#i DESPISE losing progress like that

[sage-nebula]

Side Order has taught me something very valuable about myself:

I do not enjoy roguelikes.

[angelstrawbabie420]

grief will have you saying shit like goddamn and fuck maybe the abuse was worth it

[nekrophoria]

Okay, yeah I give up.

[qqueenofhades]

There is no law that prevents a convicted felon from running for and becoming president, nor a law that bans someone from being president in prison. Also, if Trump gets incapacitated in someway, many ultra right republicans who equally despise trans people and immigrants and Muslims would happily take his place

And I ask, with all due respect, what is your point?

Do you think I don't know that?

Do you think I am somehow convinced that everything is hunky dory now and we don't have any work left to do?

Are you just determined to be the first of the gloom-and-doomers who show up like clockwork in my inbox, every time some consequence happens to Trump, to morosely insist that no consequences will happen to him? First it was "he'll win re-election." Then it was "the coup will succeed." Then it was "he will never be indicted." Then it was "2022 will be a red wave!" Then it was "he will never be tried." Then it was "he will never be convicted." Now we've moved on, within less than 2 hours of the first US President ever to be convicted of ONE felony, let alone THIRTY-FOUR, "he'll never be sentenced or face a real consequence or lose the election." The goalposts keep moving RIGHT along without even a single pause to acknowledge the difficulty and the value of the progress we have made thus far, and it makes me CRAZY.

Do you people realize how fucking rare it is, both in the world today and historically, for a former (and would-be future) head of state to be held to criminal account by a jury of 12 anonymous ordinary citizens? When that one person, Trump, is the center of the malignant fascist cancer that has spread through this country ever since 2016, and plenty of his cultists are still insisting that it's Trump or nobody for them? When we've actually reached the stage of holding him legally accountable for (some of) his crimes for the first time in his miserable misbegotten life? I suspect that most of you are so deep in the "America is totally broken and the system is useless and we can only Revolute!!!1" rabbit hole that you're bound and determined to argue away every step we take, however slow, as Meaning Nothing TM. Voting? Fake. Fighting to make real progress? Also fake. Everything is fake except our belief that everything is broken and we need the Keyboard Warrior Glorious Revolution!!! As long as you can keep inventing ever more contorted twists of logic to ignore everything else that's happened so far, this makes sense... or something. I guess?

Now we're onto "removing Trump won't matter :(" when a whole lot of people have been fighting day and fucking night to get all the privileged-princess Online Leftists to get off their Che Guevara cosplaying asses and cast a single fucking vote to keep us from full-on-sliding into fascism. A slide into fascism that, again, has been spearheaded and centered around Trump's toxic cult of personality and which is still tied to him in almost every way. Apparently holding him to account (again, which has never happened to him in his life) already doesn't matter because wah wah he won't suffer any consequences. If he loses this election he's probably going to jail for the rest of his life! We would have electorally defeated the greatest threat to the American democratic experiment in 250 years, and frankly a huge part of the fascist far-right hydra that is currently attempting a comeback around the world! This is, yet again:

THE FIRST TIME ANY AMERICAN PRESIDENT, EVER, HAS BEEN CONVICTED OF MULTIPLE FELONY CHARGES IN A COURT OF LAW BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS

and yet we're still hearing that nothing matters and no work has been done and removing him will have no effect???

Come on. Come on. I know it's tiring and it's slow and it doesn't go as fast as we want. But every single damn time the process goes another step, here you people are in my inbox insisting that we're still at zero progress and it means nothing, and lemme tell you, I am Tired of it. Come on. You don't have to jump up and down (my own feeling is glee and vindication but still not relaxation, I will not relax until he loses the fucking election and goes to jail), but you also don't need to keep myopically pretending that all the effort thus far by so many people means nothing. Come on.

[lis-likes-fics]

The Sound of His Voice

Pairings: Spencer Reid x agent!Reader Word Count: 3k words Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/vague gore, mentions of death and murder, standard Criminal Minds stuff, fluff otherwise... A/N: I started watching CM a while ago and now I can't stop so enjoy this. There will be more, I dunno when. (Should I be working on my months-in-progress-wips? Yes, I absolutely should. Am I? Mostly. I'm trying my best)

Morgan rubs his temple, digging his fingers into the side of his forehead as he shakes his head. Tapping his pen on the desk, he tosses down his file. “But here's what I don't get,” he says, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. “If the unsub thinks of his victims as prey, even going as far as to torture the victim, why go through all the trouble of tucking them into bed?”

Hotch looks back at the picture in his own hands, where he had been analyzing the scene for the hundredth time in search of something he missed the first hundred. He shrugs, “Tucking them in can usually indicate signs of remorse.”

JJ motions to the pictures. “Yeah, but look at this guy. Does this look remorseful to you?”

You lift a shoulder, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Could be a second unsub.”

You are a relatively new addition to the team. It was your fifth case with them, but they already treated you like part of the team, like family. It was easy to sink into the ebb and flow of everything, especially when they trust your skills and instincts and let you know when you're doing something wrong so you know not to do it again.

But this case was difficult. Your unsub had a strange profile: an organized, white male, with surgical experience and the MO reminiscent of a cat. He kills men and women alike, and the only connection between his victims have been their smaller statures.

The age range itself was too wide, though there was a slight reoccurrence of ages between 25 and 35. But it was still too wide, either way, not enough to work with.

He ties up and tortures them before finally ending their lives with strangulation. He uses his bare hands to get the job done, which makes him a sexual sadist. As if that wasn't enough, he carves out the victim’s heart after death and takes it as a trophy.

He shows plenty of psychopathic characteristics, but he also fits the profile of a sociopath, so it's hard to make anything stick. His MO suggests a lack of empathy and guilt, but the bed-tucking… You always lose him with the bed-tucking…

Morgan shakes his head a little, humming. “But we already ruled out multiple unsubs,” he says. You nod gently. “Besides, if this guy is mimicking the hunting habits of a cat, he would hunt alone, wouldn't he?”

Reid’s head perks up. He points a pen in Morgan's direction as he shakes his head. “Actually, no.” He licks his lips, and he's grabbed your attention like a siren to a sailor. “It's a very common misconception that cats are loners, but it's untrue. Cats prefer the companionship of others just as much as a human being would.”

You lean toward him a bit across the table, watching him as he speaks, his hands moving to illustrate his words as he does. “People often think, because of their aloof nature, that they like to be left alone or actually despise the presence of other people, including their owners or other cats—which is why people believe them to be low maintenance creatures. But they are just as social as, say, a dog. Actually, it's interesting, big cats like lions, or sometimes even cheetahs, hunt in packs to take down larger prey. Domestic cats–”

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, making a cutting motion with his hand to his neck.

Your eyes turn back to Spencer, who seems to retreat in on himself a bit as he gives an apologetic smile and a small nod. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his lips in a wide smile.

You set a hand on the table, shaking your head. “No, keep going. That was interesting.”

Spencer looks at you with these eyes that seem to shine. Your heart feels fonder, warmer, at the sight of him.

“We really don't have time to go through all of this,” Hotch says, his tone final.

“I mean,” you continue. Since joining the team, you've grown a certain affinity toward Spencer and his genius mind. Every time he's gone on his tangents, you've become enchanted by the words coming out of his mouth like he's put some sort of spell over you. You lift a shoulder, gesturing toward him. “If this guy is basing his MO off the hunting patterns of cats, we should…know everything we need to know about them, right?”

Hotch looks at you, his face hard and unreadable. You're unsure if he's considering your proposal or just trying to intimidate you. But then he sighs, his crossed arms loosening a little as he turns to Spencer.

“Reid?”

Spencer looks between you and Hotch, relenting hesitantly as he starts off slow. “Well…I was going to say domestic cats are solitary hunters but sociable creatures.” He picks up his normal speed once more, “They can be very affectionate, especially toward their owners and other cats within their households. They're also one of the only types of cats who play with their prey before killing them, which could be a reason this unsub tortures his victims so extensively in his murders.”

“Wait…” Prentiss says, catching all of your attentions. “You said ‘affectionate toward their owners’.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods.

She waves her hands gently, “How do cats show affection for their owners?”

Spencer shrugs, “Um, bunting, purring, some scratch, sometimes they leave offerings, like dead rodents, around the house–”

“Right there!” Prentiss exclaims. “They leave offerings.”

You sit up, “The hearts.”

Hotch’s dark brows furrow. “You're saying this unsub is taking the hearts as an offering to someone else?”

Spencer thinks over that, nodding. “It's possible.”

JJ sighs. “But that still doesn't explain why we wouldn't have identified a second unsub earlier.”

Spencer holds out a hand, pointing with his pen. “Actually, it could. You see, cats also have the tendency to mimic the people they hold affection for. We might not have noticed a second MO because the submissive unsub may be mimicking the dominant one.”

“Or learning from him,” Morgan says.

“Learning?” Hotch asks.

Morgan glances around, “Well, if we're sticking so close to this cat thing, older cats often nurture the young and teach them to hunt.” He shrugs, “We could be looking at…brothers? Older and younger?”

“Or lovers,” JJ suggests. She points to a picture, the image of a chest carefully carved open to reveal a missing heart. “If the hearts are offerings, it could be a Valentine.”

“And the bed-tucking?” you ask.

Hotch picks up the picture of one of the victims, “safely” and securely tucked into bed…put to sleep. “Well, if the hearts are offerings for a lover, this unsub is sentimental. He could feel some type of sympathy or guilt for the victim and want to ‘put them to sleep’ after the torture.” He studies the image, a flash of unease behind his eyes that you know all too well. He sets it down.

“Okay, so how do we find them?” Prentiss asks, clicking her pen before setting it down to begin a definitive course of action.

Spencer points to yet another picture. “Look at these injuries. These incisions are surgical,” he clarifies. “So the dominant is a doctor or a—a veterinarian, which can be implied through his intimate knowledge of cats’ behaviors.”

“And the submissive might work under him as a nurse or an assistant,” you continue, adding on to his clever insight. He glances over at you, smiling almost giddily at your understanding.

Hotch turns to Morgan. “Do you think that's enough to work with?”

Morgan thinks for a moment, his shrug melding into a nod as he turns back to Hotch. “To fit in with the rest of the profile,” he hums, “I'd say so.”

“Okay.” Hotch nods firmly. “We'll present the profile ASAP. Morgan, get Garcia to search for any vets in the area with any records of assault charges.” He says this all while taking long strides toward the door, his red tie bouncing slightly with his movements.

Prentiss follows him with her gaze as he exits. “You think the unsub is aggressive?”

He turns briefly. “Look at the bruising on the neck. The torture alone is an indicator of anger and frustration, but the way the victim was strangled suggests force. Much more than necessary just to crush a windpipe. He's an organized killer with a lot of rage. If he moves more along the lines of a sociopath, our best guess is he's had some kind of trouble with the law at some point in his life,” he concludes. Glancing aside, he speaks again, a little more firmly. “Morgan.”

“On it,” he says, his phone already ready to contact Garcia on speed dial.

“And Reid,” Hotch says, focusing his hard stare on the younger agent.

He stiffens, straightening his back and awaiting his response. “Yes?”

There's a pause as Hotch examines him silently. With a single nod, he says, “Good work.”

He glances at you. A nod.

You nod back.

Hotch leaves in a hurry, and your gaze immediately and instinctively flicks to Spencer. He smiles at you, turning away as though he was shyly hiding that same smile.

~

There were two unsubs: a surgical veterinarian and his nurse. You caught them just in time, just as that knife was gleaming in the golden light of the lamps swinging above the three bodies down in the basement of the submissive unsub’s house.

And now you soared 40,000 feet above the ground with another killer put away for good.

Everyone's in their own spirit, placing you across the aisle from JJ and Spencer in their own booths, a crochet set in your lap as you continue one of your projects. Emily's eyes linger on JJ, watching the crease of her brow as she studies case files.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, setting her book to the side to shift her attention. Derek darts his eyes up from his own book, lifting his brow as he does it.

JJ looks up, breathing in and lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don't know about you,” she says, “but I know that if I got an actual human heart on Valentine's Day, me and my alleged partner would have some serious issues.”

Snorts and chuckles lift from multiple places among the seats, heads shaking and attentions shifting back to their own activities.

But as soon as you hear the first lilt of Spencer's voice, like clockwork, you're a fish on a hook.

“Actually,” he begins, “if we were set back thousands of years, that would not be a very unusual occurrence.” He licks his lips quickly, “You see, Valentine's Day’s origins actually go back to a festival called Lupercal, or Lupercalia. The festival was in itself a very violent and sexually charged affair that lasted roughly three days—from the 13th to the 15th—set in Rome. Its traditions were carried out in two separate locations, firstly–”

“Alright,” JJ rises to her feet, her eyes wide in annoyance as she closes her case file in a large announcement to Spencer. “I'm getting coffee. Do you want anything?”

Spencer purses his lips, that same wide, apologetic grin covering his face as he leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “Uh, no. All good here.”

She nods, turning to walk away, “Great.”

You watch JJ leave, your eyes fall back upon Spencer, who's pulling his book back into his palms to turn his focus back on the pages. His eyes flit over the words at lightning speed, absorbing the information and moving to the next.

Taking your crochet set in your hands, you stand and plop down in JJ’s old spot. Spencer's eyes darts up to you, glancing between you and his book as you set your stuff down and readjust your yarn.

Beginning again, you nod toward him. “You were saying?”

Spencer, his eyes wide and confused and his lips parted in wonder and his cheeks a little pink, stares at you. After remembering he had to respond, he sputters in an attempt to.

