#because nothing else seemed to deal any damage!?

[gremlingirlsmell]

wish i didnt have 'playing soulslike games wrong' and 'misassigning all my skill points' syndrome aside from just having a general skill issue in those games, because theyre genuinely super fun games with interesting worlds but they're soooo frustrating when i play them

[emilys-bangs]

invisible string | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, meet cute(?) - def a bloody one lol, blood and injury, car accident, flirty emily, flustered reader (who gives in once cause who wouldn’t), no use of yn

Summary: Emily gets into an accident. Could anyone fault her for flirting with her EMT?

Word count: 2.6k

For my fave loser girl @notaboypossiblyagenius because we’re spiritually connected <3

Car accidents can be no big deal, or they can be catastrophic. 

This one seems to be somewhere in between. The roads are icy tonight; you were expecting something of this measure since last week, and your predictions were right—this is the third accident you’ve been called to in the past six days. 

The hood of the SUV is bent around a pole. It seems to be a mild crash, no other cars around, but you’re still preparing yourself for anything as you carefully assess the stability of the pole before approaching the passenger’s side, your coworker going over to the driver.

When you peer through the window, you find a dark-haired woman. Her head is on the headrest and her eyes are closed, a crimson line of blood cutting down the paleness of her cheek. You lightly tap on the frosted glass. 

She opens her eyes. After blinking repeatedly, she lowers the window. 

You crane your neck into the car, checking the backseats and subtly trying to assess the damage. “Hi there.” You give her a smile, your eyes briefly flitting to her equally dark-haired companion in the driver’s seat.

The woman blinks at you sluggishly.

“…Hey.” She slurs.

It’s more of a question. That could definitely mean a concussion, you think, what with her head wound. You reach into your belt for your flashlight, clicking it open and shining it into the car. The woman squints. 

“You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get you out of here in a sec. Can you tell me your name?”

She pauses a little when your eyes meet. You hold your breath, the blankness of her gaze stirring up dread in the pit of your stomach. But then she blinks and it clears a fraction.

“Emily.” She mumbles, slowly. Her brows furrow and she stares at you intently, as if you might have the answer. In the darkness, you don’t know if you’re looking into pupil or iris. “...Prentiss.”

Some of the tightness in your gut loosens. You give her another smile, careful not to let your concern peek through. “How are you doing, Emily? Does anything hurt?” You run the flashlight up and down her body, your eyes sharp for any more serious looking injuries. Her coat seems to have protected her from the seatbelt, but when the light passes over her wrist, you spot some discoloration around it.

“Uhh…” she reaches for her seatbelt. “My—”

“Please don’t move.” Your hand shoots through the window, stilling hers on the buckle. She frowns confusedly. “Sorry, I just need to properly asses your injuries first. We’ll get you out of here in no time, I promise.” You say, your voice slipping into that firm but soothing tone you’ve learned to develop. Emily nods and you give her another reassuring smile as you open the car door. “You were saying something?”

“M’head,” she mumbles. You nod as you check her over, eventually clicking your flashlight closed and sliding it into your belt. Again you spot the discoloration on her wrist.

“Anything else?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, but then she shakes her head. You’ll deal with that later, then.

“Any trouble breathing?” You ask, leaning over her to unbuckle her seat belt. The scent of blood is thick; you try to take a closer look at the gash on her forehead, but it’s dark and her hair is in the way.

“No.”

Still, you check her airway, gently asking and prodding until you’re satisfied there’s nothing more critical needing your attention. When you’re done you instinctively place your hand on her knee and squeeze lightly—a habit of the job.

“Okay honey, I’m gonna get you out now. Let me know if anything hurts, okay?”

A faint pink spreads across her cheeks. “’Kay,” she mumbles, throwing a furtive look to the driver’s seat. Her companion is long gone, helped out of the car by your coworker; you can distantly hear them at the ambulance.

With the ice, it takes a bit of work, but once you safely get her out of the car, you also help Emily to the ambulance. She’s stiff, not really allowing herself to lean on you even though she sways a little. You’ve dealt with plenty of people like this before, so you don’t try to force her closer, just keeping your arm steady around her in case she slips. Some of the tension in her body loosens when she spots her friend on the ledge of the ambulance.

“They got ya too, Hot—Hey,” Emily cuts herself off, a deep v creasing between her brows, “you said you weren’t hurt.” 

Her tone is accusatory. Which is fair, given the bruising on the man’s cheek and the stilted way his jacket lays on one shoulder, very obviously dislocated. His eyes trail over her, down the blood on her forehead and your steadying arm around her waist.

“So did you.”

Her lips purse. “I’m fine. I jus’ have a headache—”

“A very bloody one.”

“—not a goddamn dislocated shoulder!” She protests, concern taking over her features. Her voice, so far having been fluid and slurry, hardens to steel. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Not just for him,” you say. “That head wound might cause a concussion, we need to get you a CT scan.”

Emily turns to you and frowns, as if you’re being unreasonable. “It’s just a headache.” She sulks.

“Headaches are a common symptom of concussions after blunt force trauma.”

“But—”

“We’re all going to the hospital, Emily.” The man sighs, his lips pressing together into a thin line when your coworker comes back with his kit. “Just get in so we can get this over with.”

He must be some kind of boss—or at least some years older—because the fight leaks out of her shoulders, despite the firm set to her brows. She resignedly accepts as you get her into the ambulance and on the cot, her eyes squinting as she adjusts to the bright light.

“I’m just gonna check your vitals first.” You tell her. The words are instinctive to you; most patients you deal with are confused and in pain, still in shock from their accidents, and you’ve found that explaining what you’re about to do makes your job a lot easier.

You checked her breathing in the car but you do it again, just to be sure. Emily stays quiet as you do. She blinks rapidly and keeps her eyes down, still adjusting to the lights of the ambulance as you try your best to move quickly. Her blood pressure is next, which she also accepts without complaint. 

When you pick up her right hand, you find reddish discoloration circling her wrist. Her hand trembles in your grip, shaking almost imperceptibly. 

“Do you feel any pain here?” You ask, gently smoothing your thumb over the cold inner skin of her wrist. 

Emily shakes her head.

You frown a little as you gently prod the area. She yelps suddenly, half pulling her hand back into her chest. You drop it, guilt swirling in your gut at the way she grimaces. “Sorry.” You apologize thickly. “It might be sprained, you’ll need an X-ray to make sure.” 

Emily bites her lip and nods, not looking at you as you carefully take the pulse in her left wrist instead. It jumps beneath your fingertips, quicker than normal but still within the range of acceptable; you let go of her hand and grab an instant ice pack from your kit, popping it so it freezes over.

“Hold this to your wrist.” 

She does it silently. Her head is bent, the dark strands of her hair absorbing the fluorescent lights. The outline of her shoulders shivers faintly; you press your fingertips to her coat. “Hey. Are you doing alright?” You ask gently.

It sounds a stupid question even to your ears, especially when she looks up and you see the blood dripping down the sharp line of her jaw, onto the collar of her coat. There’s a small furrow between her brows when your eyes meet, but it loosens a little as she gives you a small smile.

“Yeah, ’m good.” She says. There’s a heaviness to her voice, despite the dimple in her cheek. 

Now that you’re beneath the light and she’s properly looking you in the eye, you’re suddenly aware of her striking beauty. Fluorescent lights and the blood dripping down her cheek hardly diminish her sharp features. Shiny dark bangs dip between her brows, just the same bitter coffee shade of her eyes. Those are ringed with equally dark lashes, and in her pale, bloodless face, the shocking collision has the same effect of a black hole.

You blink, the sightly ragged sound of her breathing snapping you back to the present.

Oh, god, had you been staring? 

Heat bursts through your cheeks as you clear your throat, desperately attempting to be casual. You reach for your penlight, bending your head to be more level with hers. “Keep your eyes open, please.” You instruct as you shine the light into her eyes. 

Her pupils are blown; wide, uneven pools of black that push her dark brown irises to thin rings. They’re almost as dark as her pupils, you note, and not for the first time.

Focus.

“Yep,” you mutter, giving her a small, sad smile as you straighten. “Definitely a concussion.”

“They’re not that big of a deal.” She says flippantly, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.

A frown draws your brows together. “You have a history of concussions?” That could definitely be a problem, you think as you click the penlight closed.

“I’m a federal agent.” Emily says, as if that explains it. She squints as she tips her chin further up, gravity dragging her bangs over her brows. The darkness of her eyes freezes you in place. “You’re…really beautiful.” She murmurs. 

You suck in a surprised breath. The back of your throat goes dry, aided by the piercing intensity of her gaze. She blinks a few times and leans in closer, dark, spidery lashes kissing her bloody cheek.

“Excuse me?”

 “You’re a little blurry, though.”

“That’s—”

“Too pretty for a job like this.” Emily muses. Her eyes drag over you; the scrutiny makes your heart kick.

She’s your patient.

Trying to move on, you place the back of your hand to her cheek. Emily’s brows shoot up in surprise, not recognizing what you’re doing as you check the temperature of her skin. You shouldn’t rise to her flirtations, you know that. She’s not even fully lucid.

But your mouth moves before you can stop it.

“Well, you’re too pretty to be a federal agent,” you say softly, your voice low as you gauge her skin. Cold, pale. “I bet you get banged up all the time, right? That’s a shame.” You turn to grab a shock blanket. You unfold it, wrap it around her shoulders above her coat. Her dark hair is trapped under it; you resist the urge to pull it out. 

A blush has spread across her cheeks. Shocking red, a close shade to the blood traveling down the length of her face. “We—uh…we jus’ wanted to get food for our team.” She sucks in a breath, “Why’d you put this on me?”  

“You’re pale, looks like you might be in shock.”

“That’s just my natural color,” Emily protests as you reach for a pair of gloves and slip them over your unsteady hands. “Right, Hotch?” She calls out, loud enough for him to hear.

“Keep the shock blanket, Emily.”

“It’s cold out,” you say apologetically. For some reason, you don’t want to gain her displeasure, though—in a situation like this, at least—she seems easily displeased. “And you lost a lot of blood.”

Her whole demeanor shifts. Suddenly a dimple winks at you, its sly curve in her cheek matching the curve of her lips. “You could just warm me up.” Emily suggests, her light tone masking her exhaustion. 

What? “I…uh.” Fuck, your whole body is on fire. You’re sure you’re gaping at her, but she looks entirely serious. 

This is what you get for flirting back. 

“I have to clean your wound.” You blurt out.

“That’s okay, you can sit on my lap and do it.” Her teeth flash as she grins up at you. Dimples. Two. She laughs at the dumbfounded look on your face, the sound gritty and soft. “Hey, c’mon, I’m a big girl, I can handle it. Super strong FBI agent, y’know? I won’t let you fall.” She says earnestly.

“Ma’am—”

“Emily.” The man calls out.

Emily blows a raspberry.

“Buzzkill,” she mutters. Her eyes leave you to glare daggers at his back, and that’s when you finally regain your composure. Taking in a quiet, deep breath, you firmly push away the butterflies climbing up your stomach and grab an alcohol pad from your kit, getting to work on her forehead. The latex of your gloves sticks to your sweat-slick palms.

Stay professional, you tell yourself as you inhale quietly, trying to cool the heat in your body. She’s a patient.

Emily’s eyes are once again on your face, turning your skin to fire. “Do you have a boss like that, too? Bit of a hardass?” She lowers her voice theatrically, the whisper of it echoing in the space between your bodies. “We like him, don’t worry, but he can be a bit uptight.”

You don’t answer, biting your tongue because obviously you can’t be trusted to keep it to yourself. Instead you focus on swiping the alcohol pad over her cheek, gently scrubbing until the blood gives way to pale skin. Few freckles peek up at you as you continue moving your way up to the gash. The blood has stopped, but it’s still thick over the wound.

“What’s your name?” She asks softly. There’s a rasp to her voice, threading through her words, and you wonder if you should give her a bottle of water.

This question is harmless, so you answer it. 

“Pretty,” Emily says, her tone wistful. “Everythin’ about you is.”

Your inhale is audible in the minimal space. You avoid Emily’s eyes as you reach for a square of gauze and press it to her forehead; she takes in a quick breath of her own. 

The gauze quickly soaks through, and you replace it with a fresh one.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Her voice is small, thready.

Your heart is in your throat. “No,” you say. Just nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her tone sincere. “I’m not usually like this.”

You gather no one would be themselves after they’d gotten into a car accident, obtained a concussion, and lost a significant amount of their blood volume from a bash to the head. But something tells you this enigma of a woman is different.

“I told you I’m not uncomfortable.” Roundabout way of saying you’re basking in her attention. You clear your throat, “It’s good that you’re talking—helps me know you’re conscious.”

Gently, you swipe her matted bangs to the side and try to get a look at her wound. It’s shallow, but nothing you can treat on your own. As you’re bandaging it, you hear her mutter a curse.

You look down at her, irrational guilt settling in your stomach. “Are you in pain? Do you want some Tylenol?”

Emily blinks dazedly, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She tilts her head, “If I say yes, will you give me your number?”

“Emily.” Her boss sighs.

She grins.

You blush.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi

[catgriffin]

I've heard a couple people argue against radioapple because it's mainly just sexualizing the two. While that is true for most of it. That doesn't mean it has to be. Because listen:

What if, in the final battle, Lucifer is taking on an entire army of angels for the sake of his kingdom, his daughter, and his new friends. Alastor watches helplessly as Lucifer had ordered him to stand by, because even Alastor would surely be killed. He watches as Lucifer is cutting down angels, they're dropping like birds shot out of the sky. Even so, their numbers become overwhelming and difficult to manage. Alastor, realizing the danger Lucifer's in, for the first time, feels concern.

Lucifer finally starts taking damage, the angels swarming him. Alastor's feet move before his brain has time to process what he's doing. Inky, black tentacles launch him into the sky, back to back with Lucifer, he uses shadows as a shield to protect Lucifer from an angelic spear headed straight for his heart. Why is he protecting him?

Alastor, one of the most feared overlords, a serial killer and cannibal, narcissistic, psychopathic, heartless, evil... finally started caring about someone else more than himself. Respect, strength and fame means nothing in that moment. Just that the first person he's ever loved is safe.

What if Lucifer's light finally chases away Alastor's dark thoughts, tendencies, and insecurities? White light that burns away the shadows. Lucifer holding Alastor in his weakest moment. Reassuring him it's okay.

What if Lucifer is the one that takes Alastor down from his high horse and helps him through his inevitable breakdown? What if Lucifer helps him break his deal? Lucifer, fighting to save Alastor and telling him it's okay to not be at the top.

What if Alastor helps Lucifer out of his depression, teach him how to move on from what I'm suspecting was bad past relationships? They get over their dad rivalry and work together to protect and teach Charlie.

Their relationship doesn't need to be sex, it's just love and care, something I think they could both benefit from. I think Lucifer is autistic and speaking as an autistic person quite a few of us are somewhere on the ace spectrum, I really don't think asexual alastor would be any kind of issue for Lucifer.

(Edit)HAVING SAID ALL THAT I think radioapple might be better as just fan art and such because although I'm not aroace myself I can understand wanting the representation because it's true there doesn't seem to be much of it out there. If it were to become canon I think it's safe to say a lot of people would be upset.

[srslyblvck]

destined heart, five hargreeves [requested]

pairing: five hargreeves x gn!reader

synopsis: You and Five hated each other, everyone knew that. You both bickered like children. So what happens when he’s injured?

genre: fluff

warnings: blood, injuries

word count: 1.7k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT FIVE was an insufferable jerk. From the moment you met him at the Commission, he got under your skin like no one else. He was arrogant, always had a sharp retort, and acted like he was the only one who knew what he was doing. Unfortunately, he often did. But that didn’t make him any less intolerable. The two of you bickered constantly, throwing insults like daggers, yet when it came to missions, you were unstoppable. The IT duo, they called you. A title that, though you would never admit it, you wore with some twisted pride.

But outside of work? It was a different story. Every moment spent together was a clash of wills, a battle of egos that never seemed to end. You were convinced you hated him, and you were sure he felt the same.

But no matter how much you bickered, you both knew how to get the job done. And that’s what mattered—until it didn’t.

This mission should’ve been routine—track down Cha Cha, take her out, and get back to HQ. But it went horribly wrong. She had the upper hand from the start, and before you knew it, the mission turned into a fight for survival.

You were panting, trying to catch your breath as you glanced around to make sure Cha-Cha was truly gone. A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned to Five, ready to throw out a snarky comment about his reckless fighting style. “Honestly, Five, if you keep fighting like that, I might—"

Your words died in your throat when you saw him. He was hunched over, one hand pressed to his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his usual sharp eyes were dulled with pain.

“Dammit, Five!” you cursed, rushing to his side. You dropped to your knees beside him, ignoring the way he tried to push you away.

“I’m fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice tight with pain. “It’s nothing. I can deal with it when I get home.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, swatting his hand away from the wound to assess the damage. He winced as you touched the area, and you could feel him trembling. “You’re barely able to stand, Five. Stop being an idiot.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance. “I said, shut up,” you repeated, your tone leaving no room for discussion. You weren’t about to let him die on you just because of his stubborn pride.

With no time to waste, you slipped your arm around his waist, helping him up. He was heavier than you expected, and you could feel the strain as you supported his weight. His breathing was labored, and you could tell he was barely holding on.

Your place was the closest, so you half-carried, half-dragged him there, praying you’d make it in time. By the time you reached your door, Five was barely conscious, his body leaning heavily against yours. You managed to get him inside, laying him down on your bed as gently as possible.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, rushing to grab your first aid kit. When you returned, Five’s eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow. Panic tightened your chest, but you forced yourself to focus. You couldn’t lose him—not like this.

You carefully unbuttoned his shirt, trying not to cause him more pain. As you worked, you heard a faint voice from him, barely more than a whisper. “We haven’t even kissed yet, and you’re already undressing me.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, but you didn’t let it distract you. “Shut up,” you said softly, refusing to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t afford to get distracted now.

The wound was deep, just missing his ribcage. You cleaned it as best as you could, working quickly to stop the bleeding and bandage him up. Every few seconds, you glanced at his face, his sickly pale complexion making your stomach twist with fear. Five was never this quiet, never this still. It scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Finally, the wound was bandaged, and you breathed a small sigh of relief. But you knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. You needed to keep him warm, to make sure he didn’t go into shock. You remembered the sweater he had left at your place—one you had planned to burn out of spite.

You found it quickly, bringing it back to him. With careful hands, you slipped it over his head, guiding his arms into the sleeves as gently as you could. He didn’t complain, didn’t make any snarky comments, and that scared you even more.

Once he was settled, you sat beside him, checking his pulse to make sure he was still alive. It was faint, but it was there. You stared at his face, so pale and unlike the Five you knew. The urge to protect him, to keep him safe, overwhelmed you.

Your mind wandered to Cha-Cha, the one who had done this to him. Rage bubbled up inside you, cold and fierce. You were going to make her pay for what she’d done. No one hurt Five and got away with it. No one.

You stayed by Five’s side until his breathing evened out, and his face regained a bit of color. The bleeding had stopped, and his pulse, though weak, was steady. Relief washed over you, but it was tinged with something darker—an insatiable need for vengeance. Cha-Cha had crossed a line, and you weren’t about to let that slide.

Gently, you slipped a glass of water onto the side table beside him, making sure he had everything he needed before you stood. He was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. For a moment, you allowed yourself to pause, your eyes tracing the sharp angles of his face—the stubborn line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. It was strange seeing him like this, so vulnerable and quiet, without that usual sarcastic edge that made you want to throttle him.

Without thinking, your hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The soft contact made your chest tighten, a feeling you weren’t prepared for.

You quickly pulled your hand back, your brow furrowing as reality crashed down on you. What the hell were you doing? This was Five Hargreeves, your so-called enemy, the person who drove you insane with every word that came out of his mouth. You were supposed to hate him.

Shaking the unsettling feeling off, you straightened up, steeling yourself. There was no time for this, no room for confusion. You had a job to do, and you needed to focus. With one last glance at him, you turned away and left, determination hardening in your chest. It was time to finish this.

The streets were dark as you moved through the shadows, your steps silent but purposeful. You knew where Cha-Cha was hiding; she wouldn’t have gone far, confident in her victory. That confidence would be her downfall.

You found her in an abandoned warehouse, just like you expected. She was cleaning her weapons, humming a tune to herself as if she hadn’t just tried to kill you both. Rage flared in your chest, but you kept it in check, focusing on the task at hand.

“You should’ve stayed down,” Cha-Cha’s voice echoed in the empty space as she noticed you. She didn’t seem surprised, just mildly annoyed. “But I guess I’ll have to finish the job.”

“Not if I finish you first,” you shot back, your voice cold as ice.

She lunged at you, and the fight began. It was brutal and unrelenting, both of you pushing each other to the limit. You dodged her blows with practiced ease, your movements sharp and precise. But she was strong, stronger than you remembered, and every hit she landed sent shockwaves of pain through your body.

You fought through it, every ounce of your being focused on one goal: making her pay. The sound of metal clashing against metal filled the air as you parried her attacks, your heart pounding in your chest. She was relentless, but so were you.

