#because all anyone who is permanently cold wants

[earthtooz]

jealous ratio bc i wont him, inspired by the simulated universe occurrence, banter about marriage hehe

"Dr. No. 5 asked me to be his research partner today," you mumble half-heartedly to Veritas. It was an ordinary night, you're curled into his side with your phone in hand, watching the latest series you've been invested in whilst he occupies his mind with a book, held by one hand whilst his other is wrapped around you.

However, when he registers your confession, he tenses, slightly scrunching the pages of his book as the arm around you stiffens, muscles contracting.

"And what did you say?" He asks, feigning collectedness.

"I agreed."

His book slams shut and he shoots upward to a sitting position, baffled by the nonchalance of your tone. How cruel, you have betrayed him in the most despicable of ways, do you not care? Agreeing to be someone else's research partner is akin to that of spitting on his heart and stomping it flat, have you no respect for the laws of academic loyalty (there is no such thing), or is he the only one in your relationship devoted to it?

An idiot. You will be working with an idiot and you somehow see no flaw in that, where is your integrity as his lover?

"What does that fool have that I don't?" He all but cries, yanking your phone from your hands and setting it on his bedside table.

"What are you blabbering about?" You ask, looking up at him with inquisitive eyes, confusion shining in your irises.

"I'm supposed to be your only research partner, I cannot believe that you've gone and betrayed me like this."

"Pray tell, Veritas, how is this a 'betrayal'?"

"I would never choose to be anyone's research partner if I'm not yours, but today I've discovered that my devotion is not only unreciprocated, but unappreciated! How unfathomable."

The purple-haired turns his muscular back to you, giving you the cold shoulder. Slowly you sit up and lean on his toned body, hand resting on his deltoid and you can already see the way he tries to fight the effects of your touch. "Dear, you wouldn't be anyone else's research partner because you think majority of people are 'idiots' and aren't worthwhile academics to invest time into."

"Precisely why I cannot believe that you have agreed to work with No. 5, who is undeniably, irrefutably, and undoubtedly, a simpleton!"

You bite your tongue when it threatens to spill that you think No. 5 is not as bad as Veritas assumes, but that would outrage the scholar even more and you do not want to spend the better half of your day purposefully ruining it.

"The pay was good," you reason, daring to place a kiss to his neck. "But you are still superior in my heart, Veritas. Do not fret, if I am to seek a research partner, you would be my first and only choice."

"How long will your project span for?" He asks begrudgingly.

"6 months of research, writing, and editing. After that, I am not too involved with the publishing process."

"Oh how it stains me picturing your name beside another imbecile's."

You sigh, sitting up straighter to wrap both arms around his neck. "Your name could be beside mine permanently if you got down to one knee and presented me a ring, but alas, perhaps I shall be waiting another few research papers for that to happen."

You can't see the fond smile on his face, but you yelp when he turns around suddenly to push you against the comfort of your mattress, his lips claiming yours.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[genderqueerdykes]

to every medical professional ever who complains about how working with fat patients is "harder":

why the hell did you go into medicine thinking it would be easy? for anyone, in any case? why the hell did you go into medicine thinking it would be an "Easy" career choice?

you're literally there to prevent people from dying, falling sick, or becoming permanently injured. that's an extremely difficult job no matter who you're working with. someone who can't keep on enough weight to survive is just as "hard" to deal with as someone whose weight genuinely impacts their health. all health issues are complicated and thus "hard"

even treating a cold can be difficult when someone has autoimmune issues. people literally die from the flu every single year due to complications. medicine is not and will never be "easy". claiming that fat people are "harder" to work with is a bullshit excuse that isn't even true. there are "average" weight people out there who struggle with extremely intense health issues that are not "easy" to deal with.

skinny and "average" weight people still can deal with horrific and difficult health issues. skinny and "average" weight people can develop cancer. they can have diseased organs. they can have issues with their red and white blood cell count. they can have life threatening allergies. they can frequently need surgery for a variety of reasons

surgery will never be "easy" no matter who you're operating on. a simple or "easy" surgery is still difficult. blaming fat people for medicine being difficult is taking the coward's way out. fat people do not make practicing medicine any more difficult- it's an inherently difficult field to get into

if you seriously get into the medical field because you believe it will be "easy" you're an idiot. it doesn't matter if your patients are critically thin, average weight, or fat- all of their problems will be "hard" to deal with because human health is scary. even if someone is dealing with a less "difficult" issue it's still going to be hard. don't go into medicine if you want a free ride through life: you're the one who's wrong if you seriously thought medicine would be easy.

[gunpowdercarousel]

Honestly MAJOR missed opportunity for Karlach to have some kind of permanent 'buff' that deals minor fire damage to anyone who touches her in melee. Like obviously it'd be strong for fighting beasts, because every time they hit her with claws/fangs they take damage, but just from a STORY-TELLING ASPECT?

How heartbreaking would it be when you're trying to cast Cure Wounds on her? In order to heal her, you have to hurt yourself and she KNOWS IT. You go to cast Longstrider on the party and you hesitate as you reach Karlach. Yeah, it's only a few points of damage, it's not that big a deal, but does she REALLY need it? Is it worth it?

You linger, hesitate. You realize you don't want to touch her. You realize that's what EVERYONE thinks when they see her. You realize she KNOWS You're hesitating, staring at her sheepishly as you try to think of whether or not it's worth the pain just to help her.

You learn to support her from a distance. Healing Word. It's not as effective, but you don't need to get hurt for her sake. And so she learns to get used to receiving help from a distance. Just words of encouragement. It's all anyone wants to give her. Maybe it's all she'll ever get.

Aid? Bardic Inspiration? You don't need to touch her to give it to her. You can keep her at a distance and not get burned. And you're still helping her.

It's just... cold.

[monzamash]

wouldn't dream of it lando norris x reader rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language, angst) requested by anon for monzamusings ✨

“What are you doing here, Lando?”

“I just needed to see you.”

Things had been good with Lando. You’d started dating a couple of months ago after being set up by a mutual friend who swore up and down that you were made for each other. And she was right for a time, over winter break when life was easy, no real responsibility or commitment needed to keep whatever it was between the two of you simmering away.

Fuelled by passion and lust with a dash of attachment. He was at your place every night nearly, besides Christmas day when you both agreed taking time away from family for a hook up was absurd. He was back in your bed the day after Boxing day, and working you over until New Years Eve, just the two of you tangled up in the sheets, closed off from the rest.

But then you flew to Monaco to see his world. Big mistake. 

It felt enormous. The constant attention and the anxiety, knowing that fans were sneakily taking photos at every opportunity, which always ended up on the silly gossip pages. And they were silly to begin with, salaciously lying about who you were and what you and Lando were until it got under you skin. Stomach churning.

There seemed to be a direct line of online hate funnelled your way and at first you promised Lando you could stomach it, until you couldn’t. It didn’t take long until reality seeped in, cold and harsh, tarnishing something that was so beautiful. It wasn't labelled but it could be in time, if his life was different – if he was a different person. 

Lando could feel you slipping away so he tried to bring you into his weird and wonderful world, to show you that it wasn’t so scary. But the more he introduced you to his "racing friends" and explained what a "paddock walk" was, the further you retreated and you knew a line needed to be drawn in the sand. Before it was too late.

Before it was too hard to let him go. 

It was callous in retrospect – a handwritten note left on his kitchen counter and slipping into an uber to Nice in the dead of the night. Cruel, really but necessary, you lied to yourself. Lando wanted to be surprised, he did. But everything you had written was true, he knew deep down that his life was fucking stressful, he didn't need reminding or how harsh people could be about the women involved with him and if it were anyone else, he would've slipped the letter in the rubbish bin and moved on.

But you were worth fighting for. And so here he was, on your doorstep in Shoreditch at 11pm on a Tuesday. It’s a wonder you answered the door but maybe there was a part of you that hoped it was him. Glassy eyed and dishevelled from the flight.

“I got your voicemails, I know where you stand but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Lando asked, the crease in his brow permanently furrowed in confusion.

“Because everything I needed to say was in the letter.” 

“What? This letter?” He scoffed, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the piece of paper he had been carrying since the day you left. Battered and torn. 

“All this tells me is that you’re scared to let me in and fine! I get that but if theres even a tiny part of you that wants me –wants us to try and make it work, then tell me because I want this…” Lando stepped forward, making his intentions clear.

“I want you.” 

“It’s not that simple,” You sighed, hands instinctively reaching for him as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you both inside. 

You wanted him more than anything.

“I know it’s not, baby,” He whispered back while you pushed the jacket he was wearing from his shoulders, “But we’re so good together… God, you’re beautiful.” 

Lando took a second to bathe in your beauty before tangling you in a fierce kiss, one that had you clutching his shirt even harder, dragging his pliant body towards your bedroom. He knew the way – every wall you came into contact with bringing you closer and closer to the edge of your bed, needy kisses between sharp inhales of breath. 

“I missed you so much, Lan.”

