. Her mouth moves over yours with fervor, a silent promise in every brush of her lips. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as emotions overwhelm you, but Agatha notices, her thumb gently wiping it away as she smiles against your lips. Her expression is soft and filled with gratitude as she holds you close, her hands tracing over your skin as if trying to commit every inch of you to her memory.

“Thank you, my love.” she whispers, voice thick with feelings. Her hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as she finally, reluctantly, begins to pull out. The sudden emptiness leaves you gasping softly, a shiver running through you at the loss, but before you can fully react you’re wrapping your arms around her, holding her close, grounding yourself in her warmth and presence.

Agatha’s hand slides down your back, comforting, reassuring. She presses a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring “It’s okay. I’m here now.” She pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, her features gentle yet fiercely protective. “Let’s go home.” she says, her tone pure tenderness “I won’t ever let anything take me away from you again, I promise.”.

She holds you close for one last intimate moment, while her words linger, solid and true. With a soft smile, she shifts and tucks away her strap before buttoning up her pants and fastening her belt, her eyes never leaving yours, filled with affection and satisfaction.

Once she’s ready she turns toward you, her hands moving to adjust your dress, her touch both careful and intimate as she smooths the fabric sliding it back into place around your waist and hips. Her hands linger, brushing along your sides in a way that makes your heart flutter.

Agatha opens the car door, stepping out first, leaning back to help you out of the car. She guides you with a steady hand as she opens the passenger door and, once you’re settled in the seat, she closes the door gently, making her way around the car and slipping into the driver’s seat beside you.

Agatha reaches over, her hand resting on your thigh as she leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. With a final squeeze of your thigh, she starts the car, guiding you both into the night. In the quiet space between you, there’s a shared understanding that this is the beginning of a new chapter, together, with nothing left to keep you apart.

[hidden-poet]

S. lands on top; 6

summary: Coriolanus returns home to the Capital with two women from district 12 plaguing his mind. One a (presumed) dead mystery but another well within his reach.

warnings: unco, dark!Coriolanus, possessive!Corirlanus, Dark themes, mentions of death, she/her pronouns, kidnapping, violence, All of the warnings, dead dove do not eat.

Word count: 7,835

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Coriolanus left Mabel without breakfast the next morning. 

He was so angry, he could kill her. But what good would his anger do? 

It would break his favorite toy and leave him nothing for it.

Instead he needed to show Mable that her actions amounted to nothing. Best she think she has no effect whatsoever. That all her kicking and screaming did nothing but wear her out. 

He tried his best to show this to Dr Gaul too. When he arrived for work, he came with his normal causal presence. 

While Coriolanus wanted to forget the night, Dr Gaul wanted to rub his nose in it. 

She doesn’t look at him as she passes him in the boardroom. Her failed student wasn’t worth looking at. Wasn’t even worth talking to. 

The beautiful bird perched on her shoulder did her talking for her.

 It had beautiful blue feathers that looked soft to pet. It’s tail stuck out in show, and it’s beautiful green eyes darted around the room. 

The bird looked panicked but sat obediently on her shoulder, despite having the ability to fly away. 

“I hope you are all happy with the Reaping ceremony yesterday for it may be your last”, she taunted, sitting down in her chair. 

The bird is taken from her shoulder and kept in her hand to stroke. Ths bird gained no joy from the motion, still sitting there with a panicked expression and shaking feathers. 

“Who can tell me what was wrong with it?”, she questions. Her eyes fall on Coriolanus who looks down at his blank paper, defeated. 

He hoped someone would speak up. Say something that she was sure to disagree with, but at least he would be able to hide under it. 

No one spoke. Forcing Coriolanus to engage in the conversation he didn’t want to have. Of course Dr Gaul would make it a public whipping. 

“We lost control”, he muttered. 

“Hm, how?”, Dr Gaul asks as her finger runs down her bird's beak to show off it’s docility. 

“We allowed them to speak freely”, he pushed out in a big breath. 

Images of Reaping interview that consisted of crying children and awkward presenters, collided in his head with Mabel's own mistakes. 

“Sparks are a dangerous thing, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul provokes, “We like to think we can contain them but find too late that they have burnt our house down”. 

“None of those children have enough spark to incite a rebellion” one of his co-workers interrupts. 

Dr Gaul turns to him with a sly smile. 

‘Of course not, you idiot’, Coriolanus thought, ‘but his Mable did.’ 

“We only need one of the children to be well liked enough that someone with enough spark does incite a rebellion”, Dr Gaul dismisses with a hard tone. 

“Control is what we need” Coriolanus says louder for the group to hear, “Dr Gaul if you give us another chance, we-I can get them to perform how we want them to”.

Dr Gaul eyes her bird. It struggled in her tight grip but never pecked at her for release. 

“You can’t bargain with a person who doesn’t know they are beat yet. Instead of interviewing them at the Reaping, we allow them a couple of days for their reality to settle in. Then we give them some media training, and we host a round of interviews for the Capitol to get to know them. Or at least the version we want them to be known as”. 

Dr Gaul's condescending smile returns, letting him know he was wrong.

“You think they need time?”, she mocks in a low voice. 

“I think they need a reason to perform. The motivation of death can also be a reason for non-conformance. We’ve been asking what have they got to lose, when we should have been asking what have they got to gain?”. 

“And what do they have to gain?” 

“Maybe we could offer-” a colleague tried to contribute but was cut off my Dr Gaul. 

“Those who don’t know of what they speak, shouldn’t speak”, she snaped. 

He quieted immediately and fell back into his chair. Once more the attention was back on Coriolanus. 

‘’Mercy’’, he breaths. It takes him a second but he musters the courage to look Dr Gaul in the eye. 

Her stare unnerves him, but he forces himself to look anyway. 

 The room is quiet while it waits for Dr Gaul’s reaction. 

“Hm, interesting concept, Mr Snow.” she finally says, “Did someone write that down?’’.

“Mercy” she repeats more to herself. The bird is let go but remains on top of the table.

Her eyes roll around the room, looking at all the Gamemakers who shudder in their seats.

Coriolanus couldn’t help to think of Lucy-Grey despite how much he tried to fight against it. 

She was a performer. Right to the end. 

“I don’t understand how training them like a dog is going to make the games more entertaining”.

The voice was soft and gentle, coming from a female colleague who often came up with the most grotesque ideas.

Coriolanus scoffs at her. He hated people who couldn’t see the bigger picture. 

The Games only played a small part in keeping the districts under the Capitol boot. Yet she wanted to focus all of their energy on it. 

“It’s not about the Games. It’s about engagement” Coriolanus responded, “Who cares about a District as they come?”.

He felt a sharp twist in his stomach as he said it. Beautiful, strong Mabel caught his eye, and had never left his mind since. 

“They are animals,” he states. Mabel’s actions don’t speak against it. Like a wounded animal in a cage, she lashes and bites. 

“We need to turn them into something more marketable. Who cares when a roach is squashed? We need people to care. To want to look after them and ensure their survival”. 

Coriolanus looks around the room to see his Colleagues all awaiting Dr Gauls input. He makes a point not to look at her like the rest do.  

“By doing this, won’t it cause a up-rising within the Capitol?”, another Gamemaker who could not see beyond the Games speaks up. 

Coriolanys groans, frustrated that he is lumped together with the same Gamemakers. If he had full control of the Games, he could make them the biggest event of the year. Not some side show holiday that people can take or leave. 

But Dr Gaul won’t give it to him, unless he can show he is in control of Mabel. 

“It’s not a beauty pageant, it's a dog fight”, Dr Gaul reasons. 

The man who asked the question slumped in his chair, muttering agreements that he did not believe.  

It was obvious he was trying to stump Coriolanus. But the man had no idea the conversation was just between Dr Gaul and Coriolanus. The group was merely a sounding board between the two.

“The only way we are going to get those children to perform the way we want is through mercy. Act like we tell you and we’ll relent”. Coriolanus finishes. 

Dr Gaul suddenly stands up, gaining the attention from the room once more. She moves to the boardroom computer and pulls up a list of the tributes. 

Small photos of the twelve that preceded their name and district were casted up on the wall behind Dr Gaul. 

Coriolanus eyes the boy from 12. He still had a baby face. Full, round cheeks, and soft brown hair that fell over his forehead. His eyes were big and brown, and thin lips pressed together as if he was about to cry. 

Coriolanus imagined the interactions that Mabel had with the boy. Did she ever kiss him? Ever hug him? Did she treat the boy like her own, or keep a friendly distance?

How will she react when he most certainly dies?

