#herself and not have to worry about all of those things shes doing or that happened... even though they still directly affect her and make

[thewoollyviking]

Rose hated herself enough that if Steven told her every horrible thing White said about her to her face, told her she deserved to face all that pain because of the people she hurt, she would accept it.

I agree she wouldn’t have wanted her loved ones to mourn her and anguish over her loss. But the way Rose is treated later in the show, where the people she loved are genuinely uncomfortable whenever they’re reminded of her because their image of her is stained by her past mistakes and they can’t even bring themselves to mention her in a positive light without worrying that they’re making excuses for her?

Having that juxtaposed to the Diamonds not feeling a shred of guilt over their abuse of Rose or over the fact that she really is gone for good and having the utter fucking gal to beg Steven to come take her place in their family is disgusting.

The Diamonds didn’t learn shit.

The death of Rose is like an annoying inconvenience to them now.

Rose will never get any closure for the pain the Diamonds caused her, for the pain she caused Bismuth and Pearl. And that’s sad. Because the whole point of the show was that she always could do the right thing. She could always be better. But she never believed that. Not because she was too lazy or selfish, it’s because she was literally. Fucking. Raised to think that about herself.

And it was the Diamonds who raised her to think that way.

She will never be able to heal. So why should the Diamonds ever get to?

I want to do unto them what Kratos did to Poseidon in God of War 3. I want them to wake up to the most gorgeous sunrise on Homeworld every day and never be able to even enjoy it because their first thought would be “Rose (not Pink, Rose. The name she chose for herself) would have loved to see this… it’s our fault she’s not here to enjoy this moment.”

I’m saying this as someone who did grow up with people like the Diamonds. They know what they are, and they know what they’re doing. And they will never be sorry for the pain they cause.

You can’t always use the carrot with those people. Sometimes you need to break out the fucking stick.

Sometimes I think about how and why some people had such a *bad* reaction to the end of Steven Universe, specifically in regards to the Diamonds living.

Even though they no longer are causing harm to others and are able to actually undo some of their previous harm by living, some folks reacted as though this ending was somehow morally suspect. Morally bankrupt, even.

And I think it might be because so many of us were raised on a very specific kind of kids media trope:

They all fall to their deaths.

Disney loves chucking their bad guys off cliffs. And it makes sense- in a moral framework where villains *must* be punished (regardless of whether their death will actually prevent further harm or not), but killing of any kind is morally bad for the hero, the narrative must find a way to kill the villain without the protagonists doing a murder.

It's a moral assumption that a person can *deserve* to die, that it is cosmically just for them to die, that them dying is evidence that the story itself is morally good and correct. Scar *deserves* to die, but it would be bad for Simba to kill him. So....cliff. (edit: yes, cliff then hyenas. But cliff first. Lol.)

Steven Universe, whatever else it's faults, took a step back and said "but if killing people is bad, then people dying is bad", and instead of dropping White Diamond off a cliff, asked "what would actual *restorative*, not punitive, justice look like? What would actual reparations mean here? If the goal is to heal, not just to punish, how do we handle those who have done harm?" And then did that.

Which I think is interesting, and that there was pushback against it is interesting.

It also reminds me of the folks who get very weird about Aang not killing Ozai at the end of Avatar. And like, Ozai still gets chucked in prison, so it doesn't even push back on our cultural ideas of punitive justice *that much.* and still, I've seen people get real mad that the child monk who is the last survivor of a genocide that wiped out his entire pacifist culture didn't do a murder.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑪𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒔𝒚/𝑨.𝑹𝒖𝒔𝒔𝒐

The call came while you were halfway through folding laundry in the living room. You barely managed to grab your phone in time, Alessia’s coach’s name flashing across the screen. The moment you answered, you could tell something was wrong by the apologetic tone in her voice. She quickly explained that Alessia had hit her head during training—crashed face-first into the goalpost, of all things—and now had a rather concerning goose egg on her forehead.

“She’s… fine,” the coach reassured, though her hesitation didn’t do much to settle your nerves. “But she’s a bit dazed, and we think it’s best if someone comes to get her. Just to keep an eye on her.”

You didn’t waste any time. Within minutes, you were in the car, heading straight to the training ground. Your heart pounded as you pulled into the lot, spotting a small group of players milling about near the pitch. And then there she was, sitting on the bench with an ice pack pressed to her forehead, looking like the picture of misery.

“Baby,” you called as you hurried over, your voice tinged with both worry and affection.

Alessia glanced up, her pout almost comically exaggerated as her big blue eyes met yours. “Hi, love,” she mumbled, her words slightly slurred, though that could have been the pout.

You crouched in front of her, gently prying the ice pack away to inspect the damage. The large bump on her forehead was impossible to miss, and you winced at the sight of it. “Oh, Lessi girl, what did you do?” you murmured, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said defensively, her voice soft and a little sheepish. “The post came out of nowhere.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though you quickly sobered when she winced, clearly still in pain. “Alright, let’s get you home. Can you stand?”

She nodded, but as soon as she got to her feet, she swayed slightly, her hand clutching your arm for balance. “Might need a little help,” she admitted, her cheeks tinged pink.

You wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her to the car while murmuring reassurances. Once you got her settled into the passenger seat, you buckled her in, pressing a kiss to her cheek as you rounded the car to the drivers side.

“I feel stupid,” she mumbled as you started the car.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, glancing over at her. “You’re not stupid, baby. Just a little clumsy. But I already knew that.”

She huffed out a laugh, though it was short-lived as she winced again. You reached over to squeeze her hand that was resting limply on her thigh, your thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. “We’ll get you home, showered, and comfortable, okay? You’ll be alright.”

Alessia nods, letting out a quiet sigh as she leans her head back against the headrest of her seat. You squeeze her hand once more before putting both hands back on the wheel.

By the time you got her home and inside, Alessia was practically clinging to you, her pout firmly in place. She had every right to be feeling sorry for herself; concussions weren’t exactly fun. After helping her kick off her trainers and shrug out of her training kit and dumping them in a corner to be dealt with later, you led her to the bathroom, keeping a firm grip on her arm in case she lost her balance.

“You’re coming in with me, right?” she asked, her voice small as she looked at you with those wide, pleading eyes that always made your heart melt.

“Of course, baby,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple, just next to the goose egg, before turning on the shower. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Once the water was warm enough, you helped her step in, stripping off yourself and following after her, keeping your hands on waist her to steady her. She leaned into you immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist as the water cascaded over both of you.

“You’re too good to me,” she mumbled against your shoulder, her voice muffled by your skin.

“You’d do the same for me,” you replied, running your hands over her back in soothing circles. Alessia hummed in agreement, and you feel her lips press against your neck in a gentle kiss. You squeeze her softly in return, pressing your own lips against the wet skin of her shoulder.

After the shower, you helped her into one of your oversized t-shirts and a pair of her own shorts, the soft fabric clinging to her damp skin. She looked impossibly adorable, perched on the end of the bed, her damp hair sticking to her face as she let you fuss over her, brushing through the tangles and pressing gentle kisses to her temple every so often.

Once you were satisfied that she was comfortable, you led her to the couch, settling in first before pulling her down on top of you. Her taller frame sprawled out over yours, her head resting on your chest as she let out a content sigh. You reach for one of the blankets hung over the back of the couch to cover you both up, spending a little time in making sure Alessia was all tucked in.

“This is nice,” she murmured after a few quiet moments, her voice already heavy with sleep

“Don’t get too comfy,” you teased, pressing your lips to the top of her head as your fingers trail softly over her back beneath the shirt. “I have to wake you up every half hour, remember?”

She groaned, adjusting herself slightly so her face was buried in your neck. “That’s so annoying.”

“I know, my love,” you said with a soft laugh, craning your head and pressing a kiss to her temple as you continue with the gentle ministrations against her back. “But it’s for your own good, my clumsy girl.”

The first time you woke her, she blinked up at you with bleary eyes, her pout more pronounced than ever. “I was dreaming,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“About what?” you asked, stroking her hair gently

“About you,” she said simply, her eyes fluttering closed again

You smiled, your heart melting at her words. “Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll wake you again soon.”

The second time, she was even grumpier, swatting at your hand as you gently shook her shoulder. “Leave me alone,” she grumbled, though the slight curve of her lips betrayed her

“Not a chance,” you said, pressing a kiss to her nose. It scrunched up adorably in response, and you couldn’t help but do it again, just because.

By the third time, she was too sleepy to protest, simply nuzzling further into your chest as you murmured soft reassurances.

“I love you,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible as sleep threatened to pull her under again.

“I love you too, Lessi girl,” you whispered, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over her back.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[jiminomenon]

trouble has a name

pairing: trouble maker! karina x stuco president reader

genre: fluff, highschool! au, jimin being down bad reader

word count: 816 words

summary: student council president y/n has always prided herself on keeping the school in order, a task made infinitely harder by their girlfriend, jimin—resident troublemaker with a penchant for bending the rules and throwing punches. when jimin ends up in the infirmary after a fight, y/n is torn between scolding her for her recklessness and patching her up with all the care in the world. bruises are tended to, soft apologies are exchanged, and amidst the chaos, one thing remains clear: no matter how much trouble jimin gets into, y/n will always be there to catch her.

a/n: i actually can’t believe people were taking my last post seriously LMFAOOOO

jimin leans back against the infirmary cot, her knuckles bruised and raw, and there’s a tiny cut just above her eyebrow that won’t stop bleeding. it makes your stomach twist in a way that’s equal parts worry and frustration.

“you can’t keep doing this,” you mumble, dabbing at the cut with antiseptic. you’re trying to stay calm, trying to remind yourself you’re the student council president and yelling at your girlfriend in the middle of school isn’t exactly professional. but it’s hard when she just grins at you like this whole thing is a joke.

“he was asking for it,” she says, like that makes it okay, like she doesn’t care that you’re one second away from losing it.

you sigh, pressing the bandage down over her eyebrow with a little more force than necessary. she winces, and for once, you don’t apologize. “you can’t solve everything with your fists, jimin. you’re going to get in trouble one day. or worse—” your voice catches, and you hate how shaky it sounds. “—you’re going to get hurt for real.”

her grin falters at that, and you hate that you notice it. hate that she can read you so easily when you’re trying so hard to stay firm.

“you’re worried about me.” her voice is quieter now, teasing but softer around the edges.

“of course i’m worried about you,” you snap, looking away because her big brown eyes are staring into yours and it’s not fair how easily she gets under your skin. “you’re my girlfriend. i have to take care of you when you do stupid things like this.”

jimin’s hand finds yours, calloused and warm and frustratingly gentle as she squeezes your fingers. “i’m sorry,” she says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

you look back at her then, and for a second you forget about the fight, about the bruises, about how much of a headache she is most of the time. all you see is the girl who sneaks you snacks during council meetings and holds your hand in empty hallways.

you sigh, leaning closer to press a featherlight kiss to her temple, just above the bandage. “you’re still in trouble,” you mutter, but your voice has softened too.

and jimin? she just smiles. because even when you’re mad at her, you’re still here, patching her up and holding her hand. and that’s enough for her.

jimin’s smile is soft now, not the cocky, troublemaker grin that usually gets her into situations like this. no, this one is for you—just you—and it makes your chest ache in a way you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with.