“Fuck, I’ve missed you more.” Lando whimpered as he hovered above and nestled himself between your thighs, hands roaming every inch of skin presented to him. 

The need to have him was bubbling over as you took him in your hand and guided him to where you needed, eyes squeezed shut as he fell forward, trembling arms holding up his aching body, “That’s so fucking good, baby – ugh, so tight f’me.”

You moaned in response as Lando slowly rocked forward, grappling with the surge of pleasure rushing to your core and the relief washing from your limbs. He was your missing puzzle piece and everything else was background noise, dulled when you had him like this – whimpering and moaning sweet nothings in your ear. Silver chains tangled between you as he pressed his greedy lips to your chest, leaving small bites as a reminder of his adoration and desire. 

“I need you, you know?” Lando purred into your ear as you held him close, fingers sprawled across his perspiring back as he fucked you deep, “These last couple of weeks have been hell without you… hated waking up alone and not having you beside me… not being able to hear your voice… I'm down so fucking bad.” 

His soft voice was breaking as the first droplets fell to your neck, “I know what it’s like now to lose you and I won’t ever take you for granted, I swear on my life…” 

Lando's sobs were quick to wrack his chest as you pulled him down, taking his full body weight in your embrace. He couldn't help but succumb to the emotions that had bottled up and finally spilled, every single worry dissipating as you held him close and soothed his tears with a soft hum. 

“Hey, it’s okay, baby – I’m here…” You cooed, brushing your fingers through his tousled curls and trying your hardest to keep it together. But you could feel the welling in your eyes, heartbroken for the man in your arms and the pain you had caused, no matter how much you believed you had done the right thing at the time.

“I know you’ve been dealing with so much and I never wanted to walk away – I just… I didn’t know what to do because I could feel myself falling for you but what I was too stupid to realise was that I was already in love with you – I think I have been since the moment we met…” 

Lando craned his neck, just enough to catch a glimpse of your beautiful eyes boring into his own – sincerity in every fleck. A small smile stretched across his face as he rested his forehead on yours, “I’m in love with you too. Have been since day one.” 

The smiles on your faces couldn’t have been any wider as Lando pressed a slow, sweet kiss to your pouting lips. You couldn’t help but giggle as he nuzzled into your neck, pressing kiss after kiss on your sensitive skin.

“You loooove me,” He sang, tickling your ribs with his eager hands before flipping onto his back and pulling you on top.  

“Oh, so I’m finishing us off, am I?”

“Yeah, I’m tired from the crying,” He shrugged and clutched your hips, playfully rutting them against his own. The moan that fell from your throat betrayed your mind, body and soul and Lando simply smirked, forever pleased with the effect he had on you. 

“If you weren’t so sexy I would leave you like this,” You teased back, rolling back and forth, edging both of you like a woman on a mission. 

“Please don’t ever leave me again,” Lando moaned, gripping tighter with every tantalising movement.

You shook your head and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his flushed cheek, “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

a/n – did i keep it under 1k words? of course not lol but hope you enjoyed x more f1 writing awaits ...

[cosmicalily]

"pilates princess" a changbin oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i was talking to @thevampywolf this morning about how there's a proper lack of changbin fluff fics on tumblr atm and i decided to make it my mission of the day to change that! i absolutely love binnie, he's the silliest, sweetest guy and i was thinking of how to blend his gym obsession with his adorable personality, and a (very much so in love) pilates princess was born!!

Seo Changbin did not have time for girls.

According to his roommate, Han Jisung, his one and only true love was the gym, where he spent almost every spare second of his day. His diet consisted of protein powder, chicken breasts, green smoothies and instant ramen. He only drank cold brews with absolutely no sugar, because he couldn’t stand sweet things. 

He was pretty quiet and some would say intimidating. Didn’t say a lot, didn’t do a lot.

But now, watching you, he felt something different. He felt strange. He felt soft.

Changbin looked over at you curiously from the bench press, pausing to catch his breath for a moment as you stretched your body like a cat, toes pointed, shoulders straight.

Dressed in a pale pink sports bra with a matching long-sleeved ballet wrap and black leggings, to say you looked a little out of place in a predominantly male gym was an understatement. Your hair was pulled back with a ribbon, a sticker-decorated water bottle by the side of your mat and an iced milky-green drink beside it.

You breathed slowly, stretching your arms forward and touching your toes before sitting straight, cocking your head at your one-man audience.

“Why are you watching me?” you wrinkled your nose in disgust, self-consciously placing a hand over your chest. “I’m here for the exact same reason as you, it’s not my fault the girls’ dorms don’t have a gym.”

Changbin flushed. “I’m sorry. It probably seemed creepy, fuck, it’s not, I promise. I’m just . . . curious. What were you doing? I’ve never seen anyone exercise like that. Everyone who comes in either beats the shit out of the boxing bag or lifts.”

“Pilates,” you smiled, looking less uncomfortable. “I got my instructing licence a bit ago, but the place I teach at is only open in the mornings. So if I’ve had an early class or lecture and want to work out in the afternoon, I have to come here. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here voluntarily. You guys are gross.”

He pouted. “I’m not. I’m cute.” 

“Yeah, sure you are, princess,” you chuckled, taking a sip from the green drink. You noticed him looking at it. “It’s matcha, do you want some?”

“Fuck no, my friend said that tastes like grass,” Changbin shook his head furiously.

You laughed at him, inching the cup closer to him. “C’mon, try a sip. You’ll like this one, it’s sweet. I always get vanilla in it since I can’t stand bitter drinks.”

He very cautiously leaned forward, looking at you carefully in case you recoiled when he pressed his lips on the straw. You didn’t, seeming less and less shy by the second, watching him eagerly as he swallowed.

“...and the verdict is?” you prompted.

“Where can I get my own?”

Jisung looked around Changbin’s room in shock, eyes comically wide as he took in his surroundings. Sure, it had been a week while he’d been staying with his parents, but surely Changbin’s life hadn’t changed so . . . drastically? Or had he somehow been invaded by some kind of pink fairy?

A pale pink sports bra lay strewn on Changbin’s bed, accompanied by a pair of soft grey flared leggings and a drink bottle. There was a handbag too, with ribbons and cute fluffy keychains, all belongings that most certainly were not his. But there were slightly more permanent looking changes, too. A pink MyMelody sticker on Changbin’s previously pristine laptop. A little beaded bow charm on his duffle bag. Two polaroids pinned above his bed; one of a girl making a kissy face, another of her with Changbin, pinching his cheek as he beamed at her adoringly.

Did Seo Changbin have a girlfriend?

And why wasn’t she a black-donning, gym obsessed weirdo like he was?

“Oh hi, Ji, you’re back!” Changbin smiled wide, something that Jisung swore he had never seen in all his time being his roommate. Or at least, not for a very long time. But Changbin had a whole different air about him; his body, although still buff, didn’t seem as tense as it usually was. His brow wasn’t furrowed and there was colour in his cheeks. And, for the love of God, had he blow dried his hair?

Jisung smiled back. “Hey, Bin. What are you drinking? New protein powder?”

“It’s a vanilla matcha, you should try it,” he handed it to Jisung, who took a tentative sip then stared, open-mouthed in shock.

“That’s . . . sweet.”

“No shit,” Changbin laughed at him, thumping his friend on the back. “It’s good, right? Y/N introduced me to them.”

Jisung handed it back, still suspicious that the real Seo Changbin had been abducted and that the man in front of him was a secret twin. “Oh, nice. Is that her stuff in your room?”

“Sure is,” a sweet voice chuckled from behind Changbin. A petite girl flew through the door, wrapping her arms tight around Changbin’s waist. “I’m Y/N, Jisung. It’s nice to finally meet you! Binnie’s told me so much about you two.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “And you’re . . . ?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Changbin said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, but he’s the babygirl. Everyone knows that,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “He’s a pilates princess now, Jisung, I’ve converted him. Surprised he wasn’t doing it earlier; it’s very him, you know.”

Jisung blinked slowly, taking in the sight in front of him.

“Seo Changbin? A princess?” he mumbled.

“Sure I am,” Changbin shrugged, and Jisung promptly fainted in shock.

[divinesolas]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Mean-Girls x Fem!Reader

"Just Girly Things"

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Bullying (Not at Reader), name callung, nude photos, coercion, dubcon touching, fem pronouns for the yans, mentions of school, general perversion, toxic behaviors, masturbation, sex toys, mean girls, dumbification, buying affection.

(AN: I'm not super proud of this one, but did my best. Never written a fem!Yan before.)

The sound of clicking keypads and the occasional scoff can be heard in Maggie Robinsons loft bedroom. As the most popular girl at Delta High, it was important her room look as perfect as her. She chews on the strawberry flavored gum in her mouth, scrolling through her phone. She scoffs. "Sasha, did you see Jenny Taylor's latest post?" Sasha gags and nods. "Totally a spray-on tan." Sasha says, and Maggie nods. "She looks like a fucking orange. I bet you that nerd she's been with, his dick is that same shade right now..." The two cackle.