“Uh, it's-it's really not that…interesting,” he mumbles, trailing off at the end as he sets his book down, his fingertips pressing against the edge of the desk between the both of you.

“Well,” you look up at him, setting your elbow on the table and tucking your first underneath your chin, “I was very interested.”

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. His lips form the word before it comes out of his mouth. “You were?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

Looking at him for a moment—just looking at him for a moment—you take in the pretty sight of his bewildered expression, fascination and confusion and excitement crossing his face in a flurry of emotion.

You move your elbow from the table and pick up your hook, nodding toward him before training your eyes on your work again as you await his words. “Firstly?” you prompt.

Scrambling to organize his thoughts, Spencer nods. As the words form in his brain, he smiles as he thrusts himself into another rant, speaking a little softer so as not to aggravate the rest of the team.

“Well, firstly, the uh— The-the first location was in a cave called Lupercus—named after the Roman fertility god that the celebration was dedicated to—and the second is a public meeting place called the Comitium.”

You tilt your head toward him, smiling a little. “Like the word ‘committee’.”

“Exactly like the word ‘committee’,” he beams.

Your attention, as hard as you tried to split it, becomes entirely caught up in Spencer as you forget about your project and focus your gaze entirely on him. You set your arms on the table separating you and watch as he speaks, your smile definitely too love-sick to be a hint anymore. He seems to lean in closer.

“So how did Lupercalia become Valentine's Day?” you wonder aloud.

“Well,” he starts, prompting a larger grin from you, “in the late 5th century A.D., Pope Gelasius I eliminated it and declared February 14th a day to celebrate the martyrdom of Saint Valentine instead—although it's highly unlikely he intended the day to commemorate love and passion as it is celebrated now. In fact, some modern biblical scholars warn Christians not to celebrate Valentine's Day at all, due to its Pagan roots and rituals.”

You hum, your eyes taking glances at the stretch of his skin over his fingers and the way they move when he speaks.

“Do you celebrate Valentine's Day?” you ask gently, speaking slowly.

His hands fall back down to his lap, and he shakes his head as he straightens his posture a bit. “Well…I don't usually have anyone to celebrate it with, so… No, not really.”

Feeling the shyness slipping into your veins, you set your hands on the table and let your fingers slowly inch toward him, staring at them inside of his eyes. You don't want to see the rejection if it lives there, in his eyes.

You speak slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “Would you like to have someone to celebrate it with?”

He swallows thickly, letting one hand lift onto the table, still close to him but building up courage to maybe meet you in the middle. “Like…” he clears his throat quietly. “Like you?”

You offer a right smile, finally flicking your eyes up to meet his and feeling giddy at the light blush on his cheeks, the nervous wideness of his gaze. “I promise no actual hearts.”

You watch him, and again…his eyes, his Adam's apple, his cheeks, his lips. “Uh…yeah,” he stutters. “Yeah, sure. I'll be your…your Valentine.”

You smile, a wide smile that splits your face in two. Spencer's own grin follows suit. Looking past you, he catches the eyes of Derek, who smirks and offers a cheesy thumbs up, proud of him for securing you as he did.

His gaze falls back to you when you begin to speak, your voice just as song-ish to him as his is to you. You're both equally as infatuated as the other. “You know,” you trail off slowly, “supposedly, Saint Valentine might be so commonly associated with our day of love because there are rumors that he used to perform secret weddings against the wishes of the authorities in the third century.”

He nods slowly, his brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, that's right…” Licking his bottom lip, he speaks again. “You already knew all that stuff about Lupercalia, didn't you?”

You smile, your face squished a bit as you raise your hands and close your thumb and forefinger close together. “Maybe a little,” you whisper. But then you shrug and just keep looking at him. “But I like listening to you talk.”

Spencer suddenly doesn't think you're real, but he isn't about to question it if you aren't. There's someone who enjoys his tangents. He isn't going to jeopardize that.

“Oh,” is all he says.

With your crocheting long forgotten, you lean forward on the table and give him every ounce of attention in your mind. With a fond smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye, you rest your chin on your folded hands. “You should tell me about…” you pause, thinking, before you smile curls even more, “bees.”

His brows lift as he nods. “Okay, well,” he starts, “did you know the first civilization to practice widespread, organized beekeeping was the Ancient Egyptians, who began beekeeping around 2,500 BCE?”

Your brows lift in fascination. You shake your head, “No, I didn't.”

His smile grows. “Well…”

For the remainder of the flight, Spencer talks and talks and talks, his voice quiet and meant solely for you as he talks about whatever you want: bees and wine and marbles and Halloween. He keeps smiling at you, as you keep smiling at him. Somewhere along the way, he officially asks you on a date, and you both get off the jet together to get a cup of coffee.

You love the way he talks.

Criminal Minds taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[kitasgloves]

Having thoughts about arranged marriage au! with FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY. He only married you to get associated with your family's wealth. Oh, but poor naive you, who always believed in fairy tales and love stories. You believed you could love a mysterious, cynical, and dark man like Fyodor.

How pathetically determined you were trying to win his affection. Fyodor thought you were some sort of idiot for not taking a hint that he wasn't interested in romance. You two didn't share a room even if you two were married. There were no tender sentiments or words from him. He told you he wasn't keen on physical affection, surprise gifts, planned dates, or celebrating anniversaries. He strictly told you to keep your distance and listen to everything he said. The fact that you were eager to obey him made him think of you as positively foolish.

However, you were persistent. You tried to cook him food and sneak him small gifts. You made attempts to sing him love songs and throw small parties. You were a true romantic who believed in the magic of love. You were eager to have your husband fall for you as you fell for him.

Unfortunately, Fyodor was at his breaking point. You were so damn annoying and stubborn that it was getting difficult to contain his frustration with you. He snaps at you during dinner when you've planned another extravagant surprise for him.

"Didn't I tell you to quit that? We are not lovers, [Name]. We are only spouses on paper. I do not care about your affection for me"

He couldn't forget that evening. The moment Fyodor spoke those words, the glimmer in your eyes died. He felt momentarily satisfied thinking that you have finally snapped out of it. The following days were a series of odd changes from you.

Mornings were...quiet, for once. You stopped babbling nonsense to him and only focused on cooking and cleaning up. You ceased the gifts and surprise parties. You even quit playing those annoying love songs on the radio that he despises so much. It seemed as though someone had taken the battery out of you.

At first, Fyodor was pleased but as the days progressed, he felt...uncomfortable. He wouldn't like to admit but he does notice a lot of things about you. Such as your habits, and how you seemed to forcefully change them despite your discomfort. With your sudden quietness, he could see how you were avoiding his gaze and biting your tongue when alone together. And lastly, the disappearance of your fondness for him.

He despised to think how he appreciated how you paid attention to his preferences. You always knew which tea he liked, what classical music was his favorite, and how you often looked out for his health considering he has anemia. Now, you grew distant and stopped bothering him for attention.

Has your foolish infatuation with him vanished? If so, why does his chest feel tight? Fyodor waited for you to revert to you how you used to be. Cheerful, loud, and affectionate. He expects you to surprise him with a gift. The house seemed so empty without your constant talking.

Have you given up on romance? Or was it all just a childish dream to you all along?

You don't understand why Fyodor has been staring at you lately. He's been hanging around the house so much that it's suspicious. You can feel him following you around in every room as if expecting something. You're done trying to woo him and you've come to accept the fact that your husband is a cruel man. So, you grant his wishes and stop pestering him. However, in return, he's begun to silently pester you.

When you wish to be alone, Fyodor's always trailing behind you. He was beginning to praise your cooking unlike before. He invites you to go to the library to read or listen to Tchaikovsky with him. Whenever you leave without his knowledge and then return home, Fyodor wants to know where you went.

The old you would've been over the moon from all the attention he was giving you, but you've grown to lose your positivity about this marriage.

"Fyodor?"

"Yes, [Name]?"

"I think we should have a divorce"

The sound of the teacup clattering against the saucer fills the air. You slid the divorce papers across the table towards your husband. Fyodor swallows and blinks, registers his spilled tea and the divorce papers you have produced. He collects his composure.

"Why?"

"I don't see the point of this marriage anymore"

Fyodor likes to convince himself that he's not affected. It should be a benefit or a good opportunity to find someone better to marry. Yes, he's indifferent to the sight of your glassy eyes and wobbling lip. He does not care about the misery you carry of being married to him. Oh, what an absolute liar he was.

"No"

"...What?"

"We are not getting a divorce, [Name]"

You watched with ache as Fyodor took the divorce papers and tore them into shreds in front of your face. Your blood felt hot. Was he purposely torturing you? He has to be. Fyodor is nothing but a selfish man. He revels in your misery of bearing his last name.

Truly, Fyodor was selfish. Why? He couldn't bear to see you go or remarry somebody else. He couldn't stand for you to find your perfect fairytale romance with someone else. Your fondness should only belong to him. Was he not your first romance? Was he not the first one to ever witness your tender eyes? Fyodor just couldn't fathom you gifting another your previous affections. Nobody seemed worthy enough but he.

"We will make this marriage work"

You looked at him from across the table with contempt. You fail to register the determined and passionate look in his eyes.

You will learn to adore me again, one way or another

I've been brainrotting about Fyodor who tries to win his spouse's love back realizing that they're falling out of love with him like pleaaaase he's so unhinged when he's in love

[elizakai]

I like thinking about their more canon adjacent dynamic (character wise)

MINI ANALYSIS TIME

Because while I love the soft interpretations, even WITH those let’s be real; that’s not how they’d act off the bat

Horror would be extremely judgmental (fair) and hate Dust for what he did. He’d despise him and probably be very passive aggressive. Making jabs and making his disdain apparent when they have to interact. I think getting a read on Dust is also difficult and would piss Horror off. Horror is unpredictable and has a sadistic streak, if he was mad or manic and had Dust in a corner he’d have no qualms about manhandling the guy. (And Dust probably wouldn’t do much to stop him.)

Meanwhile, Dusttale’s creator was asked once how Dust may feel if he met Horror, to which they said he feels bad for Horror. He likes him, sees him as someone who went through something horribly undeserved. In my mind Dust is somewhat protective of Horror.

I interpret these clashing of dynamics as Horror’s just utter disdain for this guy, and Dust’s resigned acceptance of Horror’s judgment. He’d agree with him if he were to judge himself, but I think a part of him wants Horror’s approval. He doesn’t EVER expect to get it, but Horror is….

While he’s seen hell, he’s almost a less tormented version of Dust himself. Deep down they are the same. Horror has suffered greatly, but even still hasn’t hit the deep end dust has, and I think he’d want to protect that sort of innocence he’s granted. One could think of it as him protecting a piece of himself he himself has already sacrificed. And wanting APPROVAL from him, wishing to be forgiven, craving that small piece of validation or understanding as he tries to reconcile with himself.

Horror’s formed opinion makes sense, he agrees with it, and simply wishes he disagreed, that he could have proof of himself being a FRACTION worthy of forgiveness or understanding.

The judge in both of them has both formed an opinion of the other, and they happen to differ greatly. Horror sees Dust as an abuser and Dust sees Horror as a victim.

I like to imagine that, while reluctantly thrown into the same general vicinity, Horror would grow to be more understanding (again if we are going with a PROGRESSIVE plot line) and come to understand that, yes, he wasn’t WRONG, but there is nuance to the situation. They both have a very grim understanding of what it’s like to be trapped. I think he has the capacity to understand Dust better if he was given time. His hands aren’t clean after all, and he knows what it’s like to be forced into a situation and to feel backed into a drastic decision. He knows what it’s like to lose your autonomy and to feel your mind break itself under pressure.

I think the simple fact that Dust wouldn’t TRY to change his mind or justify himself would be part of why Horror could come to understand him. He’s devestated by his actions, he is by no means a sadist.

Horror coming to understand Dust and sort of reconcile/forgive him I think would be rather BIG for Horror, especially if you factor in other situations he now has to consider. (For example, his Undyne and her drastic attempt at freeing the undergroud…) reconciling his OWN arguably cruel decisions he has made with pure intentions, when he feels there’s no other choice (like his Papyrus and tricking him into doing something so outside of his beliefs, to protect him)

It would also be healing for Dust to get that reconciliation with Horror because again…Horror’s opinion actually may MATTER.

And in the same way that Dust may see Horror as a sort of person to be protected from further harm, Horror would probably pick up on all of the VERY bad habits Dust has that (in my observation at least) are EXTREMELY similar to his own habits/past habits (isolation, obsession, deprivation, paranoia, bringing harm to self etc) and I could see him being sensitive towards those and trying to prevent it worsening (it’s a sore subject💔) Horror is shown to prioritize taking care of those he cares about, even when he’s a bit mad, and he has the capacity to grow an understanding for someone he doesn’t like initially :))

I think they have potential to be VERY good for one another, Horror (while being fucked up) encourages (and maybe forces) better habits and actually has an opinion that matters to Dust, and Dust is inclined to be VERY loyal (Horror needs someone to show him loyalty.) to anyone who cares to give him the time of day, as it’s far beyond what he’d expect, and he’s got the sympathy/protective streak towards Horror as an actual in character detail.

And from there it would be wonderful to explore their dynamic in whatever way you like to interpret it🤫💥

I could go on but I’ll stop here, if you read this all CONGRATS!!!

Share your thoughts I love it

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

4: UNDERCOVER MISSION

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

The tension between you and Bucky builds during an undercover mission.

