#i find it cruelly ironic

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [5]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

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Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: OMG I’M SO SORRY. this chapter was so hard to write and it kept getting away from me, because i really wanted to pivot hard into some of the main plot points. i really hope you enjoy it, please drop me a comment and let me know even if you didn’t.

“Come.” Your mother’s voice is firm. Her mourning veil just barely outlines the shape of her face, as her lips move beneath the fabric. It billows behind her as she walks down the darkened line of empty pews toward the front of the little chapel, a flickering candle held steady in her gloved hand. 

Your father is to be buried tomorrow. 

You know his grave is already dug—a fresh square cut out of the dark earth next to his father’s. The thought of him alone in the dirt is enough to make your throat tighten, though no tears come. You have cried them all already; a veritable ocean. Even so, your dry eyes ache for lack of them.

“W-wait, mother, I—” You do not want to see it, the vacant thing your father’s soul has left behind. At the end, you could barely recognize him in the fragile body decaying in his sick bed. You catch at her sleeve with numb fingers, lowering your head in shame. “I do not want to see—” Her icy fingers wrap around yours, long and thin, her jagged nails digging into your skin. 

“We must each place a stitch upon the shroud.” You wince as she presses the long needle into your stiff hands. “It is our duty.” Only when you accept it does she release you, and for a moment, you see her lips quirk cruelly beneath the veil. You tremble as your mother steps aside, your breath catching as you see the shape of the body on the altar. 

Just behind her is your father, his shroud dotted with the shapes of dead flowers and bare trees. It does little to quell the horror you feel to behold him, though, his thin outline visible through the shroud, limbs folded and delicate like a baby bird.  You remember what he looked like two nights prior, his rheumy eyes dull and deep set into his skull, skin thin and sallow. He looks small now, too, beneath his shroud, and you find it hard to believe this withered corpse had once been a great mountain of a man. A good man, a strong man, now reduced to the barest scraps of skin and bone. 

“Stitch.” Her command fills every inch of space, in the chapel and in your head. And though you want nothing more than to close your eyes and be gone from this place, your body will not obey. You raise the needle. 

“Please, mother—”

“Stitch.” Her voice is like iron nails in your skull. Blood drips from your nose, and you taste the warm copper of it on your lips. You pinch a corner of thin fabric between your fingers, and push in the needle, pulling it through until the knot at the end of the thread catches. You lower your hand to the shroud as you sew another stitch, and as you do so, your fingers brush your father’s sunken cheek, and you retch. 

You cannot stop—

She will not let you. 

You look down at your father’s body with tears in your wide eyes, and as you do, a scream builds in your throat. You pinch his lips together between your forefinger and thumb. Delicately; like you would the hem of your gown for a curtsey— and sew another stitch through the meat of them. He is beginning to rot, now, you can smell it over the cloying scent of incense.

“Mother stop!” Your scream is swallowed by the heavy darkness of the empty chapel. Your mother sighs, her breath curling against your ear. 

“How else can we make sure the dead don’t speak?” She threads her fingers through yours as she pulls your hand toward his sunken eyelids. You pinch the stiff flesh between your fingers, holding it taut for the needle. 

“Now close his eyes.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in bed as you cover your mouth with one hand, fingers searching for the thick black funeral thread—but of course, you find none. The dream clings to the edges of your vision like spider silk, the taste of decaying things still heavy on the panicked air you draw in. A ra sob wrenches its way out of your throat as you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyes. 

Perhaps I am mad, after all.

Ain’t supposed t’see the dead ones. Maybe Madge’s old superstitions had borne fruit in your own mind. You recall the symbol she made with one hand, finger on thumb, finger on thumb, before spitting down into the dirt as you left your father’s burial. She’d shaken her head then, some the silver-gray locs piled on top of her head coming loose. Ain’t supposed t’see them. They stay when you see, them, Lady. 

They stay.

“No!” You throw the blankets off of yourself, lurching out of bed and stumbling towards the wash-bowl on the dresser. The thought of that day fills you with the same cold dread you have come to know too well. You’ve little choice in your dreams; the specter of his burial hanging over you like overripe fruit. But here, in waking, in the chill autumn daylight, you have the power to turn your thoughts to other things. 

At least, you try to. 

The water is shockingly cold, but you are grateful for it, staring down into the porcelain bowl. A knock at the door startles you, and you jump.

“W-who is it?”

“Kassandra, Majesty. Might I come in?” 

“Yes,” you sigh. “You may.” You pat worriedly at your swollen eyelids, and you frown at your reflection as the door swings open. Your mother has an effortless sort of beauty, one that needs neither rouge nor powders to enhance—a trait you certainly do not share. Your disturbing, sleepless night is written plainly on your face. 

Kassandra sets the tray down in the sitting area, before turning to you with a worried expression. 

“Her Majesty hopes you are well,” she says, nervously tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with dainty fingers. “As you were not at break-fast this morning.” 

“I was… I did not sleep well.” You shake your head. “I trust my mother made her displeasure quite clear.” She stifles a laugh. “She’s good at that.”

“She did.” Kassandra gestures to the tray, porridge and an assortment continental fruit cut into bite size pieces. “You should eat, Lady. While it’s hot.” You pick uninterestedly at the porridge until it is mostly gone, along with the tart green grapes and sweet winter melon. At the very least you do feel better for it, or at least, more present—more grounded in this world, not the dream one. 

You clear up the remains of your breakfast, piling the dishes neatly back onto the tray. In the armoire, you note that more Rivian style gowns have been hung, your light Redanian dresses folded neatly and shunted off to the shelves on the side. Your mother’s thin excuse makes you wrinkle your nose in distaste as you finger one of the heavy sleeves. “Much too light for these Rivian winters, Dear,” she’d said, patting the neatly folded dresses. 

“You won’t need them.”

The truth remains unspoken, but you know it still—she does not want you to need them. You pull a heavy crimson dress from its place and begin to undo the lacing. Kassandra clucks her tongue at you. 

“Highness, please. Allow me at least one task.” You roll your eyes in response.

“I believe you are capable of more than dressing me—and that I am more than capable of dressing myself,” you reply. You change into a fresh shift before shrugging into the dress. You twist around to reach for the lacings, but Kassandra shoos your hands away to do them herself. 

“You’re doing them wrong.” She chides you gently. “Up for lift, down for compression, my Lady.” Kassandra nods at you in the mirror and then positions your body so that if you crane your neck just a little, you can see her hands as she easily threads the thick ribbon through the eyelets. “Opposing sides. Like this.” 

You purse your lips. “We don’t wear these dreadful things in Redania,” you mutter, your breath hitching as the corset tightens. She laughs before stepping away, brushing loose lint from the folds of the heavy fabric. 

“Even so, our fashion does suit you.”  You can tell she wants to say something else, the way her mouth opens and then closes, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“You’ve another correction?” You ask, gesturing at yourself with a chuckle, but she shakes her head. She glances at the door, as though reassuring herself that it was still shut.

“No, no, I—I do not mean to be insolent, Highness,” Kassandra begins, “but I do not think I have ever heard you say you have rested well within these walls.” Your smile turns brittle and tired. 

“No. I have not. And your concern is not insolence. I am grateful for it.”

“Healer Janna—her draughts have not availed you?” You hesitate, wondering if you should describe the shape of your demon, give it form and substance outside of your mind. You shake your head, steepling your fingers together to stop them from trembling. 

“It seems the dreams that plague me require more than nightroot and dried frogspawn to satisfy them.” I see my father. I see him dead a thousand ways. 

“Healer Janna’s draughts for sleep and pain are as close to magic as they’ll allow in the White Keep, you know that.” Bastard’s magic. You do. You think of Father Rame’s disgusted expression. He does not seem the type to suffer a witch to live. “But I have… there is another. A woman—they call her The Dock Hag.” Her voice is a low whisper, as if she fears the good Father ears will ring with her heresy, even here. 

“And she can… she can rid me of these dreams?” The prospect is a tantalizing one. “You know her? You have visited this woman?”

“I—yes. I met her. Once.” Her smile is sad. “When I was small, and the older Ladies had need of her.” Kassandra’s words are aged, heavy with the weight of years that both do and do not belong to her in equal measure. “And then again, for the memories.” 

“She…” You cannot bring yourself to say it. Kassandra nods, the smile going brittle and crumbling from her face.

“Not many Lords will claim their bastards, Highness, if you will forgive my candor.”

In your mind’s eye you see a small Kassandra, attending her own mother, most likely, or perhaps even an older sister or cousin who… had need of this woman. The witch who had taken their babies—

And then burnt their dreams out. 

“What did it cost?”

“Nothing special. Gold.” You let out a relieved sigh at her words. That, at least, is an easy enough problem to solve. Kassandra cuts her eyes at you. “Are you going to go? To see her?”

Perhaps Madge was a superstitious old northern goat—But maybe she was right too: the living are not meant to mingle with the dead. Perhaps it is some guilt that drives your father’s image to the forefront of your mind, some secret thing that the specter of his death clings to—you cannot know. 

But the witch might. 

—

The east stair is narrow, cut roughly out of the stone as if it were an afterthought. The iron railing is pitted and mottled from the salt in the air, and it rattles dangerously as you grip it. The stairs themselves are uneven, still slick from the inconsistent rain that had stopped only hours before. Every step feels as though you are lurching forward, being pulled down the long winding stair to the paving below. 

There are more ways to enter and exit this keep than the main gate, Majesty. 

The east stair wound around the back of the White Keep like a snake, the steps hidden in the stone like a secret. As you take another cautious step down, your foot slips and you gasp, the railing shaking as you cling to it. You steady yourself, locking your trembling knees tightly as you recite Kassandra’s instructions. 

You will take the east stair down from the parapets over the chapel. Through the gap in the wall is the city. Go straight to the docks, ask for the Hag.” She had not wanted to stay behind, though you had convinced her with a stern look and an order to send away any who came knocking at your door till you returned. You would need her to provide a believable excuse in the event that anyone came looking—and an empty room would be cause for alarm, especially with you… “ill.”

Below you, the city glitters with light even as the dark begins to deepen. Beyond it, the sun sinks into the sea, lingering on the horizon before disappearing completely. Like Kassandra had said, near the foot of the stairs—twenty feet back, and behind a column, but near enough—is the gap in the wall. It is overgrown thick with dying ivy, the orange leaves already turning spotty brown at the edges. 

Crushed leaves litter the hood and shoulders of your cloak as you start to squeeze inside, the stone catching at your clothes. You push your way through the narrow passage, panic coiling in your gut at the feel of the unyielding pressure at your chest and back. Your fingers meet open air at the next push, and you practically drag yourself out into the streetlight, fingers digging into the stone. 

The misty street that greets you is practically empty, and what few people there are do not seem to have noticed that you have joined them from nowhere on the wet cobbled street. Hurriedly, you brush dirt and discarded leaves from your cloak before you adjust your hood, angling it down over your eyes. You keep your head down, your hands clenched into trembling, nervous fists. Every heavy step you take away from the keep sets the warning bells in your skull to ringing, as gooseflesh rises on your arms. 