"Is he sick?" The third and final member of the group of cheerleaders asks. "Why would his dick be orange?" Sasha sighs, and puts a hand on her friends knee. "Lindsey, his dick is orange because her fake tan would rub off on it. It isn't like, permanently that color. It was a joke." Sasha explains. Lindsey pauses and tilts her head, before giggling. "Oh, I get it!" She claps her hands together, shaking the sequinned bracelet around her wrist as she does so. Maggie grins and roll her eyes at Lindsey's air-headed nature. Luckily, Sasha is always around to explain he jokes, because Maggie won't. She likes to watch her dumb subordinate work things out slowly.

"What about you, newbie? Ever had a fake tan?" She whips her head over to face you. You gulp as the school's queen bee sets her sights on you. You aren't sure why she seemed so fixated on you since you joined Delta High. Maybe it's because you were pretty, or talented, or just really obedient, but she's been dragging you around like a little purse dog since you met her, with Sasha and Lindsey flanking you both at all times. "Um, no." You mumble. She nods, and says "Good, you already have good skin. I mean, you should get a little more tan, but not with that shitty spray stuff. Or, y'know, you'll turn some jocks dick orange." The three laugh. "Because the tan rubs off!" Lindsey giggles. Maggie rolls her eyes, and groans. "Yes, Lindsey. Thanks for explaining." Lindsey looks down.

"Speaking of, have any of the guys at school caught your eye? I mean, like, appropriate ones for you. Not a fucking mathlete dork or something." She asks. "Not really. I've never actually had a boyfriend." The three girls freeze, and gasp. "Seriously?" "You've never had a boyfriend?" Maggie asks. She waves frantically, trying to get you to sit beside her on her bed. "Why not?" She asks. "Do you have a sex disease? Like... like cancer?" Lindsey asks, eyes wide. "Sex cancer, seriously?" Sasha says, glancing at her blonde friend, who only shrugs. "No one was ever interested, I guess." You grimace. You hadn't ever been popular, only making Maggie's interest in you more jarring. You had finally gotten a peek at what it was like to be school royalty.

"Not interested? Aw, you poor baby." Maggie pouts. "That's why you have us, you know? To doll you up, and keep you popular, that way you can have anyone you want." Sasha chirps. "I can't believe no one ever tried to get with you, you're like, really pretty." You smile awkwardly. "Thanks, Lindsey."

Maggie scoots closer, and you bite back a gasp when you feel her cold hands on your tank top, cupping your breasts. "Honestly. The jocks at school are horndogs, they'll stick it in anything, I'm surprised you haven't gotten any attention because of these." She bites her lips as her eyes wander down to your cleavage. "They're natural, right?" You nod. You feel the bed dip behind you, as Sasha and Lindsey join the two of you on the bed. "So you've never kissed anybody?" Sasha asks, tilting her head as her curls bounce. "No, I've kissed a boy, back in church in like, middle school or something." You chuckle, shrugging and rolling your eyes.

"What about kissing girls?" Your eyes widen. You shake your head as you feel the three girls gazes resting heavily on you. "I haven't. Why do you ask?" Maggie grins. "You could try with us. You're one of us now, you've gotta live a little. I mean, you haven't even had a boyfriend, or done it with someone. Let us help you." She coos. She leans in, and you gulp. "Don't you have a boyfriend, Maggie? Jason, right?" She asks. Maggie nods. "Yeah, but like, he won't care. He'll probably think this is hot or something. Besides, it's just girls helping each other out. It's not like a random hookup, we're all friends here." She feigns hurt at your hesitance, pouting. "Don't you like us?" Lindsey whines, giving you puppy dog eyes as she rests her head on your shoulder from behind. "No, I like you guys, it's just-" You look at Lindsey. "Alright, we can do this." You sigh. Maggie grins, and puts her hands on your waist, pressing her chest to yours. "Good, it's not even weird. It's like, just girly things." She explains. She bites your lip playfully, making you blush as she finally presses her lips to yours. As you kiss the school's queen bee, you can taste the light strawberry flavor of her gum, and as she pulls away a string of sticky lip gloss connects your lips for a moment.

"See? You did good, especially for someone who's only kissed once before." Maggie coos. Lindsey pops up to kiss your cheek. "Your skin is so soft!" She giggles, nuzzling your neck. Sasha sits to the side, waiting for orders from Maggie. "Lemme see your chest." Maggie begins to tug up your tight, white tanktop, grinning when she sees that you have no bra on. "No bra, huh? Maybe you wanted us to do this?" She teases. "Pretty..." She circles her fingers around your left nipple, watching it pebble up. "I bet you're sensitive, huh?" Sasha asks. You can't speak, and only nod. Maggie's cold hands make you shiver, as she gropes your breasts with a wicked grin. She reaches down and puts Lindsey's hands on your breasts. "Lindsey, keep playing with her tits, okay? I'm gonna move a little lower." Lindsey nods, fondling your breasts from behind. "I'll try not to scratch you, my nails are kinda long right now..." She giggles. Maggie hikes up your skirt, keeping it around your waist. She licks her lips as she touches the black panties covering your cunt. "Are these from that department store on 9th?" She asks. "Uh, yeah?" She rolls her eyes. "You don't need to be wearing that shit, that's for people like Jenny Taylor, not girls like us. Tell you what-" She leans closer to your ear, kissing the shell of it. "You make me cum, and I'll take you downtown tomorrow and buy you something cute. That's sure to help you get a guy." She obviously has no intentions of getting you a boyfriend, considering the way her gaze turns possessive. Still, she can't deny that she likes the idea of seeing you in something lacey, especially something she bought you. She notices from the corner of her eye how Sasha is squirming, clearly eager to act, rubbing her thighs together subconsciously.

"Sasha?" Her head perks up immediatly, and she stills. "Y-yes, Maggie?" She pants. "Go get my wand, the pink one." Sasha nods, and scurries over to Maggie's closet, digging around for something. She manages to pull out a pink wand, with a microphone-like rubber tip. You can feel Maggies fingers trying to pull your panties to the side. "You ever played with yourself?" She whispers. You nod. "Yeah, a few times." You admit. "How?" She presses an index against your aroused clit. You gasp. "Fingers! I use my fingers, inside me." You moan. She pouts again, as Sasha hands her the wand. "Well, no wonder your little clit is so swollen, you've not been giving it any attention." She coos. "Don't worry, I've got just the thing." She takes the wand from Sasha. "It feels so good." Sasha says, her eyes full of sincerity. You wonder just how many times these girls have done this sort of thign. Does anyone else at school know?

You are torn from your thoughts when you hear a whirring sound. "What's that gonna do?" You ask. "It vibrates, and I'm just gonna press it right up against your clit, okay? It's gonna feel so fucking good..." She groans. "But, I'm going to enjoy something too. You know, for being such a good friend, and taking in a little newbie. You watch as Maggie mounts your thigh, gasping when you feel her slick pussy press against your leg. Has she not been wearing underwear this whole time? Your whole body flinches when you feel a pusling wave in your lower. "A-ah, shit." You grip the sheets of Maggie's bed tightly. Somehow, the stimulation to your clit makes Lindsey's pawing at your chest feel even more pleasurable. Maggie chuckles as she begins to grind herself against your thigh. "Feels good, huh? You like that? Your pretty new friends taking good care of you? Putting a pretty vibrator on your clit?" Her condescedngin tone makes you blush in shame. After a while, her moans grow in volume too. "Fuck, even just your thighs feel good. Maybe, god- maybe soon I'll ride your pussy like this." She groans. "God, not even Jason makes me feel this hot, this wet. That little limp-dick, can't even make me finish." She tilts her head back. "Sasha, take a photo, m' boutta cum." Sasha pales. "I don't... um, can I use you phone, mines dead?" Maggie doesn't open her eyes, but Sasha can sense her rage. "I don't care, just taking the fuckin' photo, I'm so close. C'mon, baby. Cum on my vibrator, I'll buy you something, anything, just do it." You weren't expecting to her Maggie beg for anything in your lifetime, much less for you to cum. Overwhelmed, you feel your orgasm hit hard. "M-maggie, I'm, oh..." She nods rapidly as she practically bounces on your thigh. "Yeah, right there, I'm cumming to..." She pants.

You close your eyes, but still sense a flash of light from Sasha snapping a photo. As your legs shake from the feeling, Maggie casually dismounts your thighs, sitting down on the bed beside you. She kisses your forehead. "You did so good. I'll get you something so cute to wear to school next week." She flips her hair and acts nonchalant, as if she hadn't just held a sex toy to your cunt while she rode your thigh like her life depended on it. "Sasha, let me see that photo." Sasha shows her the phone, and she grimaces. "Ugh, I look so fucking pale. Put a Sepia filter on it or something." Before Sasha can, Lindsay snatches the phone, and lets out a whine.