“i know,” she says quietly, her thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “but you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

“don’t push your luck,” you reply, but your voice lacks any real bite. you pull your hand away to reach for another bandage, keeping your focus on the task at hand. it’s easier than meeting her eyes right now.

“i’m serious,” she says after a beat of silence, her tone uncharacteristically sincere. “i hate making you worry.”

you glance at her, and there’s something in the way she’s looking at you—earnest and just a little unsure—that makes your resolve waver. jimin doesn’t say things like this often; she’s always been better with actions than words, even if those actions sometimes land her in the infirmary.

“then stop giving me reasons to worry,” you say, your voice softening despite yourself. you press the final bandage over her knuckles and gently rest your hand over hers, the bruises beneath your touch making your heart ache all over again.

jimin tilts her head, studying you for a moment before she leans forward, so close you can feel her breath against your cheek. “i’ll try,” she murmurs, her lips brushing yours in a fleeting kiss that makes your face heat instantly.

“you’re impossible,” you mutter, trying (and failing) to sound annoyed.

“but you like me anyway,” she teases, her grin returning, though it’s softer this time.

you shake your head, but there’s no hiding the fondness in your voice when you reply, “unfortunately.”

she laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that fills the room, warm and bright and so uniquely jimin that you can’t help but smile despite everything.

“c’mon,” you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. “let’s get out of here before someone comes looking for me.”

jimin hops off the cot, wincing a little but brushing it off when you give her a pointed look. she slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk out, her presence as familiar and comforting as the weight of your bag in your hand.

and despite everything—her bruises, her antics, her tendency to act first and think later—you know you wouldn’t trade her for anything. because jimin, with her reckless grin and soft apologies, is yours. and that’s enough.

[minteagalaxea]

hot . line (p. one) | jy.u

jey uso . part one

genre: smut (minors dni) content warnings: phone sex . (unknown) mutual masturbation . daddy kink . afab reader (she/her pronouns) . dirty talk . sexposition (ish) word count: 2.29k inspiration: the concept of a glucose guardian/sucrose supplier . the accountants in the john wick series . the notion of parasocial relationships . songs: good to me by seventeen (slowed and reverb) (x) . light a flame by seventeen (slowed and reverb) (x) note: thank you to @lov3rla03 and @spiicii for endorsing my brand of nonsense. dialogue isn't generally my strong suit, but i wanted to try something new!

oh, she hated this. she really hated that she was resorting to this of all things.

her fingers clutched the business card lex gave her, a black card with dark red foiling to mark the name of the organization and the phone number. it felt like a death knell as she lied in her room, screwing her eyes shut one she dialed the number and she heard the line pick up, honestly anticipating a robotic voice on the end, or some type of attempt at sultriness.

yet, the voice, a low contralto hum, was soothing on the other end as they greeted, “welcome to the bloodline. how may i direct your call?”

she wasn’t sure how to answer, and her silence only served to embarrass her further as she stammered and rambled, “i-i’m sorry…this is my first time, and i just…my friend gave me the card, and i don’t know if this is a good id—”

the voice on the other end offered a soothing laugh to carefully interrupt her. “it’s alright, my dear. i should have asked first. would you like to know how this works? my name is quynh.”

her stomach felt less heavy, knowing she was at least speaking to a real person, and she mused an assent.

“initially, the gentlemen prefer phone interactions, just to have a feel for you and for the sake of discretion. they aren’t recorded or monitored. you’re certainly allowed to choose when you’d like, as many of our clients do, so please don’t feel pressured to stick to one if that goes against your preferences. later on, if you’d like in-person interactions, those can be arranged, but they generally reserve that for more routine clients. there’s no hard and fast rule as to how many phone conversations are required, that’s between you and him. we charge by session, and tips are not necessary, but certainly appreciated—i hope that’s alright.”

she blinked, hearing the basic ground rules, and she found herself questioning why she was thinking that this was going to be some casual hotline-escort service, given the hefty price tag that suggested a luxury clientele. though, she considered, money wasn’t hard to come by for her in her line of work. and lex provided glowing reviews, so she supposed that it couldn’t.

“umm…which gentlemen am i allowed to choose from?” she inquired with trepidation, and easily as ever, quynh answered.

“there’s roman: big dom kind of man, baritone-bass voice. unfortunately, he isn’t accepting new clients, but he’s here if you need to discuss any issues or concerns regarding the others regarding safety or consent,” they started, tone carrying an undertone of secrecy and intimacy that had the woman curious, but unwilling to prod the stranger more about this.

“then, there’s solo: stoic, but certainly intense. a preference for those wanting to indulge more…rough fantasies. bondage is a big thing of his.” she shivered, and quynh laughed soothingly, as if sensing her discomfort, “don’t worry, bun. he has his own niche, and i wouldn’t recommend him for you since you don’t seem like the rough kinda girl. we want to provide a positive experience for all of our clients, but especially our new ones.”

the woman sighed in relief, continuing her relative silence as quynh exhausted their voice just to provide her knowledge and comfort, “perhaps on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, we have sami. sweet, a bit shy, kind of a switch, can be a bit more submissive—or at least, lean towards it, though i like to equate him to a service top. gives very nice praise, too, and has an excitable charm. cheerful, and expressive even through the phone.” there was a fondness there, and she answered.

“maybe…not too soft?”

“well, i think the last of our two gentlemen might be up your alley,” the receptionist mused with a fond chortle, “jimmy and jey.”

just hearing their names had a wave of comfort washing over her, like a hug delivered by this person on the other line.

“jimmy’s the more adventurous one, with ideas as creative as his degrading. not quite as mean as solo can be, but he’s up there. the bad boy twin, if i had to term him. he’s got some cute pet names, so it tends to even out.

“but, i’d recommend you to jey—tends to be better with first-timers. he’s not like sami in that he’s all sweet…but if it helps, he does like calling his female subjects things like ‘mami’. he’s got a big flirtatious streak; big praise thing with him, too.”

that was all it took for her to settle on him with an assertive tone, though really, she had a suspicion that quynh was saving jey for last, and after a few rings on the line, there was a new voice on the other end of the line.

“how’re you doing, mamas?”

fuck. one greeting and she was already wet, and she already had to scamper to grab her vibrator from the drawer in her nightstand in the most feeble stride at composure, all her confidence flying entirely out of the proverbial window.

the attempt, however, was generally fruitless with her stammering, “h-hi…i’m uh, not sure h-how…to start all of this.”

she earned a chuckle on the line, sounding endeared by her green nature to this entire thing as he answered, “that’s alright, mami. we can take it nice and slow, work you up real nice. why don’t you tell me a bit about you, baby?”

“wh-what do you wanna know?”

“maybe what got a sweet little thing like you out here on a phone with a man like me?”

her breath hitched, and she wasn’t sure what to say as she admitted, “i work a high-profile job…and i think i need someone to help me get the edge off. maybe i’m too pent up? work has been so busy.”

“yeah, mamas? need me to help you cum and sleep well tonight?”

shit, just the suggestion of that, the lick of his voice was already making her lose her mind, but she assented as she surreptitiously turned on the bullet, “y-yes, please.”

the man on the other end chuckled, “well, aren’t you a good girl for me, baby, using all your manners? gonna give you a reward if you behave like that for me."

ut, his voice took a sharper, biting edge subsequently. “or perhaps not, because i didn’t say you could touch yourself, did i?”

a chill ran down her spine, gasping as she realized that he did manage to hear the buzz of her very discreet, reportedly near silent vibrator. “i’m sorry, daddy…just wanted to take the edge off.” and holy shit, she didn’t expect herself to call him that.

“well, mamas, you better behave, or daddy won’t let you do any of those things.” his voice was teasing, but she hadn’t realized that calling him “daddy” would make his breath hitch in the way that elevated her reality that he’s just as turned on as her, no matter how fictitious it was from. perhaps it was that that made her more comfortable to play along, his voice and reactions spurring her on to indulge her fantasies a bit.

“i’m sorry, daddy. i promise i’ll behave now.”

“that’s right, mami. now, why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing?”

she wasn’t sure how to broach this one, but she tried her best as she spread her legs and reclined into her satin pillows, “nothing…just a big sweater, that’s all.”

that boded positively for her, she presumed, given the groan jey elicited as she heard a rustle of fabric on his end, “nothing underneath? naughty girl.

“but, i can’t blame you, mamas. you sound so stressed…no wonder you need your toy. so stressed your fingers won’t do it for you, huh? needa think about something bigger than your pretty little fingers?” he continued, just slightly more conversational with that heady undertone.

“yeah, daddy. wanna think about your fingers if i’m so lucky,” she admitted bashfully, surprising herself with her boldness as she got more comfortable. quynh was right—she would end up liking him.

jey’s choked groan on the other line brought prickles along her every nerve as he chuckled in approval in an attempt to regain some semblance of composure, “shit, mami, you can. you can put that vibrator and think about how daddy's fingers should be in your pretty cunt instead of some toy.”

she obeyed—how could she not when he sounded like sin and virtue in equal measure, and she pressed the bullet on her clit, letting it whir there as she tried to pay him some attention, too, as she settled into the rhythm of their dialogue. “are you thinking about me, daddy, about what i could do for you right now?”

“fuck, of course i am, mamas. thinking about the pretty words coming out of your prettier mouth.” there was a certain cadence there; she wasn’t sure how much of it was authentically him, given the line of work, but she wouldn’t push as she plunged the bullet inside of her.

jey’s groans and growls and the shifting on the line had her curiosity growing about if he was actually stroking herself as they both enabled each other’s pleasure, stoked the heat in their bodies. “daddy, wish it was your fingers right now,” she crooned in between her gasps of bliss, dragging her vibrator to a higher intensity, “i know it’d feel so much better.”

“shit, babygirl, keep talking like that, and i’m gonna wish it was your mouth on my dick instead with how sweet you’re being to me.”

“oh, daddy, i’d take care of you so well.” her voice began veering into a sense of dreaminess, loosened as she plunged her toy in and out of her depths to seek some relief, “won’t you let me help you? promise i’d take you all the way down and won’t gag.”

“i’m gonna hold you to that, mami. you’d look like a fucking masterpiece with your mouth full of dick. or with that pussy full of my dick, too,” he grunted, breathing labored over the phone as something rocked, perhaps the bed, perhaps an audio recording. she couldn’t care right now, determined to chase after that elusive release, “turn that shit up, baby, and fuck yourself faster.”

her moans filled the line as she did exactly as jey requested, pushing her damn bullet to the limits in ways she had never pushed it to the maximum setting. yet, here she was, her sounds louder and reverberating through the phone and overpowering the whir of the toy’s motor.