“Theory will only get you so far” Dr Gaul contends, “we must put it in practice. Each of you will be assigned a tribute to play up”.

Coriolanus' eyes shut, and an  annoyed smile tenses at his lips. He could see where this was going. 

“We have mentors. Let them do it”, he speaks out. Trying to claw his way out of the hole Dr Gaul is digging. 

“Why, Mr Snow. Every great scientist conducts their own experiments. What would the mentors know of a great show?”, her voice carried a condescending tone. 

There was nothing Coriolanus could stop her from giving him the 12 boy, and nothing he could do to stop her taking his 12 girl. 

It was only her sick idea of training Coriolanus for presidency that allowed him to keep Mabel after last night. 

He had failed Dr Gaul last night, and now she was throwing an extra obstacle in his way of training Mabel. 

Dr Gaul would find some way of ensuring that Mabel knew of Coriolanus media training the boy. Poke the fire before Coriolanus could get it to a non-threatening level. 

Coriolanus' lips tug into a smug smile. One day he would kill Dr Gaul. 

“Shall we dish out tributes randomly?” he bites. 

Dr Gaul waves her finger at Coriolanus. It was the only time that anyone had seen her display any other sort of emotion despite boredom. 

Her amusement was a stark contrast no matter how small it played across her features. 

Her lips sealed together to hold in her smile, her body slightly curled in as if she was about to erupt in whole body laughter.

With a bite of her tongue, she straightens and the lips that held in laughter, now parted to release her normal board tone.  

“I have an idea of who I would like with whom”, she snarky replies. 

There were 23 gamemakers, and only 12 tributes, so Dr Gaul picked a mixture of people she liked and people she despised. 

They were paired to tributes according to their social status to Dr Gaul. The most unmarketable tribute was paired with the Gamemaker who tried to show up Coriolanus just moments before. 

The tribute, a girl just shy of  eighteen from district 5, had tried to volunteer her young sister. Stating that she had promised to take her place just moments before. 

‘Make her a martyr for rebellion’, Coriolanus thought. 

Dr Gaul finally gets to district 12 and to no one's surprise, pairs the boy with Coriolanus. 

Coriolanus brings his fist up to his lips, trying different angles in his head that he could pawn to Mabel to make her believe he was trying to help the boy. 

She was too smart, and too distrustful. She wouldn’t believe anything he would say. She would just have to swallow the news without any sugar coating. 

“We’ll hold a national interview next week”, Dr Gaul announces, “You have until then to try this mercy tactic to get them to perform”. 

With her dismissal, the Gamemakers move to leave the room in one big herd. 

Coriolanus tries eagerly to follow them. The last thing he wanted was to talk openly about Mabel's failure with Dr Gaul. 

“Not you, Mr Snow”, he felt his heart sink as she called out for him in front of the others. 

A few turn to stare at him as he remains frozen in his spot. He shakes off his nerves as the last person closes the door behind them. 

Returning to his seat, he sits with confidence he did not have and looks boldly at Dr Gaul.

She sits down at the head of the table, next to him and picks up her bird once more, stroking the back of its neck.

“You want to talk about a performance?” she remarks, clearly talking about Mabel. 

“Last night-” he begins but is cut off by Dr Gaul who hadn’t finished talking. 

“She’s everything I hoped she was going to be”, her eyes remain on her bird as she talks and Coriolanus is grateful she can’t see him squirm in his seat. 

“Beautiful thing. Smart, stubborn, stupidly unafraid. A great feat for you indeed. I have never seen anything quite like her before”. 

Her eyes flick to Coriolanus who stills in his seat. 

“She’s an up-rising in herself. Are you sure you can handle that?”. 

“Mabel is a spoiled child who got away with acting how she likes because of her beauty. She is only a up-rising because no one has ever told her no. Last night, I assure you, she was told no”. 

Dr Gaul once more smiles. But her eyes remain on her bird. 

“Do you practice what you preach? Have you shown her mercy?”

Coriolanus thinks back to the train. He had put his own coat over her to keep her warm while she slept on his knee. She didn’t know it of course, so he supposed it didn’t count.

He gives her chocolate as rewards. Although, since the book incident there has been no sweets in the penthouse. 

He would hardly say he has been unkind to her. Strict maybe. 

Mercy, however, was a high bar to reach. 

“She’s clothed, fed, housed”, Coriolanus lists.

“Clothed sometimes”, she quips, “Fed and housed? Lab rats are fed and housed. That’s not mercy, that’s upkeep”. 

The bird squawks and Dr Gauls flick its head to shut it up.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Dr Gaul asks, placing the bird into Coirolanus' hold. 

He holds it gently, cupping the small clump of soft feathers between his hands. 

Dr Gaul continues to stroke its head with her long, pointed finger. 

“Mercy keeps her from flying. It knows I can, and have done, unmerciful things to it. It knows that if it tries to fly I will do unmerciful things again, but it trusts that if it does what I want, me, in my mercy, won’t harm it just because I can”.

Dr Gaul pulls her finger away, giving her full attention to Coriolanus. 

“If I hurt it no matter what it did, why would it do what I want at all?”. 

Her voice suddenly turns hard and low. Her eyes train on the blue bird as she speaks.

“You know it took me months to catch this bird. Stubborn, fast little thing. For the longest time it was my favorite pet I had ever owned”. 

Her hands reach out and Coriolanus shuffles his hands lower so Dr Gaul could rest her fingers on its back while her thumbs scratches the bird's neck.

“Then I met Mabel”, with the pressure of her thumbs on the birds neck, she snaps the bone. 

Coriolanus should have released the dead bird but felt too shocked to let go of its limp body. 

“It pales in comparison”, Dr Gaul rises from her seat and Coriolanus throws the dead bird on the table. 

“I do hope our little one on one enlightened you, Mr Snow. Mabel is too rare for you to fail”. 

Coriolanus remains sat at the table, staring at the once beautiful bird as Dr Gaul moves on with her day. 

Once the initial shock wears off, he rises from his seat and makes his way to his office with an unbothered demeanor. 

His head reeled, however. It was clear Dr Gaul wanted to get her hands on Mabel. 

 She wanted Coriolanus to fail so she could swoop in. But Coriolanus never failed at anything. 

Dr Gaul couldn’t have Mabel. She belongs firmly, and utterly to Coriolanus Snow. 

He would get Mabel to realise that sooner, or later.

He headed over to the training center after work. 

He wanted to get a start with the young boy so he would be ready for the interview. 

Coriolanus would play on the heartstrings of the Capitol people. Get them to pour money on the soon to be dead child to make his existence less miserable until he was killed off. 

His product came in a cute package, all Coriolanus had to do was feed the young boy a script and the Capitol people would eat out the palm of his hand.

He requested a room alone with the child. They were given the tv room which was large and filled with furniture. 

The young boy was kept in chains despite his small frame. 

He looked afraid as he entered the room to see the tall and well dressed man that Coriolanus was. 

The Peacekeeper pushed him through the door. Coriolanus asks the peacekeeper to leave him and his tribute in peace. 

“Hello, James” Coriolanus greets the child as the door is shut.

It didn’t work to ease the boy who kept a long distance and a frightened look. 

“I am Coriolanus Snow, and I  will be helping you prepare for your interview next week”. 

“Interview?’ the young boy asks, “I don’t want to”. 

He looked like he was going to cry. His voice broke, and he held his head up to keep back the tears. 

“It’ll help you in the Games. People will send you gifts. If you do well enough, I might even be able to get you sweets and chocolate to enjoy”. 

A little mercy while he waits to be slaughtered. 

The little boy shakes his head. The tears now spill from his eyes fast and fat down his face.

Coriolanus reaches for a handkerchief he always keeps and takes a step forward to give it to the boy. 

James jumps back as Coriolanus approaches. 

“We are not strangers, you and I”, Coriolanus said. 

The boy looks at him in wonder. Not knowing what to expect next. 

“I’ve heard all about you from Mabel. Do you remember Mabel, your neighbor?” he asks softly. 

The young boy nods his head, bringing his chained hands to rub the tears from his eyes. 

“She’s asked me to help you”, it wasn’t entirely a lie, “and you trust Mabel don’t you?”. 

The little boy nods again. Coriolanus moves forward to take the young boys chin and wipe his face with the handkerchief. 

“Her and I are friends. Which makes me and you friends”, he places the handkerchief back in his breast pocket as he talks in a soft and slow voice, “She’s asked me to help you get as much chocolate as i can. And for me to do that, you need to listen to every word I say, and do exactly as I command, Okay?”. 