"Only my hands are in it! What the hell, Sasha!"

[a-aexotic]

HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

--

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

--

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

--

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

--

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

[marril96]

Safe Haven

Chapter 2: Soft as a Smile

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it’s up to you to help her.

Previous chapter.

It was Agatha's voice that shook you from the fantasy of reconciliation to the strained but steadily improving reality where she was badly injured and taking care of her was more important than daydreaming about a change in your relationship.

"Can I have a glass of water?"

"Of course!"

As if on autopilot, you leapt to your feet. You hated that you had to let go of her hands. Hated that, once again, you were the one to sever contact, however temporary it was.

The three months you'd gone without touching her had felt like an eternity.

You never wanted to part from her again.

Agatha took the glass from you with both hands. It was only then that you noticed lines, an angry red, cutting deep across her wrists. Restraints, you assumed. She must have pushed and pulled until she'd managed to get them off.

Her hands trembled, and, instinctively, you reached to help her hold the glass up to her mouth. She threw you a brief glance, embarrassed, ashamed at needing help at such a basic task as drinking water.

"It's okay," you assured her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. It was the people who did it to her that should be ashamed, though you doubted their kind was familiar with the concept.

As Agatha finished, and you laid the glass on the table beside the supplies you'd gathered for her care, you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. A wordless repetition of your words. It was okay. You were here, and you loved her; temporary weakness didn't change that.

Even if it was permanent, it wouldn't change a thing.

Powerful or not, at full strength or injured, she was your girl. She would always be your girl.

Agatha's arms shot up, a gesture you'd come to know by heart. When she wanted affection, she took it. When you needed it, she gave it to you. No words necessary.

You allowed her to pull you to her and bury her face in your stomach. Instinct prompted you to reach for her, to hold on to her, most likely too tightly considering the condition she was in, but she didn't utter a word of complaint, so you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. To get lost in her, so fragile, so vulnerable, wrapped around you like a child in need of comfort.

You hoped you could provide it.

You hoped you would be good enough.

"I love you so much," you said, your heart brimming with it, ready to burst. "I know you don't trust me right now, and you have every right not to, but, please, trust that."

"Would I be here if I didn't trust you?" Agatha asked.

"I don't deserve it."

"Neither do I, yet here you are."

Quite a pair the two of you made. A match made in hell, some might say. As if that was a bad thing.

She knew this was the safest place for her. Not just because of the protection spell, but because you were here. She knew you wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on her. If hunters were to come knocking, you would kill them without a second thought.

For hunting her. For hurting her.

You'd killed for her before, and you would do it again in a heartbeat.

"You deserve the world," you said, and meant it; every syllable, every word. You kept on holding her, kept on pressing her to you as if to make sure that she was real. To make sure that this wasn't a dream, and you were going to wake up any moment now, cold and alone.

"I know," Agatha said with feigned arrogance, prompting you to chuckle. "Right back at you, honey."

The two of you stayed that way for a few moments, engulfed in each other, lost in the embrace you'd both been craving for all these months. Not having her with you was hell. The words you'd said to her last spinning around your head in an endless loop was an even worse one.

It was her who initiated the parting. "All right, honey, I'm digging the moment, but I need to breathe."

Though unwilling to do so, you instantly released her. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not any more than breathing does," she said in a jovial tone that you assumed she put on for your sake. "That's what happens when you get kicked in the ribs for hours. Jot it down for future reference."

Your teeth grit to the point of pain. Fists balled, nails digging into your skin.

They would die for that.

There would be blood.

"After I clean you up, I'll make you a potion." You sucked at potions, but she could guide you to doing it right.

"Don't bother. Whatever they shot me up with is blocking all magic inside me. It wouldn't do shit."

Fuck! "Then I'll be extra gentle."

"That's a first," she said with a naughty grin.

You quirked up an eyebrow. "I don't recall you complaining."

"Because I'm not."

"Then what are you doing?"

Being a little shit.

"Making small talk."

"Ah. Of course."

You missed this. The casual atmosphere, the playful banter, that pucker of her lips that you found to be the most adorable thing in the world.

It almost made you forget she had just escaped brutal torture.

One look at her face, however, was enough to remind you of the horrifying fact.

"I'll be careful, but if I hurt you, just say so and I'll stop," you said, plopping down onto a seat opposite Agatha on the couch and reaching for the rag you'd prepared.

She gave a small nod. Her eyes were on your hands, tracking your every movement. Trusting, but verifying.

Wetting the rag, you gently dabbed around her mouth. Blood slid off her skin with ease. If only it were that easy to remove the bruises. If only a piece of fabric soaked in warm water would take away her pain.

As soon as her face was clean, you moved to her wrists. She let out a hiss as the rag brushed against the thin cut, still open, still raw.

"Sorry," you said. "There's some dirt in there. I need to clean it out."

"It's fine," Agatha assured you.

She let you finish your work, first on her left wrist, and then her right one, gritting her teeth throughout. Pushing through the pain, through the clear discomfort.

"What did they want from you?" you asked in an attempt to distract her. Hunters usually killed witches on sight. As much as they hated your kind, they didn't keep you. Not even to torture you.

They had to have wanted something from her. Something she either couldn't or didn't want to give them.

"Information," Agatha said.

"About what?"

She instantly averted her eyes, focusing on you wrapping bandages around her wrists.

"We can talk when you're ready," you assured her, giving one of her hands a quick squeeze.

Whatever it was that they wanted to know, she clearly didn't feel like talking to you about it. Not yet, anyway.

The last thing you wanted to do was pressure her.

After what she'd been through, it was a wonder she allowed you to bring it up at all. Especially as the mere act of talking — of breathing, of living — brought her pain.

Agatha took in a big breath, face contorting with pain as she did so, then said, "They knew there were two of us."

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"They wanted me to tell them where my, quote, companion was."

Oh.

Oh.

Blood ran cold in your veins as the realization set in.

The hunters hadn't just wanted Agatha — they had wanted you, as well.

It was a well known fact that the two of you were a package deal. Where there was one, the other was nearby.

Why kill only one witch when they could kill two?

They must have heard rumors, or been filled in by the witch they'd had on payroll, about Agatha's traitorous tendencies. They must have thought she would give up your location; maybe not right away, but with the right incentive, under the right amount of pain, everyone was bound to crack. Especially the most infamous witch of all.

They didn't know Agatha at all.

She was many things, plenty of them bad, but when she loved someone, she was all in. She had a heart, a big one, and it loved as fiercely as everyone else's; even more so. She may not show it to the outside world, but it was there. You felt it in every pet name she uttered, in every touch of her hand. In every gesture, no matter how insignificant it appeared at first. Even during your worst arguments, that heart cherished you.

You'd never felt truly loved until you'd met her.

She'd made sure you would feel it every single day.

When she said she could go for two weeks instead of two days, she meant it. Because she had something — someone — to protect. She'd let them hit her, kick her, torture her; if she hadn't managed to escape, she would've still been there, silent as a mouse, gritting her teeth through each blow.

All so you wouldn't have to.

Agatha raised a finger in warning. "Before you go all, 'Oh, no'—" she put on a mock voice that was supposed to be a rendition of yours — and it was, an almost uncanny one, which you found mildly offensive, "—in that sad little voice of yours, remember that it was my decision not to tell them anything. And I would do it again if I had to."

In other words, don't feel bad about it. She'd chosen to protect you at the cost of her own wellbeing.

She'd put you first once, and she would do so again.

Your eyes burned with welling tears. "I was so awful to you."

Agatha shrugged. "Just because you said some… unsavory things doesn't mean I want you to die."

What you'd said was beyond unsavory. It was cruel. Borderline sadistic.

"You could've died," you pointed out.

"Honey, I was dead as soon as they captured me. Well, I should've been," she said nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather. "I didn't see the point of dragging you into it."

Yet you'd called her selfish. Had said she didn't care about you, that she'd loved power more than you. That you'd never felt loved by her.

God, you were a bitch.

Gently, you picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Is there anything I can do?"

"About those shitheads? You can watch me kill them when I get my power back." She smirked. "You love that."

There was something attractive about her draining witches dry. When she would kiss you after, she would be brimming with magic, new and electric. Ecstatic. It gave your heart the zoomies.

"I do," you confirmed, allowing your lips to curl into a smile, "but, I mean, to make things right between us."

Agatha sighed. She reached out, and you instinctively went to her, kneeling down by her seated form. As soon as her hands cupped your cheeks, your eyes fell closed. How you missed her touch, so tender, so sweet. So loving. Yet another proof of the lies your insults spewed.

Every time she touched you like this, she was telling you she loved you. Without a single word uttered, you knew she felt it, and she made sure you felt it just as intensely, just as fiercely.

How could you say she never loved you? How could you say you'd never felt it?

"You want us to be okay?" she asked.

You gave a nod, a tiny, timid one. "Yeah."

"Then we're okay."

You stared. "Just like that?" Surely, there had to be more to it. She couldn't just forgive you.