Word count: 4.2k

Warning: ongoing miscommunications, some dirty talk, Bucky Barnes being am awkward dumbass

The mission was simple, but you didn’t want to be the one taking part. It was an undercover op where you had to integrate yourself into a community of people who were high-ranking members of a terrorist organization. It was a challenge for the other Avengers to mask their infamy. So you and Bucky were the natural choice since Bucky was now unrecognizable from his appearance as the Winter Soldier. Also, times had progressed, and S.H.I.E.L.D. technology allowed him to disguise his vibranium arm with a hologram. The first time he had put it on, a look of sadness had crossed his handsome features. He had hidden it well from the scientists and engineers, but you could see it in his eyes, the hollow haunted glaze that made you long to throw your arms around his neck and hold him until he would smile and the small crinkles around his eyes would lengthen as this steel-blue orbs sparkled. But this wasn’t your place anymore.

"Jamie! Look how amazing you look!" Priya exclaimed. 

You rolled your eyes and scowled. Who had allowed her to attend the fitting in the first place? Glancing around, you couldn’t see anyone else who seemed to object to Priya’s presence. In fact, some of the men and women seemed to be more focussed on her appearance than they were interested in the success of Bucky’s holographic arm technology. 

"Yeah, it’s gotten better." Bucky flexed his bicep and opened and closed his fist, marveling at how realistic the skin looked. "Thanks," he nodded at the project lead.

"How does it feel, Jamie?"

 Bucky shrugged. "Can't feel anything."

"It looks so realistic! Will you wear it all the time?"

You were lost in tracing the contours of Bucky’s muscular back and shoulders when Priya’s words brought you back to reality. “He doesn't need to wear it all the time,” you snapped.

“No, of course not,” Priya replied calmly, as though you were one of her small patients throwing a temper tantrum. “But sometimes James doesn't like the attention his arm draws. It makes him uncomfortable. So it would be good to have an option for him to avoid people staring.”

She was right, it would be good for Bucky to be able to wear t-shirts without being stared at, or feeling ashamed or self conscious. You despised that Bucky had to hide who he was. He was a veteran and shouldn’t have to feel the need to hide the sacrifices he had made for his country. But his past as the Winter Soldier was well known, making him a target for drawing scrutiny. You gritted your teeth, trying to formulate a counter-argument but failing. It was excruciating watching Bucky put a loving arm around her, pulling her into his side. He used to do that to you, just never so publicly.

“Thanks, Doll. It’s good to have someone looking out for me.”

The urge to punch Bucky in the face was something you did your best to push away. “Yeah, you don’t really need me here.” You slipped off the table you were perched on and turned to walk away.

"Don’t you and Bucky have to pretend to be a couple?" Priya called after you. "For this mission?"

Her questions made you stop in your tracks. Had Bucky really shared the sensitive information regarding your mission with his girlfriend?

"Yeah?" you answered, cautiously.

“Shouldn’t you hang around and see how Bucky is in a relationship then?”

“Thanks Priya, but I don’t need instructions on how to act in a relationship.” Your tone was laced with the spite you felt.

"Cricket!" Bucky looked at you, angrily. 

You hated it. It hurt that he felt these emotions towards you. But you were desperate not to lose his friendship. In a way, you hated yourself for not having the courage to tell Bucky how you felt. And you knew that if you wanted to keep your friendship with him, you would be the one who needed to stay civil. It was harder that you’d originally thought. You were a good agent, you excelled at undercover work, but when it came to Bucky, you felt like you’d lost your mind. Your emotions were a rollercoaster ride and you often felt like you couldn’t hold back your screams any longer.

“I’m sorry, I-I-”

“It’s alright, Jamie.” Priya put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, that probably sounded really patronizing. I just want James… both of you to be safe.”

You nodded, a heat rising up your neck and reddening your cheeks. She knew. The pitying look on her face told you that she knew how you felt about Bucky. It was humiliating. This would have been the perfect time for the ground to open up and swallow you. But alas, of all the times you’d been surprised by the loss of integrity beneath your feet, this was the one time where the floor remained as sturdy as ever.

“Don’t worry, Cricket and I have been partners for a long time. We’ve got this. I’m sure she’ll take good care of me.” He turned to you and smiled softly. “She always does.”

You didn’t quite know how to interpret Bucky’s use of partners, he had always called you his friend. What had changed now? You returned his smile sadly. “I'll do my best.”

Bucky took the hologram off his arm and handed it back to its creator. “I'll come by tomorrow for this. Come on, Priya,” he put a hand on her back. “I'll take you home, I need to get an early night, we leave pretty early tomorrow.”

Priya smiled at him, “Sounds great, I can say goodbye properly there.”

With a heavy heart, you watched them leave before following at a distance where you wouldn’t have to hear their chatter. Bucky had never looked so animated before and jealousy burned inside you. So you decided to head back to your quarters where you could treat yourself to a comforting dinner and fall asleep to escape the pain and anxiety of what was to come.

*

Your alarm went off at 4.30am and you groaned, rolling out of bed. There was no time to lounge around, there was a mission to complete and you always set your alarm for the last minute. A quick bracing shower woke you sufficiently enough for you to dress in a light, comfortable travel outfit and grab some coffee in the kitchen at the end of your corridor. You finished making a coffee for yourself and were pouring the leftovers into a travel mug when a slightly disheveled Bucky made an appearance.

"Thanks," he grunted, taking the mug you offered him.

"I thought you were getting an early night?" you smirked at him.

"Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?" he replied, sarcastically. 

"What happened? Goodbye took longer than expected?"

It was Bucky’s turn to smirk. "Actually, we ended up having to say it several times."

His words made your face fall and your eyes twitch dangerously. It was time to retreat from this conversation. "We should get going."

Bucky nodded, falling instep beside you silently. He had noticed the change in your tone.

"Cricket?"

"Is everything okay between us?"

"Yeah! Why do you ask?" Your face remained impassive, but your soul was screaming with fear.

"Things have changed so much. I guess… I was just checking."

"You don’t think we can do this?" you asked, trying to deflect from the real issue at hand. But your question held more depth than you cared to admit.

"It just feels like we’re not as … in sync as we used to be."

"And why do you think that is, Bucky?"

Bucky stopped walking. "Ever since I introduced you to Priya, you’ve built this wall between us. I don’t understand what your problem is, Cricket. She’s been nothing but nice to you."

You took a deep breath, knowing you needed to choose your words very carefully or the truth would come spilling out and the embarrassment would be unbearable. "I don’t have a problem with Priya."

"Then what is it? What is your problem?"

You tried to think of an answer, but the only words that your brain screamed at you were "I LOVE YOU!"

"I don’t know," you whimpered. You bit down on your lower lip to stop it trembling, but nothing could stop the tears building up in your eyes. You dropped your head to hide your face but not soon enough for Bucky to catch sight of the water fall from your eyes.

Bucky wrapped his arm around you, sweeping you into a much needed hug. He smelled like home. You missed his warmth, the closeness you’d had. Bucky’s sturdiness made you want to melt into him, to break down, to confess your feelings to him. But the vibration of your phone brought you back to your sad lonely reality.

"Hello?" you answered the device.

Bucky wiped a stray tear from your face with his thumb as he listened to Steve’s voice asking where you were.

"We’re coming, Steve." Bucky raised his voice so Steve would be able to hear him through the phone in your hand, before reaching over and hanging up the phone. "You gonna be okay?"

You nodded, sadly.

"I'm worried about you, you know that, right?"

"I'll be fine, Bucky. I won't fuck this up."

"Not the mission. Fuck the mission. I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine, Buck. But thank you… for caring."

The two of you reached the hangar bay where Steve was waiting impatiently with your mission packs. He handed them to you wordlessly, analyzing your faces for signs of concern. You avoided eye contact with him, hoping he wouldn't notice your slightly reddened eyes.

"This one's important. We all need this to work."

"We got this, Cap!" You saluted him with a grin plastered across your face.

Steve rolled his eyes at you and even Bucky couldn't help but smile as you led the way to the quinjet. Bucky was going to fly the two of you to a southern Italian resort where the conference was taking place. The conference was a cover for major arms dealers and Bucky would be posing as a representative to a S.H.I.E.L.D. fabricated 'bad guy’ named Zandor.

Bucky’s cover was James Road, Zandor’s right hand man and you were playing Sabrina Road, James's wife. You had been told to expect a high end affair at a deluxe resort where the various representatives would schmooze with each other, gathering intelligence and allies. You weren't worried about your safety, not with Bucky at your side, but you didn't want your cover blown or to fail to get what you needed.

Bucky had once told you that he had never felt like a ‘James’, Bucky was the only name he had really known. It always made you wonder why he never asked Priya to call him ‘Bucky’. You wondered how he would react to you calling him James for the next few days. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Bucky interrupted your musings.

"Hmm?" You turned to face him, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many intrusive questions. For some reason, tears seemed too close to the surface for your liking these days.

Bucky set the quinjet’s controls to autopilot and swiveled his chair to face you. "Steve gave me something before we left. One of them is for you."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside it were a beautiful pair of matching wedding rings, made of a shiny rose gold. Bucky slipped one onto his finger and held his hand out, palm facing up. But the other ring wasn’t what he was offering. He was holding out his hand for you to take, so he could place the ring on your finger. What you wouldn’t give for that moment to be real!

"Here, hand it over." You snatched the ring unceremoniously out of the velvet box, your heart pounding. The metal was cool against your skin, and you marveled at the delicate craftsmanship. The rose gold glimmered in the soft light of the quinjet’s cabin, casting a warm glow.

Bucky’s eyes bore into yours, intense and searching. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the ring back from you. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. For a moment, the world outside the quinjet ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, suspended in this charged atmosphere.

He held your hand gently, turning it so your palm faced down. The ring slid onto your finger smoothly, a perfect fit. He wanted nothing more than to hold on to you forever, lost in the comfort of your touch and your eyes.  You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. His cerulean eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and determination. It was as if he was silently saying, this is real, even if it’s just for this mission.

"James," you whispered, testing out the name. It felt strange on your tongue, yet oddly right. He didn’t flinch or correct you. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"Sabrina," he murmured, his lips brushing your knuckles. The intimacy of the moment stole your breath away. You wondered if he could hear your heart racing.

The quinjet hummed around you, cocooning you both in its metal embrace. Outside, the world continued to spin, but here, in this stolen instant, time stood still. You wanted to believe that this wasn’t just part of the mission—that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between you and Bucky.

But reality crashed back in. The mission, the danger, the arms dealers—they all loomed ahead. You couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

"Thank you," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "For this."

Bucky’s smile was bittersweet. "We’ll get through this, Cricket. Just like we always do."

And with that promise hanging in the air, you both returned to your roles—the undercover couple, James and Sabrina Road. But as the quinjet soared toward Italy, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission held more than just secrets and lies. Perhaps, hidden beneath it all, there was a chance for something real.

The rings on your fingers seemed to whisper their own silent vows, binding you together in this dangerous dance. And for now, that was enough. 

*

Bucky landed the quinjet in a small isolated airspace that had been predetermined to be safe by S.H.I.E.L.D.. Nat had scouted the area a few days previously and ensured an SUV was waiting for you. Both of you changed into casual holiday clothing.

Bucky’s transformation was nothing short of remarkable. The once stoic and battle-worn soldier now stood before you, bathed in sunlight, a vision of rugged charm. His light blue shirt clung to his broad chest, the top buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing hint of skin and chest hair. Beige slacks hung low on his hips, tailored to perfection. The aviators perched on his nose lent an air of mystery, shielding eyes that had seen too much. He was beautiful.

And then there was you. In a pink floral print summer dress, you were a burst of color against the backdrop of wilderness. The fabric swirled around your legs as you turned, catching the sunlight like a thousand petals. Bucky’s jaw dropped, mirroring your own reaction. His gaze traced the delicate curve of your collarbone, the soft slope of your shoulders. The air crackled with unspoken tension of the last few weeks.

The change in location seemed to have freed you from the burden of your emotions. There was a thrill of anticipation that bubbled inside you. Was it excitement or anxiety? You never could be certain, but you felt it at the start of every mission. It was you and Bucky against the world and there was no one else you'd trust more with your life. Steve and Nat had brainstormed a few ideas for James and Sabrina’s relationship but they left the details down to the two of you. They had decided that the couple you were playing would be newly weds, as Nat always said, people were uncomfortable with public displays of affection. They had even gone as far as securing the honeymoon suite for your stay. 

As the bellhop ushered you and Bucky into the honeymoon suite, the room unfolded before your eyes, a symphony of silk, candlelight, and rose petals. The air hung heavy with anticipation, like a secret whispered in the dark. The bed, a grand centerpiece, stretched out like an invitation, an intimate promise.

Yet, despite the plush surroundings and the illusion of newlywed bliss, unease settled in your chest. You stole a glance at Bucky, his features were etched in sunlight and his eyes, usually steely and guarded, now held a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in a long time. Perhaps it was the flickering glints of light between the net curtains or the soft strains of music playing in the background, but this charade felt more real than you’d anticipated.

The bed loomed large, its expanse inviting yet treacherous. It was a stage, and you were the actors, playing roles scripted by someone else. You remembered the nights when Bucky’s warmth had chased away your nightmares, the way his fingers traced constellations on your skin. But this bed wasn’t meant for whispered confessions or stolen kisses, it was but a prop, a cruel reminder of what you couldn’t have.

You glanced at Bucky again, wondering if he felt the same dissonance. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze lingered on the bed. Did he remember the nights in safe houses, huddled together for warmth? Or was this just another mission, another mask to wear?