“fuck, daddy, wish it was your fingers—wish you could stretch me out all nice and wide and pretty for you,” she mewled, thrusting her vibrator in and envisioning it was a pair of thicker, more human digits instead, “my fingers won’t cut it. need you.”

jey’s grunting reached a fever pitch as he elicited a groan, something long and hypnotic as he said, “i know you need me, mamas. touch your clit, i’m gonna get you there.” she heard the frenetic rustle of the sheets on his line, haphazard like the bounce of his mattress while her free hand circled her neglected, now extremely sensitive pearl.

her voice took on a pleading, sultry tone as she begged in her wake, “daddy, come for me, you know you want to. you’d feel so good, so much better.” or, at least, it would assuage her ego assuming he was jerking off. she indulged the fantasy.

“i know, mamas. want you to come with me, can you manage that?’

she could, partially because holy fucking shit did he sound somehow even sexier. the fact that he asked dragged her to the edge with just a single question had her seeing stars, her moans nearly drowning out what she could hear on his end as his own sounds—a cacophony of grunts, groans and gravelly filth—prolonged that monstrous high that she had her still rubbing her clit and drenching her sheets for. she could only hope he was in a similar predicament.

in the moments of respite, to recompose, she heard jey’s breathless, effusive voice inquire, “how was that for your first time doing this, mamas?”

her laugh emerged choked, mind almost reeling from the gravel of dominance earlier to his current ease, “good. better than expected, actually. i, umm, hope you enjoyed it, too.”

“i definitely did, mami, don’t you worry.”

“and…” she started, deciding to impulsively blurt it outright before she lost her nerve, “could i…could we possibly do this again? this was…really nice, and i didn’t know i needed it.”

his warm, hearty chuckle was enough to balm her nerves, her worries. she wasn’t even sure why she was worried. technically, she was paying for his time—there weren’t meant to be strings. “of course. i’ll let quynh know for ya. let you get some rest.”

her own heart warmed at the consideration, and she swiped to send him the payment, with an exceedingly generous tip that significantly amplified the already-exorbitant (yet, justified) charge; she could only envision the look on his face, seeing the slightly cheeky note she added: for making me cum so hard, daddy ♡ - mami.

jey’s laugh sounded like heaven and hell, all incredulous and mirthful as he said, “same time next week, mamas?”

her lips wrapped around her chosen farewell like a promise as she responded, “looking forward to it, daddy.” and the call ended.

as far as she was concerned, he didn’t make a mess of his bed like her, a consummate professional through and through.

and if he did? well…that was his secret, not hers.

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Scars On My Mind (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Ever heard of the Daughters of Liberty? When Agatha appears at your doorstep covered in blood with a knitting needle peeking out of her elbow, you certainly wish you hadn’t. Here’s how it went.

Content/Warnings: WitchKiller!Agatha, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Injury, So Much Blood, Open Wound, Angst, Mild Mentions of NSFW Content, no beta we die like the Daughters of Liberty

This fic is a gift for @marril96 who made a gifset for me in return! Ily, let's swap again! It was so so so much fun to dive a little deeper into Agatha’s Witch Killer days with this, and make her a little vulnerable for once!

The rain started on Thursday night and hadn’t stopped since. A continuous drumming against your window, the world outside tainted a muddy grey. It was the earliest hours of Saturday now, Friday had passed silently without you noticing, the continuous waterfalls of raindrops on the windows not letting up to let the days pass either. The vinyl player kept playing as Friday had slipped into Saturday too, the kettle kept simmering as you prepared a boiling cup of Agatha‘s favourite tea blend. Even as the days drifted away, the world kept going. Boiling hot water turned into lukewarm turned into cold, the vinyl finished playing, spinning to a halt. The rain kept thrumming.

You sighed, leaning back on the couch, eyes fluttering shut. Agatha was late, like, even later than usually. And you were tired, sleep tugging at your bones with gradually more and more urgency.

But it was useless to go to bed, no matter how often she insisted you shan’t wait for her. You wouldn’t find much sleep anyway. Not on nights like this. When Agatha was out with other witches, when she set out to … feed? Kill? Siphon?

Well, it was hard to find any rest while she was out there like that.

She may have laughed when you’d admitted to that, throwing her leather jacket over her shoulders before pulling you into a quick kiss by your neck.

„There’s nothing to worry about, darling. I do this all the time.“

But still, as the front door to your little nyc apartment swung open and she sauntered out, chirping a „See you tonight, honey!“, over her shoulder at you, the pit in your stomach remained. The ghost of her palm on the back of your neck remained.

You sighed, taking a sip of the cold tea you’d prepared. If she wasn’t coming home in time, you certainly wouldn’t let the water go to waste.

They’d just raised the prizes for utilities on you. And while Agatha had just laughed and mentioned some inactive bank account she had in Germany that she‘d simply pull from, you couldn’t help but stress about it.

It wasn’t that you didn‘t trust her, so far every time she’d mentioned some savings from one of her many, many lives it had always been true. But just because she was an undying, centuries old witch who didn’t have to concern herself with mundane things like paying bills didn’t mean you could just shake those things off the same.

You had no magick, but you did have your name on a lease. But so far, she’d always made it work somehow, whether that be with her old account of when she lived right beside the Berlin Wall ten years ago or by selling a quick spell or curse to some unassuming person desperate enough to pay for one. You weren’t even sure if she actually performed real spells all of the time. Your Agatha was a scam artist through and through, but you wouldn’t have her any other way.

You took another sip of tea, watching the rain pour down the window. Sometimes, you wondered how many more of you there had been. Agatha was good at dodging those questions, but one night, when you wouldn’t let off even after she’d made you come undone multiple times on the couch, she’d handed you a little cardboard box.

„I try not to be traceable and I can’t exactly show you baby pictures, but some stuff just sticks.“

The contents of the box were fragile, some paper so frail you barely wanted to touch it. Little notes, handwritten poems, a few pages torn out of books. A pencil sketch of the bunny that lived in a cage beside your bed, that she always made sure to drape a blanket over before going down on you. An ink sketch of her, without the worry lines on her forehead or the little wrinkles around her eyes. But, as always, with the amulet she never took off her body.

A few photographs. Black and white on flimsy film paper, Agatha in a flapper dress, feather in her hair and a cigarillo between her lips, legs spread as she leaned back on a barstool. Agatha in the same dress, smiling over her shoulder at the camera, a dark skinned woman in a matching dress sitting beside her, raising her champagne flute at the camera.

Jenny Kale, you knew from her stories, the most brilliant potions maker Agatha had ever met. And the most annoying one. They‘d fallen off, you assumed it had something to do with Agatha‘s habit of power grabbing.

But, there was also a Polaroid.

A Polaroid that lay on the coffee table in front of you now.

A Polaroid that had not left your mind since you’d found it.

Agatha with a wild, unkempt perm and uneven bangs, black liner smudged around her eyes, in a black tank top, arm stretched out to take the picture. But, what actually caught your eye was the arm wrapped around her waist, tight enough to bunch up the fabric of her shirt, revealing a thin line of pale skin of her lower stomach. The person hugging her was out of frame, all you could see was an arm, and a shoulder pressed into Agatha‘s, and the way the witch seemed to hold back a laugh. The handwriting under the picture was messy, and the black marker had faded over the years.

For my love A.H. 1982 - We can be heroes forever and ever

And then what you‘d assumed was once a heart, but got smudged by someone touching the ink before it had dried.

It was exactly what you‘d been looking for. Proof that there had been people before you. That you weren’t her first lover in the 350 long years of her life. Of course you weren’t, that’d be foolish to assume!

But still, the find had punched a hole into your stomach that had only hollowed out the more you thought about it.

How many other people had she taken a liking to, how many non magickal people had she moved in with, let them sign leases and contracts for her as she ran off to suck the magic out of the local witch community of wherever she found herself? How long had this been going on? How long until she’d move on?

Sure, you were young now, but other than her, the clock was ticking for you. Would you just wake up one day and find her gone? And would she bother to keep your picture? And, even if all of this was nothing, why would she hide it from you? She‘d told you about Jennifer Kale, but she‘d never ever mentioned living with someone during her time in Berlin, or any era before that.

You bit your bottom lip, hissing when you tasted the metallic tinge of your own blood.

Did you want to be just another picture in her little box of memories? Did she even deem you worth remembering?

It was stupid to think like that, and you knew that, but it was harder not to let the uncertainty consume you.

But, you were smart enough never to ask her about it directly. Your wild, fierce, unapologetic witch. You loved her, you had realised that the moment her eyes met yours for the first time, and you loved everything about the chaos and the magick and the passion that she brought into your life. Maybe that was why the potential answer scared you so much. Better to keep holding onto your belief than to risk knowing you didn’t mean as much to her as she did to you. Better to live in the harmony of what you had built with her.

You wish you‘d never asked her about her prior life, had never opened the paper box. Now that you had the Polaroid in hand, it was impossible to put down.

A sound ripped you from your self deprecating thoughts. A faint scratch, just loud enough that you were sure you hadn’t imagined it. Another one. Like a dog scratching at a locked front door … or a key that kept missing the hole it belonged into, and instead kept hitting the rough wood of your door.

You sat up. „Agatha?“

No answer. Fuck.

You knew Agatha had her enemies, it was impossible to live that long without them. Hell, there was a whole coven formed of the daughters of her prior victims, a piece of information you preferred to not think about too much. After all, you saw what she was capable of, saw her cast runes around the entire apartment to keep out evil spirits, the way she glowed after siphoning, the daily use of telekinesis and the occasional prodding your mind - which she swore was to remind you to keep up the mental wards she‘d taught you, and totally not because she enjoyed the image of her that danced around your thoughts since the day you met.

Wards you made sure you had up and intakt now as you grabbed a candelabra on your way towards the front door - the first weapon you‘d spontaneously found.

Another scratch at the door, then a grunt, and a little thud, like something was falling into the wooden frame.

„Agatha?“, you asked again, louder.

Panting, whoever was on the other side of the door was breathing heavily.

Here goes nothing. You bit down on your lower lip, fingers tightening around the candelabra. Twisting the doorknob, you held your weapon high, ready to strike. The wooden door flew open, you held your breath … only to immediately let it go in a loud shriek.

In front of you was in fact Agatha, however, this was not how you had expected her to return. Her shirt was torn and ripped apart, shreds of fabric barely clinging onto her. if you hadn’t known, you would have never guessed it used to be white fabric, for it was covered in mud and dirt and … a worrying amount of blood. There was so much blood. On her clothes, her face, her head. Like someone had dumped a bucket of red over her head. Agatha herself was shaking, her body leaning against the wooden doorframe, the key she was holding in her right hand quivering with every rattling breath she took. Her left arm … your stomach twisted. Her left arm was completely bare, the sleeve ripped away at the seam, and her skin was covered in dark red crusts of dried and fresh blood. It hung useless at her side, and as she shifted from one foot to her other, you saw a single, long piece of hard plastic sticking right out of her elbow.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you instinctively had to reach for the wall, not trusting your knees to support your weight right now.