"Do you want me to be angry at you?" Agatha asked.

Yes, you did. You wanted her to be absolutely pissed. You wanted her to throw things, or blow something up, or scream at the top of her lungs like she usually did when she was mad.

You wanted her to do to you what you'd done to her.

"Agatha, I hurt you." A tear, two, three slid down your face, the memories of the things you'd said stabbing at you like knives. "Hurt me back."

"Why?" she demanded.

Because you'd hurt her first. "Because I deserve it."

"No, you don't." Her fingers rubbed your cheeks. Wiped your tears. "Someone else would, but not you. Never you."

"Why not?"

"Because I love you. Because I know you." Then, reluctantly, she added, "Because I hurt you first."

Right.

The reason the entire argument had erupted in the first place.

Agatha had forgotten your anniversary, having busied herself draining a — honestly, rather unimpressive — witch, while you'd waited for her at the restaurant she'd explicitly told you she would be at the day before.

You'd waited for her for over an hour like a fool. Had even started worrying that something had happened, that someone she'd slighted in the past (or the last twenty minutes; it didn't take her long to piss people off) had harmed her.

To add insult to injury, she had been the one to call you, asking where the hell you were, because she, having just absorbed some magic, was horny, and it frustrated her that you were nowhere to be found.

"I was looking forward to that dinner," you said, remembering how excited you were. How jovial. It was supposed to be one of the best nights of your lives.

It ended up being the worst.

"As was I," Agatha said. "I just thought it was supposed to take place the day after."

Right.

Forgetting things might as well be her middle name.

At least she managed to remember your birthday. She'd never failed to surprise you with a present she'd somehow know you wanted despite you not telling her a thing. She was perceptive like that.

"Of course you did," you snarked.

Agatha pouted in that way you found both adorable and sexy. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

Of course you would. "I expect something fancy."

"I wouldn't go for anything less. Who do you think I am?" she said, feigning offense.

You grinned. "It's a deal."

She blinked innocently. "So, you forgive me?"

How could you not forgive her when she looked at you like that?

How could you not forgive her when she looked like that?

Consciously or not, the injuries worked in her favor. She could punch you in the face, and you would probably find it hard to stay angry at her.

"I forgive you," you said.

There were few things in the world you could never forgive her for. Especially at this point in your relationship.

She smiled. "I really am sorry."

"I know you are."

It was a bitch move, yes, but it had only happened once. As much as it hurt, it wasn't like she had a habit of forgetting important dates.

Forgetting important things that didn't pertain to your relationship, yes. Names, dates, entire events. If she didn't find it personally significant, her brain erased it.

But something personal? Something in relation to you? Never. Those things stayed pinned at the top of her mental list.

You could forgive one blunder.

So long as she didn't make a habit of it.

*****

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

*****

Next chapter.

[juicedaloe]

Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

[infamous-light]

Their Eyes, Your Chains

Yandere Agatha & Rio Headcanons

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: Their Eyes, Your Chains

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Possessive/obsessive behavior, yandere, manipulation, threats, stalking, jealousy

| Agatha

Agatha first discovered you on the outskirts of Westview. The instant her eyes landed on you, something primal stirred deep within her – an insatiable hunger that she couldn’t quite place. You looked so fragile, so misplaced in a world that would sooner consume you than offer kindness. At that moment, she knew she had to have you. You were perfect.

To ensure your safety – and her claim on you – Agatha placed a magical sigil on you, visible only to her. It would flare up if you strayed too far from her or if someone with ill intent approached you. You were hers and she would not tolerate anyone or anything that dared to threaten that bond.

Agatha controlled every aspect of your life – where you went, who you spoke to, and how long you stayed away from her. She masked her actions as “protection,” but the truth was clear: her obsessive need to keep you close drove her every move.

She was territorial. To Agatha, you belonged to her, and she allowed no one else to get too close to you.

Despite her possessive nature, Agatha showered you with attention, gifts, and affection, but her love still felt suffocating.

When you pushed back against her control, she alternated between cold fury and honeyed words, making you feel guilty for wanting freedom. “You don’t understand, darling. I do this because I love you. No one else will protect you the way I can.”

If you ever did manage to leave her, Agatha would go to terrifying lengths to bring you back. She would track you across the ends of the earth, twisting reality itself to prevent your escape. She might even cast a powerful spell to trap you in a dreamlike illusion, where you were blissfully happy and unaware of her manipulations, ensuring you would never wish to leave her side again.

Agatha’s most severe threat was to bind you to her permanently with a soul-link spell, tethering your life force to hers so escape would be impossible. “You are mine.” Yet, unbeknownst to you, she had already decided to cast it the moment she met you.

She frequently called you terms of endearment like “darling,” “my love,” or “pet.”

Agatha wanted you, and she would stop at nothing to ensure that you were entirely, irrevocably hers.

| Rio

As the personification of death, Rio saw you as someone destined to be hers. All living things would inevitably belong to her in the end, but she didn’t want to wait for that – she wanted you now and forever. Her obsession with you felt timeless, as if it had always existed, lying dormant until the moment it could finally flourish.

Rio preyed on your fear of mortality to keep you dependent on her, constantly reminding you how fleeting your life was and how frail you were compared to her eternal nature. “They’ll all leave you eventually. But me? I’ll always be here. Isn’t that what you want – someone who’ll always be here for you?” Her words burrowed into your mind, twisting your emotions until you could no longer tell if remaining by her side was truly your choice or hers.

When she was in a particularly indulgent mood, Rio could be achingly sweet with you, though her sweetness was always laced with a dangerous possessiveness. She would hold you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, her hands cold but her touch inexplicably soothing. Yet in the same breath, she would whisper unsettling things like, “You're mine, sweetheart... forever and always. No one else can ever have you.”

Rio doesn’t tolerate anyone getting too close to you. She was convinced that she alone was worthy of being by your side. After all, she was inevitable, eternal – the one destined to claim your soul in the end.

If she perceived anyone as a threat to her claim over you, they had simply disappeared. When you confronted her about it, Rio’s dark eyes narrowed, and her voice carried a chilling warning: “I don’t like sharing. Do I need to remind you what happens when people overstep?”

If you dared to defy her, Rio would turn volatile. She would threaten to bring death to those you love or cause harm to innocent people, showing you the lengths she would go to keep you bound to her. She would make you feel like you were the one in the wrong, insisting that only you could “end her loneliness” or that no one else could ever understand her the way you do.

In extreme circumstances, Rio would remind you in a low, bone-chilling voice that no mortal can escape death – and by extension, her.

No matter how far you fled, no matter how cleverly you tried to hide, Rio would always find you. 

She didn’t just crave your love – it was deeper, darker than that. Rio demanded every piece of you, body and soul.

To her, you were the flickering light in an eternal void. You were her meaning, her obsession, her undoing.

| Agatha & Rio

God help you.

Agatha and Rio had both claimed you as their own. Neither of them could imagine a reality where you belonged to anyone but them, and each had made it clear that you were theirs and theirs alone. “You belong to me, just as you belong to her.” They would whisper, almost in sync.

Agatha’s possessiveness was passionate and fiery. She would often press herself against you, her hands grazing your arms or waist to remind you of her presence. Rio, on the other hand, had a more subtle approach – she would lean in close, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured soft, possessory words or let her fingers lightly trace the back of your neck.

Both Agatha and Rio were quick to notice any tiny change in your behavior. If you were quieter than usual, Agatha’s gaze sharpened, and she would press you for answers, “What’s wrong? Tell me.” Rio, however, will casually drape an arm around your shoulder, murmuring, “Who upset you? Just say the word.” Neither will rest until they know what’s troubling you and how to make it right.

Together, Agatha and Rio were a constant reminder that no matter where you go or what you do, you belonged to them and they’ll ensure that it stayed that way, forever.

[i314flix]

[ 7:23 A.M. ] “god, ____, you’re killing me here.”

you glared at jake. you wanted to retort that if anyone had the right to claim that they were being killed at this second, it would be you, thanks to your annoying fever. after all, you have been glued to your bed since yesterday, only getting up when you needed to pee or wished to rummage through the fridge, trying to find something to eat that your appetite might be kind enough to accept. so far, a half-glass of orange juice has managed to get down your throat, as well as a few spoonfuls of rice porridge.

“how the hell am i supposed to leave you like this?” he added when you didn’t answer. “should i make a call and say i’m rejecting the deployment?”

“is that even allowed?”

“no. i’m pretty sure they’ll throw me in the brig and give me a bad discharge or something.”

“then you should leave now, jake.” you weakly pushed his thigh. he was standing beside the bed, dressed in his naval aviator uniform, this permanent worried expression etched on his face. “i promise, i’ll live. it’s just some stupid cold.”

he didn’t move.

“jake.”