"I guess this is a bit of a waste, huh?" Bucky commented, dismissing the tension.

You forced a laugh. "Let's get this over with."

Bucky followed you out of the suite, his awareness heightened by the people milling around. As you were about to mention their presence to him, his arm slid around your shoulder. You smiled up at him, perhaps the bond between you hadn’t completely faded. In the lobby, a lounge area beckoned, its bar opening onto a sunlit terrace and pool.

"What do you think, James? Too early for a drink?" you asked.

"It’s always happy hour somewhere, baby," Bucky replied with a charming smirk.

He ordered drinks for both of you, and you settled near Nadal, your target, who was downing mimosas as if his life depended on them. He was an older Latino man who was not only handsome, but impeccably groomed. He was dressed in casual clothing, but his attire radiated power nevertheless. Bucky placed your drink in front of you, sitting close, his arm around your waist.

"Time to put on a show?" Bucky inquired.

You smirked, sliding onto his lap. "Jameeeeeeees," you whined loudly. "I thought we were on holiday. Is this why you didn’t want to take me to Hawaii? You’re always working. What about me? I have needs too, you know!"

It worked—Nadal’s attention was now squarely on you.

Bucky chuckled, locking eyes with the target. "Women!"

"Can’t live with ‘em," Nadal drawled.

"Can't fuck anything else."

You stiffened with surprise with Bucky's language. You noticed he was more reserved about using foul language, you had always chalked it up to being Steve’s influence. Now that Bucky had Nadal’s attention, they chatted amicably and you took the opportunity to make the most of your surroundings; identifying security cameras, bodyguards and escape routes. You hadn’t noticed how much you had been squirming around on Bucky’s lap, because his grip on your thighs suddenly became very tight, holding you still.

His action didn’t go unnoticed by Nadal. "Save the action for the bedroom, kids!"

Bucky slapped your ass, salaciously and you gasped. You hadn’t expected it, neither had you expected the rush of desire between your legs. "James," you whined. It was clear that your role on this mission was mostly to cast suspicion away from your partner, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play your part well. "You promised me you wouldn’t do that in public. You know what it does to me," you pouted.

"Better not let the little lady down, Road." Nadal winked, rising from his seat. "What room are you two in?"

"Managed to bag the honeymoon suite, for this one."

"Ahh, so it’s you I lost out to?" he chuckled. "Well my husband and I will be next door. Try and keep it down, your wife seems like a screamer." With that Nadal left you and Bucky alone in the bar feeling uncomfortable in more ways than one.

"Guess we’ll have to give them a show tonight," you grumbled, dropping out of Bucky’s lap.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, but from the way he was gazing off into the distance, you weren’t totally sure he was listening.

"What is it?"

"The competition."

"Great," you mumbled. "Guess we gotta get access to the intel before they do."

"What do you think our chances are if we play it by the book?" 

"Slim, they look like they mean business. And they probably have the funds to challenge our bid."

"Should we go back to the room? Nadal is probably expecting some… noise." Bucky looked uncomfortable as he spoke.

"And we’ll be better equipped to know if they leave their room."

It didn’t take long for the two of you to saunter back to the suite, Bucky’s hands were all over you and you couldn’t help but wish that it was voluntary rather than duty. You kept up a shrill giggle to make people around you look away. Once in the room, neither of you seemed to know how to proceed. Bucky had never been forthcoming with his feelings at the best of times, often switching them off when it came to work.

"So, umm… so what now?" you asked.

"He’s probably in there right now." Bucky put his ear to the wall as you waited silently for his assessment. "Someone's moving around, don't hear any talking."

"Set up a camera so we know when they leave?" You pulled a small device out of your bag, tossing it to Bucky. "There was a plant on the table outside."

Bucky didn't need to be told twice, he was out the door and back in under 30 seconds.

"Wait!" You whispered urgently. "Slam it shut."

Bucky complied with your request, with a confused frown. His eyes went from narrowed to goggle-like as you moaned loudly.

"Ohhhh James!"

Bucky gave you a horrified look before mouthing at you across the room. "What’re you doing?"

"James, I want you!" You delivered your line with as much lust as you could muster. Smirking at him, you dropped your voice. "Giving them the show they're after."

"Oh God, you make me so wet. I love when you push me up against the wall."

You motioned wildly at Bucky, who rolled his eyes and threw himself against the wall of the neighboring room for effect.

"I've been waiting for this all day. I want you so bad. Here, feel!"

Bucky closed his eyes, a deep flush darkening his face as you looked at him expectantly.

"God, you're so wet, baby." Bucky's voice was husky. And for a moment you wondered how he sounded in bed.

Focus! You told yourself.

"Only for you, baby. I can't get enough of you touching me. I want your fingers inside me." You continued, pressing your face against the wall.  "I can't wait until I get to rip these pants off of you."

"What do you want me to do to you?" Bucky eventually found words to contribute, having turned away from you.

You loudly moaned a few more times for effect. "Come on Mr Road, my badass arms dealer husband, you can do better than that!" you goaded him in a whisper.

"Are you serious?" he muttered.

"Tell me how much you want me," you cried.

Bucky thought for a moment, before choking out. "I want you so much, baby. I want to feel myself inside you and I want to fuck you so hard. Now get on the bed." Not once as he spoke did he make direct eye contact with you. 

Was it wrong that his words had your cunt clenching uncontrollably? You fanned your face before you noticed Bucky pointing at the bed. Oh right! You flung yourself on the luxurious mattress, making sure that it rocked against the wall. "Please James, I want you inside me." Your voice was suddenly breathless.

Bucky sat down on the other side of the bed, tugging at the crotch in his pants. They seemed to be tighter than they were before. He used his legs to rock the bed.

"Fuck me, James, fuck me harder." You crawled up to the headboard rattling it enthusiastically. "Whatever you do, don't stop."

Bucky moaned. It was a good thing he was facing away from you, he thought as he pressed his palm over his growing erection.

"That feels so good, B-James. Oh my god, I'm gonna come." You squeezed your legs together, trying to control the throbbing between your legs. Bucky’s name had almost slipped past your lips, and you hoped he hadn't noticed.

"I'm going to make you come so hard." 

"JAMES! OH YES!" you screamed.

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[idkyetxoxo]

Six | Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

Word count - 3795

Warnings - None

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A week had passed since that night in the pool, yet the memory of it clung to me like a half-forgotten dream, teasing the edges of my mind. The gardens were far behind me now, replaced by the lively hum of the common room. 

I lay sprawled across Nymor's lap, his fingers absently combing through my hair, while the raucous banter of his friends swirled around us like a familiar, comforting melody. 

Their teasing voices were a pleasant distraction from the thoughts that had been haunting me since the pool—thoughts of Aemond and the dangerous pull he seemed to have on me.

The negotiations between my father and Viserys were progressing, each day pulling me closer to the inevitable. 

The impending marriage loomed over me like a storm cloud, dark and inescapable. 

Everyone around me treated it as a certainty as if it had been written in the stars long before I ever had a say in the matter. 

But deep down, a part of me still fought against it, clinging to the hope that there might be some way out, some path that didn't end with me standing beside Aemond Targaryen, bound to him for life.

And yet, even as I yearned to escape, I couldn't fully banish the memory of him. 

His sharp gaze, the way his touch had set fire to my skin���it haunted me, even as I tried to shake it off. 

There was something about Aemond that intrigued me, something beyond the cold mask of duty and power. I didn't want to admit it, but I couldn't deny the truth any longer—I didn't completely despise him. 

If anything, I was captivated by the man beneath the dragon prince facade.

But then there was the other truth—the one that gnawed at me like an open wound. His family had laid waste to my homeland, without a second thought, without remorse. 

And that was something I could never forget, no matter how tempting the man himself might be.

"What are you thinking about?" Nymor's voice broke through the fog of my thoughts, his fingers prodding my cheek in an attempt to bring me back to the present.

"My doom," I muttered dramatically, swatting his hand away. His friends erupted into laughter, the sound rich and warm, filling the room like the flickering hearth.

"So awfully cynical, princess. Where is that carefree girl we know and love?" Yoren teased, nudging my legs with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

I sat up, crossing my legs as I sighed. "I don't want to leave Dorne," I admitted, the weight of the words settling heavily on my chest. 

Leaving this place—the sun-drenched gardens, the sea breeze that tasted of salt and freedom—felt like losing a part of myself.

"Then don't," Yoren said with a casual shrug, as if it were that simple. His flippancy stung, though I knew he didn't mean it to.

"It's that one-eyed fool, isn't it?" Nymor's voice was tinged with both annoyance and sympathy, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. 

I rolled my eyes, but the mention of Aemond sent a shiver through me, a mixture of frustration and something I didn't want to name.

"Ah, we've heard the whispers of a union in the making," Maric chimed in with mock seriousness, raising his brows in exaggerated intrigue.

"My father insists upon it," I mumbled, leaning forward to grab Yoren's cup. He jerked it out of reach, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Get your own wine, princess," Yoren teased, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Marry one of us," Maric suggested with a chuckle, though there was a glimmer of something sincere in his eyes. "Stay in Dorne forever. You'd never have to leave."

The idea was as tempting as it was impossible, and I let out a hollow laugh. 

"If only it were that easy," I said, but even as the words left my lips, I couldn't help but wonder. 

What would my life look like if I stayed? If I let myself forget the weight of duty and allowed myself to indulge in the carefree moments that Dorne offered?

Yoren leaned forward suddenly, his face contorted in an exaggerated pout, making ridiculous kissing noises that sent me into a fit of giggles. 

In the midst of his antics, I seized my chance, swiping his cup of wine with a victorious grin.

"Give it back!" he exclaimed, lunging after me, his fingers closing around my wrists as he loomed over me with a mock stern expression. 

I stuck my tongue out at him in defiance, holding the cup just out of his reach. "Make me," I teased, the playful challenge lighting a spark in my eyes.

Nymor laughed beside me, shaking his head as he playfully slapped Maric's chest. "Looks like you've met your match, Yoren."

The warmth of their laughter, the teasing banter—it was a world away from the heavy tension that followed me like a shadow. 

For a moment, I let myself get lost in it, in the easy companionship of these men who didn't expect anything from me except a shared drink and a laugh. 

I flirted with the thought of staying here forever, of letting these light-hearted moments fill the spaces that Aemond's memory couldn't touch.

But no matter how much I tried to distract myself, I couldn't entirely forget him. 

The memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze—it was like a flame that flickered at the edge of my mind, refusing to be extinguished. 

Even as Yoren hovered over me, his playful grin inches from mine, I felt the pull of that night in the pool, a lingering thread that tied me to Aemond, whether I wanted it or not.

"Wine," Yoren demanded again, though there was no real force behind his words, just the playful tug-of-war between us.

I grinned up at him, the spark of rebellion still dancing in my eyes. "Come and get it," I challenged, holding the cup just out of reach as he leaned in closer.

"Princess," a voice called from the doorway, and the lively room fell silent as all eyes turned to see the Targaryen siblings standing in the threshold. 

The sudden shift in energy was palpable like the air had been sucked out, leaving a charged stillness behind.

"Are we interrupting?" Aegon drawled, his smirk widening as he took in the scene before him. 

Yoren, still holding my wrists in a playful grip, dropped them immediately, stepping back with a sheepish smile. The light-heartedness evaporated as if snuffed out, leaving only the prickling tension.

"Yes," Nymor responded dryly, his voice laced with amusement, though I could sense the edge beneath it. 

He remained seated, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they flicked between the intruders. 

Yoren and Maric's laughter returned, momentarily dispelling the tension like a wave washing over the room, a weak attempt to restore the lightness that had been so abruptly shattered.

"Your father sent us," Helaena added softly, her voice a contrast to her brother's. 

She was gentler, always was, and there was something kind in her gaze as it lingered on me, as though she understood more than she let on. But it wasn't me she was looking at with that subtle interest—I noticed her gaze flicker toward Nymor. 

Her fascination was evident, and despite the current tension, I couldn't help but wonder how deep her interest ran.

"If you're too busy entertaining others, we can leave," Aemond interjected, his voice sharp, dripping with venom that cut through the air like a blade. 

His words were pointed, but his eye, his gaze—it was all on me. 

There was no mistaking the jealousy simmering beneath his composed exterior, the barely concealed possessiveness that rippled through his voice.

Nymor stiffened beside me, his usual easy-going demeanour darkening as he rose to his full height. 

"Are you insinuating something about my sister?" His voice was low, but it seethed with barely-contained fury, his eyes locked onto Aemond's with a promise of violence. 

The room, which had been buzzing with life only moments ago, now felt like a powder keg ready to explode.

Aegon, sensing the rising tension, looked thoroughly amused by it all, his smirk widening as if he was eager to see where this was going. 

But before things could escalate further, Helaena tugged him by the arm, pulling him back with a roll of her eyes, her patience clearly worn thin.

"We should go," she said firmly, dragging a protesting Aegon along with her. He looked disappointed as if the potential for a brawl had been the highlight of his day, but he allowed himself to be led out. 

Still, his laughter echoed faintly down the corridor as the door swung shut behind them.

Yoren and Maric quickly exchanged glances before quietly standing and shuffling out of the room. They knew better than to stick around for what was coming. 

Now it was just the three of us.

Aemond didn't move. His gaze, as cold and unrelenting as the winter winds, remained fixed on Nymor. 

"Perhaps I am insinuating something," Aemond said, his tone calm but laced with challenge, his body language as unmoving as stone.

In one swift motion, Nymor stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides, barely containing the storm of anger that radiated off him. 