“Will Mabel-” Coriolanus knew the boy’s question would end asking to see Mabel which he wouldn’t allow happen, so he spoke quickly over him. 

‘Mabel will be watching the interview. So we must make her proud”. 

The boy settles under the name of a friend, and Coriolanus sits him on the couch to go over the interview. 

Coriolanus critiqued everything. From the boy's tone of voice, to how he sat. The boy was receptive. Quickly adjusting to how Coriolanus wanted him to be. That being as small and cute as possible. 

Coriolanus soon had enough and with a promise that he would bring chocolate when he visited again, so the boy would know what he was performing for, he left to return to Mabel. 

When he returned home the sound of music irritated him. 

He followed it to a spare room down the hall. It was mostly a junk room. He remembered he had stored an old music player there just in case he ever needed it for company. 

Careful to make no noise, he pushes the door slightly ajar so he could peek through. 

Mabel was dancing like she did back in 12. Spinning round and round. Swaying her dress around her as her bare feet thud against the floorboards beneath her. 

Despite her circumstances, she moved her body to music she did not like. 

She was trying to fit one of lucy-greys old songs to the tune but was making a mess of it with her timing and out of breath voice. 

‘Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling, clementine. You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, clementine” she sings out of tune.

Coriolanus remembered the song. Remembered watching Lucy-Grey dressed up in the nicest rags she had, and too much make-up to sing it up on stage. The song sounded much nicer coming from her lips, but Mabel looked much better signing it. 

She spins away, planting her back to the door as she dances with someone not there. Coriolanus takes the distraction to push through the door and make his way to the music player. 

He picks the box up and smashes it against the floor. The music makes an awful static noise as it is killed. 

Mabel spins back to him. She doesn’t look shocked or startled. Instead a playful and amused expression still dances across her face. 

“You could have changed the song” she remarks. 

From the top of her gown he could see the harsh, red lines from the cane. She must have been in pain but yet insisted on dancing. 

“Dr Gaul asked about you today” he says in a calm manner. 

“Good for her”. Mabel keeps her distance across the room like the small boy did. 

“Not good for you. You realize I can’t protect you from her”, he admits, “You think I am bad, you have no idea what Dr Gaul is”. 

“Scared of her Coryo?” Mabel taunts, “I am not. I’ll protect you”. 

“You should be”, Coriolanus argues.

‘‘She can’t do nothing to me that hasn’t already been done”, Mabel spat. 

“She can do things to you that you couldn’t even imagine”. 

“Let her. What have I got to lose?”. Mabel storms past him out the door, heading back down the hall. 

There it is. 

She had nothing to lose, everything was already taken from her. Her family, friends, passions, bodily autonomy. 

Coriolanus follows her to the living room. 

“You should know I’ve ordered Peacekeepers to retrieve your sister from district 12”. 

Mabel spins so fast her hair sweeps across her face.

Finally her annoying smug look is replaced with pure dread. 

Coriolanus sighs deeply, and shrugs his shoulders.

“What have you got to lose Mabel? Nothing. What do you have to gain? Your sister's life”.

“You’re lying” she states in a tone almost wishing. 

Coriolanus shakes his head. “I’ve figured you out Mabel. You’re a glutton for punishment. Dare I say you enjoy it. The more I push you, the harder you push back. But that boy at the reaping…You wouldn’t have begged for your own life but you begged for his”.

Mabel for the first time is silent as the information rushes over her. Coriolanus feels a stinging sensation of power run through him. 

“When she arrives, she’ll be placed in an apartment in the building complex for easy access, and every time you step out of line, she’ll suffer. Every time you’re good, she’ll eat”. 

He steps closer to her so that they were almost touching. He towers over her, his neck craning so he can look her in the eyes as he speaks. 

“I am doing this to protect you. Dr Gaul would ruin you” he promises. 

Mabel spits in his face. He feels the warm, wet saliva trickle down. 

His eyes close in anger but he begins to laugh. 

She was beat. She knew it too. 

Instead of a slap, her hand reaches up to wipe the spit away. 

“I am sorry” she said, ‘I didn’t mean that”. 

Coriolanus opens his eyes to find Mabel looking rightfully worried. 

“Please just let her go. I’ll be good”, she promises, “You’ve made your point”. 

Coriolanus reaches up to take her face in his hands, yanking her up on her tippy toes so he didn’t have to look so far down. 

“You’re so beautiful Mabel”, his thumbs brush against her cheekbones, before moving up to her eyes. 

She closes them so he can brush his thumbs against her long eyelashes. She doesn’t open them as he runs them over her eyebrows and down across her lips.

“What a prize you’ll be once your fire is stowed. She called you a rebellion in itself today, and she was right. Who wouldn’t fight for you?”. 

“My sister-” she begins but stops herself knowing nothing she could say would sway his mind. 

Her eyes remain closed. Not daring to look. It was the first time Coriolanus felt like he had control over Mabel. 

How he wished Dr Gaul could see him. He wouldn’t fail. She couldn’t have his Mabel.

“Your sister” Coriolanus repeats, “Do you think you could be good for her?”. 

Mabel nods in his hands, eyes still closed. 

With his hold on her, he brings her head forward to whisper in her ear. 

“Why don’t you put that saliva to good use?”. 

He feels the weight of her drop in his hands as she lowers herself to her knees in front of him. 

Coriolanus Snow, future president of Panam, and king of mercy. 

It was Saturday. A supposed day off for Coriolanus but his mind raced with potential questions that may be asked of James. 

He could go later to advise the boy and ensure he had a suitable answer for each question, but for now he forced himself to enjoy laying in bed. 

It was late, Coriolanus had never remained in bed, unless he was sick, past seven. 

Now the clock almost hits ten and he makes no move to rise. 

Mabel lay’s on his chest, covered in nothing but a thin sheet.

Coriolanus had awoken well before seven at which point he had woken Mabel with the weight of his body curled around her, and kisses that spoke of his need. 

Her mind too, seemed to race as she lay there. 

“What color hair does my sister have?”, she asks. 

“What?” Coriolanus asks as Mabel rises from his hold, bringing the thin sheet with her. 

“It’s occurred to me that I have taken you at nothing but your word. You are a liar and a thief. How do I know you really have my sister?”.

Coriolanus’s wonderful morning was now ruined. Mabel had been so perfect the past few days and now the spell had been broken.

He rises from the bed, going over to his wardrobe to get dressed as he speaks. 

“Do you want to see her?” He offers. 

“Yes”, Mabel commands. 

Dropping the sheet, she hurriedly dresses in the same green dress she always wears. 

Coriolanus takes his time, flipping through his large wardrobe to find a shirt. 

Mabel pushes past him, grabbing the first shirt she sees and shoving it at Coriolanus. 

He backhands her for it and she tumbles to the ground in a heap. 

“I was going to say we could bring her breakfast but it seems neither of you will be eating this morning”, he taunts. 

This time she waits on the floor for him to choose a shirt. He lays it on the bed before going back to pick pants and shoes. 

When he begins to dress into his pants, Mabel rises from the floor and takes the hem of his pants into her hands. 

He lets her do so, dropping his hands to his side and watching her under a curious gaze. 

She helps him dress into his shirt and shoes. She never once looks at him and he never once looks away. 

He knew that she was trying to dress him as fast as she could so she could see her sister. But there's a domestication to it that Coriolanus loved. 

He leaves the room wordlessly and she follows him out of the apartment and into the elevator. He only stops to grab his coat and keys. Mabel knew it would only be a quick visit before he left for the day. 

Level 3, she commits to memory. 

Coriolanus seemed too relaxed to be showing her. He seemed almost bored to be showing her. 

Mabel knew that Coriolanus had her sister. She didn’t know that he would be so quick to show it. She had prepared herself for a series of nagging before he relented and either showed her where her sister was kept or brought her sister up to her. 

Knowing where her sister was kept was the first step in forming a plan to get her out. Coriolanus gave it up too easy. 

He was a smart man but too egotistical. 

A week of playing docile and he had forgotten the threat Mabel posed. 

The third level opened to a long hall but only one door. She followed Coriolanus to it where he dug through his pocket for his keys. 

Finding the right one he held it out for Mabel to take. She takes careful note of which key it was and inserts it in the lock. 

“After you” he states. 

Mabel felt as if she could throw up as she twisted the key in the lock. 

The apartment is empty and for a second she thinks Coriolanus had played a terrible joke on her. 

He pushes her into the apartment and the door locks behind them. 

“Livy!” Mabel called for her sister, “Livy!”. 