Agatha’s eyes were open wide, blue piercing at you as she panted, a now dried drop of blood had run right between her eyes and down her nose. She looked insane. You felt insane.

And yet, she had the nerve to cock her brows at you. „The candlestick? Seriously? Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth these days?“

Slowly, you dropped your arm, the makeshift weapon sliding out of your grip and tumbling to the floor.

Agatha winced, like that was what really caused her pain right now.

„Agatha!“, you gasped, swallowing hard.

The witch bit her bottom lip, hard, before heaving her own body closer towards the entryway, pushing for you to let her in.

„I got ambushed“, she exclaimed, even though that didn’t explain anything at all, „This little bunch was smarter than they seemed. In theory at least“, she laughed, but it only made her grit her teeth, „All the spells and curses in the world, and they stab me with a fucking knitting needle!“

You gulped. So that was the thing peeking out of her elbow.

Glassy blue eyes found you, her glare bewildered, almost panicked. „Are you done now? I would love it if we could at least move this out of the hallway, before we wake the neighbors!“

Finally, you snapped back into reality. Agatha was injured, badly, and she was also leaving stains of red on your doorframe and the „Welcome Home“ doormat in the hallway. But those were problems for later.

Right now, you needed to get her to safety. You surged forwards, grabbing her by her uninjured shoulder, pulling her right arm around your neck.

„Lean onto me“, you instructed, kicking the candelabra out of your way as you slowly guided her into the apartment.

She was cold to the touch, too cold for your liking, but she still managed to tut at you anyway. „What would you say if i kicked your hairdryer around like that?“

You let the front door fall shut behind you, other arm wrapping around her waist to support her further.

“I would say Thank You Honey for not letting me bleed out on the doormat! but you can practice that later.“

That made her snort, and you felt her entire body wince in pain.

„Stop being funny“, she hissed, her right hand digging into your shoulder as you slowly guided her towards the couch, step by step, „It hurts.“

You finally reached the plush sofa and carefully sat her down. Agatha‘s body collapsed against the cushions with a groan, her head rolling back.

„Hey!“, you snapped your fingers right in front of her face, „Sit up! Don’t you dare faint on me!“

Her eyes fluttered, and you felt panic rise in your chest. Your palms found her cheeks, cupping her face gently as you pulled her head back up, forcing her to look at you. Blue eyes blinked up at you, pupils dilating when they closed in on your face.

„Agatha“, you said, taking a deep breath more to calm yourself than her, „I‘m gonna go grab the first aid kit, but I need you to stay with me, okay? No fainting. Can you curl your fingers for me?“

Her right hand curled into a weak fist with no issues, while her left hand laid beside her uselessly. You swallowed. „Okay, keep doing that. Clench, and unclench, exactly. I‘ll be back in a second.“

She blinked twice, and a small smile found her blood covered, cracked lips. „You’re worried about me“, she drawled deliriously, healthy hand coming up to poke your side. The touch was a lot weaker than you‘d like. „That’s hot.“

You bit down on your tongue. „You’re unbelievable“, you shook your head, making sure her own head was supported by the cushions behind her before letting go, „Keep clenching your fists!“

To your relief, the first aid kit was right under the sink in the bathroom, fully stocked and ready for you. On your way back out, you grabbed a towel as well.

Agatha was still sitting up when you came back, already digging through the first aid kit as you walked, pulling out bandages, alcohol wipes, and the little bottle of superglue you kept in the kit. You sucked your cheeks in, thumb running over the little tag on it. The next fifteen minutes were going to suck.

Glassy blue eyes watched you as you spread out your new findings on the coffee table. Her breath came in heaves, but at least they were even and her chest didn’t quiver with every gush of air that surged through her lungs anymore.

„How are you feeling?“, you asked, needing her to stay awake, stay with you at any costs.

Luckily, she had it back in her to let out a humourless chuckle. „Like shit. Those bitches betrayed me like I didn‘t teach them everything they knew.“

Even as you cut open the plastic baggy holding a bandaid, you had to give her a long look over your shoulder.

„Betraying the witch that was gonna betray them? How dare they.“

Agatha opened her mouth in protest, but then you sat back up on the couch next to her, the cushions she was resting her injured arm on shifting, and instead a high, pained whimper left her throat. The sound rang through your head and you pressed your lips together, carefully positioning her arm so the needle stuck in it was facing you.

„I‘m sorry“, you took a deep breath, „You‘re not gonna like me for the next few minutes, but I need you to stay still for me, okay?“ Your eyes found hers, and you gave her a firm little nod.

„What?“, Agatha's voice was weak, brows creased in confusion, her eyes barely focusing on you. You gave her a soft smile, hand closing around the knitting needle slow and firm. „Look out the window babe“, you softly hummed and Agatha‘s head rolled to the other side, lashes fluttering.

„Don’t turn around“, you said. But of course, she immediately turned back.

“The window Agatha!“, you sighed exasperated, not waiting for her to listen this time.

„Okay, one, two…“ Before you could say the next number, you gritted your teeth. With one firm tug, the knitting needle slid right out of her open wound.

Agatha screamed, flinching under your firm grip, head thrown back against the couch.

The needle made a wet sound as you pulled it out that made your stomach turn. Thick, red liquid was stuck to the plastic as well as fresh blood immediately pooling out of the wound at her elbow.

You quickly pressed the towel onto it, gripping Agatha’s arm tight so she couldn’t pull away, even as she screamed. The whimpers leaving her throat echoed through your bones, and you had to bite down on your cheek harder.

„I‘m sorry baby“, you pressed out, glancing over at her face. Fresh, salty tears ran down her face, parting the dried crusts of blood on her cheeks. She was biting down on her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, holding back her sobs as best as she could.

„Fuck you“, she sobbed weakly, eyes closed shut and you had to chuckle.

„That’s okay. Let it out.“, you hummed, pressing the towel down onto the wound with one hand. The pale blue fabric was quickly soaking up red, and you had to act fast, worried she was going to lose too much blood.

With your free hand you reached for the superglue, the lid already off, clear, stale liquid at the tip.

„I have to do one more thing that you‘re not gonna like“, you said, keeping your grip on her arm tight as she tried to pull away.

„No! Stop! That’s enough!“, she yelped and it took everything in you to stay firm. The wound needed closing, no matter how much it would hurt.

„Agatha!“, you held her tight, giving her a firm stare that held no room for discussion. When you saw the way her bottom lip was quivering despite her pushed forward chin, your voice softened.

“I‘m trying to help you. Just one more thing and you‘re done, I promise.“

Agatha swallowed hard, leaning towards you.

You let her, gently pressing your forehead to hers.

„That was scary“, she murmured, „They were so smart about it. Didn’t blast me once. Instead…“, her shoulders twitched in an attempt to shrug, the sharp pain causing her to wince.

„Instead you came home with a knitting needle in your arm“, you nodded, craning your neck. Your lips brushed over her forehead, the bittersweet mix of mud and blood on your tongue as you pressed a gentle kiss right over the crease she always pulled when she was in pain, but trying to be brave about it.

„This was terrifying, but you’re being so strong“, you leaned back again, enough to look her in the eyes one more time, „Let me close the wound and then it‘ll be over, I promise.“

And she let you.

As you pulled the towel away to inspect the wound closer, Agatha looked the other way, her right hand coming up to her mouth as you pulled the skin together. As you dropped the clear glue down onto the gash, pulling it closed with one hand and handling the bottle of superglue with the other, she let out another blood curdling scream, muffled only by her teeth digging into her own hand. But, it worked. The moment the liquid began to thicken, the bleeding stopped.

It took all the alcohol wipes of the kit to get her arm cleaned up, working quickly and in silence, knowing well not to talk to Agatha as hot tears ran down her cheeks. You made sure to save a wipe for the bite mark on her right hand too, and then once you were positive all of her injuries were cleaned, you finally reached for the bandaids.

By the time she was all patched up and in clean clothes (you‘d thrown her bloody shirt and all towels it had taken to get the muck off her face into the bathtub, a problem for later), the two of your curled up underneath a blanket, her healthy shoulder squeezed up against yours, the sun was coming up.

Finally, it had stopped raining too.

The two of you had shared a can of microwaved ravioli, and slowly but surely, the color was returning to Agatha‘s cheeks. You wrapped your arm tighter around her, nose nuzzling into the crown of her head. Her hair still smelled of metal and cinder, but that didn’t bother you right now. What mattered was that she was still with you, that her body was warm against yours and her breathing even.

The blanket rustled as she shifted in your hold, right hand coming up to rest over yours.

„Now.“, Agatha took a long breath, thumb running over your knuckles as she held your hands in hers. Finally, she seemed fully back to consciousness.

„Tell me why you‘ve been pondering all night instead of sleeping like I told you to.“

„What?“, your brows furrowed, tilting your head to the side in confusion as you glanced down at her.

Agatha nodded towards the coffee table, blue eyes fixed on a specific object scattered between the leftovers of your once organised and stacked first aid kit. „I doubt you‘re using that as a bookmark.“

Between scissors and a piece of bandage you‘d cut off, there was still the Polaroid you‘d taken from the box of her private possessions. Now, there was a single drop of blood on it, right above the black marker writing.

„Oh my god!“, you quickly reached for it, „I‘m so sorry, I‘ll clean that off!“

Before your hand could reach the photo, Agatha‘s unharmed arm lunged forward, hand closing around your wrist. Despite how pale she still looked, she pulled you back to her with no trouble, wrapping the blanket around you two tighter. Injury or not, there was still magick power running through her veins.

„Darling“, her pale eyes found yours, „Look at me.“

You didn’t dare break the eye contact she established, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do right now, ears hot with embarrassment.

„Have you been thinking about that?“ she asked, and you knew exactly what she meant. Her long, long life before you, the nature of your relationship. The only thing on your mind for days now.

„I mean, it‘s stupid!“, you shook your head „It’s naive to think I‘m something special, you’ve had such a long life already,“ you poked her side, „Even though that‘s hard to believe right now.“

Agatha‘s hoarse chuckle made you smile despite everything weighing on your mind.

„I‘m going to stop you right there.“

With her healthy hand, she tried to push herself up, eyes fluttering shut as she groaned in pain. You instinctively reached for her shoulders, helping her sit up and lean against the sofa cushions.

Her hand found your cheek, palm gently cupping your cheek.

„You are something special“, her voice was low and you swallowed hard.

„Do you think I could do this with just anyone? I was just bleeding out on your couch.“ Her eyes found yours, giving you a firm little nod. „Have there been others? Of course. A witches lifespan depends on her powers, and I‘m not exactly the type other witches want around for long. It can get lonely.“ Her lips pursed into a little smirk, brows rising. „But thanks to you, it‘s not. And thanks to you, it won’t end just yet either.“ She chuckled, raising her bandaged elbow with a sharp inhale.

Your hold on her shoulders tightened just the smallest bit, holding her upwards. Her thumb ran over your cheek, and you couldn’t suppress your smile at the touch.