"You have no right to talk about her," he growled, jabbing a finger hard into Aemond's chest. His voice was low, dangerous—a warning that he was inches away from losing control.

Aemond stood his ground, his expression unreadable, though the glint in his eye gave away his satisfaction at having provoked Nymor. 

It was a power play, and Aemond was revelling in it. The room crackled with unspoken tension, each man daring the other to make the next move.

"You think you can speak about my sister like that and get away with it?" Nymor spat, stepping closer until they were nearly nose to nose. 

His breath came in shallow, angry bursts, and for a moment, I feared the restraint he had would snap.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, a lazy shrug rolling off his shoulders, his expression barely shifting. 

"I speak the truth as I see it," he said coolly. "If you can't handle it, that's your weakness."

Nymor's fist clenched tighter, his knuckles white as his rage spilt over. "The truth?" he repeated, his voice rising with the heat of his anger. 

"You don't know the first thing about her." His words dripped with venom, and I could feel the tide of the moment shifting into something dangerous.

Aemond's jaw tightened at that, the mask of indifference slipping for the briefest second. His voice was a quiet, lethal whisper as he leaned in, a dark smirk playing on his lips. 

"Careful, Nymor. You're speaking to the rider of the largest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms." His words were soft, but the threat beneath them was unmistakable.

In an instant, Nymor's hand shot out, grabbing Aemond by the collar and yanking him forward so their faces were mere inches apart. 

"Say one more word about her," Nymor hissed through clenched teeth, his grip on Aemond's collar unyielding, "and I'll—"

"Enough!" My voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade. 

Both men froze, their eyes snapping toward me as I stepped forward, my expression a mix of frustration and steely authority. 

"Nymor, let him go." My words held a weight that neither of them could ignore.

For a moment, Nymor hesitated, his grip still tight on Aemond's collar, his eyes burning with a fury that demanded release. But when he met my gaze, something shifted. 

Slowly, reluctantly, he released Aemond, shoving him back with a frustrated grunt.

"You're not helping me by losing control like this," I said, my tone gentler now but still firm. "Leave us. I need to speak to him alone."

Nymor's eyes flicked between me and Aemond, a muscle in his jaw working as though he was about to protest. 

"He doesn't deserve your time, let alone your words," he muttered darkly, but after a tense moment, he relented. 

His hand twitched at his side as if itching to throw another punch, but he stepped away, turning toward the door with one last icy glare at Aemond.

"But if he says one more thing—" Nymor started, his voice taut with barely contained rage.

"I'll handle it," I cut in, my tone softening just enough to calm him. "You know I can."

Nymor lingered a moment longer, his fists still clenched, before giving a terse nod. He cast one final look at Aemond, filled with simmering fury, before storming out of the room. 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the now-silent room.

For a long moment, silence hung between us, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. 

Aemond's smirk returned, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eye as if he was weighing the moment carefully.

"You didn't need to send him away on my account," he said, his voice low and drawling, though the amusement in his tone didn't quite reach his eyes. "I can handle Nymor."

I stepped closer, my face impassive, carefully concealing the turmoil roiling within me. "This isn't about you 'handling' anyone," I said evenly, keeping my voice steady, controlled. "It's about knowing when to stop."

His smirk faltered. "Is that what you think? That I don't know when to stop?"

I met his gaze, holding it with unwavering strength. "You're pushing him because you want a reaction. But we both know this isn't about Nymor." 

My voice softened, but there was still a sharp edge beneath the words. "So tell me, Aemond—what is it you really want?"

For the briefest moment, his expression shifted, and I saw the cracks in the carefully constructed façade he always wore. 

The arrogance he wore like armour seemed to drain away, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. His jaw tightened, but the biting retort I expected never came. I

Instead, he hesitated, searching my face as though the answer might be written there.

"I want you," he finally whispered, his voice strained like the admission had cost him something. 

The air between us felt impossibly heavy as the words settled like a stone in my chest. He took a step closer, and I could feel the weight of his confession pressing against my resolve.

I stayed silent, letting the moment stretch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected me. 

But when his hand lifted to cup my face, his touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down my spine despite my best efforts to remain composed.

"You are unlike anyone I've ever met," he murmured, his voice intense, each word deliberate. "Fierce, determined... utterly captivating." 

His gaze held mine, and for the first time, I saw something genuine in his eyes, something that unsettled me more than his usual cold confidence. "I cannot imagine my life with anyone but you. You've become part of me, consumed my thoughts, my every moment."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep breathing, to keep standing. His words were heavy, laden with meaning, with the kind of vulnerability I had never expected from him. 

For a moment, I almost faltered—almost let myself believe in the possibility he was offering. But I knew better than to surrender so easily.

Slowly, I reached up, my hand wrapping around his wrist, and I gently pulled his hand away from my face. 

"Aemond," I began, my voice steady but tinged with something darker, something deeper. "How am I supposed to forget who you are? How do I ignore the history between our families, the blood that stains your name?"

His eyes widened, clearly taken aback by my words. This was a part of me I had never revealed to him, a truth I had buried deep but could no longer keep hidden. 

I had been raised with the stories of what his family had done, the destruction they had brought upon my people, my home.

He stared at me, the shock plain on his face. It was as if he hadn't expected me to hold onto the past, to care about it in the face of his feelings. But how could I not?

"I don't want to conquer anything but your heart," he said softly, stepping closer again, his voice almost pleading now. "I don't care about power or politics when it comes to us. I just want you. That night we spent in the gardens..." 

His voice trailed off, the memory lingering between us like a ghost. "It's all I've thought about since. I don't want it to be the last."

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. 

His sincerity was undeniable, and I could feel the weight of his words pulling me in, making it harder to keep the distance I so desperately needed.

"Our fathers are already discussing the match," I said quietly, forcing myself to focus on the practicalities, on the things that kept me grounded in reality. "The alliances they hope to build through us—"

"Your father won't force it," Aemond interrupted, his voice urgent. "Not if you don't want it." 

His tone softened, and for the first time, there was a vulnerability there, a rawness that caught me off guard. "But say yes. Say you'll choose me."

I turned away, unable to look at him. The weight of what he was asking felt like it might crush me. 

"If I say yes, I have to give up everything," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady. "My home, my family, everything I know. I would have to leave my father, my brother, my people... for a life in a city that will never truly be mine."

He exhaled slowly, the realization sinking in. I felt him move closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But you would have me. We could build something—something that's ours."

I turned back to face him, my gaze locking onto his. 

"At what cost, Aemond?" My voice was quiet, but the question rang out like a challenge. "Do you really believe love can erase everything that stands between us? Can it undo the scars of history, the blood spilt by your ancestors?"

Aemond's eye searched mine, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to still. 

It felt like the weight of every decision we would ever make hung in the balance, suspended in the thick air between us.

"I need time," I finally said, the words escaping before I could stop them. His expression shifted, the hope in his eyes dimming, but he didn't interrupt. "This is too much, Aemond. You may be certain of what you want, but I..."

I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. I didn't have the luxury of being as sure as he was, and the stakes were far higher for me. "I need time," I repeated, my voice firm but quieter.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Aemond's jaw clenched, his frustration evident, but he didn't push. He just stood there, watching me, waiting for something I wasn't ready to give.

"I can't stay here," I whispered, turning toward the door, feeling the pull of escape. 

My heart pounded in my chest, torn between the desire to stay and the need to flee, to buy myself more time.

Aemond took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to stop me. "You don't have to leave," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "We can figure this out."

I forced a weak smile, meeting his gaze one last time. "I can't. Not right now."

He nodded slowly, the flicker of hope in his eyes dimming to a quiet resignation. "I'll wait," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. 

Part of me wanted to turn back, to offer him something—anything—that might ease the tension between us. But the weight of history, of what he was asking, was too much to bear.

"I'll think about it," I said, my voice steady again. "But I can't make any promises."

With that, I slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. The second I was alone in the hallway, I released a shaky breath, the tension that had been building inside me finally breaking free. 

My heart was racing, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotions I couldn't quite untangle.

I walked quickly, the echo of my footsteps the only sound in the silent corridor. The farther I got from Aemond, the more the reality of what had just happened sank in. 

He had laid everything bare, but I couldn't forget what stood between us—our families, our histories, the sacrifices I would have to make.

When I reached the courtyard, I stopped, letting the cool night air wash over me, soothing the storm inside. I looked up at the stars, wondering how I had ended up here, torn between what I wanted and what I knew.

Could I really give up everything for him? Could I trust him, trust us, enough to believe that love could conquer the scars of the past? I didn't know.

All I knew was that I needed time. Time to think, to weigh the future that Aemond was offering against the life I had always known.

The air bit at my skin and my thoughts drifted to Alaric. The ease, the simplicity of being with him was tempting—a familiar escape from the whirlwind that Aemond stirred inside me. 

With Alaric, everything had always been so... uncomplicated. No deep questions. No heavy expectations. 

Just the physical release that dulled the ache, numbed the confusion. I knew if I went to him now, he wouldn't ask why. He wouldn't ask for anything at all.

For a fleeting moment, I considered it. The thought of his hands, the distraction, the way he could make me forget for just a little while. 

It would be so easy to lose myself in him again, to drown out the impossible choice looming over me. But then, a sharp pang twisted in my chest, and I stopped in my tracks. 

What would that solve? A night of pretending, of running, wouldn't change the fact that my heart was caught somewhere else—caught between the impossible pull of Aemond and the weight of everything I was supposed to be. 

Alaric might help me forget for a night, but the reality of my choices would still be waiting for me in the morning.

I sighed the decision settling over me like a heavy cloak. I couldn't hide from this, no matter how much I wanted to. 

With one last glance at the stars, I turned away from the direction of Alaric's chambers and instead headed back toward the shadows, alone with my thoughts, and the uncertainty that lingered like a storm on the horizon.

There was no running from this—not anymore.

A/n - Not as slow as I would like but we are nearing the end and I need their relationship to pick up a bit x

Enchanted tag list - @mamawiggers1980 @shilphy87 @esposadomd @targaryendestiel @deepeststarlightmoon

@thebirdandthebee @queen-of-elves @believeinthefireflies95

[pruneunfair]

Rating female leads in manhwa.

Navier

6/10, I absolutely hate her writting and has devolved into a mary sue who only reacts to everything around her while her mass of supporters never shut up about great she is. Her synopsis claiming her as someone who loves all her subjects gets contradicted when its shown she doesnt really care about the slaves.

BUT in season 1 she wasn't bad, I liked her resolve and it was when she actually cared for her people, I feel like if we got to see a clear backstory beyond "she wasn't allowed outside when she studied to be empress" I would understand her total apathy more.

Ariande

7/10, I adore villains, especially villainous protagonists and at first I liked the idea she wouldn't be any better than her family but still had a soft spot for Arabella, she loses a few points because it turns out she's excused for killing people before in the name of "love" and is viewed as someone who can do no wrong.

Adelaide

10/10, she's like Navier but better, she has more noticeable flaws and while she is a kick ass warrior during the tower arcs she still is human and can't always take it alone without consequences, she acknowledges Diane's struggles and makes an effort not to be her enemy and is proof that you dont need to make FL overpowered gods to be strong women. A beautifully made FL in a underrated story

Robellia

1/10, She doesn't divorce her husband despite the title literally being "I will divorce my tyrant husband." But that's more of a problem in most other manhwa. She's too much of a perfect epic goddess for me and most of all she does the whole "buying all the slaves but giving them a home." to make her look even better, what is with manhwa and inserting slavery for no other reason other than to make the FL look better?

Arianna

0/10, there is nothing good about her. Other than being a mary sue and a personality that only revolves around the latest sexy man, she legit forces another guy to join her haram by threatening diplomatic war on his kingdom and bodyshames her fiance but all of a sudden wants him more than ever when he loses weight, it took a random chick being inserted with a 🍇ist persona to make her look "better."

Yerenica

6/10, in any other story, this girl would've been despised by the fandom for being a homewreaker/pick me. She gives me so much second hand embarrassment but she's not terrible, I actually really like her design too. Not a fan of the kidnapper-hostage relationship she and the ML have though.

Pereshati

10/10, the best one here. She feels so much more human than the others on this list, she's got flaws, a relationship with the ML Therdeo that has both realistic progression, blunders, but overall healthy love, she also has relationships outside of her husband which I really love, I actually get scared for her when shes in danger instead of the usual "oh great, heres the typical kidnapping trope", a great motherly FL

Hestia

5/10 I will be easy on her since I just started reading my derelict favorite but I've only heard bad things about it through spoilers so I don't have much hope, also girl, please acknowledge that just because your favorite character did it for love doesn't mean he's absolved for murdering 2 people, thank you

Edith

9/10, my 3rd favorite on this list. You do not know how happy I was when instead of immediately viewing Rhyse as a rival to defeat, she was actually nice to her and the chapters of them were so sweet, she even acknowledges that it isn't anyone's fault for acting out but the author who is pulling the strings.

Layla

8/10, I feel so bad for this poor girl. For some reason I noticed on reddit and tiktok that she's getting hate for not standing up to herself or just not being the usual "girlboss" protagonist, did it not occur that she cant do much to a duke!? Layla deserves so much better and she needs to be far away from Matthias, I don't care if it's "dark romance" he is torturing her for his own pleasure.

[fishsticksloser]

May I request a NSFW scenario with Gentle Dom Raph or Donnie (any turtle would be fine, but they're my faves) and a plus-sized Fem!Bottom reader? Especially one who's a bit insecure and needs praise.