It isn’t too late to go back. It isn’t. Not too late to turn around, slip back between the ivy covered crack in the east wall and seek your mother’s counsel once more—and go to sleep, knowing that you will see beyond the veil again. 

The thought spurs you onward. 

The streets are even more unfamiliar in the growing dark, and as you watch the lanterns flare to life to chase it away, you swallow nervously. There is so much to see, here—too much. As you approach the city centre the market is still bustling with activity, the shops open and windows bright.

You spare yourself a few moments to watch the people. A woman buys bread, her son playing in her skirts, a man pulls shut the door of the tavern across the way, a blacksmith’s hammer falls rhythmically like a drum, the chapel’s bell rings for evening prayer—there is so much here, the sheer amount of everything almost dizzies you. A woman bumps your shoulder as she passes by, and it stirs you out of your reverie. By the time she turns to apologize, you are already gone, hurrying off through the square. 

The air turns salt with brine the closer you get, and you lick your dry lips, tasting it. The night had been thick with sounds in the city center, but the further you travel from it, the more quiet the streets become. It is eerie, the stark difference between these silent, empty streets and the lively square only moments ago. 

The last time you had been to the docks was when you’d stepped off of the ship, in the scant few days before your mother’s wedding. Now, the narrow streets look different, unrecognizable from the snatches you remember through the carriage windows. You look in one direction, and then another, frowning.

“You’re lost, Sweet.” There is no question in the old woman’s voice. You see her then, standing beneath the street lantern in a pool of pale light.

“I—I am looking for—”

“Me, Sweet. You’re looking for me.” The shadows fall away from her face without her moving, like the light has only just decided to accept her. The Witch’s white hair is wild about her face. And her face… she is a severe beauty, like wind whipped ocean waves. The years define her jaw, sloping in gentle strokes down around her eyes, and her ears slope upward into gentle points. She is older than your mother, though you know this not by sight but because you simply… know it. An uncanny feeling that has grown in the back of your mind that she is like you, but… un-like you, too. 

She is an elf. 

It is not just the ears, but the air about her, an ethereal quality that surrounds her as thickly as the shawl about her shoulders. It is in the delicate set of her jaw, perhaps, or the distinct lack of canine teeth in her amused grin. You take a halting step forward, and then stop, wary.

“You are the W—you can help me?” The Witch wraps her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and fixes you with a hawkish look. 

“Don’t know that yet.” She purses her lips. “Shall we do this in the street? Or will you oblige me my own roof?” You nod hurriedly, and follow her as she turns quickly on her heel down the street. You are close enough to the docks to hear the water as she approaches a small house, pushing open the door. You follow her inside, halting briefly at the doorway. There is dried heather inside, hanging in a braided bushel on the arch. She watches you step inside, her dark eyes narrowed. 

“Shut the door behind you,” she snaps, flicking the edge of her shawl over her shoulder. “Never met a Princess raised in a bloody barn.” You brush aside the bushels of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling as you make your way inside. 

The Witch rounds the other side of the table, where you see the evidence of her unfinished work. A grindstone, laying on its side, with half-ground herbs lying in the bowl. 

“How did you know?” You ask as she picks it back up, the sound of stone on stone filling the room as she resumes. “That I was looking… for you.” 

“I always know,” she replies, somewhat exasperated. “Like a rabbit knows a fox.” Her sharp eyes find yours once more. “What ails you, sweet Princess?” There is mockery in her tone, though you dare not take umbrage at its presence. “A suitor you wish to beguile? A fair maiden you wish to remove from his eye?” Her gaze drops down, and then darts back up again. 

“Or perhaps an unseen consequence?” 

Your throat tightens. 

“No, I—my dreams.” You say. “I dream the most terrible things, and I—I want you to take them away.” 

The stone stops. 

“Come here, child. Into the light.” The Witch holds out her hand, beckoning you forward. “And take down that stupid hood, you’re not hiding from anyone here.” She clucks her tongue at you as you approach, fingering the edge of your hood reluctantly. She already knows who you are—though you are not quite sure how she knows. With one hand, she reaches for your face. You do not flinch away from her—you do not fear her, though perhaps if you were smarter, you suppose you would. Her touch is gentle as she tilts your chin up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The fire crackles in the hearth, louder for the silence. 

“And what do you dream?”

“I see…” You swallow. “I see dead things.” She peers into your eyes, her pupils wide. “I see my father.” You tremble as she steps away, your mouth suddenly dry. “These dreams, these-these nightmares, you can stop them, can you not? You can—”

“I’ll not hear more about what I can and cannot do from the maid in the high castle,” she snaps. “And they are not dreams, though you walk through them in yours.” With her other hand,  she reaches beneath her collar, producing a thin leather cord. There are all manner of things tied to it—feathers, beads, and small, clean animal skills that shine dimly in the firelight. There is a long black needle there, too, hanging by its’ eye. 

“There is a spirit tethered to you.” She turns your hand over, stroking her fingers over the lines in your palm.  She snaps her fingers, motioning for you to give her your other hand. “By great sorrow—” The Witch squints, bringing your hands closer to her face. “Or rage.” She drops your left hand, holding onto your right. “I can no more remove it than I could your shadow.” 

“Tethered?” You repeat. “These are—they are dreams, they are not real—” You sputter in protest, but the Witch merely looks at you, orange firelight dancing in her dark eyes. 

“If they are only dreams, why do you fear them so?” You cannot answer. “They are messages. You should be grateful for them, there are few feats quite as great as bridging the divide between us and those who have gone before, Little Queen. Your father cannot watch over you forever.” 

“I am a Princess.” The Witch smiles. 

“Is that right?” She grasps your hand, gripping your index finger hard and watching as the tip reddens. You flinch as she pinches the needle between two thin fingers. “Come now, Sweet. Mustn’t be afeared of a little pain.” She jabs it into the meat of your finger, and you yelp, tugging uselessly at your hand, but her grip is iron. 

“Ouch!” With a twist of her hand she swipes the fat drop of blood from your fingertip and flicks it into the fireplace. It does not fizzle out, but instead lands on the topmost log, bubbling until it turns black. It smells like ozone—not copper. You do not know why, but you tremble a the sight of it. You have come here to have something taken away, but as you watch your blood crack and burn, you feel as if perhaps something is being given instead. 

“What does this mean?” You turn to her. The Witch rubs your blood between her fingers, sniffing the residue for a moment before wiping them clean on a rag. She does not answer you right away, staring thoughtfully at the thin line of black smoke curling from the fireplace. 

“Please, I—”

“It means, Princess, that we are kin, you and I.” She tilts your chin back as you stare at her, wide eyed. She runs the tips of her fingers over the narrow curve of your left ear—not pointed, not like hers, but… You push her away before you can stop yourself, clutching at your chest with your other hand as if to calm your racing heart. 

“This cannot be true, it—it cannot!” 

“Less than half,” she continues as if your sputtered refusal had never been spoken at all. “Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still.” The Witch looks you up and down, and this time, there is pity in her gaze. “I cannot take your dreams.” Cold spreads through your trembling limbs. “You must release them yourself.” 

“Release them? How?” She cups your face, and the movement of her thumb over the swell of your cheek is almost affectionate, though the words she speaks next send a cold chill down your spine. 

“No fear, Little Princess. No fear.” For a moment, you swear her eyes go gold, and Geralt’s voice echoes again in the space between you. Before the Witch can say more, you quickly dig the gold out of your pocket, tossing the coins down onto the table as you flee. You do not register her cries to stop, to wait as you barrel through the door, throwing it shut behind you. 

It is raining again, hard sheets of cold water pouring down from the dark, angry sky. You can hear the sea raging against the docks, water crashing in thunderous waves up against the harbor’s weathered stone. Your head is spinning, full to bursting. You are elf-kin—perhaps? Maybe?

Your mother had never seen fit to mention that minor detail—and for that matter, neither had your father. You tug your hood up roughly over your head and turn your face down, away from the cold rain pelting against your skin. Had he even known? 

Would he have even wanted to?

Perhaps I can just ask him myself.

The thought makes you shiver, wrapping your cloak tighter around your shoulders. I can no more remove it than I could your shadow. You do not know which is worse—having left your father behind alone in the dirt, or the restless specter of him living in your dreams. Your finger aches from the point of the dock witch’s iron needle, and you clutch your hand to your chest as you make your way back towards the White Keep. Above you, a white hot arc of lightning splits the sky, throwing up stark shadows against the row of dark houses. 

It is by that grace alone that you see the man. 

You stop short, your heart leaping into your throat. He stands in the shadows beneath the sagging eaves, his stony face surprised as your eyes meet. He steps forward with a heavy sigh, a gloved hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip. 

“Highness.” Your throat tightens, and you take a cautious step back as he comes into the meagre light offered by the street lantern above you. “Please don’t make this difficult.” His cloak is drawn over his chest, but you can see the shape of the armor underneath, jet black. 

Nilfgaardian.

 You turn—and run straight into a hard, armored chest.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Duke Emhyr’s long fingers dig hard into your shoulders, hard enough to bruise. His black hair is slick with rain. He was waiting here… waiting for me. “I shall have to inform Lady Kassandra of your whereabouts,” he sneers. “She seems to think you are asleep in your bed.” You lift your heel and grind it hard into the top of his foot, and the Duke curses, his grip loosening. You pull away, but he manages to catch the edge of your cloak, pulling hard until you fall backwards. 

The impact knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping and dizzy, staring up at the dark sky. 

“We did not get to finish our little chat, in the garden.” He says, squatting down over you as you struggle up to your knees on the wet street. “I think we should do that now, Princess.” 

Your heart pounds heavily against your ribcage as you stagger to your feet. 

“No.” 

“It is not a request.” He motions to the guard behind you, and he grabs you as you struggle, wrenching your arms behind you. 

“Filthy witch,” he hisses, and you flinch. “You and your whore mother.” 

“Gavin, your manners.” He tuts mockingly. “I would be honored, Majesty, if you would accompany me for tea.” You stare at him in silence, the rain soaking through your cloak. “If you would, Ser Gavin.” He forces you forward, and you stumble. 

“It is late for tea, Lord Emhyr,” you snap, dragging your feet against the paving stones. “Perhaps a discussion with Her Majesty herself—” Ser Gavin grunts with irritation at your resistance and shoves you, hard. You stumble as the Duke makes an angry noise deep in his throat. 

“I’ve little stomach for lies.”  

A cold shiver winds its way up your back. You hear the threat though the words remain unspoken. The streets are deserted, and you cannot tell if it is the weather or the hour. Behind you,  clears his throat. 

“Here, my Lord.” 

The faded, splintering sign hanging above the door reads Madam’s Tea House, though by the riotous noise coming from inside, you suspect they serve a few things little stronger than tea. Ser Gavin places a rough hand on the back of your head, forcing it down as he steers you through the doorway. Your stomach drops as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

The air stinks of ale, sweaty skin and something more pungent and sour that you cannot identify. There are people everywhere, draped across tables, lounging on pillows and pinned against walls in various states of undress. Your throat goes dry, at the sight of the bare-breasted women sprawled over the tables, their dresses rucked up around their waists. A woman with white painted cheeks and cherry red lips steps quickly out of the way as you are shuffled through, her eyes lowered and lips pressed into a thin line. You understand their choice of venue now—

No one will even remember you were here— and no one will remember when you are not.