„What I am saying is yes, there have been lovers before you. But that does not diminish your presence in my life, and it does not make you any less special. To be quite honest, you‘re the first person to have pulled a knitting needle out of my elbow.“

She let out a little laugh and soon, you joined in. Agatha‘s hand tugged at the back of your neck, and you willingly let her pull you into a sweet, gentle kiss. Her lips brushed against yours with the familiarity of someone who had practiced plenty, pushing her chin forward into the kiss like she knew you loved her to do, and you let out a little laugh in return, teeth grazing over her bottom lip just the slightest bit. Exactly the way that made her groan, pull you in tighter, kiss you with more and more fervour, until you’d bite down on her plump lip for real.

But not right now. You pulled away before she could coax you into something more, giving the shoulder of her injured arm a gentle tap as you raised your brows at her.

„Not now Agatha! You literally almost died today.“

She let out an exasperated sigh, but then opted to wrap her healthy arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. „But I didn’t, thanks to you.“

You gave her a warning glare but obliged as she pulled you into her lap, arm wrapped around you and your hands resting on her shoulders. She leaned forward, lips grazing over your neck just enough to make you gasp before nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, a spot she had found she fit perfectly into one time while napping and loved ever since. Your hands found her hair, fingers slowly running through the thick, dark waves falling down her back. She hummed against your neck at the feeling, and you felt your heart swell at the sound. Even if all of this was fleeting, at least right now, you could provide a safe space for her.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the faint scent of the lavender oil she liked to brush through her hair.

Even if you were but a fleeting moment in her life, maybe in 10, 20 years she‘d think back to you and miss the way her nose perfectly nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Agatha“, you whispered, so quiet, you could barely hear it yourself, „Try not to get killed while I‘m still around.“

If she heard you, she didn’t answer.

You pulled her even tighter.

[meadowfics]

frugal

kang sae byeok x smallbusinessowner!female!reader

you spoil sae byeok in your own way while she takes care of you

warnings: none

this is a continuation and part two to this fic for sae byeok

three months into your relationship, sae byeok is extremely frugal, saving nearly all of her money for her younger brother, cheol.

she also is working toward getting her mother out of north korea through a broker.

sae byeok only spends money on bare essentials for herself, like a toothbrush or a washcloth, refusing to buy anything she deems unnecessary.

instead of buying things for herself, she uses many of your belongings, which you don’t mind at all.

as an overconsumer, you have too many body washes and things that you would never be able to use alone.

it makes you happy that sae byeok feels comfortable enough to use your things.

despite understanding her frugality, you secretly wish she’d spoil herself a little, even if it’s not in her personality.

you want her to feel deserving of a little luxury, even if it’s small.

one morning, sae byeok comes to work while you go out to grab breakfast for both of you to eat in the back of the shop.

you love surprising her with little things like this, even if she initially protests.

sae byeok always saves a portion of the breakfast you bring her to take home to cheol, even though you assure her she doesn’t need to.

it’s one of the ways she shows her love and responsibility as an older sister.

you and sae byeok don’t live together right now, since she’s focused on raising cheol and keeping a stable home for him.

whenever cheol has a sleepover at one of his friend’s homes, sae byeok stays over at your place.

these nights are special for both of you, offering a rare chance to relax and enjoy each other’s company without interruptions.

on these nights, you pamper sae byeok, knowing she would never do it for herself.

you draw her a bubble bath, set up candles, and play soothing music, encouraging her to let go of her worries for a little while.

after her bath, you give her a massage or let her pick a movie to watch together while cuddling on the couch.

she might resist at first, but she always ends up leaning into your care, letting herself relax.

sae byeok is still hesitant to accept gifts or anything she considers indulgent, but you sneak in little ways to take care of her, like buying her a cozy scarf or upgrading her old washcloth to something softer.

one day, you bought her a full basket full of things she can use for herself.

you got a gift basket full of things for cheol as well.

over time, sae byeok begins to feel more at ease with you, sharing small moments of vulnerability.

she talks about her struggles and fears, some of those fears involving her home place.

you listen without judgment, reminding her she doesn’t have to face everything alone.

cheol has grown fond of you, often asking sae byeok when he can see you again.

his bond with you makes sae byeok happy, even if she doesn’t say it outright.

sometimes, you catch sae byeok stealing glances at you when she thinks you’re not looking, her gaze filled with quiet admiration and affection.

you both show love through actions rather than words.

sae byeok might fix something around your shop that you have not told her about or help you with heavy lifting, while you leave her small notes of encouragement or make her favorite tea without her asking.

despite her reserved nature, sae byeok starts to let herself lean on you more.

you cherish every moment she allows herself to be cared for.

you look forward to a future where sae byeok can finally feel the weight of her responsibilities lift, even if only slightly, and you’re determined to be there with her forever.

masterlist

[pricegouge]

Uhm your last ask abt fairy reader in price’s humidor and I can’t resist

Price having his fairy warm his cigars for him between her legs

Maybe she can make fairy sparks to light his cigar (gives it the same kinda kick as the honey cause it’s got distilled magic in it). Or maybe he makes her strain to flick his table lighter. Maybe he scares her with it, holding her while threatening to burn the bottoms of her feet while she squirms.

Maybe he switches to cigarillos or hand rolled options sometimes— cause with the right finesse, those can fit in her tiny fairy cunt, her honey soaking into the paper.

And in a world where people milk fairy honey? There’s probably all kinds of tools and substances they sell to get fairies aroused fast, but price has a bit too much pride, likes to do things the slow, old fashioned way.

Nikolai who keeps his fairy leashed because he can’t bear to clip her wings. To much empathy for flying creatures— he cannot rob you of that. Or maybe he’s had her long enough to not worry— she’s fully tamed and trained. She’ll lick the powdered sugar from his fingers if he has a donut for breakfast. Price’s fairy is terrified of Nik’s— will she be like that some day? Acting like she’s in love with her tormentor?? She’s even more scared when Nik offers to train her as a favor.

And she gets this funny feeling in her belly when price laughs and politely declines. Says he likes her just the way she is.

(And if we’re talking hardcore objectification. I imagine Soap’s careless. He’s been through more than one fairy in his day. No big deal— Ghost’ll just find him another. Misfits have a knack for finding them)

I’m going a little crazzzyyy

-🦷

[reference - no longer my most recent ask, i'm slow]

i raise you: price training her how to properly hug his cock by making her work herself over his cigars. i also raise you price training his fairy to spark when he flicks her head as if she's a lighter like a fucking dog.

him dipping cigarillos in her cunt is making me severely unwell. can just see him running out of flavor half way through, patting down his pockets like she's a misplaced lighter just to freshen up his dart even as it's still smoking

okay. not particularly related to what you're talking about, but the jewelry bit added at the end of that fic was def inspired by art i found which i'm unfortunately not gonna link just cause i saw it on a repost site and i'm not sure where to find the original art cause I don't have any social media. but! the artist very clearly had a line in which they depicted fairy girls being turned into jewelry and the main link piece would often be a specialized plug their size attached to a chain which would obv be linked to the actual jewelry. i don't really have anywhere i'm going with this I just thought you should know that.

hm. i can picture nik's fairy having just as much empathy for him straight from the gate. like what do you mean this human knows what the world looks like from above better than he does from his actual (significant) level? she's easy to train because she lets herself be trained, at least a little, but price's fairy doesn't know that!! she's scared as hell to be made into some docile little creature, but price would never allow it. she'll never admit she's grateful for him but she is when he tells nik he can handle it, when he stuffs her into his pocket so she can't quite hear when he says he likes her just the way she is, teeth marks on his finger tips and all

(also also. im not normal about burning so i won't go too crazy BUT. i will say when he's training her to bahave like a lighter, he def holds the heated metal of the guard against her ☹️)

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

@sunsetandevningstar wanted to see some of the Maddie Fix-It from my WIP list. She confronts Tommy at a farmer's market after eavesdropping on a conversation he has with a vendor he knows. I channeled a lot of protective sibling rage into this, but also Maddie is ultimately a sweetheart so it doesn't last.

“You broke his heart!” She’d really intended to keep calm, but she also wants to throw Tommy in front of a moving semi. “You idiot, you fucking idiot, how dare you run away from him? He’s had enough of that his entire life, you weren’t supposed to do it, too.”

Tommy looks shell-shocked, which is fair. He probably hasn’t had a lot of crying, upset, angry women confront him in the middle of a farmer’s market on a Sunday. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have done something so stupid.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, and she cuts him off with a shake of her head and a finger in his face.

“No! That’s not how this works,” she says, trying to swallow around the burning rage in her throat. “No one means to do it to him, but they do it anyway, and then he moves on and thinks that maybe, maybe this is going to be the time it doesn’t happen. Because he’s a good person, and he thinks other people are good, even when we’re not.”

She wipes her eyes, because she can’t see Tommy’s face anymore. When her vision’s clear, he looks shattered, which gives her a kind of vicious satisfaction.

“I’m a runner,” she says, watching the way his gaze drops to the concrete between them. “I ran from home, I ran from him, I ran from my ex, from Chimney, from our daughter—and only one of those times was a good idea. And I thought maybe that means it’s the right choice every time, and it’s not. I don’t know when it worked out for you, and I’m glad it did, but that’s not now. That’s not him.”

Tommy’s jaw is clenched and trembling, and she’s short enough that she can see tears roll down his cheeks even with his head down. The part of her that wants to avenge her brother’s heartbreak seems to have been appeased, because she just feels sad for him. They’re about the same age, but he looks so young and sad and lost.

“He doesn’t always do things in the right order or say the things he really means, because he gets excited,” she says, stepping closer and putting her hands on his ridiculous biceps. “But I thought you understood that.”

“I do,” Tommy says, his voice raw and choked.

“I know,” she says, feeling her eyes burn with more tears. “I was scared, you know? My baby brother was throwing himself into another relationship, and I got worried. But I saw you two together, and I stopped being scared. I let my guard down with you and let you into my life and my daughter’s life and trusted you with my brother’s heart, because you seemed to understand him better than anyone else I’ve ever seen him with. Whatever you’re thinking about yourself is coming from a monster that’s been feeding you lies. What I saw, what I heard, was something real.”

When he finally looks at her, she stands on her toes and pulls him into a hug. She’s gotten really good at making up the difference of a foot in a hug and taking care of her giant of a brother, but Tommy collapses into her and she puts a foot back to keep herself from toppling. She wonders if anyone has hugged him at all since the break-up, if he’s been isolating himself from everyone the same way he’s isolated himself from the 118. She knows it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do.

“C’mon,” she says, rubbing between his shoulder blades. “I know our five minutes aren’t up, but you need to sit down.”

[mothman-can-write]

heya! i also saw your tag about aro maria and ace natasha. i'm very fascinated about that. what's some of your takes on that dynamic? i've personally leaned towards ace/aspec, but it's always interesting to me when someone who identifies along there but more into sex or adverse to romance. just shows how diverse that spectrum is!