Longing

F!Donnie x fem!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of angst at the beginning, comfort, fluff, smut, p in v, body worship, praise, oral (fem receiving), insecurity, Donnie and you are married, renewed vows in private, swearing

A/N: So... um... This took a while. I had to put it on the back burner for a few days to think. I know that they're turtles but F!Leo wears pants so...

It'd been a long few months, barely able to see your brainy husband. You ached for him. You silently slip into his lab, slowly pulling him away from his desk and climbing into his lap. Staying quiet, burying your face in his neck so he could continue working.

"What are you doing here? I'm in the middle of something important." Donnie tries to gently push you off his lap, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "Can't you seem I'm working on something crucial? As much as I appreciate you... Affection, I really need to focus right now. Can this wait until later?" He glances back at his work, torn between his desire to be with you and his dedication to the task at hand.

Your heart aches. Did he really not want you at all? You pull your face away, shoulders slumping as you start to get off of him. Donnie notices the sadness in your expression and immediately feels a pang of guilt. He reaches out to gently grab your arm, stopping you from getting off his lap.

"Wait, I didn't mean it like that. It's just... I've been so busy and I don't feel like I'm doing enough. I want to spend time with you, really, but I have to make progress. I.. Don't want you to feel neglected or unimportant." He sighs and looks into your eyes, his own filled with a mix of longing and worry. "I love you, more than anything. But right now, my mind is consumed with thoughts of defeating the Kraang. Can't you understand that? Can you forgive me for being so focused on this?"

"I understand..." You whisper, pecking his beak. "If you can't focus while I cuddle with you, that's okay. I can just go to bed. I don't want to cause problems." You mumble, trying not to seem desperate and clingy, knowing how much he despised it. You shimmy off his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth. "You keep being my genius husband."

Donnie's heart aches as he watches you pull away, feeling a mixture of longing and guilt. He reaches out to grab your hand before you can leave. "No, please don't go. I don't want you to feel like you're causing problems. You're not. It's just... I'm overwhelmed and sometimes I get so caught up in my work that I forget to prioritize the people I love. But that doesn't mean I don't want you around." He pulls you back into his lap, holding you close and burying his face in your hair. "I'm sorry if I made you feel unimportant. You are the most important thing in my life and I don't want to lose sight of that."

"I'm not mad, baby." You whisper, kissing his forehead. "Just tired. If you have things to finish, you have things to finish." You press another kiss to his brow. "I'll be in bed, waiting for my sweet Donnie cuddles."

Donnie's heart softens at your words and leans into your touch, appreciating the affection you're giving him despite his earlier dismissal. "I'll see you soon, my love." He gives you a gentle smile, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. He watches as you leave the lab, feeling a mix of relief and determination. He knows he needs to find a better balance between work and you.

Donnie quickly returns his focus to his work, determined to finish his current project so he can join you in bed and give you the attention you deserve.

⋆｡ ﾟ｡☁︎👾｡ ﾟ｡⋆

You dozed off a little while waiting for Donnie, but wake when you feel him crawl into bed. He pulls you against his chest, spooning you. You hum softly, threading your fingers with his before rolling over. "Hi." You whisper, smiling sweetly and tiredly.

Donnie wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he settles into bed next to you. He smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Hi, my love. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting." He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch warm and comforting. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better... Especially with my handsome ass husband here." You whisper, nuzzling and kissing his neck. You let out a content sigh, kissing his jaw.

"You're so beautiful and being here with you like this... It's the best feeling in the world." He relishes in the warmth of your hands holding his, his heart fluttering at the affectionate display. Donnie tilts his head slightly, allowing you better access to his neck as he savors the feeling of your kisses. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel cherished, my love? Just say the word and I'll make it happen."

"Just talk..." You kiss just under his ear, leaving a few soft bites and hickeys. Savoring the feeling of him, the smell, the taste, the sound of him.

Donnie shivers at the sensation of your kisses and bites, his body responding to your touch. He clears his throat, his voice slightly husky as he speaks. "Talk, huh? Well, my love. I can certainly do that. How about I tell you about my latest breakthrough? It's quite fascinating, really. I've been working on enhancing the capabilities of our weapons, making them even more formidable against the Kraang. I've developed a new energy modulator that can increase the power output of our weapons by nearly 50%" He continues to speak, his voice a mixture of excitement and passion, sharing the intricate details of his latest invention. As he talks, he peppers your skin with tender kisses, his lips moving against your neck. "And then, of course, there's the matter of the portal. I've been studying their devices, researching everything known about the key and I believe I'm close to finding a way to disrupt it. It's a complicated process, but I'm confident I can figure it out."

"I love your brain..." You mumble softly, kissing along his collarbone and shoulders as he pauses for a moment, his lips lingering next to your ear.

"But enough about my work. I want to hear about you. Tell me about your day, your thoughts, your dreams" Donnie pulls back slightly, his eyes filled with adoration as he waits for you to share.

Your hands more to his shoulders, gently releasing his hard battle shell. His breath hitches as he feels your hands on his shoulders, his body responding to your touch. Your hands follow the spines that go down his natural softshell, feeling its leathery texture. "You want to hear about my dreams?"

"Yes. I want to hear about your dreams, your hopes, your desires. Everything." He leans in, capturing your lips with his, a gentle yet passionate kiss that conveys his love and longing. Your breath hitches as he kisses you. "Your dreams are important to me. I want to be part of them. To help you achieve them." You're cheeks redden, burying your face in his neck. After years of being his wife, him kissing you like that still makes you feel giddy. "You're so adorable. Your presence alone is enough to make all my dreams come true, but I still want to hear about your dreams. What makes your soul soar, my love?"

"You." You say simply, your cheeks reddening more as you had just blurted it out. No explanation, no sweet monologue about how much you crave him. Not just in a sexual way, but how you crave to hear his voice, his rants, the smell of him, the feeling of his hands. Hell, craving to see his purple bandana, the feeling of his natural shell. How his kisses still make you fell like some love-sick teenage girl even after 5 years. "I-I mean-"

Donnie's eyes widen in surprise at your confession, his heart pounding in his chest. He mumbles your name quietly, capturing your lips in another soft, lingering kiss. Pouring all his love and adoration into it. "I'm grateful every single day that I get to call you mine. You are my greatest dream come true."

You grab the front of his shirt, and kiss him hard. Pouring all your feelings into the kiss like he had before. Donnie is taken aback by the sudden intensity of your kiss, but he quickly responds, his lips moving against yours with equal fervor. Your fists stay clenched in his shirt, tilting your head slightly to deep the kiss, to pull him closer. He wraps his arms around you tightly, his hands gripping your waist as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing against yours. Your heart flips and pounds in your chest, lips molding to his. Donnie can feel the heat and passion radiating from you, matching the intensity of his own desires.

"Oh, my love..." He moans muffled against your lips, his body tingling with desire as he surrenders to the intoxicating sensation of your kiss. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour, his touch reverent yet hungry.

You pull away a bit too soon for either of your liking, but you wanted to tell him. "I crave you... Not just sexually, but I crave to hear your voice, to hear about your projects and how passionate you are about them. The way you smell after working in the lab, the feeling of your hands. Your stupid purple bandana, the feeling of your natural shell." You pause for a moment, hoping you hadn't spoken too quickly for him to understand. Donnie listens to your words, his eyes filled with awe and adoration. He reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "I crave your kisses... Cause even after being together for 5 years... They still make me feel like a love-sick teenage girl... Because they make my heart skip... They give me butterflies, they make me feel so..." You couldn't finish, not knowing what word to use.

"Your love... Your desire for me, it's reciprocated tenfold. You ignite a fire in me, y/n. Your kisses, your touch, they have the power to make me feel alive and complete." He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. He leans in to press a soft kiss against your forehead. "You are my everything."

You bump your nose against his, your lips brushing softly. "I... I wish I could marry you again..." You whisper, your eyes fluttering closed as you gently kiss him. Donnie's heart swells, a soft smile gracing his lips as the touch of your lips against his is filled with love, longing, and wistfulness.

"Oh, my love... I am yours. Now and forever." He presses a small kiss to your forehead, his voice filled with love and devotion. "I promise to love and cherish you in every possible way. Our love is eternal and I am grateful every day that I get to share my life with you."

You roll the two of you over, so you're sitting on his plastron, Donnie's eyes widen as you take charge. His heart skips a beat and he listens intently, his gaze filled with love and adoration for you. "I, Y/N Hamato, take you, Donatello Hamato, to be my not so lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold through sickness and health. Richer or poorer..." You say softly, reaching to grab your wedding rings off the nightstand. You normally took them off for bed, when working in the lab, or when fighting Kraang. You hand him your ring and hold out your left hand. Donnie takes the ring, his hands trembling slightly with a mix of excitement and emotion. He slides the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and reverent. "Till death do us part."

"I, Donatello Hamato, take you, Y/N Hamato, to by my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, through every twist and turn that life may bring. In sickness and in health, in times of wealth and times of struggle..." His voice quivers slightly as he gazes into your eyes, his thumb brushing against the ring on your finger. "Till death to us part... And beyond." He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss against your lips, sealing your vows.

You slowly slide the ring onto his finger as you kiss. Donnie lays back against the pillows, pulling you with him, cradling his face. His body relaxes against the pillows, his eyes closing in blissful surrender. The taste of your lips, the warmth of your touch, it all sends shivers down his spine. He deepens the kiss, his lips moving against yours with growing hunger and urgency. His hands trail along your back, pulling you closer against him, his desire becoming undeniable. His tongue intertwines with yours, the intensity of the connection between you growing with each passing second.

Donnie's body reacts instinctively to the intensifying desire, rolling the two of you over, hovering over your body. He gently lowers his weight to press against you. Your finger slip under his bandana, tossing it aside as the kiss becomes more desperate, lustful. His hands roam your body, groaning softly. Donnie's lips trail down your neck, leaving hot kisses along your skin. "Oh my love... You drive me wild" He murmurs breathlessly between kisses. The press of his hips against yours adds to the growing heat between you, eliciting a moan of pleasure from deep in his chest. "I need you... Want you... Let me show you how much you mean to me..."

"Are we consummating our marriage again?" You tease breathlessly, your chest rising and falling quickly. Donnie's hands slip under your shirt, tilting your head back as he peppers kisses down you neck. He chuckles, his breath hot against your skin.

"Yes. It seems we are." His touch sends shivers down your spine. He trails his fingers along your skin, his touch gentle yet filled with an underlying hunger. "I want to show you how deeply I love and desire you. Every touch, every kiss. Shall we continue this, my beautiful bride?" Donnie nips your skin playfully, his voice a mix of desire and amusement.

"Y-Yes." You gasp, feeling his teeth graze your skin. Donnie lifts your shirt, your breath hitches. You feel nervous as he gazes down at your body. Donnie's breath hitches as well, his eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Every inch of you is a masterpiece. I am honored to have you as my wife, and I crave the taste of you, the feel of your body against mine." Donnie trails his fingers along the curve of your stomach, his touch tender and reverent. "I want to worship every inch of you, my love... To bring you pleasure."

"Please, Donnie" You whine, his hands continuing their exploration. Your hips rise slightly to press against his harder. Donnie removes your bra, sitting up a little to take in the sight of you. His eyes are filled with a mix of desire and adoration, gazing at your exposed form. Your heart hammers in your chest, arms moving to cover yourself, but he pins your hands down.

"There's no need to hide your beauty from me. You're perfection and I want to show you just how much I appreciate every part of you." Donnie leans down, pressing a tender kiss against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "Trust me, my love. I adore every inch of you, and I want to worship your body." He gently releases your hands, allowing you to feel more comfortable and in control. His hand resume their exploration of your body, becoming more purposeful and filled with burning passion. Donnie's lips trail along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of desire in their wake. He can sense your vulnerability, and he wants nothing more than to erase any doubts you may have about your body. He slowly grinds his hips against yours, his touch more focused and deliberate. "Every curve, every inch of your body... It drives me while with desire. Your body is a work of art and I am in awe of it."

Donnie's lips leave a trail of marks along your skin, his touch leaving you breathless and craving more. His fingers play with the waistband of your pants, gazing into your eyes. He leans in, pressing a gently kiss to your lips. With a slow and deliberate movement, he begins to remove your pants, his touch gentle and respectful. His fingers continue to tease and caress, his intention clear - to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

His lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue flicking and tease, eliciting a gasp from you. Donnie tosses your pants aside, feeling the arch of your back as you seek more of his touch. His fingers move to play with the waistband of your panties. "Th-This isn't fair..." You huff, tugging on his shirt as he was still completely dressed.

"Fairness, my love, is a subjective concept. Right now, my focus is entirely on you and your pleasure. But if it will ease your mind, I can certainly rectify the situation." With a swift motion, Donnie removes his shirt. "Is this fair enough for you? Now. Let me continue to worship your body and make you forget all about fairness." Donnie then returns his attention to your body, his lips and fingers working in harmony.

Donnie slowly moves from your breasts, planting gentle kisses down your stomach. He sees a flicker of nervousness as he removes your panties, he takes his time, savoring the moment. He kisses along your thighs, his lips brushing against your skin with feather-light touches. His hands, strong yet gentle, caress your hips, guiding you into a position that feels comfortable and enticing. "You are so... Exquisite..." With those words, his lips and tongue work to ignite a fire within you.