A shuffling noise is held and a small body dashes out from a cupboard. 

Mabel drops to her knees to retrieve her sister who shoots into her arms. 

Her name could be heard from her sister's small voice between large sobs. 

“It’s okay” Mabel promises, “Oh god’. 

Livy was barely 6 and could easily be picked up by Mabel who distanced her and her sister from Coriolanus. 

“I’ve never lied to you, Mabel,” Coriolanus stated.

Mabel nods, “No, you haven’t”. 

“So let’s go”, he nods back to the door. 

Mabel walks to the door with her sister in her arms but is stopped by Coriolanus. 

“I can’t leave her”, Mabel begs.

“Find a way”, he retorts. 

Mabel knew it was for the best. She could figure a way to get her sister out. The Penthouse was too secure.

Coriolanus was too preoccupied with keeping Mabel there. 

Escape was impossible there but a level unguarded and only one lock to get through? Mabel could get through that. 

She places her sister down despite her screaming. A plan was already forming in her head. 

“I’ll be back” she promises. She wipes the tears away from her sisters eyes and places a kiss on her head. 

“You’re safe and I’ll be back”, she reiterated. 

Livly grabs hold of Mabel's leg, begging her to stay and take her home. 

Mabel tries words, bending down and rubbing her sisters back as she spoke. 

Coriolanus, tired of the scene, used force to separate the two. 

Mabel tries to fight off his hold from her sister, to pull her close once more but Coriolanus tore her from Mabel’s grip and took the squirming girl over to the couch where she was thrown on the soft cushions. 

Mabel followed close behind so as soon as his hands were free of Livy, he took hold of Mabel’s arm and pushed her back out the door. 

The little girls cries could be heard from behind the door. It was an unbearable minute that it took for Coriolanus to remove the key from the lock and retreat back to the elevator. 

The big metal door shut out the sound completely, but brought Mabel back to the front entrance of her prison. 

The security measures were more complex and Mabel stood stunned while Coriolanus went through them all. 

The door finally opened and Mabel was flung inside. 

Despite her sadness and anger, Mabel did not cry as she was tossed to the hard floor. 

She rolls on her back and looks up to the high ceiling forming a plan in her head. 

—-------------------

Coriolanus spends the rest of the day with the boy. 

He had forgotten the chocolate promised. 

The boy took the news hard, but sensing that Coriolanus was already irritated he kept his disappointment to himself. 

They went over questions that Coriolanus formed. Even spent an hour just practicing the walk from the curtain to the stage. 

Everything was crucial to the performance. One mistake could cost Coriolanus having the most popular tribute. 

Coriolanus was nothing if not a perfectionist. 

The other Game makers visited their tributes at the training house. A Saturday couldn’t be wasted with friends and family. Not if Dr Gaul was involved. 

Still they broke for lunch at an expensive restaurant in the city. Coriolanus was glad for the distraction. 

They spoke of the impossible task of making the tributes ready for the interview.A few even spoke of their persona they were going to push. 

No one but Coriolanus wanted their tribute to seem weak. James would have no problem standing out. 

The news lightened Coriolanus who stopped by the shops on the way back to the training house to pick up the chocolate promised to the boy. 

When he did return home, the smell of burning filled his nose. 

He rushed to the kitchen where pots could be heard clanging together. 

Mabel was there, covered in flour and bending to take a burnt cake from the oven. 

“What are you doing?” he asks angrily. 

“Oh you’re home” Mabel says in a soft voice, “I am sorry. I didn’t hear the door open”. 

She places the cake next to several others. All of them were no good. Burnt, sagged, or an off color. 

With her hands free she walks over to Coriolanus wiping her hands on her dress and taking his coat from his shoulders. 

“I wanted to have something nice for you to eat when you got home, but I have never been a good cook. And that was with ingredients and kitchen stuff I knew”. 

“Don’t over-exert yourself. I have no need for you to cook” he says cautiously, watching her hang up his coat. 

“I know”, she states turning to look at him, “I just wanted to show you that I have changed. I’ve been thinking all day how foolish I’ve been”. 

She walks slowly over to him, ringing her hands together. 

“If I wasn’t so foolish, Livy wouldn’t be here”, she continued, stopping in front of Coriolanus. 

“I mean really I didn’t even mind that”, she doesn’t finish her sentence but looks up at Coriolanus. 

“I didn’t really mind you. But I fought against you anyway and it cost my parents both of their daughters”. 

“And you thought cake would solve that?” he mocks. 

“From where I am from, cake is how we show remorse” she wraps her arms around his stiff frame. 

He didn’t let her remain, pulling her hands away just after they landed. 

“I have work to do. Clean up your mess”, he demand. 

Coriolanus locks himself in his study. He could feel his resolve slipping as she buttered him up. It was important now, more than ever, that he remained in charge. But she had a funny way of turning his knees weak. 

He avoided her until dinner where they ate in silence. 

She tried to make conversation with him. Batting her eyelashes like he used to watch her do to other men. 

He slightly enjoyed watching her try to gain his attention. As a peacekeeper he used to beg for it to happen every night at the Hobb. 

His ignorance of her, only grew her attempts. She sat next to him and not across from him. Asked him question after question until she realized she wouldn’t get an answer.

“Coriolanus, I am trying” she finally said. 

He ignored her still, taking a piece of bread from the table. 

“Hey” she complained. Her hand reached out to touch his chest and he dropped the piece of bread to grab her wrist. 

Not touch. One thing he couldn’t ignore was her touching him. 

It felt like fire every time. He longed for it, he couldn’t ignore it. 

He shoves her hand away, quickly rising from the chair and storming off. 

He took a shower alone. Something he hadn’t done for a while now. 

Of course, he was going to give in to Mabel and her new way. He would be crazy not to. 

But watching her pine for him as he had pined for her was satisfying. 

Once again the order of things was returning. 

When he returned to the bedroom he saw her laying on the bed in his nightwear. The oversized bed shirt and old boxes that slipped down her frame. 

She was doing her homework. She doesn’t look up at him or speak as he enters the room. 

He scoffs quietly, now she is sulking. 

He picks up the book he is currently reading and enters the bed without a word. 

They remain like that with Mabel doing her work and Coriolanus reading his book. 

He gets four chapters in before Mabel disturbs him by thrusting her paper over his book. 

“Do you want to check it?” she asks. Normally he would and her nightmare lesson would begin again until she got it. 

He knocks the paper out off the road with his book so he could return to his reading. 

“No,” he states. 

“Good. I am pretty sure it’s wrong” she jests. 

She throws the paper to the ground which was something Coriolanus would normally scold her for but he can’t ignore her if he is scolding her. 

He also can’t ignore her when she places her body across his legs. 

She lays on top of him. Her head reaches his stomach where she pushes up the fabric of his pajama shirt and places three small kisses on his stomach. 

His eyes shut briefly from the thrill of it. His stomach tied in knots under her. 

The book is moved to the left, it hangs loosely in his hand over the bed. 

Without the book blocking her, she grins at Coriolanus. Knowing how irresistible she was. 

His spare hand reaches down to cup the back of her head, looking down at her in disbelief. 

Her fingers loop around the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for permission. It’s given when he raises his hips to accommodate her and the book drops from his hand. 

Coriolanus sleeps soundly that night. 

Mable had given him a massage after riding him long and hard. 

She was surprised by how quickly he had fallen asleep. His hair splayed out across the pillow as he lay on his stomach, his hands under his pillow as Mabel digs her hands into the mussels of his shoulders. 

She snaps her fingers a few times in his ear to ensure he was asleep before sliding off him and dressing in his dressing gown. 

As slightly as she can she sneaks down the hallway to where he kept his keys by the front door. The door in front of her required more than a key to get in so he felt no threat leaving them there. 

She slides out the draw of the hallway cupboard to retrieve the key she hid earlier. It was the closest match she could find. 

It wouldn’t fool him if he looked but she would just have to make sure he never looked. 

The key to her sisters door is taken off and the decoy is returned in its place. 

She moves to the kitchen next, taking out the wet cake mixture from the fridge and sinking the key to the bottom. The cake was small; it would only take a few cuts to find it. 

Slowly and carefully to avoid making noise she places the cake in the oven and sits in front of it watching it bake. 

Coriolanus woke with the feeling of his hair being pushed back. 

His eyes flick open to see Mabel laying on her side next to him. A heavenly sight to see first thing. 

He had almost convinced himself it was all a dream last night. 

“Morning. The kitchen staff need to be let into the knife draw. He keeps pointing at it”, she says. 