As if sensing your rising panic, Ser Gavin’s hand tightens on the scruff of your neck, and with the other hand, he grasps your shoulder. On the raised dais in the center of the dim room, a woman twists lithely, scarves gripped in each of her dainty hands. Gold rings dangle from her bared nipples, matching the one in her nose. Your eyes meet and for a single moment, for a single step, she falters.

The crowd at her feet turns on her in an instant, jeering and spitting. The same men who had watched her dance with silent awe now mock her openly, insults dripping from their lips along with stray drops of ale. 

“Let’s get a new girl up here. One who can remember her bloody steps!”  There is no end to the praises of men when one is perfect—nor an end to their venom when you are not. The truth of it is as plain as the room Duke Emhyr and Ser Gavin force you into. There is a bed with a bare, stained mattress upon its dilapidated frame, and a wooden chair stands between it and the weak fire in the hearth. 

“Sit.” Emhyr instructs you with a bored gesture, and when you do not  comply, Ser Gavin squeezes your shoulder hard until you gasp from the pain of it. You lower yourself reluctantly to the chair as the Duke watches, and you get the feeling that he enjoys it, watching you be forced to heel. If not my mother, then me. Through the silence, you can hear the muted noise of the brothel outside. As uncomfortable as it is for you, you hope it is doubly so for them. 

The Duke stares at you, his eyes narrowed. 

“You wouldn’t see it, not at first,” he says. The disgust drips from every syllable, like he is speaking of something unsavory. “The way you favor them.”

Your heart pounds even as you feign ignorance, schooling your features into shocked offense at his words. He cannot know that this is the second time you have heard them this evening, that you are already itching to get to a mirror to confirm these revelations for yourself, because you do not even know if they are true. The memory of black blood curdling in the hearth is enough to set the uncertainty in your lead filled stomach rolling. 

“I know not of what you speak, my Lord.” The words feel fragile, like they are made of glass. “There—there is still time to let this be nothing but an unpleasant misunderstanding—”

The duke stands in front of the hearth, his hand resting on the mantle. The curve of his back speaks to his weariness, and you wonder if he has been looking for you all night. 

“You and your whore mother have upset the order of things quite a bit, here. Whatever other things you may be, you are not unintelligent enough not to have seen so.” He turns, the fire reddening his cheeks and setting the whit es of his beady eyes ablaze. “Two seasons of talk and courtships undone in a month—and for a woman who is too old to bear a new heir.” 

“His Majesty has an heir,” you remind him. “Or have you forgotten? If you disagree with your king’s decision, you are more than welcome to challenge it before the court a second time, though Their Majesties might not be so prone to leniency given the circumstance.” His jaw tics at the reminder of his position—and yours—but the sly upturn at the corners of his mouth do not disappear. 

“So the Witch does inspire loyalty in you.” He squats in front of you. “Do you know what we do to witches, in the North?” He asks, fingering the dagger at his belt. “Father Wolf is the devourer of all things. Even savages.”

 “Ever since I stepped from boat to shore I have heard that word, and I cannot help but wonder,” the words pour through the gaps in your gritted teeth, and you hope he chokes on the broken glass of them—“if you have ever uttered them looking in a mirror.” 

He raises his hand, as if to backhand you across your face, and you duck down hunching your shoulders to prepare for the blow. It does not land, however, and when you look cautiously up at the duke, he is staring behind you, locked above your head. There is a fourth presence in the room now, one you feel pricking at the back of your neck. 

“No, no, continue.” The drawl that fills the empty room is both shocking and achingly familiar. “I would see the treason with my own eyes.” Geralt stands in the doorway, filling it to the brim with the width of his shoulders. Water drips from his sodden silver hair, though he makes no move to push it back from his face. His hand rests openly upon the sword hanging at his hip.

“That way it passes fewer lips on its way to the king.” 

Duke Emhyr’s eyes go wide, and then angry. 

“I protect the crown, and you call it treason,” slowly,—almost regretfully —the duke lowers his hand. “Can you not see? Can you not see how they twist—” Geralt turns his gaze to you, and somehow his golden eyes seem darker. Harder. 

He came for me.

Ser Gavin fingers the pommel of his sword nervously, playing at the thought of unsheathing it, but too craven to commit. Still, he stands between you and the prince, and does not move. The duke’s rambling of treason and bewitchery continues behind you, rising to a fever pitch as you approach the door. Briefly as you turn, you see him, his face red and lips flecked with frothy spittle as he flings a long, accusing finger towards you.

“They will poison this empire, it’s people! You cannot allow them to sit the throne, it is treason to do it knowingly, you must act!” The fire burns bright in his wide eyes, and you see reflected in them the same vicious zealotry that burned in Father Rame’s. “That which is rooted in rotten soil cannot grow! I will not stand idle while we are destroyed from within.”

In the spaces between his words you can see the calculation. He’s chosen death, you realize. You taste it in the air before he speaks, the power of his decision already shaping the world around it, like chaos���but not the kind they shunned. It tastes like the air inside the chapel; the still, thick air, perfumed so that the smell of his body would not leak further than a few feet beyond his corpse. 

“You know the truth of what I speak, Majesty, you must see that His Highness is not himself! He pants after the elf-bitch, like a man possessed! It is unnatural, you must—you must see it!”

Geralt’s mouth creases with anger. “I see your distrust in your King has bred treasonous discontent. I see your desire to rise above your station would have you slavering after my father’s throne like the dog you are.” He steps into the room then, and you watch as the Duke’s hand closes about the grip of the dagger strapped to his waist. “Your dedication to this fiction will cost you.” 

You had not been able to see Geralt’s other hand, positioned behind him, his arm taut as though he were dragging something heavy. He steps aside, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see why—

A dead Nilfgaardian soldier lies behind him, dark liquid pooling thickly underneath his armor. The duke sees it too, his body tensing. 

“If you will not serve your people, if your father will not protect them, what choice have you left me?” The duke murmurs, the words underscored by the quiet ring of steel as he unsheathes his blade. You jump up, knocking the chair over in your haste to get away from him. You trip over your skirts, stumbling forward as Ser Gavin grabs for you, his hand knotting in your cloak. 

“You will let her go.” Geralt delivers the instructions as truth—no ultimatums. 

“Oh, aye,” Emhyr, nods, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “On that we agree.” You expect him to lunge for the prince, to hear the sharp clash of steel on steel, but you do not. Instead, his face fills your vision. “You may go wherever you wish, now, Lady.” 

You taste death on his words and in the air, and when he steps away, his hands are empty. There is a strange coldness in your belly, and slowly, your hand drifts up to investigate. The leather grip of the dagger is warm, but the steel is cold, so cold you can feel it all the way inside. It’s strange, the way it doesn’t hurt, the way the blood does not feel hot on your trembling hands but cold—

The death Emhyr had chosen was neither his own, nor Geralt’s—but yours. 

Dimly, you are aware of Geralt, of your body tucked tightly against his, the sound of steel on steel, the feel of cold rain on your face. Weakly, you lift a hand to your belly, your fingers slipping on the handle. Geralts hand closes over yours.

“You must leave it, Doe, you must. I know it hurts.” It doesn’t. You want to tell him, but you cannot find the will to move your lips. You feel your grip slacken on his cloak, your fingers releasing themselves without your permission as your vision tunnels. Geralt tells you not to close your eyes, and the words echo far off in the encroaching dark. 

I have to, you think that perhaps the words escape your slack lips in a low mumble, but you cannot be sure. 

Just for a little while. 

to be continued…

next chapter

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Jealousy, Jealousy... | Final Part

A/N: this is the main ending. there is an alternative ending available for the other boy on patreon. the link for which is found at the end of this chapter.

Word count: 13k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, mostly dom!reader, face-sitting, PIV sex, dirty talk, creampie, handjob, heartbreak.

“Hey, baby.” You greet Yeonjun, giving him a kiss on the lips. “Ready to go?” 

You were picking him up to go home after a long day of work for the both of you. You had in mind a night of drinking wine and complaining about your day until you passed out in his arms and you can’t wait to get home already. 

“Just a little longer, doll.” He tells you and you immediately start whining. “Junnie… those two bottles of wine I bought aren’t gonna drink themselves. We gotta get cracking.” 

He chuckles tiredly. “While I appreciate your efforts to get me drunk, Beomgyu has composed a new song and I need to stay back to hear it.”

“Oh.” It’s still so weird to you how you now have to hear news about what your best friend is up to from other people. You used to know these things first. If this was a few months ago, you’d have already heard the song before anyone else did. But now you’re lucky if you even get to hear it at all. 

But that’s for the best. You’re doing good with Yeonjun. You’re doing good without Beomgyu. You’re breathing. You’re eating. Your heart is beating… maybe even for someone else for a change. It may have been excruciatingly painful at first–forcing yourself to step away from him, not seeking him out to try to make things better after your most recent fallout, not jumping at the chance when he reached out himself, pretending like you’re too busy to see him, making up excuses so you won’t be alone with him, building up your walls so maybe one day you can stand in a room with him and not have to hold back every cell of your body from throwing yourself at his feet and begging him to love you, but you’ve gotten a lot better at it. 

“Do you wanna listen to it?” Yeonjun asks when he sees your curiosity, but you hesitate. Should you? Maybe you should just wait in the car…

But when you see Beomgyu come out with his acoustic guitar and set it on his lap, you find yourself nodding and grabbing a seat next to Yeonjun. You miss hearing him sing. You miss being privy to his passions and whims. Maybe it's selfish of you to allow yourself the opportunity to witness more of him than you’re willing to give him but you never claimed to not be selfish. 

As if Beomgyu shares your thoughts, he glances at you, hesitating for a second and you can see the thoughts flitting behind his pretty eyes–you know him too well. Is he thinking about kicking you out? Does he not want you to hear the song because you’ve been keeping your distance from him? 

Eventually though he looks down at his guitar and starts to play, and as soon as the first words leave his lips, your heart drops. 

Oh, I’m falling in love

As time goes by

As my feelings grow 

I’m becoming more anxious

How deep is your love?

I want to ask

Couldn’t it be the same if not deeper? 

Your heart lurches in your chest at the lyrics. Falling in love? Is Beomgyu falling in love with Haeun? You know you have no right to feel hurt by this but you do. Why couldn’t he have loved you? What does he see in her that you couldn’t have given him? Is she prettier than you? Smarter? Kinder? Funnier? What was it that made you fall short of deserving his love? 

Seeing you change little by little

I’m afraid I’ll lose you

Not mine

My one minute, one second

Take them all

All my time is yours

Why?

Why have you changed?

Why are you so far away from me? 

Now we are at different paths. 