Donnie's lips and tongue work with skill and precision, pleasuring you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hands gently guide your legs over his shoulders, granting him better access. Donnie continues to lavish attention upon your sensitive folds, his tongue delving deeper, his movements becoming more fervent. He listens to your gasps and moans, using them as a guide. His tongue dances and explores, his lips sucking and teasing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, his own desire growing with every moment.

"My love, your moans are music to my ears. I will do whatever it takes to make you feel incredible." He murmurs, presses his thumb to your clit. Your hips buck and he responds with more fervor. With a skilled motion, he thrusts his tongue in and out of your wetness, his movements becoming more rhythmic and deliberate. The pressure against your clit intensifies, his thumb circling and teasing in sync with the movement of his tongue.

"D-Donnie!" You squeal as he redoubles his efforts. Your chest heaves, fisting the sheets underneath you. Donnie's eyes fill with a mix of desire and concern as he hears your plea. You push his head away, wanting all of him. Donnie quickly complies, pulling his mouth away from your dripping core. He moves to hover over you again, gently caressing his skin. You quickly undo his pants, pushing them and boxers off.

"Your wish is my command, my love." His breath hot against your skin as a surge of desire floods his veins. He moans softly as you nip and lick his neck, sending shivers down his spine. With a swift movement, he positions himself between your legs, his gaze filled with hunger and adoration.

Donnie's eyes darken as he hears your whines and pleas, feeling the urgency in your voice. He positions himself at your entrance, his tip teasingly brushing your wetness. With a deliberate movement, Donnie enters you, filling you completely. He groans, his hips slowly rocking against yours. He beings to move with a rhythm that matches both of your desires, his thrusts deep and powerful. HIs hands find their way to your hips, gripping them firmly.

Donnie's thrusts become more intense and purposeful, his hips meeting yours with a rhythmic precision. The sounds of your moans and gasps fill the air, further fueling his desire. His hands grip your hips firmly, his movements becoming more frenzied as he seeks to push you over the edge. He can feel his own need building, the tension coiling within him. He can feel the urgency in your moans, more than willing to oblige.

"You're the embodiment of everything I desire, I will give you everything you crave." Donnie's thrusts deepen, hitting all the right spots within you, eliciting a chorus of pleasure-filled gasps and moans from your lips. He adjusts his position, pulling your leg over his hip, allowing for a deeper connection between your bodies. His movements become more fervent, his thrusts filled with an undeniable hunger. He can sense your climax is near, he wants nothing more than to reach that peak with you.

"I'm close..." You whimper, your hands sliding to his shell. Donnie's eyes widen as he feels your body trembling beneath him, signaling your impending release. He can feel the pressure building within himself as well, the need to join you.

"I'll be right there with you, let go, my love." His thrusts become more powerful, driving deeper into you as he seeks to push you over the edge. His hands tighten their grip on your hips, his body moving in perfect sync with yours.

As your body tightens around him, Donnie can feel his own release approaching, his need growing more urgent with every passing moment. With a final, powerful thrust, Donnie lets himself go, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through his body. Your nails digging into his shoulders as you climax. You moan his name fairly loud, thanking Donnie silently for sound proofing your bedroom. He releases himself inside you, his moans of satisfaction mingling with your own as you both reach the peak of pleasure.

Both of you slowly come down from your highs, your body still trembling slightly as Donnie slowly pulls out. You whine at the loss, Donnie pressing kisses to your face.

"Shh, I'm right here." Donnie whispers, laying next to you and pulling you into his arms. His skin is damp with sweat as he gently rubs your back and strokes your hair lovingly. "Rest now. You're safe and loved, right here in my arms, always." Donnie presses a tender kiss to your forehead. He holds you tightly, providing a sense of comfort and security. In this moment nothing else matters.

Your hands gently caress his softshell, Donnie's breath catches at the gentle caress. "You're amazing... I love you so much." You mumble, pressing small kisses to his neck and collarbone. He listens to your words, his heart swelling with a deep sense of love and appreciation.

"I love you with every fiber of my being. You see me for who I truly am... And for that I'm grateful." He tilts his head slightly, allowing your lips to brush against his skin. Donnie pulls away, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss. He pours all his love and devotion into the gentle press of his mouth against yours. The kiss slowly deepens as both of your explore the depths of your emotions together. Donnie's hands pulling you close, as if committing every inch of you to memory. The butterflies in your stomach mirror the ones that flutter within Donnie, his mind filled with an overwhelming love for you. "I am yours, my love, forever."

[fatuismooches]

Okay. Imagining.

When Fragile!Reader went into a coma, Dottore hadn't thought to preserve anything about them. He didn't have recordings of their voice. He didn't have pictures of their eyes. He figured that kind of data was useless because he'd always have his assistant by his side at all times. When would he need pictures if he could just look at you? Why would he need recordings when you never seemed to shut up (not that he'd ever ask you to)?

But when you fell asleep, he hadn't realized just how long he'd be deprived of that wonderful sight and that beautiful sound. He thought it would be fine, he'd help them wake up and it would be back to normal... but nothing worked. Before he knew it, years had gone by with seemingly no progress. What color were your eyes again? He was starting to forget. What range did your voice have when you sang? He found it hard to recall.

This is why, when you finally woke up, he had such a reaction to seemingly nothing at all. When you first opened your eyes, he was starstruck by that hauntingly beautiful hue. When you finally spoke, even with your voice hoarse and quiet from misuse, his heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help but gasp for air as his lungs squeezed in his chest. How could he have forgotten? And more importantly, how did he survive so long without this?

As he finally held your hand after what felt like a millennia, he silently vowed to not only find you a cure but a way to make you immortal like him. There was no way he'd allow himself to be deprived of his lover ever again.

MY HEART IS HURTING SO MUCH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS... this is literally canon bye. Also the sad thing about this is that it could totally happen considering the existence of erosion in Teyvat 🥺. Now I have even more brainrot of this happening to reader too and them slowly losing their sense of self and forgetting him 😭

Sniff... Dottore not bothering to keep any hard data of you because he has the real thing in front of him :( You were always glued to his hip, even if he wanted to get away (he doesn't) he couldn't, always faced with your lovely smile and pleasant voice. Beautiful body and soft touches. And he thinks, the best way to collect data is from the subject itself rather than anything else. Even if he were to preserve you somehow, would it ever compare to your being in real life? No, it wouldn't, and you'd always be here, so if he longed to hear your voice, he would simply go to you and hear it. If he wanted to see your eyes, he would go to you and kiss you to see them flutter and melt. If he wanted you, he would go to you. No need for anything else.

But now, now that this has happened, Zandik curses himself for being stupid. After all, what kind of scientist doesn't keep backups of their data? Yes, the real thing will always be the best, but what happens if the original is lost? Is hurt? Is no more? Zandik didn't think the absence of another person could affect him so much, but it does. You have such an... effect on him that drives him completely mad. His head hurts from the ringing silence instead of your voice that fills it. His eyes burn from the sleepless nights that you are not by his side. After you fall asleep, he writes stuff down, he truly does, filling up pages and pages so everything about you could be recorded, but reading all the detailed words in the world doesn't help him remember the exact hue of your eyes, or the exact tone of voice you used in different situations, or the once-familiar curve of your lips that he can't seem to remember the exact position of. A part of him despises himself for allowing himself to forget, he's the only one in Teyvat who remembers you, but at the same time he doesn't... but that doesn't make him love you any less. He may not remember that stuff... but he sure does remember how much time he spent with you.

Dottore's always wondered how he'd react on the day you finally wake up, he'll be delighted, of course, that goes without saying but would anything else happen? And oh, even he could not have predicted this possibility would occur. Those eyes, that voice, your smile, even while being sickly, you were truly the epitome of human beauty. The way everything about you acts as if he is the only person that matters. When he holds your hand, he feels you squeeze back ever so slightly, and he resolves himself once again. He really can't live without you... never again.

You're really confused as to why he's so attentive, yes there's your illness but that doesn't explain how much he studies you. How he always goes silent and watches you whenever you speak, even about dumb things, when years ago he would roll his eyes at your idiocy. How he likes to stare deep into your eyes without getting embarrassed, which was funny because he always broke away from eye contact in the Akademiya. You may never know, as he's never going to tell you about what he went through without your presence, but right now, he's never going to let that happen to either of you ever again.

I have another hc that sort of relates to this: I imagine Dottore felt indescribable emotions when you finally woke up and uttered his real name - "Zandik." Because really, no one has spoken it in over four hundred years. Perhaps he almost forgot what it sounded like, as he discarded that part of his identity long ago. Maybe he buried it so far back in his mind that he lost it, especially since it carried unpleasant memories. But you, when you spoke that forsaken name again... he truly felt like Zandik again.

[24kmagiic]

I've been reading your fics for years and I gotta say I love how you write Bonnie. She's so fierce. How do you think Bonnie being with Klaus would influence her personality/character in canon?

First of all, thank you! I’m so happy you found joy in my fics and hope to continue them all. My musings for Bonnie have been so fickle recently.

So! To answer your question, I think being with Klaus would allow Bonnie to “unmask”. So much of her character has been suppressed so her true personality is sort of a mystery. We draw conclusions but what is actually canon? Bonnie went from being a quirky "mean/party girl" to being an uptight recluse in a span of five episodes so which one is the truth? In the first three episodes, she seemed fun, slightly immature, and dismissive of anything 'deep' and then she became a broody 'bitch' who's morally sound and incorruptible. I don't think that happens overnight with the discovery of the supernatural world but that's how they portrayed her because they didn't give a damn about her development. OR it could be that they changed the progression of her character at the last minute and didn't think anyone would notice. I did.

Klaus wouldn’t necessarily turn her into a “villain” as we love to fantasize, but by Bonnie suddenly creating and enforcing boundaries, along with an unwillingness to put on the brave front she usually does, it would feel (to them) like disrespect and they'd 1000% make her out to be villainous.

I think the box she’s been placed into would shatter and Bonnie would be faced with the fact that yes, she has simply been tolerated all these years by the only friends she’s ever known. I think this would cause her to lean on Klaus heavily and we may even see her codependency shift from Elena to him. Let’s face it, our girl is seriously co-dependent. Klaus would of course benefit from her codependency but it'd probably skeeve him out because as clingy a Klaus can be, I feel like he despises clinginess. He gives off Cancerian energy and, as a fellow cancer, I can attest to this. We can be clingy but you can't because, ew.

That said, Bonnie's codependency wouldn't look like what you'd normally expect when you think of your local co-dependent idiots. It's not following him around everywhere and doing everything he says.

It's harming herself for his benefit.

In the same way she was so eager to die for Elena, she'd try to do the same for Klaus except he would not allow it.

Bonnie sees NO value in her presence in other's lives. It's why she's so gungho to sign up for martyrdom. But not because she actually thinks that the world would be better with them in it. It's because she can't bear the thought of surviving without them.

Because in WHAT world do we benefit from Elena over Bonnie? Or Klaus over Bonnie? NONE. And if she digs deep, Bonnie knows that. But in HER world, they have to outlive her because she can't handle losing yet another person.

So on to the driving force behind her co-dependency. Abandonment and therefore, Abby and Rudy, and let's face it, Sheila. This girl has been abandoned three times in three different ways.

Before you hang me out to dry, forget I mentioned grams because I know you're chomping at the bits to correct me.

Abby represents physical abandonment and so does Rudy. The fact that you'd just up and leave your only child is beyond my comprehension but we've already beaten that dead horse so let's move straight into Rudy, the other dead horse.

While he was physically present some of the time, he was still gone a lot and did the bare minimum when it comes to children. Food, clothes, and shelter. Emotionally, he was completely gone. Showing up at the high school graduation after the hard work is over is such deadbeat behavior but again, the horse is dead, no need to whack it.

Now, take a deep breath and think about how I'm about to chop Sheila's ass up real quick.

This type of abandonment, I don't have a label for but it's so unique to Bonnie as a character that maybe by the end of it, I'll coin a catchy phrase.

Bonnie mentioned that Sheila was a drunk (even though the writers abandoned that idea) but let's go with it. As a product of TWO alcoholic parents, (who both came from alcoholic parents) I can attest that there is a unique form of abandonment that borders emotional, physical, and mental neglect.

Sheila had 16 years to help Bonnie wield her magic and defend herself against the great evils out there and instead, she chose to get drunk and 'ramble' about the occult. WHO is going to take a drunk person seriously about any of that? Family or not, ain't a soul out there that'll believe anything you say when you can't control your intake. It sounds like everything Bonnie knew, she had to piece together from the tidbits Sheila bothered to mention.

She left her granddaughter utterly defenseless and yeah, you can argue that she was following Rudy's wishes but guess what. RUDY WAS NEVER THERE! He left Bonnie in Sheila's care so if Sheila decided to teach her granddaughter magic, then what the hell was he going to do about it? Stay home?

I think Sheila used that as an excuse to shy away from the deeper issue which is her ultimately losing her own daughter to magic because Sheila never saw Abby again after she left Mystic Falls and I can imagine how painful that must have been but knowing the evils out there, it was completely neglectful to leave Bonnie defenseless.

Humans always operate in extremes. They go from one extreme to the next without ever addressing the root cause. Both Rudy and Sheila felt like they failed when it came to their relationship with Abby so they did the COMPLETE opposite with Bonnie and in turn, created a whole new network of problems. They are the root cause of our self-sacrificing, co-dependent queen because they were so focused on Abby that they never once considered Bonnie.

I tend to be long-winded as hell, my apologies. You're probably wondering, 'Well, what does all this have to do with Klonnie?' Well, I needed to explain my view of Bonnie before I could get into how I think her being with Klaus would affect her personality and character.