He rolls over to check the clock. Quarter to 8. 

He shouldn’t have slept in. No matter how peaceful his sleep was. 

With a groan he rolls out of bed and Mabel jumps down next to him. 

“I told them to prepare the food downstairs,” He said, annoyed. 

He notices she was wearing his dressing gown. It incites a need to have it for himself. To feel her warmth against his body. 

He spins her by her shoulders so he could slide the dressing gown off and put it around himself. 

She makes no complaints as he does so. Running back to the wardrobe to get another to protect herself from the cold. 

“Put your slippers on. It's cold this morning” he demands but does not follow the same advice. 

Coriolanus had so many clothes and shoes it made it hard to find anything among it, but eventually she finds her slippers wedged between the cupboard wall and a shoe rack. 

She turns to find Coriolanus had left the room. She follows him to the kitchen where a frightened chef watches as Coriolanus unlocked the knife drawer. 

“Don’t let it happen again” he warns the Chef who nods his head in agreement. 

His eyes shoot out at Mabel as if she was a traitor but surely he must realize who the knife drawer was locked from. 

Coriolanus stayed in the kitchen until the Chef was done, and another servant washed, dried and returned the knife so the drawer could be locked once more. 

Mabel waves at her friend as the girl rushes past to plate up the food. 

No wave is returned, but Mabel smiles anyway. From the corner of her eye she could see Coriolanus glance at his keys with a curious expression. 

She dashes over taking hold of his arm and tugging him forward. 

It worked to distract him. The keys were placed down and he willingly followed Mabel to the table.

“You’re in a good mood this morning” he comments. 

She pushes him into the chair by his shoulders and climbs on top of him. 

“You’re in a bad mood this morning” she replied, “can’t say that’s ever happened to me before”. 

Her fingers card through his hair and he leans back into his chair.

“I bet it hasn’t” he remarks. 

The servants come to display the food on the table. Coriolanus takes his hands from her waist expecting her to get up but she remains. 

She does swing her legs out from either side of him so she was sat on one side. 

Thanking them as they place the food, Mabel reaches out for a bacon strip and eats half of it before offering it to Coriolanus. 

He denies being fed. Leaning forward himself to plate his own food. 

Did she think he was a fool? He thought to himself. Was she deluded enough to think Coriolanus would buy this change of heart act?

She played the part for the benefit of her sister, he understood that. 

Still felt somewhat rewarding to reap the benefit of his hard work, so he was hesitant to call her on it. 

She yawns as he reaches for his cup of coffee. 

“Did you not sleep well last night?” he asks her before taking a sip. 

Mabel thinks back to the cake with a sly smile. 

“Best night sleep I’ve had in a while actually”, she answers honestly. 

Mabel looked best when she had just woken. Coriolanus had always thought so. 

Her hair was wild and messy, her eyes were heavy still carrying sleep, and her lips were always so plump and red. She must bite them either as soon as she wakes up or during the night. 

She takes his cup from his hand, bringing it to her lips to have a taste. 

“Uh, I don’t know how you drink that”, she complains putting it back on the table.

“You’ll get used to it”, he says, “You seem to get used to things quite fast with proper motivation”. 

A tense smile pulls on Mabel's lips, and she averts her eyes to the table. 

“Has she eaten today?” Mabel asks. 

“She eats at seven every morning. Good food. Proper food. Not district slop”. 

Mabel turns her head back to him, bringing her lips to the point they were hovering over his. 

“Well, how can I thank you?”. Her words carried ill-intent. He would hear the disdain in her voice as she spat them from her mouth. 

“You can get off me so I can get ready for the day”. An almost perfect morning, ruined by acknowledgement of the large elephant in the room. 

As he walks back to the bedroom he wishes that he refrained from taking the jab at her. Who cared if she was acting the fool? At least she was acting like his fool. 

When he enters the room dressed for the day it seemed Mabel was back to her new self. 

She stood as he enters the room. 

“You’re leaving already?” she asks. 

“Yes” was his short reply. 

“Wait” she calls as he heads towards the door. 

He halts in his spot, watching her run into the crowded kitchen. 

It startles the servants as she shoots pass them

She takes the cake from the fridge, the parchment under it reading “level 3. Find her”. 

There was only hope that it would get to Mrs plinth and even more hope that she would go against her husband to follow through. 

Still she was Mabel’s only chance. Ma plinth was a good person. Still district- still human. 

She was sure to listen to a desperate plea. 

She takes the two plates and pass the servants who squashed themselves to stay out of her way. 

Coriolanus watches her bring the cakes out from the kitchen. 

“One for Ma” she raises the smallest cake tin, “and one for Dr Gaul”. 

“Cakes?” Coriolanus questions fixing his tie. 

“Apologies” Mabel reminds him, “just make sure you don’t mix the two. Ma has a district recipe that won’t be appreciated by Dr Gaul”. 

Coriolanus sighs he wanted to say no but the last 24 hours had been so nice. 

Ma was just below him and he would see Dr Gaul at work. Maybe the cake would serve as a pointer to his good work. 

So he takes the cakes from her hands. 

She points once more to the cakes,  “Ma. Dr Gaul” she reiterates. 

Coriolanus nods, going to leave her.

She catches his face between her hands to stop him, reaching up on her tippy toes to kiss him. 

He freezes. He wanted to kiss back but by the time he could gain control of himself again she was pulling back. 

She tabs his hands as she spoke to indicate as she was talking, “Ma. Dr Gaul”. 

“I understand” he assures. 

“Good”, she grins, “I’ll see you when you get home”. 

The thought made Coriolanus feel giddy. 

He leans down to kiss her once more. Half of him didn’t want to go to work but he was determined that Mabel would not stray him from his path. 

Mabel sees him to the door and waves him off 

“Please, please, please” she mutters under her breath. 

tag list;

@bruher

@hiatuswhore

@swimmjacket

@immyowndefender

@namelesslosers

@lovelymoonkiid

@queenofshinigamis

@acidaciruela

@briefwinnerpersonaturtle

@tian-monique

@someonefromwutheringheights

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

I always feel pretty dumpy after getting dumped. Tonight was no different. I decided to walk the grounds one last time, and the tranquil beauty of the gardens seemed extra mean somehow. Like I was walking through something beautiful that I never even got a chance to miss. No chance to enjoy. Just rejection. Again. And the same message, though at least this time they tried to be kind about it.

Please never practice magic like that again. Bards were mages until you were too good at singing. Then things got suspicious to the headmasters. Song could be such a powerful tool and manipulate people across the field the way that death could. Put death and song together and humans always got so uncomfortable. And when it came to humans, nothing was more unlucky than a sweet death. They say the way they want to die is old and in bed surrounded by their families but...it's never true. Every single one of them secretly yearns for some kind of glory in their hearts, and it just rots and rots and rots as they age. I'd know. I'm human too. But I'm also banshee and people can just feel it. Especially those who are academically inclined. In some cultures they saw us as prophets... until they learned that the angels sing in our ears and fall out of our throats. Also people only like the idea of prophets. Tell them enough future truth and they start looking for the matches and rope. Or a crucifix.

Bewitchment. Enchantment. Manipulation. No one wants to invite a banshee to the table where everyone is sweet and happy and alive with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes.

I'm an omen. It's kind of lonely. But I get it. I suppose if I were someone else I'd feel the same.

I found myself in a gazebo near the tallest of the little sculpted waterfalls in this garden. I liked the way the water sang and flowed as it poured itself over the rocks. It was summer, so there were fireflies, and I could get back to being lost in my thoughts a bit as I watched the way they all twinkled around each other. My son used to say they were all teleporting. I laughed at him, kissed the top of his head, and earmarked that for later because that might be something he ends up being keen at. My daughter used to say she had the power of the forest when she was very young, and gods if she couldn't tell you exactly what creatures were thinking when they wanted something. The more specific the better with my daughter.

I shifted, crossing my legs over each other and anchoring my elbows on the wooden railing and letting my chin fall heavily into my palms. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to catch and understand the direction and pattern to the way the wind blew tonight. The air smelled like roses and jasmine and I looked up to see the little white flowers hanging from their vines right above me. There were lanterns of golden light and everything felt smoky and indigo. A moonlit darkness that was so easy to see around but too misty to see through.

Was it the song, I wondered? I replayed the interview in my mind. I've been learning how to perform on a stage and have gotten to this point where I fall fully into the music. I don't let my mind control the song anymore, but trust my heart to attune and express it authentically. Sometimes my heart sounds drunk or bitter. Sometimes it sounds like delight and perfection. Today... I couldn't remember. I'd found that I could trick people into thinking maybe I was some sort of reformed cleric turned bard if I sang religious songs. Today I considered a shanty because those work too. But in the end I settled on a lullaby and at first everyone looked peaceful and happy but then that look came into their eyes when they realized where they were and what was going on.

