#i feel like she’s always in her own world and it’s hard to get through to her and become real friends

[00valentina-writes00]

My God, your writings are wonderful, the way you express yourself in letters should be rewarded with an award

I'm so excited about pregnancy writing. Is there a way to know how Sevika would behave with an injured reader when she is pregnant or when she gives birth to her baby? I thank heaven that put you on my profile, I read this every night before going to sleep (don't judge me for being so weird ￣(=∵=)￣ )

✞⛧ Sevika with a pregnant girl ✞⛧

An: girl I understand (me too fr- I love writing stuff like this)

✞⛧ Sevika is protective as hell, always on guard when you’re around. The idea of you carrying her child brings out a deeper, fiercer side to her.

✞⛧ She’s not great at expressing her feelings verbally but shows her care through actions. For example, when you’re pregnant, she’ll make sure you’re never doing too much, offering to handle any physical tasks.

✞⛧ If you get hurt while pregnant, she’s livid. She’ll immediately jump into action, her protective instincts taking over. Sevika is usually stoic, but if you’re hurt in any way, you’ll see a more vulnerable side of her—concern, anger, fear.

✞⛧ In those moments, Sevika’s eyes will burn with anger, and she’ll make sure to stay by your side until you’re safe and sound. If it’s a more serious injury, she’ll insist on taking care of you herself, even if it means staying up all night.

✞⛧ She’ll be hovering around you during labor, but in her own way—staying close but not overly dramatic. Sevika has a quiet intensity, trying to stay strong for you while she watches you go through something as intense as childbirth

✞⛧ During labor, Sevika has a firm hand on your back, rubbing circles to calm you down, though she’s visibly on edge. She might not say much, but her presence is comforting in a way you can’t quite put into words.

✞⛧ She’s not one for saying sweet things, but you can tell she’s paying attention to every little thing, from your breathing to how you’re holding up.

✞⛧ Her reaction when the baby is born is nothing short of awe. She’s trying to be tough about it, but there’s no hiding how she’s completely taken by this tiny human you both made.

✞⛧ Sevika’s hand is right there when the baby is handed to you, and the way she looks at the two of you—her child, her family—tells you everything you need to know about how much she cares.

✞⛧ After the baby is born, Sevika is surprisingly tender with the little one. She may not be the most openly affectionate person, but with her child, it’s different. You’ll see her carefully hold the baby, as though she’s learning how to be gentle.

✞⛧ She takes on a lot of the heavier work at home, but always with the unspoken promise to keep you both safe and well. She might do things like bring you food or clean the house without you asking, all because she knows you’re doing the most important work: nurturing.

✞⛧ She’s not exactly cuddly, but when the baby’s in your arms, Sevika will give you both soft looks from across the room. Her love for the two of you is clear in her eyes, even if her expression is more reserved than anything.

✞⛧ If the baby cries, Sevika’s instinct is to quickly check and see what’s wrong, almost like she’s scanning the room for danger. She can be a bit paranoid about protecting the baby but has the best of intentions.

✞⛧ Sevika will fight anyone who tries to harm you or your baby, no question. If anyone dares to cross her or her family, they’ll regret it immediately.

✞⛧ When you’re up late with the baby, Sevika will always offer to take the night shift. She knows how hard it is, and though she’s not the best with soothing techniques, her strong, steady presence gives you some peace.

✞⛧ As the baby grows, Sevika will be the kind of mom who’s constantly teaching them, showing them how to be tough, resilient, and smart.

✞⛧ She’ll teach them about the world in a way that’s practical—how to defend themselves, how to survive in a harsh world—but also instill in them a deep sense of loyalty and respect for others.

✞⛧ When the baby takes their first steps, Sevika will act like it’s no big deal, but her eyes will soften just a little. It’s one of those small moments where her pride in her child shows through.

✞⛧ She might not say it often, but you’ll hear her whisper “I love you” to the baby when she thinks you’re not paying attention. It’s a rare moment of softness that she keeps for her family.

✞⛧ She’ll always be the one to ensure that both you and the baby are physically protected. When people in Piltover or Zaun look at you with a hint of judgment, Sevika doesn’t flinch. She gives a glare that makes them think twice.

✞⛧ She’s a very practical mother, not one for over-the-top displays of affection, but the way she looks after the baby shows how deeply she cares.

✞⛧ When the baby gets older, Sevika is there for every milestone, though she might play it off like it’s no big deal. But you’ll catch that proud look she gives when the baby shows their first sign of strength.

✞⛧ Sevika will be the first one to defend the baby’s honor—if someone tries to mess with them, Sevika will be the one to step in and put them in their place.

✞⛧ When you’re resting, Sevika is right there beside you, making sure the baby is fed, happy, and safe while you get the rest you need.

✞⛧ She’s surprisingly sentimental about keepsakes—if you manage to get her to keep something like a baby blanket or a little toy, it’s something she holds onto tightly, even when the baby’s grown.

✞⛧ Despite being a hardened individual, when Sevika sees her child laugh, she can’t help but soften. That sound fills her with something she’s not used to—complete, overwhelming love.

✞⛧ In her quiet moments, you’ll sometimes catch her staring at the baby with that same sense of awe she had when they were born.

✞⛧ Sevika is a fierce protector, but she’s also a caring and capable mother who does her best to provide stability and strength for her family.

✞⛧ She’ll stay up late with the baby, rocking them to sleep in her arms, her stern demeanor softening in the quiet of the night.

✞⛧ Sevika will protect you both fiercely and provide for you, though you’ll often need to coax her into being a little more affectionate. She’s still getting used to showing that side of herself, but for you and the baby, she’ll always go to any length.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: my head is fucked

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy brings you breakfast in bed. You can't help but feel the guilt rippling off him. All of this is penance on his part. 

It's as close to vindication as you'll get. You're mother would never admit what she did, let alone apologise. That's when you see her again. You're not so sure you ever want to. 

The world is distant. It doesn't feel quite real. It's like a dream. The edges aren't quite sharp enough and the colours are cloudy. 

You look down at the plate and your stomach grumbles out of basic need. You don't have much appetite but your biology is at a constant battle with your mind. You shouldn't be able to breathe but you are, you should take your meds but you don't feel all that different.  

A poached egg, whole wheat toast, turkey bacons, and thick greek yogurt with fruit. It's all very healthy but a bit more than you would eat, when you feel up to it. Your breakfasts are a hard-boiled egg or a small cup of hot oats and milk. 

"I hope it's okay," he hovers at the foot of the bed. He's dressed already. You're less than put together. You're still groggy from a grief-laden sleep and the hangover of the bitter revelation. You wear his borrowed shirt and gym shorts, your messy hair untamed despite your efforts.  

"I called in to the office. I don't think I could focus of I tried," he explains. "And there's too much to be done here." 

"There is?" You nibble the toast. 

You'd hoped for some time alone. Not to think, just to be. You're still lost in all of this. The anger, the hurt, the regret, the confusion, and shame... 

"Sweetie, you don't have any clothes. I have a spare toothbrush for you but it's a travel one from a hotel. And you'll need everything else, right? Soaps and whatever." 

"Oh, I... I don't... my mom has all my money..." you utter and deflate again. You put down the toast. Your stomach is roaring but you just want to puke again.  

"I'll deal with that. Don't worry. She's not as clever as she thinks." He puts his hands on his hips. He does that when he's upset. He used to argue with your mom and stand like that. "Please, eat. Your clothes should be dry soon." 

"My clothes?" 

"I threw them in the wash for you--" his sentence is punctured by the doorbell. His jaw ticks. "I'll deal with that. Probably Mrs. Potter trying to give me more casserole." 

He leaves and you put your focus on the plate. You shouldn't just eat because you're hungry, you should eat because he went to all this effort. You pick up a slice of toast and break through the soft yolk. 

You eat deliberately. Chewing slowly, methodically. A shrill yowl tightens your throat around a swallow. You know that shriek. 

You carefully slide the tray forward and balance it on the legs as you angle out from beneath. You go to the window and try to see past the eaves and awning. You can't. Only the police cruiser and a familiar car... 

You listen. The noise wafts in from the bedroom door. You follow it and peer down at the front door. It's muffled but clearly coming from the porch. 

You twist the handle nervously and open the door a crack. You can't see past Andy as he stands staunchly on the mat, arms crossed. You glance an officer's belt with the radio attached and your mother's snarl lashes you like a barb. 

"He has my daughter. She's sick--" 

"She's an adult," Andy insists. "I'm not holding her against her will." 

"She can't-- I am her legal guardian. She can't be here on free will, genius." 

"Ma'am," a stern female voice warns. "Sir, where is the daughter?" 

"She's sleeping." He lies. 

You let the door fall inward. You don't want to be in trouble. No one seems to notice. You stall and shiver on the threshold. It isn't cold, you're just scared. 

You make yourself step out. There's not much room. As Andy stands like a wall. You peek around him. 

"Hi," you murmur. 

"My baby," your mother throws her hands up and comes forward. Andy moves to block her. "You can't keep me from my girl-- where is her oxygen? Officers, she needs air!" 

“No, I don’t,” you say, quiet but firm. 

Your mother flinches but doesn’t relent, “he’s manipulated her. I can call the doctor right now and you’ll see. She hasn’t been without her tank in years. She could die--” 

“That’s not true,” you murmur. 

“Ma’am,” the female officer warns. “Let her speak.” 

You look around with wide eyes, taking in the full scene. Andy stands just behind you, you can hear him exhale. A male officer is on the other side of your mother. You open your mouth then shut it. 

“Sweetie,” your mother reaches for you and you shy away. 

“Alright, Jackson, you stay here, I’m going to talk to her. Alone,” the female officer says. She reaches out and waves you to her delicately. “You wanna come with me? We can talk. Just you and me.” 

You gulp and look at Andy. His blue eyes blaze as he meets your gaze. He dips his chin slightly. You turn back and nod. As you cross the porch, your mother tries to latch onto you. The other officer, Jackson, pulls her back. 

You sidle past her and follow the woman. She takes you to the curb. You look down at your bare feet then at her. 

“I’m Officer Patel. What’s your name?” She asks. 

You answer and she shifts so you can’t see the house. “Me and my partner came because we got a call about a possible abduction. We’re just here to hear the full story. What’s going on here?” 

You rub your neck and fidget. You can’t tell her the truth. Not the full truth. You can’t tell her your mom lied to you. Not even that she hit you. You don’t want to go back to court. You don’t want to tell everyone how stupid and pathetic you are. 

“I’m here.... because I want to be,” you shrug. 

“Your mother says there was an argument.” 

You chew your lip, “she couldn’t find her pills. She left. I don't know... I don’t know why she came back.” Your chin trembles and you clasp your hands on your shirt hem. You sway back and forth. “She doesn’t love me.” 

You hang your head. That’s it. What you always knew deep down. What’s so clear now that she’s ground you into dust. You’re nothing to her so she made you into nothing at all. 

“She’s your mom, I’m sure you two will work this out. Me and my partner are just making sure you’re safe. We were told that man is keeping you here without consent.” 

You flinch and shake your head furiously. You wave your hands, “no, no. Andy... Andy helped me and... I shouldn’t be here because... because... because I’m a loser and.... my mom... my mom...” you stutter. “She doesn’t want me.” 

“She says you’re sick? You need oxygen?” She prompts. 

You twiddle your fingers. “No, not really. Not... all the time. I can breathe, see?” 

She watches you, “right. How old are you, miss?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

She nods. “You’re not a minor?” 

“No,” you blurt out. Many assume as much, especially with you always hiding behind your mom. “No, I’m an... adult.” 

“Do you want to press charges against anyone?” 

“Charges? For what?” You wonder. 

She sighs. “You’re free to go. You’re grown up and you can make your own choices without mom.” She tuts and turns to look across the lawn, “Jackson, come on.” 

You peer over. Andy stands, arms crossed, staring at you. Your mother rears like a snake, muttering under her breath. You head back up the walk and Officer Patel speaks again. 

“You have to leave, Ma’am.” 

You stop and peek over your shoulder. Patel points to your mother, “we will escort you if need be.” 

Jackson looks at her. She snarls and stomps her foot, “oh don’t you even think of touching me.” She huffs and storms past him. She comes down the steps and you think for an instant, she might push you. She stops beside you. “I took care of you, sweetie. Do you think he will for long? After he figures out what you are?” 

She continues past you. You continue up the paved squares and past Officer Jackson as he follows. As you come up to the steps, you hear the engines turn over. You’re suddenly very tired. 

“Andy,” you drag your feet over the mat. “I want to lay down.” 

“Alright, honey. We’ll sort everything out later,” he turns and stretches his arm across the door frame as you enter.  

He shuts the door as you stagger on, eyes hazy with tears. Your own mother despises you. She’s right about him too. He’ll hate you one day but you don’t know what to do to change any of this. 

💙

Andy makes you finish breakfast before you lay down. He’s right. It’s good for you to eat and you haven’t been doing a lot of that. 

You lay down for an hour before you sense him getting restless. You can hear him downstairs. You can’t be lazy. You don’t have any excuses anymore. You’re not sick, just weak. 

You make yourself get up and venture downstairs. He’s in the kitchen, flicking through his phone as it rests on the counter. You clear your throat and wring your hands as you enter. 

“I’m sorry. I was upset. It’s really stupid but sometimes I just... can’t do anything. Even if I try. I’m sorry, Andy. I’m... so sorry.” 

He faces you and his face contorts in a spectrum of emotion, “oh, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. I put your clothes on the couch for you. Just waiting. Take your time.” 

“Waiting for me,” you frown and look at the floor. “My mom lied. A lot. But I don’t think she was wrong about everything.” 

“What do you mean?” He shifts closer. 

You shrug, “me. I’m... I’m useless.” 

“No,” his voice hardens. “No, take it back.” 

“What?” You pout and bat your eyes as you peek up at him. 

“You’re not going to talk about yourself like that. Not with me. So take it back.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry--” 

“Apologise to yourself,” he insists staunchly. “Honey, don’t let her control you. She’s gone.” 

“But... but...” 

“You’re adjusting. I understand that. I’m not expecting you to be okay right now. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with me. We’re both... figuring this out.” 

You nod and your lips twitch. You could cry. 

“Thanks, er, I’ll... change then. Um, Andy... are we going somewhere?” 

“Sure, sweetheart. I mentioned earlier, didn’t I? About clothes? I tried to get the officers to agree to an escort to go to your mom’s but you saw her. She’s not in her right mind,” he explains. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you flutter your fingers nervously and he looks down at them. You clasp them over your chest to make them stop. “I’ll hurry up then.” 

You turn and scurry out. You go into the front room and grab the neatly folded clothes. He keeps everything so tidy and in its place. You go to the bathroom and set it on the counter. 

As you take your panties from between the jeans and tee shirt, you hesitate. It’s a bit embarrassing to think of him washing your underwear. You could’ve done it if he showed you where the machines are. 

You shrug it off. You’re just happy he helped. It’s a nice feeling when people do things for you. 

You change and bring out the borrowed clothes. Andy is still in the kitchen. You stand in the doorway. 

“Where do I put these?” You ask. 

He pops his head up and tucks away his phone, “oh, I can take care of them.” 

“Thanks, Andy, but uh, could I see? I’d like to know where everything is so I can help.” 

“Help?” He approaches and takes the clothes, his hands brushing over yours. “With what?” 

“I don’t know, everything?” You say. “You helped me so much and I want to do the same. I want to be useful. I want to be... better.” 

The tension leaves his shoulder and he smiles. “Alright, sure, that’s nice of you.” He goes to step past you then stops. “Sweetheart, you know, your mom is wrong. About everything. You’re an amazing girl. Really, you’re wonderful. And today, I want you to try as much as you can to forget. I want you to feel good about you, because you should. Because you deserve it.” 

You swallow and bounce nervously on your feet, “Andy, you’re so nice.” 

“I’m just being honest. Should’ve tried that a lot sooner,” he says. 

[slaymitchabernathy]

Passing By

| in honor of tom turning 30, here’s coryo turning 30 :)) |

“Do you like it? Is it good?”

Coriolanus continues chewing the cake in his mouth, letting the flavors melt all over his tongue. It’s vanilla, a simple flavor but he’s a simple man.

Besides, he loves vanilla because she smells like vanilla.

He looks up from his plate and finds his girlfriend staring at him with such an intensity in her eyes. She wants this to be perfect for him, from the cake to the entire day even though it’s almost over.

Coriolanus has two hours left to enjoy his birthday.

It’s not really that special to him, never has been, never will be. Thirty is a basic number, it just means that he’s on track, nothing to celebrate. Forty is when he’ll start taking things more seriously.

But Soarynn cares. She cares about everything including his birthday. It’s a shame he had to work today. The office has been making him work longer hours and with rent going up, it’s not like he has a choice.

The bitter part of him mind wishes he were younger only so he could have more time to make a better life for himself, for her.

They should be living on the Corso, not in this tiny, cramped one bedroom apartment. The heat doesn’t always work, the water is always frigid and sometimes rats chew through the walls.

She still bought him cake though.

Only once slice since that’s all the bakery had left when she got off her own shift at work. Soarynn works as a seamstress, it’s hard on her hands but it brings home some money so she stays there and works hard.

He wishes she didn’t have to work at all.

“It’s very good,” he tells her, still chewing but Coriolanus knows the longer he takes the answer, the more anxious she’ll get. Soarynn sighs, sitting on her knees, “Good, I couldn’t find any candles, sorry.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, placing a hand on her knee, “No need to be sorry darling, the cake is more than enough.”

Soarynn gives him a soft but tired smile. He knows she’s as exhausted as he is when it comes to living this life.

He came home exhausted, ready to go straight to bed when he found Soarynn in their small bedroom, with the slice of cake and a card. He already read the card, it’s sweet, she’s so sweet to him.

“Still,” she mumbles, brushing her hair behind her ears, “wish I could’ve gotten you something else. Some new shoes maybe.”

His shoes started getting holes in them about a month ago. Coriolanus didn’t mention it to Soarynn, didn’t want to worry her. Looks like she still noticed.

“For your birthday we’ll go out for dinner,” he tells her, setting the plate down. Soarynn’s lips twitch into a frown, “No we won’t.”

Now they’re both frowning.

Coriolanus wishes more than anything that they could afford the smallest of luxuries. New shoes, a night out on the town, new clothes for Soarynn, fresh groceries.

He always liked to think that Snow landed on top but he seems to be stuck at the very bottom.

At least he has Soarynn. With her, he feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Yes we will,” he says gently, giving her knee a squeeze, “I know I’ve been working longer hours but that means a little extra spending money. Might even be able to get you some new dresses hmm?”

Soarynn shakes her head, “Coryo we won’t celebrate my birthday.”

“Yes we will darling, twenty-nine is a big thing to celebrate.”

“Coryo, I never got to turn twenty-eight.”

Coriolanus closes his eyes but it doesn’t help. Doesn’t help him forget that she’s not even here right now. That Soarynn died almost a year ago in a car accident when she was crossing the street to get to work one morning.

He didn’t even find out until he got off of work and realized that she never made it home.

And he never got to say goodbye.

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone in his room, in his tiny, crappy apartment with no Soarynn. No warmth. No laughter. No kisses.

Just him and the slice of cake he bought himself on the way home from work because he knew she’d want him to celebrate.

Even though he doesn’t want to.

There is nothing to celebrate now that she’s gone.

“We’ll still celebrate,” he decides, ignoring her.

He doesn’t talk to Soarynn often, it’s too painful. And she only comes to visit him every so often, like on days like this.

Just like time, she’s only passing by.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @kickmybark @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @evilmenarehot @erensrealgf @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead |

[lunaatthezoo]

Ok @yellowmusings 👉👈

~ they are the only couple on time to ANYTHING. And every time they just look at each other and shake their heads like we should expect this by now.

~ azriel gets elain her own dagger for their first solstice together. It's incredibly elain-coded like think:

And she LOVES it and has all these cutesy thigh holsters that she uses to wear it at all times.

~ tattoos: Elain has a Truth-Teller tattoo down the side of her thigh. Azriel has jasmine climbing over his chest intermingling with his Illyrian tattoos.

~ Tea: they have so much tea in their house. Tea for every occasion. A whole shelf for decaf. A whole shelf for caff. They know exactly how each other takes their tea and are meticulous about preparing it perfectly for each other.

~ Rosehall: Elain and Azriel's mother strike up a quick friendship in the gardens of Rosehall. they go to visit her several times a month, and Azriel usually just sits and smiles faintly at his two greatest loves chatting and working in the garden together.

~ Home: Rhys gifts them the Townhouse and Elain immediately Elain-ifies it. Flowers and potted plants everywhere. Cass complains every time he's there because of his allergies but Az defends Elain to the death, telling Cass to suck it up.

~ They cut each other's hair, and Az is actually really good at it. He always takes way longer than he has to because he loves having his hands in her hair. He also meticulously washes her hair with his bare hands prior to cuts.

~ When they go Court of Nightmares events, Az makes it very fucking clear that Elain is his. As if he wasn't already terrifying enough at the CoN, you should see him with his wife on his arm. People avert their eyes because they're afraid of him tearing them out their faces if they look at her. They waltz. All the time.

~ Azriel sings to Elain when she can't sleep or when she's having a hard time. His mother used to ask him to sing to her for the one hour he was permitted to he with her each week as a boy, and he sings that song to Elain. No one else besides Elain and his mother have ever heard him sing, but he sings like a gods damn angel.

~ Elain loves flying with Azriel. He finds all the most beautiful places in the world to take her flying, just to see the wonder on her face. Elain loves feeling the wind on her face and hearing the song of the wind.

~ they both really like the Dawn Court and often go spend time there to get away from everything every once in a while. They love the NC and it is their home, but they go to Dawn for peace and quiet sometimes. Azriel and Thesan's Peregryn mate are good friends.

~ They send little messages to each other through Azriel's shadows, and it's so cute. His shadows are also always keeping track of Elain's whereabouts and safety.

~ they start hosting family dinners at the townhouse and elain always cooks the most disturbingly elaborate feasts for them. Azriel always gets sick of the company and kicks everyone out so he can have his wife to himself as the night grows late.

~ Elain wears a cobalt wedding ring made from a piece of Azriel's siphon. Azriel wears a band with a rose quartz gem embedded in it (this is not my original idea!! Many others have used this i am just 😍😍)

~ they have a private little wedding with just the IC, Azriel's mother, and Nuala and Cerridwen present. And it's the most beautiful softest thing anyone has ever witnessed and everyone cries their fucking eyes out.

once Elain and Azriel are together how do you think they’ll interact in front of the others? Are they into pda? Do they talk more? Are they funnier? Do they play sneaky pranks? Are they sappy? Does she get bolder? I can’t decide what I think on it and I’m sooo curious.

I love this question. This is what I think about most of my waking hours I'm not even JOKING. Here are some of my elriel endgame headcanons. Many inspired by other creators like @merakimoonglade @moonfalles @murkyrealms @jasmineandcedar @nikachansstuff @tswaney17 and so many other wonderful people on here.

~ Touching ALL the time. Not inappropriate PDA, but just touching to know that they are there together. Azriel keeps touching Elain because he can't believe he's allowed to, and can't believe how lucky he is. Little butt pats when he walks by, kisses on the forehead and shoulder, hands tangled in hair while they're sitting, little squeeze of the waist. A hand on the thigh. A kiss on the knuckles. Elain can't resist touching Azriel either because she can't believe this is her life now. They always need to reassure themselves that this is real.

~ I think they have the potential to be the funniest couple, in a quiet, subtle way. They have both demonstrated so much subtle humor, with Elain's gifts, with Azriel's interactions with other characters. And they both notice things most others don't. I think they would do hilarious things to get out of social obligations that they don't want to deal with or when the family is being too obnoxious, taking advantage of their powers. They're gonna exchange meaningful looks and Elain will pretend she's having a vision or Azriel will pretend his shadows are telling him something and they'll just bounce hahaha.

~ I think they will both still be quiet, because it's who they are as people. But if it comes to defending each other's choices or honor, they are going to speak. Up.

~ I think the inner circle will be shocked and moved at seeing Azriel happy for the first time. He'll be pulling Elain into his lap, laughing deeply, gazing at her lovingly and tucking hair behind her ear. It's going to be a new, content side to him that they've never seen before. They won't really know what to do with it and Cass will probably use humor like telling him it's unnatural or gross to see him so happy lol.

~ I think they will spend SO MUCH time in bed. Yes canoodling but also just being there together. Imagine. When they wake up in the morning, they will spend so long cuddling, kissing, snuggling, just being there together. Az will bring Elain tea in bed. When Elain gets up early to garden, she'll be so quiet to not disturb Az's sleep because she knows this is the first time he's gotten peaceful rest in all his centuries.

~ I think Elain is already bold but I think with Az in her corner she will grow further in her self confidence and become more involved in what the court is doing.

~ I think Azriel will be the most deranged, feral, protective partner out of all the brothers. Just full obsession. Breaking fingers just for looking at his girl wrong. Ripping out hearts if they touch her. And Elain will just be like oh thank you ☺️🌸

~ I think their love languages will be acts of service and physical touch. They will ALWAYS be doing things for each other.

~ Elain is going to FUSS over Azriel and he's going to be like 😳 about it. She's going to give Rhys a talking to if he overworks her husband. She's going to make him see Madja for every nick and scrape he gets. She's going to force him to nap if he looks tired (and with her laying there stroking his hair, he will.)

~ Az is going to be absolutely positively undeniably whipped. Whatever his girl wants, she gets. She says jump he says I'm already in the air. She mentions a flower ONE time and the next day he's procured the rare seeds. His new title will be Azriel, professional Elain simp of the night court

~ Azriel will take Elain's last name. Because he is bastard born, he doesn't have a family name. So he becomes Azriel Archeron and is SO PROUD of it. He uses is last name whenever he can.

~ I think they will adopt children. Especially given Azriel's history, I think it would be very healing to give children homes who might otherwise feel unwanted or alone. And since Sarah is adopted I just think it would be a beautiful thread. Elain is so caring and nurturing she would be completely on board and SPOIL those children.

~ they're going to have crazy fucking feral animal sex (also, switches.) I'm talking extreme dirty talk, bite marks, handprints, knife play, strap ons, they're kinky. If I know ONE thing about Azriel Archeron, it's that he's a panty ripper.

~ Elain is obsessed with Azriel's hands. Azriel is obsessed with Elain's neck. They are both obsessed with each other's hair.

~ Azriel's pet names for Elain include: beautiful, love, angel, sweetheart. Elain always calls Azriel by his name because she thinks it's so beautiful, but sometimes she calls him "my love"

~ they are both PATHETIC about how much they miss each other when Az is away on missions. To the point where other people are like OK WE GET IT GOOD LORD.

I could literally just keep going. And going. And going. I have SAGAS of HCs in my mind. But I hope these scratch some itches 🥹

Thank u for the question, this gave me life.

[anghraine]

The household Star Trek watch just hit The Wrath of Khan! I've seen it multiple times before, but it was really different to watch it so shortly after watching TOS and TMP.

My feelings are ... more complex now. Where Spock's character growth was randomly rewound in TMP for unexplained reasons, Wrath of Khan!Spock feels so much more the Spock he was becoming in TOS. He's older, steadier, and far less repressed while still retaining the composure and dignity that are so personally and culturally important to him. His sense of humor is still dry but less buried and harsh, he's reserved and unflinching in a very Spock way but it feels healthier and more integrated than anything he was capable of in TOS. I don't get the impression that he's at all ashamed of what he feels for Kirk at this point, nor ashamed of the strain of human qualities in himself.

I feel like we see how far Spock has come from his early shame and denial, for instance, when Kirk, McCoy, and Saavik go to beam to the research base. There's this less-repressed-than-formerly-but-still-powerful intensity between Kirk and Spock that, as ever, gives the distinct sense that everyone else just ceased to exist for them. Spock says outright, "Be careful, Jim" and it's very adorable and relatively open by Spock standards. And then professional hater McCoy is like ... oh, so am I chopped liver? while Saavik is just ????? and it's hilarious and just feels very recognizable.

I do think this film is kinder to McCoy than TMP and I appreciate seeing him quietly do his work as a doctor instead of haunting the bridge and needling Kirk and Spock, but he's a fairly muted presence in the film and still finds time to be a bigot. Not going to lie, it's incredibly cathartic when Spock uses his own prejudices against him and then tricks him into... uh, well, everything that's going to happen.

After all these years, Wrath of Khan!Saavik remains an absolute delight. She's trying so hard and Alley gives this great sense of a million thoughts going through her head at all times. It's really fun to see a very young Vulcan who isn't even pretending to have it all figured out, despite her rattling off rules and regulations. One of my favorite Saavik moments is when she's like "*gasp* You lied" in the most classic gifted-student-discovering-the-world way and Spock serenely replies, "I exaggerated."

(Spock is truly living his best life. I do not think this Spock has the slightest desire to be anywhere but where he is or anything but what he is, and it makes me very happy until aghghghhhhhaghhghgh.)

But anyway, Spock and Saavik have this really charming and understated mentor-protégée relationship that I like best in this iteration. (I don't care for the direction it goes in later for uhhh related reasons, but Alley's Saavik plays off of Nimoy—especially—and Shatner very enjoyably.)

Kirk is difficult for me, because the Kirk of the films in general just feels so far removed from TOS Kirk to me when he's not interacting with Spock. Yes, there's a familiarity evoked by Shatner's performances, and Kirk is compelling in this film, but ... it's a better film for Shatner than Kirk, if that makes sense? Shatner is genuinely quite good in it!

For one, I always forget that the hammy KHAN!!!!! is part of a cunning scheme in which Kirk is much more subtly slipping information to Spock and the frustrated rage is a performance for Khan, hammiest man in the universe. In reality, Kirk has a bunch of dialed-down emotional moments—the way he's quietly frustrated with Carol excising him from their son's life but still maintaining an amicable-exes relationship with her, for instance. But of course, the big one is Spock's death scene, especially that dreadful moment after Spock dies when Kirk just slumps against the radiation chamber looking almost confused in the way that grief really can just daze someone into that "puppet with the strings cut" quality. It's genuinely a heartrending moment.

For my ultra-Trekkie best friend J, Kirk's eulogy for Spock is the part that affects him most of all. And I get it! People tend to point to the twitchy "the most... human" part of it, but the most effective part for me is when Kirk is quoting Spock in the eulogy and saying he won't disrespect Spock's profound greatness by disputing his argument now, and he's clearly trying to be dignified and professional in a way Spock merits despite his own devastation, and then there's this shudder in his voice that is fantastic (and just, agggh). And I think "the most human" is pretty clearly not meant as a denial of Spock's Vulcanness, but an absolute rejection of virtually everyone's incessant treatment of Spock as subhuman for the crime of being biracial. Lots of good Shatner moments all around, though.

But.

So much of what's going on with Kirk's character arc seems grounded in what's established internally in the films and just overwriting major aspects of his TOS characterization and history. I dislike David Marcus for a ... lot of the film, and like, I appreciate him taking the initiative to set things right and acknowledge his misjudgment of his unexpectedly cool and newly bereaved father. But the approach being "I guess you never have really faced death before and having to process it is new for you" is extremely WTF when Kirk at this point has survived a genocide, lost much of his family including a brother and sister-in-law he seemed to be quite close to, has lost various good friends, there was the whole Edith Keeler thing among other losses he just had to keep powering through, and then at this point the person he has acknowledged as the closest person to him in the universe (one who had a significantly longer natural lifespan than him!) is also now dead.

And movie Kirk is like—yeah, I always came up with some trick to avoid ever facing death directly and I'm like WHAT. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. THIS IS OBJECTIVELY FALSE. But the movie absolutely does not treat it that way! I do like David nervously turning back and acknowledging that he's proud of Kirk and the hug after such a monumental loss, but ... at what price.

This feels especially glaring because of the moments where we do get a pragmatic, reasonable Kirk whose priorities make perfect sense for his previous backstory, like:

DAVID: We appear to have plenty of time. KIRK: Is there anything to eat? I don't know about anyone else, but I'm starved. MCCOY: How can you think of food at a time like this? KIRK: First order of business, survival.

But it's important to his arc in the film that he's constitutionally unwilling to endure the weight of unwinnable scenarios, and is almost defined by being all about winning against any odds, and that's very weird to me. Kirk has always been determined and resourceful and cunning, yes—and we do get some of that here; he plays Khan like a fucking fiddle almost the whole time—but the possibility of loss never struck me as something he was refusing to contemplate.

Carol's dry line about how Kirk has never been a Boy Scout feels pretty specific to movie Kirk and pop culture Kirk, too. TOS Kirk is repeatedly described as having been solemn and bookish in early adulthood. Even in his thirties, he's not generally a maverick IMO; he won't subordinate all critical thinking and judgment to regulations, but he prefers to find some way to reconcile them if he can. His overriding driving motive is most often his sense of responsibility—to his crew, their ship, their mission, and the principles of the Federation and his brand of philosophical humanism. If he's got to break regulations to fulfill his deeper responsibilities, he will, but he'd much rather not!

You know who in TOS very much does have it in him to jeopardize everything out of loose cannon determination to blast through every obstacle unlucky enough to get in the way of his absolute refusal to accept loss? Spock. Spock risks the lives of hundreds of people in desperate and improbable attempts to get Kirk back, multiple times! In the context of his culture and even of Starfleet, he is far more of a maverick than Kirk ever was in TOS.

I know this sounds more negative than I want to be, because I'm very fond of this movie in its own right, and Kirk does have some fantastic Kirk-ly moments. We do get a strong sense of Kirk's intelligence and resourcefulness without TMP's device of everyone ganging up on him for reasons presented as sort of justifiable despite his completely accurate judgment of the urgency of the situation. But I'm reminded of the "Kirk drift" article about how post-TOS representations of Kirk seem to become increasingly representations of the idea of who Kirk was in TOS rather than having much to do with any particular details of Kirk's actual characterization in TOS.

[nelliebachesneg]

Jason X Jazz

This entire post is me screaming into the void because I'm writing a fic and I'm having a lot of emotions about it. You have been warned.

I am currently processing some things through the characters of Jason Todd and Jasmine Fenton, and I need to talk about their characters before I break down completely.

Jazz is easy for me to write. Jazz is an Enneagram 5, which I'm pretty sure is my type as well. Jazz ignores her emotions - or at least refuses to identify them - in favor of logic. Truth is ultimately what matters to her. She hoards information in her attempts to find the truth, and no amount of information will be enough until she finds a satisfactory answer.

I see a lot of myself in Jazz.

Mostly good things - and in fact that's the problem. I have a hard time seeing Jazz's flaws as flaws. The orginal show calls her out for being a know-it-all, and a teenager who thinks she's an adult, but as I write this I realize that I never saw that as something that had to be fixed - or at least, not as something that had to be fixed by Jazz herself.

Because of course Jazz felt like she had to be an adult. Her parents were caught up in their own lives, to the point where they left their science experiments on the kitchen table with toddlers running around. Of course when Danny started acting differently, and her parents didn't notice, she blamed it on their inattention. And of course it was specifically Danny's need for attention that mattered; she's got her intellect to carry her through life's challenges, after all. She's the one with perfect test scores, the one who applies herself, the one who understands the importance of a life apart from ghost hunting.

Oh, she's aware of her own need for attention, of course. She'd have to be a fool not to realize that, sometimes, she gets envious of ghosts for how much her parents seem to be obsessed with them. (She's have to be a fool not to realize that, magic or no magic, she shouldn't have fallen so fast for Johnny.) But she can handle it. She can think her way through it. Danny can't; all he has are his…

Friends.

Who are Jazz's friends?

Who does she talk to besides her brother, her parents, and the occasional teacher or classmate for academic purposes?

Where does she vent all that emotional energy besides the occasional concert?

This is where I see Jazz's flaws and mine overlap. This is also something I feel comfortable writing about, because it's something that I have talked about in therapy ad nauseum. I know the answer here is quite literally to lean on the relationships you do have, and if that's not enough, to find new relationships. It takes work and more than a bit of luck, but it is possible for Jazz (and me) to break out of this idea that she always needs to be rational about everything, including herself. I think that's what the show was going for, actually - but equating emotional expression with childishness is… wrong, I think. It reeks of underlying toxic masculinity if nothing else, and considering what I've heard about Butch Hartman, that's not off-base.

And then there's Jason.

Jason fucking Todd.

Who like no other character I have ever seen in fiction, fanfiction, and all the headcanons in between, embodies the Bible verse of Romans 7:19-20:

"For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it."

Jason is an Enneagram 8. Jason, whether he realizes it or not, is obsessed with control. He wants the world to be good, to be just, and he will go to dramatic lengths to make it so - not unlike Bruce. At the same time, though, he has internalized the belief that he himself is not a good person. He's a just person, maybe - and I would even venture kind - but as much as he tries to do what he thinks is right, Jason Todd does not think of himself as good during or after UtRH. He's sacrificed his sense of empathy, after all, and that made him "the bad one" who "needs to be stopped". (Makes sense, since he's the one that was never good enough anyway.)

So is it any wonder that he struggles to believe in forgiveness? Is it any wonder that he won't allow himself to accept love when it is offered? He doesn't think he deserves it. He thinks that people who have done worse than him deserve it even less. And maybe if he can take them out, in a twisted way it'll make him better. Maybe if he can rid the world of a few monsters, it'll make him less of one.

Jason at his worst is all of my self-loathing, all of my catastrophic thinking, all of my self-delusion, and all of my fear. I've connected his struggle to accept love to my own struggles with sexual content. I've said it before elsewhere, but I think I need to say it again: radical forgiveness and love are the only way forward. The catch is that, by necessity, those things require connections with other people.

And what writing Jason in my fic is asking me to do is to imagine the people I care most about in this world discovering the worst part of me - and forgiving me for it. Helping me with it. Only for them to ultimately fail to fix me, thus making me desperate enough to turn to a stranger who may screw me over worse than anyone ever has.

Suddenly I feel like we've been down this road before.

And while I know that Jazz is someone Jason can trust, Jason doesn't know that, and it's difficult to picture - well, no, actually, it's not hard to picture Jason, after being caught in a moment of Pit Rage, to tell the worst to Jazz in an effort to scare her off. And it's not hard to picture Jazz rationalizing that behavior, and even seeing honor in the honesty of it. It's not hard to picture Jason being confused and suspicious, forced to confront his own assumptions about what's possible and what he deserves out of that possibility. It's not hard to picture Jazz having empathy for those who suddenly receive more than they think they are owed. It's not hard to imagine Jason bargaining with himself, desperate for something to work but also ready to bail at the first sign of betrayal.

Holy shit, it's easy to see how he slowly comes to accept her help with his Pit Madness. It's easy to see how after he feels like he's back in control of himself, he'd start falling in love with this girl who sees the best in him.

And the kicker is, she doesn't even see what she's done as special; she just didn't want him to feel alone. She didn't want him to feel trapped in his own head.

She's not expecting those sentiments to be returned.

She's not expecting Jason to like it when she loses her temper. She's not expecting him to treat her with respect when it comes to her hobbies, the same she gives him. She's not expecting him to want to be around her, to seek her out when he's feeling any type of way; for her to seek him out and have him be willing to listen when she wants to vent. She's not expecting the committment, the quiet support, the feeling that for once she can lean on someone else and just be herself.

Is it because he feels like he owes her? Is it because she has something he wants? Is he trying to manipulate her? There has to be a rational explanation-

Oh.

Oh.

…Well there's certainly nothing rational about it, that's for damn sure. What do you mean, Jason, you think I'm passionate and smart? Even if that's true- Well of course I'm protective of children and the disadvantaged, who isn't? And what do you mean it's a relief that I don't just know about the vigilante life, I understand the vigilante life? What do you mean it blows your mind that the killing- Well, it doesn't not bother me- But yeah it's not the end of the world. What do you mean you're thankful that I've made Crime Alley my home and you'll be here for me as long as I want you to be?

What do you mean you love me?

Do I love you too? Of course I-

Of course I do.

Because of course she does. Of course she admires his honesty, even if it makes him sound like an asshole sometimes. Of course she could spend hours figuring out his quirks, religiously studying what makes him smile and how far she can push his buttons before they're chasing each other across rooftops. Of course she lights up every time he comes over, every time he so much as texts her. Of course she's noticed that he's been able to get her to tap into her emotions in a way she's never before felt safe enough to.

Of course she loves him.

And of course he loves her.

They've made each other feel alive (again).

[frickatives]

[a/n]:: I've had this steddie one-shot fic in my drafts for ages. wasn't sure if I'd ever get around to posting it. but it's 2025 now, and the world is feeling like an especially difficult place, so let's all post our self-indulgent angsty fanfics pls. the steddie is pretty low-key in this one, tbh, it's more pre-steddie angst than anything, but we all deserve to engage in a little wish fulfillment re: eddie at the end of s4, no? I have some ideas for maybe continuing this fic, sooooo we'll see if I can defeat my Serial Fic Abandoner demons~

[warnings/tags]:: steddie, angst, perhaps too much angst, canon-typical gore and violence, bisexual king steve harrington pov, everyone's having a bad time, gratuitous italics, playing fast and loose with a vague understanding of life-saving resuscitation procedures, s4 ending fix-it fic vibes

[wc]:: 3.3k

[ao3]

-------------------------------------------

Standing on the front porch of a rotting house in a rotting world, staring at the charred patch of not-quite-grass where there should have been a body, Steve Harrington's stomach lurches up into his throat. He struggles to swallow around it.

He saw the bastard fall. Pumped full of buckshot, molotov-fried extra crispy over rice, falling ass-first out of a window to what was supposed to be his death, so goddammit, where is he?

Nancy's staring at the grass, too, heaving terrified breaths with the rest of them, which can't be good. Steve and Robin both glance at her, their leader, their ferocious, fearless, capable, whip-smart Nancy, and the fear plain on her face grabs Steve by the spine and shakes. 

Maybe Vecna evaporated, he tells himself. Maybe it's normal that there isn't a body. It isn't like any of them would know; none of them have ever killed an evil wizard, before. Maybe Vecna hit the ground and turned into a million of these little flakes of gross that are always hanging in the air, here. Maybe they kicked Vecna's ass so hard that he's dust, now. A hysterical part of his brain bubbles with the words maybe his ass is grass. 

He opens his mouth to say so, even though it's dumb and probably wrong – Steve is usually wrong – and the clock behind them starts chiming.

His stomach does new, awful acrobatics. 

They run back into the house, stopping short an arm's length from the grandfather clock, as if it might lash out at them. Four chimes, each one pumping his own chest full of buckshot, because whatever this means, it's probably bad. Robin's hand finds his arm and he clings to her as hard as she clings to him. 

The name is out of Nancy's mouth before Steve's brain can put together what's happening: "Max."

She's right. Of course she's right. She's Nancy Wheeler, and she's always beautiful and always right, even when she's breaking Steve's heart.

There's no time for the pain to take root. (They lost Max, they lost Max, they weren't fast enough and Vecna got her and now that sweet-and-sour kid will never terrify him with her temper or her underage driving again–) 

The fourth and final chime has hardly stopped echoing in his ears when the house cleaves in two. 

The ceiling above them groans and splinters and red-orange hellfire (red-orange like Max, his stupid, useless brain supplies) carves a line down the hallway, moving towards them fast. 

"Woah, woah, woah, shit– shit!" he yelps, dragging Robin back towards the door. 

Nancy doesn't need dragging; she's jogging backwards with him, sawed-off tucked against her shoulder, eyes not leaving the tearing, ripping, growing split in the world above them, like she expects Vecna himself to reach through it. 

God, Steve hopes he doesn't. He hopes Vecna really is dead and that his disgusting, decaying world is falling apart without him. 

He hopes that Nancy was wrong (for once) about the clock chiming, and that they did save Max. 

Bits of plaster rain down around them. Vines – those slimy, sentient veins of the Upside Down – pry the fissure wider, shredding everything in its path. 

They make it out onto the not-lawn and leap out of the way of the destruction as it darts forward and swallows ground where Vecna should have been, and they keep running with everything they have.

It's so loud. The entire world groans and shakes like some great, wounded beast – and, shit, for all Steve knows, the Upside Down is some giant creature that's dying with them inside it. Every monster and vine-vein writhes and screams, like they can feel their world dying, too. 

They need to get back to the trailer. They need to climb out of this crumbling hell. Steve clamps his hand around Robin's as they run. Nancy sprints ahead of them, the sawed-off shotgun bouncing against her back.

He will get them out of here.

They run and run and run – Robin runs so weird, why are her feet doing that – and Steve can't feel the burn in his legs that he knows is there. He's still a little oxygen-deprived after being throttled by Vecna's vine-veins, and he has too much panic thumping through his own vine-veins. They don't stop until they're bursting out of the woods and into the trailer park.

Steve's heart stutters. There's another hell-fissure, and it's swallowed half of the Munsons' trailer and cut a jagged path toward the center of town. Nancy looks over her shoulder at him, as if to brace him for the worst. 

What if the gate is gone? What if they're trapped here? 

Robin almost eats shit when her sneaker slips against something on the ground – the wriggling body of one of those fucking bats Steve can still taste in the back of his throat. He grabs her elbow and heaves her upright, pushing her forward, towards where the trailer used to be. Maybe the gate is still there, in the not-eaten half of the trailer. They have to try.

All around them, the rips in the world continue their rampage. Metal screeches and avalanches of rubble rumble in the distance. The not-grass and slabs of cracked concrete beneath their feet buck hard enough that Steve can hardly keep himself upright.

Robin half-gasps-half-shrieks in his ear and he and Nancy freeze.

"What– What is it? Are you okay?" Steve yells at her over the cacophony, gripping her shoulders, eyes wide, heart pounding, looking down at her weird-running feet for any sign of injury.

She raises a trembling arm and points at something: a lump on the ground a few dozen yards from the trailer, not very large, wearing a ghillie suit. 

Steve's heart stops.

His knees threaten to buckle. 

"HENDERSON!" 

He's off like a sawed-off shot. 

He was so stupid, to let the kids out of his sight. He wants to reach through time and slug himself in the mouth for ever complaining about babysitting because this is so much worse. First Max (please, please let her be alive), now this? It would kill him to see any of them here, now, with the underworld falling apart around them, but Dustin? 

As he closes the distance, the ground is littered with more and more bats – either dead or dying – and he can hear Dustin crying, which is both a knife through the heart and the biggest goddamn relief Steve has ever felt. At least the kid is alive. A sob lurches up Steve's own throat and he falls to knees beside Henderson and–

That's when he sees Eddie cradled in Dustin's arms. 

Bloodied, battered, and motionless. 

"Dustin, hey," he says as gently as he can, though he actually wants to start screaming and never stop. "Look at me." 

"He– He didn't come back through with me," Dustin chokes out, still staring down at the boy in his lap. The kid's voice wavers with a tearful vibrato that obliterates his usual precociousness and makes him sound exactly as young as he is.

Anger flares somewhere in Steve's gut, beneath the all-consuming fear. He'd told Eddie, hadn't he? He'd given him one simple job– explicitly told him not to be a goddamn hero. They were supposed to be the diversion. They were supposed to be safe.

Steve grabs Dustin's face, probably too roughly, and forces him to look up, away from Eddie. 

"We gotta go," he tells him, his voice shaking badly, too. 

Nancy and Robin are somewhere behind him now. He hears their footsteps skid to a halt, and another ragged gasp out of Robin, followed by a muffled cry. Nancy murmurs, "Oh, no."

"We can't leave him," Dustin says. His face is streaked with tears and his voice cracks under the combined crushing weights of puberty and desperation. 

"We won't." He reaches over and tries to lift Eddie away from the kid, but Dustin pulls him back. Small hands grab ahold of Eddie's collar, refusing to let go. Another knife through Steve's heart. 

"I think this is the gate!" Nancy calls from far away. "I think we can make it through." When Steve looks up, she's on the edge of the glowing crevasse, prodding at it with the shotgun. Robin is standing a few yards away, still, her hands buried in her hair and her eyes glued to Dustin. And Eddie. 

"Dustin," Steve says, forcing more calm into his voice, "you gotta go with Nancy."

Dustin shakes his head emphatically. "No. No, no, I can't leave him–"

"Robin? Robin!" Steve shouts over his shoulder, and Robin startles out of her horror-borne trance. "Take Henderson and get somewhere safe. I'll be right behind you." 

She rushes over and hooks her hands under the kid's arms and hoists him upright, even though Henderson can't seem to put much weight on one of his legs, and even though Robin's arms are about as strong as wet spaghetti on a good day. 

"I've got Eddie, alright?" Steve says firmly, looking Dustin in the eye and pushing him away with Robin. "Go."

 A stream of soothing sounds is falling out of Robin's mouth rapid-fire, and she's dragging Dustin over towards Nancy, who's got one leg fully inside the fracture in the world, and, hell, the world is probably ending any second now, but all of that falls away when Steve looks back down at Eddie's face.

Big, hickory-brown eyes stare skyward, unfocused. Blood is smeared across the pale skin of his cheek and collected in the corners of his mouth. His chest isn't moving.

Steve's never seen a dead person, before. 

He'd been there when Billy died, yes, but he hadn't seen it. Hell, he'd flat-out refused to look inside the open coffin at his grandmother's funeral when he was a kid. But here was Eddie– or, the absence of Eddie, where Eddie should have been. A terrible, wretched vacancy. 

It doesn't feel real. Eddie is right here. Steve can reach out and touch him– he does reach out and touch him, laying an uncertain hand on his shoulder. Eddie doesn't swat his hand away. Eddie's dimples don't appear on either side of his bloody mouth and he doesn't say something snarky and flirtatious that makes Steve feel simultaneously annoyed, flustered, and confused. Eddie doesn't so much as blink.

He's so… still. 

Steve's heard people in the past describe death as something peaceful, but the look on Eddie's face–

He looks scared. 

Steve thinks he might throw up.

He presses his fingers against Eddie's throat, searching for a pulse that he knows isn't there. Eddie's still warm. Blood dribbles out of his mouth and oozes out of a gnarled lash across his neck (it matches the one that crisscrosses Steve's neck, those fucking bats). His stupid leather jacket is shredded. His stupid Hellfire Club shirt is similarly tattered and soaked through with red. 

Steve wonders how long he's been– if he– had he gone in front of Dustin? A fresh wave of anger licks at his throat. Son of a bitch, can't even listen to simple goddamn instructions–

He remembers the last thing Eddie said to him with a sharp pang: "Hey, Steve? Make him pay."

Steve had nodded. Eddie had nodded, too. It was a promise.

And Steve Harrington, King Steve, captain of the basketball team, and captain of the swim team, and ice cream slinger, and video rental wrangler, and monster fighter, and lifeguard for a few summers, and secret Russian base infiltrator some other summers, and lapsed babysitter– he's failed to keep it. 

He's failed so many people, tonight. He couldn't stop Vecna, didn't make him pay. He couldn't help Max, or undo whatever Dustin saw. Everything he was wasn't enough.

Nancy was right (she always was); he was bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. 

The world around them growls again, and Steve looks down at another person he's failed to protect, and he thinks, Fuck this. 

He has to try. 

Moving quickly, he laces his fingers, locks his elbows, places his stacked palms in the center of Eddie's still-warm chest, and presses down hard. He sings Dancing Queen under his breath, out of tune, timing his compressions to the beat (something he learned in lifeguard training). He dares Eddie to wake up and tell him how much he hates the song. 

Blood spurts out of a wound in Eddie's side and soaks the knee of Steve's jeans with coppery warmth.

 "Shit, shit, fuck," Steve hisses into a few more compressions, before he stops and gently tilts Eddie's head to open his airway, one hand against his still-warm forehead, one hand gripping his chin. He leans over and checks for breath sounds. Nothing. 

He pinches Eddie's nose shut and presses his mouth over Eddie's, trying not to think about how much blood floods his own mouth. He breathes once, twice. Eddie's chest rises weakly each time. That's good, that's– It's good.

He starts the cycle again. 

"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life…"

Red lightning streaks across the sky and Steve flinches. The ground shakes more violently, like the whole place is threatening to give up the ghost and fall away beneath them. Part of him wishes it would, to save him the embarrassment of failing again.

"Come on, Munson."

Open airway, check for breath, pinch nose, breathe, breathe. 

"Friday night and the lights are low…"

He does it again, and again. Still nothing. 

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve begs. "Please." 

The quakes crescendo more and more, until Steve is practically shouting lyrics over them–

It sounds like a bomb goes off miles away, and a shockwave slams him in the chest. Steve throws his arms over his head and his body over Eddie's, shuddering with fresh adrenaline. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

Everything around them falls silent. The ground under his knees settles. His ears ring with the absence of it all.

He must have waited too long to leave. He can't make himself look. Surely the gates are gone. Surely that explosion was his way home being blown to smithereens. Part of him is glad Eddie didn't come back to this– trapped in the underworld with someone he despises? He'd probably ask Steve to re-kill him, and Steve would probably fuck that up, too. 

He's so screwed. Everything is so completely screwed and he screwed up so much of it himself, and it's probably good that he's probably trapped here, now. He probably deserves it.

Something jolts beneath him and then–

Eddie Munson coughs a mouthful of blood directly into Steve's face.

"What– Oh! Oh, shit!" Steve scrambles to shift his weight off of Eddie's chest as the other boy draws a clotted, strangled breath and chokes on it. Steve grabs him by the less-bat-bitten shoulder and hauls him onto his side. The other boy's ring-bedecked fingers brush against his arm, making weak attempts at grabbing him back. 

Eddie whimpers and groans, spitting and drooling more blood out of his mouth and nose. He coughs again, and it's the most gorgeous sound Steve's ever heard.

Steve grins, even with a face and mouth full of Eddie Munson's stupid blood. 

Eddie looks up at him, panting, and his eyes go wide when they finally focus on Steve's face. "H– Harrington?" He's almost voiceless. Not just hoarse, but struggling to make any sound at all.

"Yeah," Steve says, still smiling like a fool. He feels drunk. Eddie's breaths are all distinctly shallow, fast, and wet, but they're there, and they keep coming, which hadn't felt possible a moment before. The overwhelming, sudden joy is a massive head rush.

Eddie looks confused, and wracked with pain, and he squints at Steve and asks, "Did you die, too?" His tongue seems to tangle with each syllable.  

That trips Steve out of his daze. His smile falters. Trapped in the Upside Down, his brain reminds him. "You're not dead, Munson," he says. 

Steve looks up, then, and scans their surroundings. The red-orange ravine still yawns open not too far away, which slaps him across the face with relief and chases it quickly with dread. 

They can get home, thank fuck, but what had all of this done to their Hawkins? Had it been similarly torn open by nightmare super-gates? Is there this much destruction on their side? Steve's stomach clenches. 

The hellfire-filled crack that begins in the middle of Eddie's trailer stretches off into the distance, as far as Steve can see. If these fissures were like the gates– if they'd appeared in Hawkins, too– they're twenty or thirty feet wide, in some places. Big enough to swallow cars, houses. People. 

Something like this… It would kill a lot of people. 

"Hurts," Eddie gasps. 

Steve's attention snaps back to him. "What hurts?" he asks.

Eddie manages an especially-wet, "Everything. F-feels like a– fucking– elephant– sat on my– chest." He fights for air between every couple of words, but never draws in very much. 

"Yeah, well," Steve says, easing Eddie up to sitting and sliding an arm under his knees, "you had to go and stop breathing, like an asshole." He hefts the taller, ganglier boy up into his arms and staggers up to his feet. Eddie ought to feel heavier, he thinks. Maybe this is one of those moms-lifting-cars-off-kids things.

"Seemed like– the thing– to do," Eddie pants. His eyes flutter closed and his head lolls backwards, curly hair brushing against Steve's arm. 

"Hey," Steve snaps. "Eddie."

Eddie groans. Still alive. Steve releases his captive breath.

Steve walks them over to the tear in the not-earth, where Nancy had been. He expects it to be warm – it glows like lava – but the air around them is freezing. It reeks of ammonia and decay. He tucks Eddie a little closer to his chest.

And then Steve hesitates, staring down at the maw in the ground. 

He should just go through. Quickly. Eddie needs medical attention way beyond the skill of a sometimes-summer-lifeguard. Shit, Steve probably does, too. 

But… 

What about Max? What about Dustin, and Robin, and Nance? What about everyone else? What about his parents? What if this didn't just happen in Hawkins, but happened everywhere? What if the whole apocalypse happened without him? 

As long as he stays in this universe, he doesn't have to know how badly he hurt his own. He can pretend the damage is limited to this shithole, and that everyone on the other side is blissfully unaware. It's like that thing Henderson tried explaining that one time– Schlongdinger's Box, or whatever. If he stays here, there's nobody around to disappoint besides Eddie, whose opinion of him is already so low that it would be impossible to drag it lower. 

"Steve?" Eddie wheezes, oblivious to the turmoil happening inches away from his face. 

"Yeah?"

Munson hesitates, too. "Were you– singing– ABBA?"

That startles a huffed almost-laugh out of Steve's tight chest. He rolls his eyes. "I don't wanna hear it, man. ABBA saved your goddamn life."

Eddie squints up at him and starts telling Steve (slowly and quietly, as he grapples with his halting lungs) that he'd never besmirch (besmirch? what a dork) the good name of ABBA, he's not a monster, he was just curious why Steve's rendition had been in so many different keys is all (unbelievably rude), and even though Steve can hear the fear in Eddie's voice, and he knows Eddie's only talking about ABBA because the alternative is to freak out, something clicks into place in Steve's head:

He wants to have a million more inconsequential conversations, like this one, with the people he cares about. 

Even the ones who might despise him a little.

Even if the apocalypse happened on the other side, and even if people he loves are hurt, and even if Steve Harrington is bullshit, he has to try to do what he can to help. 

He holds Eddie a little tighter. He informs him that he actually sang it totally normal, thanks, and gingerly, he maneuvers them both down through the gate and back into Hawkins.

[aromanticasterisms]

no but actually. the parallels to other Twins in different nations of teyvat in relation to the traveler and their desire to reunite with their own sibling makes me a little bit bonkers. like.

diluc and kaeya as what the traveler has and fears, after we will be reunited [separation born from conflict that seemingly cannot be mended; they both care for each other but ultimately their opposing ideals mean they cannot be at each other's side in the same way that they used to, and no longer have the close bond they once did]

ei and makoto as what the abyss sibling experienced [a crushing loss not just of one's twin but the last remaining friend they had and the safety and security of their nation, coming out the other side traumatized, cold and jaded and making decisions that will ultimately hurt the people they claim to want to protect for the sake of an unattainable goal]

and lyney and lynette as what the traveler and the abyss twin used to have before they were separated [never apart for long, home is wherever we are together], what the traveler wants [their separation brief and quickly amended, continuing to be inseparable after they reunite], and also the choice they'll have to make [the twins being together in an organization the traveler inherently doesn't trust - does the traveler want to be by their sibling's side badly enough to throw their lot in with the abyss, and turn their back on everyone else they've met on their journey so far?]

[ihopeucomehomesoon]

i won’t hold people to the same standards i have on myself in terms of friendship bc everyone shows they care in different ways

[readymades2002]

if i might bitch about work for a second: yesterday was hellishly bad despite being able to keep up with it and i found out that apparently our department made 4600 dollars yesterday which is making me angry beyond belieffffffff

[simpjaes]

✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed.  or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute. 

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader  

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

due to safety concerns regarding the nature of this fic, it will be posted on patreon, ao3, and wattpad (links on pinned). i'm not sure about posting it on tumblr because i do genuinely expect to be bullied off the platform.

LAST UPDATED: 2.1.25

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 8k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: my tag list is now closed due to the length.

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined. 

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going. 

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people. 

Do things without you clinging to him all the time. 

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so. 

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.  

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror. 

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now. 

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face. 

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you. 

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice. 

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned. 

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.” 

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life. 

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need. 

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number. 

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead. 

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.” 

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college. 

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time. 

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days. 

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course. 

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.” 

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges. 

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak. 

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest. 

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated. 

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes. 

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.” 

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it. 

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?” 

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value. 

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.” 

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now. 

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester. 

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay. 

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.” 

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm. 

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore. 

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm. 

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up. 

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college. 

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…” 

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top. 

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles. 

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away. 

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.” 

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does. 

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.” 

   ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame. 

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake. 

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo.  But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent? 

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father. 

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood. 

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind.  ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

due to safety concerns regarding the nature of this fic, it will be posted on patreon, ao3, and wattpad (links on pinned). i'm not sure about posting it on tumblr because i do genuinely expect to be bullied off the platform.

[00valentina-writes00]

Idfk why why ask was being weird- ANYWHO I decided to do them both cause- why not?

✞⛧ Sevika AND Ambessa when they see your self harm scars ✞⛧

Warnings: mentions of self harm/self harm scars

✞⛧ Sevika ✞⛧

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering lantern on the bedside table. You sighed as you peeled off your long-sleeved shirt, letting the cool air brush over your arms. It had been a long day, and you were exhausted. Your body ached from moving through the bustling chaos of the Undercity, and the only thing on your mind was sinking into bed and forgetting the world for a few hours.

You never let your arms go uncovered for long. The habit was second nature—ingrained in you like muscle memory. You kept them hidden under fabric, tucked away from wandering eyes and the questions they might ask. But here, in the privacy of your room, you thought you had a moment to breathe.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t register her heavy boots stepping across the wooden floor.

Not until a sharp inhale cut through the quiet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Sevika stood just a few feet away, her usual composed expression cracking at the edges. Her dark eyes, always so unreadable, were wide as they flickered down to your arms.

You reacted on instinct—snapping your arms to your chest, scrambling for the shirt you’d just discarded. Your fingers fumbled, shaking as you tried to cover yourself. “Sevika,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was low, steady. Not commanding, not harsh—just… careful. Like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.

You couldn’t look at her. Instead, you focused on the floor, on the way the shadows danced against the wood. Your heart pounded in your chest, shame crawling up your spine like a slow-burning fire

Seconds passed in suffocating silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps. Not leaving—but coming closer.

You felt her presence before you saw her. Warm, solid, steady. Sevika was always larger than life, always carrying herself with unshakable confidence. But now, there was hesitance in her movements, like she wasn’t sure how close she was allowed to get.

“Let me see.”

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a demand. It was a quiet request, filled with something unreadable.

You swallowed hard, your grip on your own arms tightening. “It’s nothing,” you lied, voice strained.

Sevika exhaled through her nose, and for a moment, you thought she’d let it go. But then—gently, with a patience you weren’t expecting—she reached out.

Her calloused fingers brushed over your wrist, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You let her take your arm, her hand dwarfing yours. Her thumb traced over the raised, uneven lines etched into your skin—ghosts of old wounds, memories of battles fought in silence.

She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t ask the questions you dreaded. Didn’t recoil, didn’t pity, didn’t make you feel like you were something broken that needed fixing.

Instead, she just held you.

The weight of her hand was grounding, a tether keeping you from slipping into the dark corners of your own mind.

“Were these before or after me?” she finally asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

Your throat tightened. “Both.”

Sevika let out a slow breath, her fingers ghosting over the scars once more before pulling back. Not because she didn’t want to touch them, but because she was giving you space.

You expected her to say something—anything. Maybe a lecture about how you should’ve told her. Maybe a cold dismissal, because Sevika didn’t do emotions, not like this.

But she surprised you.

She stepped back just enough to pull off her own vest, leaving only the dark tank top underneath. And then—she lifted her cybernetic arm, rolling the fabric up until the jagged scars lining her shoulder were on full display. Some were old, barely visible in the dim light. Others were fresh, still healing.

“This?” she murmured, tapping a particularly nasty scar running up her shoulder. “Got it from a an explosion tryin to protecting silco.”

Her fingers moved to another, this one along her ribs. “This one? Some idiot thought he could get the jump on me.”

Her gaze flickered back to you, unreadable. “We all carry scars, ma chérie.”

Your breath hitched.

Sevika wasn’t the type to bare herself—physically or emotionally. But she was doing it now, showing you the marks of her past without shame, without hesitation. She wasn’t comparing pain. Wasn’t trying to tell you that your struggles were the same as hers.

She was just… there.

Acknowledging, not judging.

You swallowed hard. “It’s not the same.”

“No,” she agreed, voice firm. “It’s not.”

A beat of silence.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t get it.”

Your vision blurred, and you quickly looked away, blinking rapidly. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of her. But Sevika saw right through you, just like she always did.

She didn’t push. Didn’t press for explanations or force you to talk about things you weren’t ready for.

Instead, she did the one thing that mattered most.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between you. And then—slowly, carefully—she wrapped her arms around you.

Her grip was firm, steady, unwavering. A silent promise that she wasn’t going anywhere. That you weren’t alone in this.

You hesitated, your body stiff. But then, little by little, you let yourself sink into her warmth.

She held you like you were something precious. Something worth staying for.

And maybe, just maybe—

You believed her.

✞⛧ Ambessa ✞⛧

The Noxian sun was relentless, casting waves of heat down onto the bustling city streets. The scent of metal, sweat, and baked stone filled the air, and even the war-hardened soldiers patrolling the avenues looked weary from the oppressive warmth.

You felt it clinging to you, the unbearable heat creeping under your clothes, making your long sleeves stick to your damp skin. But still, you refused to roll them up.

You never did.

Not even when you were alone with her.

Ambessa Medarda, the indomitable warlord, walked beside you, her presence commanding even in the simple act of strolling through the city. She wore her usual armor, layered but crafted to withstand the heat. The heat did not faze her—it never did.

She cast a glance at you, sharp and assessing. “You’re roasting.”

You forced a small smile, already anticipating where this conversation was headed. “I’m fine.”

Ambessa let out a soft huff, unimpressed by your deflection. “You are many things, my love, but a good liar is not one of them.”

She reached out, fingers brushing against your wrist, thumb toying with the fabric of your sleeve. The touch was casual, effortless, as if she had every right to do so—because she did.

But then—she felt it.

The slight ridge beneath the cloth. The way you tensed, your body going rigid beneath her fingertips.

Her grip remained gentle, but there was a shift in the air. Something heavy. Something undeniable.

Her dark eyes flicked up to yours, searching.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your throat.

There was a moment where you considered lying. A dismissive laugh, a playful shove, Oh, it’s nothing, you’re imagining things

But Ambessa was not a woman you could deceive. Not about this.

Not when her gaze had already sharpened with quiet understanding.

She didn’t demand, didn’t press. She simply waited, the weight of her presence steady and unyielding, offering you the choice.

To show her.

Or to walk away.

Your hands trembled slightly as you exhaled, shaky and uneven. Then, slowly—hesitantly—you pulled back your sleeve.

The scars were laid bare beneath the sun.

Some had faded to thin, white lines, whispers of old battles fought in silence. Others were fresher, pink and raised, standing in stark contrast to your skin.

Ambessa didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil.

Instead, she reached out, fingers tracing along the uneven ridges with the same care she gave her sword—reverent, precise, knowing.

“How long?” Her voice was low, steady.

You hesitated before answering. “Since before you.” A pause. “And… after.”

Her jaw tightened just slightly. But it wasn’t anger—not at you. Never at you.

She took another step closer, and it was only then that you realized how much larger she was, how easily she could shield you from the rest of the world. Her body was built for war, for command, for power—but her touch was nothing but careful as she cradled your arm in her palm, as if what she held was something precious.

A lifetime of battle had made her hands rough, calloused, but they were warm. Solid. Real.

She didn’t speak right away.

Instead, with deliberate patience, she lifted her other arm and rolled back her own sleeve.

And there, against her dark, battle-worn skin, were her own scars.

Some were old, earned in battle, jagged and ruthless. Others, though, were different. Smaller. Intentional. The kind that did not come from war, but from something far more personal.

Your breath caught.

Ambessa Medarda—the warlord, the lioness, the woman who had commanded armies and toppled rulers—knew.

Knew what it was like to bear a weight too heavy to carry alone.

Your throat tightened, words failing you.

But Ambessa didn’t need them.

She simply turned your hand over in her grasp, palm to palm, fingers threading between yours.

“You are not weak,” she murmured. “Not for this.”

A lump formed in your throat. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Her grip tightened just slightly, grounding.

“Strength is not measured by what scars us,” she said. “But by the choice to keep going despite it.”

The words settled deep, threading into the cracks of your armor, into the places you had never let anyone reach.

And then, softer, more tender than you thought her capable of—

“You do not carry this alone, my love.”

She brought your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, a silent vow etched into the warmth of her touch.

And for the first time in a long time—

You believed her.

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Emmrich (and also the Necropolis, Nevarra and other related things) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Emmrich:

Family and early life:

“Volkarin” is a commoner’s name. Emmrich’s father was a butcher, and his mother was a cook 

When Emmrich was around 5 years old, his neighbours had a pig named Lucy. He was very fond of her, and she’d always let him hug her around his neck

Emmrich grew up poor (clocked by Neve based on the way he always saves his candle stubs, shows up first for meals and never leaves food on his plate) 

Emmrich grew up hearing that all dragons were so hostile they had to be slain and is surprised that Taash has found ways to deal with them peacefully 

General:

The gold Emmrich’ wears is called “grave-dowry” (or “grave gold”). It’s a Nevarran custom to wear precious objects one would like to take to their grave

Emmrich’s bracelet (not specified which one) was gifted to him on the day he became a full Watcher. The ring with a large stone was the last gift from his father. The skull pin doesn’t have a story, he just likes it

Emmrich isn’t fond of the Nevarran nobility

Emmrich’s shaving cream smells like potash (at least to Taash)

Emmrich uses moss perfume with flowers

Decades ago, Emmrich used to see an Orlesian woman who was an art appraiser

If Emmrich wasn’t a watcher, he would like to be a botanist

Emmrich displays some interest in Ferelden, mentioning that many of its heroes greatly shaped the history. Harding says that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her homeland

Emmrich doesn't like beer because it's bitter

Emmrich prefers tea (he mentions purchasing a Brynnlaw curled-leaf blend in Nevarra), but he can also drink coffee 

Emmrich doesn’t eat meat (seafood and insects included), but he indulges in cheese. It seems to be a Watcher thing - he says that each Watcher must decide what they will and won't take a life for, and meat crosses that line for him

Emmrich likes melons, mushrooms and pineapples. He also enjoyed a plate of fried leeks and potatoes at Halos’s stand in Minrathous

Emmrich always thought he’d get married one day

After a Minrathous merchant sells Emmrich fake charms, he causes him to see skeletal faces on the windows and hear spirits whispering that false goods endanger lives as punishment. Emmrich agrees to stop once Neve tells him that she can convince the merchant to get back to selling linen if the visions cease

On magic and studies:

Some deaths may leave emotional imprints so intense Emmrich may feel them decades later 

Emmrich thinks the magic of old Elven artefacts is “rigid” 

Emmrich isn’t very good at figuring out Elven artefacts (by his own admission)

Emmrich’s first published work was A Monograph on the Vagaries of Determining a Body's Time of Death

Emmrich is roughly familiar with the dragon anatomy

Emmrich knows a lot about how bodies work (muscle-wise etc.) from the time he performed autopsies 

Watchers study the death practices of other cultures. Emmrich knew about Eb-ketarra and the Rivaini traditions even before Taash performs them at the end of their questline

On life in the Necropolis: 

When Emmrich fell for another boy during his youth, he showed him a corpse he was allowed to practice dissection on. The date was ruined by a passing wisp possessing the body and causing it to sit up and ruin the mood 

Emmrich tutored Dorian during his term in the Necropolis (“Tremendous potential, but appallingly flippant towards the dead”)

Emmrich and other watchers live in the Necropolis (Emmrich has a flat there)

On life at the Lighthouse:

It took 8 skeletons half a day to bring that slab of marble into Emmrich’s room

He didn’t bring his entire collection of books to the Lighthouse (there are more)

Emmrich talks to skulls in his room 

Lighthouse kitchen reminds Emmrich of the mortuary

Relationships with companions:

Emmrich offers to introduce Bellara to Audric, the Necropolis librarian (who appeared in Tevinter Nights’ Down Among the Dead Men)

Emmrich calls the Archive spirit a work of art  

Emmrich and Davrin disagree on parenting methods. Emmrich thinks Davrin should better discipline Assan and teach him boundaries, while Davrin suggest Emmrich should let Manfred learn more on his own (e.g. let him fall so he learns how to get up) 

Emmrich turns to Neve when he needs help acquiring some reagents he can't get his hands through normal ones, and she agrees to help him out (smuggling is involved)

Emmrich isn’t too thrilled about Neve taking over the Threads, questioning of what’s going to become with the organisation and the future and thinking it may become corrupt (sort of mirroring the way Neve is apprehensive about his lichdom) 

Taash likes Emmrich’s lich helmet. They are not usually fond of skulls, but that helmet is fine because it’s on fire

Taash thinks that gemstones like amethyst or green opal would look good with the lich helmet

Emmrich doesn’t seem to like unrealistic books as he criticised Harding’s “Gore-Knight” novels for their incorrect interpretation of magic. He is worried about people misunderstanding magic and spirits

Emmrich calls himself Harding's 'de facto physician'

On Manfred: 

(If Rook chooses to save Treviso) Manfred brings Neve tea by his own volition. Emmrich thinks it's because Manfred sensed she might need a friend

Manfred is as aware of his surroundings as most people (to a certain degree)

(If revived at the Necropolis) Manfred learns to say Emmrich’s name 

(If revived at the Necropolis) Manfred becomes much more talkative 

Manfred likes boiling tea because he is fascinated by steam

Emmrich suggests Manfred tries tending to plants in Harding's garden 

Manfred is curious about Spite and wanders into Lucanis’s room at night

Spite and Assan miss Manfred if he’s gone

On Lichdom:

Emmrich smells fine to Taash even after he becomes a lich 

Emmrich’s lich helmet burns with veilfire. He once tried using it in combat, but the flame ended up blinding him

Emmrich thinks Strife would no longer be interested in a relationship after he becomes a Lich. That doesn't prove to be true

Lich!Emmrich doesn't need to eat but still comes by the kitchen for company

The energy of Emmrich’s magic changed after he became a lich

Other liches call lich!Emmrich “Young Volkarin” 

Lich!Emmrich no longer has muscles, but when he tries out Taash’s pull-up routine, he can still feel something like “a spectral memory of flesh”, as if he had pulled a tendon

Emmrich starts seeing more books in the Lighthouse library after becoming a linch

About spirit, demons, and the Necropolis: 

There are spirits of Temperance and Diligence 

The Watchers avoid using the word “demon” because it creates bad expectations and can negatively influence spirits 

Some in the Mourn Watch suspected that elves originated from spirits, though it was just one of many theories, and not a particularly popular one

Chambers in the Necropolis can go missing (according to MW!Rook, they turn up, eventually)  

Even after the despair demon is banished from the Necropolis, the halls remain cold. However, the effects will abate with time

There are horses on display in the Necropolis

Watchers rarely get possessed thanks to the special wards of the Necropolis. Possessions also don’t happen as often because the necromancers already provide spirits with bodies, so they don't need to possess anyone by force

Bellara calls the background magic of Necropolis tidy and quiet

There something called “The Deep Necropolis” featuring sections like “The Unspoken Valley” and “The Charnel Bridge” (which has something called “nightmare fog”) that hosts all kinds of entities. Bellara is very excited to visit once the nightmare fog clears

Vorgoth ensures that the transgressions of those who use magical to cruel and abusive means will not be tolerated (whatever that means)

About Nevarra:

Many great Nevarran artefacts have been lost to time, including the Skull of Sabinar, the Key of Dead Dreamers, and the Crown of the Moon

There are strict rules about selling enchantments in Nevarra. You can’t sell anything without a licence and an inspection from the mage Circles

A Tevinter poem “Faustina's Song”, a romantic epic from the Steel Age, is very popular in Nevarra, and its quotes are used on ‘more than one’ epitaph in the Necropolis. Neve is surprised people even read it outside Tevinter 

Pineapples don’t grow in Nevarra

[hanniewho]

⋆˚࿔ Mommies' Good Girl 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ Summary: A heated argument turning into rough sex when you accidentally called them mommy. Apparently, that made the situation even worst.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Notes: Actually, I was writing a tlou x Arcane series, but I have no idea what to write since I got ban on character ai for ideas so.. this is what I wrote instead. Also I'm working on my slasher jayce x cam girl reader and I wanna make it noncon but mid writing it I felt sick so I switch it to jayce wearing the ghostface attire while fucking you on stream yeyey:3

𐙚˙✧˖° Words: 5.8k

༘ ⋆｡ ˚ Warnings: Rough sex, Slapping, Pussy worshiping, Fingering, Cunninlingus, Choking, Degrading - Praising, Name calling, Dirty talk, Using dildo, Ass fucking, Multiple orgasm, Threesome, Mommy kink, Delaying orgasm.

⋆✦ Pairings: Vi and Caitlyn x Afab virgin reader

"You never listen to me!" Caitlyn's voice echoed through the room, her frustration palpable.

Vi's eyes flashed with anger. "What do you mean I never listen?" she shot back, her fists clenching at her sides.

Caitlyn's chest heaved as she tried to gather her thoughts. "It's like you're always in your own world, Vi. You don't care about what I have to say!"

Vi took a step closer, her own frustration rising. "That's not true," she said, her voice low and tight. "I care about you, but you're always pushing and pushing until I can't even breathe!"

You watched the exchange, feeling the tension thicken in the air. You knew they'd had their disagreements before, but this felt different—like the pressure in the room was building to a breaking point. You didn't want to interrupt, scared that you'll be the center of their anger.

Instead, you took a step back, hoping to give them space to cool down. But as you retreated, Caitlyn's gaze flickered to you, desperation and something else swirling in her eyes. Before you could react, she stalked towards you, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer.

"Is this what you want?" she growled, her breath hot on your neck. "For me to just take it?"

Vi's eyes narrowed, and you could see the fire in them, a challenge sparked. Without breaking eye contact with you, she stepped closer, until you were trapped between the two of them, their bodies mere inches apart.

"Is that what you want?" Vi murmured, her voice a mix of anger and desire. "For us to fight over you?"

You shake your head, feeling the heat of both their bodies against yours. "No," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That's not it at all."

But your words seem to have the opposite effect as Caitlyn's grip tightens, her nails digging into your skin. Her eyes are stormy, and you can see the challenge in them, a silent dare to prove your worth. Vi mirrors her, leaning in so close that you can feel the warmth of her breath. The scent of their combined desire is intoxicating, mixing with the faint aroma of sweat and the metallic tang of unbridled emotion.

Vi's hand reaches out, grabbing the back of your neck, her touch firm but not painful. "Then tell us what you want," she says, her voice a soft growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I just... I just want us to be okay," you manage to get out, feeling your heart racing.

Caitlyn's expression softens a fraction, but the hunger in her eyes doesn't waver. She leans in, her full, soft lips brushing against your ear. "Is that all?" she whispers, her breath sending a shiver down your spine.

Vi's hand moves down to your hip, her fingers digging in, claiming you. "You know we can give you more than just okay," she says, her voice a seductive purr that sends a rush of heat between your legs.

You gulp, feeling the weight of their combined gazes, the intensity of their emotions. You know what they're suggesting, and part of you wants it, craves the distraction, the release. You nod, and in that moment, the room seems to shift, the tension morphing into something else entirely.

Caitlyn's eyes light up with a feral hunger as she moves in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, her teeth nipping at yours. You gasp into her mouth, the taste of her anger mixing with the sweetness of her desire. Vi's hand slides from your hip to the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head, her eyes never leaving yours.

You're pinned between them now, your body responding to their touch despite the argument's aftermath still hanging in the air. Caitlyn's hand moves to the back of your neck, mimicking Vi's hold, as they both guide you towards the bedroom. The softness of the carpet under your bare feet is a stark contrast to the harshness of their grips.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the room seems to shrink as their passion envelops you. Clothes are ripped and discarded in a frenzy of movement, each piece removed with the force of their pent-up emotions. The sound of fabric tearing is almost as satisfying as the feeling of their skin against yours.

Caitlyn's teeth graze your neck, eliciting a gasp from you. Her kisses are demanding, a silent apology for her earlier anger. Vi's hands are everywhere, exploring your body with a fierce possessiveness that sends waves of desire crashing through you. You're sandwiched between them, the mattress beneath you giving way as you're pushed down onto it.

Vi's mouth finds your nipple, sucking hard, the sensation making you arch your back. Caitlyn's teeth nip at your shoulder, her hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly. You're surrounded by them, their scents mingling, their breaths hot on your skin. It's overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Their touches are rough, almost violent, but you find yourself responding to it. Maybe it's the residual anger in the air, or the way they seem to crave each other through you, but your body is alight with need. "Oh... fuck me.." You moan, unable to hold it back, as Caitlyn's mouth moves to your other breast, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

Vi's hand slides down your stomach, her fingers dancing closer and closer to the dampness between your legs. She groans into your neck as she feels how wet you are, the sound vibrating through your body. "You like this, don't you?" she murmurs, her voice filled with a dark satisfaction.

You nod, unable to form coherent words as Caitlyn's teeth move to your earlobe, tugging gently. "Say it," she demands, her voice a rough whisper. "Tell us how much you want us."

You gasp, "I...I want you both so much," your voice trembling with desire.

Their grips on you tighten, their kisses becoming more insistent. Vi's hand reaches your center, her fingers sliding through your folds, teasing your clit with a firmness that makes you whine. Caitlyn's mouth moves to your other ear, her tongue tracing the shell before whispering, "Beg for it, baby."

You do, your voice desperate. "Please, fuck me," you moan, the words tumbling from your lips. You can feel their smirks against your skin, the satisfaction of knowing you're at their mercy.

Vi's fingers plunge into you without warning, her thumb circling your clit with a roughness that sends sparks through your body. You cry out, your legs instinctively spreading wider to give her better access. Caitlyn's mouth moves to your neck, her teeth scraping along the tender skin as she kisses and sucks.

Their touches are a symphony of pain and pleasure, each stroke and bite a declaration of their need for one another. You're lost in the sensations, the argument from moments ago forgotten as you become the focus of their passion.

Vi's fingers move with a purpose inside you, her thumb relentlessly working your clit. Caitlyn's teeth graze your neck, her kisses turning into bites that leave a trail of heat along your skin. "Look at you," Vi coos, her voice a mix of satisfaction and amusement. "Moaning like a bitch in heat."

You whimper, the insult only fueling your arousal as you feel yourself getting wetter. You know they're just playing, pushing each other's buttons through you, but the words still make you squirm. Caitlyn's grip on your hip tightens, her other hand moving to cup your cheek, turning your face to look at her.

"You love it, don't you?" she says, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You love when we're like this."

You do love it, the way they use your body to work out their issues, turning anger into something primal and sexual. You moan louder as Vi's fingers plunge deeper, the roughness of her touch pushing you closer to the edge.

Vi laughs, a dark, smoky sound that fills the room as she keeps tossing degrading words at you, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of it. "Such a good little slut, aren't you?" she says, her voice a wicked purr that makes your cheeks flush with a mix of arousal and embarrassment.

Caitlyn's eyes darken, a smirk playing on her lips as she watches Vi work you into a frenzy. She leans in, her teeth grazing your neck. "Is that all you want?" she asks, her voice a soft challenge. "To be used and degraded?"

You can't help but nod, your body betraying your thoughts. The harsh words only make you wetter, the idea of being their toy, their shared prize, turning you on in a way you never knew was possible. Vi's laugh is like a whip crack, sharp and stinging, as she keeps tossing degrading words at you, each one hitting its mark.

"Yeah, you do," she says, her eyes gleaming with a dark delight. "You're a greedy little whore, aren't you?" Her fingers are a blur between your legs, and you can feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that threatens to consume you whole.

You whimper, nodding, the words cutting through you like a hot knife through butter. The harshness of her language is a stark contrast to the gentle way Caitlyn holds your face, but it's the perfect balance of power and submission. You can feel their tension dissolving into something else, something raw and primal, as they use your body to find their own release.

Vi's fingers work you over mercilessly, her laugh turning into a series of low, guttural sounds that resonate through your core. Each insult is a stroke of genius, designed to push you closer to the edge. "You're just a cum dumpster," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. "A fucking hole for us to fill."

Caitlyn's hand moves from your cheek to your throat, her grip firm but not tight enough to cut off your air. She watches you closely, the smirk on her face growing as your eyes glaze over. "Is that what you are?" she asks, her voice a seductive whisper. "Our little cum slut?"

You nod, your breath coming in ragged pants, the words only serving to inflame your desire. You've never felt so wanted, so desired, so... alive.

Vi's thumb presses down on your clit, and you can't help but buck your hips, the pleasure too intense to hold back. "Fuck!" you scream, your body trembling.

Caitlyn's hand tightens on your neck, a silent command to keep looking at her as Vi continues to manipulate your body. "That's it," she whispers, her eyes dark with need. "Take it."

Vi's fingers work you over, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension in the room crackling, the air charged with the electricity of their desire and the intensity of your own climax. Your hips jerk against Vi's hand, your body begging for more, and she's all too happy to give it.

Then, in the heat of the moment, a slip of the tongue. "Fuck me, Mommy," you moan, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. Vi's hand stills, a look of shock passing over her face before it's quickly replaced with a wicked grin. "Mommy, huh?" she says, her voice dripping with amusement. "I think you might need a little more punishment for that."

Caitlyn's eyes widen, and she laughs, the sound low and dark. "Well, well," she says, her voice husky. "Looks like someone's got a naughty side." Her grip on your throat loosens, and she leans in closer, her breath hot against your cheek. "Is that what you really want, baby?"

You blush, your body trembling with need. You didn't mean to say that, but now that the words are out, you can't deny the thrill that runs through you. "I-I don't know," you stutter, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Vi's grin widens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She leans back, giving you a moment to breathe as she pulls her hand away. "Well, if that's what you want," she says, her voice a purr that sends shivers down your spine.

Caitlyn releases your neck, her thumb tracing the delicate skin as she looks at Vi, a silent question in her eyes. Vi nods, a wicked glint in her gaze. "We can definitely give you that," she says, her voice a promise that sends a thrill of excitement and a shiver of fear through your body.

They exchange a look that feels like it's searing you with its intensity. You're not sure what you've unleashed, but you know you want it. You want them to claim you, to take you apart and put you back together again in a way that only they can.

Caitlyn moves away, and for a brief moment, you feel cold without her touch. But Vi's hand is quick to replace it, her fingers sliding down your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She straddles your hips, her eyes never leaving yours as she reaches for the nightstand.

"What are you doing?" you ask, breathless, your heart racing.

Vi's smile widens, and she holds up the dildo, a glossy black toy with a slight curve that you've never seen before. "It's time to introduce you to some new sensations," she says, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I've had this little toy for a while, but it seems we never got around to using it."

You watch as she coats the dildo with lubricant, the sight of it making you squirm with anticipation. Caitlyn moves back to the bed and settle in behind you, her eyes never leaving yours as Vi lines the toy up with your entrance. The coolness of the silicone against your sensitive flesh makes you gasp, but it's quickly replaced by a burning need as Vi presses it into you, inch by inch.

You try to squirm away, the sensation new and overwhelming, but their combined strength keeps you in place. "Easy," Caitlyn murmurs, her hand sliding up your chest to cup your breast. "You can take it."

Vi's grip on your hips tightens as she begins to move the dildo in and out of you, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Your feet kick the air, legs straining, as you try to find purchase, to either push away or pull closer, you're not even sure anymore. "No, please, I can't," you whine, the words a mix of protest and plea.

Their eyes meet over your body, and you can see the thrill in them, the excitement of watching you squirm and beg. Caitlyn's hand moves from your breast to your cheek, turning your face back to hers. "You can, baby," she says, her voice soothing despite the fiery need in her gaze. "You can take everything we give you."

Vi's strokes with the dildo become more deliberate, the angle changing to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head. You moan, the word "Mommy" slipping out again, and this time it's Caitlyn's eyes that darken with lust. "Keep saying it," she whispers, her hand moving to your mouth to muffle your cries.

Your body feels like it's on fire, their touches and words lighting you up from the inside out. You're lost in the sensation, the sound of your own moans echoing in your ears as Vi works you over. You feel a hand slide up your thigh, and Caitlyn's fingers find your clit, adding to the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

You throw your head back into Caitlyn's shoulder, gasping for air. "I can't," you whine, the words barely coherent. "It's too much."

But Caitlyn isn't listening. She brings her hand to your lip, the scent of your arousal heavy in the air. She forces your mouth open and slides two of her fingers in, coated with your wetness. "Taste yourself," she whispers, her voice a siren's call that you can't resist.

You moan around the intrusion, the taste of your own desire almost as intoxicating as their combined scent. You suck on her fingers, the salty-sweet flavor making your toes curl. Vi watches, her eyes hooded with lust as she continues to pump the dildo into you, the rhythm relentless.

"Good girl," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice a warm caress against your ear. "Tell us how much you like it." Her hand moves from your mouth to your throat, her thumb tracing gentle circles as she squeezes slightly, reminding you who's in control.

You can't help but moan around her fingers, the pressure sending a thrill through your body. "M-Mommy," you pant, the word slipping out again, and you feel Vi's grip on your hips tighten in response.

"Look how much she loves it," Caitlyn says, her voice a low purr that vibrates through your body. "Such a good little slut for us."

Vi's strokes become faster, the dildo filling you up as she watches your reactions with a predatory gaze. You're powerless against the onslaught of sensation, your body a canvas for their pleasure. You arch your back, pushing down on the toy, silently begging for more.

Then, without warning, Vi pulls the dildo out, leaving you empty and gasping for air. You clench around nothing, your body desperately seeking the fullness it craves. "What the fuck?" you manage to get out, your voice a mix of frustration and need.

Vi just grins at you, a wicked glint in her eye. "What?" she says, her voice a taunt. "You think a dirty little wench like you gets to cum that easily?"

Caitlyn chuckles, her hand sliding down to replace the dildo with two of her own fingers, pushing inside you without warning. "We're just getting started," she says, her voice a low growl that makes you quiver with anticipation.

Vi leans over you, her hand coming down to slap your pussy, the sound echoing through the room. You yelp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of Caitlyn's fingers, making your eyes water. "What a whore," Vi says, her voice filled with amusement and a hint of admiration. "Begging for it like that."

The slap sends a jolt through your body, and you can't help but moan. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but the pain feels good, like it's grounding you in the moment. Vi's eyes are alight with something dark, a hunger that you've never seen before. She brings her hand back up, her fingers lingering on the spot she slapped, feeling the heat of your skin.

"Since your pussy is so tight," she says, her voice a low growl, "I wonder what else is."

With those words, Vi pulls the dildo from your pussy and presses the tip against your tight asshole. You tense up, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. But Caitlyn's hand is there, her thumb stroking your clit in a way that makes you want to scream. The conflict of pain and pleasure is almost too much to handle.

"Relax," she whispers, her voice a gentle command. You try, your body responding to her touch despite your trepidation. You feel the dildo breach you, the pressure intense as Vi works it in slowly. The burn is uncomfortable, but the way Caitlyn's eyes never leave yours, the way she watches your every reaction, makes it almost bearable.

"That's it," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice soothing despite the grip she has on your throat. "Take it for us." Her thumb moves in lazy circles on your clit, the pleasure a stark contrast to the pain as Vi's dildo stretches you open. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cry that threatens to escape, but it's no use.

The sound of your own whimpers fills the room, a symphony of lust and need that only spurs them on. Vi's strokes become more deliberate, her hand moving the dildo in and out of your ass with a precision that speaks of experience. You can feel yourself stretching around it, your body desperately trying to adjust.

Caitlyn's thumb speeds up, the pleasure becoming a crescendo that's almost too much to handle. "You're doing so good," she whispers, her voice filled with a mix of admiration and hunger. "Such a good little slut for us."

You cry out, the word "please" leaving your lips in a desperate plea. "Let me adjust," you manage to get out between gasps. "I-I can't... Mommy, please."

Vi's eyes flash with something dark and hungry, a smirk playing on her lips. "You're so adorable when you beg," she says, her voice a purr that sends a shiver down your spine. She gives the dildo a gentle twist, the feeling making you jolt. "But we're not done yet."

Caitlyn's thumb moves in tandem with Vi's strokes, the pressure on your clit increasing as your body fights the intrusion in your ass. You can feel yourself stretching around the toy, the pain morphing into something more, something that makes your toes curl. "Mommy," you whine, the word a desperate plea for relief.

Caitlyn's grip on your neck tightens, her eyes never leaving yours. "What do you need, baby?" she asks, her voice a seductive purr that sends shivers down your spine.

You gasp, trying to form words through the haze of pleasure and pain. "More," you finally manage, your voice a breathless whisper. "Please, more."

Vi's smirk widens, and she obliges, slamming the dildo into your ass without warning. The suddenness of it makes you scream, the sound raw and primal. The shock sends you spiraling closer to the edge, your body no longer fighting the intrusion but craving it. You feel your muscles clench around the toy, trying to draw it in deeper.

Caitlyn's smile is pure wickedness as she kisses your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. She starts to move her fingers in time with Vi's strokes, the feeling of being filled from both sides driving you wild. You've never felt so full, so claimed, so... owned. The pleasure is so intense, it's almost unbearable.

Her touch is gentle but firm, her kisses a silent promise of the storm that's about to break. You can feel the muscles in your pussy clench around her fingers, desperate for more. Caitlyn's eyes never leave yours, her gaze holding you captive as she explores the depths of your desire. You're panting now, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

With every stroke, Caitlyn's smile grows, feeding off your whimpers of need. Her kisses move from your neck to your collarbone, her teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes your eyes roll back. She's in no hurry, savoring the moment, drawing it out like a fine wine. Each kiss feels like a brand, a declaration of ownership that makes your toes curl.

Then, the saliva that's been pooling in your mouth overflows, and you can't help but drool. The warm wetness rolls down your chin and onto your chest, making its way down to your tits. The sight of it, the sheer abandon of the act, sends a jolt of electricity through Vi. She watches, transfixed, as it glistens on your nipples, making them even more tantalizing.

Her hand moves faster, the dildo pumping into your ass with a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. The pain is now a distant memory, replaced by a white-hot need that threatens to consume you. You can feel yourself getting closer, the tension in your body winding tighter with every stroke.

Caitlyn's thumb presses down harder on your clit, and you know you're about to break. "Please," you beg, the word a desperate gasp that's almost inaudible. "I need to cum."

Vi's strokes become more erratic, her breaths coming in short pants as she watches you squirm. "Do it," she says, her voice a harsh command that sends a thrill through your body. "Cum for us, slut."

Caitlyn's thumb presses harder, the pressure just shy of painful as she brings you closer to the edge. Your body feels like it's about to snap, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. "Now," she whispers, and you do, your orgasm ripping through you like a tornado, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.

You scream, the sound echoing off the walls, as your body convulses in pleasure. Vi's dildo is still moving inside you, the sensation almost too much to handle as your pussy contracts around Caitlyn's fingers. You're so sensitive that even the slightest touch feels like a bolt of lightning.

Vi's eyes never leave yours, watching the pleasure play out on your face with a look of triumph. Caitlyn's kisses become more gentle now, her touch soothing as she rides out your orgasm with you. You feel their love and desire in every stroke, every kiss, every whispered word of praise.

And then, as the last waves of your climax subside, Vi pulls the dildo out of you with a wet pop, leaving you feeling empty and exposed. You're panting, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure as she leans down, her mouth hovering just above your swollen pussy. Her breath is hot against your sensitive flesh, making you squirm.

Vi's eyes are filled with a hunger that's almost feral as she looks up at you, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Tastes like victory," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire.

With a slow, deliberate move, Vi leans down and presses her lips to your sensitive pussy, kissing you as if you're the most delicious thing she's ever tasted. You gasp at the sudden tenderness, the stark contrast to the roughness of moments before making your toes curl. Her tongue flicks out, tasting you, and you can't help but push against her, desperate for more.

Caitlyn watches with a hungry gaze, her own desire evident in the way she licks her lips. She slides her fingers out of you, bringing them up to her mouth to suck on them, her eyes never leaving yours. "Mm," she murmurs, "you taste so good."

Vi's mouth is a symphony of pleasure, her tongue working you over with a finesse that's surprising given the roughness of the encounter. You moan, your hands reaching down to tangle in her hair, urging her closer. She takes the hint, her tongue delving into your folds, lapping up the juices that are still flowing from your body.

Caitlyn's eyes never leave yours, the smirk on her face one of pure satisfaction. She watches as Vi worships your pussy, the sight of it making her own desire burn even brighter. Her hand moves down to her own clit, her thumb circling it as she watches you lose yourself in the pleasure.

"I fucking love girls with pretty pussies like you," Vi mumbles, her words muffled by the sounds of her mouth against your skin. "So tight... warm and soft. Just... fucking perfect." Her tongue slides over your clit, the flat of it pressing down firmly, making you gasp. "Like you're begging me to destroy you."

Her words are a jumble of pleasure and praise, each one sending a new wave of heat through your body. You can feel the vibrations of her voice against your sensitive flesh, and it only makes your orgasm feel more intense. She's a maelstrom of passion, her mouth a whirlwind of sensation that you can't escape from.

Caitlyn's eyes are hooded with lust as she watches Vi work her magic on you. Her own hand moves faster, her thumb rubbing in tight circles on her own clit, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The sight of you, lost in pleasure, is almost too much for her to handle.

Your orgasm seems to go on forever, your body trembling with the force of it. You've never felt so alive, so wanted, so... used. And it's glorious. Each lick of Vi's tongue feels like a declaration of war, a promise of more pleasure to come.