This is such a fun question and I'm going to preface it by saying these HCs are purely based on vibes and my own projection as someone on the aroace spec. I like to play around with their sexualities a lot bc it makes for interesting dynamics, but I'll stick to my thoughts about them being aspec for now haha. I can't promise this will be coherent and make sense but I'll try my best!

This got pretty long, so I'll put the rest of this essay under the cut:

A lot of my opinions of marvel characters are influenced by the comics, especially for Maria since we were given so little of her in the MCU. She has an interesting vibe to her that just... sort of screams being entirely uninterested in anything romantic. She's a very private person anyway, but never expresses interest in wanting romance, but she still wants so desperately to keep those she cares about safe. It's not that she doesn't care, because she does, a WHOLE lot. She just cares about everyone in a very platonic, dutiful way. And yet, somehow, she gives off the biggest lesbian vibes in the world. Therefore, aromantic lesbian. It also somehow just makes sense to me that casual physical relationships would be easier for her to keep as a crucial member of an international secret organisation. Outside of her own team who is she going to date? She goes to a nice bar and she drinks a scotch and she waits for the nearest femme to take her home only to disappear in the middle of the night. Satisfy some urges, and prove to herself that she isn't an evil monster to the naked eye, two birds one stone. There's no real evidence to her having any sexual relationships (that i can think of anyway) but the vibes just sort of work to me, or at least that she would have them. Sometimes i think she's too much of a loser to ever actually go home with anyone. So, in that respect, I can also see her as being aroace too. She just generally has more important things to worry about and isn't necessarily interested in things she deems so personal and unimportant.

I wish I could beam the vibes in my head directly to you because I'm doing a terrible job of explaining them with words, but generally Maria comes off as a very cold character who actually cares very deeply about those around her and that can hit home for a lot of aspec misconceptions and stereotypes. As far as I know, she's never been in a relationship either, which for marvel comics is practically an olympic feat. In one comic she says Natasha is the person she trusts most in the world because shes lonely too, and that shes the only person that scares her. what is that if not lesbianism aspec solidarity

As for Natasha, well we all know what her past is like, and I don't think it's a stretch to say that she might have some trauma around it. But honestly I just like to think she would always be asexual bc it's fun. She's really the character I have less evidence for, but I'm a sucker for the trope of a character who is sexualised by everyone around her actually being a big softy who would rather cuddle. That woman could count on her hands how many times she's been hugged in her life, I think she'd truly get the most out of a relationship where she is shown innocent affection. She's been treated as a physical asset her entire life and I think she deserves to be wined and dined outside of that. Maybe its just me trying to break her free and projecting at the same time but let that woman be the little spoon.

IDK man, she just gives me vibes. She's a cutie. She's a hopeless romantic thrown into a world of people that think she's hot. She's been forced to live up to a role that feels like an act, and is only able to play it so well because none of it has felt real from the start. Sexuality has always been a game, and she's so good at playing because she's always been outside of it. The second someone shows her genuine romance she doesn't know what to do with herself. She likes to give people flowers.

In terms of dynamics together, I don't actually tend to mix them together in this way, I usually pick one or the other because the fic is focussed on them having a functional relationship. I do, however, think Maria would be very accomodating of Natasha if they were in a relationship with this specific dynamic, because as characters they have a very similar need of wanting to be loved for who they are as a person. And to Maria any sexual drive is always going to be second to a real human connection for the first time in her life.

Honestly, the dynamic should be great for angst but I can't find a way to make it work because theyre very similar characters to me. Even if Natasha needs someone to love her whole heartedly for herself, someone to love her innocently outside of her body, Maria is still going to give that to her. It might not be romantically, but she is desperate for human connection anyway. The worst I can think of is that Maria becomes frustrated with the fact that Natasha wants more from her, whilst not being able to tell her the full extent of her own attraction, so theyre both stuck at a bit of a stalemate. Suffering in silence through their friendship because they both want something the other isnt able to give and both of them are too soft hearted to ever force it

I think that's about all that I've got in the tank right now, so I hope that answered some of the curiosities you had! Let me know if you have any more specific questions, because i'm always happy to talk about them :)

[hxrsheykisses]

Alright so, this is requesting if maybe—perchance you could do my Oc Vierla and Pete?

I was thinking maybe they’re at the mall and these jocks come to harass her or cat call her, but Pete is having none of that so he defends his girlfriend, and with that as they exit out the mall she gives him a kiss and leaves pink lip mark on him.

Also here’s my oc, thank yiuuu :3 (I love your work 🫶)

💋 WORTH IT 💋 | Pete Dinunzio x Viera ♥️

THIS IS SO CUUUUUTE!!! I appreciate your love for my work, brings a smile to my face all the time!!♥️♥️♥️♥️💋

“Pete, calm down, it’s not a big deal, really.” Viera said softly, sending her boyfriend a gentle smile. She had a hand on his, caressing his thumb with reassurance. “Just ignore them.”

“Ignore them? Yeah, that’s rich.” Pete scoffed, glaring at the two jocks who were whispering amongst themselves while sending Viera suggestive glances from afar, laughing.

Pete couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the many times he has took Viera out somewhere nice to treat her, but whenever he does, so many guys want to oogle at Viera. It doesn’t matter if they are holding hands, kissing, or doing other things that make it clear as day that they are a couple. At first, he just sucked it up and tried to push it away from his mind. Just wanting to have a good day with his girlfriend. But then these guys started to get a little too…noisy.

When they first stepped into the mall, one of the jocks whistled over at her, sending her a smirk that only gave trouble. Pete sneered at the guy before dragging Viera away who was innocently looking around the mall for any stores to check out. That already set Pete off on a bad start.

Then, another jock followed them into the food court AND paid for her food and drink while Pete was literally about to pay for the both of them. Of course the asshole didn’t pay for Pete’s shit because he was only interested in getting in his girl’s good side. He wasn’t able to enjoy his food as he glared daggers at the jock from where he was seated.

Those two encounters were pure bullshit. How does one be so bold? It makes zero sense. Now, Pete knows that he can be an asshole from time to time but he doesn’t go out of his way to go and try to steal other guy’s girlfriends like it’s a sport. He knows how to keep himself in check and knows when something is too far—at least that’s what he thinks.

Pete understands that Viera is one beautiful girl—who wouldn’t want her? But there was so much more to see other than looks. Viera is a popular girl at their school—there’s no doubt about that. Pete was lucky to even get a relationship with her. But what made her truly stand out was how she wasn’t your stereotypical mean girl—she knew that she wasn’t going to get everything handed to her on a silver platter, she treated people with respect. That’s what he liked! He doesn’t need some snobby girl who finds spreading gossip to be entertaining—but he definitely wasn’t going to just fawn over her looks. She’s beautiful, drop dead gorgeous—but she is smart, has amazing style, listens to all of his geeky interests, and not to mention how she has character. She ain’t stereotypical, she actually has her own personality! She doesn’t need validation to get through life when she has herself.

And Pete hates how that’s all that these jocks see.

Viera gave Pete’s hand a squeeze. “Oh Pete,” She shook her head, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I appreciate you for being worried about me. But I ain’t going anywhere! Those guys aren’t nothing but jerks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete waved her off, looking over to the side. “I just—I don’t want people to just see you for your looks. That’s—That’s bullshit. Pisses me off.” He explained. His leg bounced at a fast pace underneath the table, trying to relieve his nerves.

“Well, they can think whatever they want too cause they aren’t going to see what they want to see. You think I care about some guys who don’t care what a girl has in stock unless it’s a pretty face? Oh give me a break!” Viera waited for Pete to say something, but he didn’t. He kept his eyes glued on the table, his jaw tight. Viera removed her hand from his to wrap around his arm, scooting closer to him. “You’re the only guy I’ll ever want, Pete.” She whispered, her voice was like music to his ears and it made his heart jump.

“…You really mean that? You aren’t just sayin’ that to—“

“I mean it all.”

Pete looked at her for a moment before a smile creeped in his face. “You’re right,”

“I’m always right.” Viera laughed.

“Yeah, okay.” Pete rolled his eyes at that. “Wanna go to that clothing shop you’ve been talking nonstop about?” Pete suggested, nodding towards the clothing department.

Viera got all excited as she stood up from her seat, dragging Pete up with her. They got all of their things before making their way towards the department, talking amongst themselves with smiles on their faces.

After Viera told Pete all of that, he felt a lot more comfortable. His nerves eased up and he was able to get back in the mood. Viera is right though, he shouldn’t stress over something like that. He knows that Viera wouldn’t just up and leave to go hang around with some jocks who only saw her pretty face and ran with it. That’s all the reassurance he truly needs—

“Hey hot stuff, could you lend me your number?”

That made Pete freeze up instantly, whipping his head to see no one other than the two jocks from all the other encounters, snickering and what not. Pete clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white with anger. It was clear that they didn’t have no shame for the shit they’ve been doing and they didn’t care to stop. Pete felt like he couldn’t keep his anger in check any longer as he unhooked his arm from Viera’s grip. “Pete?” She said, raising a brow as she watched her boyfriend storm over to the jocks. “Pete! Wait!”

With no hesitation, Pete glared at the two males, leaning close to them with a sneer. “You think your fuckin’ funny? All fucking day you’ve been catcalling MY girl! The fuck is your problem!?”

The two males looked at one another, going silent before breaking out in a laugh that only added more lemon to the wound. “And? What are you going to do about it? It’s not like she wants your nerdy ass any damn way.”

Pete was trying his hardest to not knock these guys out right now but he wanted to—he wanted to teach these guys that they needed to watch their fucking mouths. He wasn’t going to take the disrespect—he wasn’t going to allow Viera to experience such bullshit if he has the power to do something about it. “Doesn’t want me, huh?” Pete let out a scoff, rolling his eyes. “Yet she’s with me, asshole. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but I suggest you tune it down.” Pete threatened. “My girl ain’t just a pretty face. She’s way more than that. The reason why she doesn’t even LOOK your way is because she knows that you ain’t nothing but a pile of shit who sees nothing more other than ass, tits, and face.”

The jocks looked at Pete like he had lost his ever fucking mind but Pete didn’t care. Hes had his fair share with some physical fights and this was no different. He ain’t going to sit back and allow these assholes to talk about Viera like a piece of meat, they’ve had their fun—and now it was his turn. “I suggest you keep your damn mouths shut, jackasses.” Was the last thing Pete said before turning around, storming back towards Viera, grabbing her around the waist as he sped walked with her.

… .

It was a pretty awkward silence for the remainder of the trip in the mall. There was some small talk between the two but they didn’t really talk. While on their way out, Viera looked over at Pete who was effortlessly carrying the countless of shopping bags of her bought items in his hands. “Pete?” She said softly. Pete let out a grunt in response.

Viera smiled before leaning over and planting a glossy pink kiss on his cheek, resulting Pete to stop walking and stand there in shock. “Thank you for doing that for me,” Viera said, her voice was covered with appreciation. “I wouldn’t trade you for a thing.”