Someone told me once that it was frightening to find yourself suddenly disarmed, especially if being vulnerable wasn't something you were used to being with people. I saw that happen in real time today, and suddenly understood what he meant.

Yay, more awareness.

That brought a bit of temper to my system so I stood up and walked over to the stream to sit down. The grass was wet but I didn't care. I took off my shoes and put them into the water that ran clear and cold over a stone bottom. It was deep enough to cover my ankles. I put my palms to the earth behind me, took a deep breath, and let my head fall back as I sighed it out.

I was so fucking disappointed.

But, I'd still done it. I took the chance. I learned something. All of it sucked. I'd maybe built a few sandcastles in my mind about how my life would fit into the routine that school would have brought me. I let myself sit and grieve what was never mine but still felt lost to me. I imagined the tide of this rejection crushing all the sandcastles in one giant wave. I felt my emotions rise out of my heart, making my throat sore, took another deep breath, and sighed as I let the tears release the sadness and flow down my cheeks like the current at my feet.

Fuck, I really really wanted something else to happen. I wanted the outcome I wanted. And I didn't want any other outcome. I didn't want to go to another school. I didn't want to look at other schools. I didn't want to be a bard if I couldn't go to this school. I didn't want anything.

My body shook with a little sob as my shoulders slumped back.

I didn't want anything ever again and-

Suddenly I was laughing, and I just collapsed. I laughed and cried at the same time and rolled around in the grass. If I was going to be a fucking child like this about this I was going to commit and be a child. My heart was broken a little bit and the grass was so wet and awful but it smelled so good. I closed my eyes and cursed as I realized my hair was going to be wet now that I did this and...

There was a cough and a "Ma'am?"

I froze like a rabbit. Then I closed my eyes tighter just in case this was a dream and I could escape the inevitable embarrassment of someone from the school that rejected me seeing me rolling around in the grass like an animal. The moments clicked by awkwardly and I didn't cut to the next scene, so I opened my eyes to face the music.

Security guard. Handsome. I always liked a man in uniform. Flirting was not going to help me escape embarrassment but it could make this story more interesting. As though he were reading my mind, his face darkened with an expression that read plainly don't even try it. Great, a challenge. The only thing I can't resist. His arms crossed as we both seemed to take in each other's character in this particular moment. He scowled deeper.

I sat up like a naughty child and patted at my hair, then shook it out like a dog would. He was watching closely. My head tilted to the side and I beamed angelically. "Sorry, you caught me making grass angels," I chirped merrily.

In order to be admitted to a magic school potential students only need to provide irrefutable proof that they are mages, yet, despite your very obvious abilities, you were rejected with a comment asking you to "please never practice magic again".

[dostoyevsky-official]

this a view of someone who's ignored european developments since 2007, opting for a rosy, outdated view of european politics, i.e. the exact type of american committing the exact type of mistake i'm warning about.

to address this point by point: not only has inflation been a global issue, but the US has consistently enjoyed the lowest inflation of any developed economy. american CPI has remained below the british, polish, and eurozone average numbers. european economies have to deal with fallout from the russian invasion of ukraine that the us can ignore: notably, in energy prices, as the US became self-sufficient in energy (and never imported any from russia to begin with, something squeezing the german economy). america is also not hosting millions of ukrainian refugees.

when discussing european instutions—and "europe" in general—one has to be more specific. do you mean the overarching institutions of the EU, criticized for a democratic deficit that many have pinpointed as one source for euro-skepticism and the rise of the far right? the EU Council, widely ignored and headed by charles michel, an incompetent, blatant nepobaby appointment whom everyone grinds their teeth over? the EU parliament, recently filled with a fresh batch of far-right hooligans, which functions more or less as a rubber stamp for the commission? the EU commission itself, headed by VdL, the latest in a string of failed local politician commissioners (who remembers the alcoholic swindler juncker?) masquerading as technocrats? the ECB, which smothers the monetary (and through the maastricht criteria, the fiscal) policy of eurozone members, thereby fueling resentment, far-right movements, and economic disparity? and all of this held hostage by the veto of one orban or fico, —or the german supreme court, when it decides it's had enough with public investment. those institutions, which remain so opaque that even educated americans—and europeans—aren't entirely aware of their function?

or do we mean the institutions of individual countries, ranging from undemocratic autocracies like hungary to the fief of the jupiter king, who called elections in june, lost them, refused to nominate a prime minister from the winning coalition, didn't name any for over a month, and then appointed a rightwing politician from a party that scored dead last, sidestepping his own centrist party? the UK, where sir keir is handing out five years in jail time to climate protesters, raising tuition fees, relying on private investment companies, and through rachel reeves' plan to fix the alleged budget hole left by hunt before further investment, again enacting austerity? this is all front-page headline news from the last half year.

european countries indeed have cheaper healthcare costs, better pensions, and other public goods that the united states does not. when considering "quality of life," remember, however, that most european countries have unemployment rates considered astronomic in america, especially for under-35s:

to focus again and again on european social democracy is to ignore that it has been steadily eroded since the end of the cold war and especially since the great recession by neoliberal political forces that crush the left and open the door for the far right. in the most blatant example, beside's macron's legislative politricks, the IMF-ECB-EC troika cut off euro cash liquidity flow to greece when syriza was trying to undo austerity under varoufakis. the greek collapse consigned a generation to economic failure, killed seniors, and curtailed possibilities for the youth. this erosion happened even in the nordic model, long imagined by americans as nothing short of a utopia:

In part due to the scrapping of wealth and inheritance taxes and a lower corporate tax than both the U.S. and European averages, Sweden has one of the most unequal distributions of wealth in the world today: on a level with Bahrain and Oman, and worse than the United States. Perhaps most dispiriting for Sanders, Sweden also now hosts the highest proportion of billionaires per capita in the world. Many of the country’s trademark social services are now provided by private firms. Its private schools even benefit from the same level of state subsidy as public schools—a voucher system far more radical than anything in the United States and that Democratic politicians would be crucified for advocating. Both here and there, right-leaning commentators in 2020 decried Sanders’s portrait as little more than what Johan Norberg, Swedish author of The Capitalist Manifesto, has called a 1970s “pipedream.” On this, Swedish observers on the left gloomily agree: despite official rhetoric, the “Nordic welfare model” is now more nostalgic myth than reality. (x)

to problematize further, there's an unadressed first world perspective: who's getting the good quality of life, why are the main economies of the EU so wealthy, and how does the EU continue to enrich itself? there are certainly many living outdoors today, drowning in the mediterranean, or dying of exposure in białowieża. fortress europe is a crime against humanity—and it doesn't beat back the far right. it weakens civic and human rights, undermines legal oversight, and criminalizes humanitarian engagement, allowing an authoritarian creep.

you shouldn't understand the political and the historical as a snapshot in time, but as a moving train. this is the state of europe today. all of the above is necessarily a simplification and an abbreviation, but there's a trajectory you can begin to trace out: given all of the above, where do you think europe is headed?

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Remember in the Alex hirshe comic con thingy he mentioned that Bill would also watch The Duchess approves

Soooooo would that mean that Stanfraud would watch cheesy old lady soap operas with Stanley?

Also has there been moments where Bill conceplated what will happen when he gets back to his body, what will happen to this family (while not his) that has become attached to.

Another thing I was thinking is how betrayed would Ford feel that Stanley was essentially playing house with Bill and how much anger would he feel at Bill for taking away time he could have had spent with his grand-niece and nephew, and with his brother?

This au is so incredibly interesting >v<!!!

They absolutely watch cheesy soap operas together — all the time. It’s become their thing, honestly.

Bill definitely catches Stan writing his erotic fan fiction (canon information on the website) and will never let him live it down — ever. He does offer to proofread though! But Stan threatens to play synthesised music to get rid of him.

As for Bill’s thoughts on getting his own body back. It’s always been there in the back of his mind, usually as a positive. Finally, he can be free of this annoying skin puppet and get back to prepping for weirdmaggedon. Finally, he can be himself again! But, as the reality of it draws closer, he begins to experience hesitance, which he wasn’t quite ready for. Why would he be hesitant? He’s waited thirty years for this!

(His eyes tend to linger on the two photos Stan keeps down in the basement, one of the twins, and one of everyone: him, Stan, Wendy, Soos, and again, the twins).