The fight dragged on, your body aching with exhaustion, but you refused to give in. Cha-Cha was grinning now, enjoying the challenge, but you could see the cracks forming in her facade. She was tiring too, her movements slowing just a fraction.

That was all you needed.

With a burst of speed, you managed to disarm her, sending her weapon clattering to the ground. Her eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t hesitate. You slammed your fist into her face, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath your knuckles. She staggered back, blood pouring from her nose, but she didn’t fall.

“You’re tougher than I thought,” she gasped, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “But it won’t be enough.”

She reached for a hidden knife, but you were faster. You closed the distance between you, grabbing the knife from her hand and driving it into her side. Cha-Cha let out a choked gasp, her eyes wide with shock as she stumbled backward.

“This is for Five,” you hissed, twisting the knife.

Cha-Cha crumpled to the ground, her blood pooling around her as her breaths became shallow. You stood over her, your chest heaving with exertion, but you didn’t feel victorious—just cold. You watched as the life drained from her eyes, the fight leaving her body until she was nothing more than a lifeless corpse.

It was over.

You pulled the knife from her body, wiping the blood on her jacket before sheathing it. You were covered in blood, your clothes stained with it, but you didn’t care. You had done what needed to be done.

As you walked back home, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving you with a bone-deep exhaustion. You barely registered the stares of those you passed on the street, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other. By the time you reached your door, you were practically on autopilot.

The apartment was quiet when you entered, the only sound the faint rustling of the curtains as a breeze blew through the open window. You made your way to your room, where Five was now awake, sitting up in bed and drinking the glass of water you had left for him.

He froze when he saw you, the glass halfway to his lips. His eyes widened, taking in the sight of you—your face speckled with blood, your clothes drenched in it. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice sharp with concern.

You met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “It’s not mine,” you replied nonchalantly, brushing past him to set the bloody knife on the table.

Five’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening. “Then whose is it?” he asked, his tone more cautious now.

You waved him off, not wanting to talk about it. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, heading for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Five watched you go, clearly bewildered, but too tired to press further.

When you emerged from the bathroom, your hair damp and a towel draped over your shoulders, you found Five trying—and failing—to stand up. He was clearly still weak, but the stubborn idiot was determined to move around on his own.

You scoffed, knowing how futile his efforts were going to be. “Seriously, Five? You’re not going to make it two steps.”

As if to prove your point, you saw him lose his balance out of the corner of your eye. Without thinking, you sped over to him, catching him just before he could fall. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him steady, and you couldn’t help the exasperation in your voice as you snapped, “You’re such an idiot, you know that?”

Five grumbled something under his breath, but you cut him off with a glare. “No, shut up. You’re not moving until you’re better. I’m not dragging your sorry ass around the house.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not my mother.”

“And, thank God for that,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “If I were, I’d have kicked your ass a long time ago.”

Five smirked, despite his obvious discomfort. “And I’d have run away ages ago.”

“Well, aren’t you the rebellious type,” you muttered sarcastically, settling back down beside him.

Five glared at you, though it lacked his usual bite. “I’m not some invalid. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, right,” you shot back, settling him down. “Because you were doing such a great job of it earlier, huh?”

His eyes flashed with annoyance, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, stubborn as always. “I don’t need your help.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. “You can barely stand, Five. Just… stay put, okay?”

He huffed, turning his head away from you. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” you replied with a smirk, leaning back against the wall. “But I’m also right, and you hate that.”

Five shot you a sideways glance, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his obvious discomfort. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” you countered, crossing your arms. “But at least I’m not the one who got himself stabbed.”

Five rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in them now. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“Not when I’m right, no,” you shot back, your voice lighter now, the tension easing between you both.

For a moment, there was silence, the usual bickering replaced by something softer, more familiar. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, making sure he was comfortable. He was still pale, but there was color returning to his cheeks, and the fact that he was able to argue with you was a good sign.

“You’re lucky I’m here to save your ass,” you said, breaking the silence with a teasing grin.

Five scoffed, but the smirk on his face was unmistakable. “I guess I am. Not that I’d ever admit it.”

“Too late,” you quipped, settling into a more relaxed position beside him. “You just did.”

He rolled his eyes again, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” you echoed, a small smile playing on your lips.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier dissipating. After a moment, Five spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Thank you.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the usual animosity between you replaced by something more genuine.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you nodded. “Don’t expect me to save you every time.”

Five let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

That was a lie, of course. You would save him every time, without hesitation. You would fight anyone, take on any danger, to protect this infuriating, arrogant boy. You’d bring him back from the dead if you had to. Hell, you’d fight the devil himself for Five Hargreeves. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, you cared about this idiot, this arrogant, infuriating boy. And you always would.

[leclsrc]

wait and see ✴︎ cl16

genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear

word count: 2.5k

The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.

auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.

Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”

“Just describe the two of them.”

“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”

—

“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”

You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.

“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”

Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

—

“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”

—

It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.

“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”

“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”

“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”

“Purple!”

“Are you crazy?!”

Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.

An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”

“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.

“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.

They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.

—

“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.

—

Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.

Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”

You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.

“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.

“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”

His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.

Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?

—

“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”

—

“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”

“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”

“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.

Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.

“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.

“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”

“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.

“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”

“Fine. Wait, that?”

“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”

“Okay, bossy.”

Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.

—

“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”

—

Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.

And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.

Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.

“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.

“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”

“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”

So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”

“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”

“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”

You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”

Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.

—

“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”

—

You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.

“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.

“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”

You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.

Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.

“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.

“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)

“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”

You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.

“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.

—

Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”

“Elaborate?”

“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”

—

“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.

You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks.

“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”

“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.

“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.

We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And

Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”

He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”

“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”

“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.

—

Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”

—

It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.

But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.

You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.

“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.

“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”

“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.

“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”

He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.

“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”

“You may,” he whispers.

“Right now?”

“Anytime.”

“So now.”

“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.

“Now is… the best. Now would do.”

“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.

—

“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”

Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.

Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.

[cece693]

We Belong Together (DARK! Steve Rogers x M! Reader)

Just something that came to mind and couldn't help but write it. Please tell me if you like this style of writing more or prefer my original one. Thanx for reading!

Summary: Dating Steve Rogers was more difficult than you'd imagined. He was a man riddled with insecurities and, unfortunately, this affected your relationship.

tags: dark Steve Rogers, manipulation, the Avengers are no help, toxic relationship, not Steve friendly, gaslighting, no happy ending and ambiguous ending

Your relationship with Steve was rocky, to say the least. And you know it sounded stupid because you're dating Captain America, the epitope of male perfection and respect, but you weren't dating him. You were dating Steve Rogers, the man who was always beaten to a pulp behind alleyways before the serum took over. The man who did everything to fit in, but was neglected due to his health problems and scrawny appearance. And in a way, you sympathized with Steve—he was still the boy seeking acceptance from everyone, and you, who he'd let into his heart after the whole Peggy fiasco, couldn't desert him. But there was a line between what you would label as love and obsession.

It would be fine if Steve wanted to spend each weekend lazing about in bed, arms wrapped around you, not wanting to let you even use the bathroom, but it was another story if he had your location turned on and was texting you hurtful messages implying infidelity. You'd let it pass one time, but when it became a routine, and Steve became more suffocating to be around, you realized you'd fucked up. No breakup was easy, but when you're doing it to Steve Rogers, a man who was known for his determination and unwillingness to change his mind, it would be near impossible.

With his job as a full-time Avenger, there was never a good time for you to sit down and talk to Steve. He was either tired or stressed, with the latter making you squeamish to even interact with. No Steve was pleasant to deal with, as of late, but a stressed Steve was walking into enemy ground. If the damage to the punching bags was any indication. However, it seems whatever God above favored you when your boyfriend announced he'd asked for a week off to spend it with you. His smile was genuine, but you noted the strange twinkle in his eyes when he casually noted that it would be your anniversary.

"Who knows what surprise I have in store for you." He said, but those words, said with so much innocence had you fretting. You hated to do it, but it seemed you'd be breaking up with him before his plan could come to fruition.

"Steve, about that..." You trailed off, looking away from him to gain courage, but found none. "I don't think we're working out. I want to break up." There, you said internally, just like ripping off a bandaid. You risked looking up at Steve and instantly regretted it. He had a look of silent fury and violence??? but then it washed over with indifference. You expected yelling, even begging, but silence stung more. "I'm sorry, but I..." How would you broach the topic of his toxicity without sounding like a total asshole?

"Is there someone else?" Steve interrupted, quite rudely. He tilted his head, mind racing with every person who'd ever interacted with you. Who had convoluted your mind into breaking up with him? If there was another man, Steve would make them regret their existence. Taking what wasn't theirs to begin with. "Is it Thomas? I knew he wasn't just a friend."

"No!" You shouted, hurt by the implication. Thomas was a co-worker who you befriended—he was like a brother to you, nothing more, nothing less. "This is part of the problem, Steve. You think I always cheat, making me feel stupid for overreacting to your jealousy when it's unhealthy as hell."

"But you always seem so close to everyone else." Your ex replied, his voice wavering between anger and insecurity. "How am I supposed to feel when I see you laughing and talking with Thomas like that?"

You shook your head, frustration boiling over. "How are you supposed to feel?! You're supposed to trust me, Steve! You're supposed to know that if I'm with you, it's because I chose you. But you keep pushing me away with all this suspicion. It's exhausting."

Steve clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "I only act this way because I care about you, because I don't want to lose you. You know how much I love you. If I didn't care so much, I wouldn't be jealous." He knew it was a stupid reason, but Steve was desperate. He wouldn't lose you over something he had no control over. Didn't you know how handsome, pretty, and unique you truly were? Didn't you see the hungry stares people throw your way? It was Steve's duty as a boyfriend to show them you were taken; his completely.

"That's another thing, Steve! You alienating me from my friends and co-workers."

Steve's face twisted in frustration. "So, what? I should just sit back and let whomever get close to you?"

"I can't control everyone's actions, Steve! Don't try to guilt trip me into thinking your behavior is normal...it isn't. Your reaction just reaffirms my decision." Not wanting to face your ex any longer, you stood up from the table and headed to the door. After all, this was Steve's apartment, and as much as he tried to encourage you to move in, right now you were grateful you stood your ground. But not even before your hand touched the doorknob, Steve's whimpers sounded behind you.

Steve panicked seeing you near the door. You had to understand—he never meant to make you angry, he just loves you so much that perhaps his behavior did come off as overbearing. But this was for your own good, Steve thought, you were too naive, too trusting of people who would only take advantage of you. With tears in his eyes, Steve began to whimper and make himself look half his size. "I'm sorry. I'll change, I promise, but please don't leave me. I love you."

It irked Steve that you didn't face him, but when he saw you pause, his heart rejoiced. Just for it to quickly fall again when you did open the door and told him you couldn't do this anymore. Unable to do anything as you finally closed the door, leaving him alone, Steve's anger made an appearance. Grabbing the closest thing to him, he flung it to the wall and continued to do so until every single item in his living room lay in thousands of tiny little pieces.

You're acting irrationally, Steve told himself. You'll soon come to realize the grave mistake you are making. I'm the only one who could protect and love you. I'll give you space to calm down, and then, perhaps you can understand me.

A week had passed since you'd broken up with Steve, and the man wasn't taking the news well. He believed you would've crumbled and ran back into his arms once the day ended, but when you hadn't called, much less answered his messages, the man grew furious. How dare you block his number and change the locks on your door? Did you have a visitor over, taking advantage of his absence to fuck whomever you desired? Didn't he mean anything to you? The week's absence had made Steve spiral out of control.

The reasonable part of him told him to move on, respect your wishes, and cease contact, but this was you. You weren't replaceable to Steve, oh no, he would make you stand by his side until death do part. Didn't you see you guys were meant to be? It also probably didn't help that the Avengers took his side and began feeding into Steve's delusions.

"I don't get it, man. You treat him right and love him unconditionally. How could he break your heart?" Was Tony's response once he heard of your relationship status. "He's dumb to break things off. I can only hope my relationship with Pepper is as strong as yours." Yeah, Tony wasn't really a help in calming Steve down.

Meanwhile, you were picking up the pieces of your life. Reconnecting with friends Steve had frightened off and taking a much-needed vacation from New York. You couldn't escape Steve when he was a public image—Captain America basically ruled over New York and had a place in people's hearts.

Sitting down at the little cabin you rented for the month, you sipped on your coffee and rethought your plans. Initially, you wanted to just start anew in New York, forget about Steve, and continue living your life, but that was thrown out the window. You could sense eyes wherever you went after breaking things off with Steve, and you might be crazy for saying such a thing, but you knew Steve. Knew he would pull strings to keep in contact and have an eye on you.

It also wasn't unreasonable to make such a connection when Steve was the leader of the Avengers—a team of superheroes with varying skills and resources. So your original plan of staying turned into you seeking residence as far away from the U.S. as possible. Yet, when you believe you've found the perfect place, something gets in the way—your bank is unable to transfer funds, the listing immediately reads as sold, the realtor not answering your calls. Every hindrance only makes you come to the same conclusion—Steve.

Yelling when the mug shattered in your hand, hot coffee burning your skin, you realized you weren’t alone. The front door of the cabin was closed, but standing next to it was Steve. The nearby lamp cast a dim, flickering light over his figure, highlighting his state of disarray. His once clean-cut appearance was gone, replaced by stubble, messy hair, and a simple t-shirt with jeans that looked like they’d been slept in. "Get out." You hissed, but the man only stepped closer, frightening you. "Get out! I don't want anything to do with you."

"I tried to be nice, and give you space, but nothing works." Steve said, ignoring your wishes as he advanced toward you. For every step he took, you stepped back twice. You couldn't help but fear for your safety when Steve disregarded your wishes and had this glint of madness in his eyes. "I need you. Can't you see that?"

Your back hit the wall, trapping you as Steve loomed closer. You never took your eyes off him, every nerve in your body screaming for you to escape, but there was nowhere left to go. "Steve, please." you begged, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. "You're scaring me. This isn't love."

Steve’s hand reached out, brushing against your cheek in a gesture that once might have been tender, but now only filled you with dread. "You’ll see, in time. You’ll remember how good we were together. You just need to stop fighting it."

Before you could react, Steve's hand shot out, gripping your chin with a force that made you wince. In a flash, he pulled you closer and crushed his lips against yours, his kiss bruising and possessive. You struggled against him, trying to push him away, but his arms were too strong, locking you in place as he held you tightly.

Your mind raced, panic surging through you as you fought to break free. This was not the man you once cared for; this was someone consumed by a twisted obsession, willing to do anything to keep you. Tears welled in your eyes as you clawed at his arms, desperate for air, desperate to escape.

[acourtofthought]

TLDR; Because people have gone so far left, they've gone right. Their "wokeness" has led them to completely disregard someone's trauma in the bigger picture. They seem to think Elriels are using Gwyn's SA as a reason Gwynriel can't happen, when Elriels are just trying to be respectful and patient with Gwyn's own trauma to allow her to show some interest in someone before we ship her with anyone.

Longer Answer:

To clarify, there is nothing wrong with a survivor of SA wanting to have sex and get into a relationship. How they deal with their trauma is up to them. I've seen some survivors of SA go on a "sleeping with everyone they meet" bender and some people who can't even be around men for a long period of time. Both are heartbreaking but that is how someone deals with their trauma, and it's nobody else's business.

SA is the product of cruel entitlement. It is a real issue, one that's rampant on college campuses, remote villages, even in the highest of corporate offices. That's the harsh reality. It might be presented as a fictional concept in this book, a reason for background trauma - but it is very much real.

To say a survivor of SA cannot go on to have sex or relationships with others is wrong. That implies they are damaged goods or they are weak and broken. That's wrong.

How someone reacts and processes SA trauma is up to them. It's nobody else's business. Their trauma does not define them. But after a traumatic event like that - they have to be the one to make the call of when and if they want to pursue other relationships. On their own timeline.

When it comes to Gwyn, her stans get defensive when they see people say "Gwyn is still healing from SA trauma, I don't think she's ready for a relationship" because they think we're using it as a reason she can't be with Azriel. They think we're saying "Gwyn is damaged and weak, so she can't be with Azriel". They think we regard ALL SA survivors as being unable to carry out a relationship, healthy sex life, real love because their abuse ... and so they get all up in arms -> and honestly I'm with them on that, because THAT is a disgusting take.

But thankfully, no Elriel is saying such a heinous thing.

We are saying Gwyn specifically has not shown signs of healing from that trauma yet. She still can't leave the library at the end of ACOSF, and has once again - just been through another round of trauma in the BR getting almost attacked by a group of bloodthirsty, disgusting males. She hasn't shown any sign of blushing at Azriel or wanting to touch him or sighing after him like the other priestesses - so what is giving people the indication that she has healed from this trauma and is ready for a relationship?

Like, let me put it this way. If I open the next ACOTAR book and it's somehow about Gwyn & Azriel, I still think Gwyn wouldn't be ready to be in a relationship, even if Azriel is her mate. I still think it would take time for her to feel comfortable around men. Even if he were to be her mate ... somehow - I don't think she is going to suddenly flip a switch and have fantasies of him and have them sneak around having sex between the shelves in the library.

I do not think she is there yet. The most "interest" she has shown during sex is when she:

1. Teased Nesta about Cassian (again not talking about her OWN interest)

2. Talked about how her virginity, her ability to participate in the great Rite had been taking away from her by Hybern's men when they SA-ed her. ... (do I even need to explain how this isn't her being ready to have sex ... it's literally her being upset they took yet another thing from her....?)

And then she gets traumatized again from the BR. And then goes back into the library.

Does that sound like someone is well and healed and ready to pursue a relationship?

No. At least not in my opinion. And listen, I could be wrong - I could open the next ACOTAR Book (when I'm 50 at this rate) and it starts of with a graphic sex scene with Gwyn. I'll eat my words then, idc. But I'm saying right now - it doesn't seem to me like Gwyn is ready for ANYONE.

Azriel has nothing to even do with this. There are plenty of reasons Elriels do not believe Gwynriel is a viable pairing - and it has nothing to do with whether Gwyn is ready to be in a relationship or not.

Gwyn's SA trauma is not something I've seen any Elriel bring up as a reason as to why Azriel & Gwyn can't be together. The main reason we don't ship them together is because

1. We didn't see anything romantic between them in the first place

2. We don't believe that they're mates just because of the word "spark"

3. Elain exists, and she is the current object of all of Azriel's affections

Gwyn's trauma does not make the list. I don't even know where this argument came from but I suspect it was somewhere along the lines of "Gwyn & Azriel don't make any sense, I don't think she's even ready for a relationship yet after ACOSF" and the GAs purposefully twisted our words to say "YOU GUYS ARE SAYING SA VICTIMS CANT HAVE RELATIONSHIPS AND THats why you hate Gwynriel!"

Like no, babes. I'll believe Gwyn is ready to pursue a relationship or sex with someone else when she initiates it. It's literally as simple as that 🤷🏻‍♀️

And that goes for all characters, not just victims of SA or other abuse. You can ship whoever you want of course, even if they don't show romantic interest.

But to claim that ship is canon, that ship is going to be endgame - you need to show me in the text where either character shows some romantic attraction to the other.

It's actually a little sad how you come into my anons thinking you're doing me a favor "clearing something up" for me when the reality is that everything you said is completely false while you try so hard to convince yourself it's canon.

Elain is NOT the current object of Az's attention. Was she for the months between the two Solstices? Sure. But Mor was also the object of his attention at the same time. His longing stares at Mor were fewer and farther between however that does not equal zero which means there were still looks being sent her way. He was pissy towards Helion over Mor for heavens sake. However beyond the three days after Solstice there is absolutely no evidence of Elain being the object of Az's interest just as there is absolutely no evidence of Az being the object of Elain's interest. One would say Elain has revoked any consent she offered Az with the return of his gift yet somehow you think it's ok to ship them in a sexual relationship? Or are you of the thought that girls can't retract consent once it's given?

You're splitting hairs. You say it's not right for the fandom to ship a Gwynriel endgame which would include a sexual relationship because Gwyn hasn't specifically stated "I want to hook up with him" or come on to Az yet it's ok for you to push a sexual relationship on Elain that she no longer seems to want. A sexual relationship on Az that he no longer seems to want. The end of SF took place 4 /5 months after Solstice. The events of HOFAS about 7 and there is absolutely no canon evidence that he even thinks of Elain in that way anymore. If you're so sure he's over Mor after longing for her for 500 years then surely it's believable that he's move past a crush he had for a year tops?

Also, if you're fine with fanart / fanfiction of Elain and Az engaging in kinky sex than you're a hypocrite.

Elain was willing to kiss Az but where is the text that proves she was ready to do more than that after she was violated by being put into the Cauldron. You don't even know whether she would have enjoyed the kiss. Had they followed through SHE could have pulled back and said it was a mistake. She could have walked away feeling nothing. Trust me it happens. I spent over a year lusting after a guy but the timing was never right for us. When we finally had our chance it was extremely awkward. For whatever reason the pining for him created more tension and chemistry than the chemistry we actually had together.