Pete kept his mouth shut in a thin line, feeling the heat rush to his face. He blinked, shaking his head slowly. He coughed to clear his throat bashfully, stammering over his words for a bit. “Uh, yeah…yeah,” Pete let out a sigh. “I…I guess it was worth almost getting my ass dropped in the Mall.”

“Oh, stop it! I’m sure you are able to take those guys on!”

Pete snapped his head towards her. “Oh, stop fucking with me.”

“It’s true! I’m being serious! If it came down to me, I know you would!”

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Am not!”

[baffledandbewildered]

“You can kill me,” Betty says, before she can talk herself out of it. Poll and Evi’s eyes light up, and she can’t bring herself to regret saying anything. They’re her… allies. They’ve been kind to her. She doesn’t lose anything by dying today - “You’ve got to give the heart back, and let me e-chest my stuff first,” she says hurriedly.

They both nod immediately, and Betty shakes her head fondly and goes to place her e-chest… 

“You’ve gotta let me leave the corner, you know,” she adds.

Evi mumbles something that sounds like a half-hearted complaint, but steps back a little, letting Betty sort through her gear. She glances up where Mari is circling above them before taking off her armour.

“Right - okay, yeah, you can kill me,” she says again, a little nervous now - she doesn’t care about dying to people she cares about, but armourless at spawn is a terrifying thing.

Pollock grins, takes out his sword, and in less than a second she’s gone, the world lighting up in a brief flare of pain that calms the moment she respawns in her bed under the ocean.

For a moment, she lays there, giggling, hand clamped over her mouth from residual paranoia. 

She was so scared of dying for so long. It’s good to be reminded that death doesn’t actually have to mean anything.

She grabs her gear and goes back to spawn, takes the heart Poll gives back to her with a laugh and presses it against her wrist, hissing a little as it settles into place alongside the others. For a moment, she’d worried she wouldn’t get it back - but they’re allies, and yes trust doesn’t come easy but their alliance is official and she doesn’t think either of the team would want to hurt her, despite the nagging voice in the back of her mind that reminds her that no one on this server is safe to be around.

She’s not sure she could call what she feels for Hamhams trust. It’s care, certainly - she’s not sure she wants to know how many hearts she’s given Evi4 over the last few weeks, and she’s tried her best to keep the both of them safe, to stand up for them - a flickering memory of sharing information and a plan with Evi crosses her mind, because messing with Hamhams is cruel and she doesn’t like it - but trust? Probably not. She knows it’s a risk to let someone kill her. She let them anyway. 

Maybe that is a kind of trust. She wouldn’t let Chips kill her all those weeks ago, even with the promise of returning the heart. She doesn’t like dying.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t want to think about it too much. If she starts thinking about alliances and allegiances and friends and enemies she’ll start to panic and she doesn’t want to go back to the frame of mind she was in a few weeks ago. She’s fine. She’s fine.

The next day finds her and Evi and Seri at spawn, and Seri dies to lava while Betty is still reeling from a couple of messages from Cogmented and suddenly Evi and Seri are arguing about a stolen elytra and she doesn’t know what to do. She tries to de-escalate, make Evi give it back because she knows that Nara would be well in his rights to kill for this and she doesn’t want to see another Evi4 death, not today, but she’s still shaken and confused and she’s never been the best of talking people out of things at the best of times.

And somehow things have spiralled even further, with Seri being chased halfway across the ocean and bitterly it feels almost like being a bodyguard again as she runs after the two of them, not sure who she wants to save.

Cog calls her a bad ally, her relationship with Hamhams a bad alliance. She can’t exactly blame him, or any of the others who echo that sentiment.

In the end, Seri dies, Evi4 dies, and she and Evi are left alone at spawn. 

“Do you want to blow something up?” Betty offers.

“Yes!”

They settle on the hillside under Nara’s bar, next to the waterfall they built the other day when they were first experimenting with TNT minecarts and windcharges. Betty stains her hands with gunpowder as she crafts more, and the second explosion they make goes a little wrong and sends them both stumbling, blows a hole in something they didn’t mean to.

“No one has to know…” Evi says slowly. Their crown is a little crooked, knocked loose by the explosion, and Betty fixes it with a giggle and they go back to explosions. They call it date night, just for fun.

Eventually, they have to stop before they actually destroy something important, so they start building instead - there’s about 10 shulkers on the ground and so many different blocks but they somehow make it work, Evi sets herself on fire a couple of times and when she accidentally steps on a shrieker Betty yelps like she’d been shocked but it’s funny and it’s fun and - it helps, after the last few hours they’ve had. 

Evi lets her rant about Cog, too, as they work - Betty feels bad but Evi claims not to mind, and the funny insults and comments help, a lot, and by the time they’re done with the build she can joke about being mischaracterised without feeling like she’s going to pass out. She thinks it hurt Evi too, being called a bad ally, because occasionally she mentions something about their “mutually beneficial alliance” and it sounds bitter. It’s petty, maybe, but she’s glad.

Eventually, they judge the build done, and sit together on the blackstone stairs watching the sunset. Usually, Betty turns her face away in those final minutes of day, but this time watching the golden glow fade in the distance doesn’t cause something to twist in her chest. 

As they worked, earlier, Evi4 told her a secret, an important one, and the trust in that made Betty’s heart warm. She wants to give something back.

“I have a secret of my own,” she says, carefully keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. “I’ll tell you it if you want. Not today, not here. But - I want you to know, I think.”

The next day, they meet at a stronghold - it’s not the most hidden location to disclose the most important secret of Betty’s life, not with the nether roof portal right next to them, but Evi4 wants an end-portal table and she’s not going to argue with that, even if the thought of being overheard makes her feel faint.

Betty’s been shaky all day, unable to concentrate on anything but the looming conversation - it won’t be the first time she’s said this story out loud, but it’s different today.

“Mmmm,” Evi4 says, looking around at the room. “You can talk while I decorate.”

So. Betty does. She paces as she speaks, shaking hands shoved in the pockets of her cardigan, and she doesn’t look at Evi unless Evi makes some strange comment but that helps, a lot. Poll shows up 20 minutes late to the conversation, signs a hello, and she has to restart the story for him, but by that point the panic is… lessened. Still there, simmering in her chest, but it’s manageable. And HamHams are easy to talk to - apart from when Evi decides it’s a funny bit to say “Hi Cogmented” every time she mentions his name - it makes her flinch each time, heart rate spiking briefly, but it also makes her laugh. They make her laugh a lot, honestly, Poll at one point waving for her attention then signing something that she sends her on a tangent for a good few minutes.

She needs that, really. It’s - scary, talking about this, the guilt a stabbing pain in her chest as she speaks.

Hamhams don’t try to tell her it’s not her fault. Instead, when Betty explains why, Evi, who’s been staring silently for the last few minutes, yells “BAD DECISION!”

And… he’s right. It was a bad decision. And despite the fear choking her, her shaking hands, it feels good not to be immediately dismissed. To have her mistakes recognised, and for it not to matter.

It was a bad decision. And they don’t care. 

She lets Evi kill her, when they leave the meeting room. Being Evi4, they decide to punch her to death, but the entire time they’re both laughing and Betty can’t really find it in herself to care, even as she respawns in a deepslate room with faded bruises on her skin. 

Once again, they meet at spawn, and she gets the heart back. This time it’s through Evi grabbing her hand and pressing the heart against her palm, then not letting go and using the hold to drag Betty towards the hole to bedrock and make her jump in after him.

Hamhams have the oddest ability to make the scariest situations… not. It was the same when they first spoke about allying. The conversation itself wasn’t difficult, really, but watching Poll hide his hands from her so he can sign something privately to Evi was nerve-wracking after the day she’d had so far - but within minutes she was laughing again at something he said. It’s nice.

Betty has a date with Ace the day after… the conversation. Date night 2, to use the official name, the not-at-all-flimsy cover story. Betty’s been on a lot of dates this week, and it makes her giggle when she thinks of it. 

Evi4 shows up midway through, invisible, to hand Betty three stacks of gold blocks with a hurried promise that they’re not stolen, then disappears again, but not without showing them his new armour - stolen from Cogmented, because Evi had killed it only a few hours ago - that was an awesome thing to wake up to. 

A little while later Evi finds them again, and there’s a strange look in their eyes when they look between Betty and Ace. It doesn’t feel threatening, just… thinking. Betty wants to know what they’re thinking - it’s weird, standing between the two people she’s - really, they should have a talk about labels at some point.

She finds out what Evi4 was thinking the next day. They’re just - talking, gossiping if she’s honest, and Evi is complaining about Void - “He told me to kill Ace cause Ace had an elytra after I - failed the first mace kill,” she says.

Betty freezes. Ace. “What the fuck?” she says. “What the fuck?”

“I thought about it… very briefly! But you and Ace are lovely sooo.”

“Thank you,” Betty says quietly, automatically, mind whirring. Her hands itch to grab her e-chest, look through the shulker full of books and flowers and all the other things Ace gave her - she knows the words off by heart, so she stops herself, but god it still hurts. “I - what.”

“Mhmm.”

“Can I - tell - someone? I - fuck, I don’t -”

“Only if they don’t tell…”

“Ah, alright, okay - I won’t, I just - I’m - that’s - I don’t - is this to try and break us up? Like - what the fuck -”

“What is wrongggg with himmmmm oh my god,” Evi groans.

Betty laughs shakily. She doesn’t speak for a little while more, then - “I just - can I talk to him about this?”

“Do whatever you want forever BettyIsBaffled,” Evi4 says, and it’s so reminiscent of another person who Betty misses so much that she flinches.

“Okay. Okay. I will.”

They part ways, and Betty gives in to the urge to sort through her e-chest, taking out a single allium and holding it gently in her hands. She doesn’t particularly want to look at the books - the most recent one still stings, slightly, and even though she knows things are better now she doesn’t want to think about the Gameshow and all that happened after.

The Gameshow. She puts the flower down before her shaking hands can crush it, then pulls another book out of her e-chest, this one unsigned. She doesn’t need to read this one, either, really, but she flicks through the pages anyway.

Void’s hurt Evi too - they deserve a win. Betty needs to stop feeling so conflicted.

So now she grabs her communicator and types out a message for Evi4.

I’ve thought of a really funny idea. Do you wanna try get Void with the mace when I speak to him later?

Of course, it isn’t that simple. He agrees to the location Betty and Evi had decided on earlier in the day, but plants rose bushes around him as they talk - the mace now won’t work, there’s so many panicked messages in Betty’s communicator and then an offer: Yo I’ve got TNT minecarts?

Betty doesn’t even think before responding. Do it.

Void claims he didn’t mean anything by the Ace comment. She believes them, and it does make guilt twist a little in her chest but that’s a familiar feeling by now and she swallows it down, tries to keep them talking because Evi needs a little more time for this to work -

In the end, she dies mid-sentence, the phantom sound of the explosion still ringing in her ears as she respawns. She can’t breathe for a long long moment, all the air in her lungs gone, then she gasps and the world comes back to her. It - worked? It worked. She laughs, giddy. 