Stan also feels a sense of… sadness, maybe? He isn’t quite sure what it is. But there’s something hanging over both of them as they’ve almost figured it out, and, despite the complications behind their friendship, Stan can’t help but ask:

“You’re not gonna just… disappear, are yah? Kids’ll miss you if you did.”

‘I’d miss you’ goes unsaid.

And Bill probably has to pause for a second, caught off guard. Stan swears he almost catches a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, but it’s gone too fast, and Bill forces a grin.

“Oh please, Fez. You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you tried!”

There’s an uncertainty in his voice. Stan doesn’t comment on it.

Honestly, thinking about Weirdmaggedon, I don’t think Bill would be ready to accept how drastically he’s changed yet, even now, and would try to prove this by sticking with it. Albeit, he makes some changes. He doesn’t have to put the Pines in danger! They can be V.I.Ps! Shooting Star’s already a servant of chaos as is, he can let her whip up some creations to terrorise the town! And for Pinetree? Weirdmaggedon would be a front row seat to Gravity Falls’ weirdness on full display. With so much to study, how could he hate it? And Fez hates the law as is, why not let him be above it. Surely he’d appreciate the gesture after all they’ve been through together. A little token of his appreciation. And Sixer… well, he’ll come around once he sees just how safe Bill is keeping their his family. Maybe he’ll even throw Ice and Question Mark in the mix, just to cover all his bases.

Rationalising like that… it makes him a little less hesitant about getting his body back.

He doesn’t tell Stan of course, or anybody, even after it’s revealed who and what he is. It has to be a surprise!

And finally, Ford.

He honestly makes me really upset in this au, because you’re 100% right. He hasn’t just lost 30 years of his own life, he’s also lost 30 years of family. He’s missed his parents’ funerals, the birth of his grand niece and nephew, etc. And apparently, Stanley knew how dangerous Bill was, read all of Ford’s warnings and scattered notes, and still let him be around the kids, still played house with him all those years.

How has Bill manipulated him? He thought Stanley was smarter than that!

He can’t even be happy to bond with his niece and nephew, because they’ve been deceived into thinking he was someone else for months — Bill, no less!

Honestly, it hurts the most when he truly accepts Stan hasn’t been manipulated. He isn’t doing this because he’s been backed into a corner, even if it started off that way. He’s genuinely bonded with that monster. So have the kids. So have the townsfolk who Ford struggled so hard with to connect with.

It’s a lot of salt being rubbed into open wounds.

[muttthecowcatridesagain]

Yes this is all true. HOWEVER, as someone who does sew - fabric quality and fabric sources were drastically affected by the pandemic. And as far as I'm aware have not fully recovered (and may never fully recover).

Most of the fabric for the entire world is produced in china. Especially for more uncommon fabric types, if something happens to the factories (or in some cases factory singular) that make them, it affects the supply for the entire world. There are certain fabrics that have become much more difficult to source due to this reason. For instance, I've had a particularly difficult time sourcing gobelin (or tapestry) fabric. You see the same 3-4 patterns of tapestry fabric used for anything new recently because those are literally the only patterns being produced in that fabric period. And this is just one example.

Even Joann's mentioned above closed many of their stores in the last year. I don't really have a real fabric store anywhere in my area anymore outside of the local quilting shops. But the fact of the matter is that plain cotton, especially quilting cotton, does not look good for many clothes. Making thoughtful fabric choices when hand making clothes can make the difference between something looking amateur vs professional. For most clothes, quilting cotton does not do the trick imo

The other factor in this is that a downstream consequence of making most of the textiles for the whole world in just a few places is that certain textile techniques and individual fabric types are gradually lost over time. This has already happened to many fabrics and will continue to happen as the majority of the world's population relies on buying clothes rather than making their own.

And there's not really a good solution to any of these things.

In summary, if you have decided to make your own clothes, try to source used/second hand fabrics. There are many available if you look for them and are normally going to be higher in quality in general given all the above reasons. Obviously, this isn't a strategy that will last forever, but in recent years this has been my preference at least. I'm still hopeful that quality will slightly increase again as everyone gradually recovers from the pandemic

so many articles about Fast Fashion, not enough articles about what the hell is happening to the quality of clothes

Like okay. People own more pieces of clothing nowadays and they wear them a lesser number of times before throwing them out. BUT.

Why do we pretend like this is pure vanity or careless wastefulness, rather than forced by the qualities of the clothes themselves?

The other day, I was going through boxes of old clothes in the basement in search of fabric to practice sewing on. The difference in quality of the fabrics themselves is shocking! The worn-out old jeans from twenty years ago are MUCH thicker and tougher than anything more recent. My old baby clothes are made as sturdy as my work clothes from today.

In the past couple years, I have had entire seams rip out of clothes on the first wash. That's not normal!

Polyester blend shirts that feel cozy and soft when they are new, become scratchy and rough after 20 washes or so. I am trying to avoid polyester, but it gets harder and harder; the other day i couldn't find a single pack of crew socks that was 100% cotton. SOCKS!

Also, pilling is out of control. The newest pants I bought developed pills within a single day of walking around campus with a backpack.

These companies are trying to frog-boil us but touching clothes from twenty years ago, the useless crap of today would stick out like a sore thumb...

[aureliusssss]

You know what I cant understand?

I've been called a "rapist apologist" simply for saying to separate the art from the artist. I can speak for so many people when I say I despise Neil AND his actions. We aren't the victims of his acts, the women are.

But don't for a second get upset at someone else being HAPPY about Good Omens. We've just lost about 3-4 hours of screen time in return for a movie. And I'm RELIEVED we got something in the end but I don't understand how it's still a topic for controversy to just be HAPPY that it exists.

I love the fandom, I love the creativity and comradery that comes with existing in the fandom. I have never felt so accepted to just enjoy something with others in an enormous group. But the fact this is still getting ruined by those who have to make a mockery out of everything disgusts me.

Believe the victims. But also believe in the happiness of a fandom which has existed for so long now. Do it for Terry. Not for the people who ruin it!

ANYWAYS

To The World

[pzychojinx]

so, jinx in act one of season two. see, for three years i expected a full on descent into chaos and madness beyond any repair. i'd made peace with that, too. so i'm surprised - pleasantly, joyfully surprised.

very long analysis ahead on where they're taking her and how it speaks to me.

we first meet her again during silco's eulogy sequence - a beautiful sequence, halfway between dreamlike and real. "just like when vander shoved off", she says about his death. except it's not. after vander's death, after vi's perceived abandonment, everything jinx could feel was self-centered. she would say "she's not my sister anymore". she would devalue these people entirely. in fact, every single reaction to any action done by her loved ones would be self-centered and extreme. that is very much how her mental process works, how her trauma caused her to work. and more so: when silco would ask of her any work, any mission, she'd do the job purely for his sake, his affection, his approval, never caring about the cause.

in short, she was never able to get out of her own head for as much as a single minute. now, she starts the funeral off with "chembarons warring for control of the lanes. wannabe street thugs squabbling over scraps. just like when vander shoved off." and it's not about her abandonment anymore. it's not about being left alone. it's not about her. she's talking to silco about his city, his legacy, his world, his chembarons, his lanes. she's out of her own head, and it's the first time we ever see it.

"because someone put all those holes in you", she says then. and this is so interesting because there's obviously a dissociation here, as well as a very intense grief and sadness. we are obviously still dealing with someone who's deeply traumatized and unstable, but let's compare this with powder after the deaths of vander, mylo and claggor. powder had a full breakdown, both turned into a complete de-evaluation of vi as i was mentioning earlier and full desperation. "i only wanted to help, i only wanted to help, i only wanted to help".

this chaotic desperation is something jinx kept within herself throughout the entirety of s1 up until - the tea party. which i'm getting at, in a minute. point being, for now, that the jinx we see during silco's eulogy is grieving and lost and rootless and asking herself "what am i supposed to do with that?", but she lacks the chaotic full-on desperation that would lead her to acts of explosive destruction and/or self-destruction in s1. in fact, she's incredibly quieter. she's more grounded, more present in her movements, in the way she fights, in the way she talks.

in retrospect even her final action in s1, the infamous missile, already had the energy we're seeing now. it wasn't instinctive, driven by hallucinations or trauma or rage or an unrestrained trigger; it was silco's legacy and it was calculated. silco's death, i think now, left jinx as rootless as she's ever been, but it also left her with an acceptance of who she is. "don't cry, you're perfect". the tea party ends with her 'choosing' jinx and if you'd asked me before season two, i would have said with full certainty it meant she'd be going to be a loose cannon. entirely and with no possibility of ever being anything else. that's not what i think now.