Also, you thinking Gwyn isn't ready for a relationship doesn't really matter does it? You can dislike what Sarah writes, you can wish she'd gone in a different direction but your personal feelings play no part in what will actually happen. And when you look at Sarah's writing she clearly has no issues allowing characters to move forward from SA in a shortened timeline (i.e., Rhys with Feyre). It's already been 2 years and 7 months for Gwyn, Rhys ended up mated to Feyre 5 months after his SA. Gwyn doesn't have to show an insatiable desire for sex in Nesta's book when she can simply reveal that in her own. Nobody is acting like it's wrong to ship Emerie and Mor when Emerie wasn't saying things like "damn, I need to get laid."

Gwyn has ABSOLUTELY shown signs of beginning to heal from trauma. She spent two years afraid to be around anyone but those in the library and within a few months of training she was already fine being alone with Az on the rooftop of Solstice evening. How is that not growth? Alone with a man and smiling at him? Sassing him after Solstice rather than pulling even further into herself?

You can sit on your high horse and proclaim you need the text to support Gwyn's feelings on the situation before you're "ok" with it and that's fine, you do you. But let's not pretend you actually give a shit about an imaginary character who has no actual feelings when real life survivors will tell you they're inspired by the thought of a Gwynriel endgame yet you care little about what they have to say.

Especially when you're the same people who ship Vassa and Lucien despite us having no idea whether Vassa prefers men or women. Despite Lucien having also been SA yet you've got no problem convincing yourselves he desires Vassa, will end up with Vassa, despite him only showing longing for Elain (his mate). So no, it does not appear you actually need confirmation of romantic interest before proclaiming them canon or endgame.

Also, it's ok that you don't see the potential romantic setup for Gwynriel right now despite so many that do. Surprises are part of the fun of reading, right?

But as things currently stand Az and Gwyn's "non interest" in one another seems to hold a lot more potential than "he hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to".

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART IX

Summary: Tommy learns something more about Nina as she opens up to him about her past. Unable to ignore the feelings they have for each other any longer, they reach a point of no return.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, no proofreading, English is not my first language. This is set between season 1 and 2. This chapter is 18+, smut (it’s a spoiler but I need to say it). This is my first attempt ever at smut cause it isn’t my cup of tea, so it might not be that good. Also I didn’t want it to be just porn but I wanted it to be ✨functional✨ to the story and tell something, so I hope I did that.

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Gif credits

Dividers credits

Nina muttered a few curses under her breath as her elbow accidentally hit the bottle of milk standing on the table, spilling its content everywhere. She hastily grabbed some rugs, trying her best to contain the damage. Maybe deciding to bake so late at night hadn’t been her best idea. But she needed to keep herself busy or she would’ve lost her mind, because apparently sleeping was no longer an option for her.

She couldn’t sleep without having nightmares anymore, and all of them involved the same person. Stefano. Sometimes he had her pressed into the wall again, and no matter how hard she screamed, no one would come save her. Sometimes he was standing in her father’s study, arranging their marriage as if she weren’t there. Sometimes he was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, with a grin on his face and a glimpse of victory in his eyes. And every time she woke up feeling his weight on her again, and his breath on her face, and his hands up her legs. She told herself she was being dramatic, that she should’ve been glad nothing had actually happened and forget about it, but the feeling of disgust that had been pervading her since that fateful morning just wouldn’t go away.

What her father had said during the lunch had been the last straw. All that talk about leaving her free to make her own choice was nothing more than empty words, a way of keeping her sweet until he managed to persuade her. And she was scared, because she knew that if he made that decision for her, she wouldn’t have a say in the matter. Because the alternative would’ve been a break with the Spinietta family, and that was something they couldn’t afford.

She missed her nightly talks with Tommy. For almost a month, he had managed to take her mind off all the ugly things that were happening in her life. Talking came easy with him. She didn’t know how else to explain it except to say that they seemed to understand each other. It was surprising, to say the least. Sure, there were parts of him that stayed a mystery to her, and parts of her that she still couldn’t let show, but they felt more like something to discover rather than an obstacle. Still, that meant nothing. Those parts were not hers to discover, and he wasn’t supposed to get any closer to her than he had already done. So they had pushed each other away, and reduced their interactions to the bare minimum. But that didn’t make it any easier. She missed him, despite her attempts to keep him out of her head, and now that they didn’t talk anymore it was as if she was on her own again, trapped into a world that spoke a whole different language.

However, Nina wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of that distance. She was the one person who had made Tommy’s stay in Italy somewhat bearable, and her detachment had left him feeling… hollow.

It had also brought him back to the reality of his situation, though. There was a war going on on more than one side, and he needed to do what was necessary for him and his family. He was walking on a thin line that became more precarious the more he waited. He had two days left to propose, or else the deal would be off, and God knew what would happen then. The most absurd part of it all was that what rationally should’ve been his major concern was overshadowed by something else entirely. He was scared of what would happen to Nina once he’d be back in Birmingham with Agnese on his arm. He didn’t know what was exactly going on with Spinietta, but if there was one thing he had learned, it was that when a man there decided he wanted something, he’d take it, one way or another.

If he could’ve been sure it wouldn’t have started yet another war, Tommy would’ve taken his eyes days ago. And when It didn’t matter how much he told himself that it was the injustice that made him furious, deep down he was aware it wasn’t true. The truth was he cared about Nina. He cared about her in a way he wasn’t supposed to. He had no idea how it had happened, but she had managed to make her way into his heart with steps so light he didn’t even realise it until it was too late. And now thoughts of her filled his mind night and day.

He didn’t think he’d ever feel like that about someone again, after Grace. Grace had been the first person he had opened up to in a long time, he had allowed her to see those parts of himself he never let show, and he had realised there was still a small light inside of him, a sparkle that had survived the storm brought by the war. And he had thought that maybe there was still hope for him. When she betrayed him, the darkness engulfed him again, and any shred of hope he had left faded into dust. But just like a match, Nina had made that sparkle burst into a flame, showing him that it had never been extinguished in the first place. It overwhelmed him how much he wanted her. He could feel her in his bones, in his veins.

It would’ve been a lie to say that the thought of talking to her father hadn’t crossed his mind. But Nina was not something he could take for himself. He couldn’t rob her of her freedom. Even he wasn’t that bad. He could only be content with the little time he had with her, and carry it with him when everything would be over. Maybe that was the reason why he walked out of his room that night, in the hope that she’d be in the kitchen, making herself her terrible tea.

And there she was, except that - much to Tommy’s confusion- she wasn’t making tea. She was surrounded by bowls and pans, and there was flour spilled all over the table. Apparently unaware that she was no longer alone, she kept on stirring the batter with a whisk, with an aggressiveness that gave away her inner turmoil.

“What are you doing?” He caught her attention, earning himself a brief glance before she shifted her eyes back on her work.

“Baking,” she replied, her imperturbable expression clashing with her snappish motions.

Tommy frowned, walking further into the room. “It’s three in the morning, Nina.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Nina’s statement made him cock an eyebrow in disbelief. It didn’t take a genius to guess that she wasn’t baking in the middle of the night because she craved some sweet treat, and her short answers and dismissive behaviour were all Tommy needed to understand that there was, in fact, something going on in that mind of hers.

Slowly, as one would do with a wounded animal, he approached her, and he could’ve sworn her breath had hitched in her throat. “Are you alright?” He asked, coming to a stop next to her.

Her movements ceased, and her hand clenched around the whisk before she let it go. She swallowed, keeping her gaze on the table, and Tommy wondered whether that reaction was due to the question or their proximity.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She recollected herself, sending him a sideward look.

Tommy knew better than to push her. Insisting would only cause her to shut down even more, and that was the last thing he wanted. So he pretended to believe her, and took a seat at the table without another word.

Silence fell in the room as Nina resumed mixing the ingredients, and a new feeling began to rise up inside her. It had been a while since they had spent some time alone, and she had started to surrender to the fact that it would never happen again. Yet, there they were. She would’ve liked to say that it was as if they had never been apart, but in truth it was different, now that she wasn’t lying to herself anymore. With the acknowledgment of her feelings, came the awareness that whatever was going on between them wasn’t destined to last, that the end was near, and that every moment they spent together could’ve been the last. And it didn’t feel right.

She had never felt that way about anyone. She didn’t even know she could be capable of it until she met him. He had made her question everything, even herself, and she despised him for it. She despised him for making all her certainties crumble, for taking everything she had ever known and turning it into an undefined mass of doubts, for making her feel things she was sure she could never feel for anyone else.

Nina could feel Tommy’s eyes on her has she put the chocolate cake in the oven, and that alone made her hands shake. Against all logic, his gaze on her was something she both craved and escaped, it made her feel uncovered and… seen. She wasn’t used to being seen.

Closing the oven, she pushed those thoughts away. There was no point in torturing herself over what could not be changed. She checked the time on clock on the wall. Forty minutes.

“I have to clean this mess,” she murmured, more to herself than to Tommy. One look at the disaster around her, and she already regretted her decision. She inhaled deeply as the thunderstorm of emotions she was trying so hard to contain threatened to slip out of her control, but soon tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head away so that Tommy wouldn’t see them, but it was too late.

“Oi,” he furrowed his eyebrows, getting up from the chair. “What’s wrong, eh?”

Many things were wrong. Her family, Stefano, that. Whatever that was. “I have to clean this mess,” she repeated, her voice cracking.

“It’s alright, I’ll help you,” he said reassuringly, taking a few steps towards her, worry painted all over his face.

Nina shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, no I can do it. It’s…” she trailed off, the knot in her throat making it difficult to even speak.

Tommy’s heart painfully squeezed in his chest. It was overwhelming, to see the suffering she hid behind her mask of fierceness and wit. It was never about the tiredness, or the lack of sleep, or the fucking dishes. She had things eating at her from the inside. Just like him.

“C’mere,” he gently brought his hands to her face, forcing her to look at him. A few tears fell from her eyes, then others followed, like incessant stream that could no longer be held back. “It’s alright,” he said softly, wiping them away. “It’s alright.”

Nina closed her eyes, letting herself be soothed by Tommy’s deep voice and the tender touch of his rough hands on her skin. His fingers traveled through her soft hair, brushing it away from her tear-stained cheeks, before resting on the sides of her face again. “This pain that you have,” he whispered, “share it with me.”

She brought her hands above his, looking up at him through her lashes. Her thumbs faintly stroked his skin, and he could read a hint of hesitation in her features. But when she guided his hands off her face and took a step back, he was certain that she had closed off again, leaving him outside of her mind.

As though nothing had happened, she started to clean up, and Tommy with her, despite her protests. For a while, the clinking of pots and the rush of water were the only noises that broke the stillness of the kitchen. Then, unexpectedly, Nina started to speak.

“It has been going on since I was fourteen,” she said, scrubbing a bowl. Tommy stayed silent, afraid that she’d change her mind if he even made a sound.

“I was in the..” she broke off, looking for the right word. “…ginnasio. I don’t know what it’s called in English. It’s after elementary school,” she explained. “Girls stop at elementary school, they don’t get a higher education. It’s not like it’s forbidden, but it’s just how things are. So as you can imagine, it caused quite the scandal.”

Tommy grabbed a towel, drying the utensils that Nina washed as he listened.

“It caught Stefano’s attention. He studied at the liceo, which is after the ginnasio. He always came to talk to me, asked me questions. My brothers had already finished school at the time, so he was free to approach me without anyone saying anything.” She paused, taking her time to properly clean the whisk. “It didn’t bother me, at first,” she admitted, and Tommy caught a trace of shame in her tone. “He was good looking, a bit older, and he was fairly nice to me. Most girls in the village were in love with him and his brother. I had no idea about what they did.” She handed him a spoon, keeping her gaze on the sink. “Then one day I saw them beating a man half to death in his own shop cause he hadn’t paid for protection. I didn’t even know what protection was,” a laugh escaped her lips, but there was no humour in it. “I have my way of finding out stuff, and people talk, words spread. And once I learned who he was, I decided that I didn’t want anything to do with him. I thought I just had to be patient, cause he was on his last year of school. He asked me to be his girlfriend, on the last day before summer break, and I said no. I thought he’d leave me alone after that,” her voice lowered. “He didn’t. Even when he finished school, he’d always find the way to come to me, to talk to me. He became insistent, he thought I was being difficult, that I was saying no because I didn’t want to say yes right away.”

Fucking bastard, Tommy thought.

“The more time passed, the more I saw, and learned,” Nina continued, her eyes darkening at some distant memory. “And I found out Stefano and his brother had a habit of dragging girls into their car. I didn’t know what it was that they did to them, back then. But it was scary. I stole my brother’s pocket knife, just in case, and always took it with me.”

Tommy almost felt sick. It was even worse than he had imagined. It had been going on for years, ever since she was a little more than a child. Years, and she had never said anything. A question burned on the tip of his tongue, a question whose answer he feared, but that he needed to ask nonetheless. For the first time since she had started telling the whole story, he spoke. “Did you… did you ever need to use it?”

She fell silent, and for a moment he thought he had screwed up. But then she nodded. “Yes.”

His stomach dropped at her revelation, and he stopped what he was doing to take a look at her. He could read the effort she was making to talk about that on her face.

“I was buying groceries with Agnese, and she had stopped in a shop. He came to me while I was waiting for her, tried to convince me to go with him in his car. I pointed that knife at his throat the moment he tried to grab me.” Her voice had hardened, her eyes burning with the determination he had witnessed so many times. “That scar he has, it’s because of me.”

Tommy exhaled the breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. Although enraged, he was relieved that Nina didn’t share the destiny of those girls before her, that she had been able to hold her own. Something really close to pride swelled in his chest.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t make him stop. If anything, it made him worse. The fact that our families do business together didn’t help. Soon he was everywhere. At church, outside my school, he even helped my mum with the groceries. I only had some rest when the war came. His father sent him and his brother to their relatives in New York, so that they wouldn’t fight. I hoped he’d stay there, but he came back. And he started again.”

Having finished to wash the utensils, Nina began to put them back in their place. “Recently, he went to speak with my father. He wants to marry me. That was why he was invited here for lunch.”

Tommy felt the blood freeze in his veins. He had imagined the nature of Stefano’s visits to the Ferrante house, but knowing it for sure was an entirely different thing. The thought of Nina being married to that fucker made him sick to his stomach. “What you just said to me,” he said, “tell your family. They’ll understand.”

Nina shook her head, the shadow of a sad smile growing on her face. “I tried.”

She kept herself busy with the last things that needed tidying up, the topic clearly being a raw nerve. “The first time Stefano followed me home from school I went to my father,” she elaborated, wiping the table. “He asked me if I had, perhaps, done something to… encourage that behaviour. To make him believe that I wanted that kind of attention.”

She finally put down the rag, then she went to wash her hands, dismissing the subject as if it was nothing. But that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot, and she didn’t deserve it. It was no wonder she always acted as if it was just her against the whole world. She had to protect herself for years.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said truthfully. It was the only sentence he could muster up. What could he possibly say, after what she had told him?

Yet, those words had an effect on Nina. All that time, she had felt like it was somehow her fault, or something she had to get over. But that short sentence, said with so much sincerity, carried a meaning of its own. I’m sorry that happened to you. It was the recognition that something had indeed happened, and that it wasn’t something she had done, but something had been done to her. Maybe she was overthinking that, maybe he had only said the first thing that came to his mind, but she needed to hear it.

After that, she let the conversation drop. She would’ve probably regretted sharing that much in the morning, but for the moment she felt lighter. The burden that had weighed down on her shoulders for so long wasn’t as heavy, now that she wasn’t carrying it alone. And even if it lasted just for one night, even if that weight came crashing down on her again the next day, it was enough.

Ten minutes later or so, she took the cake out of the oven, then covered it with a clean tea towel. It would’ve been fun to explain to her mother where it came from. “It’s late,” she murmured, glancing at Tommy. He was leaning against the table, an indecipherable look on his face. Her gaze was captured by the way the muscles of his shoulders showed through his undershirt, then lingered on his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. A warm flush crept up her cheeks, and she found herself taken aback by her own thoughts. She really needed to sleep. And Tommy, who she had kept up with her. A sense of guilt pervaded her. Things weren’t easy for him either, and he needed to rest as well. She cleared her throat, hesitantly getting closer to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, resting her hand on his arm. “For staying.”

Tommy turned to look at her, his body stiffening. That contact was enough to send a chill down his spine. Only the thin material of his undershirt was separating his skin from her fingers, yet her touch burned, awakening all the sensations he had been trying to keep at bay. She was beautiful, and mere inches away from him, and her scent was making his head spin. His eyes drifted to her lips. He still remembered how they tasted, and that only added to his yearning. As though it didn’t belong to him anymore, his hand moved to delicately stroke her cheek, the roughness of his knuckles contrasting with the softness of her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she almost involuntarily leaned closer. With a burning desire clouding his judgment, Tommy tentatively pressed his mouth on hers, testing the waters. When her lips started to move against his, his hand went to cup the back of her head, deepening the kiss. It was different than the first time, when his eagerness was so intense that he couldn’t bring himself to be gentle. He kissed her slowly, delicately, as if she might break in his hands.

Nina did feel like she could break at any moment. Vulnerable, exposed. And the craziest part was that she didn’t mind, not even a bit. Because she felt safe, in his arms. However, once again, reality set over her like a dark mist. She slightly moved away, shaking her head. “We can’t do this, Tommy,” she whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes shut. They were still close enough for their noses to brush, and the tried to imprint that feeling in his mind, in his soul. “I know,” he rasped.

Neither of them moved for a while. Neither of them wanted to. They had been restraining themselves for so long. But it was too late. Inhaling sharply, Tommy took a step back, and a feeling of coldness engulfed both of them.

Nina paced back and forth in her room, fragments of what had happened less than ten minutes ago in the kitchen playing in her head again and again. It felt as if she had reached a point of no return. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She couldn’t go against herself anymore. She wanted him. It didn’t matter how much she tried to convince herself that she didn’t, that she should step aside before it became serious, that she’d forget about him anyway. None of it was true. She had tried so hard to put an end to that, to push him away, but she hadn’t been able to. She felt selfish, and cruel, and a traitor for that. And the worst thing was she didn’t care. In that moment, she didn’t care at all. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be cruel. She wanted to be a traitor. For once, she didn’t want to think about anyone but herself.

Fuck it, she thought. She walked out of her room, her pulse racing. It wasn’t fear, she wasn’t scared of being caught. With her parents’ chamber being in the other corridor and her brothers being away on business, no one would see her entering Tommy’s room. It was the anticipation for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She stopped in front of the door, pondering whether to knock, just open it, or simply leave, feeling her courage already slip away from her. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he was already asleep?

Determined not to let the whirlwind of thoughts and panic scare her out of it, she brought her fist to the wooden surface. The seconds stretched into an eternity as she waited, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, and when the sound of his footsteps came to her ears, she thought her heart could jump right out of her chest. Tommy opened the door, confusion painted across his features, but before he could say anything, Nina pulled him in and crashed her lips against his. It didn’t take much for him to recover from the surprise and wrap a strong arm around her waist, pulling her inside as he closed the door with his free hand. She found herself trapped against the hard surface, enveloped by the warmth radiating from him as their bodies pressed together. Her hands slid behind his neck, bringing him impossibly closer, eager to feel more. The feeling of his strong frame all over her made her knees buckle, and she was pretty sure she would’ve ended up on the floor hadn’t he been holding her. His smell, which had become now so familiar to her - a mixture of soap and cigarette smoke, with a hint of whiskey-, invaded her nostrils, making her head spin.

His hands roamed down her body, covered by the cotton nightgown. He gripped at the soft material, feeling the last shred of his self control drift away from him. It was too much. She was too much. God knew how much he wanted her, but he didn’t want her to do something she was going to regret. Once they had crossed that line, they couldn’t go back. “Nina,” he groaned, breaking away from her. “We have to stop now. I have to stop now.”

“Don’t.”

In the dim light of the room, Tommy examined her expression, only to see there was not a trace of doubt in her eyes. He gulped, gently stroking her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He leaned with his forehead against hers, rubbing his thumb on the skin of her jaw. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he husked. “At any moment.”

She nodded, but when he leaned in to kiss her again, she put her hands on his chest. “Wait,” she blurted out, causing him to take a step back. “I’ve never…” Nina didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Shit. Tommy had imagined it, of course, he was no fool, but having it confirmed… He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But there was a part of him that didn’t care at all. The bad he couldn’t help.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Nina pondered her answer, the reality of the situation washing over her. Theoretically, she knew what to expect. Practically, it was a whole different thing. And she knew that if she said yes, she’d be ruined. Still, she didn’t care. And she was hit by the overwhelming awareness that she’d let him do whatever he wanted to her. “No,” she breathed out.

She felt like she could melt right there when he raised her chin to capture her lips again. What started as a tender kiss became more heated, and soon he was basically devouring her, unable to restrain himself any longer.

Tommy had thought about that moment more than he’d ever admit, and now that she was actually there in his arms, it almost felt unreal. Yet she was there, and she was trusting him. And as he grabbed her waist to press her against him, he noticed his own hands were shaking.

Nina tilted her head as he started to leave a trail of kisses down her neck. A gasp escaped her lips when he reached a particularly sensitive spot, and an unfamiliar ache spread between her tighs, causing her to unconsciously rub them together. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed, cause she felt his lips twisting in a grin against her skin. He moved down to her collarbones, then perilously close to her breasts. His fingers travelled up to the straps of her nightgown as he pulled back slightly, a silent question in his eyes. When she nodded, he slowly slid them down her shoulders, uncovering her inch after inch, until she was standing in front of him with nothing on but her knickers.

Her heart raced as she saw desire burning in Tommy’s eyes. Except it wasn’t just desire, or lust. There was something more, something she couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at her that way. With trembling hands, she shyly took ahold of the hem of his undershirt. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she raised it, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and making his muscles twitch. Once the clothing was lying on the on the floor, she allowed herself to look at him, and explore him. She delicately traced the bullet scar on his shoulder, as if she might hurt him by pressing too hard, then the tattoo on his chest, then the lines of his abdomen, everything that told the story of his life. It was like watching a masterpiece. A torn, tainted masterpiece, but a masterpiece nonetheless.

Her hands reached his trousers, but she raised her gaze on him before unbuttoning them. A glimpse of something that looked a lot like surprise crossed his face, almost as though he wasn’t expecting her to ask. Then he gave her a single nod. After helping her remove them, he gently guided her towards the bed.

A mixture of edginess and anticipation took over Nina as Tommy positioned himself on top of her, one hand beside her head to support himself, the other ghosting over her breasts. She arched her back as he ran his thumb over one of her hardened nipples, the new, strange sensation becoming more and more pleasant as he fondled her flesh. He leaned down to pepper her chest with kisses, his lips warm and soft, then he trailed down to her stomach, her ribs, her belly. That new attention had her squirming under him, eliciting a deep chuckle from Tommy that caused her face to flush. His lips travelled up again to meet hers in a slow, sensual kiss that fogged her brain so much that she almost didn’t notice his hand making its way down to her most private parts. Breath hitched in her throat as he ran his fingers over her clothed sex.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her, his voice reverberating in her own chest. He raised his head to look at her, studying her expression.

Nina’s hand found its place on the back of his head, the short locks tickling her palm. She didn’t even need to think about her answer. One look at his face and she knew. She did trust him, with all her heart. She pulled him down to press a tender kiss on his mouth. “Yes,” she whispered.

Still close enough for their lips to brush, Tommy delicately rubbed his fingers over her heat, stimulating the area while allowing her to get used to the sensation of being touched. When his fingertip found her clit, she let out an involuntary gasp, her fingers tightening around the nape of his neck. He then pushed her knickers to the side, caressing the wet folds before stopping at her opening. Slowly, he inserted one of his digits, and she winced at the foreign, mildly uncomfortable feeling. Tommy stilled his movements, giving her the time to get adjusted.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

He began to pump his finger in and out, careful not to go too deep just yet. Nina let out a ragged breath, pleasure building up inside her as she gradually got used to the feeling. His thumb rolled over her clit, the unexpected move eliciting a whimper out of her. Her breathing became more laboured as he added another finger, stretching her further.

Tommy took in the sight of her under him, eyes closed, swollen lips parted, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in a frown. God, she was beautiful. And she was his, even if just for one night. He moved faster and deeper, working her open until he felt it was enough. A whine of protest left her lips when he removed his fingers, and he smirked at the reaction. “Be patient,” he playfully scolded her, earning himself a glare.

He got rid her now inconvenient last piece of clothing, then took off his briefs. Nina couldn’t help but let her gaze wander to the newly exposed part, and a wave of concern overcame her. It couldn’t possibly fit.

Tommy gently parted her legs more to settle between them and hovered above her again, but he must’ve read the apprehension on her face. “Do you want to stop?” he murmured, running his knuckles over her cheek.

His attentiveness warmed Nina’s heart, dissolving any fear she had. She was safe with him. He wouldn’t hurt her. “No,” she shook her head.

He cradled her head in one of his hands and leaned in to place a sweet kiss on her forehead, then lined himself up with her entrance. Nina braced herself for what was to come, her fingers ghosting over his shoulders in a soothing motion. Tommy inserted his tip, and she couldn’t hold back a stifled gasp at the intrusion. He stood still for a moment, reassuringly rubbing her waist with a hand, then pushed a bit further inside her tight slit. Nina squeezed her eyes shut, the burning sensation almost unbearable.

“You alright?” he asked, the effort he was making to restrain himself showing through the rasp of his voice. Her velvety walls were squeezing him in the most delightful way, and it took all his self-control to stop there.

She nodded, silently giving him the permission to go on. Pain and pleasure mixed as he carefully worked his way past her resistance, until he was buried deep inside of her. He stilled again, giving her the time to adjust to his size. That feeling of fullness took her breath away, it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. She pulled him impossibly close, eager to feel every inch of his skin on her skin, to melt into him until she could no longer tell where she started and he ended. A low groan reverberated into her ear as she pushed her hips up against his, encouraging him to move. Tommy started rolling his hips, setting a slow, sensual pace that allowed both of them to feel everything with the outmost depth. His lips claimed hers in a searing kiss, stifling the moans that threatened to escape them. Nina’s hands went to cup his face, the softness of his lips enough to distract her from the last shreds of pain and help her relax, thus allowing him to go even deeper. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, further igniting the fire inside of her.

So that was what Nina had been warned about all her life. That was the sin she had been taught she should avoid at all costs, the sin that would bring shame and ignominy upon her and all her family. And she was surprised to find out that it didn’t feel like a sin. It didn’t feel wrong. How could there be shame in that, when it felt so right? How could there be shame in being in the arms of someone she cared so deeply about, who made her feel so safe? Where was the shame?

Tommy’s hands rested on the back her thighs, fingers squeezing the flesh as he felt her tightening around him. He wanted to take it slow, to savour that moment, but it was getting harder and harder as her warmth, her scent, her shaky breaths clouded his senses. It felt like being in a bubble. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. Time had stopped for them to exist in that moment.

Nina hid her face in the crook of his neck as he quickened his pace, feeling her muscles tightening in her lower stomach. Tommy guided her to wrap her legs around him, the new angle making her see stars. His thrusts became more erratic, more frantic, causing that strange feeling in her abdomen to become even stronger. “Tommy,” she whimpered, overwhelmed by that vortex of sensations.

“Let it happen, love,” he whispered in her ear, his length twitching at the way his name sounded on her lips.

With a few more thrusts, he pushed her over the edge, and she had to press her mouth over his shoulder to silence the sounds she couldn’t hold back anymore. It didn’t take long for Tommy to follow her, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside of her.

The world stood still as they stayed in each other’s embrace, Tommy’s cheek brushing against hers. He buried his nose in her dark hair, inhaling her lavender scent. For once, his head was silent. No nagging thoughts, no shovels against the wall. Just peace.

Nina gently stroked the back of his head, breathing deeply as her heart slowed down to a normal rate. Fuck, she had never felt anything like that. It had been… intense. And it had tied her to him more than she could’ve ever imagined. It was scary, to be so connected to someone. To feel someone that much. That was the right expression. She felt him. As if he were part of herself. As if there had been an empty spot inside her soul, and she had lived with it all her life, only to find that it was him the missing piece.

A sudden blast of cold hit her when Tommy got up, depriving her of his warmth and weight. She watched in confusion as he disappeared in his private bathroom, wondering whether something had happened. She sat up on the bed, bringing her knees to her chest. Had she done something wrong?

However, she didn’t need to worry for long, cause soon Tommy walked back into the room, with his private parts now covered by a pair of briefs and a fresh towel in his hand. Without saying a word, he climbed back on the bed, smiling softly at the puzzled look on her face. Slightly embarrassed now that the disinhibition brought by the feverish state they had previously been in had faded, she felt her cheeks grow hot when he gently spread her legs apart. He delicately ran the towel over her sensitive skin, cleaning her up from the sticky mess between her legs, his eyebrows knitted in a concentrated frown. Once again, his attentiveness made her heart skip a bit, and she was amazed by how easy it was to let him take care of her. She never let anybody take care of her.

As Tommy discarded the towel somewhere on the floor, Nina’s attention was caught by the blood stain on the white top sheet. Shit. She got up to remove it from the bed, doing her best to ignore what she’d prefer would stay tomorrow’s problem. “I’ll have to take care of it in the morning,” she murmured.

Tommy laid on the bed again, then reached for the cigarettes on his nightstand to light one. He watched her as she looked for her nightgown among the mess of clothes on the floor, naked, with only her long, ruffled hair to cover her a little. She was quite the sight.

Much to his dismay, she soon found what she was looking for, and covered herself. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, motioning for her to get back in bed, having had enough of having her away from him. “C’mere.”

Nina gladly took her place back next to him, resting with her head on his chest as he draped an arm over her shoulders. She could’ve stayed there forever. But she knew that it wouldn’t be long before the sun made its appearance on the horizon.

They stayed in silence as Tommy smoked his cigarette, his fingertips mindlessly grazing her arm. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or about what would happen next. He wanted to stay in that moment while he still could, because he knew he wouldn’t get it back. That thought stung. But he was aware they needed to have that conversation. This time they couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened, and the sooner they talked, the sooner they would clear things out.

“Nina,” he whispered, but no reaction came from her. She had fallen asleep.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, then turned the small lamp off. He didn’t have the heart to wake her up.

They would think about it tomorrow.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hey! So, I was totally stalking your account the other day (please don’t ask why, lmao), and I came across that one-shot you wrote for your last fandom. It got me thinking—could you write something like that, but with Donna?

I changed it a bit, but it’s still kinda the same. It’s about the reader having an identical twin who’s basically better than her at everything and way more popular. Like, people in the village are obsessed with her.

Somehow, Donna meets the reader, and they start getting closer, which is a big deal because, for the first time, the reader feels special—Donna, the powerful lord, likes **her** and not her sister!

Then, there’s this moment where Donna finally tries to ask the reader out, but she’s SO stressed that she doesn't even notice she’s talking to reader's twin instead! The reader overhears the whole thing, and when Donna realizes what’s happened, she goes into full-on damage control mode.

If this isn’t your thing or you think it sounds boring, PLEASE , just ignore this!

LOVE U xx

Yessss!!!! Thank you for... Stalking my account? I'm joking, thanks for your support, and for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

Identical, but different

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 7,925

Summary: You want to be more than just "her sister"

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

You never liked going out on errands, and you knew exactly why.

“Hey, Ivana! Ivana!” a voice called out a name that wasn’t yours, but you knew the words were directed at you.

Rolling your eyes, you turned around, seeing a young villager running up to you.

“Ivana, listen, I want to…” the boy said hurriedly, placing an unpleasant hand on your shoulder.

You pushed it away, growling in annoyance.

“I’m not Ivana,” you said, repeating the phrase that, every time you left your house, you were forced to repeat over and over again. “I’m (Y/N)”

“Oh, wow. Sorry,” the boy said, scratching the back of his neck nervously and embarrassedly. “Um, hey, could you give this to your sister?” he asked, handing you a piece of paper with horrible handwriting on it.

 A love letter, again?

“Why don't you give it to her?” you asked, taking the envelope in an unpleasant manner and putting it together with the ones that you had obtained on your walk through the village.

“Well... You are her sister...” he stammered, to which you made a face of displeasure and shook your head.

“Yes, I’m her sister, not her errand girl,” you said with a hiss, walking away from the boy.

“Don't forget to tell her that it’s form Marco!” he yelled, making you shrug and hiss a few curses.

Every day was another occasion for contempt to appear in front of you.

Being born in that dark village, under the tutelage of the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... None of that could compare to the bad luck you had in your life. Bad luck with your family? Not exactly.

Your parents were hard workers, humble but normal parents after all. That wasn't the problem, just like living in that place wasn't the problem either. The problem was the whim of fate that hung over you at birth.

You could have been an only child, but you weren't. You had a sister, but not just any sister, completely different from you, no. Ivana was your twin sister. Physically you were identical.

But physical resemblance had nothing to do with personality. All the charisma, the ease of talking to people, of attracting attention, seemed to have been sucked out of your body and belonged only to Ivana.

She was popular, everyone in the village knew her, almost adored her (not like Mother Miranda, of course). There was no young villager who didn't notice her stupid smile, one that belonged to you, but that didn't have the same effect.

Always Ivana, always your sister was who stole all the limelight from you. You simply existed, but nothing else. You existed because you were her sister. People talked to you because they mistook you with her. It might seem like a desperate situation, and it was, but you had already gotten used to it.

Well, you weren't really excited about talking to people either. It didn't matter that your silence, your shyness and isolation were caused by a genetic error that made your sister steal all those abilities from you. You never really liked talking to people. You had other hobbies that were more peaceful than making a name for yourself in that sinister place.

Still, every day you left your house was a new torment, a new parade of refusals and corrections. Maybe one day you would play pretend to be Ivana, maybe that way you could get revenge on her. You just rambled. She stole even your courage.

“Hi,” you whispered when you got home, moving towards the kitchen where your mother was waiting for the shopping like every day. “Here you go, mother.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” the woman said, giving you a tip much smaller than the one they gave your sister.

You didn't want to think about that. You still had hope that your own parents loved you equally.

“Hey, (Y/N),” your sister said, making you close your eyes slowly to give yourself patience. You didn't know exactly why she was that popular. You loved her, but you couldn't help but think that your sister was a bit… Unbearable. “How were the errands?”

“Very well, I love going out to freeze while you sit there,” you said ironically, passing by her. “Oh, now that I remember… Here, this is for you.”

With a sigh you took all the notes out of the pocket of your dress and threw them at her in an unpleasant way.

“Have you met Marco?” your sister asked, reading each of the letters with amusement.

“Yes, and he mistook me for you, just like all those idiots,” you commented, letting yourself fall into an armchair, taking your knife to continue with your greatest hobby, carving wooden figurines, something your grandfather taught you and that, along with reading, helped you to spend the time.

“Don't be jealous,” Ivana mocked, sitting on one arm of the sofa, getting on your nerves. “Look, he says I'm the prettiest girl in the village…”

“That's great. How many girls are there in the village?” you said with irony.

“Mm, it smells like envy,” she murmured, crumpling the letter and throwing it into the fireplace.

“Envy? Please, we are identical,” you said, shaking your head and looking at the fireplace. “Hey, why did you do that?”

“I'm not interested in that boy,” Ivana commented. “Are you with your figurines again?”

“You're not interested? Wasn't he your boyfriend?” you asked, preventing the girl from reaching your wooden work. “Leave me alone.”

“You said it... He was... I think I need to start aiming for a higher level,” she murmured, looking at her nails in a smug manner. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When are you going to leave your stupid wooden figurines and look for a handsome boy to hook up with?” Ivana asked, making you roll your eyes and snort tiredly.

“I'm not interested,” you whispered, polishing that wooden cat.

“You're weird, huh?” the twin mocked, getting up, making you stare at her.

“Am I weird for not wanting to break the hearts of half the village?” you asked, leaving the cat on a table and getting up in a bad mood.

“That's because you can't, you don't have my charms,” she said with a haughty tone, pointing at herself.

Your patience was at its limit.

“Whatever you say,” you murmured tiredly, glancing sideways at your mother, who seemed attentive to the conversation. “Should I help you, mother?”

“No, honey,” the woman said kindly.

“Are you running away from the conversation? That's because you know I'm right,” Ivana said, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

You had lost your patience at that point. After a whole morning of being mistaken, your mood was rather delicate. With a groan, you got up from the couch and walked towards the door.

“Hey, loser, where are you going?”

“Where you don’t care,” you said abruptly, bumping her with your shoulder as you passed and walking out the door. “Stupid…”

Going out for a walk around the area could be comforting, you always did it. Relaxing with your sister always present, walking through the village was impossible but… If you went further away, where there was no one, at least you could be calm.

Walking through the trees you cursed and mumbled about the bad luck you had to be born with someone, running your hand over the rocks, looking at the sky, where the cawing of the crows also seemed to want to make fun of you.

“Ivana is perfect, isn't she? To hell with her…” you whispered, shaking your head, walking aimlessly without paying attention. “Oh, Ivana, it's nice to see you, Ivana, I'll give you a discount for being you, Ivana… I can't believe it.”

When you got tired of walking in circles, you stopped in a small clearing that wasn’t familiar to you, siting at an old tree’s feet, along with some of those branches that fell due to the passage of time.

 “Ivana is the best, the prettiest, the smartest,” you mocked with an amused expression, picking up a piece of branch and taking out your knife.

“Look at me: I'm stupid Ivana, the one who can't keep a boyfriend for more than one night, the best in the whole world… Damn it.”

Between grunts you began to carve a small wooden figure hoping that time would pass faster. After all, you would have to go home sooner or later.

“Are you Ivana? You're so pretty Ivana…” you continued to murmur, shaping that little figure that looked more and more like a deer. “I'm sick. Oh, Ivana, it's you, isn't it? Of course it's you, you're so beautiful… Oh, it's (Y/N), wow, what a disappointment… Always the same, damn it… I hate you … I'm not damn Ivana… Do I have to cut my hair so you can stop confusing each other? Stupid…”

“Oh, you're Ivana, aren't you?” a different voice said, one you hadn't noticed. It was a mocking voice that you identified with a treacherous subconscious, or a stupid villager.

Either option was irritating enough to make you get up from the tree and turn around furiously.

“Do I have to put a sign on my forehead? I'm not Ivana!” you shrieked with your eyes closed, squeezing the figurine in your hands.

“Wow, what a bad mood you have…” the same voice said.

You opened your eyes sighing, ready to tell another villager to go to hell, but when you did, your face paled.

It wasn't a villager. It wasn't even a human being. A sinister doll stood in front of you, laughing amusedly. You didn't need to think about who it could be, you knew perfectly well: the Angie doll, inseparable companion of one of the four Lords, Donna Beneviento.

The lady in black stood behind the doll with a cold and stoic pose while the puppet laughed amused by your carelessness.

You immediately lowered your head at the sight of the dark lady, your body shaking in terror.

“Lady Beneviento,” you murmured in fear, knowing you were completely defenseless. “I’m sorry, I…”

“What are you doing here?” the doll asked, causing you to look away from the lady and stare frightened at the puppet. “You’re in our territory, stupid.”

“R-Really? Oh, I…,” you said in fear, looking around.

You were definitely angry that day. You hadn’t even realized where your irrational anger had taken you.

“Don’t you know you can’t come here?” the doll insisted, pointing at you with her finger in amusement. “Ivana?”

 “I-I'm not Ivana,” you said, ignoring the anger that came over you when she said that name. “I'm (Y/N), her sister…”

“Oh, her sister, I didn't know she had a sister,” Angie said with her hands on her hips. “Well, I actually knew, but I'd never seen you. Ha, I thought I was seeing double...”

“W-We're twins,” you said, still scared, looking up to see the lady, who seemed to be watching you in silence.

“Twins, how cool,” the doll said, getting a little closer to you, fixing her porcelain gaze on the small wooden deer. “What's this?” she asked, snatching the half-made figurine from you.

You made a timid gesture to take it back, but when you felt the lady's gaze on yours, you stopped.

“It's…. It's…” you stammered, controlling the incipient trembling of your legs. “It's a wooden deer.”

“Oh, a deer… Did you make it?” the curious puppet asked, pretending to play with the figurine.

You nodded nervously, clasping your hands in front of your body.

“I, I like to make wooden figurines, I, I carve them myself,” you explained in a small voice.

Angie looked at you and turned around, approaching her owner.

“Look, Donna, look, look,” she said excitedly, handing the lady the deer.

 She picked it up slowly, making you notice her hands, which immediately caught your attention. After all, that black veil didn't allow you to see anything.

“Mm,” you thought you heard a murmur coming from the black fabric, but you were so scared that you didn't even pay attention while the doll maker calmly observed the figurine.

She was dangerous, very dangerous. She was a disturbed woman who had no mercy on anyone who came snooping around, someone like you.

“Hey, silly, are you looking for a job?” the doll asked, observing your work of art alongside the lady.

You froze when the lady in black extended her hand to kindly return the figurine to you. You had no answer to that question.

“Um…” you stammered, avoiding making contact with that hand that seemed so soft. “Job?”

“Uh-huh, my Donna is quite the doll artist,” Angie said, pointing at the lady in black, who moved her hand, returning it to the side of her waist. “Maybe your skills as a wood artist could be useful.”

“My skills?” you asked curiously, pointing at yourself. “Uh, actually this, this is a hobby. I'm not a carpenter or something like that.”

“That doesn't matter to us, you have talent, girl,” Angie said, walking around you like a carrion bird. “I assure you that my Donna values ​​talent very much…”

“Oh, I…” you stammered again, scratching the back of your neck. “I-I don't know what to say…”

“Well, don't say anything, silly,” Angie laughed, being picked up from the ground by her owner, who began to walk away from you, passing by your side like a ghost, one that smelled of lavender… “Anyway, think about it, come to our mansion tomorrow so we can get to know each other better, okay?”

“I-I… W-Well, okay,” you said confused, nodding, while the lady turned her head to look at you for the last time, continuing her way towards the wooden bridge.

That encounter with a Lord was strange, but the strangest thing of all was being able to get out of that place alive. You had heard so many rumors about the lady in black that you didn't know if you could believe them.

You survived, and on top of that... You had a unique job opportunity. You, the scorned sister, had been chosen by Donna Beneviento herself.

You should feel special, but what you had was fear, fear of what could happen to you. The job offer was, however, tempting and on the way home, you could not stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t something you could keep quiet and, during the meal, you told your family what had happened.

“What do you mean?” your father asked after a few seconds of deathly silence. “You say that Beneviento wants you to work for her?”

“Yes, father,” you said, lowering your head, drinking a glass of water. “It seems that she needs help with her dolls.”

“Wait, are you telling me that a Lord has taken an interest in you?” your sister asked, her eyes wide. The trouble of going into the forest was worth just to see her face.

“Yes, it seems that my figurines are not a waste of time,” you said with a haughty tone, making your sister frown.

“(Y/N)…” your father sighed. “I hope you're not thinking of accepting that offer.”

You shrugged.

“I don't know, it could be a good job,” you whispered indecisively, picking up a piece of bread.

“A good job? That woman is insane, do you hear me? I won't let my daughter risk her life like that,” the man said, pointing at you sternly. “No.”

“But, father…” you protested with a sad look. “She didn't seem so… Insane to me…”

“Seriously, why you?” your sister added, envy oozing from every pore.

“No… No wa…” your father repeated, interrupted by your mother's hand.

“Vlad… Wait a moment,” the woman said in a cautious tone. “Maybe it's a good opportunity. That horrible woman is a Lord. She’s rich…”

“My daughter isn't worth all the money in the world, Ingrid,” your father said, crossing his arms.

You couldn't help but smile. At least for your family you were something else than Ivana's sister.

“Think about it Vlad, if (Y/N) works for Beneviento, we'll be protected in some way, besides, we have a lot of debts… It could be the miracle we're waiting for,” your mother commented, making the whole family look at you.

“Well… What do you say, (Y/N)?” the man asked, pointing at you with his fork. “Do you want to work for that crazy woman?”

Again, you shrugged, nodding slowly.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” you whispered, eating calmly.

Your sister snorted, crossing her arms.

“I can’t believe it, you?” she protested with a nasty look.

“What’s wrong, Ivana?” you said with an evil smile. “Are you jealous?”

The next day, after enjoying your sister’s protests, you decided to accept, walking, this time with a sure course towards the lady’s mansion. Internally you meditated on your options.

Well, your parents needed money and… Your sister was jealous. There was no harm in trying your luck with that woman. Maybe she wasn't as horrible as everyone thought. You certainly didn't think so.

“Okay…” you muttered, entering through a red door that led to an elevator. Just getting there made you feel lucky. You wondered if you could go back.

When you finally reached the the mansion, your eyes widened in awe at the sight. A splendid waterfall rose to the side of the old house, one you had only seen in photographs.

“It's great,” you said with a smile, pleased by the beauty of the place, by feeling that, somehow, you weren't in danger.

But your face changed when you saw a figure walking towards the house, one that looked suspiciously like you.

“It can't be…” you muttered, walking faster and shaking your head. “Hey, you! What the hell are you doing here?” you asked annoyed, pulling your twin sister's arm.

 She smiled at you arrogantly.

“I see that punctuality is not your strong point, huh?” she mocked, breaking away from your grip and walking towards the entrance of the mansion. “I'm here looking for work, (Y/N)”

“What? You have to be kidding,” you said indignantly, pulling her arm again. “Go away, Ivana, this job is mine.”

“Oh, please…” the girl sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don't be naive, you're good for nothing.”

“Well, it turns out that Lady Beneviento needs my talent for wood carving, one you don't have,” you said mockingly, climbing the stairs with your twin, who laughed ironically.

“Don't talk nonsense, you're useless, (Y/N), I can do many more things,” she said satisfied, putting on her dress before knocking on the door, something you prevented by grabbing her wrist.

“What things? Are you planning to seduce this woman too?” you asked unpleasantly.

“Please, I'm not into women, that would be you,” Ivana said sarcastically, releasing herself from your hand and bringing her fist closer to the door again.

“You're unbearable,” you growled, kicking the ground, furious. “This job is mine, Beneviento wanted me, not you. Can't you let me be the protagonist for once?”

“You? Protagonist? Don't make me laugh,” your sister mocked, crossing her arms.

“I really want to pull your hair...” you threatened, approaching her with a dark look.

“You are so vulgar, and you want to work for a Lord?”

“I'm going to…” you growled, reaching out your arms towards your sister, who struggled with you until, with an ominous creak, the door opened.

“Well, well, well…” Angie the doll hummed, in the arms of the lady in black.

Comically, the two sisters separated, adopting a formal and respectful pose.

“Look Donna, has anyone ordered a two for one?” the doll mocked, laughing amusedly while pointing at you effusively.

“Lady Beneviento,” you and Ivana said at the same time, with a frown.

“Am I seeing double?” the puppet mocked again, shaking her head.

“Lady Beneviento,” your sister said, taking a step forward and extending her hand towards the lady, who lowered her gaze but didn’t return the greeting. “Um, I have come looking for work.”

“You?” the doll asked, with a suspicious tone. “(Y/N)?”

“No, no, (Y/N) is this one,” Ivana said mockingly, pointing at you while you kept your head down. “I’m her sister and it is wrong for me to say it, but… I’m better than her for this job.”

“Shut up,” you hissed in an angry whisper, glancing sideways at the lady in black. Unfortunately, you couldn't know where that mysterious woman was looking.

“Oh…” the doll murmured. “Do you also carve wood?”

“No, my lady, but I… Well, I have other talents,” your unbearable sister said.

The lady sighed loudly, but made a gesture for both of you to enter the house.

As expected, your sister's charisma made her not want to keep quiet, making kind comments about everything in the mansion, she even had the audacity to comment on the beauty of the portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs, one that you also noticed, but you didn't say anything.

The two of you sat on a sofa following the vague and silent instructions of the lady in black, who did the same on an armchair located in front of you.

“I think that color suits the house well, and it has a beautiful floor and…” Ivana said tirelessly while you simply lowered your head, occasionally looking at the stoic lady, who, you couldn't be sure, but you thought was looking at you.

“Hey, shut up,” Angie protested, making your sister close her mouth immediately with a cocky smile. “Let's see… You are Ivana, right?”

“Yes, my lady,” your sister said, blinking petulantly.

“And you (Y/N),” Angie repeated, pointing at you.

Your response was an elegant nod.

“Well, I already know what (Y/N) knows how to do, but you… I've heard a lot of things about you in the village,” Angie said, speaking in a slightly strange way, as if she wasn't really the doll.

 The woman didn't speak, she just looked at you.

“It's an honor, my lady,” Ivana said, bowing ridiculously. “Yes, I'm quite well-known in the village.”

“Uh-huh, okay, why do you want to work for us?” the puppet asked.

“It would be an honor for me to serve you, my lady,” Ivana said, making you look at her with a disgusted face.

“What can you do?” Angie asked again, without looking at you, the complete opposite of her owner, or so you thought.

“Well, among my many talents… I know how to cook…” the girl began petulantly, placing herself in an informal posture.

You didn't move, you simply maintained that mysterious look.

“My Donna also cooks, what else?” Angie said, her tone seeming impatient. “We don't need cooks.”

“I'm very good at washing clothes,” your twin continued.

“That's good, hey, haven't you heard of washing machines? You should try them,” Angie mocked, making you unable to contain a smile.

“I-I can also… I can…” your sister stammered, revealing with her voice that she was starting to get nervous. “I'm very good at conversation.”

“Oh, did you hear that, Donna? She likes to talk,” Angie said, looking at the lady who did the same with a serene pose. “What do you say, Donna? Oh, of course, you don't like to talk…”

“Um, um… I can, I can be your maid, my lady, I'll do anything you ask me to,”

Was that a desperate request? Your discreet smile widened.

“We don't need a maid, silly, why don't you try the castle? Surely there you are useful,” the doll said.

You suppressed an amused laugh, glancing sideways at your trembling sister.

“Get out of my house,” a hoarse, unknown voice said, one that came out from the black veil, which had a soft and melodic accent. It was Donna, you were sure.

You, thinking she was talking to you, lowered your head with sadness in your gaze, getting up from the sofa.

“Yes, get out, you're bothering me,” your sister emphasized with a satisfied smile.

“No, not you, (Y/N),” the hoarse voice spoke again.

You stopped with a cautious look.

“You stupid fool!” Angie shrieked, pointing at your sister. “Didn't you hear my Donna? We don't need a fool like you, you're useless.”

“What?” Ivana asked with a frown.

“Go away, go away, come on, out, out,” the doll insisted, gesturing with her hands while your sister, scared, looking at you with fiery eyes, ran towards the exit.

“Sit down,” the dark voice spoke again and the hand of the lady in black moved towards the sofa.

You, amused watching your sister leave the mansion, obeyed, calmer. A moment of silence tensed the atmosphere. There was no one else the lady could be looking at, there was only you.

“Your sister can't be quiet, right?” the lady asked, with that very special voice, with an almost inaudible whisper.

You smiled kindly, shaking your head.

“Yes, she's an idi... I mean, she's, she's... Like that,” you said, swallowing the insult. She was a Lord, after all.

“She's an idiot, you can say it,” Angie said, amused, getting off her owner's lap and sitting on the couch next to you. “We don't like idiots...” she whispered in your ear.

You smiled again, lowering your head when you felt those invisible eyes looking at you again.

“Do I scare you, (Y/N)?” the lady asked, making you briefly look up and shake your head, lying shamelessly.

“No,” you said with a sleepy, broken voice, playing with your hands and wishing to carve wood to release the stress. The Lord tilted her head slowly, searching for the truth with that simple gesture. “Well, a, a bit... I've never been that close to... One of you.”

“So, what do you think? Is it as horrible as you expected?” Beneviento asked again, running a hand over her knee, as if she were nervous too, which was impossible, of course.

“Not really,” you said in a sincere tone, smiling at the ridiculousness of your perfect sister. “You’re the… First one who doesn’t… Who doesn’t think my sister is… Well, great.”

“She’s not great,” she said in a sharp voice. “You have a talent I need. She’s just a stupida…”

“Oh, well, I…” you said, scratching your head, blushing at the compliment, which was unusual if it wasn’t accompanied by: Oh, you’re Ivana, aren’t you? “It’s, it’s a hobby.”

“A hobby that I find very useful,” she murmured, gesturing to Angie and getting up from the sofa with a tired sigh. “Come.”

You stood nervously on the couch, your legs deciding they didn't want to move. You were terribly nervous. No one had ever paid you so much attention, much less... Someone like her.

“Didn't you hear me, girl?” Donna asked impatiently, turning around to look at you, making her veil dance hypnotically. “Come here.”

“Y-Yes, sorry,” you said hastily, getting up and walking next to her, again, in silence, a terrifying one.

After going down an elevator, you walked through a dark basement that gave you chills, until you reached what looked like an old workshop, surely the place where those porcelain dolls were created.

All the children in the village had one, and you were no exception, although your sister's was much more detailed, as always.

“I suppose you're wondering what I want you to do for me,” the lady in black murmured, walking towards a table, where there was an old sewing machine. You nodded with a formal pose.

“Yes, my lady,” you said in a dry, respectful tone, as much as you could.

“Do you see these dolls?” she asked, pointing at the objects, impatiently indicating for you to come a little closer. “Don't just stand there, come closer, girl.”

You walked slowly, taking the porcelain doll the lady offered you and examining it carefully.

“I've known how to make these dolls since I was much younger than you,” the lady began explaining while you played with the doll's clothes. “It's easy for me.”

“I-I see, my lady, it's a magnificent job,” you said with your best smile, giving the doll back to her.

“Save the compliments. If I wanted someone to flatter me, I would call your sister,” she said in a cold tone, leaving the doll in its place.

You swallowed and nodded, regretting your words.

“The thing is simple, (Y/N)… Wood was never my strong point,” the lady whispered, gesturing towards the restless Angie, who climbed into her arms, as if she had hypnotized the doll. “Look at those joints, the details of the fingers…”

You obeyed, craning your head to look at those hands… And also at the wooden fingers.

“It's very well done,” you said, touching the puppet unsteadily, moving its fingers.

“Don't touch it too much, or she will bite you,” the lady said in a dark tone, which made you move your hand away immediately, making something like a nervous laugh come out from behind the veil. “Sorry, it's a joke. Angie won't do anything to you.”

“Oh, okay…” you sighed, playing with your hands.

“Angie was created by my father, and he was good at wood, a talent that, unfortunately, I didn't inherit,” the lady continued, giving life to Angie again and lowering her to the ground. “I would like to recover that part I lost, to make these moving dolls again, and for that, I need you.”

“I understand,” you said pleasantly, nodding.

“Will you be able to help me, or am I wasting my time, (Y/N)?” she asked, crossing her arms in a challenging pose.

“I will do what I can, my lady,” you said elegantly, smiling, knowing that you had gotten the job, one that your sister was not able to achieve, one in which, at last, you would surpass her.

“My lady…” she whispered, with a nervous laugh, indicating for you to sit on a nearby chair. “Don't call me that, you remind me of your sister…”

“Oh, okay,” you said laughing shyly, taking a piece of wood that she handed you. “Lady Beneviento?”

“Donna, it's much shorter,” she said, sighing and sitting next to you. You nodded nervously. “Well, it's not that I doubt you, girl, but I'd like to see what you're capable of. I want a right arm, more or less like Angie's, can you do it?”

And so, by a terrible coincidence, a new part of your life began. A much better one, one in which, finally, you didn't feel inhibited by your sister's abilities.

You had a job. You worked for a Lord, an achievement only reserved for the privileged or well, for any young girl who dared to approach the castle, and who didn't plan on getting married.

The days passed quickly in the old mansion. Silence always accompanied you as you manipulated that wood, always next to the lady in black.

Yes, she could be many things, she could be a sick and dangerous woman, but she didn't show it with you. She wasn't very talkative, quite the opposite of her doll, but she was kind in her own way, grateful for your formality, for every thing you did well, and understanding if you made a mistake.

You certainly felt better than ever. Finally there was someone who preferred you over your sister, something you never thought could happen. The days, weeks, months passed and those little conversations with the doll maker increased little by little, as did your smiles.

Donna was a fascinating, mysterious woman, but completely different from the other Lords. Surely that was what caught your attention, yes, yes, it wasn't at all her sweetness, her melodic and seductive accent, or the beauty of her hands…

Maybe you were a bit confused, maybe that attraction (yes, attraction) you were starting to feel for the lady in black was simply a thank you from your heart for feeling important, for feeling that, for once, your sister wasn’t the protagonist.

“Good job, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, running her slender fingers through the wooden ones you had just polished while you looked at her satisfied. “I can give this little hand a manicure, don't you think?”

“Yes, thank you, Donna,” you said with a smile, sighing at the work that wooden arm took you.

She nodded, making you understand she had heard you and, surprisingly, she brought her hand to the black veil that covered her face, removing it elegantly.

You looked away at first, but you couldn't help but glance at her face out of the corner of your eye, getting very nervous. Donna was, just as you feared, a beautiful woman. You didn't even pay much attention to the scar, which was probably the reason for wanting to hide her face.

Your mouth opened slightly and your gaze became bolder, going straight to the lady, who was searching through an old glass for a suitable brush to paint your creation.

“Che stai guardando?” she asked without looking at you, knowing that you had become petrified, and why.

“Oh, no-nothing,” you said nervously, returning to the table to play with the leftover pieces of wood.

The lady frowned, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, putting the brush back in its place.

“Did you understand me?” she asked curiously, turning to look at you, to confirm the beauty you had noticed. “Do you know Italian?”

“Um, yes, no, um, I don't know,” you stammered, turning abruptly to look at the table again. “It's just that... I, I've read a lot of books...”

“Do you like to read?” she asked, taking the brush and smearing it with paint.

“Um, yeah,” you said quietly, playing with a piece of wood, carving it to calm your nerves.

“Mm,” she murmured, concentrating on the arm, not caring too much about you had seen her face. She didn’t really have to. One bad word and you would end up at the bottom of the waterfall. “Your sister likes to read too?”

“My sister?” you asked with a mocking smile. “I doubt she even knows what a book is,” you said, forgetting about the beauty next to you.

Donna laughed softly, but kept her face serious.

“Excuse me for asking, but… Why do you hate your sister?” she asked in a soft voice, curious but distracted at the same time.

“I don't hate her,” you said sighing, shaking your head. “She's my sister and I love her, but it's just that… Ugh, she was always the most… Popular… Everyone approaches her, sucks up to her, wants to flirt with her… It seems like I’m nothing but her shadow.”

“There's no one who doesn't know her,” the lady commented, painting in a disinterested way. “But I don't understand why. She's stupid.”

“Yeah, well…” you said amused, rolling your eyes. “But even if she's stupid, I don't know how she does it, but she has a natural talent for people, she has a lot of charisma, and joy and... Well, everything I lack... She's like a double... Or rather, I'm her sinister double...”

“Mm, so you think that being popular makes you a better person,” she commented distractedly, making you reflect.

“Yes, no, I don't know,” you said, nodding and suddenly shaking your head, not sure of your answer.

“Do you think she's better because people want to flirt with her?” Donna asked again, making you blush.

“W-Well, that doesn't matter too much to me, we don't have the same interests,” you said with a shy voice, not wanting to reveal an important fact about yourself, one that you didn't know how Lady Beneviento would take it.

“Mm, that's obvious,” she murmured without looking at you, making you startle.

“Why do you say so?”

“You're not scared of my face,” she said in a darker voice, controlling an incipient tremor in her hands.

“The-there's nothing to be scared of,” you said, nervous, uncomfortable.

The lady stopped painting, smiling strangely.

“Surely your sister would run away terrified,” she murmured, sighing sadly, something that caught your attention.

“No way,” you said amused with a gesture of your hand. “No matter what she thought, she would surely try to seduce you to take some of your fortune. She always does the same with everyone.”

“Seduce me?” the lady asked amused, letting the wooden arm go and turning to look at you.

“Yes, I think so,” you said, looking away. “She would do anything to gain fame...”

“Even seduce a monster like me,” she said in a different tone, pressing her lips together.

A bad choice of words.

“I didn't mean that,” you said regretfully. “I, I just, I mean that, seducing you is not what... Well, I think that... Well, anyone with eyes in their face could see how beautiful you are and... Well, I... Well... I-I better shut up...” you said nervously, red as blood, looking at the old clock, wishing it was time to leave.

“Do you want to seduce me, (Y/N)?” she asked, in a whispery tone, looking at you with a frown.

Your heart couldn't take it anymore.

“Oh, I... I'm not like my sister,” you said avoiding that poisoned dart, avoiding saying what you really thought.

“That's why I like you,” the lady whispered, bringing a soft hand surprisingly to your face, caressing it gently, almost automatically.

Your breathing quickened and your eyes danced nervously, locked on hers, on that bright and beautiful eye as her skin made contact with yours, a sensation you didn't know felt so good (although you shamefully fantasized about it)

“Y-You-You like me…” you stammered, bringing your hand to hers, leaning in the same way as her until the lady, clearing her throat, withdrew, surely embarrassed.

“Yes, um, um… I think, I think you've done enough for today. You can leave,” Donna said, shaking her head and frowning more intensely, gesturing with her hand.

“Okay,” you sighed with an exaggeratedly sad tone.

Nothing was the same after that strange conversation.

You finally admitted that you feel something for the lady in black, that it wasn't the simple illusion of being valued more than your sister. It was something different, a kind of tension, of tense and uncomfortable moments that became routine.

The smiles, the casual contact of your hands with hers became something more and more frequent. You couldn't be more in love, but neither of you ever mentioned it.

There was never any talk of those subtle caresses or those glances. You didn't dare to say what you thought, and neither did she. It was better this way after all, you could be misinterpreting things.

“That's it... Slowly...” the lady said, on one of those days when you weren't working with wood, but you were learning to sew instead, thanks to her advice. The smile was always in the lady's eye, and on your cheeks, the red color settled as definitive.

“Like this?” you asked, showing her the piece of fabric. She nodded amused, without stopping to look at you. “Good, now I know how to sew.”

“Yes,” she said, with a wider smile. “It's not complicated, (Y/N), it's a matter of practice.”

“I see…” you sighed, going over those clumsy seams.

Silence returned to the old workshop.

“(Y/N)… I, I've been thinking,” Donna murmured, moving away from that comfortable proximity, playing with her hands while you continued sewing. “Maybe it seems hasty but… I have, I have to tell you something.”

You looked at her with wide eyes as she grabbed one of your hands. She was sweating, shaking visibly. She seemed terribly nervous.

“Okay…” you sighed, dazzled by her soft caresses.

“I…”

“Hey, you two!” Angie's shrieks interrupted that tense moment, that moment you had been waiting for so long.

“Angie, this is not a right time,” the lady growled, having seen her attempt frustrated.

“What were you doing?” the doll asked in a mocking tone, dragging out her words. “Well, whatever, there's a knock at the door, Donna.”

“I'm not expecting anyone,” she said, frowning again. “Who is it?”

“What do I know?” the doll answered, shrugging.

“Cazzo… Dov’è il mio velo…?” the lady murmured nervously, searching for something on the table.

You put a hand on her shoulder and stood up with a smile.

“I'm coming, don't worry,” you said in a kind voice, making her nod with a weak smile.

“Thank you”

When you got to the door, your smile instantly vanished.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms when you saw your clone, your sister, dressed the same way as you with an almost furious look.

“It turns out that thanks to you I have become the new errand girl,” Ivana said with a cocky tone.

You raised your eyebrows, with a triumphant smile.

“It's a pain, huh?” you mocked. “I've been like that for years.”

“Yes, whatever you say…” your sister said, making an unpleasant gesture with her hand. “Mother gave me this for you.”

“Oh, cookies…” you said with a tender smile.

“Yes, she says she wants Lady Beneviento to try them,” Ivana commented, looking at her nails with disinterest.

“Okay, thanks,” you said, entering the house and closing the door, something you couldn't do, since your sister prevented it.

“Hey, you ungrateful witch, don't you know how much it cost me to get here?” she rebuked you, with a finger on your chest.

“What do I care?”

“You could give me a glass of water, at least,” Ivana protested, lowering her gaze.

“Ugh, fine,” you said sighing and shaking your head. “Stay there and, don't, touch, anything.”

“Whatever you say,” the young woman said, crossing her arms as you went up the stairs.

Grumbling and mumbling you went up to the bathroom on the top floor. You would go down to the kitchen for no reason. Your sister would do nothing but snoop around.

“Oh, there you are,” a familiar voice caught your attention, along with the unmistakable sound of heels.

You leaned over the railing, watching as the lady in black dangerously approached your sister, her face covered.

“Mm?” your twin murmured, blinking in disbelief when the brunette uncovered her face again. She seemed very, very nervous.

You wanted to intervene, but you didn't, you stayed glued to the railing with the glass in your hand, shaking more and more.

“Who was it?” Donna asked, getting a little closer to Ivana. “W-Well, it, it doesn't matter…”

“Um, I…” your twin stammered, surely surprised to see her face.

“W-Wait, let, let me tell you something…” the lady interrupted, moving her hand to reach your sister's, joining it with hers, interlacing their fingers. Ivana didn't move; she remained open-mouthed.

“Um, um…”

“I know it's crazy and I know your answer will probably break my heart, but I can't keep quiet about what I feel, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, making a great effort to speak.

You fidgeted nervously on the railing, a smile appearing on your face, a smile that hid the evidence of what was happening downstairs.

“I… I've, I've been alone all my life until… Until you showed up and… With you I feel, I feel like I wouldn't want to be alone again…” the lady continued, squeezing your sister's hand tighter. “I-I'm, I'm in love with you.”

Your jaw dropped at the same time as your sister's. You couldn't believe it, it was the happiest day of your life, was it?

“Y-You don't have to answer me now, but, but I would like, I would like...” the lady said, still nervous at the lack of response from the stunned Ivana. “I would like you to help me discover what love is... Together, next to you... What...? What do you say?” she whispered, caressing your sister's hair, her face pale from those words.

She gently pulled her, lightly placing her lips on your twin's, kissing her slowly.

That was too much for you.

Your hand became weak, dropping the glass on the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces with an unpleasant sound that attracted the attention of the two women.

“Donna!” you shouted, rushing down the stairs. “Donna, wait, that's not...”

“W-W-What?” the lady stammered, blinking in confusion and letting your sister's waist go.

“Hey, I'm not (Y/N)…” Ivana said amused. “But if you share you money with me I'll be whoever you want…”

“What? You? You?” Donna said nervously, running a hand through her hair and breathing heavily, pointing at one of you each time. “You, you're not… You…”

“Donna, she's my sister,” you said, arriving at the hall in a hurry and pushing your twin away. “Are you an idiot? What are you up to?”

“Hey, hey, I didn't do anything,” Ivana protested amused and nervous. “It was her… Boy, (Y/N) you were so quiet about that.”

You growled, looking at the lady in black, who had a lost look on her face while her body suffered nervous spasms.

“You're…. You're… (Y/N)…” Donna stammered, unable to control her anxiety. “You… You're, you're…”

“Did I miss something?” your sister asked, frowning.

“Oh, you stupid moron…” you muttered, putting your hands on the brunette's shoulders.

Donna was unable to look at you.

“No… No!” she shrieked furiously, pushing you away as she ran off, kicking all the furniture in her path.

“Hey, wait!” you shrieked, chasing her.

“Sis, you're such a flirter,” Ivana mocked, laughing amused. “Who would have thought that a Lord was so stupid as to be interested in you?”

“Shut up,” you hissed as you held the brunette, who struggled against your grip, sobbing. “Donna…”

The lady apparently calmed down, looking at your sister with a furious eye and pushing you away again, walking hurriedly towards her.

“Hey, hey, hey, I didn't mean…” your sister said, running away from the doll maker, who was chasing her furiously. “Hey, I'm sorry…���

A dull thud silenced your twin's complaints. Angie, who had slipped among you, hit your sister with a piece of wood, leaving her unconscious.

“Right in the head,” the doll said, laughing sinisterly.

“Stronza…” Donna growled, approaching you twin’s unconscious body. “How dare you to fool me!?”

“Hey, Donna, wait, wait, leave her alone,” you said, grabbing her shoulders again. “It's not her fault, wait, please…”

“(Y/N)…” the lady sighed, changing from anger to sadness. “What have I done?”

“Eh, eh, it's okay…” you said, glancing at your sister. Of course, she was still alive. “You got confused, it's normal.”

“I, I made a fool of myself… (Y/N)…” she sobbed, throwing herself into the shelter of your arms as she lowered herself to the floor, burying her head in your chest. “I'm sorry!”

“Shhh, Donna…” you said in a comforting whisper, caressing her hair, kneeling. “I've heard everything…”

“I'm sorry…” she sobbed again, clinging to your dress. “You don't know how much I…”

Her apologies were silenced by a kiss, one from your lips, a bold, brave one, the first of your life, but not the last. It was a sudden and disastrous kiss, but it served to silence the sobs of the lady in black, who slowly pushed you away, calmer.

“Those things you said...” you murmured smiling, wiping away the tears of the brunette. “Do you really have feelings for me?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, (Y/N), I... I, I love you...”

“You know what? I've been wanting to hear you say it for so long, that I don't care that you said it to my sister,” you joked softly, cradling the sobbing lady in your arms.

“Cazzo...” she lamented again, burying her head further into her chest.

“I'm going to take my sister home and... When, when I get back I want us to... Well, talk about this... Maybe over dinner?”

[deaddee-anime-brownfanlady]

I will never understand certain people who deemed themselves as " Leftists " or "Progressives " or so-called "allies " for minorities and marginalized groups and pretend to act like they give a Fuck about said groups of people. But have no issues throwing many of said minorities and marginalized groups under the bus as "acceptable collateral damage " with Trump if he gets back in Office again.

Because they idiotically believe that Trump would bring out their glorious "Revolution."

These people aren't serious at all about politics and have deeply lost touch with reality with this stupid belief of theirs that is nothing more then just pure fantasy.

I so badly want these people to stop acting like they actually care about black and brown people or immigrants and LGBTQ people and women, also religious minorities and such.

When in actuality, they have no problems with putting a highly unhinged, unstable, reckless convicted dangerous criminal bigoted piece of shit wannabe dictator back in power again.

Truly Fuck these phony fake-ass people who claimed to care about these groups, but actually have no problems with Fucking over said groups and have them suffer solely because they want to punish democrats for not being " Super leftist enough " or try to "punish" Biden because they want to live their Hunger Games Revolutionary dreams.

That they seem to think America losing complete democracy and turning into a far-right authoritarian theocratic country no better than North Korea or Russia or any other dictatorship nation isn't a problem because they believe that a dictatorship "Isn't that BaD " or living under a theocratic regime " Won't be a Big DeaL ".

I swear these people aren't real Leftists and should just admit to themselves that they don't actually give a flying shit about the groups of people they pretend to care about and that they are fine with authoritarianism rule.

Really Fuck these people, my family and loved ones and everyone else I care about aren't you're "acceptable collateral damage" for your imagery Revolution.

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 11th of May, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 11th of May, 2024

Question: How is King Charles going to respond to this Nigerian visit by Harry and Meghan?

Interpretation: He is going to let some secrets come to light.

Card One: The Two of Pentacles, in reverse

The Two of Pentacles is a card about balance, deciding where to put your energy, what areas will be profitable and what will not. In the reverse, it says that things are unbalanced, too much energy is going to the wrong areas, things are messy and disorganised, resources are overextended.

As an answer to my question, this tells me that King Charles is tired of having to spend his energy on the Harkles, he is tired of not seeing any return on his investment in his son (i.e. a change of behaviour),. He knows that things are out of balance. He knows that the Harkles are draining his time and energy. The energy is of someone who wants to right the balance, to rid himself of this drain on his energy. He is over dealing with his youngest son and he wants the balance to tip in his favour once and for all.

There is a very strong energy of "I am over this - I do not have the time, energy or patience to deal with this anymore" around this card. It feels like The King might come down heavily on the other side of the scale to restore the balance and tip it in his favour.

Card Two: The Four of Swords.

The Four of Swords is a card of retreat and rest, which is what the King has been doing with his cancer treatment and what he is still doing to some extent now, as he is not back to a full program of work yet AFAIK. It is also about resting and restoring your reputation after a defeat. I don't think the BRF have been defeated, but the energy of restoring your reputation is strong in this card. I think that King Charles wants to restore the battered reputation of the BRF and he is using his time of retreat to plan how to do that (along with everything else that he wants done, of course - this is not his only concern, just the one I am focusing on today).

In the picture on the card, the four swords make an eight spoked wheel, like a wheel of fortune. The King is ready to spin that wheel and turn it against the Harkles, to damage their reputation in the eyes of the world. There is a sense of peace around the card about having finally made this decision as well.

Card Three: The Ten of Pentacles

This is a card of legacy, heritage, tradition, family, roots, etc. I think that King Charles is going to fall back strongly on the tradition of the BRF and on the family. He is going to close the ranks even more and not leave any hole for Harry or leave things undone in the hope that Harry will come back and take them up.

We can see this in the recent public passing on of a military position from The King to Prince William - the role of Colonel-In-Chief of the Army Air Corps. We know this hurt Harry because of the PR he put out after the announcement. I think we will see more of this in the future - positions that have been left 'on hold' in case Harry comes back being given to other family members, showing that there is no place for Harry in the BRF and that he is not a member of 'The Firm".

Underlying Energy: The Moon in reverse

This is one of two main energies of this reading, and of the two, it is the dominant energy. The Moon is the card of lies, secrets, deceptions, things not being as they seem. In the reverse, those secrets are revealed. Light is shed on what is hidden or obscured, and things appear as they are in the sunlight and not distorted by the shadows of the moonlight. The King is going to give the go ahead or has given the go ahead for secrets about Harry and Meghan to be revealed (provided nothing happens to disrupt this energy). This is to restore the balance between the Harkles and the BRF, restore the reputation of the BRF, and to help secure their legacy and traditions, as per the cards above.

Underlying Energy 2: The Emperor

This is the second main energy of this reading. The Emperor is a card of authority, control, stability, structure and protection. It is the leader who protects his people, the father who takes care of all his family (and who does not sacrifice them for the sake of one son).

This is King Charles in his role as King, the leader, the defender of his people and his country. This is the person in authority who has a plan and who is going to carry it out, to restore stability to his throne. The King is going to act as the firm father who disciplines his wayward offspring instead of coddling them.

Whatever secrets are revealed as per The Moon in reverse card, they will be revealed with the consent of The King.

Conclusion:

Finally, the worm has turned. The King has had a gutful of his second son. He is over waiting for his second son to see sense and come home. Instead, he is going to take action to right the balance between them in his favour. He wants to restore the reputation of the BRF, reduce the reputation of the Harkles, and reaffirm the values of tradition, family, propriety etc that were associated with the BRF under the late Queen. To do all this he is going to release some secrets about the Harkles and let the truth behind their actions, which has been hidden until now, out into the light of day. Harry has not heeded the warnings from his father so Harry is about to get a dose of tough love from The King.

The overall energy of this reading is of someone (The King) who is completely fed up with the Harkles. He has run out of patience with them and he is finally going to take steps to repair and stop/limit the damage they have done to the BRF by releasing secrets about them.

Note: The next underlying energy after The Emperor was the Ace of Cups, which is a card of pregnancy. I'm trying very hard not to get my hopes up but I can't help hoping that the truth about Meghan's pregnancies is finally going to come out.

All we can do is wait and see what happens. The King could change his mind, and then the secrets will not be released, but I really hope he doesn't. This is the release of an energy against the Harkles that is long overdue.

[eitaababe]

EVEN IT'S A LIE !

epilogue.

[ a / n ; i finished! who would've thought. ]

series masterlist. | previous.

— two years later !

after having to deal with the baggage from ao'nung, the past couple of years had been nothing short of focusing on yourself. with the help of your friends, you were able to find yourself again, assuring yourself you'd never let a man dictate the way you felt about yourself ever again.

of course, avoiding ao'nung when you go to the same university is nearly impossible. you see each other in passing every few months or so, trying your best to limit any sort of contact with each other.

you'd grown closer with rotxo, with him being a better friend to you than you ever could have expected. it's strange, how well you're able to avoid ao'nung when your best friends with the two people closest to him.

still, the limited contact keeps the damage to a minimum.

because you'd be lying if you said you didn't think of him from time to time, the three words he claimed to be nothing but the truth. and how you were deceived into feeling the same.

but you're content, and over time you'd started to find yourself again. making it a weekly thing to just go out on your own, to your favorite cafe for some alone time.

so when you walk in, the last thing you expect to see is ao'nung's face behind the counter, an apron tied around his figure.

you feel your throat go dry when his eyes widen, and he tries to keep as professional as he can, clearing his throat before speaking up. "what can i get for you today?"

"uhm," you stutter, blinking multiple times before bringing yourself back to reality. it's more than a shock, seeing him in a place that was supposed to bring you peace, and now is making your head spin in such a way it makes you forget your usual order. "just a iced chai, please."

"you wanna take a muffin with that?"

you're surprised as the question slips out his mouth. you've always liked to pair your drink with some sort of muffin over the years, a small detail you definitely didn't expect him to remember.

"uh, yes please. how about a-"

"blueberry." he says quietly and in sync with you as he jots it down casually. you don't understand how he seems to be so nonchalant over this, like the interaction isn't so out of the blue for him.

you both stand there silently as he finishes up the order, and you pay, your eyes meeting after. and when they do, it's like you could fall into him all over again. his eyes are like the ocean, waves so dangerous yet you can't help but want to jump in. you have to pull your gaze away, breaking you both out the trance.

"look, i'm- i'm really sorry," he breathes out, and taking this as an opportunity as nobody else is in line behind you, and the cafe is experiencing its dead hour. "i know it was years ago, but i was an asshole. really. and i just- i've worked on myself, and i've had time to reflect, and i still can't believe i did what i did."

you smile at the sincerity of his voice, and you can do nothing but believe him. it's true, he's grown as a person in the past years and so have you. you can practically see how he's matured, carrying himself with a calm sense of confidence, different from the cockiness that once was.

"it's alright, really," you assure, nodding as you're finally able to hold a civil conversation after all this time. "i mean- we're both really different people now. we've grown, and learned, and it's water under the bridge, honestly. and i know it might not mean much," i chuckle. "but i was finally able to bring myself to forgive you."

"it's a lot," he admits, smiling back at you with a certain sweetness behind it. "it's everything. really." he assures, and this time, you're sure he means it.

after a few smiling moments you glance down, deciding to take a leap.

"would you like to join me? maybe for just a bit, i know you're working. but.. just as friends."

because despite what ao'nung did to you, there's always a soft spot for him in your heart. always a part of you that will know him, no matter how much he changes. and maybe you don't realize it either, but it's just the same for him.

his smile grows even wider at the invitation, and you can feel your heart swell at the sight.

"i'd love to."

[🏷️ ; taglist. / closed ] @loaksbitch @8resa @n7ytiri @yukichan67 @dearstell @halibanana @teyums @lightskinloak @ipoopedmypants47 @aonungmybf @il0veheartz @chittakii @jjkclub @universal-s1ut @ilovejakesullysdick @calums-betch @izuoyarmin @yeosxxx @cl0esblogg @alwayswndr @iheartamajiki @jenniferdixon05207 @manumanulau @myh3artttt @sugarrush-blush @be3flow3r @cupidsl0ve

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

What about Kafka with a puppy like reader (like golden retriever type vibes)

Kafka with a golden retriever like reader

characters: Kafka x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: I have never written for Kafka *or* Honkai Star Rail before, so if I get some things wrong, then I’m sorry. There should be no spoilers here, but one or two minor ones might slip in by accident, so consider this a small warning.

Anyway, Kafka hot…

oh, and hope you enjoy!

Kafka

From all the Stellaron Hunters out there, you had to worry the least about being put on some sort of list. Afterall, when one was dealing with a group of criminals, the last description coming to anyone’s mind would be that of a human equivalent of a golden retriever. That being said, just because ordinary people wouldn’t connect you to your companions didn’t mean that nobody else would. Luckily for you and the others however, you were more than competent enough not to get caught while running errands every now and then.

Just as you handed the shopkeeper your money and were ready to leave, you felt a pair of eyes fixating on you, only for your eyes to glance over a guardsman glaring into your direction, the person next to him whispering something into his ear while doing his best to steal a glance at you from time to time. It seemed like your shopping trip would be coming to an end a little bit sooner than anticipated.

With one final goodbye to the person returning your change, you turned around and started walking away, your pace slowly picking up with every step, only to start sprinting the moment you heard the heavy footsteps of an armored guard just a few steps behind you, pushing your way through every shopkeeper in front of you. A part of you wanted to turn around and apologize for doing so, but seeing as you probably wouldn’t be shopping here again, you instead decided to simply shout your apologies without looking back.

As you finally reached the end of the dock, with nothing but endless nothingness greeting you when you looked over the edge, you turned around one last time before waving the guards goodbye and taking a step back, pressing the newly bought coat against your chest in fear you might accidentally let go of it, only to brace yourself for the inevitably hurtful impact of landing inside the shuttle… if there was one.

Just as your brain began considering that you may have done something that could only be described as not your brightest moment, the awaited impact occurred, and although significantly dampened by the mattress on which you landed, your back still hurt.

“Ever thought of what would happen if we weren’t here to catch you?”, Silverwolf's slightly annoyed voice rang out, the confirmation that you landed on the correct shuttle bringing a smile to your face before you quickly shook your head.

“Why should I? It’s not like such a thing would ever happen”, you answered before finally sitting up and quickly scanning the coat for any damages before proudly handing it to Kafka. “Here, I heard they were selling this here, so since we’re already here, I thought buying it for you might not be a bad idea.”

“Looks like the ad didn’t lie about it being high quality”, she said to herself while running her fingers across the fabric, putting it to the side before helping you up, a small smile making its way onto her lips. “Thanks, this spares me quite some time looking for someone willing to sell it to me. How about I give you a reward as thanks? Tell me what you want and you’ll get it”, she offered, only for you to quickly shake your head.

“You liking it is reward enough for me.” If rolling one’s eyes made a sound, Silverwolf alone would have been able to shatter glass, but when Kafka leaned in and gave you a kiss, the fellow Stellaron Hunter let out a disgruntled sigh.

“I’d love to watch you two continue with your cheesy couple stuff, but could you do it another time? Everyone on this giant ship wants us dead or at least in shackles”, she reminded you, causing Kafka to give her a halfhearted nod before putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Go and take some rest, you did enough today.” Just as the words left her mouth, you gave her an enthusiastic nod before walking off, the pain in your back completely overshadowed by your joy.

[wolfgiselle]

Cage Wi-fi

"Can I ask, once again, how it's even possible we get wi-fi down here?"

Adam knew he was beating a dead horse, at this point, by getting worked up over this, but he was only human. Even in these trying times of Angels and Demons—of cages in Hell that were supposed to hold the literal Devil but, for some reason, also currently held him and the Archangel Michael—he needed things to make sense. Nothing had been going as it should lately. Not for a long time. Yet, here he was, trying to find logic where it seemed none existed.

"I assume the computer and its 'wi-fi' are here for entertainment purposes. There's not much else to do down here," Michael murmured. His face was practically hidden behind the screen. It had been for the last few days. At least, Adam thought it was days (Hell time was different, Cage time worse). Adam hoped Michael wasn't becoming addicted—that was all they needed—but there wasn't anything he could do to get it away from him.

Lucifer, at least, seemed to find Michael's newfound fascination and obsession amusing. "The demons snuck one down. I enjoyed the machine last I used it, so I, uh…let's go with 'asked' them to bring one down."

Adam should've guessed Lucifer was behind this. Even when he searched his brain, he couldn't figure out how a simple laptop could cause much, if any, damage. The whole situation seemed harmless. It was because Lucifer was the one who wanted it that he couldn't help but be suspicious.

His relationship with the Devil was mostly cordial. Michael had made it clear early on his vessel was off-limits when it came to torture or harassment. But the warning had ended up being unnecessary. Lucifer had, at first, focused all of his attention on his own vessel, Sam.

Adam had felt a bit bad then that Sam was experiencing such a thing while Adam was getting off scot-free. But, as he'd understood it, it was Sam's fault they were down there. Sam had decided to jump and take Lucifer with him—dragging him and Michael along for the ride. For such reasons, Adam also couldn't help but feel a little vindictive himself after all was said and done. All Adam had wanted was to see his mother and help save the world.

Lucifer did torture Sam for a while, but he must've gotten bored or finally calmed down because one day—for no discernable reason—he stopped. Sam didn't react as though he'd stopped, though. Instead, he kept screaming and tearing into himself, yelling words like "Stop!" or "No!" even though Lucifer was no longer touching him, basically torturing himself.

It almost made him relieved for Sam's sake (as well as his own) when, not long after, they saw Castiel appear. He shot into the cage with as little subtlety as a flaming meteor to snatch him, somehow managing to grab Sam's body but fly off, leaving his soul behind. He hadn't even spared a glance for Adam, despite Michael's (very much appreciated) attempt to get his attention and remind him.

The results of Sam existing in the cage without his body were a trial of their own. If Sam had seemed off or unhinged before, he was an absolute basket-case now. Lucifer even became desperate enough to try and calm him down, to no avail.

Then, once again, they had a visitor. This time 'Death' of all things. (And had Adam mentioned before he wasn't cut out for this?) While Adam was busy trying to fathom the idea of Death having a physical manifestation—on top of still trying to come to terms with Angels, Demons, and… well, everything else he'd ever thought was fantasy being real—Death retrieved Sam's soul.

Death, at least, was polite enough to acknowledge them. Adam included.

"I'm sorry, but the deal was only for one. Dean made his choice," he had said to him.

He'd immediately understood. It hurt, but he wasn't surprised. Their relationship had been short and brief, and for all they'd gone on about family and tried to appeal to him with that argument, he'd meant what he said when they first met. His mom was his family. She was the one he'd been doing all this for.

After Sam was gone, Adam worried Lucifer would get bored and come after him. After a while of showing no such inclination, though, Adam relaxed.

Adam was also surprised when Michael and Lucifer didn't fight each other. He'd been under the impression that had been the whole point of the Apocalypse. Michael had pointed out that neither could kill the other as long as they were down here. The cage kept whatever was in it alive. Fighting would be an exercise in futility.

The two of them still argued. But it was more like your average brotherly back-and-forth (if you considered disagreements over whether God would return and save them, or whether humans deserved to live or were insignificant ants that polluted and destroyed all God's other creations average).

Adam was doing okay. He figured for a guy stuck in Hell (possibly for all eternity), he was holding together pretty well. There was just some confusion over the computer.

"If we can get a signal down here, could we send messages to Earth?" Adam asked.

"And who were you planning on sending messages to?" Lucifer drawled, his human manifestation sprawled out against one of the corner cage walls. That was another thing that confused Adam. This wasn't their 'true' form he was seeing.

When Michael first appeared to him, he had been pure light. His presence had been so bright and heavy it'd felt both like staring directly at the sun and, somehow, being surrounded by it. Michael had later told him it was a miracle he'd been able to look upon him at all. Apparently, it was common for people to burn their eyes out when directly looking at them outside of a vessel. The Winchester blood that'd made it possible for him to be a vessel for Michael period must have saved him.

This meant he'd seen Michael before and had at least an idea of what an Angel could look like through human eyes. He also thought he'd caught a few glimpses of Lucifer when he was still torturing Sam. But he wasn't sure if what he'd seen was accurate after so long. Or if what he'd seen at the time had been distorted by Michael back then, trying to keep him coddled up within his…well, wings in an attempt to keep the awful things happening in front of him from view. As if not seeing Sam's torture made him any less aware of it happening. In some ways, the not seeing, the not knowing, was worse.

Lucifer's image—if his sneaked looks had been accurate—gave off the opposite impression of Michael's. If Michael was the sun, then the Devil was a black and oily hole, primed and ready to suck off or destroy any of the light that wandered near.

Adam wondered if Lucifer stayed in this humanoid form lately (despite his proclaimed hatred for the species) because he hated what had become of his original form or if it would be presumptuous of him to believe he chose to look that way to ease any discomfort Adam might've once shown at his true but now contaminated, visage.

Surely, the Devil would prefer for him to be uncomfortable? No matter how well they seemed to get along, it made little sense for Lucifer to play nice with the vessel of the brother he'd set out to kill. He'd never question such things out loud, though. Or admit to his confusion regarding the…Angel? Archangel? Devil…? Oh—whatever classification he considered himself now. Adam figured as long as he wasn't getting tortured, the status quo was best kept as it was.

"I don't really have anyone to message," he replied, remembering Lucifer's question after way too long a pause.

"Not even the Winchesters? They're your family, after all." Lucifer said it with little inflection, not at all as if he was intending mockery. But Lucifer knew he hated to be reminded of his blood ties to the brothers and how little such a tie had come to mean. Sometimes, Adam thought Lucifer missed Sam, and that was why he always brought them up when they were no longer a necessary topic of conversation.

"You know, very well, I wouldn't wanna talk to them, even if I could. They already know I'm down here. What else am I gonna say to 'em? 'Hey guys, it's your brother—you know, Adam? The guy you left in Hell? Yeah, remember him? That's me.' Nope—not at all interested in having that conversation. I was speaking in hypotheticals. Like, does social media work down here? Could we actually, like… set up a Facebook page or write a blog and call it "The Hell-Cage Experience? That would probably get a lot of page views even if nobody took it seriously."

"Yeah…I didn't understand half of what you said right there, but the computer should be capable of everything it was when it was on Earth. Of course, if you order something, we're obviously not getting it. I learned that lots of humans used that machine or ones like it to acquire food."

"Yeah." Adam brushed his hand through his hair, mentally shaking his head again at the added absurdity to this already mind-breaking situation. What was his life that he was having a casual conversation about computer usage with the Devil? In literal Hell? Adam needed to get over this. He was starting to sound like a broken record.

Music suddenly started playing from the computer for the first time since the device had appeared. Although Michael's human manifestation (an almost duplicate of himself with an added Angel aura) didn't jump or display any sign of startlement, the place where his wings would be visual when displayed distorted and, for a moment, the room became slightly breezy, portraying the Angelic version of the same thing.

Adam didn't recognize the song but could admit it was catchy. What was Michael even watching? He could admit to being a little jealous that he didn't have his own computer down here to whittle the time away—If Lucifer was going to insist on ignoring the laws of reality and physics by having a working computer down here, couldn't he have at least gotten them all one? Why was Lucifer even letting Michael hoard the thing in the first place if Lucifer had it brought here for himself? No way was he about to ask, though. Not for his own computer or about whatever his Angel companion was watching.

Lucifer had no such compunctions, of course. In fact, looking at that human face, which showed his emotions maybe a little too well, Adam would say the Devil looked a little too much like the cat that had captured the canary but wanted to play more with it before he ate it. Adam was instantly suspicious.

"Sooo…what's that you're looking at, Michael?" Lucifer asked, sounding almost like he already knew and just wanted to hear the answer aloud. The whole thing made the human nervous, and he wasn't even sure why.

Adam glanced back at Michael. He didn't seem horrified, angry, or any other emotion the human might've expected if some joke or prank had been pulled on him like he had every other time Lucifer had gotten the better of him while down here. In fact, if he had to guess based on familiarity with his own facial expressions, he would say Michael looked curious.

"It appears to be a live performance of the Winchester Gospel," Michael said. As if that simple sentence alone was self-explanatory.

"A live performance of…what?" Why were the Winchesters being mentioned again? And by Michael of all people. His Archangel roommate usually agreed with Adam that it was best they weren't discussed. The topic had negative connotations for them all. It only led to bad moods and tension.

Suddenly unable to hold back his own curiosity, Adam deduced that it was safe enough to leave his claimed corner of the cage to approach. It was only Michael, after all. He'd already spent a lot of time cuddled up within his wings. He'd felt what it was like to have that being inside him: for some moments, what it was like to share all thoughts and feelings with another without walls separating their personhood. There might as well be no more boundaries left between them to break.

Once he was practically on top of Michael—trying to get a good look at the screen he'd become affixed to—the Archangel, still perfectly attuned to him and his needs from their joining, moved the computer from his lap to in front of him and bundled him into the cleared space. Now, nothing stopped him from getting a good view of the computer. He was a lot more comfortable, too.

It only took him a couple of minutes to register what he was seeing. An 'understanding' of what he'd seen didn't end up following close behind.

There on the screen, clear as day, were Sam and Dean. At least he was pretty sure it was Sam and Dean. If not, these people were dead wringers, and…. wait, no…that was their Impala. It was definitely them.

"What the fuck am I even watching right now?"

"Weren't you listening? Michael said it was a live performance of the Winchester Gospel."

Adam jumped slightly at hearing Lucifer's voice suddenly coming from behind him. He hadn't even noticed him move. He'd been too distracted by the video—whatever it was supposed to be. Michael rested his cheek on his forehead and held him tighter as if trying to offer comfort.

"Yes, I heard him," Adam answered, trying not to sound too smart or snappish (just because Lucifer had, so far, respected Michael's demand to leave him alone, that didn't mean he was going to push it by being purposefully rude) "I just don't know what you mean by Winchester Gospel. Do you mean the prophecy that said they were supposed to be your vessels for the Apocalypse? What does a…, um, TV show?—with them in it—have to do with that?"

"The Winchester Gospel isn't the prophecy, exactly. Not in the way that you're thinking, anyway. But I guess you could call it that since it was written by a prophet."

"Prophet?" That was the first he'd heard about them. Adam supposed he shouldn't be surprised that prophets were real, too, since it seemed pretty much every other imaginary thing had turned out to be.

"Prophets are humans born with the ability to read and understand God's word. The Winchester Gospel was the written version of the Winchester's story leading up to the Apocalypse. A prophet would have been able to see it himself for documentation purposes; think of a modern-age Bible with the brothers smack-dab at the center of it."

Adam tried to take in this information while being distracted by the scene of a horrified Sam screaming up at his girlfriend as she burned to death pinned to the ceiling.

Yikes.

He wasn't particularly fond of either Winchester right now, but they did get the shitty end of the stick, didn't they? The people around them, or in any way connected to them, seemed to die in rather gruesome ways.

"Wait," he said, realizing something. "If it's like a new-age Bible written by a human, does that mean it's available for anybody to read the same way the actual Bible is? And if it's about the Winchesters and the Apocalypse, we're all in it, too, right? Even me?"

"I am soooo glad you asked," Lucifer replied. It didn't escape Adam's notice that he sounded practically giddy. He moved to where Adam could see him, shooting him a wide smile (frightening) before he huddled beside them and took control of the computer.

Lucifer exited the TV show—which had continued on to another episode—with a casual, "We can watch the rest of that later," and typed something into the Google search bar. Seeming to find what he was looking for with a satisfied "ah, ha," Lucifer turned the computer back around. "See for yourself."

Adam had been briefly distracted by wondering why Michael hadn't fought for the computer when Lucifer grabbed it but focused again as soon as he processed what he was looking at.

"What on Earth? Are you fucking serious!?"

"Well, we're certainly not on Earth anymore…" Lucifer started, but Adam wasn't listening.

The website the Devil had switched to seemed to be some sorta fan-made page. The background was all black, the continuing image of pentagrams a recurring theme. There was a banner with a picture of the Impala in it and a stylized font spelling out the word 'Supernatural' over the top of it.

There appeared to be books for sale on the site with the same series title. Was this supposed to be the Winchester Gospel? These books looked like cheap drugstore romance-novel-trash… Much like the kind Adam's mother would buy and sneak into the cart and then hide under her mattress when they got home. They were one of the only splurges she made for herself. Kate Milligan never realized that her son snuck into her room when she wasn't home (often) to read those secret books. It was the closest sometimes Adam could get to porn before he'd had his own computer at home. These books couldn't be as important as the Bible: Not looking like this.

He reached out and scrolled over to an icon titled 'characters,' determined to answer his question on whether he was included in this trash.

Did he even want to be?

No, not really.

But the idea of being forgotten, not just by the people who'd claimed him as family but by the entire world, instilled a sudden existential dread.

It took scrolling through tons of names he didn't even recognize to finally find his own, and it was with a strange mixture of relief and trepidation that he clicked on it.

A page with a picture of himself and some general information popped up—which was weird enough, but he could get over it; he was most disturbed by the info section and its accuracy despite the brevity.

"Apparently, I'm only in about four episodes of this show and two books. But one of my main appearances doesn't count because it was a ghoul pretending to be me, and the other doesn't because it was Michael. That's bullshit!"

Adam wasn't even sure why he was mad. It's not like he wanted people to be able to watch his life unfold. As he continued to look through his character page, though, he couldn't help but feel robbed—or like he was being made a mockery of somehow.

"Yawn. This is getting boring now."

Lucifer took control of the computer back, and Adam let him, unsure where else to go and not sure he even wanted to see more. He had the sneaking suspicion that being bombarded with this crap had been Lucifer's intent all along and that he and Michael were just along for the ride. 'Why' Lucifer wanted to watch, read, or interact with any of this was beyond him. Maybe he just wanted to watch himself, but Adam didn't think it would be fun to watch the events of their last year or so re-enacted when it was already such a misery experiencing them.

"It'd take forever to read through these books or watch the show. I'm sure none of us want to spend all our time staring at Sam and Dean's ugly mugs, no matter how limitless it currently is. Sooo…I say we check out some of this fan content first. Music videos, fanfiction, blogs, pairings: I don't even know some of these terms, but they all sound interesting. Humans come up with some of the most depraved—"

"Fanfiction!?" Adam practically yelped, interrupting what was sure to be another 'humans suck' rant from Lucifer he wasn't quite in the mood to withstand. Adam hadn't even given a thought to fanfiction. An old friend of his had been obsessed with Star Trek to near insanity and had introduced him to the concept by forcing him to read a story they'd written using the show's characters. Adam had learned a lot about his friend that day, and he'd never been able to watch an episode of Star Trek with a clean mind again. It had made his mother's erotica seem like child's play.

"Well, that's an interesting reaction," was all Lucifer had to say. Damn it! He should've controlled himself better. Adam could already see the cursor heading towards that 'cursed' word.

"Wait! You really don't want to…see any of that…" Adam trailed off, seeing Lucifer was no longer paying attention to him. Michael's eyes were still glued to the computer, and Adam wondered if he'd glanced away from it even once since it'd appeared down here.

"So 'fanfiction' is 'fan' stories written by fans about certain characters and events. I don't see the problem here. What wouldn't I want to see?"

"Weren't you just saying, 'Humans come up with some of the most depraved—' and so on? You telling me you can't imagine what could be terrible about stories possibly written about 'our' lives?"

Adam knew he shouldn't be saying this even as it came out of his mouth. It'd be smarter to let Lucifer think the topic is dull. Maybe part of him wanted Lucifer to suffer what he'd once had to endure. Then again, the Devil had a strange sense of humor. He was just as likely to find the whole thing amusing. What the fuck did Adam know? He'd almost suspect torturing him, and Michael, with fanfiction, was actually part of his motive here if it weren't for his seemingly ignorant confusion on the topic. If Adam had learned anything, it was that Lucifer was manipulative. But he never lied.

"Depraved?" Lucifer asked with new interest, his face inching closer to the screen.

Yeah.

He wasn't faking that.

Adam resigned himself to the inevitable and braced for impact. Being a minor 'character' might be his only saving grace here.

"I wouldn't get too excited. Don't say I didn't warn you when you find something you don't like," Adam warned. Lucifer getting pissed off would benefit none of them.

"Oh, I see. So, this is where pairings come into play. I wonder…"

Adam caught Lucifer's glance at him out of the corner of his eye and the following smirk. So much for that 'saving grace'. He was clearly Lucifer's first target.

"You were so upset about not having many appearances. About being the unimportant brother—the spare—even here."

"Brother—" Michael finally chipped in again, and Adam recognized his warning tone. Lucifer sure liked to kick below the belt and, not so surprisingly, play with fire.

Adam tried to control his face enough so his scowl wasn't obvious, but had a feeling he'd failed spectacularly. He snuggled further into Michael's arms—his only comfort down here—and felt his body relax when the Angel squeezed him even tighter.

Thankfully, Lucifer only rolled his eyes and mumbled what Adam was sure was 'so sensitive' before continuing with his clicking, undeterred.

"Well, look at that! Most of the 'fanfiction' here involves you and Michael in a sexual or romantic relationship. Wow, big brother! Never thought I'd see you degrade yourself this way. Even if it's only in a piece of fiction written by humans."

Michael's posture straightened, and he could almost imagine the look of contempt he'd be sending Lucifer even with his back to him. Adam rubbed the Angel's arm, attempting to return comfort and calm.

"Not that I can blame the humans for speculating about how you two act. You're way too soft on your vessel, Michael. You might as well glue him to your side and be done with it."

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."

Lucifer hummed and continued messing with the computer.

"Here's an interesting summary: 'Michael has a boner but doesn't know what to do with it. Adam teaches him one of the pleasures of being human.'"

Adam cringes but isn't surprised. Yeah, that was to be expected. Adam supposed it also made sense that any fan-made material would focus on him in conjunction with Michael. He was the 'character' he'd interacted with the most. He'd literally been inside him (yes, he could grasp the erotic implications).

Adam snuck a look at Michael, relieved to see he looked more confused than angry. He thought about what he wanted to say.

"You realize you've probably been paired up with everybody at least once yourself, right? You're too important. You probably had plenty of 'screen time' or 'page-time,' or whatever the fuck we're going with here."

"And why should it bother me what humans write about me?"

"Well, as you've probably gathered, most of it is porn. Here, let me see the computer for a minute?"

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him but pushed it over. Adam was clearly being humored; he hoped he could find what he had in mind.

It was easier than it should've been to navigate the website. And it took less time than it should've to find something inflammatory.

"Look at this," Adam said, passing the computer back. Adam took a perverse amount of pleasure in the blank expression that came over Lucifer's face as he realized what he was reading. Adam might not agree with most of Lucifer's anti-human dogma. But he could get behind his belief in their depravity. The human imagination could be downright vile.

"Did you want to read the summary of that one out loud? Or maybe you'd like to check out the story itself." Adam hoped Lucifer didn't call his bluff and actually attempt to read what he'd found. Adam had no desire to hear such things and was sure Michael would find it equally traumatizing. It might even have Michael agreeing with Lucifer about humans being disgusting and all deserving to die. Now that he was thinking about it… showing Lucifer such a thing and daring to taunt him might not have been such a good idea.

"We're moving on to something else. There's nothing of value to see here," Lucifer growled. His hands were clenched, and his eyes glowed a burning red. If Lucifer had had laser vision, the computer would be a smoking, charred pile of unworkable parts.

Adam relaxed.

Lucifer was clearly pissed, but it wasn't at him.

"How about some videos, or… Oh, here's a fan song."

The look on Lucifer's face now scared Adam. More than the one he'd given the computer after reading the summary of the story that ‘must not be named or explained.'

A tune started up, and Adam frowned at the almost immediate mention of Sam and Dean. Adam wasn't sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. Lucifer was watching him with what could only be anticipation. It was clearly an Apocalypse song, and he could only assume he'd be getting a mention. It was nearing the chorus when he heard the first hint of himself: a mention of the writers forgetting someone. He just knew that had to mean him.

And then he heard the actual chorus.

"We are never ever saving Adam ever!? Really?"

Someone had written an actual song about how forgettable he was. Sam and Dean's perspective added extra sting to already painful mockery. Was this all he was to anyone who knew his story? An unremarkable, unimportant joke.

It was one thing for Lucifer to tease him: Lucifer was just being Lucifer. And this was obviously his revenge for managing to make him uncomfortable. It was a separate issue to know his fellow humans could think so little of him when he'd only ever tried his best to be respectable. When he'd been willing to give his body over to do what he'd believed to be right. When he'd only wanted to see his mother and now might never be reunited with her again.

Lucifer smiled at his reaction. But Michael, who'd always been so unnaturally attuned to his emotional state, straightened up. He flared his wings in a way that made his presence seem towering and finally put in his two cents.

"While I'm not averse to studying the Gospel—as it may have answers to our current predicament and shine a light on what has been happening among the host since I have been gone—I have to protest this obvious targeting of Adam for your sick entertainment. I've told you time again that my vessel is off limits."

"And you haven't seen me lay a finger on him. Have you?" Lucifer sneered. Adam wondered if this would escalate into another 'bitch-fight-argument.' (Man, was he glad Michael wasn't currently paying attention to his thoughts.) Experiencing more of this Winchester-based crap didn't appeal to him in the slightest: Not with how he'd been depicted. He wasn't much in the mood for listening to them go back and forth, either, for however long they'd decide to have a go.

"Can't we just decide on something that won't make any of us angry? Maybe get started on that learning Michael mentioned. Because he had a point, you know? There's a good chance we could learn about what's been happening while we've been down here. It hardly benefits us to be uninformed."

Some of Michael's tenseness relaxed, and a slight breeze from his wings told Adam they'd also been put away. Adam turned to look at Lucifer again.

"We could get info on what's been happening in Hell too." Adam's careful not to say what he's actually thinking: that Lucifer could see Sam again and learn how he's doing. Lucifer's obsession was one best not spoken of; he'd deny it anyway.

Both Angels agreed with Adam with only a little grumbling and a couple murmured insults from Lucifer that Adam pretended not to hear. Lucifer was just upset they'd managed to ruin his fun.

Now that they had a plan, they just needed to put it into motion. Adam reached towards the computer again slowly, wondering if Lucifer would put up a fight about handing it over, but he shoved it at him instantly. Adam guessed Lucifer didn't want to have to put in the work if he couldn't fuck with them anymore. Adam wasn't about to complain.

Adam settled the computer into a position far enough from him so Lucifer could still see the screen. It'd been paused on the YouTube video for the song he'd been so hurt by. With a quick type of 'Supernatural mvs' in the search bar, it directed him to other options. Lots of options! Man, this show was popular. He hardly knew where to start.

Adam clicked on a couple random vids but got nothing out of them beyond further confirmation of Sam and Dean's life sucking, their codependent relationship, and the strange homoerotic tension between Castiel and Dean which the fans not only noticed but seemingly loved.

"Well, those weren't very helpful. Why don't we look up some videos focusing on the Angels."

Adam did so, and this time hit paydirt. These videos focused a lot more on the Angels and what they'd been up to. Some of it was hard for him to follow without the context, but he was focusing on trying to absorb everything until—

"You killed Gabriel?" Michael didn't yell, but his voice seemed to boom and almost shake the cage from being so powerful. The grip Michael still had around him was equally strong. Adam was grateful he couldn't actually die down here. And that he didn't need to breathe. Otherwise, the hold would have already suffocated him. Adam tried to pay attention to what Michael was actually saying.

Gabriel?

Right, Gabriel.

Apparently, Lucifer had killed him.

The video was still going, but nobody was paying it any mind. He reached a hand out to pause it, trying not to attract the attention of either of them. Michael was angrier than Adam had ever seen him. Adam trusted Michael to not want to hurt him, but that didn't mean he couldn't end up collateral damage. His ribs could attest to that.

Would this be the inciting incident? The thing to finally turn them to violence? Adam supposed Lucifer's response might be the determining factor.

Lucifer looked surprised. Adam wondered if he'd forgotten that he'd killed Gabriel or if he simply assumed nobody would ever find out.

"It wasn't Gabriel's place to interfere. He helped Sam and Dean get away, kept waving his Angel Blade around in my face, and seemed very protective of the humans, above all else. He'd clearly been down on Earth too long and became too accustomed to their ways. What else would you have had me do?"

"Maybe not kill your brother. You were always Gabriel's favorite: The only one to enjoy his pranks. The only one who could understand his jokes. You taught him to fly. Even during our fights, he never once took sides. He had to know you were in the wrong, but his love and worship for you prevented him from ever truly standing against you. Were you truly incapable of subduing him long enough for you to get away? You couldn't appeal to him… or talk him down—someone who once loved you that much?"

Lucifer, for once, appeared lost for words. (Talk about family drama. And he thought his issues with his own were bad.) Adam suddenly had a lot of questions he'd never thought to ask: What happened to an Angel when they died? Did they stop existing? Did they have their own afterlife? Was it better than here? He supposed it had to be.

There was still no answer from Lucifer. Adam knew better than to dare ask any of his questions now. His mouth would stay firmly shut while letting them sort this out. No way was he getting in the middle of this.

"Your silence might as well be an admission of guilt." Michael was trying his best to sound all-commanding and unemotional. The bond between him and Adam that let Michael perceive what he was feeling, however, worked both ways. Right now, he was feeling a grief Adam hadn't yet felt from him before. Not even their fall into the cage had elicited such an emotional response; he'd mostly just been angry then.

"Like you're squeaky clean being Dad's loyal soldier. You'd have killed him yourself if it'd been an order from God. Just like you threw me down here on his orders. You're the last person who'd have any right to lecture me on betrayal: on family loyalty." Lucifer sneered again as he practically spat the words.

Michael glowered and shot right back: "Your actions led to me striking you down—not just God. If you'd just listened—"

"—Here we go again: 'If you'd only just listened and followed orders like every other Angel, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. If you'd only just listened and been a good puppet soldier, none of this would've happened,'" Lucifer mocked with a roll of his eyes. "Don't take any accountability for your own mistakes. The 'Great and Powerful Archangel Michael' doesn't make mistakes. He's just Daddy's perfect boy. Well, it doesn't seem like he's coming down here to rescue you, does it? God has abandoned you too! Despite your enduring loyalty and stupidity."

"Faith is not stupid," Michael retorted. "And must you insist on talking poorly of our father?"

"He's the reason we're both down here, Mikey. The reason we're all down here. Apparently, he doesn't care about your vessel, either—despite insisting we prioritize these humans above all else. What excuse can you even give for that, huh? Are we meant to believe that he just… what? Didn't notice our Apocalypse: Didn't notice one of his Archangels dying and another falling into the cage? 'He who supposedly sees all'? What's more likely? That he hasn't realized or doesn't care? About any of us."

Adam didn't much appreciate being brought up in this conversation, especially when said conversation was a reminder that nobody seemed to care that he was here (aka: In Hell). Secretly, though, while he'd never tell Michael, he agreed somewhat with Lucifer; God didn't seem invested in any of them. One of the things that had brought him closer to Michael—that had made him sympathetic—had been his…well, 'toxic' relationship with his father. Even easier to empathize with was Lucifer's hatred towards that same father due to a disillusionment Michael had yet to overcome.

"We're down here to pay penance," Michael shot back in defense. "Father is hardly going to reward failure."

"Well, he certainly doesn't reward loyalty. What's your human paying penance for? What did he theoretically do wrong in this scenario? He was just doing what he thought was right, wasn't he? Doing what you and the other Angels told him to?"

Michael seemed to struggle with this, and Adam tried peaking up at him to see if he could catch his expression. Adam was curious what excuse he'd come up with for this one, if any; he wouldn't even be mad at the insinuation that Adam could've done something deserving of spending an eternity down here when he'd managed to make it into Heaven before.

Michael's arms clenched around him again, but softer this time and without the anger. Adam didn't manage to get anything from his expression (Adam admitted to stupidity in hindsight; Michael's face was hardly a display of emotion, and there was no reason for this time to be any different), but Michael let out an almost audible sigh. His Archangel's emotions, unlike the rest of him, were anything but tame. Adam could feel the conflict and confusion as strongly as if they were his own.

Lucifer seemed to grasp from Michael's sudden silence that he'd scored his first point in this back-and-forth because he smirked, suddenly confident from this small but important victory. At any other time, Adam might have been amused and grateful that Lucifer was getting through to Michael on the whole 'God issue.' Right now, though, Lucifer trying to use this to distract from him having killed their brother and then throwing Adam into the argument made Adam furious.

'Screw it,' Adam thought, 'I'm done shutting up.'

"Look, obviously, none of us are having the time of our lives down here, but it doesn't really do to dwell on the whys and hows. We have to make the best of our situation while still being ready to take any chances that turn up to get out of here. This, right here—" Adam shook the laptop to remind them both that it was there. "—this is the closest we've gotten; the only information we have available."

Lucifer stared at him. He could sense he had Michael's attention as well.

"Michael's got a right to be mad. His brother's dead, and he's only just found out. Lucifer, you have a right to be mad too. About being stuck here again, I mean. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on Michael since it wasn't even his fault this time. You told me, yourself, that fighting down here's pointless, so maybe stop trying to instigate one." Adam glared at Lucifer, trying to look braver than he actually felt. "And stop using me to antagonize Michael. It's hardly very creative of you."

"Your vessel's got bite, Michael. Real Winchester trait."

"Milligan," Adam corrected in further irritation. "Can we please just—" Adam shook the computer again in frustration. "We were really getting somewhere. Do you two wanna keep fighting about something neither of you can do anything about, or do you want to get educated? Cause I'm telling you, right now, if it turns out there was some way outta here we didn't know about that this did and we miss it, I'll find a way to make the both of you regret it…" Adam took another look at the both of them as they stared at him—Lucifer with an arched brow and Michael curiously—and felt his temporary bravery abandon him.

"…somehow," he muttered in a much weaker, lower voice.

For some reason, his outburst seemed to kick the two of them into gear. Michael suddenly arranged the laptop and the both of them so he had better access to the controls while still having a firm grip on him. Adam wondered if it was a good idea for Michael to be in charge—given his previous immersion (more like obsession) with said computer—but Adam figured he'd already said his piece. For now, he just wanted to feel like he was accomplishing something.

Neither Lucifer nor Michael apologized, but Adam assumed by their behavior that it was implied. Lucifer, at least, would never lower himself enough to do so—and Adam knew Michael would never do it in front of Lucifer, who'd no doubt use it as an excuse for further mockery.

Sometimes, seeing the devastation that was their relationship made him happy about never being able to build anything real with his own brothers. If having siblings caused one this much pain and drama, maybe he was better off without them.

Michael continued with the video route since they'd already proven useful. (And Adam's heart did ache for Michael about the Gabriel situation. Of all the stories Michael had told Adam of Heaven, the ones involving the trickster Angel had been his favorite.)

These videos involved more Angel drama: Drama that Adam still lacked some context to entirely understand. He could tell it was bad, though. And not just from the tenseness and feelings Michael was projecting from their bond.

"Raphael is dead too," was Michael's next despondent comment. The hurt practically emanated from him at this point—a dark rolling cloud of misery over his usual sunny brightness.

"Well, you can hardly blame me for that one. I think Castiel might have single-handedly done more damage in these videos than I managed during our entire apocalypse escapade. I'd be in awe if it weren't so insulting." Lucifer certainly didn't look amused.

"Much as I hate to agree with you, there is something seriously wrong with that Angel. He seems incapable of following orders or respecting authority. There's no need to make light of our prophesized battle by referring to it as an escapade, though, Lucifer."

"Sure. Disrespect of authority. That's the problem." Lucifer's eyes rolled back so far in his head that Adam feared they'd get stuck that way. His sarcasm was so thick Adam could drown in it.

The videos kept going and kept getting progressively worse.

"At this point, the question we should be asking is if there are any angels left. Also…what's so special about Castiel that his death never seems to stick."

Neither Michael nor Lucifer appeared to like the implications. They both had to know the most likely reason for Castiel's constant revivals was God's favor. How Castiel could have earned said favor without trying when even Lucifer and Michael's fanatical bids to garner attention had resulted in radio silence, Adam didn't know. It just left the increasing impression of God being that crappy, absentee father Lucifer had painted him as, whether Michael was able to admit to it yet or not.

Purgatory, Soulless Sam, The Trials, The Angels Falling, The Mark of Cain, The Darkness: The hits never stopped. And…wait, was that supposed to be God? The guy writing the Winchester gospel and pretending to be a Prophet? What? When Michael and Lucifer said nothing, Adam decided to do the same. They either hadn't reached the same conclusion (noticed) or didn't want to discuss it and were ignoring it. Adam could get behind that.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this—feel free to slap me if I'm being ridiculous, 'cause I'm probably way out of line here—but…do you think maybe…we might actually be safer down here? Everyone up there seems to be cursed or something."

Apropos of nothing, without the slightest warning, Lucifer disappeared.

Adam stared at the now empty space. Gone. Just like that. Adam tensed and grasped onto Michael's arm around him, worried he or Michael might be next. Michael held on just as tight, also wary. Only after a few minutes of neither of them going anywhere did he lower his guard.

"Was it something I said?" Adam asked, suddenly feeling the need to whisper. "Did I jinx it?"

"Of course not. Lucifer must have been summoned."

"Who would or could summon Lucifer out of the cage?" He asked, then almost knocked himself out from the force of his own palm meeting face at his stupidity.

"Winchesters," both Adam and Michael ended up saying simultaneously.

"But why?" Adam asked.

"They must need an Archangel for something." And, boy, was Michael mad; the increased thunder and lightning noises from outside the cage evidence (representation) of his vast displeasure.

"They needed an Archangel, and they chose Lucifer?" That was dubious. Lucifer might help—especially if Sam was doing the asking—but he'd hardly do it for free. God knows what other mischief he'd get into while up there.

Given how they'd just been talking about a curse, there was also a good chance Lucifer would be killed. Adam felt weird thinking about it. Lucifer drove him crazy, and he was hardly a pinnacle of moral righteousness. But Adam would miss him. Adam had gotten used to thinking of Michael and Lucifer as his eternal companions. Now, one of them was gone. He couldn't help but grip Michael harder again, still slightly scared that he'd vanish, too, and Adam would be alone. That would be the end of his sanity right then.

"If the darkness destroyed the world…or whatever it is she does, would it affect us, too? Could Lucifer even defeat it?"

"Everything would be affected. The last time the darkness had to be shut away, it took the combined power of God and all four of his Archangels. Even then, it was still difficult and resulted in grievous injuries. I don't see how it could be accomplished unless God has returned to fight and decides to bring us all back."

Michael didn't even look hopeful while saying it, proof this new information and situation had him out of sorts. Adam just had to hope that if Michael was summoned, Adam would be taken as well. The Angel would still need a vessel, after all. Adam doubted Dean had suddenly changed his views on possession. Adam could also admit to jealousy at the idea of Dean taking his place in this instance. Dean hadn't wanted to be Michael's vessel, but Adam had been filling that role for so long now he no longer knew any other way to be.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"There's nothing we can do," Michael admitted reluctantly. Adam knew Michael hated feeling helpless and not being able to do anything. Michael hadn't known a day of idleness until he found himself here. Adam had promised himself if they ever escaped, he'd insist on a vacation. They both deserved one, and there were so many places Adam had never gotten to see while alive that he thought Michael might get some pleasure from now.

"We should be on our guard, though, I'm guessing?"

Michael nodded against his back.

For a moment, Adam wanted to say, 'screw this,' and hide again in his angel companion's wings as he had so long ago. To forget everything and make that feathery embrace his entire world. It was strange, almost, how that seemed like a simpler time. It certainly hadn't seemed simple at the time.

"You just wanna watch some more of this Supernatural crap? It won't take our mind off anything, but I'm sure there's still much to learn. Why don't we look up some videos about ourselves? I'm sure we must have at least a few. Oh, and your brothers! We could find some about them too. See what they'd been up to before…well, just before. I hope this computer doesn't run out of power. Now that I'm thinking about it, it already should've run out if it was going to. You'd been messing with it for days before we'd even commented. I'm not even going to ask what had you so engrossed." Adam knew he was babbling but also knew Michael wouldn't mind. He'd told Adam before that he liked knowing what Adam was thinking but had difficulty figuring it out.

Adam rearranged himself again until he was comfy and brought YouTube back up. He was determined not to think about their imminent demise, the possibility of Michael disappearing, Lucifer being dead, or the Winchesters (despite them being prominent in everything and, therefore, impossible to ignore).

No.

None of those things existed right now. Adam and Michael were watching fiction. Pieces of a TV show. It had nothing to do with their lives at all. If he thought of it that way…maybe it would make these viewings easier to bear? Put less of a strain on his heart and his mind.

Adam took a deep breath, ready to start the next set of videos.

"You ready?" He asked Michael.

"It's only pragmatic to learn all we can. You said something similar yourself."

"Okay, what have I said about using my own words against me?"

"To not do so. Though I'm slightly confused about whose I should be using if not yours."

Adam sighed and shook his head.

Angels.

Hopeless.

All of them.

"Let's just get watching."

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

Unhinged rating of SJM characters' ships from someone who hasn't read any of the books.

(Purely based on posts I've seen on social media. This is what I think of the ships based on what the fandom says about them. This is not a serious rating, obviously, since I haven't read a single book of hers or even a fanfic based on those.)

1.. Feysand 3/10

I've seen people say he drugged her and forced her to perform a lap dance and he twisted her broken arm until she agreed to a deal with him. And that after they got together, he didn't tell her that her pregnancy could kill her because the baby couldn't come out with wings.

2.. Feyre and Tamlin 5/10

I have seen people shit on Tamlin for being the worst, but I've never seen anyone provide direct examples from text. All people say is that he's very toxic and that he wanted to imprison Feyre in his house. But she was in danger? And she was a 19 illiterate peasant girl and there were centuries old fearies who wanted to harm her?? Maybe prioritize your safety for the time being, girl? Idk, maybe Tamlin did some other worse things, but if his list of crimes against feminism only consists of this, then he's not that bad.

3.. Nesta and Cassian 2/10

I'm sorry, I don't see the appeal. Nesta needed therapy, not Cassian. If Nesta was Lady Death and Cassian stood by her side ready to bathe in her enemies' blood, I'd dig it. But I've heard Nesta loses her powers?!!!... No. Just no. Also, Cassian has internalized bastard phobia he had centuries to get over and he still hasn't. We do not tolerate bastard slander in this court. It's not a personality trait. And he laughed when she fell down the stairs??

4.. Nesta and Eris 9/10

These two would slay sooooo hardddd!!!... The amount of cunt they would serve. Drink wine and talk shit together. Also, they fit together more. Autumn court would show Nesta that even death and decay can be beautiful. Not every Archeron sister needs to be paired with a Bat boy.

5.. Gwyn and Azriel 4/10

I mean, sure, but why? No spice, no salt, no nothing. They had completely normal boring interactions. Not much potential here.

6.. Elain and Azriel 7/10

Is flower girl/warrior boy cliché? Yes. Do I care? Not really. Azriel seems a level-headed guy in general and he's more open to Elain than Gwyn. Also, there are already parallels with Rosehall and Elain being compared to a rose.

7.. Elain and Lucien

No rating because I'm very confused about these two. Why is she even Lucien's mate?

8.. Aelin and Sam 8/10

They were cute. He seemed like a good guy. He loved Celeana, he would've loved Aelin.

9.. Aelin and Chaol 5/10

I have no idea who this guy is. No disrespect. I gave a middle score.

10.. Aelin and Dorian 6/10

They're better off as besties. They're both in line for their own thrones, so it would complicate things.

11.. Manon and Dorian 9/10

Dare I say, they'd be the kinkiest couple? Pop off. Love it. Zero notes.

12.. Aelin and Rowan 6/10

Aelin only settled for Rowan because she was too tired for something else. Bold statement from someone who has no idea what she's talking about. But I just get these vibes. They were both damaged and tired people. Aelin still deserved more empathy. I've heard he once hit her out of anger. And kept saying he would never love her like he loved her ex.

[lillotte17]

I just woke up, so good morning, let me see if I can string any words together in a coherent pattern. This has actually been on my mind for weeks. Slowly driving me insane.

200 years. Two. Hundred. Years. 2 HUNDRED years.

That amount of time is literally incomprehensible to us in terms of personal memories and trauma. We can barely remember anything collectively as a species for that amount of time without losing bits and pieces of it. It is more than 2/3 of the time that Astarion has been alive. Well, "alive."

I am currently in my mid thirties, it would be like if I had died when I was 7 or 8 years old and then had to try and remember everything about my personality and my family and my morality from that time period. I do remember it, of course, but a lot of it is pretty vague. A lot of things that I know happened, or that I know I did, I remember because there are other people in my life who knew me then. Astarion wasn't a child, of course, but time still has it's way with things, and there is no one in his life he knew from before he became a vampire, with the possible exception of Cazador, and he's hardly a reliable source of information. Trauma also damages memories, and he has spent more that 2/3 of his life being constantly starved and beaten, and abused in pretty much every possible way a person can be.

The main point being that it is simply not possible to make any firm assumptions about the kind of person Astarion was before he was turned. Maybe he was a horrible, power-hungry, back room dealing, lying, racist, POS trash-man who deserved what he got when that group of thugs jumped him. Maybe he was kind underneath all his bluster, and had a strong sense of justice, and he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Most likely, he was something in between. But we can't know. And Astarion probably doesn't really know anymore either.

(I firmly believe that Cazador chose him specifically to be a spawn, and possibly even orchestrated the attack on Astarion. They might not even have really been Gur. Astarion would only have Cazador to rely on for confirmation about what really happened to him that night, and having a culture of people who hunt monsters and were likely already targeting Cazador himself be the same group that murdered Astarion seems pretty mmmm convenient.)

And for all that he is a chaos gremlin, prickly rat-bastard, dumpster fire of a man, it is honestly pretty astounding (and rewarding imo) just how much growth he can have over the course of the game, which is only a few months, tops. (assuming, of course, that you are playing a good aligned Tav/Durge) But even before that, after the first night he tries to bite you, he is the one who immediately promises that he's not going to feed from innocents, with no prompting at all from the player. He doesn't ask to keep feeding from your PC, and he only drinks from you if you offer it. (unless you direct him to in a fight, I guess, lol) That feels huge to me. He has been STARVING for 200 years. Part of being a vampire is that he's always kind of starving, but he doesn't want to be a slave to that hunger any more than he wants to be a slave to anything or anyone else.

I'm not saying that he's secretly a good man deep down, but even from the start, the potential for him to be better was already there. Which is AMAZING because, as I said earlier: TWO HUNDRED YEARS.

Like, imagine that you know absolutely nothing about yourself except misery and torture and losing things, and it fucks you up, and you KNOW it's fucked you up, and you are terrified that one wrong move could send you back to the place that you just escaped from, and you still say, "I'm still not going to attack the innocent people around me for no reason, though. Sure, I might laugh if they manage to get themselves killed in an amusing way, but it's not going to be my fault."