“what do you expect me to do?” he raised his arms up in frustration, voice raising a bit. he sometimes had the bad habit of converting his concern into a display of anger. “my girlfriend’s sick. her temperature’s not lowering, she lives alone, and i’m about to leave her for three months because my job demands it. i’m sorry if i want to ditch my patriotic duty for a goddamn day!”

you sighed. you weren’t sure how you were going to make the situation better either, and being scolded by jake didn’t help. it only worsened your headache, this ringing bothering your ears heightening for a second.

“shit, i’m sorry.” you suddenly heard jake mutter almost immediately when he finished talking, and he crouched down to your level, placing a hand over cheek. “i did it again, didn’t i?”

“turned your anger on me? yeah.”

guilt washed over him further. “i’m sorry for being a dick. you didn’t deserve that.”

“it’s alright, babe.” you placed your palm over his hand, a small smile making its way on your lips to appear stronger than you were. “we both know this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. we’re supposed to be sneaking in a quickie before i drive you to the airport and instead i’m sick.”

jake laughed at that. “i hate that i can’t even kiss you right now.”

“i know. i hate it too.”

“i hate that i need to leave.”

“if only you didn’t have to.”

“you sure you’ll be fine?” he asked.

“yeah, positive.” you replied. “i mean, this isn’t the first time i’ve been sick on my own. i’m a grown woman. i can take care of myself.”

“that’s another thing i hate.”

“don’t worry.” you kissed his wrist. “once i’m back on my feet, i’ll tell you.”

that seemed to ease him a little. “i expect you to tell me you’re okay as soon as possible, alright?”

“i’ll even write it in paragraph form with pictures if you want.”

“i’m being serious.”

you smiled wider, sheepish. “yes, sir. i’ll update you as soon as possible.”

he rolled his eyes at your playfulness and leaned in to give your forehead a long kiss. “don’t forget to drink your meds on time. i’ll tell marjorie to check on you every now and then.” marjorie was your elderly neighbor who had a dog you often looked after when she had lengthy errands to do.

you nodded once more, and with a final kiss on your cheek this time, jake said his farewells (reluctantly) and was out of your apartment by the time you were threatening to call coyote to haul him away.

[reiding-writing]

hiii congrats on 2k!

could I please have a second hand book with our dearly beloved cold reader? I'm thinking maybe she gets too drunk and Spencer has to take care of her? but I'm cool with anything!

love ya ❤️❤️

TALKING FISTS — SPENCER REID!

alcohol and a short temper don’t mix, who would’ve thought?

spencer reid x cold!reader | fluff? | 1.2k | cold!reader masterlist

WARNINGS | intoxicated!reader, fem!reader, reader punches someone and instigates a fight, mentions (but it doesn’t actually happen) of throwing up, reader is a bit of a twat as per usual

a/n — a bit of a different way for spencer to ‘look after’ our beloved cold!reader, but i think this is accurate to what would happen if she actually got super drunk 😭

main masterlist. | 2k book fayre !! | event masterlist.

Spencer knows you’ve had too much when he has to physically stop you from fighting someone.

Realistically, you’d had too much four drinks before that, but with the way Morgan was feeding you shots it was kind of hard to keep track.

It had been a long week, and you were in no mood to entertain anyone. Still, somehow, Garcia had convinced you to go out for drinks with everyone after a particularly difficult case.

You weren't the kind of person to get swept up in the camaraderie, but every now and again you gave in, and in this case specifically, you felt like the weight of the last few days might lift with a strong enough drink.

As the night wore on, you found yourself knocking back one drink after another, not even sure why you were still there.

Maybe it was because you needed to feel something other than the exhaustion that had taken up permanent residence in your bones.

Or maybe it was because Spencer kept looking at you with that concerned, too-perceptive gaze of his, like he could see right through your icy exterior.

You weren't sure when the tipping point happened, but somewhere between drink four and drink five, you became more irritable than usual.

The alcohol loosened the tight grip you usually had on your temper, making you feel even more impatient, even more annoyed at the crowd around you.

Someone bumped into you as they passed by, spilling a bit of your drink, and that was all it took to set you off.

“Watch it.” You snapped, your voice sharp.

The guy turned around, clearly drunk, and rolled his eyes. “Relax, it's just a drink.”

You stood up from your chair, your movements a little unsteady but your glare deadly. “I said, watch it.”

The guy laughed, looking you up and down like you were some sort of joke. “What, you gonna do something about it?”

Before you could even think about backing down, your fist connected with the side of his face.

It wasn’t a hard punch—not enough to seriously hurt him—but it was enough to shut him up.

Or at least, it should have been.

Instead, in the midst of the widened eyes and the gasps, he turns back towards you, chin cradled in his hand, and sneers.

“You wanna start something? Don’t think I won’t hit you back because you’re a fucking girl—”

Suddenly, there were hands pulling you back, the noise of the bar amplifying as more people got involved.

You were distantly aware of Spencer calling your name, trying to calm the situation, but your blood was boiling, and the alcohol made everything feel disconnected, like you were watching yourself in third person.

“Okay that’s enough—“ Spencer's voice cut through the haze, sharper than you were used to. He was beside you now, his hand on your arm, pulling you out of the fray. "Come on, we need to go now."

You wanted to protest, to rip your arm out of his grasp and tell him you didn’t need help, but the room was spinning, and you couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

Spencer’s grip tightened, and before you knew it, he had steered you out of the bar, away from the chaos you had started.

The cool night air hit you hard, making you stumble, and if not for Spencer’s hands steady on your shoulders, you probably would’ve fallen over.

He guided you carefully towards a bench nearby, and you collapsed onto it, Spencer crouching in front of you with his brows furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, his voice soothing but full of worry.

You tried to wave him off, but your hand felt heavy, like it wasn't really yours. “I'm fine, Reid,” you slurred, though the words came out much less convincing than you intended.

“You’re definitely not fine,” Spencer said, a small, exasperated smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. “You just punched someone. In the face,”

You blinked at him, your brain struggling to process. “He was being a dick.”

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying he wasn’t, but you don’t usually… you know… punch people.”

You leaned back against the bench, the world still tilting slightly around you. “Maybe I should punch more people.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Then, his tone softened. “Let’s get you home.”

You were too tired to argue, and when Spencer helped you to your feet, you leaned on him more than you intended.

He was warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, even though you had spent so much time keeping everyone at arm's length.

Spencer wasn’t someone you ever imagined being close to, but in that moment, you were grateful for him.

The cab ride back to your apartment was quiet, with Spencer making sure you didn’t fall asleep or throw up on the way. When you finally stumbled through your front door, he guided you to the couch, sitting you down gently.

“You need anything? Water?” He asked, glancing around your apartment like he was looking for something that might help.

You groaned, resting your head in your hands. “Just… leave me alone.”

Spencer didn’t move. He stood there, awkwardly, clearly debating whether or not to listen to you. Eventually, he sighed and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, directing it into your unstable hands and carefully pushing the bottom of the glass upwards to direct it towards you lips.

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” he said quietly, and you could hear the hint of a smile in his voice as you reluctantly took the first sip.

And then it wasn’t so reluctant, and you downed the whole glass.

That seemed to satisfy Spencer enough for one night.

“Get some sleep okay? I’ll call you in the morning,”

“Whatever,”

Spencer presses his lips together in the hint of a smile as he turns to leave, content that you’ll be able to take care of yourself from here.

“Night,”

Spencer lets out a breath, fondness escaping through the cracks of his mouth. “Goodnight,”

[steddiewithachance]

Vampire Pancakes

A response to this writing prompt. Thought it was too cute, had to write it! @dwobbitfromtheshire

🥞🫐

No one really knows what to do with Eddie right now. Everyone is jittery around him, going so far as to hold their breath when he so much as twitches. Even Dustin is squinting at him with calculating eyes; he's analyzing Eddie for threat.

Eddie will continue to courteously ignore the hand that Nancy is keeping stationed on her belt conveniently close to the little pistol everyone knows she's hiding. It doesn't matter that Eddie helped them kill Vecna, or that he saved Baby Byers' life. It doesn't matter when he has sharp teeth, dark eyes, and a thirst for blood. He can't blame 'em for being scared.

Eddie thinks about his dad. Wonders if even Al would see Eddie as a monster now.

Eddie got picked on a lot as a kid and he'd often come home from school tired and weepy. Al would look up from the couch in that black tank top he always wore. He'd set down whatever he was smoking to pat the spot next to him.

"What happened Ed? Was some little shithead mean to ya?"

Eddie would nod and slump into his father's side, eyes burning from the spicy, smokey air. When Eddie pressed his face into his dad's arm, Al would pull back and pat his head with sorrowful eyes. Al didn't really know how to comfort a kid or maybe he thought that being distant was in Eddie's best interest.

"You're too soft, Ed. Ya gotta make those kids think you can pack a punch. Chin up, eyes mean, shoulders back. Make 'em intimidated, make 'em fear ya."

So like any kid who thinks their dad's word is law, Eddie listened, or tried his best at least. But his dad never said that mean eyes, dark clothes, and loud music would get him accused of witchcraft by a bunch'a angry jocks and chased straight into hell.