It hurts even more that it seems she’s not reciprocating his feelings. She has everything you want and she doesn’t even want it. He’s willing to give her everything but it seems it’s not enough for her. Oh how cruelly ironic. 

She seemed to be very into him before, at least after the band got more popular, and with every increase in their popularity, she attached herself to him more and more, but something must’ve gone wrong along the line. You have known for some time that Beomgyu and Haeun have been having relationship troubles but you don’t know exactly what because Beomgyu hasn’t told anyone but you guess it’s really bad if this song is about them. 

Is she in love with someone else? Has she lost interest? How could she do it so easily when it’s taking everything in you to do the same. Can she tell you her secret so you can stop suffering and give your heart completely to the man who actually wants it? 

How can I go back

To our beginning

When we were looking at the same place

The when we had the same heart

I hope you don’t know it

This feeling

Even though I love you

I still feel alone

He’s hiding it from her, afraid to reveal his feelings–maybe because he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way, that if he reveals them she’ll reject him. You know that feeling all too well. You wish you could protect him from it even if he was the cause of your own similar pain.

As the chorus repeats, you become even more sure that the song is about him. You can hear the anguish so clearly in his voice. Beomgyu has always been so talented, always able to give his all to the song and live it as if it’s his own, but you know him too well. You know this is real pain. 

I’m drowning in you

Don’t leave me like this

As the bridge reaches its climax, your body shakes, wanting to lunge forward and take him into your arms, to save him from himself even if it would tear you to pieces. But you can’t. You don’t have the right to anymore. All you can do is sit there and wait for him to finish his song, wait for the boys to discuss it as if it’s not his heart being laid out in the open to be dissected. 

“What do you think?” He asks once the song is over, biting the skin of his finger, a nervous habit you’ve always quietly found adorable. You would always grab his hand and kiss the poor finger better, scolding him for hurting himself, but secretly you loved it. You loved having his hand in yours. You loved having an excuse to press your lips against him. And you loved the smile he would always give you in response. 

“It’s really good." Kai says, impressed. "Didn’t know that someone as emotionally stunted as you could come up with such a moving song."

"Fuck off." Beomgyu mutters, not in the mood for jokes, obviously nervous to see what the others think. 

“Yeah, I like it too. You said you’re thinking of having violins in the opening?” Taehyun asks, picking up a music sheet. 

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I know we’ve never done that before but I feel like it would really add to the atmosphere of the song.” 

"I think it could be fun." Taehyun hums, turning to Soobin. “What do you think?” 

"I agree. It's good to experiment a bit while still maintaining our sound which I think this song does really well. It could expose us to more people while still not alienating our existing fanbase.” He praises and Beomgyu smiles, relieved at his song being so well-received by the other members. “I especially like the bridge part. I think once Yeonjun sings it, it would really elevate the song.” 

Beomgyu's face falls at that but he quickly covers it up. You furrow your eyebrows. That can't feel good, being compared negatively with Yeonjun, even if Soobin didn't mean it like that. 

You look at Yeonjun, who hadn't said a word so far. He was staring at Beomgyu weirdly. Did he not like the song? 

You nudge him, giving him a questioning look and he just shakes his head, smiling at you before saying, "I like it. Good job, man."

Beomgyu gives him a tense smile in response, and the group falls into an awkward silence for a few seconds–a weird tension hanging in the air, before Soobin clears his throat and begins discussing how they'll play the song, what parts could be improved and who will get which part. You don’t really listen anymore, just looking between Yeonjun and Beomgyu. 

Your boyfriend seems to have gotten over his weird reaction, now focused on the technicalities. Beomgyu is focused too but he doesn’t look as enthusiastic as you expected him to be–as you'd seen him get when talking about his songs before–and it's more proof to you that this is a very personal song to him. 

As the boys finally break up after a while, most of them going their separate ways to pack up their stuff and get ready to leave, your boyfriend stays behind with Soobin, still discussing something with him. That’s when you spot Beomgyu alone, putting his guitar in its case, and you take the opportunity to go talk to him, unable to hold yourself back this time. 

“Hey, Beomgyu, that song was really good.” You start by saying, wanting to congratulate him on a really good song but also needing an opener. But Beomgyu doesn’t say anything in response, simply giving you a blank look–which fucking hurt but you guess you deserve it–so you continue lamely, trying to get him to respond. “You’re really talented. I don’t think you’re gonna need to moonlight as a stripper anymore.” You try to joke but again he doesn’t really say anything, turning his attention back to his guitar bag which he zips up. 

“Umm… Beomgyu, that song… is it about you?” You bite the bullet, and he finally gives you some sort of response, albeit nonverbal. He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Is it about you and Haeun?” 

“What?” He frowns and you explain yourself nervously, hoping you weren’t overstepping boundaries that have sprung up in your absence. “Well, the song is about a guy who loves someone who doesn’t feel the same about him and how she’s changing and being distant… is that what’s happening with Haeun?” 

He sighs. “Maybe. So what?” 

You wince at his callousness, like he doesn’t have time for you. You suppose you brought it on yourself with the way you've been avoiding him. Still you ignore it, determined to tell him what you think anyway. “Well, if it is, you should tell her. Tell her how you feel, she might feel the same way and you don’t even know. You might both be pulling away when all you want is to be with each other.” Yes, you know how hypocritical it is of you to say that but you can’t imagine a world in which anyone would reject Beomgyu’s love. “If you love her then you should tell her, right?” 

He snorts. “What do you even know about how I feel? Do you have any idea about the amount of hurt and self-loathing it would cause me if she doesn’t feel the same way? How it would ruin our relationship if she’s not where I am?”

“I know.” You grit down on that same pain. “I know.”

He pauses, his anger burning out as soon as it ignites. Then he asks quietly, “Yeonjun?” 

You press down on your lips. You know if you say no then he might figure it out. He might finally discover your wretched secret, so you smile and nod, fully knowing how hypocritical you are being right now. You’re such a fucking coward, you disgust even yourself. 

“Right.” He is quiet for a minute, and the atmosphere is charged with weird, unreadable emotions that buzz in your ear and form sparks over your skin. You almost excuse yourself–not really wanting to leave despite how uncomfortable it is but knowing you should. You’ve said what you wanted to say. There is no good reason for you to linger around any longer. 

But then Beomgyu speaks again. "Are you happy?"

You pause, frowning in suspicion at the unexpected question, which Beomgyu notices right away and clarifies, "We haven't talked in a while. I wanna make sure you're doing alright." He says, tone genuine… and a bit sad. 

"I am." You allow, not being untruthful. You are alright, no matter how bad you feel doing it without him. "We're doing well. Yeonjun is as wonderful as ever. He is sweet and funny and he shows me something new everyday. Which is a bit scary for me–you know how I am afraid of change, but he makes it exciting.” 

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.” He smiles at you. It doesn’t reach his eyes but you know he means it. “And I wish I could be there to see it for myself. Do you think you can let me?” 

That’s what you were afraid of. This is why you shouldn’t have talked to him. You knew he might use it to try to get back into your life, and you know how hard it would be for you to say no. But you do it anyway. You have to do it for yourself and for Yeonjun. 

“I can’t. Not now.” Each meager letter leaving your mouth feels like a blow to the heart. It lays battered in your chest, asking you why the hell you would refuse it its salvation, but you just push it down again, silencing it. 

“But I miss you.” His words come out choppy and weak, and you know he’s holding back tears. You hate him for it because it makes you want to cry too. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course, I miss you!” You whisper as if you don’t want the universe to hear it. "I'll always miss you. But I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I'm tired of the whiplash." 

"No more whiplash.” He shakes his head harshly, getting closer to you but you step back, causing pain to bloom across his teary face. “I get it now. I've worked through my stuff and I'm ready to be a real friend again." 

"Well, I haven't worked through mine.” You stand strong. Or as strongly as you can be under such duress. “I still need time and I will not have you rush me."

He moves back, shoulders hunched down. "I'm sorry." 

"I know." You say tiredly before walking away, your bruised heart bleeding out at the bottom of your chest.

____________

Beomgyu’s song has become some kind of a local sensation. It is being listened to by a lot of the young people in your city–resonating with many youths who have gone through similar heartbreaks. From small unrequited crushes to the person you love falling out of love with you–who hasn’t loved more than they have been loved before? 

The painfully relatable song has gained the boys a considerable amount of fame online too. They were being asked to do more gigs than ever. They’ve even gotten an interview, which you’re currently preparing them for, dressing them up to look their best on camera. 

Like always, you’ve left Beomgyu for last, dreading being close to him still. And he gives you every reason to, staring at you the whole time you fix his clothes. 

"What?" You finally ask, and he gives you a dumb look. "What?"

"You're staring." You tell him, and he averts his gaze. You can see from the ear poking out of his long hair that he’s blushing. "Oh. Didn't realize." 

Oh, how many times you’ve teased him over the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed. It was such an endearing quality in him, just one of the many small reasons that made up the whole of you loving him. 

You got back to styling him, pretending it doesn’t tug at your heartstrings anymore, and he goes back to staring at you. 

After a long beat of silence, he asks awkwardly, "So what are you up to? What's new with you?" 

"Well, I'm the creative director for this up and coming band's new song." You joke, trying to ease off the tension. Or maybe his cute involuntary reaction softened up your defenses a little bit.

"Oh, are they good?" He grins, falling gladly into your familiar banter. 

"They are, but I think their bass guitarist only got the job because of his looks."

He gives an affronted gasp. "What the hell? Hater! What, you think just because he's so pretty he can't possibly be talented too? Us pretty people are always misjudged."

"Oh, you poor pretty boy." You reach out to pinch his chin, before you realize what you’re doing and quickly take your hand away, clearing your throat and stepping back. “All done.” 

You give him a tense smile and turn to leave but his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. 

"Wait." He shouts, and you look down at his hand wrapped around your wrist. He notices your discomfort and immediately lets you go. "Do you want to get together for some food or a movie or something?"

Why does he have to make this so hard? Why does he do this every time? 

"Not yet." You repeat what you must’ve told him a dozen times before. You can't slip back into it. Because your skin still buzzes whenever you touch him and your heart clenches painfully around the hole he left in it whenever you see him. You need time apart to fully let the love you have for him go. 

"When?” He asks, frustrated. “When will it end? What can I do to help? What do you need me to do so you can be my friend again?"

"I need you to give me space." You say firmly, standing your ground. 

“But–”

“No buts, Beomgyu. You’re the one who made it this way. If you had been my friend when I needed you to, we wouldn’t have gotten into this situation. You need to deal with the consequences of your own actions.” 

He stares at the ground, not answering you. You sigh, turning around to leave with no restrictions this time. 

Though what you said to him about his previous behavior causing a rift between you wasn’t false, it wasn’t entirely the truth either. The other reason you felt you couldn’t be his friend again yet is that you’re still not over him, and you’ve made a promise to yourself and to Yeonjun that you will only be devoting yourself to him from now on, and Beomgyu being there is just going to hinder your progress. 

But as you watch the boys do their interview, you can’t help but feel guilty for what you’d said to Beomgyu. You know it was the right thing to do, but seeing him look so glum, his light dimmed and his spirits down, you wish you had held it off at least for later. 

He is acting nothing like his normal loud, talkative self. He looks down and doesn’t speak unless directly asked a question. It hurts your heart because you know the people watching this won’t get to see how funny and bright and passionate he is. They’ll see him as the quiet guy staring at his own feet. He might still get some fans who would be into the quiet, sad look but that’s not who Beomgyu is. That’s not what he wants to be known as. 

But the rest of the boys are covering for him well, especially Yeonjun. He is so charming, you know he’s gonna be stealing hearts left and right when this airs. He certainly has managed to put a smile on your face despite all the conflicting feelings you’re feeling, and you make sure he sees it whenever he glances in your direction. 

_______________

The boys are doing better than ever, more interviews and gigs coming in and filling their schedule up so rapidly they’ll barely have any free time soon. They’re already in talks with a record company looking to sign them. Which is why you’re actively savoring moments like this when you get to just hangout with Yeonjun at the mall, eating a snack as you take a break from shopping–one of your favorite activities to do as a couple. 

“Just think, soon enough we won’t even be able to do this. We’d be getting mobbed by crowds wanting your autograph and pushing me out of the way to take pictures of you.” You say to Yeonjun, half-joking. It might really happen one day with how quickly they’re gaining popularity. They might have small fame now but who knows what tomorrow will bring, and you believe in the boys. They’re talented enough to do it, and that both worries you and excites you. 

“Well, I’ll only ever have eyes for you.” He winks at you, and you give him a small smile.

In moments like this you should feel happy. You are happy. But your happiness is incomplete. It is shadowed by worry and doubt. Yeonjun is so wonderful. He is so sweet and he can be very caring, but sometimes you can’t help but question how much he really feels for you. It keeps you from letting yourself completely go with him. He tells you words that are supposed to be charming, but they don’t sound personal. They don’t feel deep. You know he likes you, but is he ever going to love you? 

Maybe you’re overthinking it. This is what a budding relationship is like–the novelty comes with uncertainty. The first times come with doubt. The young fire sometimes burns. You shouldn’t let yourself ruin it for you. 

Yes, your love for him isn’t as old and deep-rooted as your love for Beomgyu but maybe that’s a good thing. It will take time to grow and flourish and become something just as beautiful or even more so. In time, you can learn to let go of your all-consuming love for your best friend, cover that gaping hole that Beomgyu has left in your heart, forget about the way every time you see Beomgyu with her you feel like screaming out so loud the gods themselves will weep–

“Beomgyu.” You gasp, seeing him in front of you. Fuck, he’s like bloody marry. Call his name three times and he appears. 

You try to hide, putting your head down and attempting to cover your face with your hair but there is no mistaking Yeonjun’s bright orange head and Beomgyu quickly spots you and makes his way over to you with Haeun of all people. 

“Curse your stupid hair.” You hiss at Yeonjun just before Beomgyu and Haeun arrive at the table. 

"Hey, guys, are you on a date?" Beomgyu asks as if there was any doubt about it. 

"Yes, actually." Yeonjun tells him in a tone that clearly conveys that you don’t want to be disturbed, But Beomgyu doesn’t care, grabbing a chair and pulling it out. 

"Oh sweet." He sits down. "How have you guys been?"

“What are you doing, Beommie? We have a lot of shopping to do.” Haeun complains, and every time you hear her call him that you want to claw her tongue out.

"In a minute, baby. Let's rest our legs for a bit." He motions for Haeun to sit down, but she puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to rest.”

“Well then you go on and I’ll catch up with you.” He suggests and she huffs, deciding to sit down after all. Oh, joy.  

“But I can’t leave you alone, Beommie.” She whines, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his neck, making you almost hurl. 

Thankfully, Yeonjun takes your attention away from them. “So, what new crazy thing is your boss asking from you?” 

You turn fully to him, trying your best to ignore the disgusting intruders. “Ugh, don’t even get me started. This morning, she–”

“Boss? What boss?” Beomgyu interrupts, and you clench your teeth, preparing yourself before turning your head to look towards him. 

“The editor of Elements magazine. She saw the Frost shoot and wanted me to do a pictorial for them.” 

“Oh my god, that is amazing.” He shouts, startling Haeun who was so close to his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

An awkward moment passes after his mindless question. Because we don’t talk? Because we’re not friends anymore? 

Eventually, you decide to just shrug. “I guess it must’ve slipped my mind.” 

“Right.” He clears his throat, going along. “Well, show me what you’ve done so far.” 

You hesitate, glancing at Yeonjun who sighs and gestures for you to go ahead. So you pull up your phone, showing him some of the pictures you’ve already taken.  

"Wow this is real artistic shit." Beomgyu awes and you laugh. Trust in Beomgyu to give such an un-nuanced but still somehow very flattering opinion. 

“I don’t get it. It’s just a guy in a bathtub.” Haeun speaks up, obviously intending to antagonize you. “My friend Jiwon takes better pictures than this and he didn’t even go to college. If that’s what they teach you at school then you’ve wasted your money.”

Oh fuck no. You may be spineless but you won’t allow Haeun of all people to make fun of your work. You prepare to launch into a screaming match with her condescending ass, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Beomgyu beats you to it. “Your friend Jiwon takes back camera pictures of weird strangers on the street and makes up an exaggerated or completely false backstory about them to try to make the obviously amateur pictures appear more interesting. How fucking original.”

Beomgyu’s quick defense of you makes your heart swell. Some things never change. 

“Yeah? Like this is original!” She sputters indignantly. 

“I know it’s nothing groundbreaking.” You interrupt their quarrel, “Like a guy in a tub staring longingly at the camera isn’t something that hasn’t exactly been done before but… umm, it’s actually inspired by your song. The colored water is supposed to represent love, you know the “I’m drowning in you” part? It’s killing him but he can’t get himself to get out. He wants to drown in it… I don’t know it may be stupid but I hope you don’t mind.” 

"Oh. No, I'm… flattered." He trails off, staring at you wide-eyed. “I didn’t think I would be able to inspire you again…” 

“Yeah, well...” You mumble bashfully, a charged moment passes over you as you stare silently at each other. 

"Are you done?" Haeun complains, and for once you’re thankful to her for cutting the strange moment. "I'm bored. Let's go." 

“We haven’t even eaten anything yet. Take a look at the menus and order something for us, won’t you?” He asks her, but doesn’t even wait for her response before turning back to you. "You know what would be hilarious. If you get the editor to let you do a shoot with the plastic watermelon dress you made."

“It’s not plastic.” You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly which dress he’s referring to. “It’s coral organza.”

“Looked like plastic to me.” He shrugs with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“That’s because you're fashion illiterate.” 

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very fashion forward and hip.” He proclaims, sounding decidedly NOT neither fashion forward nor hip. 

“Yes, because a punk guitarist wearing ratty shirts and ripped jeans is so revolutionary.” You drawl teasingly and he pouts, pulling at his shirt. “Hey! You were there when I picked these out. You said I looked cool.” 

“Yeah, she’ll say you look cool wearing a garbage bag.” Yeonjun scoffs and you blush, realizing that you’ve completely neglected Yeonjun as soon as Beomgyu got here. You move back from your huddled forward stance to lean against your boyfriend.

“What?” Beomgyu asks and you quickly brush Yeonjun’s comment off. “Nothing. Now Yeonjun is very stylish. He knows all the trends and he knows how to make them work for him.” 

Beomgyu snorts, glancing at your hand that is caressing Yeonjun’s chest. “I don’t follow trends. I make trends.” 

“That’s right, baby. You’re a trendsetter.” Haeun coos, getting her hands on him too, touching him much more inappropriately than you were touching Yeonjun. 

But Beomgyu ignores her once again, asking you, "How did you even reach the editor of Elements?"

"Oh, Yeonjun knew her." Your hand falls down to wrap around Yeonjun’s, squeezing it reassuringly. 

“Of course, Yeonjun knows the editor." For some reason that piece of information really seemed to annoy Beomgyu. But you ignore his unnecessarily snarky tone and turn to smile at Yeonjun, hoping he’d forgive you for your earlier mishap. “Yeah, he’s amazing, isn’t he?” 

"Yes, he’s great.” Beomgyu mutters, standing up. “I think me and Haeun have stuff to do. Let’s go, baby."

"Yes!" She claps happily, standing up too. 

"Oh, okay. Bye, I guess." You mumble, watching them abruptly scurry off as you try to process the weird interaction.  "What's wrong with him?"

“Maybe he’s just being his usual weird self.” Yeonjun shrugs, removing his hand from yours, making you frown. "Or maybe he feels inadequate because I was able to get you the job and he couldn't."

"That's ridiculous." Why would Beomgyu feel inadequate about that? He doesn’t have any obligation to get you work. 

"Is it? If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too." 

"What?" The world suddenly screeches to a halt, as does Yeonjun. He looks at you, slowly contemplating something as if he doesn’t know that the world has stopped and is waiting on him. 

Finally, he sighs. "I tried to ignore it. Partly because the idiot is trying to hide it and partly because I like you, but ever since we got together, it's been pretty damn hard to ignore. Beomgyu is clearly in love with you.”

"No. You’re getting it wrong.” You shake your head, hoping to get rid of the cotton that has replaced your brain, your thoughts feeling fuzzy and slow as they travel through it. “He's just upset because he thinks us dating will drive me and him apart… which I guess has been true."

"No, he's upset because he wants to be with you and it's killing him to see us together.” Yeonjun clarifies, irritated at having to explain to you how some other guy is in love with you. 

"How can you be so sure? Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to tell me. I have eyes…" He looks you up and down. "And well, I'm not stupid like you two."

"That's ridiculous." You denounce once more. 

"You said that already."

"Well, it is! Beomgyu doesn’t love me. I mean as a friend, sure but not… like that." 

"Oh my god, I'm dealing with two idiots. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m explaining this to you but here goes,” Yeonjun exclaims in frustration, obviously not enjoying this conversation any more than you are. “Think about it, no guy gets this worked up over just a fuck. His first explanation of his anger being just because he’s afraid our relationship is going to ruin the band was total bullshit. It was just to throw you off his scent and have a way to get you to stay away from me without revealing anything. And his second explanation is even more bullshit. Why the fuck would us being in a relationship make you lose him as a friend if he didn’t hold anything but platonic love for you? Why does he get mad every time you and I take a step forward in our relationship? Because he’s fucking in love with you. He literally wrote a whole song about how he’s secretly in love with you and it’s killing him that you’re not his!"

“That song was about me?” You ask and he gives you a look as if to say he can’t believe a single human being can be this dumb. “No, it’s obviously about the girl he’s been ignoring the entire time he was sat with us just so he could talk to you.” 

Your mouth opens slowly, tongue dry as it forms the words. "Let’s say he does love me. Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"Why wouldn't you just tell him?"

You sputter uselessly for a while, not really saying anything. Until you give up and just stop, submerging the both of you in a suffocating silence. You’d think that your thoughts would be racing a million miles an hour right now, trying to process all this information, but nothing is going through your head except one question. 

Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? 

You’re only taken out of your looping thought when Yeonjun sighs again. "Well, this was fun while it lasted."

"What?" Your mouth hangs open, your frozen brain somehow still having enough power to be shocked. 

"You're obviously still completely in love with him. When he's there it's like you don't even see me. You don't see anyone else." Yeonjun says defeatedly. 

"No, I–" You try to deny, but he gives you a pointed look, daring you to lie to him. 

“Okay, I love him but I’m with you.” 

“Only to get over him.” 

You shake your head vehemently. “No. My feelings for you are real. Don’t you dare deny that.” 

“Maybe, but they’re not as strong as your feelings for him.” 

“But they can be.” You insist–trying to convince yourself or him, you don’t know.  Maybe if you give me the chance to–”

“To what? Wait and see if you’ll finally look for me first when you walk into a room instead of him? Pretend that I don’t know that time and distance haven’t dulled your love for him one bit? I can’t go on in a relationship where I know my partner will always be thinking ‘what if’. I won’t let myself be hurt like that by you. Not anymore.” 

You tear up. You were hurting him? You didn't even think he cared all that much. You must be a terrible judge of character to be getting both boys so wrong. “I’m sorry, Yeonjun. I never meant to hurt you. I really, really tried.” 

You really did. You didn’t do this just to get over Beomgyu. Yes, it was part of it, but you liked him too. You really thought this could work, and you really think it would have if Beomgyu wasn’t in the picture, and so you did everything in your power to take him out of it. You moved out from your apartment. You cut Beomgyu off. You dedicated yourself to Yeonjun. 

But how can you stop your heart from beating for Beomgyu? It’s entirely out of your control.  

"But you did anyway.” He says and you wince, one tear escaping your lashes and falling down the left side of your face. “Do you hate me?” 

“I could never hate you.” He sighs, and your lips tremble as you confess, “I wish you would. It might make me feel better.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to feel better.” His words pierce your heart, and you know you deserve every ounce of pain it inflicts. 

“That’s fair.” 

You’re both silent for a long while–you trying to keep your tears under control, not wishing for him to see it as any intention to garner sympathy or guilt from him, and him sitting there quietly, his thoughts entirely hidden from you, but you know there is pain and anger in him. You can feel it radiating off of him. 

But eventually your tears dry out, and you gather enough courage to ask one last thing of him. “I know I have no right to ask this but can you not tell Beomgyu about us breaking up? I don’t want him to know yet. But don’t worry, I’ll gather my things and move out. You won’t have to live with me.”

"You're not done playing games?" He frowns and you shake your head. "I'm not. It’s just because you guys are working out that record deal and if anything goes wrong, I don’t want to risk ruining things for you.”

“Fine.” Yeonjun graciously accepts. “And you can stay. I’m not gonna kick you out into the street. I’m not that kinda guy.” 

____________________

Despite your love for Beomgyu, your break-up with Yeonjun wasn’t easy. You really liked him and had grown attached to him. And even though you still lived together, you hardly talked when it was just the two of you alone. You realize with time just how hurt he is by everything even though he tries his best to hide it from the others–not just because they think you’re still together, but because he has always refused to burden his younger members with his troubles, ever the selfless older brother. It’s one of the qualities you both admired and despised about him simultaneously. You wanted him to share his fears and worries, to lighten the load on his shoulders, and for a short while you were able to do that for him, but now that you’ve broken up, he’s left to carry all of it by himself again and with heartbreak to boot. 

You feel incredibly guilty about it, and you mourn for the love that could’ve blossomed between you had you not been so hung up about your best friend. The best friend you still haven’t talked to by the way. 

Yeonjun's words have not left your mind since the day he revealed everything to you. No moment passes by when you don't think about them. But you haven’t confronted Beomgyu about it yet because the record deal was still underway, and because you weren’t sure if Yeonjun is even right about it all. What if he’s wrong? 

Yeah, what? You'll ruin your friendship with Beomgyu? It's already in shambles anyway. Still, the rejection will be brutal. You've lived in the shadows for years. You're used to ignoring your feelings, that kind of pain is familiar to you now, but if you reveal them to Beomgyu and he shoots you down, you might not bear it. 

You'll tell him soon enough though, after the party tonight. The boys have finally reached an agreement with the record company and the contract has come through. They're officially signed to a label now and tonight’s party is a small celebration of that. 

You’ll do it after the party tonight. You’ll ask to talk to him after everyone leaves and you’ll confess everything. You're ready to come clean and end it all. Well, as ready as you can be. 

But as the party drags on, you get restless, and when you spot Beomgyu alone, refilling his drink, you can’t help but steal a little moment with him. 

“Congratulations, Beommie. I hear your song sealed the deal.” You smile widely, your lips buzzing with the desire to tell him what you really want to say–that you love him, that you’re proud of him, and that if his song is really about you then he needs to know that you’ve always been his. 

“Yeah. I’m not so useless after all.” Beomgyu’s reply is short and bitter. 

“What?” 

Yeonjun’s words ring in your ears. If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too. Is this Beomgyu being insecure like Yeonjun said?

But before you can get him to clarify what he means, Haeun comes running over, incapable of leaving him alone for more than a minute. Can you really blame her? If you had him, you would never let him go either. 

“Baby, there you are! My star boy.” She throws her arms around him, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss that makes you want to vomit. 

You quickly retreat, not having missed the soft-core porn you used to witness while living with Beomgyu. Fucking Yeonjun, is this what he calls Beomgyu being in love with you? You don’t see him pushing her away or anything. He seems pretty happy with the kiss if his tongue in her mouth is any indication. 

"Foul." You mutter, swigging your cider, almost choking on it when a voice speaks up next to you. "That can't be good for the heart, huh?" 

You look at Yeonjun sheepishly, not sure if you can talk to him about this. After all, you did break up because of your love for the man currently getting his face sucked off by Haeun. So you just settle on mumbling out a weak yeah.

"Well, you know you could always fix it by confronting him about his undying love for you." He tells you and you can’t help but snort, annoyance overcoming your trepidation. "Yeah, right. He's so heartbroken, he's going to drown his sorrows in her pussy." 

“He’s just doing this because he thinks we’re still together. If he knows you’re free, I can guarantee you he’ll be dropping her so fast she won’t hit the ground before he’s on his knees for you.” 

“How can you be so confident?” You ask and he shrugs. “Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.” 

He walks away, leaving you to think over his words. Funny, that’s how you feel about the sight still playing out in front of you, the disgusting view getting burned into your retinas. 

Deciding you needed a break, you slip away from the living room, heading towards the bathroom to wash your face off. But on the way there, you pass by your old room, stopping when you see the door slightly cracked open. 

Your feet take you inside without you realizing it, compelled by curiosity to see what he’s done with the room in your absence. Has he turned it into a gaming room? Is he using it for storage? Is he letting her use it as her own? Oh, god, you really hope not. Anything but that. 

But you’re surprised when you step inside and find it mostly empty except for your old mattress and a few items you must’ve forgotten during your move. A T-shirt here, a sleeping mask there–they were all strewn around on your bed with the odd piece of clothing from Beomgyu himself in the mix. 

You step closer, examining the items when something in particular catches your eyes. A flash of pink under a pillow that makes you reach forward to pull it out, realizing just what it was once it’s in your hands–a pair of pink panties. Your pink panties that you’d been missing for a while. Why does Beomgyu have this? You thought he just used this because he was so pent up he needed any form of release but now Haeun is never off his dick so why does he still do this? 

Could Yeonjun have been right all along?  

As you continue to hold it in your hands, puzzling over it, you hear the door open and close behind you and Beomgyu’s panicky voice calling out your name. 

"What are you doing in here?" He squeaks as if this wasn’t your room. Well, your old room but still. It’s not like he made any changes to it yet. 

You turn to face him with the panties in your hands, silent, and his eyes grow wide as he stammers, trying to explain himself. “These are old.” 

“They’re wet.” You say plainly, which means he has just used them, and he knows it too. 

He scoffs, attempting to appear unaffected. As if this is just a completely reasonable situation that you’ve blown way out of proportion. “Well–it’s just–they were on hand.” He gives you what may possibly be the flimsiest excuse in history. 

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

"Did you leave these out for me to see?" You question, and he rushes to deny. "No! I just forgot to put them away."

His eyes widen again at what he just said, basically admitting that he took them from you on purpose to do with them exactly what you had in mind. God, he's such a stupid loser. 

You walk towards him until you’re standing right in front of him, leaving him no room to breathe. “Make everyone leave.” 

“It’s our celebratory party, I can’t just–”

You grab his hand and put it under your skirt, pressing his fingers against your warm pussy. “And I want to give you your reward. Make them leave.” 

He looks at you, shocked, and suddenly you realize what you're asking of him. You're coming onto him after weeks of ignoring him. You're asking him to have sex with you when he has a girlfriend–when he thinks you have a boyfriend. Oh god. 

But then he gulps and says. "Okay."

You watch from behind the door as he stops the music and kicks everyone out, telling them that he doesn’t feel good and needs to rest, and when Kai complains loudly, he asks him if he’d like to stay back and hold his hair while he vomits. That quickly convinces everyone to take the party elsewhere, even his girlfriend. But one person knows better, and you see him peeking around Beomgyu to catch your hidden eyes. You share a look before he turns around and leaves the apartment. This is it. You’re going to do this. 

As soon as Beomgyu comes back, you pull him into a kiss, releasing your overflowing nerves with each frustrated and needy moan you let out against his lips. Fuck, you missed kissing him so much. His lips may not be as soft as Yeonjun’s–he may not be as good of a kisser–but god does he still make your heart sing. 

“Strip.” You order when you finally tear yourself away from him, though Beomgyu doesn’t make it easy, resisting you the first couple of times you try and pulling you right back into the hungry kiss. But you finally do, and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to follow your cue then. 

After he’s all stripped down, he looks at you, gaze speaking of his own need to devour you. “Will you strip too?” 

“Do you want it?” You ask, putting on an alluring voice but deep down you were just nervous about letting him see you fully for the first time. Even though your experience with Yeonjun has made you gain confidence, you’re still insecure, especially when it comes to Beomgyu. You want to impress him. You want him to think you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You want him to forget about her. You want him to only think of you. 

Naturally, that is a lot to live up too. 

Beomgyu nods enthusiastically, somehow managing to come across as adorable in this situation. “Yes, please. Take it all off.” 

He tries to reach out to do it himself but you shake your head, pushing him onto the bed. 

“No. We do this my way.” You tell him, and he nods again, keeping himself in check. 

You reach for the zipper on your dress, hesitantly letting it fall to the floor. You aren’t wearing any bra so now you are almost nude except for your panties as you stand in front of him. 

“Fuck. You’re so hot.” He takes his cock into his hand, pumping it as he leers at you. You should feel dirty having him openly masturbate to the sight of you but it makes you feel so fucking good about yourself. It’s just what you needed–for him to show you how much he wants you. “Please, take off your panties too. Wanna see your pussy.” 