Caitlyn's hand moves from your neck to your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple in time with Vi's strokes. The pain is a sweet counterpoint to the pleasure, making you arch your back and push your chest out for more. "Good girl," she murmurs, her voice filled with pride. "Look how beautiful you are when you're being used."

Vi's mouth moves lower, her tongue sliding into your pussy, filling you up in a way that feels like it's going to break you apart. You're so sensitive that it's almost too much, but you can't bring yourself to ask her to stop. You need this, the feeling of being taken, of being theirs.

Caitlyn's hand moves to your ass, her fingers digging in as she pulls you closer to Vi's mouth. "Come for us," she whispers, her voice a dark promise in the chaos of pleasure. "Let us see how much of a mess you can make for us."

You whine, the sound a desperate mix of pleasure and pain. You don't know if you can handle anymore, but your body seems to have other ideas. With a final, vicious tug of her tongue, Vi sends you over the edge again, your pussy clenching around her mouth as you cum hard.

Vi pulls away, her mouth shiny with your juices, and grins up at you. "Looks like someone enjoyed that," she says, her voice smug and satisfied.

You can only nod, unable to form coherent words as your body still quivers with aftershocks. Your eyes are glazed over, your chest heaving with the effort of breathing. You're a mess, sprawled out on the bed, but the look in their eyes tells you that they think you're perfect.

Vi sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of your arousal glistening on her skin. "Look at you," she says, her voice filled with pride. "Such a good little whore for us."

Caitlyn's grip tightens around your waist as you go limp against her, your body spent and boneless. Her eyes are warm with affection as she looks down at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You're incredible," she whispers, kissing your neck.

You can't help but melt into her, the tenderness of her words a stark contrast to the roughness of the encounter. Her hands are gentle as they glide over your skin, her touch a comforting balm to the storm that's just passed through you. You lean into her, your breathing still ragged, your heart hammering in your chest.

Vi's smile is one of pure satisfaction as she sits back, watching the two of you with a glint in her eye. She reaches out, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw as she brings her hand up to cup your cheek. "You're ours," she says, her voice a low, sultry purr that sends a fresh wave of heat through your body.

You look up at her, your eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, and nod. The words hang in the air, a declaration that makes your heart race. You've never felt so claimed, so completely owned by someone else's desire. It's a heady feeling, one that you never want to lose.

But even as the afterglow of your orgasm lingers, you can feel the beginnings of exhaustion. Your muscles ache, your skin is sticky with sweat, and every breath feels like it's made of molasses. "I'm... I'm tired," you admit, your voice a soft whisper that seems to echo through the room.

Caitlyn's smile doesn't waver, but her eyes soften. She brushes a strand of hair away from your face, her touch gentle. "Let us take care of you," she says, her voice a warm caress.

Vi nods, her own expression filled with something that might be tenderness. She climbs off the bed, her movements surprisingly graceful for someone so powerful. She walks over to the nightstand and grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with a practiced ease. She brings it to your lips, the cool liquid slipping down your throat, soothing the fire that's been raging within you.

You take a deep, shuddering breath as the water hits your stomach, the coldness of it a stark contrast to the heat that's still pooling between your legs. Caitlyn's hand is still on your waist, her thumb stroking lazy circles that make you want to squirm. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice hoarse from screaming.

With a gentle nudge from Caitlyn, you lean back into her shoulder, closing your eyes and letting out a contented sigh. The feel of her skin against yours is a balm to your overstimulated senses, the scent of her a comforting blanket that wraps around you. Her hand slides up your stomach, her fingers tracing the line of your ribs before settling on your chest. You can feel her heart beating against your back, a steady rhythm that grounds you.

Vi sets the water bottle aside and moves closer, her eyes never leaving yours. She runs a hand through your hair, her touch featherlight. "You're so beautiful when you're like this," she murmurs, her voice filled with something that sounds suspiciously like affection.

You manage a tired smile, the muscles in your face feeling like they've been put through a workout. "Thanks," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm just really tired."

Caitlyn nods, her grip on you tightening for a brief moment before she eases you onto your side, tucking you against her. She runs her hand down your back, her touch soothing and gentle, a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had consumed you minutes before. "Rest, baby," she whispers. "We've got you."

Vi settles in beside you, her strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to her firm body. You can feel the heat of her skin, the steady beat of her heart beneath your ear, and it's comforting in a way you didn't know you needed. She kisses your shoulder, her breath warm and soft against your skin. "You did so good," she murmurs, her voice filled with something that feels suspiciously like pride.

You lean into her embrace, the warmth of her body enveloping you like a blanket, chasing away the chill that's started to settle in. You can't help but let out a contented sigh, your eyes drifting shut. Caitlyn's hand slides down your side, her touch gentle and reassuring. "Rest," she whispers, her breath warm against the nape of your neck. "You've earned it."

Vi's grip shifts slightly, her hand moving to rest on your hip. You can feel the callouses on her palm, a stark reminder of the power she wields. Yet here she is, her touch tender and loving, cradling you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. It's a side of her you rarely get to see, and it makes your heart swell with love.

You snuggle closer to Caitlyn, her breasts pressing into your back, the softness of them a stark contrast to the firmness of Vi's body against your front. It's like being sandwiched between two opposites, two sides of a coin that somehow fit perfectly together. You've never felt so cherished, so... claimed. The thought sends a warm thrill through your body, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh.

Maybe being their good girl wasn't so bad at all.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 4th. theodore nott — kiss it better.

theodore nott x fem reader

summary ; he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his. word count ; 2.6k warnings ; fluff, kissing, mentions of blood

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Theodore never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.

There you were, sitting across from him in the library, your hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes, lost in thought. He should’ve been focused on his own work, on the potions essay that was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept drifting back to you. Every time your quill scratched the parchment or your lips pressed together in concentration, his chest tightened. You had a way of drawing him in, pulling him closer with every small, unconscious movement.

It wasn’t like he’d never noticed you before. You had always been part of the group, hovering on the edges of conversations, offering sharp comments when the boys got too ridiculous, but you never quite entered Theo’s orbit like this. Now, though? Now, he was starting to realize that he’d been wrong to overlook you. You were too… soft. Too gentle in a world that had taught him to be hard, distant. It made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling.

Then it happened—something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have left a mark on him, but it did.

A paper cut.

He didn’t even flinch as the thin slice formed on his finger while rifling through his notes. Theo muttered a low curse under his breath, instinctively moving to press his thumb against it, but before he could do anything, you noticed.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice warm, as though you had known him for ages. 

Theo blinked, unsure why you were even asking. “Just a paper cut.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you set your quill down and leaned forward. “Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”

For a split second, he thought you were joking. He stared at you, unsure how to respond. That wasn’t the kind of offer people made to him. Kisses didn’t fix anything—not the way his childhood had been, not the way life worked now. But the way you looked at him, playful yet sincere, made something stir in his chest.

“That works?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

 You laughed lightly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sure it does. My mom used to do it for me when I was little. Worked like a charm.”

The mention of your mom caught him off guard. His own memories of his mother were hazy, distant, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long. He couldn’t remember if she had ever kissed his cuts, couldn’t remember if anyone had ever cared for him like that. Affection had always been scarce in the Nott household. His mother had been gone for a long time, and the little acts of tenderness you described had died with her.

You stood and walked around the table. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop you, didn’t say something sarcastic or brush it off. 

“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, trying to pull his hand away, but you held it gently, your fingers warm against his.

“Let me see,” you said softly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He held his breath as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his finger in the softest kiss. The contact was fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but it sent his mind reeling. He didn’t understand why something so simple, so childlike, could make him feel… different.

“There,” you said, your voice light as you pulled back. “All better.”

He could only stare at you, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah… thanks.”

You smiled, returning to your seat like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just unknowingly changed something in him. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, the phantom of your lips still tingling on his skin. He didn’t know how to process it. No one had ever looked at him that way, treated him that way. 

But he knew one thing for sure—he wanted to feel that again.

The next day, Theo’s mind was still replaying that moment, over and over. It had awakened something inside him, something that ached for more, and before he knew it, he found himself searching for a way to feel it again. This time, though, he didn’t want a kiss on the hand. He wanted more.

Theo found Draco leaning against one of the stone walls outside. He approached him with a strange sort of determination, one that was equal parts reckless and desperate. Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Theo approaching.

“Need something, Nott?” Draco drawled, clearly amused by the look on Theo’s face.

Theo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Punch me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I need you to punch me,” Theo repeated, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the request.

“Alright, gladly, but why?”

Theo swallowed, his throat dry. He knew it was ridiculous, that this whole plan was absurd, but he needed this to happen. He needed you to kiss him again, to care again. "Just... trust me. I need a bruise, a cut, something that’ll make her—” He cut himself off, his face heating up.

Draco’s smirk only widened, a glint of realization flashing in his eyes. “Ah. Her.” He stood up straighter, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re finally doing something about it. You want me to punch you so she’ll fuss over you. Clever.”

“Just do it, will you?” Theo muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

Draco shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “If you insist.” Without further warning, Draco’s fist came flying toward Theo’s face. He didn’t hold back either—Theo barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded in his mouth. 

He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his lip. Blood welled up immediately, the sharp sting spreading across his jaw.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo muttered, his vision momentarily swimming. “I said punch me, not break my damn face.”

Draco stepped back, grinning like he had just done Theo the biggest favor in the world. “There. You’re welcome.”

Theo wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, already thinking about what would come next. He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about anything except the idea of you seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable—and caring for him again.

He found you in the common room later that day, sitting in your usual spot near the fireplace. You didn’t see him at first—too absorbed in the book you were reading, a small frown of concentration on your face. 

Theo hesitated for a second, suddenly feeling nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if you didn’t react the way he hoped?

But then you looked up, and your eyes immediately widened in shock as you took in the sight of him—blood smeared on his lip, a fresh bruise forming on his jaw.

“Theo!” you gasped, your book forgotten as you rushed over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tried to shrug it off, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, though the pain in his mouth made it hard to play it cool. “Got into a fight. No big deal.”

You didn’t look convinced. Your fingers hovered near his face, concern etched into your features. “Does it hurt?”

Theo could feel his heart pounding, his mouth dry as the moment he’d been waiting for arrived. His voice was lower than he intended as he muttered, “A little… are you… are you not gonna kiss it better?”

Your expression softened, that same playful smile from the day before returning. “Again, huh?” 

You leaned in, your eyes flicking to his lips, and Theo’s pulse quickened. When your lips brushed his, it was soft, cautious, but this time there was something more to it—something that made the ache in his lip completely disappear.

And just like that, Theo knew he was done for.

Your lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it was enough to set Theo’s blood humming. The softness of your touch felt like a balm, not just for the bruise but for something deeper—something buried in the recesses of his mind that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

When you pulled back, your gaze met his, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. Concern? Amusement? Theo couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that he didn’t want that moment to end. Not yet.

"You really need to stop getting into fights," you murmured, shaking your head with a small, exasperated smile. "What were you even thinking?"

Theo almost laughed at the irony. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth—that the whole thing had been orchestrated just for this. Just for the briefest chance to feel your lips on his. 

Instead, he shrugged, playing it off. "You know how it is. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t mix well."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness behind it, something that made Theo’s chest tighten in that unfamiliar way again. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself hurt for real, and then I won’t be able to kiss it better.”

That sent a jolt of warmth through him, stronger than the pain in his lip. He let the silence stretch between you for a moment, watching as you shifted nervously under his gaze.

"Maybe," he said slowly, his voice low, "I just like the way you kiss me."

Your eyes widened slightly at that, a faint blush creeping across your cheeks. Theo smirked inwardly, relishing the way his words seemed to fluster you. You always had a quick response for everything, but now you were quiet, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.

“I—” you started, your voice trailing off as you looked down at your hands.

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to grab your wrist and pull you back in, to kiss you again but for real this time—not as some excuse to soothe a bruise or a cut.

Before you could speak, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Well, look at you two,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the common room, clearly interrupting something he knew full well was important. “What did I say, Nott? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Theo shot Draco a glare, a deep scowl crossing his face. Of course he had to show up now, just when things were starting to move in the direction he wanted.

You, however, looked between them, confusion evident on your face. “What’s he talking about?”

Before Theo could respond, Draco answered for him, leaning casually against the wall with that insufferable grin. “Oh, nothing. Just that Nott here got himself punched on purpose. Quite the romantic, isn’t he?”

Theo’s heart dropped. He glared at Draco, fury bubbling up in his chest. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

But it was too late. You were already staring at Theo, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”

Theo tried to backtrack, scrambling for some sort of excuse, but he wasn’t fast enough. You took a step back, your brows furrowed in confusion as realization slowly dawned on you.

"You… you let someone punch you just so I’d…?"

The color drained from Theo’s face as he saw the pieces falling into place in your mind.

“I—” he began, his voice unsteady, “It’s not like that.”

You crossed your arms, staring at him like you were trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or something in between. “Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted—” He cut himself off again, feeling ridiculous. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But you were still looking at him, waiting for an answer, and the weight of your gaze was too much to bear.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Theo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—something gentler. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer, your eyes searching his face.

"You could’ve just asked," you said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Theo blinked, thrown off by your reaction. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even laugh and walk away. But there you were, looking at him with something that felt dangerously close to fondness.

“You… wouldn’t have laughed at me?” he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.

You shook your head, your smile growing. “No, Theo. I wouldn’t have laughed.”

Theo didn’t know what to say to that. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you, the words dying in his throat. He felt foolish, standing in front of you like this, bruised and vulnerable, all because he didn’t know how to ask for something he wanted so badly.

But then you reached out, your hand gently brushing against his bruised lip again, and all the embarrassment, all the uncertainty melted away.

“If you wanted me to kiss you,” you murmured, stepping even closer, “all you had to do was say so.”

When your lips finally met his, it wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a kiss to make anything better. This was a kiss because you both wanted it.

Theo’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, and Theo felt like he was drowning, lost in the feel of you, in the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “Yeah, I still don’t regret anything,” he muttered.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. “Next time, just ask, Theo. No more getting hurt.”

Theo nodded, his heart still racing as he held you close, a grin tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

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