For the first time in her life, Bonnie would actually be considered. As boneheaded and selfish as Klaus is, when he's in love, he is surprisingly considerate and while all we truly got from him in canon was heavy admiration (cause he ain't love them hoes), it was a nice glimpse into what could have been for him.

Let's use his relationship with Hope when we reference Love.

First, let me say that the writers did a terrible disservice of having him abandon Hope for all them years but when he was there, he always looked out for her best interest. When Freya entertained the thought of Hope binding her wolf as Klaus's mother did to him, we got to see him fight for her even if Hope herself thought that's what she wanted. Klaus uniquely understood what that would do to Hope and did everything in his power to prevent it, including threatening to dispatch his own family.

As for Bonnie, no one understands abandonment on that show like Klaus Mikaelson and he would instantly catch on to Bonnie's toxic behavior pattern. He'd see right through the lies she'd weave and while it may have worked on Gilbert the Younger, it ain't fidna fly with Bad Ass Mikaelson, the man who carried his family around in coffins because they threatened to leave him or jeopardize their relationship.

The two of them are two sides of the same coin. Where Bonnie internalizes her abandonment issues, Klaus externalizes his. While Bonnie has an "I'd rather die young than live my life without you" approach to love; Klaus has an "I'll kill you and every mf in here before I let you go"' approach.

It'd be a very toxic paring at first but once they 'healed', they'd work so well because each of them has a love that the other has been looking for. Bonnie has been waiting for someone to fight for her whether she knows it or not. She wouldn't know how to handle it at first because it's too much and very dangerous but deep down, she'd feel relieved to finally know what it's like to be fought for. As for Klaus, he's been waiting for someone to give up everything to be devoted to him because in the past, people so easily discarded him to go after what they wanted and it was never him. He's always left behind in the grand scheme of others. Rebekah easily discards him for love. His mother bound him with a spell to hide her own transgressions, Elijah, though loyal, was always at risk of falling in love and detaching himself from Klaus and the threat alone was enough to drive Klaus to commit the most grisly murders.

So, again, to answer your question, simply put, I think they'd bring out the absolute worst in one another at first but not in the ways you'd expect. Like I said earlier, Klaus would force Bonnie to work on her boundaries in general because he's notorious for overstepping boundaries and he's the perfect punching bag to practice on. But once they got over the initial shock of one another and realized that they both (essentially) want the same things from one another, they'd mellow out.

I hope that somewhat answers your question. If you have any follow-up questions, please submit them because I definitely cut myself short for the sake of "brevity" lol.

[senwlove]

What's wrong with The Impossible Heir??

I'm torn between believing whether the writing straight up sucks ass or is intentionally done to make the viewer despise every character except Huiju.

Her stark contrast from the rest of the characters, having a normal moral compass, the way she clocks everybody (especially the shady FML) and her overall likable and sassy quality make me feel like the writers aren't oblivious to how they've handled these characters. or maybe it's just Heejin's charisma and the way she portrayed this role with so much life and emotions that makes the viewer attached to her and root for her which makes sense because if any other actress played Huiju she wouldn't be as likable and might have been passed off as a textbook kdrama mean girl who is snotty, entitled and rude. nevertheless, I think she will serve a bigger purpose in the future. we are given too much context to her character and emphasis on her as a shortcut to being the heir through marriage to ignore and it makes me feel like she will be the answer to the power struggle. the constant comments from Inju's wife about her and Taeho's possible union feel like foreshadowing.

now that TaeO will be going to jail for murder accusations, it will be the kickstart of his real revenge arch. he has tasted the pain of betrayal from the chairman, inha, and Hyewon, and he will completely lose it and step on everybody on the way to the top and his help will be Huiju. whether he reciprocates her feelings or not, he will be paranoid enough to use her. It will not be surprising because his character is already unlikeable and had been established as a weirdo after that kiss with Hyewon.

I think this will be the route writers take because for whatever reason they want the viewer to hate everyone and the ending will be very unsatisfying. In conclusion, yes the writing sucks ass. I'm trying hard to redeem it because I think Lee Jae Wook progressively gets hotter in each episode.

I just hope my babygirl Heejin gets enough recognition for her performance and be able to bag some leading roles in the future. she's so talented and has this air of main character and insane charisma.

[bamjammy]

My Billford friends. I present you: Will Wood. This is song is them. Not up for debate, thanks and I’m correct. Analysis below. Also TBOB spoilers probably

This is a lyric by lyric analysis about why this song is them. Most of (if not all of the song) is Bill’s perspective in my mind, Will Wood definitely captures his weird chaotic energy. Not every lyric matches. That’s ok, I’m just gonna skip those. The song is still them. Lyrics will be in quotes, analysis will be in parentheses and also a different color.

“Why do you wanna kill me?”

(I also hear this as “what are gonna do, kill me?” sometimes cause it’s a little hard to understand him. I feel like both fit a bitter/cocky Bill talking to Ford in the pyramid)

“Say you're still her, the woman you were, and you haven't turned into someone who never could love me again”

(Ok obviously Ford is not a woman, we can just ignore that part. The point of the lyric is the narrator, in this case Bill, wanting reassurance that he is still loved, I feel like this would be more subconscious on Bill’s part, but that denial is absolutely palpable during weirdmaggedon/TBOB)

“'Cause you never broke my heart, no, you fixed it, and now it works, but only enough just to suffer that hurt. Whoa-oh-oh-oh”

(Ok I fucking love this line especially in this context. This is literally their entire dynamic like, c’mon. Bill, up to the point of meeting Ford, had been manipulating people all throughout human history. It really feels like Ford is the first one he got so deeply attached too, so much so that he would want to convince him to join him in ruling over everything as an agent of chaos. Ford was captivated by Bill the moment he met him, believing him to be a higher power capable of provisioning him with what he needs. As their relationship progresses they sort of have a reversal of roles, Ford comes to despise Bill and fear him, Bill comes to be obsessed with Ford. He NEEDS him. God I love this line)

“What can I say to convince you to slip back into my arms again? I won't do you no harm again. Let me tell you that I'm sorry and that-”

(I don’t think Bill would ever say sorry out loud unless it was specifically to be manipulative, but after reading TBOB there is clear regret at losing Ford. Even if it’s not remorse you can tell he wishes he’d gone about things differently even though he refuses to admit it. Also the “slip back into my arms again” thing, again I associate with him trying to convince Ford to join him in weirdmaggedon.)

“I'm just a little bit crazy about you, Just a little bit out of my mind, Just a little insane without you”

(Bill’s always been a little insane by nature of who he is, but he goes to such extremes to get Ford to stay with him (see TBOB missing journal pages) and then STILL tries to convince him during weirdmaggedon after he’d already been rejected and despised. He makes him CRAZY. It’s kind of sad)

“Please come back and be just a little bit mine- Just a little bit mine”

(He wants him back soooooo bad it’s really just pathetic at this point)

“I never thought, and if I did, I forgot while blacked out in love”

(I don’t think Bill thinks through much of what he does to Ford in those desperate moments if at all. They’re just that- desperate. Can also be interrupted as Bill possessing Ford, when he “blacks out” and finds himself harmed or in danger, he obviously can’t remember those moments when Bill takes over. Bill interrupts this as “blacked out in love” either to justify it to himself or to convince himself Ford still loved him. I think that’s a fun interpretation)

“That what's only starting would've come to an end but now, I'm hungover and hung out to dry, and I'm giving it time”

(Time passes faster for Bill, it should feel like a blip in his life but it consumes him. The “hungover” part, see TBOB “Losing Sixer”. It’s the best page)

“Does not knowing the truth turn my words into lies? Whoa-oh-oh-oh”

(I could see him absolutely trying to play dumb in last ditch attempt to get Ford to trust him again. Fucking loser lmao)

“What can I say to convince you or do to make you agree with me?”

(Again, desperate. See all my previous allusions to the weirdmaggedon scene)

“I don't need you to be with me, Just try to remember what you'd see in me”

(I feel like this line could be a breaking point for Bill, where he’s desperately grasping at anything to make Ford continue his work, including harming, threatening him, etc. I know a lot of these lines have come back to the same thing but it’s just. The vibes, y’know? I feel like this is specifically the part where Bill tries to call Stan, which scares Ford into actually reaching out to him, Bill inadvertently causing his own demise. That’s from TBOB btw. I warned you about spoilers)

(Cut the chorus since I already analyzed it)

“I'll be here singing 'til our heartbeats might slip back into that rhythm again”

(Bill waiting for the right moment to strike. The moment Ford steps out of the portal Bill sees an opportunity, he’s done biding his time. You feel me?)

“Whether it is or isn't the end, Who cares? God knows that I could use a friend!”

(Bill is living in so much denial it’s suffocating. I mean, it’s not even just Ford, it’s his whole life. He’s in denial about how people in his home dimension treated him, he’s in denial about the fact that he’s not all powerful, he’s in denial about how similar he is to humans, and he’s in denial about Ford not loving him (and also in denial about Loving Ford). There is no end because he refuses to accept it, but then tries to brush it off like he doesn’t care, because he’s in denial about caring. My boy, YIKES!!!)

Cut the rest of the song cause it’s just the chorus again but longer. Anyway yeah the point of this is Bill is a desperate freaky ex with weirdo Will Wood energy, Will Wood’s music is good and I love it and you should listen to him if you haven’t, and I’m not normal about them and their weird fucking dynamic. Enjoy and eat well my strange creatures

[growingstories]

Under contruction

Once upon a time in the bustling city Greenfield, there lived a man named Ethan. With his strikingly handsome looks and a chiseled muscular frame, he had always been the envy of many. Ethan worked as a construction worker, where his strong physique was a great advantage in tackling the demanding tasks.

Ethan had been in a long-term relationship with his girlfriend, Sarah who, loved him deeply. They were the epitome of a picture-perfect couple, the envy of their friends. However, as fate would have it, Ethan's charm seemed to get the better of him one evening.

It was a warm summer's night, and Ethan found himself at a local bar after a particularly exhausting day at work. As he leaned against the counter, catching his breath and wiping away the sweat from his brow, his eyes met with a young woman named Emily. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a captivating smile that instantly drew Ethan towards her.

Their conversation became flirtatious, and despite knowing that he shouldn't be engaging in such behavior, Ethan's desperation for something new made him lose sight of his true commitment to Sarah. Before the night was over, they shared a passionate kiss at a nearby park.

Unbeknownst to Ethan, his supervisor, Mr. Jenkins, had noticed his illicit rendezvous. Mr. Jenkins was known for being a stern and unforgiving man, and he despised infidelity with a fervor that burned like a fire within him. Determined to teach Ethan a lesson, he concocted a plan to ensure that Ethan not only faced consequences for his actions but was reminded of his betrayal every single day.

The following morning, as Ethan arrived at the construction site, there was a strange tension in the air. Mr. Jenkins, wearing a sly smirk, called Ethan into his office. Closing the door behind them, he held up a picture of Ethan and Emily from the previous night. Anger and remorse washed over Ethan's face as he realized the weight of his mistake.

"You think you can cheat on your girlfriend and get away with it, don't you?" Mr. Jenkins sneered. "Well, let me tell you this, Ethan. You either comply with my terms or face the consequences that come with your actions."

Terrified and desperate to keep his secret buried, Ethan nodded hesitantly, knowing he would do whatever Mr. Jenkins demanded of him.

From that day forward, every lunch break Mr. Jenkins would bring in an overabundance of food for Ethan. He forced him to devour plate after plate, threatening to expose his secret if he ever refused. But if Mr. Jenkins thought that was enough, he was mistaken.

He ordered the other construction workers to bring more food for Ethan each day, adding insult to injury. If Ethan dared reject a meal from his colleagues, they would unleash their frustration upon him, making his working conditions more challenging and punishing. The once athletic and well-conditioned man began to feel the burden of his inexplicable weight gain.

Mr. Jenkins, seeing the progress of their punishment, increased Ethan's working hours, inventing reasons for him to stay longer on-site. This meant that Ethan could no longer make it to the gym, further exacerbating his gradual transformation from a strapping construction worker to an overweight shell of his former self.

Months turned into a year, and the weight clung to Ethan as if it were a permanent fixture of his being. He had ballooned in size, struggling to fit into his once snug overalls. The breaking point had arrived.

Unable to bear the weight of his secret any longer, Ethan went to see Sarah, his heart heavy with guilt. He confessed everything, telling her about his moment of weakness, the punishment, and his relentless weight gain.

Shock and disbelief washed over Sarah's face as she listened to Ethan's confession. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice quivered as she spoke, "I never thought you'd be capable of such a thing, Ethan. But I believe that people make mistakes, and I choose to forgive you."

Relieved but burdened by his massive size, Ethan promised Sarah that he would make amends and do whatever it took to rebuild their relationship. Sarah, feeling betrayed, put forth her own – condition Ethan would need to stay fat so as not to be attractive to other.

Though he felt the burden of his weight, Ethan chose to take on Sarah's condition. He wanted to keep her happy and show her how deeply he regretted his actions. The weight of his punishment served as a constant reminder of the pain he had caused, a penance he willingly bore.

As the years went by, Ethan and Sarah continued to work on rebuilding their relationship, their love growing stronger with each passing day. Though his size caused him physical discomfort and brought about challenges in his everyday life, Ethan saw it as a necessary sacrifice.

The story of Ethan, the once handsome construction worker who had been forced to gain weight, serves as a powerful reminder of the consequences of one's actions. It teaches us that true remorse and commitment to change can lead to redemption, even if that redemption comes in the form of a burden we must bear.