Despite his lewd display–or more accurately because of it–you’re given the courage to finally fully undress yourself in front of him, overcoming years of insecurities of what he’ll think of your body and any unfavorable comparisons he might make.

“Oh fuck–” He licks his lips, squeezing his cock as he stares at your pussy. “You’re perfect.”

“You think so?” You ask demurely, trying to hide your shock. Is he really telling the truth? It feels like it but you still need confirmation after years of doubting yourself.

“God, yes. Your tits are divine. I wanna suck on them and play with them all night. Your little pussy is so pretty, I wanna be buried in it forever. Come here, please, ride me, sit on my face, anything…” 

Is this what you were worried about all these years? He looks pretty fucking happy with what he’s seeing. Why were you so scared? You’re so mad at yourself for wasting all this time with self-doubt when you could’ve had him long ago. 

“You really need that?” You throw your panties at him, feeling more confident than ever after his proclamations. “Isn't this usually enough for you?” 

“No, please, you said you’d give me a reward." He whines, distraught at the thought of you being so close but not attainable yet again. "I’ve been good.” 

“Have you?” You scoff, straddling him, pressing your pussy against his cock and his body goes limp, letting you do what you want. “You’ve been nothing but a horndog, getting your rocks off wherever you can, whether it’s backstage getting sucked off by her or stealing my panties and fisting your cock with them. You’ve been such a bad boy.” 

“I’m sorry.” He slurs, mouth hanging open. 

"Are you? You seem to be enjoying this." 

"I'm sorry." He repeats again, staring at your pussy as it moves forwards and backwards over his cock, covering it in your slick. 

"You're fucking hopeless, Beomgyu. You'd do anything to get a piece of me, huh?"

"Yes." He nods eagerly, "Can you sit on my face?"

You laugh, climbing up his body until you’re hovering over his face and digging your fingers in his hair to keep his head down so he wouldn’t make any unwanted moves before you’re ready. "Is my pussy the only thing on your empty brain?"

"Uh-huh." He says dumbly, almost going cross eyes with the way he's staring at your pussy. You fucking love it. This is what you needed–to be needed. And Beomgyu gives it all to you without you even asking for it. 

"Good boy." You tell him and he shoots you a searing look at that–at you finally calling him that again–before you sit down on his face. 

You try not to put too much weight on him, not wanting to hurt him but Beomgyu has other ideas. He grabs your ass and pulls you down on his ready mouth, tongue flicking out to give eager licks to your already wet pussy. 

"Bad–bad boy–" You hiss, pulling at his hair but he won't let go, too intent on eating you out, nuzzling his whole lower face into your pussy, his tongue and lips alternating between long messy licks and needy sucking motions, his nose brushing against your clit every now and then in his fervor. 

"Fuck, Beomgyu slow down." 

But that word isn't in Beomgyu's dictionary, not when he's wanted this for so long. His fingers dig into your ass, making sure you can’t escape as his tongue presses inside your hole, flicking around as much as he can while your pussy flutters around it.

"So good–tastes so good." He slurs, drool and your juices covering his lower face but he doesn’t even care. In fact if anything it turns him on if his hard, leaking cock that you see when you throw a glance backwards is anything to go by. 

"You fucking the air, Beommie?" You pant, not faring much better than him but needing to tease him anyway. "Need my pussy this bad?"

But Beomgyu can't be teased. Not when he's so shameless. 

"Yes. Will you sit on my cock?" 

"How bad do you need it?" You sit up, pulling away from him and cutting off strings of your combined need. 

"So bad. Feels like I might die without it." 

"You sound like a horny fuckboy, Beommie. You know I only like good boys." You chastise, and Beomgyu shoots back, "Is that why you’re dating a whore?"

You growl, sinking back on his face, this time not caring so much about your weight over him. "Don't talk about Yeonjun like that."

He turns his face to the side to nip at your thigh in protest so you just straighten his head again and sit down on him fully, not allowing him any space to move. "You know the only whore here is you. So stick your tongue out like a good whore and let me ride it or I'll leave your dirty cock all red and weeping."

He whines in fear, sticking his tongue out for you, not daring to risk it. You move yourself over him, grinding your pussy over his tongue as he stares up at you pleadingly. 

“You like it, baby? You like me using you to get off?” 

He moans out in response, not having any other way to communicate his agreement and not willing to pull away from you. But you hear a wet noise coming from behind you and you look back to see him fisting his cock, clearly excited by it all. He wants this as much as you do. He has been begging for it for so long, and so you’re not so cruel as to make him take his hand away, but you need to make sure your excitement doesn’t end too soon. 

“Fuck, you really wanted this, huh? Can’t help yourself whenever you get a taste of this pussy?” You tease, and he whines again, his cock thrusting into his own fist pitifully. “But don’t get too excited. You want to feel this pussy around you, don’t you?”

The needy noises he keeps letting out vibrate against your pussy, driving you even wilder as you pull on his hair harshly and desperately grind yourself on his tongue, your high so close you could taste it. 

“Good boy, gonna make me cum… you want it? Want me to cum all of that pretty face?” You growl, and his hands leave his cock to grab your ass, pressing you so tightly against him, you worry that he won’t be able to breathe. 

But Beomgyu clearly loves it. He wants you to do it. He moves your hips so you’re fucking his face harder, faster, all while those slutty eyes of his never leave your face. 

“I’m cumming–fuck, Beommie… good boy–” You scream, shuddering as you cum over him. But as you stop moving, paralyzed by the intense orgasm, he starts moving his tongue, lapping up every drop you let out, giving your pussy open mouthed filthy kisses as he wraps his lips around you and eagerly sticks his tongue into your hole to get even more. 

You have to pull away from him when it becomes too much, and Beomgyu chases after you, not having had his fill yet somehow. He's still so needy that he ends up pushing you down and laying over you, his lips incessant against yours as his cock lays heavy on your pussy. 

You tug on his hair, finally detaching his lips from yours. "That's enough, Beomgyu."

“I made you cum.” He says in a daze, a stupid smile on his face. 

“Yes, you did.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb before sticking it in his mouth, letting him suck on it. It’s useless of course. The entire bottom half of his face was glistening with your cum. Not that you were actually trying to clean him up. You liked seeing him covered in you too much. “Ready for your reward, baby?” 

“Fuck, yes, please.” He groans, his hips bucking up against you, gliding his cock against your wet pussy. "Wanna fuck you so bad. Can I put it in now?"

"Are you gonna keep being a good boy for me? Gonna listen to my instructions and not let your cock take over your dumb brain and make you hump me like a dog?"

He shakes his head even though he was literally humping you right now. "I'll listen. I'll be so good."

"Okay, Beommie. You can put it in–slowly!" 

He rushes to push his cock inside your pussy, only stopping when it's all the way inside you. "Oh god–I'm finally inside you. Wanted it for so long."

This is exactly what you had been missing. This is what you needed that Yeonjun wasn't able to give to you. Beomgyu isn't shy when expressing how much he wants you. He'll beg and plead until you give it to him. 

"Can I move, baby?" He asks, voice strained with the effort of holding back. 

You nod. "Go ahead. But slowly."

He makes a valiant effort, pulling his hips back and thrusting in slowly, shuddering every time his cock is fully enveloped by your pussy. 

“Good?" You ask as if his mouth wasn't hung open, as if his eyes weren't all hazy, as if he wasn't holding onto you for dear life.

"So good. Can't believe I'm fucking you."

Neither can you. You had really begun to lose hope but here you are, laid on your back with Beomgyu fucking you, following your instruction as best he could–the strain of it obvious on his face. It's everything you wanted and you finally have it. 

"Can I touch your tits?" He pleads, giving you his classic puppy eyes and you smile. "Go ahead, honey." 

He groans, reaching out and cupping them in his hands. "Oh god. Missed them." He leans down and attaches his lips to them, biting and kissing all over them as his hips pick up speed. 

"Beomgyu…" You warn, pulling on his hair. He fights against you, looking up but not detaching from your tits. "Don't get ahead of yourself now. You want me to feel good too, don't you?"

He nods, his face still firmly buried in your lips but finally letting go of your nipple to moan out, "Yes, wanna make you feel better than anyone else." 

His own words rile him up and he bites down on the skin next to your areola, making sure not to hurt you but still expressing his frustration. 

"You're such a bratty baby." You scold him, but in reality you love it. You love how possessive and needy he is acting. It doesn't allow a single negative or insecure thought to enter your mind. How could it when he's so obvious about his need for you? "You can go faster now, baby."

"Oh, thank you." He groans, hips picking up speed. 

"Better, honey?" You pant, brushing his wet hair out of his face so you can fully see how lost he is in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. 

"So much better. Never wanna stop." He leans down, kissing you harshly, lips opening and closing around yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth hungrily. His hands grab at your thighs, pushing them against your body as he goes even faster, a constant stream of whines and whimpers released into your mouth. 

You force yourself to sober up despite the smoldering fire breaking out in your body from the way he's fucking you so good. You want him to keep going. You want him to keep fucking you until your mind has turned to mush and your limbs have turned to jelly. But you can’t let him have it this easily. You can't let him get away with the amount of pain and suffering he has caused you. He needs to feel it too, even if just a fraction of it. He needs to feel the longing and despair he has made you feel for so long. 

"Slow down." You order, pulling his head away from you, doing it extra mean just the way he likes it. 

"No, no, please." He cries, not slowing down. "Please… I thought this was a reward. You’re driving me crazy." 

"Do you want me to push you down and tie your hand to the headboard to make sure you behave?" You threaten, trying to keep your voice under control against the incessant thrusts of his cock into your poor pussy. "It's only gonna be worse for you."

"No. No. Wanna keep touching you." He blabbers, hands groping at every inch of you he could reach, worried you'd make good on your threats. 

"Then be good." You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls on your nipples before kneading the soft flesh.

"I will. I'm your good boy, right?" He slurs, his hips slowing down. 

Damn, he's really addicted to hearing you say that, huh?

"Yes, you are. You’re my best boy." You coo, stroking his soft hair and he nuzzles into your hand like a puppy, seeking any form of contact with you. 

"Thank you." He groans, fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold himself back, his poor cock screaming at him to just take you like he wants. "So pretty. Look so pretty getting fucked." 

"Yeah? Is it how you imagined it when you'd fuck my panties?" You ask but once again Beomgyu has no shame, his hips faltering at the reminder of his debauched actions. 

"Better. So pretty. So tight. Could stay in your cunt forever." He almost drools at the thought, and you really believe he'd love to do just that. 

"Dirty boy. Dirty little boy going all dumb for me." You stroke his face lovingly and he peers at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, please, hurts… can I go faster?"

"Aw, poor pup, do you need to hammer your cock into my pussy that bad?" You scold, giving his face light slaps. 

"Uh-huh… will make you feel good. I promise." He babbles, his hips already going faster as if he's sure you'll give him permission. 

"No." This may or may not be the one and only time you get to fuck him. You need to savor it. "Slow down."

Your hands go to his hips, clawing at his skin to slow down his thrusts and he relents, albeit begrudgingly. "You're so mean."