i think she came to terms with who she is. i think now that the seat at the tea party wasn't a symbol of complete derailing, it was in a way a symbol of acceptance. "here's to the new us". she's fought her fight between powder and jinx and the tea party has permitted her to gain, in some way, a sense of closure. very importantly, having lost what she perceived as vi's acceptance, and having lost a father, she has also been able to shed the constant and desperate need to be in their favor.

during the 'sucker' sequence, we see her going through the lanes with a hood on her hair, very low-key. loose cannon jinx would have never, ever done that. loose cannon jinx would, quite simply, not have cared. she would have been extra, and explosive, and in everyone's faces. she's preserving herself not to be found, and that's new. again, i think she's still lost and rootless and grieving and really asking herself what she's supposed to do now that she's entirely autonomous and i also think there's definitely still a lot of bitterness and rage when it comes to vi which we obviously get to see during their fight and in no way is she magically ~healthy or anything like that - however.

she is still walking those streets in a way that indicates self-preservation. it would have been very, very easy for jinx to be captured by any of those goons and/or got herself killed. and for some reason, whether that be an apathetic, mourning state or mind, or whether that be some gained peace in who she is, or both - she didn't.

given all this, the new element that season two act one has introduced for her that truly moved me and made me feel... healed in a sort of way, is the introduction of human bonds for jinx that defy her historical, co-dependent mechanism of idolization and de-evaluation. ergo, sevika and isha. this is incredible for her and most of all, it's realistic. it's a chance at something, but it doesn't feel forced, nor fairytale-esque, nor does it resemble your usual ~redemption arc.

sevika and isha function as people who she's building some bond with, and since she's a little bit less in her own fucking head, and since she's not clinging to them as idealized protectors / saviours and neither is she refusing them as betrayers, and since she's not constantly fighting between what she perceives as her double identity anymore, she finally has the possibility to experience healthier bonds. sevika functions as somebody who still ties her to silco, possibly the closest thing she has right now to any root she might have left, and it works: reminiscing silco with her, gifting her the arm, doesn't leave her utterly alone but neither does it let her fall into the trap of clinging onto yet another figure from whom to fully depend.

and isha, very obviously, functions as the possibility of healing her inner child which is a goldmine for her storyline. her bond with isha could clearly have a narrative tie to jinx & silco, to jinx & vi, and most importantly to jinx and powder herself - this is all quite obvious but again, it's not executed in a way that feels like a forced 'redemption arc' or whatnot. the idea of this little street kid who just imprints on her like a lost little duckling, which is in no way jinx's decision, simply feels natural and heartwarming. does this mean i presume such healing of her inner child is going to come easy to her? no. but it's something. it's something very different from anything she's ever experienced before.

even through the loss, the rootlessness, the grief and confusion, the panic attack we see her experiencing through the lanes as a consequence of the moment she sees vi and caitlyn's enforcer squad, even through the brutality of the fight with vi, - and this is all to say, she's still a very traumatized individual, which is important because it would have just been senseless to have jinx somehow get fully stable like a switch had been flipped - we're seeing something new for jinx here. i've seen many posts related to "i'm glad it's you", and i might be unpopular here but while i do think jinx still has an element of suicidality, i also think she was at least half bluffing there. comparing her micro-expressions with the ones back on the bridge fight with ekko, i'm under the impression she was testing vi, at the very least partially. "poisoning us with gas?" is also an interesting line because even in her attack at her sister, she's less focused on her own trauma and more on something that we've hardly seen from her before - belonging to the lanes.

all of this to say, i'm loving the path they're taking for her. it's still very much jinx. it feels like jinx. but she's not just about to wreak senseless and desperate havoc in order to be seen by either her sister or her father, because there's no one to be seen by anymore. she's not fighting a desperate battle between her identities either, because she's accepted her place. she's not loud and erratic, she's quieter and coming to terms with herself. closure is truly the word that comes to mind, for me, in how i see her arc right now. closure, and unexpectedly, possibility.

[zigdirty]

By the time I got off work this year, I’d already seen that the election had been called. I already knew the results.

Normally I have the tradition of watching this spectacular film every Guy Fawkes Day, November 5th, so I can enjoy it all over again, but also do I am always aware of how easily fascism can take over.

The irony of this Election Day being on Guy Fawkes Day, and the stakes of said election, were not lost on me. Not in the slightest.

But having been unable to watch it before I went to work Tuesday, I planned to at least start it before the end of the day. That is, until I saw the news.

All I could hear in my head was the speech broadcast across the emergency channel:

Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquillity of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well, certainly, there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. They were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic, you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night, I sought to end that silence. Last night, I destroyed the Old Bailey to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago, a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words; they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me, one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot.

This has played on repeat in my mind since I learned of the election results, searing itself into my psyche.

We are now at that place. We are now the people to whom V was speaking in the movie.

I cannot bring myself to rewatch this marvel of live-action film. I do not believe it would bring me joy any longer.

We have no one else to blame but ourselves.

And we have a long road ahead of us out of hell.

V for Vendetta (2005)

[marvelfanfics1]

Based on the scene where JJ saves Sarah from drowning but with maybank!little!reader instead!!

The sun casts an ever burning heat over the dunes of Morocco, Rafe and the pogues clinging onto the thought that you and JJ are alive and well, the constant unease going through the group but neither of them giving up hope.

Rafe sits on a dune with a good amount of distance from the others, lost in thought and staring at the ocean, desperately waiting for you to emerge any second.

If those idiots wouldn't have tied him in the bathroom he could've saved you, he could've prevented the worst thing he ever thought possible, losing you.

The thought of you all alone and scared, screaming for him to come and save you nags on his mind constantly.

Sarah occasionally goes over to him, pleading him to drink some water to keep at least hydrated, telling him that him dying from dehydration won't help you if you and JJ actually show up.

He keeps silent until she walks away again, grabbing the bottle of water and taking a few sips, the ache of his throat momentarily distracting him from the sting in his chest.

At night he couldn't get himself to sleep, too much on edge to close his eyes even for a moment. Everyone else is already sleeping and the silence is only broken by Sarah's sudden voice. "We'll find them soon. She'll be okay."

Rafe looks at her for a moment before looking back straight ahead again. "I never wanted her to be involved in this in the first place."

"Do you think JJ did? You know how she doesn't like to do what she's told, she's a Maybank after all." She responds, throwing another piece of wood into the fireplace.

Another day of waiting and Rafe keeping his distance, not wanting the others to see how terrified he actually is as he keeps turning the ring on his finger, the moment of where proposed to you before all this stuff happened replaying in his head.

Over the time in your relationship he kept promising that he will take care of you, to protect you from any harm, and he failed. He failed you.

Looking to the side his body stiffens, lifting his head when he sees blurry figures in the distance. He stands up, thinking he now starts hallucinating from the heat, lifting his hands to block the sun.

As the figures draw closer his legs automatically drag him in their direction, sliding down the dune. He picks up his pace, the shapes turning more clear.

You are so exhausted, your legs hurting together with your dry throat. JJ has an arm draped over your shoulders, keeping up his usual joking persona to light up your mood.

"I swear when we get that crown I'll buy a whole toy store empty just for you." He says with a smile and you giggle at that.

By the call of your name you stop in your tracks, tearing your gaze from the sand to see someone approach you both, instantly recognizing who the voice belongs to.

"Rafe..."

Letting your shoes fall from your shoulders you start running without hesitation, almost stumbling a few times as you can see Rafe more clearly and jump into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Rafe holds you tightly against him, fearing that if he lets go that you'll just disappear again. He buries his face in your shoulder, hearing you start to sob. "You're okay...I've got you."

"I-I thought you...I-" You stammer but he just shushes you softly.

"I'm here now. Daddy's here..." He assures you, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. "I'll never let you go again..."

He gently sets you back down onto the sand, pulling back to cup your face in his large palms, scanning over your face to make sure you're really standing in front of him, tears pricking in his eyes.

Rafe leans down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling back again. "I thought I lost you..."

"I-I was drowning but Jay saved me..." You explain while sniffling, turning your head to look at JJ who has his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Are the others okay?" JJ asks and Rafe nods.

"They're up there." He answers, pausing for a moment before asking. "You good?"

"As good as I can be." He replies, walking past you both and patting his shoulder.

You both follow behind him while Rafe has an arm around your waist to keep you close and you lean your head against him, your arms still wrapped around him as you continue walking.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer