#he truly just wanted a gentler world where all are loved

[miquella-everywhere]

Fromsoft legit just made us the villain of the DLC huh

[totalswag]

worthy of love — RAFE CAMERON

authors note something short and cute for you guys. also, rafe deserves to be treated with the love that he desires. he just wants to be understood yall.

paring mean!rafe x soft!reader

summary soft!reader wants to show mean!rafe that he's worthy of love but he pushes reader away until one day he finally knows what love truly feel like.

warnings neglect, feeling unworthy of love, ward being a shitty father, and a lovely happy ending.

Rafe Cameron believed he would never be capable of love in his life.

Raised in a family where love was a rare commodity, Rafe grew up believing that affection, vulnerability was a weakness that should be avoided at all costs. But little did he know that someone was about to turn his life upside down and teach him the true meaning of love.

You.

His father, Ward Cameron, is part of the reason Rafe is the way he is. Ward tells him to man up rather than express his feelings and be vulnerable. Overall, his father has never treated him with the proper care compared to his two younger sisters. This sent Rafe into a downward spiral, leading to a darker path in his life. Rafe held his guard up.

You entered his world like a breath of fresh air, bringing with you a warmth and tenderness he had never felt before. Rafe first rejected your presence, pushing you away with his harsh remarks and cold demeanor. But you saw through his strong facade, understanding the agony and vulnerability that lay underneath the surface.

"Why do you treat me like this? I’m not someone that deserves to be loved." 

Rafe was initially perplexed as to why, of all the people on the island, someone as kind and gentle as you would want to be with him. 

One of the many things Rafe would tell you when you tried to show him that he’s capable of being loved by someone, he would shut you out immediately when you tried showing him.

People said you were crazy for pursuing Rafe Cameron. His reputation in Kildare is immense. You just chose to ignore what other people had to say because you felt Rafe deserved love.

The first time you heard those words come out of his mouth, your heart broke into a million pieces. Behind all of the roughness, coldness, and unpredictable behavior, he is someone who wants to be loved.

Rafe continued to push you away for the longest time, hoping you would get the hint. Finally, giving in after protracted arguments. For far too long, he had kept his guard up to protect himself. He did not want to feel weak for expressing himself. Rafe noticed how long you stayed by his side.

You gradually began to break down the walls Rafe had placed around his heart. You showed patience and understanding by refusing to give up on him, even when he tried to push you away. Rafe became increasingly drawn to you as time passed, yearning for the love and acceptance that had always escaped him.

Rafe started to trust again as your relationship deepened. He progressively exposed a gentler, softer side of himself, something he had never seen before. He realized there are individuals out there, like you, who care passionately and will be by his side through thick and thin.

All he ever wanted was to feel fully understood and seen. You came into his life when he was in the deepest pain and saved him. You showed he’s worthy of love, compassion, gratitude, and vulnerability are truly like, and there is nothing wrong with it. He transformed into a very different person than anyone could have predicted.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever laid eyes on, baby," Rafe said with a lovely smile on his lips, sliding the front strand of your hair behind your ear as you moved your body closer to his and closed your eyes.

“I love you so much rafey” kissing his bare shoulder a few times.

“And I love you more,”

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[elementroar]

Analysis of Paracelsus' initial bloodlust and its longlasting effects on A.B.A (Part 2)

Analysis behind the backstory and personal story arcs of A.B.A. and Paracelsus (part 1)

So this actually started out more of a 'funny' post, but I realized that it really is a very important insight into how A.B.A. and Paracelsus function and interact, especially for his earlier days in XX/Accent Core +R

And I wasn't joking about the vore. It's not in the erotic sense...but it certainly is in the 'literally eating parts of your partner ' sense...

Also apologies for the long word dumps, it got wordier and longer than I expected.

Paracelsus (used to) REALLY love blood

It goes without saying, Paracelsus really loves blood. Well he used to anyway.

By STRIVE, he says he felt he lost his sanity whenever he gets hyped on blood in the past. To the point, he has sworn off blood (and violence) as if it was an addiction. Basically, he has managed to go clean sometime between their last appearance and STRIVE.

To not go too far into his backstory again (which you can read here), Paracelsus is a magical axe that fed on blood and increased his own power with blood; and would use warriors as hosts to cause more bloodshed and thus gain more blood and power for himself. Paracelsus doesn't need to 'eat' blood to survive (he was left host-less for about 20 years, and now abstains in STRIVE and is just fine), making the addiction metaphor seem to be accurate.

Back in XX/ACCENT CORE, he needed to drink fresh blood to transform into his superpowered Moroha mode (this is mechanically replaced by Jealous Rage mode now). Similar to his current gameplay, he could get blood and transform by A.B.A. piercing someone with his bladed end; or if A.B.A. fed him one of three blood packs she'd have on her.

He reacts pretty much like a dog getting a treat, anticipating it when she reaches into her pockets for a pack too. And he truly didn't care where the blood comes from, even if it's from A.B.A. herself.

A.B.A. coughs up blood and all Paracelsus wants to do is have a taste. Note that he barely actually reacts to her or himself getting hit or fighting in the old games. It's kind of a stark contrast to his many reactions and concern for her wellbeing now.

Make no mistake, despite being "kinder and gentler" than how he treated his previous hosts - by not completely mind controlling her into a frenzy and caring enough that he doesn't want her to die - Paracelsus was truly obsessed with drinking blood still, and all the fighting skills and power he imparted on A.B.A. was to make her strong enough to defeat opponents and gather blood for him too. Hence the 'manipulation' he felt guilty of in STRIVE.

And he gets even more bloodthirsty in Moroha mode aka what Paracelsus is without his 'sanity'.

You're the worse you when on blood

Prior to STRIVE and Paracelsus' current sludgy form, his powered-up form gave him a goat's head and his persona changes into that of his old berserker self.

This increase in aggression and bloodlust also affected A.B.A. through their empathetic bond, making her also take joy in violence and also clearly hyperventilating and tweaking out in some animations, like she's high.

Not to mention that to fight in this mode, every time Paracelsus makes a successful attack, A.B.A. also gets damaged (hence 'Moroha' mode as it means 'double-edged'). In-universe, this could mean that Paracelsus is sapping both the blood of an opponent and A.B.A. at the same time, indiscriminately as he says.

And he seems somewhat crueler in this form, as he has an even more violent and vicious state above Moroha mode called Goku Moroha mode. He enters it by consuming another blood pack, but he also seems to bite down on A.B.A.'s hand without a care and holds onto it while he transforms.

The impact of all this on A.B.A

Picking up Paracelsus was truly a double-edged sword/axe for A.B.A. On one hand, he was older and savvier about the outside world (even though he spent like 20 years just rusting away on the ground somewhere) and having him as her emotional support key and literal weapon led her to actually daring to explore the outside world, and he provided and (attempted to) advised her on things she didn't know about.

On the other hand, Paracelsus' satiating his bloodthirst was still his main objective, and it was also hurting A.B.A. Although Paracelsus was making some effort to not outright get her killed, A.B.A's additional resilience as a homunculus probably also helped her survive take being Paracelsus' host as long as she did.

Paracelsus was the original toxic element in their relationship, and it's likely over the years he's come to realize and regrets the harm he was doing to A.B.A. constantly, and why he has completely sworn off blood and violence entirely by STRIVE.

However, his bloodlust fueled and amplified the worse tendencies of A.B.A. from early on, and this seems to have stuck with her till the present in STRIVE. Her current extremely violent reaction when feeling jealousy or anxiety is likely how she's been conditioned to do so by Paracelsus, even when he himself is no longer the source of that bloodlust.

The difference now is that A.B.A.'s new powered-up state of Jealous Rage is mainly fueled by her wrath and fear instead of Paracelsus' bloodlust. Paracelsus becomes sludge now, affected by the toxicity of her unstable emotions going haywire and her will becoming decidedly dominant over his. The one who is toxic has become inverted.

What's more, it seems that the skills Paracelsus imparted on her before also carried over and stuck with her, allowing her to fight independently since Paracelsus isn't trying to encourage her to violence this time. She's become so dominant that she now can even force a new form/transformation onto Paracelsus when she does her Overdrive The Law is Key, Key is King while in Jealous Rage.

In the game files, this red form is called the "Hyoui" form, meaning 'possession'. It being red is interesting because it seems to be a callback to Paracelsus' moniker of being the Sanguine Gale. The concept art also shows the pretty disturbing way he's being morphed into it by A.B.A. when she does the Overdrive.

When in her Jealous Rage mode, the bottom half Paracelsus' where his axe blade is, somehow becomes more axe-like than it ever has been in the games. In the earlier games, his blade half didn't change, only his head does into the goat-head. What's more disturbing is that eyes already started appearing on the axe half even while Paracelsus tries to maintain his original face as much as possible.

When executing the Overdrive, A.B.A. swings with the axe half as the sludge pulls from Paracelsus' face to form this new toothed red axe head. Is it a new persona? Is Paracelsus still conscious in his face half or in the axe half at all? Does 'possession' have double meaning where A.B.A. is possessed by her own wrath, but also Paracelsus is now the one being possessed by A.B.A.'s will into forming the red axe form?

The interesting thing too is that A.B.A. executes the Overdrive with precise strikes, liked a skilled warrior. IMO, at this moment A.B.A. ironically became the exact kind of warrior that berserker Paracelsus would have wanted and caused him to even revert back into that primal early form of his that was barely sentient. They gained perfect synergy for the attack, but both are literally out of their minds.

What started this post

Just a funny thing but the reason why I even thought of, and then looked into all this, was because of A.B.A.'s biting of Paracelsus at the top of the post. I was wondering why Paracelsus doesn't say a word of protest when she does this to him, then remembered that he used to kinda drink her blood (and turns out he too has bitten her before), and I think he's prolly thinking "I deserve this".

[helluvapoison]

how would the overlords propose?

Say Yes

how the overlords would propose

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Romance isn’t an afterthought to her, as hard as that is to believe. Carmilla is a very passionate woman… it just comes after logic. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve been put to the test much earlier on. (How you treat her daughters and how they like you is the most important part, if you didn’t pass you wouldn’t have made it this far)

By now she knows you’re worthy and she’ll bring you into her world permanently. Carmilla plans something intimate. She surprises you in her office for a candlelit dinner, courtesy of her private chef! She is a businesswoman first so she gets straight to the point and asks for your hand, literally, slipping the band into your finger.

“Marry me,” Carmilla says, uncharacteristically soft, “With you at my side, I will be complete.”

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Telling himself there’s no rush, that he could wait a thousand more lifetimes to make you completely his, doesn’t cure the urgency to do it anyways. He’s seen any ounce of goodness down here nabbed before anyone else can take it for themselves. Zestial never claimed to be unselfish, only patient. He tests the question to himself first very early on. Then he phrases it differently to you or refers to himself as your husband to others. You mistake it for a slip up and smile anyways. A delightful sign in his eyes.

Zestial is pleased that you don’t suspect it. How could you when he’s merely being his usual, charming self? He takes you strolling down the same path you took when he first began courting you. Ever the gentleman, he pauses before the bridge over the river of magma and actually kneels.

“Would thou spend the rest of this infernal afterlife beside thyself? Say yes and I swear never to stray and never to allow harm to befall thee. Thou shall only know happiness from this moment on.”

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Love at first sight doesn’t exist so do not twist his words when he says he knew you belonged to him the moment you met. Feelings were bothersome and you flooded his entire being with them with a simple gaze. Lingering between the emotions was always pain, which he was familiar with. Unfortunately for him, the cure for his ailment was always you. Marriage was not in the cards for either of you. Alastor thought he had no intention of going through such hassle until he couldn’t stop staring at the vacant spot on your ring finger. Bothersome.

Truly you had no idea what he was plotting. It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you to his radio tower, going over notes with him or just quietly hanging about while he worked. He told you there would be a guest on his next show and he wanted to rehearse the questions. Simple enough. Before you even read the last one Alastor stopped you with a finger to the lips,

“Pardon my dear, you’ve been a wonderful co host— utterly indispensable these past few years— but that’s my line!” There’s a flicker of hesitation before his smile takes a slightly gentler form, a side of Alastor only you’re privy to, “Will you marry me?”

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Since she was married a few times already, you thought Rosie would be over the whole thing by now. Well you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried! She adores weddings, from organizing them to being in them; the whole shabang is right up her alley! There was a reason her ex husbands didn’t work out but you don’t have to worry about the whys and whatnots. You’re oh so very special to Rosie, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing you!

The fact you think marriage is off the table has her giddy. She loves having the element of surprise! Cannibal’s left and right are in on the plot, making sure you’re exactly where you need to be all day long until you reach the town square at sunset. Crimson rose petals lead you to the gazebo where candles are lit all around your Radiant Rosie. She smiles so fondly at you it makes your knees weak as you climb the steps to reach her. She poured her love into two pages, prepared to make it her best speech ever but the second you were in front of her everything went out the window!

“Oh! I can’t wait another minute! Marry me, won’t you?”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ the vees might get their own part cause, i feel, they’re particular about marriage

[lovemesomeeddiemunson]

The Proposal - Epilogue

Summary: When Steve Harrington is threatened with deportation, he blackmails his long suffering assistant, Eddie Munson, into marrying him. Steddie! The Proposal Au, Modern Au, Part 7 of 7. 1920 Words

Series Warnings: Blackmail. Food mentions. Mentions of unhealthy relationship with food. Cursing. Self harm (by means of tattooing.) Homophobia. Death of a parent. Abandonment by parents. Shitty parents. Homophobic parents. Parents with entitlement. Classism. Sexual situations (no actual smut!) Brief allusion to a panic attack.

Authors Note: Our love story is wrapping up now, dear readers. I hope you have enjoyed. ❤️

Steve just barely manages to contain his snickering from his position curled up on Eddie’s stomach.

He’s spent the last several minutes doing so, while also attempting to sort the disarray that the other man’s long hair had fallen into in their tryst, the brunette curls splayed out haphazardly on the pillow resting behind his head.

Eddie is letting him do both, laid out on his back beneath Steve with a hand thrown over him to cup his bare hip. He’s been poorly pretending for the same amount of time that Steve’s been fussing over him, that he’s not completely out of breath.

The longer that his efforts to be subtle go on, the more Steve’s snickering takes on life, rolling into something akin to actual laughter. He feels like since he’s let Eddie in, that he’s never stopped.

Eddie lets him enjoy it, even as he weakly tells him. “That’s no way to treat your husband after he just showed you a good time, sweetheart.”

Biting his lip in reply, Steve’s touch becomes even gentler as he kisses the slight pudge of Eddie’s belly which has made the world’s most inviting pillow for him. “You are absolutely right, vita mia.”

Eddie smiles fondly down at Steve, raising an eyebrow at the mild surprise of not being corrected, for once. “So…sweetheart’s okay, huh? I like it. Simple but effective.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie’s belly rumbles beneath him with his laughter. “There he is.” Eddie reaches down with the hand not already wrapped around him in order to cradle his jaw. “God, you’re so pretty when you do that. How’d I get so lucky?” He asks.

Steve can’t truly hear what he’s saying - he’s speaking too low - but he can feel the words vibrating beneath his ear as he lays on Eddie…knows that they’re dripping with love.

And it hardly matters what words he offers, when Steve can clearly see in the low glow from the city outside their window when Eddie has mercy on him and signs for him, ‘I love you.’

Steve smiles, and mumbles back. “I love you too.” Warm all over.

And while the two of them had been going at different paces for sure in their efforts to learn ASL. (Robin’s suggestion out of consideration for Steve, who spoke English and Italian both perfectly well, but sometimes missed the answers said back to him.) It was still a happy fact of Steve’s life that the sweet sentiments that Eddie would offer with his hands were never lost to him.

Eddie hums softly then, glancing up as he thinks out loud. “I think I’ve loved you for a while. But I knew for sure when Wayne insisted I fight for us. I was so gone for you, and here you were, with the approval of the person whose opinion matters most. It all solidified for me then.”

Steve melts at his confession, peppering little kisses to Eddie’s tummy that make him giggle. His eyes rake over Steve - tantalizing muscle, little brown moles, and a smattering of freckles all on display but beyond that…There was evidence of Eddie’s love there in Steve’s tan skin. All marked up from his neck downwards, enthusiastic purple splotches where Eddie had taken his tongue and teeth and mapped out his claim on the man atop him, while he asked, “When did you realize?”

“I don’t want to say.” Steve replies, leaving one last little kiss, his tone indicative of his withholding something.

Eddie’s ears perk up at that, “Oh come on!” He teases. “It can’t be that bad. What was it? When you listened to the demo all the way through and realized I’m a bard in the most irresistible of forms?”

“No, not then. But you know I could wax poetic about the sounds you coax out of your guitar.” Steve teases him lightly.

Eddie huffs, “Fine. Not that then…So, what? Did you look at my ass when I bent over to put the little ‘sign here’ tabs on your papers? Couldn’t go another moment without me being yours?”

Steve shakes his head, asking “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!” Eddie all-but shouts.

Steve purses his lips. Telling him mercilessly, “It was when you cried at the end of Free Willy.”

“No!” Eddie gasps, lamenting. “Say it isn’t so.”

“Sorry sweetheart, that’s my moment. I saw you tearing up, and I just knew.” Steve says sheepishly.

“I take it back. I don’t love you, you horrible horrible man. I despise you.” Eddie lies, so much love in his eyes as he says it that Steve almost can’t bear it.

“I despise you more.” Steve replies, as easily as he’d told him he loved him just moments before, the words not holding an ounce of truth, unlike his declaration of said love had.

Eddie snorts, gleefully reminding him. “Hah! Jokes on you. You married me.”

Steve groans loudly in reply, feigning horror as he gasps. “Is it too late to flee the country?”

Eddie makes every effort to sit up at that, wrestling Steve into the bed to tickle him senselessly, until both of them are dissolved in giggles, in full honeymoon bliss.

They had maintained it for a while now, with no signs of stopping.

Con behind them, they had awoken on their wedding day in separate beds as planned, before meeting for photographs, all dressed up for the occasion.

Steve in white, his suit well tailored and - admittedly - a little slutty. It had looked mostly unassuming from the front - with a deep cut that showed off Steve’s bare, hairy chest and an assortment of metal chains borrowed from Eddie and Robin, to Eddie’s utter delight…but then when he’d spun at Eddie’s encouraging wolf whistle and he’d seen the back of it.

Oh the back of it…With an intricate spine of fabric, there were details of climbing lace vines and blooms, skin showing intermittently throughout where the cut strategically showed off the tan planes of Steve’s back…The edge of the suit jacket stopping high enough that Eddie could see how well his pants hugged his ass…the man in white just on the wrong side of smug at how sexy it made him look.

Which, understandably, made Eddie feral.

Eddie, who had been himself swathed in black, in an admittedly simpler suit - but one that boasted a sewn in cape that had flowed behind Eddie like a veil draped across his back.

The black fabric was lined along where it rested on his shoulders, as well as all of its edges, continuing to be further split by that same lining down the middle in a dark, glittering embroidery of those same vines and blooms.

Eddie’s hair was fixed with little buds peeking out in a careful placement, and he wore no rings. Waiting anxiously for Steve to put one on him.

He made an elegant, dark compliment to the borderline sinfully angelic picture that his soon-to-be husband made.

Who, in himself, was not immune to the image - salivating over Eddie, his veins thrumming with his own barely contained lust, the pair of them only staying the course thanks to Johnathan.

Johnathan, the only one they trusted to take the photos for them ever again. Who mercifully dismissed them once they had their shots, only for them to arrive at the courthouse steps one - very handsy - cab ride later.

Flushed, giddy, and happy, they had gotten married from there in a simple ceremony largely outshined by their clothing, with the two required witnesses.

Robin, and Wayne (who Steve had flown in,) had both watched them exchange vows before a judge, and had oh so smugly signed to attest to so.

Steve proudly kept the marriage certificate close when it was done, emotional, while Eddie had found it unreasonably cute, and had kissed him about it.

After posing for a few more photos, taken on Robin’s phone at her insistence, the four of them had all gone out for drinks to celebrate.

In their formal attire and all, Robin and Eddie - or rather, Robin and Batman, played with Eddie’s cape while careening through the city streets like a couple of unhinged toddlers.

Unhinged toddlers whom Steve loved very much, but still. He had merely shaken his head at them and their revelry as Wayne walked with him, their arms linked together as they had been the night of Wayne’s birthday all those weeks ago, when he had paraded Steve proudly in just the same way.

In those moments, when no one could see or hear them, Steve thanked him. For his kindness, his acceptance - and the hand he’d had in making Eddie such a good man.

Wayne had bristled, unable to accept, only thanking Steve for loving his boy. For being brave enough to take that leap, and to have him in a way that linked them all as family from now on.

For better or worse it seemed, Steve was under his wing now - and consequently, so was Robin. A fact made clearer and funnier by the fact that Wayne used that influence to land Robin with the phone number of the prettiest girl in the bar later that night.

Go figure.

By the time the family of four had had their fill of drinks and conversation and had parted ways, Robin went back to her apartment where she would call Steve in the morning stressed about how soon was too soon to call a girl.

In turn the married folks headed off to Central Park West, having sent Uncle Wayne to his hotel…but only after a generous teasing from him, to which Eddie had been snarky in his playful reply.

“Hey, fuck you old man, I bagged Steve Harrington.” Eddie had laughed. Turning from where he was putting his uncle in his cab and shouting loudly. “You hear that world!?! I bagged Steve Harrington! Whoo!”

A random drunkard on the block also whooped, and an embarrassed Steve pulled Eddie along, more eager to get his husband home than he was to encroach on his joy.

Eddie readily obliged him, just as he always had.

The two had then gone home that night, falling into bed at the start of their lives together.

Lives that would look completely different in a few years to be sure, not just from where they had started, or from where they were now, but also from how the two of them had always pictured.

But life is funny that way. And with Eddie’s US tour, and Steve toting around the first of many little nuggets…While it wasn’t the life that they might have planned exactly…

Being together, with their family, their little one eventually seeing the world with them via tour buses (in which Eddie claimed the best seat, always.) And airplanes (where Steve got the window seat, always)…Or whatever mode that she and her eventual siblings would grow up traveling by, and making memories on…

The fact of it was always the same. Eddie and Steve together, two doting dads of a bunch of hellions. Who rapidly signed details about what they’d seen and how they’d been over dinner, whether it was laid out in those tour buses, on the planes, in fancy restaurants, or wherever else they found themselves…The details didn’t matter.

Because as it was, it was the best of both of their dreams. Everything that they had never dared to let themselves want during the years of paper-clips and pointless meetings that could have been emails.

And it was perfect.

— La fine. —

Series Masterlist

Previous Part: Part 6

[slasher-smasher]

My soul, my mate (Homelander x gn!reader)

Word count: 4,218

Masterlist: here

AO3: here

Warnings: Shower sex, other than that it's just fluff :)

No beta. All mistakes are mine

Thanks for the title suggestion @sehtoast

Summary: Homelander encounters a supe with the ability to read soulmate connections. Intrigued by the prospect of confirming whether you are truly his destined soulmate, he is excited to find out yet the more he thinks about it, was it really worth knowing if they end up not being his souls other half?

Homelander has always been the epitome of control. As the world's most powerful superhero, he commanded fear and respect from all who crossed his path. But when it came to matters of the heart, even he felt vulnerable.

The weight of the world seemed lighter when Homelander was with you. In your presence, the mask of unyielding power he wore for the world slipped away, revealing a gentler, more human side of him. The painful reality outside the tower seemed to shrink in comparison to the vastness of your love.

It was in the quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of the world, that Homelander truly allowed himself to bask in the warmth of your affection. Your touch was like a soothing balm to his weary soul, erasing the doubts and insecurities that lingered beneath his stoic facade. As he gazed into your eyes, he saw a reflection of a life he never thought possible - one filled with genuine connection and unbridled passion.

You were absolutely perfect.

It was during one of his routine patrols that Homelander encountered a new supe, one whose abilities delved into the realm of fate itself. The supe could discern soulmates with a mere glance, a power that ignited a spark of curiosity within Homelander. Normally, he would just scoff at the useless power but he wanted to know if you were his soulmate. He was so confident in your bond that he was sure that you were.

As the day went on, he found himself consumed by a desire to confirm what he already knew in his heart. The thought of sharing an unbreakable connection with you, one ordained by fate itself, filled him with a newfound sense of purpose.

Arriving home that night he found you on the couch scrolling through a tablet that he gifted you last year.

“There is milk in the fridge honey. If you want some,” you state from your spot.

He takes off his gloves as he rounds the couch to settle where you were. You don’t even look up as you scoot over so you can snugly settle right into his side as he splayed his large hand over your inner thigh, running his thumb along the soft fabric of your pants absentmindedly. He watches you for a moment, marveling at the way the soft glow of the tablet screen illuminates your features, highlighting the curve of your lips and the spark in your eyes as you read.

As he watches you engrossed in the tablet, a playful smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "What are you looking at, babe?" he asks softly, his voice a gentle rumble that never fails to send a shiver down your spine.

You finally glance up, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you tilt the tablet to show him a funny meme you had found. His laughter fills the room, a sound so rare and precious that it feels like a symphony to your ears.

He may not fully grasp the idea of memes, but he recognizes the power they hold over people. And how they can either decimate or heighten value to someone.

“How was your day?” You ask as you focus back onto the screen and resume your prowling. Homelander signed as he laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"Busy as always, saving the one pathetic commoner at a time. But coming home to you is the best part of my day." he confesses, his voice tinged with faux resignation.

You chuckle at his melodramatic response, knowing full well that he relished every moment of heroism.

Homelander shifts slightly, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

After a while he breaks the comfortable silence, “Hey babe?”

You answer with a soft hum to indicate you are listening.

“I've been thinking... What are your thoughts on soulmates? Do you believe in that kind of thing?"

His tone was casual, yet tinged with a hint of genuine interest as he played with his gloves with his other hand that was not wrapped around you.

"It's a nice concept in fiction I guess," you reply, your voice soft and thoughtful. Homelander's brows furrow slightly at your response, his azure eyes searching your face for any hint of jest or insincerity. But all he finds is a calm sincerity, a genuine reflection of your true feelings on the matter.

For a moment, silence lingers between you, the weight of his question hanging in the air like a delicate thread. And then, with a small smile playing on your lips, you continue.

"I mean, the idea of soulmates is beautiful in stories and fairy tales. The notion that there is one person out there who is destined to complete you, to be your perfect match... it's romantic, isn't it?" you muse, your eyes meeting his with warmth and affection.

Homelander listens intently to your words, his expression unreadable as he processes your response. A flicker of something crosses his features before he nods slowly, a thoughtful gimmer in his eyes.

"Yeah, it is romantic," he agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. A moment of contemplative silence settles between the two of you, the only sound filling the room being the soft hum of the air conditioning. Then, with a sudden resolve, Homelander turns to face you fully, his piercing gaze searching yours. "What if soulmates do exist?"

he muses, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What if soulmates were real, and we were destined to be together in this life and the next? All that mushy bullshit." The air between you crackles with an unspoken question, a silent challenge to entertain the possibility of something more profound than either of you had ever imagined.

You can't help but feel a flutter of intrigue at his words, a hint of skepticism still lingering in the depths of your mind. But as you gaze into his earnest eyes, filled with an intensity that you've never quite seen before, you find yourself being drawn into his conviction.

"You’re fucking with me,” you pan, a note of disbelief edging your voice as you search for any signs of jest in his features. But all you find is unwavering love and a glimmer of hope that dances in the blue pools of his eyes.

Homelander shakes his head slowly, a small smile playing on his lips as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours. "I know it sounds fucking unbelievable, but today I met someone who claims to see soulmate bonds," he reveals, his voice barely above a whisper as if sharing a sacred secret.

His words hang heavy in the air, the gravity of his revelation sinking in slowly. You find yourself caught between skepticism and a flicker of hope, unsure of how to process this newfound information. The idea of soulmates had always seemed like a far-fetched fantasy, a tale spun to give people a sense of purpose and meaning in their lives. But here was Homelander, the epitome of power and control, daring to entertain the notion that maybe, just maybe, there was more to your connection than meets the eye.

"I...I don't know what to say," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to process the enormity of what he's suggesting. Homelander's hand finds yours, his touch grounding you in the midst of swirling thoughts and emotions. Could it be possible that fate had truly brought the two of you together, forging a bond that transcended mere mortal understanding?

Homelander's grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, his gaze searching yours with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The room seems to shrink around you, the air heavy with unspoken questions and uncharted territory.

“We don’t have to go see them if you don’t want to. I just… I was just thinking it would have been pretty cool to see if it was true or not,”" Homelander said in a soft tone, looking down at their conjoined hands brows pinched. “If not, I'll have to have an uncomfortable conversation about dishonesty and the value of my time.”

Knowing what he really meant by uncomfortable conversation, you hope that the poor supe was telling the truth, for their own sake. You brought your non occupied hand to his cheek and made him look you in the eye as you said, “Ok. Let’s do it. It’s not like we have anything to lose right?”

You see his eyes brighten with excitement and relief.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Yeah," he murmurs against the skin at the crook of your neck as he nuzzles his face there, his voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

In that moment, as you sit entwined in each other's arms, a sense of unity washes over you both. The prospect of delving into the unknown together is both exhilarating and daunting, but the bond that connects you feels stronger than ever before.

“Okie dokie! If we are going to go see the supe tomorrow then it’s bedtime. Gotta wake up early tomorrow. They said they will be at the tower bright and early.” Homelander joyfully commands.

You chuckled at his enthusiasm, unable to resist the infectious energy that radiated from him. With a shared smile, you both stood up from the couch, hands still intertwined as you made your way to the bedroom.

As you settled into bed, the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains casting a serene ambiance over the room, Homelander wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead then a sweet yet deep kiss on your lips. His warmth and scent envelop you, creating a cocoon of safety and familiarity that has you drift off to sleep.

It’s not like we have anything to lose right?

He couldn’t help but slowly descend into an amalgamation of worry and fear of what would happen if they end up finding out that you aren’t soulmates after all. He was so sure that you were but what would it mean for your relationship if it wasn’t true? Would there forever be a sliver of doubt and curiosity to find your match? The truth staining your already perfect, loving bond you have together? Was it worth trying to find out?

Homelander was so deep into his head that he didn’t notice the sun slowly rise and shine through the open blinds of the window. He could feel the rays bathe your upper bodies and faces as you stirred and slowly awoke.

Groggily, you blinked your eyes open letting out a yawn as he wiped his worried look away and replaced it with adoration and amusement when you tried to pull the plush pillow over your head to escape the light. Making him laugh at your cute antics.

“Shush you. Not everyone can stay awake for days and look perfect thank you very much.” Your groan muffled from the pillow.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead as he removes the pillow, knowing you have a silly insecurity about “morning breath”.

“I’m going to take a shower then we can head on down and maybe get something to eat. I’m hungry.” You declare as you slink off the bed. Homelander was silent as you took some fresh clothes and walked into the bathroom. The suffocating dread came back with a vengeance when he heard the shower turn on, letting it warm while you brushed your teeth. Your sigh of pleasure when you stepped in made him roll out of bed and pad into the the now steamy room.

You were washing your hair as you spotted him standing like a lost child.

“Hey baby. Do you wanna come in with me?” You ask as you slide the shower open the shower door seeing the sad and upset look on his face. Next thing you know you had an armful of distressed baby boy as he clung onto your naked body.

“What’s bothering you my sweet boy?” You ask gently as you ran your fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head. The warm water streaming down both your bodies.

Homelander buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he never wanted to let go. After a while of just holding each other he spoke.

"I'm scared," he admits softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water cascading down around you. "What if we're not soulmates? What if it's all a lie?"

You gently tilted his chin so that his blue eyes met yours, offering him a reassuring smile filled with love and understanding. "Hey, listen to me. Whether we're soulmates or not, it doesn't change how I feel about you. It's the connection we share, the love we have for each other, that truly matters. Soulmates or not, we have something special, something real." You reassure him, your words laced with sincerity and unwavering devotion.

Homelander's tense shoulders relax slightly at your comforting words, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes as he searches your face for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he lets out a deep breath, as if releasing the weight of his fears into the swirling water at your feet.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and adoration. "No matter what happens, I love you more than anything in this world."

"I love you too," you murmur against his wet skin, the words carrying a promise of unwavering support and understanding.

After washing each others hair- having his loves hands in his hair at any moment is a fucking fantasist- their hands slowly turned from washing the soap around to exploration and sensual longing. Wanting to express the need for each other.

Homelander's touch on your skin sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned with a fierce intensity. His kisses were both tender and hungry, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. Each caress, each embrace, spoke volumes of the unbreakable bond that held you together.

Homelander lifted you effortlessly, pressing you against the tiled wall of the shower as he entered you, a gasp escaping your lips at the exquisite feeling of being joined with him in that intimate way. The rhythm of your bodies meshed together perfectly, like two halves of a single soul finally uniting. Your moans and gasps of pleasure mingled with the sound of the water cascading down around you, creating a symphony of passion and love.

As you approached your peak, Homelander held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

"I love you so much and I am never leaving you." you panted, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

He thrust into you one last time, his eyes locked on yours, and you both cried out in unison as you reached the height of your pleasure, your bodies trembling with the intensity of the experience.

The water turned cold during your joining but the heat from the activity and the power that ran throughout his body making his skin hot to touch kept you from freezing. Laughter escaped your lips as he gently set you down onto the slick floor, your hand slid down his chest to steady yourself on shaky legs.

"Wow, we really got carried away, huh?" You teased, pressed tightly to Homelander.

"Worth it," he admitted, having a dopey smile on his face, still caught up in the depth of emotion that had consumed him.

"Always worth it," you agreed, returning his smile as you pulled him close for a passionate kiss. “Ok, it’s getting fucking cold and I am now starving. Lets go.”

Hand in hand, you both stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in towels as you entered the bedroom to get dressed.

He typically makes a point to maintain physical contact with you, whether it's by holding hands or placing his hand on your lower back as you walk together. However, today he seemed more clingy in his touch. He wrapped his arm tightly around your waist as the two of you rode the elevator down to the cafeteria, which was more like a high-end restaurant due to Vought's expectations for quality. A simple cafeteria wouldn't suffice.

After you meal, which you almost choked on due to Homelanders corny jokes -a few at the Deeps expense of course- making you laugh. You knew he was still nervous so you played along and cracked a few of your own which made his bright smile shine.

“So when and where are we meeting this person?” You ask as you finish your glass of orange juice as he sets his own milk glass down.

“In the marketing department's meeting room. They should be here now to go over a potential mind rotting tv show that people seem to go crazy for. Something like a bachelor-esk thing. Fucking trash.” Homelander rolled his eyes at the idea of Vought producing more “reality hoo-ha” with a disgusted look on his face.

Getting up to head towards marketing, you smile in amusement at his distaste of any show that didn’t star him. Though the show did sound pretty bad. Having to make people pay to be “screened” to be the man or woman’s potential soulmate just to make them go through hoops on tv THEN for the supe to come -again- in to give what everyone was waiting for.

Anything to make a profit for Vought you guess.

Arriving at the large meeting room, you realize you have gotten there a bit late because the door was open and everyone was at their desks. You flush a bit at realizing your time in the shower took a bit longer than you thought. Looking at the smug face on your boyfriend made you playfully smack his chest knowing exactly what he was thinking.

Charming asshole, you think as he winks at you.

He tells you to wait at the door so he can talk to the supe. You know he had a few questions that needed answers before they moved on to the main event. Probably giving them a thinly veiled threat knowing him.

A few moments later, you saw him poke his perfectly styled head out the doorway with a big dorky grin, “You can come in now babe. Just had to get some things clear.”

This was it. You felt silly with how nervous you were when you also still thought this was a bit sketchy but this was important to your boy. His need of validation was a constant burn in his soul that demanded to be sated.

Before he slid back into the room you reached up to cup his cheeks in your hands and pulled him into a quick sweet kiss, “Hey, remember, however this ends up know that I am still going to be here with you. I am not going anywhere and I love you so much.”

His face softened and he gave your hands on his face a small affectionate squeeze, “I love you too.”

Lacing your fingers together tightly you stepped out from around the doorway showing yourself to the supposedly “soul reader”. They looked calm and composed with their back straight and hands clasped together on the table in front of them. But you can see the uneasy tension in them. Your man has that effect on people. Especially after his little friendly chats.

“Soulsight, this is my partner.” He introduced you as you gave them a small wave.

“Hello, Homelander told me much about you. His descriptions were uhh very detailed.” They greeted back a bit uncomfortably. Making you shoot a glare at the man who doesn’t seem to have a filter.

“What? They asked what I liked most in you and I said me. Kinda snowballed from there, not my fault that you’re hot.” He defended in a unapologetic tone.

You sighed in exasperation and Soulsight cleared their throat trying to keep their composed look up.

“Shall we begin? I know your time is precious. Please sit here so I can get a good look into your eyes. They are windows to the soul after all.” Soulsight said while they gestured to the chair beside them.

You managed to fight off the urge to roll your eyes at the corny line as you sat down, Homelander sitting on your other side grabbing onto one of your hands.

You couldn't help but feel the weighty atmosphere in the room. Soulsight's eyes were fixed on you, their pupils slightly dilated as they prepared to delve into the depths of your soul. As Soulsight's glittering orbs gazed deep into your eyes, you felt as though they were peeling back the layers of your being. It was like a thousand tiny hands tracing intricate patterns on your skin, leaving an unexplained warmth behind. You could almost hear the whispers of your past and the echoes of your future, as if Soulsight was truly tapping into the essence of who you were.

The room seemed to grow quieter, and Homelander's grip on your hand tightened. You could feel the weight of his affection and concern for you, and you returned the squeeze with one of your own. As Soulsight's gaze deepened, you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden within the depths of your own soul. As the reading continued, you could feel a subtle shift in the energy between you and Homelander, like a current between two magnets drawn towards each other.

When Soulsight finally finished their analysis, they looked at you surprised yet extremely relieved. "You have a pure heart, one filled with love and loyalty. You are true to yourself and those you care for. This bond you share with Homelander is unbreakable, and it will continue to grow even stronger."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and validation as you looked at Homelander, who was beaming with pride. His wet eyes had never left you throughout the reading, and the warmth in his gaze spoke volumes.

"Wow... that was intense," you said, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of vulnerability and intimacy.

Soulsight, now satisfied with their revelations, stood up, "It's time for me to leave. Your souls have shared with each other, and your bond is unshakable."

You and Homelander exchanged another warm look as Soulsight put on their jacket that was by the door, "Take care of each other, and let your love thrive."

Homelander couldn't help but lean in and give you a comforting kiss on the forehead as Soulsight exited the room. The way they had looked into your soul had left you feeling a little raw, but also incredibly connected to each other.

You laughed and shook your head at how cliche and fanciful Soulsight's words sounded, looking at Homelander and exchanging knowing glances. Homelander wiggled his blonde brows with a goofy smile on his lips.

“So soulmate, you feeling better now that we passed inspection?” you teased lightly as you stood up to sit on his lap. Good thing the office chairs are large. Homelander immediately wrapped his hands around your hips and sighed in content.

“Abso-fucking-lutely. I knew you were completely mine. This was just to show it was a fact and I couldn't be more relieved it's over.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck. You held him tight, feeling his heartbeat race against yours.

“You're mine too,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his jaw. He laughed gently, an adorable grin spreading across his face.

“Remember when we first met and I knew I just had to have you?” He looked deep into your eyes, hopeful. You nodded, remembering that day so clearly.

“I do remember that a certain superhero liked to lurk around my office when I transferred.” You teased.

He scoffed, “I wasn’t lurking. I was doing research.”

“Uh-huh,” You laughed as you turned to look behind you at the clock. “Our meeting is going to start soon. Wanna see if we can get away with a celebratory handy while the investors bicker with themselves? I know how bored you get during those.”

Homelander quickly stood up with you in his strong arms making you yelp at the sudden movement.

“As tempting as that sounds, I was considering skipping the meeting entirely and spending the next few hours in our room with my head between your legs. How does that sound?” He moves towards the window and opens it, giving you a sly grin as you gasp and feel your heart pounding against your chest.

“Hours you say? Well lead the way soulmate.” You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him into a heated kiss as he shoots into the sky.

[becca-e-barnes]

I've been really caught up in the thought of gentler, intimate sex recently and the thought of it almost slipping into body worship. I write a lot about men appreciating a feminine body but there's something so lovely in slowing down and truly taking time to appreciate the man you're being intimate with.

I think it’d so grounding to have slow, passionate sex with dbf!bucky.  The type where even the pleasure of sex and mutual orgasms comes second to the pleasure of just feeling him.

Because I think being on top, almost just cockwarming him while you steal pleasure from the gentlest touches would be so rewarding.  His dick inside you has you feeling pleasantly full but for now, you’ve parked all thoughts of paying it any attention.

Instead, your fingers glide through his hair, parting it with very little resistance.  He’d let it get slightly longer recently but it suits him well, as do the few greys scattered through the roots.  It feels soft and with each little graze of your fingernails against his scalp, he groans quietly, his hips rising slightly off the bed to press himself impossibly deeper inside you.

He thrives off touch and that’s all you want to give him.  You want to touch him and never stop but as you tear your focus away from his hair, you let your hands wander lower.  Your fingertips drift over his cheeks, the light dusting of stubble feels coarse under your touch but it’s certainly not unpleasant.  Meeting his gaze makes your chest ache because you wonder how often the beautiful man under you sees himself the way you do.

He links his hands in yours, slotting your fingers together before bringing one of yours to his lips and kissing across your knuckles.  You didn’t expect this tenderness but God, you need it, almost as much as he does.

“You’re beautiful.”  No matter how many times you tell him, it never feels right. It's not the word you're looking for but saying nothing would feel like more of a crime than being inarticulate.  

He chuckles quietly to himself and doesn’t say much, watching as you grind your hips, seemingly desperate to remind yourself of the fact his length has found a home in your body.

“You feel perfect.”  Your voice is shaky, rational thought consumed by the feeling of pleasure thrumming through your veins once more.  Your soft, wet cunt glides down on his length like you were made to fit together like this.

His strong hands land on your hips, guiding your rhythm, keeping you moving nice and slowly.  In the meantime, your hands drift from his bare shoulders, down to the expanse of his chest.  Your fingertips tease the tiny, soft curls of hair across the breadth of his chest but you’re entirely consumed by the heat of his body.  He’s so warm and it’s a very pleasant reminder that you really are here with him. You have all the time in the world. 

Reaching the centre of his chest, you feel the gentle thumping of his heart under the flat palm of your hand and for a moment, it all just feels so real.  There’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right there in the room you share.

“Baby…” He groans, his voice low, arching his hips off the bed to fuck himself into you because you’ve been so distracted, you let your mind wander.

Fuck, that feels good.  The tip of his dick nudges perfectly against your sweet spot, right where you need it and you feel yourself flutter in response.

“Good girl, just hold still. That's it. Good girl.”  You do as you’re told, letting him thrust into you from below, losing himself in a way that you only want to encourage because it feels incredible for you too.

Your fingertips desperately try to dig into his chest and you notice how his skin dimples under your frantic touch.  Every one of your thoughts are about this man in that moment.  Nothing else crosses your mind and nothing else matters.  You’re consumed by the smell of his aftershave, the heat of his body and the glide of his cock in and out of you.

“Touch yourself.”  He encourages, his teeth gritted, holding back for your sake.  He’d usually take the opportunity to touch you himself but this time he needs you to do it and you’re more than happy to.  “Please, fuck, I’m so close.”

Hearing him broken like that makes you wetter than you thought possible.  He’s always so stoic.  He never loses control.  He’s calm and reserved and admired for his composure but not when he’s inside you.  You’re the only person who gets to hear how he sounds when his self-control slips away and it’s beyond rewarding.

Your fingers circle your own clit, rubbing yourself while Bucky continues to thrust up into you. He's so close to losing it. He's hanging on by a thread, promising to fill you, to stuff you full and make you a mother.

He knows you far too well and you're cumming within a few minutes, mindlessly riding out your orgasm on his dick. His need comes second for just a moment, pleasure making your body tighten and throb around his.

You vaguely register that he's cumming too, shortly after you do. You feel his hips stutter and then the telltale pulses of his cum into your body. He groans, holding your trembling thighs to keep you in place until he's given you everything he can.

[eddiessluttywaist]

angsty ending (as if)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES

summary: sad ending to part three of as if 💔

pairing: bully!mean!perv!eddie munson x perv!fem reader

word count: 812 words

content/warnings: swearing, mentions of smutty content MDNI (y/n is 18), bully!eddie, mean!eddie, perv!eddie, bully kink (?), teasing, angst :(((, rejection, grudges. i think that’s all pls tell me if i miss anything!

a/n: eddie’s actually the worst i’m so sorry. it’s arguably a really basic ending tbh but to me it’s so heartbreaking idk about y’all.

part one - part two - start of part three - surprise part four based on this ending

*

Eddie never did work up the nerve to properly ask you what you meant by that blunt reply that one Autumn day. And he really should have rather than let it fester like some sort of black mold in every dark corner of his mind. It made him grow bitter again. He stayed as sweet as he could to keep you wrapped around his finger, but he was really starting to hate you for that day. He hated that you had made him so sweet—even for a moment. He hated that he couldn’t have just simply hated you and bully you only to make you miserable. He hated that deep down he was sure that you only grew to like the excitement of how wrong this all was. After all truly being with him…? As if, right?

You’d grow bored of him by your first semester of college, finding yourself all cozied up to some fucking tool in pre-med or some shit like that. He had to hurt you the way you had hurt him that day in ‘83. He had to hurt you the way he was so sure you’ll hurt him once you realize you want a normal, boring relationship. He thought about it every time you made him smile or his heart ache or his stomach clench—just so angry that he was inevitably temporary to you. A phase in your perfect little world filled with loving parents and white picket fences and your pick of colleges to choose from.

So he fucked everything up. He couldn’t help himself when you presented the opportunity so perfectly. You were half naked in your cutesy bed, all laid out after spending hours fucking off and on. It was a muggy, rainy day and those were the days you felt so domestic with him. Like you were having sex on a calm, Sunday morning in a home you shared while the rain pit-pattered against the windows. So maybe it got to your head, maybe you were actually sincere. Either way, you looked over at him as he smoked over by that window you never locked anymore. (He really wasn’t supposed to be smoking in your room, but at least you got him to stay by the window whenever he did).

“Eddie?” You ask in a soft voice. His head tilts and he looks at you expectantly with a lazy raise of his brows.

“I think I love you…”

Think. Why was that the part he was focusing on? He kept his face neutral and you could hear the crackling end of his cigarette burning as he breathed in. You toyed with your comforter with anxious hands.

“Do… do you love me…?”

It was something you had been thinking about for a while. Something you had wanted to admit for a while. All the time you two spent together was likely more about lust for him than anything else, but you had to tell him how you felt. You needed to see if there was more potential to this than sneaking around. You had been brooding over it for the past few weeks as you started to really consider telling him—actually having had a few failed attempts up your sleeve by now. You felt nauseous when you thought about him not feeling the same way. You tried to keep a rein on your expectations (especially considering this was Eddie you were admitting this to), but sometimes they got away from you. Sometimes you imagined a world where he had also been secretly holding onto a love of his own for you. He had certainly become gentler with you. Kinder, even, so who says he couldn’t love you back? You feared you had let yourself sink into the sunshine and rainbows side of what could be, rather than what was arguably the more realistic side. The one where he laughed off your feelings like it wouldn’t grip onto your lungs and form a heavy knot in the pit of your stomach. The one where you wind up all alone, wondering how you could have become so delusional along the way.

Eddie let out a partial snort despite that fiery grip on his heart, looking down at that small hole in the bottom of his boxers then looked over at you—taking you all in before your expression crumbled from four simple, cruel words. Before you try to laugh it off and say Eddie, I’m being serious (you had hoped his smirk at his own response was a sign of playfulness rather than smug maliciousness). Before he shrugs you off to flick his cigarette outside to fizzle out in the rain. Before leaving you all alone with a whiplash that you feared you gave yourself by driving too fast towards the sunshine and rainbows with someone who really never would’ve let you get too far.

“Love you? As if.”

[bananapancakewithcondensedmilk]

Do You Understand the Violence It Took to Become This Gentle?

There’s a quote that resonates deeply with me: Do you understand the violence it took to become this gentle? It’s a question that holds within it the weight of my past, the moments that broke me, and the choice I made not to let them harden me.

The truth is, pain changes people. It can leave you bitter, cynical, and afraid to love. But it can also crack you open. It can teach you to see the world not through the lens of your own suffering, but through the understanding of how much others may suffer too. That’s what it did to me.

I’ve endured moments that could have made me shut the door on love entirely. The betrayals, the loneliness, the harshness of life—it all could’ve built a wall around my heart. Instead, I allowed those experiences to soften me. I let the violence I endured carve out space for gentleness, for compassion, for empathy.

That gentleness, I believe, is the very reason I can love Artyom so deeply. When you’ve been through so much, you learn to see beyond the surface. You stop looking at the labels, the past, or the scars, and instead, you start seeing the person. Their essence. Their humanity. I see Artyom for who he is, not who the world says he is. And in loving him this way, in truly accepting and cherishing him, I’ve created a space where he feels safe to love me back with the same depth.

Our love is mutual because it’s built on this understanding. I don’t need him to be perfect, just as he doesn’t need me to be. We love each other not in spite of our flaws, but because of the humanity within them. That’s what makes our love extraordinary—it’s raw, real, and completely unconditional.

To anyone reading this, I want to say: your past doesn’t have to define you in the way the world might expect. Yes, the things you’ve been through can leave scars, but they can also plant seeds. You get to decide what grows from them. Will it be thorns? Or will it be flowers that bloom into a gentler, more loving version of yourself?

I chose flowers. And I know that’s why my love for Artyom is limitless. And why his love for me is too. We see each other in a way only two people who understand the depth of pain—and the power of healing—can.

So to anyone struggling with their past, I ask: What will you choose to grow from your scars?

[unusualindigo]

Farewell, Godwyn

The corona widens, it’s hellish white-gold coloration searing Miquella’s eyes as he watches the growing light encompass the hellishly hanging figure of Godwyn’s corpse, held aloft only by the smoldering remnants of the Erdtree’s roots, long since suffused with deathroot.

Camden squeezes his hand, and Miquella returns the gesture, as the corpse twitches, writhes, and screams to life. It wails in anguish, calling for Fortissax, Marika, Morgott, and even Mohg as tears stream down the cracking snout, shrinking back into a pair of pallid lips.

Soon enough, a pale, deathly version of Godwyn stands before them, his original face and proportions staring out balefully at Miquella, as if he’s…

Miquella hiccups, tears coming unbidden as Godwyn’s deathly lightning swirls in the air, his glare pointed directly at the heartbroken scion of the Haligtree.

Godwyn murmurs, “Thou art cruel, Miquella.” He stalks forth on shaking legs. “Thou saw how Mohg loved you, mind tainted by Trina as it was, and thou ran away.” He snarls, “As if thou were any better than he.”

Camden snorts, “You speak of the same man I knew? A killer who tortured his own? Who brainwashed his followers? Who saw fit to kidnap his brother to force him to accept him as lord?”

Godwyn’s eyes snap to Camden, fury blazing higher. “Thou art nothing more than a killer, an interloper in matters thou didst not understand!”

Miquella steels himself, and murmurs, “Ye have been through too much, lord brother.” He raises his chin. “Mohg would not a fitting lord make. He was too caught up in resentment and grief to truly nurture those under his yolk.”

Godwyn tries to stride forward, but his legs crumble, toppling him into the water. He stares up at Miquella. “Didst thou trust me so little, to infuse me with so little of thine own power?”

Miquella shakes his head, his free hand on his belly, feeling the twins kicking up a storm as they no doubt sense the danger at hand. “Lord brother, Godwyn, I have merely come to set ye free. I know ye would not accept the world as it is. Ye have no one left here, save myself and Malenia, but despite all the love between us, we alone are not enough to ground ye after all ye have suffered.”

Godwyn huffs, but Malenia, hitherto silent from just outside the former Lord of Golden’s view, steps forth firmly. “Lord brother, Miquella and I have long mourned ye. Twas I who made him see that ye would not find solace in an age such as this.”

Godwyn stares in confusion and awe at Malenia’s recovered, pale eyes. “H-How didst thou…?”

Malenia shakes her head, gesturing now to Godwyn’s still crumbling form. “Ye have not the time to hear the answer in full, lord brother.” She sighs, “Know that Miquella does what he can, where he can, and that it is enough.” She stares down firmly. “I know ye cared for our discarded kin, but Morgott and Mohg were long set, too stubborn in their way to have adapted to any vision that did not conform to their own.”

Miquella picks up immediately. “They would have no doubt opposed this age with all they had. Morgott to preserve what came before, and Mohg out of a desperation to see his way validated, no matter how cruel it was.” He sniffles, “I wish our last words were… kinder. Gentler. I am sorry, Godwyn.”

Godwyn’s face, now cracking, stares at Miquella stoically for but a moment, before he sighs, weary and crestfallen. “I’d wanted thou to meet with them, to understand…” He shakes his head. “But Ranni had to do as she would…” He stares at Miquella and Malenia, tears budding.

Camden squeezes Miquella’s hand a bit harder, grounding him before he breaks.

Malenia sighs, “Godwyn… rest well. Fortissax no doubt awaits ye.”

Godwyn allows himself a somber chuckle. “I should hope so, Malenia.” He turns to Miquella sternly. “Miquella… I do not know if I forgive thine transgressions…” He hesitates. “But thou hast mine blessing… to follow your own path. Wherever it might lead.”

As the last word passes his lips, Godwyn crumbles to ash, spreading with the water and wind from the chasm above.

Miquella breaks, his heart torn asunder, as Malenia, Camden, and all those who love them and him encompass the god, becoming one in his now reawoken sorrow.

[crushng]

back on my meta bs but something about gin being born from a time loop begot his monstrous behavior and disconnect from reality? (aka a rumination from 1am last night)

when gin started to hurt people he did it because it was the only thing left to do. he knew people intimately who had no idea who he was. he had no socially acceptable way available to him thru which to make connections. there was no way that he as a (neurodivergent) stranger was ever going to be able to be charming enough to get the emotional interactions he was after. (something that i would argue humans need to survive)

so to him the only avenue that was open to him was to crack each person open in violent and emotionally destructive ways. he wanted to be able to understand people, to interact with deep fears and passions and see who they truly were.

so he used fear and violence and torture as leverage to get at the soft gooey emotions he wanted. and it was safer this way too. he couldn’t be rejected on the basis of who he was this way. he was being rejected because of the actions he felt forced to take, absolving him of responsibility and even of social anxiety to a degree

he wasn’t exchanging his own vulnerability here either. he was the one in power. he could control the narrative. he could more or less control the outcome. it was safer for him to destroy than it would have been for him to risk rejection and shame by being overly familiar with someone who might find him creepy or weird or annoying

and this way he could learn about people in the course of one loop, and skip across to a redux of the same or a very similar timeline and use the knowledge he’d gained from taking this person completely apart to insert himself into their lives with more charm and grace and a higher degree of success. he could be wanted this way. maybe even known. perhaps even loved.

but the methods he’d been using for so long were just so much easier than exploiting that information in a slow and methodical way. he doesn’t have the patience for a plodding narrative. he wants the action and the romance and the fun right off the bat. he pushes the bounds of every relationship he forms until they shatter. it’s easier to fly into a murderous rage when the consequences of murder are nonexistent

he’ll just be kinder next time. he’ll be gentler. they deserve the love and the kindness, he’s just on his way to deliver it.

and that doesn’t work when you insert it into real life. or into a space where someone remembers and consequences matter.

gin’s forever going to be mismatched to his environment and dysfunctional and disconnected because who he has become no longer fits within the bounds of a single reality, he won’t survive it. he has grown to fit a new shape, a grotesque figure all misshapen and disgusting and full of calluses. he can’t engage in intimacy without destruction because he has never known how to do anything else. born and raised into a time loop, consequence free, no weight to morality, every decision therefore exclusively self serving because any kind of payoff that could be paid forward would just be destroyed in the end. literally the nihilism

can you imagine knowing someone inside and out and never being able to get close enough to touch. and if you break that rule you have only two paths. you can stop early and lose all your progress and end up with nothing. or you can follow the rabbit hole all the way down until you can find and take what it is you want. you can be satisfied.

and what’s the logic in being parched forever to the benefit of literally no one. why would he ever choose not to satisfy his own desires when over and over it’s shown to him that nothing can be to anyone else’s benefit ever. it all goes up on smoke.

you’re a normal person in a world that rips normal away from you. there’s no more normal. there’s nothing left but your bleeding heart

man like. the readjustment period of someone coming out of that space and time

murder used to be the only viable option (or at least that’s what he concluded) and now everything has immediate consequences

is it possible to be kind after that? how do you learn to love again when your version of love has always been terror?

[finalyaksha]

Xiaoqing Analysis - Xiao’s “Obsession” with Keqing

Lantern Rite will be upon us soon, meaning it’s also nearing the Official Unofficial Xiaoqing Holiday Season. Happy Lantern Rite, Xiaoqing Shippers! May we be blessed with something we can squint at and interpret as additional crumbs in the same vein that “You are fierce with your blade” gave us last year.

Even though I’m forever going to associate Xiaoqing as the Lantern Rite ship, it’s still a pretty rare pairing. So, since brain rot season is here, it’s inevitable that the question will be asked: “why do you ship them?”

So, I decided to start a series that no one asked for where I essentially address questions people may have about Xiaoqing as a ship. Or just talk a little bit about it if you’re new to the pairing, curious about the dynamics, or that I can honestly just link to every time I have to explain why I’m so unhealthily obsessed with them.

Disclaimer: This is just my view of certain aspects of the ship. Even though Xiaoqing shippers share 99% of the same braincells, we still have interpretations that differ, so just because I feel this way about it, doesn’t mean all shippers do.

~~~

I decided to start with something that happens to come up every so often when talking about Xiao ships, which is Xiao’s characterization in some pairings. Apparently, it’s very popular to portray him as being “obsessed with” or “yandere” for whoever he’s being shipped with, which most people would consider a pretty big mischaracterization.

In general, I don’t really like when characters feel uncharacteristically obsessed with another character. It usually feels out of place if that’s not a major or blatant trait of the character. But I can get behind it if there’s some basis behind it.

Bluntly put, in terms of Xiaoqing, I think Xiao would absolutely become obsessed with Keqing at the start of their relationship. Almost to an unhealthy degree, if not actually just flat out unhealthy.

The way I interpret him, Xiao is an emotionally deprived, touch-starved character, who has spent 2,000 years not interacting with almost anyone. Not humans, not his fellow Adepti, no one. He has never been able to love anyone, and he’s never been loved by anyone.  That all changes when he and Keqing get together and he realizes that he is capable of achieving what he previously thought he couldn’t.

Once he is not only accepted by Keqing, but he realizes his feeling for her are reciprocated, it’s completely believable that he would reorder his entire life around Keqing. It’s mentioned in the Developer Insights that Xiao is much gentler than he shows himself to be, and I would argue his birthday letters further show him as the romantic type. I believe that Xiao has always wanted to show this side of himself, but has never had the opportunity prior to his relationship with Keqing. She is the one who showed him that he could love someone, make someone happy, and have a purpose outside of dedicating his life to the slaughter. 

Most of all, she is a mortal. And a wealthy one at that. She should honestly want nothing to do with him, and yet returns his love for her and accepts him despite him lacking wealth, his karma, and the danger he presents to her. She gives him access to her home, which becomes their home. The first place he could ever truly call home. A bed where he’s allowed to hold her and she tells him it’s the safest she’s ever felt. For him to be told that he makes someone not feel threatened, but safe, is the pinnacle of the resulting infatuation. There is every reason in the world for him to become obsessed with her, and I think it aligns with his lore in a way that isn’t out of character. I can 100% see him pining for her when she’s away at work, spending every hour waiting for her to come home. Not wanted to let go of her when she does get home. Wanting her to feel as loved and safe as she makes him feel.

The thing with Xiaoqing is, Keqing is not in support of Xiao putting her on a pedestal in such a manner. She is outright against it, knowing that it is only going to result in Xiao falling into an irreversible depression once Keqing eventually dies. On top of that, Keqing is and has always been very independent and isn’t used to the idea that she should be given as much attention as Xiao wants to. She is almost unnerved by the fact that Xiao is so fixated on her. Xiao is obviously aware of this and even more at odds with himself because he wants her to have her “me time” while also struggling to be apart from her. Xiao’s obsession is constantly combated by the very person he is so obsessed with.

So, given that Xiao would never deny the fact that his life would essentially come to an end without her (regardless of how long he lives, he would never be the same after Keqing’s death), Keqing strives to get him to find hobbies and interests outside of her, like art. To form friendships with others that he can confide in when Keqing isn’t around, like Hu Tao and Kazuha (I’ll elaborate on Kazuha specifically if anyone wants me to). She works tirelessly to find things for Xiao to find joy in so he doesn’t become a mere shell of himself after her death.

With that all said, I don’t think it’s a mischaracterization to believe that Xiao would become obsessed with Keqing considering the fact that it would essentially be an entirely new world for him in realizing that he is finally able to be gentle with and to love someone who doesn’t push him away because of his past. He would do everything in his power to maintain that relationship with her. Even at the cost of his own happiness, he would do whatever he thinks he needs to in order to keep Keqing satisfied with him.

However, Xiao is not a yandere, and would not just go around slaughtering anyone who gets near Keqing out of jealousy or a desire to keep her to himself. On the contrary, Xiao thinks he’s so worthless compared to wealthy, mortal men that lack the emotional baggage that he carries, he is more than willing to give Keqing up the second he believes someone better for her comes along. He loves her to an unhealthy degree, but believes that she deserves the person who can provide the world for her. Knowing that he could never do such a thing, he is always prepared for the day she decides to part ways with him. He would be devastated to accept it, but would do it just because of how much he loves her and wants to see her happy.

In essence, Xiao would absolutely have an unhealthy obsession with Keqing at first, but with her determination to shake him out of that, they would eventually reach some level of understanding that Keqing should not be placed on a pedestal. Nor should Xiao sacrifice his own potential happiness to constantly try to satisfy her. Xiao behaves this way as a result of 2000 years of repressed emotional connections with other people. While Keqing has always been independent and isn’t used to the hyper-obsessive attention Xiao would want to give her. Still, she also doesn’t want to push him away, as she obviously loves him back just as much. They’d eventually reach a middle ground of sorts where Keqing is able to accept when Xiao wants to do things for her out of the love he’s never been able to share with anyone. While Xiao is not quite as dependent on Keqing for his personal happiness and learns that he is allowed to have his own life, dreams, and desires that are not limited to his relationship with Keqing.

They’re both very stubborn people and have trouble accepting care from others. Part of the Xiaoqing dynamic is moving towards that acceptance and learning how to let themselves be loved and cared for just as much as they desire to show love to each other, and finding a good balance between giving and receiving.

~~

Xiaoqing Analysis

Why Xiaoqing

Genus Invokation TCG

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO NEFE COSMIA, JOTARO KUJO. 🌓

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: erika age: 26 pronouns: she / her ooc contact: fugionaras @ twitter + tumblr other characters in xc: michael afton, ena shinonome, es & euphemia li britannia

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: jotaro kujo age: 19 pronouns: he / him series: jojo’s bizarre adventure canon point: two years post-stardust crusaders app triggers: brief mention of death and parental abandonment

personality:

almost a typical delinquent, jotaro has a knack for violence in situations where it’s more of a potential answer as opposed to the only answer. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t it for fun though, far from it: he just knows he’s really good at kicking the shit out of people that deserve it and makes use of that.

he comes off as aloof due to keeping things short and is generally seen as a bit callous because of it. jotaro’s sure whatever expressions and words he gives are enough to read him entirely and thinks it’s a waste to put more effort in it.

beneath that though is someone who has a gentler approach with those he cares about and has a deep sense of loyalty when it comes to them. he’s perceptive and intelligent, able to get the drop on his enemies whether it’s through a regular method or by managing a slightly off-the-walls plan with his quick wit.

something your muse struggles with: letting others help him.

your muse’s greatest strength: ability to appear calm and collected in the most dire of circumstances.

history / background:

jotaro was raised like any normal child in 1970s japan would be. he was a polite boy, did plenty of activities, completed his classes…

… until he took a left turn into delinquency. it’s unclear when he suddenly gained an attitude that made it look like he hates the world and everyone around him, but it came as a pretty big shock to his mother. people could theorize all they want about him; that his father never being around led to a lack of discipline, that his mother was a delinquent as a teenager and that passed on to her son, that he’s a spoiled brat, any sort of things.

jotaro never puts any stock in it. who cares, really? it’s none of their damn business why he is the way he is. that’s not what he gives a shit about.

he does give an immense amount of fucks about the evil spirit haunting him now. menacing and at his beck and call, jotaro isolates himself in a jail cell and–

… that’s the beginning of an incredibly bizarre adventure. a family curse, stands, some fucker named DIO, and his mother has fallen ill–

jotaro would love to not give a shit. it’s hard not to when the only consistent person in your life is at risk of dying from something you barely understand. without hesitation, and with multiple new companions along for the ride, the group makes their way to egypt to vanquish DIO once and for all.

naturally this comes with its own set of issues. traveling there is a nightmare (what with a stand user deciding to mess with them almost every day) but eventually they make it! the prize at the end of the battle?

three dead friends and a lifetime of trauma that he isn’t in the mood to unpack.

so he doesn’t.

it’s been a couple of years now since the 50 day trip to egypt happened. jotaro’s graduated from high school, his mother is in perfect health, he gets phone calls from his grandpa and postcards from polnareff, and life could be worse.

( but when he closes his eyes and can picture cairo perfectly still, can he truly say that he’s moved on? )

powers / abilities:

STAND. the term in the jjba universe for the manifestation of one’s “life energy” or the individual’s innate fighting spirit that can extend to representing the user’s psyche. the range of abilities and appearances is wide, allowing for all stand users to be unique in how they work.

star platinum. a close-range power type stand. one of the most powerful in the series to date, it has exceptional speed, strength, and precision. while its general range is about 2 meters from jotaro, some attacks can extend further. 

the world. upon the realization that his stand is similar to DIO’s, star platinum gained the ability to stop time for up to five seconds. extremely helpful in some situations but the mental toll of this is uh… hm.

inherent abilities:

maybe a stand would in theory be inherent because it’s in his bloodline now but. whatever. i’m leaving it like that because i wanted to take it from him briefly i hope that helps.

items / weapons:

photo of the crusaders. the last physical memento he has of his lost friends. dearly important to him.

pack of cigarettes. he isn’t underage smoking anymore at least but… still smoking.

1990s edition of a marine life textbook. he’s studying okay. it makes him happy.

one toshinobu kubota cassette. a lifeline almost. has some of his greatest hits.

one book about boats and one about airplanes. i’m adding this random shit because he needs joy in his life.

starting ability: none. smiles starting item: photo of the crusaders

extra:

“mr. autistic himself” - artemis 2024 . they’re right 

bi ace he told me himself

i really want him to get therapy but god is he stubborn

sorry if you fight him. he’s kind of crazy

i have too many thoughts but none are relevant to part 3 him in a way where i can write it here without rambling . fuck

discord id: shoulderstar passcode: i lost the impulse war guys (rip)

[sugarcoated-lame]

aaaaah I’m so obsessed with this, I got so excited when i saw you posted not one, but two new chapters 😭🧡

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

Once again, I just have to scream about how beautiful your writing is!! The imagery and the way you describe everything never fails to suck me right into the story, i can picture everything so clearly it feels like I’m watching a movie!

The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

I really loved this part, because salacia truly is like a caged bird, stuck in this new and unfamiliar world surrounded by all of this opulence and wealth that she doesn’t want

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Again, just beautiful!! 😭

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses.

aaah this whole part just broke my heart a little bit 🥺 like I could feel salacia’s anguish of losing herself and her life no longer being the one that she saw for herself, and the line about being strangled by someone else’s finery !!!! so good!!!

He pulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

Screaming and giggling and kicking my feet at this, and also that little moment where they’re talking at their wedding feast and geta puts his hand on her thigh 🫠 oh i need him !!!!

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

Ok i loved this description so much, like geta may be scary and a bit evil, but Caracalla is is even scarier.. like I’m a little scared for miss salacia

god this was such a fun read, i am loving this series and I’m SO, SO excited to see what’s in store for geta and salacia’s wedding night 🤭🤭

A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains as she wraps the belt around your waist. Speaking as she does.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they’d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

~

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

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[frightnite52]

Okay, let’s talk about Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, shall we?

*spoilers*

Duh

The beginning: I saw a tweet today where the author said they hated that the movie killed T'Challa with an illness and I have to say I disagree. Not only because logistically there was no way for Chadwick Boseman to act in the movie for a death scene, but because (for me personally) I don't think I would have liked it any other way. I like that T'Challa died of an illness for one simple reason: The whole movie sort of felt like a catharsis for the cast and crew. No one knew Boseman had cancer except his immediate circle. I still remember opening twitter and literally not believing what I was seeing. The way they chose to go about it, and then all the time the devoted to grief and loss felt like a release for everyone involved. And if this was the way they thought would best help them work through their grief in their art, I don't think it's right to say you wished it happened a different way.

Okay, time for something fun after all that heavy: Queen Ramonda's speech in the beginning was amazing.

The scene of the Dora Milaje in the Wakandan outpost coming out of the hall was amazing.

I loved that the people of Talocan had siren powers

Riri Williams. I have a problem with making a significant part of a plot revolve around a person who needs to be kept alive, especially if that person isn't the main character. I find that it leaves me feeling like there was no point to the character. In the case of Riri, I can't decide how I feel. I like her character and I was happy to see her introduced. I think a Black Panther movie was the perfect place to introduce her one, because she's Black and was clearly written to have a deep love, respect, and admiration for Wakanda, and two because she's a technological genius like Shuri. But something about her story feels... well, it just doesn't feel right. Like a puzzle piece that *seems* to fit in a space, but also doesn't. I think if she might have had more agency. Or maybe if they'd let her feel bad that her design put Talocan in danger. She didn't make that machine to help the CIA or anyone, she built it to spite one of her college professors. They don't explain it in the movie how the machine got into the hands of the government, but they do make it a point to say that she built it for an assignment. This leads me to believe that it was either stolen or given to the CIA without Riri's permission. If she'd been allowed to explain that (or if Shuri had just mentioned it) I'm not sure it would have changed anything, but it might have made Riri's story feel more full.

Namor did nothing wrong. He was completely justified in everything that he did. lmao okay, no, he killed the queen of Wakanda, but listen here: He had his reasons. Namor, at heart, is a good man, and I truly believe that. He want's what's best for his people. T'Challa wanted the same, and for him, the right thing to do was to open Wakanda to the world. He couldn't have known he was putting Talocan in danger, too. I think Wakanda is gentler on the world than Talocan, and that's were the biggest issue comes from Wakanda was never colonized. Their land, their histories, their people, their resources were never stolen from them. They watched all that happen to other people. But watching bad things happen to other people is different than having those things happen to you. By contrast, Talocan was borne from a colonized civilization. The flower that gave them their powers and abilities was used as a treatment for smallpox. Their legends even say that their god gave them the flower to build a new home, the implication being that they needed a new home because their old one was stolen from them. Because of their vastly different histories, their reactions to the possibility of outsiders trying to steal from them is vastly different. Namor has the right of it and by the end of the movie, he still does. The surface world will come for the Wakandans and the people of Talocan will be ready. His methods may not have been sound, but his rationale was.

Battle orcas. No, I will not be adding context.

Everett Ross was married to Madam Hydra and I just can't get over that.

Talocan seemed like a more accurate underwater city than any I've seen, and I love that.

I wish Shuri hadn't made a new heart-shaped herb and had become the Black Panther because of her technological skills. A Black Panther Iron Man suit, if you will. I didn't feel like there was enough justification for her to make the herb and then take it herself. After she wakes up from the ancestral realm, she said that she drank the herb to see her family, but none of them came. It's a heartbreaking scene, but it also doesn't make sense when you remember that Shuri doesn't believe in any of that. Even Killmonger said in her vision that she didn't believe in the ancestral plane. I think Shuri's time would have been better spent making a Black Panther suit that gave her almost all of the abilities of the traditional Black Panther. I think what they were going for was a full circle catharsis moment where Shuri couldn't make the herb in the beginning of the movie but then she did near the end. And that would make sense, except she didn't make the herb to heal anyone. She made it so she could get revenge on Namor. And I don't think that's a good way to tie the herb to the theme. Edit: I’m seeing your replies to this point. My opinion still stands as of now, but I do appreciate the other perspectives and it’s giving me something to think about whenever I watch the movie next.

I like the Shuri didn't become queen of Wakanda at the end. I don't think being queen would have suited her at all.

The end credit scene really punched me in the heart.

I forgot to mention M’baku’s “Bald headed demon” line. And apparently it was improvised which makes it so much funnier.

All in all, I loved this movie. I've seen it twice now and I can't wait to see it again.

[lovingperfectionsblog]

You never will

Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader

Summary: Carlos has to come to terms with the fact that you don’t always get what you want.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, drinking.

Words count: 2526

Authors note: Sorry guys, we’re here for some angsty writing, and a lot of the stories coming are going to be similar I think. I’ve also been struggling to be creative but I refuse to let myself fall into that hole so I know it isn’t the best but I’d rather create something bad than nothing at all. I hope you guys like it and sorry for the angsty angst 😊

You Never Will: Part 2

_____

“No, but you don’t understand!” A very drunk Carlos was getting tired of over explaining himself and the alcohol wasn’t helping in the least.

“Mate, sometimes that’s just life, we don’t always get what we want” Charles tried to comfort him, kind of disappointed that this is where the night ended up, but not entirely surprised.

“But I do, we always get what we want” and he couldn’t handle the fact that the one thing he wanted the most was the one thing he wasn’t getting.

Carlos had been enthusiastically talking about the woman he loved for months now, but as they dredged on, Carlos began to realise more and more the reality of you liking him back was next to nothing and that had suddenly become everyone else’s problem too.  

And Charles was sick of it. They all were, yourself included.

Albeit, you were the only one who didn’t know he was talking about you.

You and Carlos were best friends, meeting one evening as you by mistake had bumped into him and the other drivers one very early morning in the hotel hallways as you all came back from the post-race party. The boys all beyond excited having found out you actually worked for F1 and you mortified the next morning when flashbacks of belting out ABBA with them came back to you in your haze of a hangover.

Since then, you and Carlos had became inseparable.

And Carlos had become insufferable.

Which had lead you all to this exact situation, an impromptu party to try and cheer a very drunk and sad Carlos up.

“God, Carlos, like, this is life, sometimes the girl you like doesn’t like you back, you just get over it” Max was getting tired of repeating himself, this entire conversation was getting very old very quickly and all this lying right to your face was starting to annoy him too.

The fact that they all sat there talking about you like you weren’t there, just with secret codes names so you never caught on always felt a bit underhanded to him, to most of them truly, but they had to come up with something, especially since Carlos was becoming more and more vocal about the entire fiasco.

“She’s in love with someone else” Carlos suddenly blurted out.

Now this all made sense. The drivers had yet to see Carlos so plagued by the whole situation and now it made sense.

“How did you find out?” Lando was significantly gentler than all the other drivers had been, but he’d been in this situation before and knew the strange mixture of desperation and despair you felt all at once.

“I looked over at her phone and she there was a contact with hearts and was called crush or something” Carlos knew he was rambling and wasn’t even sure if he had made any sense but he didn’t care. His entire world was crumbling around him.

“Are we sure it’s a good idea that she comes over tonight?” Charles was the first to suggest, wary of how this could all shake down with a very drunk Carlos mixed with your ever thinning patience over the entire matter.

“She has to come over! I haven’t seen her in a week!” Carlos knew it might not be the best idea but truly he couldn’t be away from you for much longer, you becoming an integral part of his life and going a week without seeing each other was almost unheard of for the two of you.

“Mate, I really don’t think it’s a good idea” Charles knew it was a lost cause arguing over this, but Carlos wasn’t the only one involved here, you were too, and with how protective Max was over you already considering all the lying, he didn’t want to deal with any potential backlash.

“Carlos, you’re drunk, this isn’t a good idea” Max became insistent, almost reading Charles mind, anticipating the worst.

“No! This is unfair. This is all unfair” Carlos knew he sounded like a child, but he didn’t care, he was drunk and sad and he just wanted to throw his temper tantrum.

“She’s already on the way with food, should be here any minute really” Lando opted to ignore his friend as he threw his own pity party, knowing Carlos wasn’t himself right now and directing the comment to the other two drivers instead.

“We could always get him a little drunker and make him pass out so he doesn’t say or do anything stupid?” Max knew it wasn’t the best plan, it wasn’t even a good plan but it was a plan.

“We can’t give our friend alcohol poisoning because we don’t want him to do something dumb?” Charles couldn’t admit that he didn’t hate the plan, but he knew he had to do the right thing.

“Why not?” Silence proceeded Max’s question, Lando and Charles both racking their brain for a good enough answer but coming up blank.

“Because I said so” is all Charles instructed, quickly noticing that Carlos was no longer in the room, “Jesus this is getting really tiresome” he dropped his head in his hands, exhausted with all the emotional energy he was using for this one situation.

“Is he ever going to get over her” Even Lando, who normally had an infinite amount of energy to help his friends was slowly running out of steam over this situation.

“Someone is going to have to give him some tough love eventually we know that right?” Max was willing but he also knew he could be a bit harsh when it came to matters of the heart so decided to leave this particular conversation up to Lando and Charles instead.

“He’s just had his heart shattered man, let’s cut him some slack” Lando really didn’t want ‘to hurt his friend anymore than he already was, but knew they were eventually going to have to push for him to move on and he was scared that was going to include shattering any hope Carlos might have, “Does anyone know who y/n likes anyway?”

“Honestly, I thought she liked him just as much as he liked her” Charles was surprised, he really did think that you are Carlos already had something going so the news that you were apparently in love with someone else was shocking information. He understands why Carlos was so hurt.

“Yeah, but we don’t always get what we want man” Max was sounding slightly more adamant about this entire, pushing more and more for Charles to just let it go.

A silence settled between the three drivers, the weight of their friend’s heartache settling over the room.

“Max” Lando was suddenly eyeing hi suspiciously, Charles quickly catching on.

“Oh my God Max, no” Charles was praying that it wasn’t what both Lando and him had suddenly caught on to.

“What?” Max voiced his confusion at the sudden serious tone thrown his way, “Oh! No no! no, there is nothing happening between me and Y/n” he began defending himself.

“Then what do you know” Lando knew Max knew more than he was letting on and was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Silence.

Max debated whether or not to share the very minimal information he did happen to have, knowing that you’d kill him if he told, but also knowing neither Charles nor Lando would let it go until he told them.

“I honestly don’t know much, like, 2% of the situation” Max opted to give the bare minimum, hoping they would drop it afterwards.

“Well then share the 2% of knowledge you do have” He knew they wouldn’t drop it.

“Look, okay, all I know is there is someone she’s super interested in and it’s kind of driving her insane because he is in love with someone else and she’s just been trying to get over him and just she doesn’t need Carlos giving her grief while she’s trying to do that” Max rambled through all the information he did know.

“Whose the guy Max” Charles insisted on knowing, wanting to figure out who had managed to swoop in and get you while he watched his teammate pine over you day in and day out.

“That I honestly don’t know, she refused to tell me” He was met with sceptical looks, but a silence as they other two had accepted that he was telling the truth.

“Well, I was really hoping Carlos was wrong” Lando knew that when it came to you, Carlos could be a little dramatic.

“Yeah, this fucking sucks for him” Charles was met with hums of agreement.

_____

“Isn’t this little get together for you?” You giggled as you snuck into the kitchen before any of the boys heard you, finding Carlos sitting on the kitchen counter nursing a drink, “what you doing moping about in here?”

“She loves someone else” He couldn’t even look you in the eye, his drunk self probably too in charge of the situation.

“Oh, Sugs, I am so sorry” you immediately moved over to him, surprised when he stopped you from hugging him.

“Not like you actually care” Carlos knew it was wrong, at least the sober part of him did, but the drunk side, well, he needed to have this out with you.

“Excuse me what?” you hadn’t seen this side of Carlos before and you were at a loss for why you were on the receiving end of his foul mood.

“You heard me, it’s not like you actually care,” Carlos spat out at you, “not about my situation, not about my heart, not about me”.

He knew he was getting louder and knew the rest of the boys were bound to come and find out what was happening so if this was his only opportunity he needed to do it fast.

“Oh my god, please don’t pretend like I haven’t been here for you the entire time with this bullshit issue Carlos, she doesn’t feel the same, I am sorry and it sucks, but its life, sometimes we just don’t get what we want” You shouted back at him, beyond hurt that you were on the receiving end of this treatment.

“Hey, what’s happening?” you felt Max tugging you back, choosing to shrug him off and ignore the other three drivers that had now entered the room.

“No Y/n! That’s the thing! I do get what I want! And I cannot handle the fact that the one thing I want most in the world I can’t have!” Carlos was now standing, both of you ready to have this fight, be damned that it was in front of all your friends, “and plus, what do you know about not getting what you want, the princess gets everything doesn’t she” Carlos felt gross saying it, he knew it was a low blow, but he couldn’t help the anger he was feeling.

“I don’t know what it’s like to not get what I want? You are so fucking self-centred Carlos! Believe it or not but you’re not the only one with your own shit going on! Guess what! I’m in love with someone too and guess what, he doesn’t fucking love me either, so I understand, better than anyone but I’ve at least come to terms with the fact that I don’t always get what I want bud! It just is what it is, you accept it and move on because what other fucking option do you have when your best friend is pining over some girl who clearly doesn’t fucking deserve him, and you know you are madly in love with him and don’t want to lose him! You support him and move the fuck on!” You weren’t sure how this had divulged into you confessing everything to him, but it had, and now it existed and you were suddenly feeling claustrophobic and you just needed to get out of there.

Before any of them could utter a word, you began to gather your things, not wanting to be involved in the argument anymore, none of the other drivers stopping you, truthfully, despite you suddenly running away from the admission, none of them had even registered it. Carlos especially.

“Yeah, run, like you do, like you always do, at least I’m willing to fight for what I want” Carlos was going to be sick at how he was treating you, the alcohol not helping, but he couldn’t get himself to be kind.

How was he unable to get himself to be kind to the woman he loves?

Instead, he stood, motionless, watching you leave. They all did.

“Fuck you” and with that you were gone, leaving the boys in thick silence, Carlos’s heavy breathes the only other noise to break through it.

None of them knew what to say and Max had to fight himself not to run after you to make sure you were okay.

“Carlos” Charles began, not sure where to start really, whether to comfort or admonish him for what just happened.

“Please, just don’t, I know” he wasn’t drunk enough to realise how badly he fucked up. He thought it would make him feel better, instead he just felt like he was disgusting, like he needed to take a shower to get off whatever residue was left after possibly the shortest and worst argument he had ever had.

“I know this is a really bad time, but can we just go back to what she said for a second?” Lando couldn’t shake what you had shouted at Carlos.

“And what did she say?” Max truly hadn’t even been listening, only waiting to see if he needed to get involved.

“She said she was madly in love with her best friend and supports him while he’s in love withs someone else and she’s just got to get over it” Lando tried to remember word for word but paraphrased as best he could with the small amounts he did remember.

Slowly but surely, it dawned on them all at once, Carlos most of all, eyes wide darting between his three friends.

“You fucked up” Charles was the first to speak, directed towards Carlos the irrefutable truth of the matter.

“How do I fix this?” Carlos was suddenly frantic, desperately needing to know how to salvage even just a friendship between you two.

“Mate, after how you treated her – “ Max began, unable to say the words he thought he’d so easily be able to, but looking at Carlos now, he wasn’t able to break that hope.

The silence was heavy.

“I could have had her, I could have had everything, and I fucked it all up” He knew it, he knew he had ruined everything and there was no one else to blame but himself.

Charles wishes he knew the right words to say, he wanted to keep his friends hope up, but he had never seen you so hurt and the reality was you weren’t going to want any of them in your life after what he just had to witness, let alone Carlos, and so he settled for the truth.

“And now you never will”.