Now his sheepies -his kiddos- are looking at him like they're scared, like they can't trust him and that is a fucking gut punch. Because pretty early on in his high school career, he decided that his purpose was gonna be standing as a shield for other kids like him. He wanted to be a source of safety and warmth in an otherwise cold and unforgiving storm.

Being feared is lonely and sad, Eddie has discovered, and he worries this is his new permanent reality.

Eddie quietly sits through his friends hammering out the logistics of a nighttime schedule to organize sleeping shifts so someone always has an eye on him. It's sick. Eddie has to excuse himself to cry about it. He has no uncontrollable urges to eat anyone here, Steve does smell appetizing, but he wouldn't jump the guy.

He can still eat human food apprently, it barely does anything for him, but it's something. Eddie thinks it's enough to quell any feral urges he may or may not get. He thinks the party is being unreasonable about their safety precautions, but really, he'd probably do the same if there was a monster in the same house as him.

🥞🫐

It's a long night, he can't fall asleep but he'll pretend to so that everyone can relax a little. The changing of the guard chafes at him and makes his lip quiver. He bites his lip to prevent a wounded sound from slipping out when Robin nudges Steve awake and says it's "his turn on hell shift". Eddie jolts because he remembers he has real sharp teeth now, and biting his lip does, in fact, hurt like a bitch.

"You're not asleep, huh?" He hears whispered into the air of the big living room after Robin has settled back into sleep. It's Steve's sweet and melodic voice.

"I'm trying." He responds, brokenly.

"Wanna get some fresh air with me for a minute? I need'a smoke." Steve is already shrugging the sheets off of him and carefully stepping over his sleeping friends towards the back door. Eddie doesn't think he has a choice, but to follow. Stepping out of this stuffy room does sound like a relief though.

Eddie makes the same journey through the sea of teenagers sprawled across Steve's floor and out the sliding glass door. When he steps onto the patio, all of the crickets stop chirping around him. The night goes silent. What the fuck? Is that because of him? He loves the sound of crickets, though.

He walks over and curls up in one of the Harringtons' fancy-loungy-pool-chairs. Steve stays standing, leaning artfully against the side of his house next to the glass. He flicks open his lighter and the small flame illuminates his square jawline with a warm glow. He's so achingly handsome. He's like a movie star, or a model.

"You okay?" Steve asks conversationally.

"Not even a little."

Steve sighs and pushes off the wall to walk towards Eddie's chair. He sits at the foot of it and swivels so he's looking at Eddie.

"I'm really sorry Eddie. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling. I won't pretend to." Steve sets a hand on Eddie's ankle and Eddie could cry from the small gesture of comfort that he's practically writhing for. "I feel like what happened to you is all my fault. I know that 'sorry' wont cut it, but for the record, I am. Completely and utterly sorry." That's a silly thing to think.

"It's not your fault, are you kidding? How do you reckon it's your fault?"

"Sending you with Dustin? Alone? Putting all that responsibility on you?" Steve looks down at his cigarette with disgust. He twists it into the cold concrete next to his socked foot and looks back at Eddie. There's no fear in his expression, and for once Eddie is grateful for his reckless bravery.

"It was the best plan and we all agreed to it. Don't sweat it, Harrington." Eddie feels like he's not all there. Feels like maybe if he was more composed he could comfort Steve better, but he's hungry and dazed, sad and tired. Steve nods solemnly, and clears this throat.

"And about everyone being kind of on edge... It'll pass. I think they're all thinking about when Billy Hargrove got possessed by the mind flayer and went homicidal on us. He tried to kill all the kids."

Eddie desperately wants to hear all the other Upside down stories one day. He keeps trying to stitch together all these scraps of lore that keep getting dropped on him. He has no right to ask about something so traumatic, so he'll just be patient and wait for more lore to drop.

"Everyone's just being cautious. Vecna's dead though, so I'm not really sure who they think would possess you." Steve finishes and squeezes Eddie's lower calf where his hand rests.

"I get it. Kinda hurts my feelings, but I get it." Eddie mumbles and feels his eyes getting heavy. He wonders if he could fall asleep out here. Maybe if the crickets were still chirping and it wasn't so goddamn quiet.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." It's fine, this might not even be the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

🥞🫐

In the morning Eddie curls himself into Steve's little kitchen nook. Eddie kind of loves the window seat, it's something his mom would have wanted, Eddie theorizes. She was always looking out windows, probably daydreaming about escaping. Eddie does it too.

The kids seem warmer this morning. There's no more hushed whispers or pointed looks. They're talking and moving around the house less cautiously. Hopefully, the stiffest interactions and the worst of their distrust is behind them. Nancy's still watching him like a hawk though.

Steve shuffles into view, his socks are bunched up around his ankles. It's cute.

He holds out a plate for Eddie with a dumb smile on his face. When Eddie reaches for it, he sees a stack of pancakes and the top pancake has a little face made out of blueberries and two whipped cream fangs. It's a vampire pancake. Steve made Eddie a sweet little vampire pancake.

"Oh my god, you're so adorable." Eddie squeaks and makes a grabby hand for the fork Steve's holding. Steve blushes and hands over the fork.

"Do you like it?" Steve asks coyly. The pancakes feel like a hug, they feel like an apology that Steve doesn't even owe.

"I love it, chef." Eddie pokes at the pancake-vampire's cheek. "I don't know if I can eat him. He's too cute." Eddie giggles. Steve looks up at him with bright sparkly eyes. God he's perfect. Eddie's hungry for him in five different ways.

Robin and Dustin come up beside Steve to look down at the plate.

"I want one!" Dustin announces loudly. Steve turns around and heads back to the stove, he looks so proud of himself.

"You can have normal pancakes. Those are special for Eddie." Steve says with a wink. Dustin looks down at Eddie and pouts at him as if Eddie has any say in who gets what kind of pancake.

"Dustin had to watch it all happen, he should get one too." Eddie tells Steve earnestly while Steve is pouring more batter into the pan.

Dustin gloats and yells "Exactly! Thank you, Eddie."

And it feels like things are gonna be okay.

[pillowbo]

Forcemasc can be extremely humiliating and degrading! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. How humbling is it that you now live to serve a beautiful woman because she strapped you to a table and smeared t-gel onto you repeatedly.

She has to put gloves on her pretty hands, of course, can't let herself be corrupted how she's corrupting you. You hear the snap of rubber and then watch as she squeezes a big glob out of the tube, a glint in her eye as she glances from you to the shiny gel on her fingertips.

Perhaps she's a mad scientist, a cerebral woman with the sole intent of crafting a man out of you for whatever reason, perhaps she sees your potential.

Your thoughts drain out of your head all at once as the cold shock of gel glides against your skin, rubbing into your increasingly taut muscles and all over your body, and you can do nothing but writhe in your restraints as she describes in great detail her plan to make you into her perfect husband.

It's your position to be beneath her, as she sculpts you into her willing servant; here to carry big heavy things and go to work for her, pay her bills, give her money to buy Sephora and Coach and to get her perfect nails done, fuck her on demand when she wants it.

She'll take care to make you appear presentable. Of course, you will be distinctly masculine beside her, but none of that nonsense about smelling awful or being greasy in a wife beater because some simpleton thinks it's manly.

You might think, you're just a guy, you don't need much. Don't worry your big stupid head about any of it. She will arrange your wardrobes; suits and ties and nice shoes and cologne.

Can't have her arm candy looking slobbish! No, you will be her Dapper Dan as she wishes. You'll have all the time in the world to be absolutely filthy with her in the sheets, after all.

She touches your growing tdick with her gloved hands, bringing you back down to the moment once again when she gives it a few quick strokes and laughs at your responses, twisting and jerking at the sensation.

You're so sensitive now!

At last, she decides that you are ready. You look down at your newly grown tdick, hairs sprouting in rough stubble across your face, a happy trail, and hairy thighs that would take forever if you wanted to shave, the hairs inevitably sprouting right back.

You realize how permanent this is, what she has done to you, and all at once it makes you insanely horny. You want to pin her down and fuck her, the woman who did this to you.

She happily welcomes it, orders it even, but swats your sweaty hands away from her until she's led you to her bedroom. Stupid boy, show some restraint.

You get to the room and she strips, and she is so beautiful, such a contrast to you now, to how you always had been, on the inside. She is graceful and feminine and smooth as she walks, you feel so clunky and awkward, but she looks at you with admiration in her eyes at her work.

It's all it takes for you to top her and fuck her into her queen-size four-poster bed until you're both coming, over and over, you can't help but repeat your thrusting into her over and over, because she made you this way, because you've always been just a dumb man toy that exists to satisfy her pleasure.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

heyo- a friend is trying to get me to read 1984 because 'it'll totally change your worldview on government and anarchism', but i've heard some bad things about the book itself/george orwell. should i read it? is there anything similar/more theorylike i could read instead?

thank you! your blog rocks <3 <3

Go ahead and read it if you want. It's a classic entry into the genre of dystopian science fiction and it has spawned many imitators since its publication. However, if you're looking for actual theory or history, you won't find it there. I would recommend Pat Sloan's "Soviet Democracy" or Anna Louise Strong's "The Soviets Expected It" and "The Stalin Era" if you want real accounts of the Soviet Union under Stalin.

Orwell never actually visited the Soviet Union, and 1984 is based not on his own personal experience with the country but instead on Western propagandistic views of the country and his own displeasure towards the fact that during World War II, when the UK and the USSR were allies, the British press was much less keen to publish anti-Soviet works right at the same time he was trying to get Animal Farm published. You must also understand that his wife worked for the UK's Ministry of Information as a censor and Orwell himself worked at the BBC producing wartime propaganda. It is not a coincidence then that the main character of 1984, Winston Smith, is a censor and propaganda official working with the fictional "Ministry of Truth" and eventually finding himself battling against state control of information.

Ironically, after stylizing himself so much as a defender of liberty and freedom against the "totalitarianism" of the time, Orwell would write up a list of alleged subversive writers for the British Information Research Department, a secret department tasked with publishing anti-communist propaganda during the Cold War. Some of this propaganda would end up being a comic strip version of Orwell's Animal Farm. There is a significant throughline in both Animal Farm and 1984 that clearly betrays Orwell's political views. In both works, the proletariat are depicted as nothing more than idiots and sheep who follow the orders of anyone willing to give them work and are easily duped by intellectuals. In 1984, he phrases it as the proletariat being more "free" simply because they're so insignificant as to warrant no government surveillance.

In 1984, the fictional society of "Oceania" is a far cry from a dictatorship of the proletariat. The proletariat have no political power, they all live in slums and are mollified by bread and circuses. How is the building of the slums organized? Where does the money go when one buys their bread? We are not told anything about this except that the process is slow and inefficient. The story isn't interested in material concerns. The "proles" do their work, we are told, but we are never shown much more than informal labor. We don't know who is telling them to work or how they are getting paid. The "Outer Party" is supposedly the white collar "middle" class of Oceanic society, but despite the amount of focus the story has on this class, we are never shown a single Party member managing a workplace or poring over receipts. We are to believe that the proletariat are simultaneously left to their own devices and unmolested by the state, while also completely under the control of the state through invisible mechanisms that are never elaborated upon. While Winston will complain endlessly about his own quality of life, not once does a single prole gripe about their job. The cost and quality of goods come up sporadically and only to illustrate the deterioration of English society under Party rule, never to illustrate any material basis of said rule.

Even more at the periphery are the colonized peoples (although never described as such) within the war-torn areas never under the permanent control of any world power. All three of the global superpowers are said to be in a constant struggle over the control and enslavement of these super-exploited workers and the resources of their nations, which are said to make up a significant proportion of the material resources of each superpower, however at the same time they are not considered to be part of the proletariat and are dismissed as entirely disposable and unnecessary for the maintenance of any of these superpowers. To Orwell, it seems, colonialism is simply a thing the colonizers do out of habit and not a phenomenon with an actual material basis or actual material effects. In turn, the colonized are not actual people who might take umbrage with the constant conflict imposed upon them, but rather chattel that is perfectly content to be traded back and forth among the colonizers.

The importance of the middle class in society is a recurring theme in 1984. For example, the Trotsky-esque political treatise Winston reads within the story, "The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism", begins with a twist on Marxist historical materialism - while it recognizes the role of class conflict in human history, it asserts a transhistorical narrative of the eternal existence of three separate classes within society since "Neolithic times": the upper, middle, and lower classes. It is then asserted that it is the middle and only the middle class that is ever revolutionary, and that when it appeals to the lower classes it does so only to use them as a cudgel against the upper classes and never out of a genuine concern for their wellbeing. The treatise, idealistic as it is, provides little definition of these classes. The lower classes are described as "crushed by drudgery" and in a constant state of servitude that places them incapable of achieving political consciousness, something reserved solely for the upper and middle classes. The upper class is defined simply as the "directing" class, and the middle as the "executive" class. The identity of the middle class within Oceania is made clear: they are the "Outer Party", the white collar intelligentsia and managerial class which Winston and Julia belong to. One must assume Orwell viewed himself as a member of the middle class as well. If this section of the book is at all reflective of Orwell's own views (and to be clear no part of the book refutes this outlook,) then Orwell's rejection of Marxism-Leninism is rooted in his view of the vanguard party as simply a mechanism for the intelligentsia and bureaucrats to trick the stupid proles into overthrowing the bourgeoisie, rather than as a genuine means of proletarian liberation.

The politics of the Party are entirely idealistic in nature. "Big Brother" dominates through control of ideology and speech. The goal of Ingsoc, the ruling ideology of Oceania, is to make dissent impossible through the thorough alteration of language and the removal of words which could represent ideas that are not in line with Ingsoc, a process called "Newspeak". It is explicitly stated, however, that none of this ideological control is directed towards the proletariat, which is said to make up 85% of Oceania's population. The proles are not expected to learn Newspeak, they are not monitored by the telescreens, because as is stated quite frankly in the book, "the masses never revolt of their own accord, and they never revolt merely because they are oppressed." That this line is given by the villain of the story is unimportant, because the story never refutes it.

While Winston routinely repeats his belief that "hope lies in the proles", he is consistently met with scenes that challenge his faith whenever he winds up interacting with the proletariat. His conversations with proles reveal their total lack of concern with politics or history. He hears a crowd erupt into chaos and briefly hopes it's the proletarian uprising he is waiting for, only to find it's simply a riot over consumer goods. They are more than once compared to animals. While it is said in exposition that intelligent members of the proletariat who might end up fomenting dissent are eliminated, this is never actually depicted. We don't see Winston meeting with a single intelligent and politically conscious prole. The most intelligent prole he meets turns out to be a secret member of the "Thought Police". And so, the concept remains theoretical.

Winston is depicted as an ardent materialist, desperately defending the notion of external reality against deranged idealists who believe that through control of thought, control of reality becomes possible. But the world he lives in is not material. It is fictional, of course, but more than that, the fictional world described operates on idealistic principles even from Winston's own perspective. Winston's worldview is a faith based one, appealing not to any material basis for liberation but purely to emotion. It is love and the spirit of humanity that is the basis of freedom, and material freedom springs forth from it. Anyone who thinks otherwise is merely a trickster trying to control the masses.

Orwell rejected the material basis of history because he rejected the idea of a revolution on a material basis. To him, the revolution must be an ideological one, and the problem lie not in how society and the economy are organized but in the existence of hateful "authoritarian" ideologies governing the world. He believed the material basis was already here, that industry alone was the solution to material inequality, and so we must concern ourselves now only with the idea of equality and freedom, and from an abstract and universal viewpoint to boot. It is intolerable to him that a revolution be fought against an actual enemy in the real world. The problem is not that the capitalists are in control of the means of production, the problem is that the workers are too stupid to disobey them. A real revolutionary class would spontaneously throw off its own shackles through thought alone. It doesn't matter that Orwell was a lackey and a snitch, because in his mind he was freer and smarter than everyone else.

The bravery of Winston Smith was in recognizing the existence of a material reality that lies and propaganda could never destroy even while being tortured into believing such absurd notions as "two plus two equals five". But Orwell was never tortured into any of his incorrect beliefs. His incorrect beliefs stem purely from accepting the official narrative that he was fed and refusing to investigate its veracity for himself. Orwell's writing was used as propaganda against the designated enemy of the UK throughout the Cold War, adapted countless times in the forms of radio plays, TV shows, movies, and comic books. He never made an effort to actually travel to the Soviet Union to find out if what he was told about the country was true. All the other upper middle class "left-wing" intellectuals he hung out with seemed to be just as concerned as he was with the rising tide of "totalitarianism" and the supposed excesses of the Soviet Union, so why shouldn't he agree? He was in this regard no different than the Western "socialists" of the modern day who have no shortage of vitriol towards China or North Korea. Yes, he might performatively rail against chauvinism and nationalism, but only enough to ensure that he wouldn't be seen as a conservative. He still knew in his heart that his country was surely better than those barbarous communists in the East.

Yes Orwell was sexist and homophobic, and despite his best efforts he remained plagued by racist and antisemitic attitudes, but in addition to all that his books promulgated a view of the world entirely in line with British bourgeois values, which is why they were so eagerly used as propaganda by the British government. The Nazis were bad and the Soviets were bad because they were both authoritarian, and the differences between them were negligible and unworthy of mention. The references 1984 makes to the shifting alliances in Oceania, "we are at war with Eurasia" becoming "we are at war with Eastasia" and vice-versa, are most likely allegories for the shifting alliances of Britain at the time, how they viewed the Soviets as an enemy before the war, as an ally during the war, and as an enemy again once the war was over. Orwell viewed himself as above all of this simply because his view of the Soviets never changed at any point throughout this.