Oh she is fucked, but - it worked! They did it.

She messages Evi immediately: Are you safe?

Evi says he is, so Betty digs herself down to bedrock and decides she can wait here for a little bit. There’s no point being stupid. Consequences will come sooner or later, and she can happily wait for that. 

Except… she doesn’t exactly get the chance. Evi4 dies, and their spawn point is public so moments later she’s receiving messages about Pathogen at their spawn point - Betty doesn’t even know why the entire bloody megateam is involved in this. It seems overkill but hey that’s the Pathogen way at this point…

Fuck she doesn’t know what to do especially when Evi dies, and again and Betty’s frantically messaging them trying to work out a way to get them out of spawn because Betty’s fine dying again if it means Evi is okay but Evi either doesn’t answer or answers with nonsense or “Don’t ever come back to spawn” at one point and Betty’s awful at ignoring order’s but she can’t just stay here. 

If she’s honest, Betty’s pretty close to a panic attack now, pacing back and forth in the tiny stone room she’s carved out with her now-close-to-breaking pickaxe, vision blurred with tears she won’t allow to fall - she doesn’t know if they’ll let Evi go if she goes back and if she dies she won’t be able to help at all but she doesn’t know what to do - 

In the end, she doesn’t have to choose. Nara comes and picks her up from her cave beneath the ocean, escorts her back to spawn, and Evi’s there, alive, and she runs over to them immediately. Evi4 is - he looks a little battered, bloody, his dress is torn but he’s alive and that’s what matters.

“I’m sorry - for getting you killed,” Betty says immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t even worry, bro,” Evi says, then dramatically, a little clumsily, kisses her on the cheek, giggling.

Betty laughs weakly. It’s - well. That’s Evi4, really. 

She’s suddenly so so aware of the soot stains on her clothes, the throbbing half-healed burns across the left side of her body. There’s deepslate dust under her nails, and it looks almost like the gunpowder from when she built the TNT minecarts for their first date - she tears her mind away from that thought before the shaking can start again. She’s so tired.

“Can we leave?” she begs.

They end up going to the drowned farm. Betty sits on the side, tapping her fingers anxiously against the wood as they wait for drowneds to spawn - Evi needs hearts, after all. 

Evi4, who has died twice, who had offered to take the blame for this fully - it’s purposeful kindness. It’s not something Betty’s used to - she usually grows to care through circumstance, shared experiences, but Evi is trying. From the secrets shared with no expectation of anything in return, to the care for the things Betty built, to unspoken apologies, to self-sacrifice -

She thinks she trusts them. It’s taken her a while to realise.

The sun’s setting now, and the gold light reflects off Evi’s crown as they wander randomly around the platform, fishing rod in hand - the next thing Betty knows there’s a fishing hook tangled in her hair and she’s being tugged forwards, laughing, complaining, until Evi puts the fishing rod down with a giggle and pushes her towards the drowneds. Betty doesn’t even think about the sunset as she kills the monsters and rifles through the chests for shells, holding them out with a smile that is brightly echoed. 

Yeah. She trusts them.

[imaginespazzi]

Are you watching UCLA vs Maryland rn??

Also, give me your postgame thoughts from yesterday Nivi 😩 I wanna talk hoops LMAO

I did watch UCLA and Maryland and it looks like Maryland used my "playbook" as in I've been saying that for most teams, the way to beat UCLA might be to let Lauren Betts beat them while trying to contain everyone else and boy oh boy did Lauren Betts beat them. Like 33 pts? 14/15 shooting? LIKE SHE'S INSANE YOUR HONOR.

Oh boy Creighton thoughts...

Thank god for Sarah Strong

LIKE THANK GOD FOR SARAH STRONG

Also thank god for Paige Bueckers remembering who the fuck she is

Probably would've remembered earlier if she was GIVEN THE FUCKING BALL

Anyways in all honesty, I was sort of expecting a wonky performance last night because, it's been a hot sec since were on the road and it's been a hot minute since we've played anyone decent and Creighton is absolutely a decent team. Like do not let anyone fool y'all, that a tournament team that I think definitely has the potential to pull off an upset to get to the second weekend.

That's not to say I wasn't disappointed, especially at Geno fucking Auriemma who apparently watched us use his "slashed offensive playbook" and play the best we have all season and decided "hmm ackshually I don't think I will do this again" until that plan backfired and we had to wait till the 2nd half to go back to what works: PG PAIGE

Azzi had a terrible offensive night. I've seen a lot of discourse and ultimately it comes down to both the fact that she, herself was not doing enough AND of course the team also didn't do enough. She started off the game aggressive enough but then I think, partly due to fouls, partly due to her shots just not falling and also partly due to her teammates making some insane choices instead of passing to her, she pretty much stopped moving on offense and then ended up passing some shots (hand offs, maybe a middy or two) that she should take and in most instances probably would make.

But for what it's worth, I'm not worried about Azzi. I am getting a little worried about the team not doing enough though because we're at back-to-back games of her not having a single three-point attempt in the first half and that's simply not gonna fly.

KC had an abysmal shooting night. And quite frankly it's unacceptable because she was missing wide open things. The Creighton coach even said postgame that they were purposely letting her get those easy shots and her barely making any of them is not good. Coaches will look at this game and do the same thing and she needs to make them pay. Her not making those shots is also a part of why Azzi had such a hard time getting open because Creighton took the gamble to put a lot more attention on Azzi and their defense deserved credit for that because it definitely paid off and a part of that is on KC.

Which (I fear this is turning into a rant despite my use of bullet points) is why I don't think this KC-Paige-Azzi backcourt is tha answer. Forcing all three of them to play in a way that doesn't suit their respective playstyle is a recipe for disaster and we keep seeing it. A lot of these Paige and Azzi clashing takes on twitter stem from the fact that they're both forced to play SG sometimes and they move so similar on offense (which is what makes them lethal when they play as a PG-SG duo) that it ultimately limits one of them.

Jana....layups babe please. Listen I am a big proponent of Geno needs to be giving Jana more minutes but at the same time, if you're blowing fucking bunnies every game, there is only so much I can say. Then again, the answer to that, to increase her development is that she needs time on the floor.

Lowkey thought Ice gave some really nice minutes? More of that please?

KK brining the energey as per usual but babygirl HOW MANY MORE TIMES ARE WE GOING TO SEE THAT SAME DRIVING INTO THE PAINT MOVE AND THEN GETTING BLOCKED/STUCK MOVE? It doesn't work. You are not 6'+. PLEASE STOP. I do not need a Sania Feagin/Chloe Kitts blocking you highlight on the SC page of February 16th thank you.

Ash great hustle on rebounds and it's why she should be starting at the 3!

So if Aubrey not playing yesterday was her decision, then I'm more than okay with that. However, we only have 10 games left and if it was a Geno decision then I definitely do question. I'm very confused with how he's managing her minutes. Not the amount, but the fact that she's playing in garbage time and not with starters. If we wants her to be useful in March, she needs to be playing in lineups that will actually be used in March/April.

CAROLINE PRACTICING!! Love to see it. Refusing to get my hopes too high but I just love seeing her out there <3

[bloodcoveredgf]

longlegs is a movie about mother/daughterhood for real. throws up thinking about it actually

[kaerinio]

i’ll write a full headcanon/meta about the fact that daenerys is very much a feeler, but due to the abuse she suffered during her childhood, leading into her adolescence, she has learned to cope with her feelings by repressing them —  —  — and, later, as queen, she often tells herself that her feelings do not matter so long as her people are safe, prosperous, and thriving.

daenerys does feel. god, she feels very strongly, and she is fully aware of this, which is why she is constantly reminding herself that “the dragon does not weep” and that she is a queen who cannot appear too emotional ( or weak ) in front of her people, her council, her handmaids, everyone. she must be strong for everyone, must carry them all, allowing no burden to befall them. and much of this responsibility is born out of daenerys' transformation in the eyes of her people.

daenerys is deified by her people the moment they name her mother of dragons, breaker of chains, mother, mhysa, etc. these moments, which take place over the span of a couple years solidify this stripping away of her status as simply human. that first shift from khaleesi to mother of dragons signals a transformation to daenerys, and this is the moment where she is reborn, not only in her sense of self, but she is reborn for her people, going from a young woman to a legendary figure. and daenerys both recognizes this . . . and chooses to honor it.

additionally, there is a split for daenerys between all of her titles that signal who she is in the PUBLIC ( where she is the dragon queen, the mother of dragons, the strong leader, the conqueror, the nurturer ) and in the PRIVATE ( where we see her smiling, laughing, allowing herself to be herself, reading childhood stories that enable her to reclaim the youth that is so distant, so robbed ). everyone has their public and private ways of being, and they have the ability to live within these spaces in harmony. this is the case for daenerys, but something that has always struck me is how she utilizes her PUBLIC SPACE self in order to create emotional distance when she feels HURT. not only does she “dragons don’t feel” herself, but we also see her use her public self as a means of shoving her feelings down. 

to those close to her, dany isn't particularly strict about titles. for instance, jorah refers to her interchangeably as “daenerys” and “your grace”. daario does the same. however, in moments where she feels particularly sensitive to what they are saying, feels too exposed/too seen, she corrects them, tosses her title at them, retreats into untouchable space because she knows that her public space self is, in a way, untouchable. and she believes this space must be void of her own personal feelings ; thus, in these moments, she shifts her self in order to protect her feelings and create distance between herself, these emotions, and the person who is stirring the emotions. 

[francesderwent]

“Lockwood,” I said, “I need to apologize. About recently. I’ve not been myself.”

It was a tight corridor; we walked almost side by side, following the beam of light. His voice was calm and quiet in the dark. “Well, neither have I,” he said. “After what happened at the Wintergarden house, I’m afraid I haven’t treated you very well. I know I might’ve seemed standoffish. It’s just—” he took a deep breath—“I didn’t trust myself to be with you. I was too anxious about what might happen.”

I stepped carefully over a fallen stone. Water was pooling around our feet. “Um, what might happen in exactly what sense?”

“In an operative situation, when our lives were in danger. Your Talent is just so extraordinary, Lucy—yes, we go left here; I know it looks like sewage, but it’s algae, mostly—I mean, I heard you talking to that thing just now. It’s getting easier for you, isn’t it? It’s not just the skull anymore. It’s unique, your Talent, but it makes you so vulnerable. And I have to look out for you.”

Something knotted tightly in my chest. In the dark of my mind I saw again the palely smiling face. “No, Lockwood, you really don’t. You mustn’t. It’s not your responsibility to—”

“But it is, Luce. Look, I know I don’t talk about it, but it’s happened to me before. Losing someone dear to me. I can’t let it happen again.”

[featherymainffins]

Ough I fucking hate holidays because it is my duty as a child to visit my parents and just take whatever the fuck happens to me.