"But you love it." You laugh at his tearful pout. "God, you love it so much you can't stop shaking your hips like a whore. It's like you've never been fucked before.” 

"I haven't. You’re my first.” He admits, knocking any remaining breath out of your lungs.

This is his first time. He and Haeun never did it? What the fuck?

"Did you let him fuck you?" He asks, and you stay silent. He knows you’ve fucked Yeonjun. There is no way he thinks you live with Yeonjun and aren’t fucking him. But then again, he hasn’t fucked Haeun, and you were so sure that he did. 

"Did you?" He asks again, an edge to his voice and you nod minutely. "I didn't know. I thought you and Haeun–"

Beomgyu's whole face changes. "God, you're such a slut. Fucking two men at the same time."

You immediately get defensive. Yeonjun was your boyfriend. You had dated for months. You’re not a whore for fucking him. It would be more understandable if he’s referring to the fact (or what he thinks is a fact) of you fucking him when you have a boyfriend, but you’re almost certain that’s not what he’s upset about. He’s just jealous you’ve fucked Yeonjun at all.  "Just because she won't let you put it in, doesn't make me a slut."

That just angers him more, and he practically bends you in half as his dick pumps in and out of you at a brutal pace, his anger at what you’ve done making him lose it, not caring about your instructions anymore. "I hate you."

You laugh, fighting hard to hide the pain his statement elicits in your gut as well as to keep your voice steady as he practically plows his cock into you. God, he makes you so mad but he’s fucking you so good. 

"But you sure love my pussy." 

"My pussy." He growls, catching you off guard once again. He bends his head down to kiss your neck harshly, and can already feel the marks blooming there under his teeth. "Mine. Not his. All mine."

"What?” You sputter. Is this it? Is this how he confesses to you? “Beomgyu, what–”

"Shut up." He smacks your ass, not willing to hear your protests right now. "You've played with me long enough. Now be good and take it." 

Played with him? What the hell is he talking about? You’ve never played with him. But any attempt to get a sane answer out of him right now is useless as the sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room and Beomgyu latches his mouth onto yours, trying to dominate you in a way he has never attempted to do before–as if he’s trying to prove that you really are his. 

And you are. He may not know it but you’ve always been his.

But his strong facade is paper-thin and you can see right through it to the insecure boy below when he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, why did you have to be so pretty?”

“Make me cum, Beommie.” You murmur, moving a hand between your bodies to rest over your pussy, your middle and index fingers on either side of his cock as it fucks into you. “Do you feel how wet I am for you? I’m soaking the bed, baby.” 

“Fuck…” He pulls your hand away, taking a look at how wet it has become already before he grunts and pushes one of your thighs against the bed to allow space for his own hand between your bodies, quickly finding your pussy to rub your clit. 

“Oh… oh, fuck… baby…” You gasp, back arching as you’re quickly hurled towards your orgasm. “That’s it, honey. Make me cum on your big cock.” 

He groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy begins to clench around him. “Don’t talk like that. Gonna make me lose it.” 

“It riles you up when I talk dirty to you? Tell you how good you're fucking me?”

He nods. 

“Dirty boy.” You moan out for him, “Do it. Empty that cock inside me. Want my pussy dripping with you.” 

“Holy s-shit,” Beomgyu cries, and you feel his cum shooting inside of you, his hips not stopping for a second. And though his thrusts become erratic, his thumb keeps up its assault on your clit until your pussy is clamping down on his cock and milking the last drops of cum from him. “Good girl. My good girl.” 

He fucks you through your orgasm, babbling on about how pretty you are and how well you took it. He looks so fucking pathetic with his shiny eyes and needy whimpers that before you even know it, he’s ripping another orgasm out of your already fucked out body. 

“Goddammit, Beomgyu…” You squeal, toes curling at the very intense second orgasm, your body shuddering with the unexpected sharp waves of pleasure racking through it. And through it all, Beomgyu continues fucking you. You can feel his cock begin to harden once again inside you, and as the brutal second orgasm leaves your body, you wince at the overstimulation, putting your hands against his sweaty chest and starting to push him away.  

“That’s enough, Beomgyu. I can’t take any more.” 

But he resists you, shaking his head. “One more. Please, one more.” 

“No.” You tell him firmly, “Don’t be bad. Pull out.” 

He searches your face for any hint of leniency, his big pretty eyes trying to convince you to change your mind but you can’t. He’s fucked you so hard, your poor pussy requires a much needed rest. 

You both watch as he slowly pulls out, his once again hard cock glistening with your cum and his, his seed dripping down your ass now that he wasn’t plugging your pussy up. 

“Oh, baby, does that hurt?” You coo, grabbing his cock. He lets out a sigh of relief as you begin stroking it. “Yeah. So bad.” 

The little shit is milking this, but you play along. “Poor baby. Let me make it go away.” You grin, suddenly speeding up, the slide of your hand so easy when his cock is well-lubricated. You make sure to maintain your position, with him hovering over your splayed open body so he can rake his eyes over it, and you clearly seeing him struggling to choose where to look between your tits that jiggle as you jerk him off quickly, the cum leaking out of your puffy pussy, and your swollen lips as you swipe your tongue over them. 

It doesn’t take long for you to have him spilling his seed again, landing on your tummy as he doubles over and buries his head in your neck. 

“That’s it, good boy.” You praise him, using your free hand to stroke his long hair that you love so much. 

You let him lay there for a whole, catching his breath that is so irregular and stuttered that you almost don’t notice when he starts crying if it wasn’t for the hot tears falling on your skin. 

“Beomgyu?” You call out, and a heart-breaking sob breaks out of his chest. 

"Please, come back to me." He croaks against your neck. 

"What?" You sit up, making him sit up with you and pulling his face away from your shoulder so you can look at him, your heart sinking at the tears streaming down his face. "I can't fucking bear seeing you with him any longer. It hurts so much."

Oh fuck. 

"Beomgyu… Yeonjun isn't–" You try to explain that you and Yeonjun had broken up but he cuts you off. 

"It's not him, it's you!" He shouts, "I love you and I can't bear it any longer. And I know it's selfish and that you don't love me back, at least not in that way, but then you keep messing with me."

He loves you? He really loves you?

"But I thought you loved Haeun?" You need to know what exactly is happening with him and Haeun first. 

"I thought I did too but whenever I'm with her, I find myself thinking of you. You’re always in my head, it ruins every moment I have with her. She hates you too, you know? She can't stand how much I love you. The reason we haven't fucked is not because she won't put out. It's because I only want you. I didn't want to lose it to anyone else but you."

"Beomgyu–"

"But you don’t fucking care. You just see me as your disgusting best friend who you can play with and push away when you're done with him and I can't even bring myself to hate you for it. That's how much I love you. So just please… please give me a break."

“You think I was playing with you?” The idea seems absurd to you. How can he possibly think that? You've done everything in your power to not show how much you love him but never in your wildest dreams would you think that would mean he would see it as you playing with him. 

“Weren’t you? I mean the way you spoke to me… you always pushed me away. I had to beg each time for you to even kiss me.” He peers at you, pain and vulnerability shining in his eyes as he recalls the way you treated him. 

Fuck, you've been so obsessed with not letting your love for him show that you've done the same thing to him you thought he was doing to you. Knowing that pain all too well, you can’t bear the thought of being the cause of it.

You grab his face in your hands and kiss him, intending to pour out your own feelings the same way he did, hoping to staunch the flood of heartbreak you’re witnessing and calm him down enough for him to realize you feel the same way. 

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. He breaks down crying. "You're so cruel."

"No, no! I love you too!" Your hands are in a flurry around his face, wiping his tears, stroking his hair, caressing his cheeks, anything to calm him down.

"What? This is not funny." He sobs, looking like a wounded animal. Your heart aches at the sight. 

"No, fuck, I've loved you for years! The whole friends with benefits thing I started was just an excuse to have a way to be with you."

He stares at you in utter shock, the confusion the only thing stopping his tears from drowning you. "But you never even hinted that you liked me. You called me all kinds of names, freak, disgusting, pervert…"

"I thought you liked these..." You trail off sheepishly. 

"I did but it still makes a guy think.” He mumbles, his fingers playing with yours nervously. “You wouldn’t let me touch you or kiss you." 

"I was afraid if I let you kiss me, I wouldn't want you to stop. And I didn’t want you to touch me because I was afraid you wouldn’t like what you saw." It sounds so silly now that you're saying it out loud–now that you know he loves you and has wanted you just as badly.  

"That's stupid. I had already seen it all." He tells you casually and you frown. "When?"

"You don't always shut the door when you're changing." He shrugs. 

"Pervert!" You gasp, hitting him with no real power behind it. "What about you? You never hinted at anything either.  You only ever talked about my body."

"Well, it did start just physical but I quickly realized that I'm in love with you. Then I kept only mentioning your body because you'd freak out on me whenever I hinted at anything else."

"Fair." You pout, realizing you’ve done as much to hurt yourself as he did. 

"I didn't want to let it show that I loved you because I was so afraid you'd pull away like you did a couple of times. And then you were with Yeonjun and it fucking killed me so I had to pretend it was just sexual."

"Oh god, that's exactly what I've been doing.” You cover your face with your hands, mortified at your stupidity. We're fucking dumbasses."

“Yes, we are.” He replies fondly, taking your hands away from your face so you can look at him, refusing to let you hide anymore. "So you'll break up with him and be with me?"

"We broke up a while back.” You admit sheepishly. “He said he can't be with me when you and I are clearly in love with each other."

“So let me get this straight, Yeonjun could tell we love each other but somehow we, the two people involved, didn’t have a clue?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you nod. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t be winning any genius awards anytime soon.” 

“We could win the biggest dumbasses award though.” He cracks a smile, pulling you close to him and resting his forehead against yours. 

“No one could even compete.” You grin, kissing him. He immediately deepens the kiss, frantic and hungry still. 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Beommie. We have all the time in the world.” You tease as if you weren’t just as needy, making him whine. “I can’t help it. You made me yearn for so long.”

“Yearn? Oh, that’s bad. I made you use the word yearn.” 

He yanks your legs up, sending the rest of your body flying backwards and hitting the mattress, your loud giggles quickly covered by his mouth as he kisses you harshly, his teeth biting down on your lips in annoyance when you still don’t stop laughing. 

“Stop it.” He whines in defeat as he pulls back, and you try to keep your giggles under control, his pout is entirely too devastating to look at. 

"Are you gonna break up with her?" You ask and he doesn't hesitate to say, "Of course."

That makes you smile, happy with how easily he chose you, but then a thought pops into your mind and you frown. "You know, I hated her but I still feel kinda bad for fucking you behind her back." You really do. You've never condoned cheating, even if it was on someone as vile as Haeun. 

"Oh you mean the same way she fucked the whole football team?" He counters and you gape at him, "God damn. Why did you even stay with her for that long?"

He shrugs. "Needed a distraction. And to not come across as a loser in front of you. I mean you were with Yeonjun. I couldn't just be alone."

"Oh, honey…" You coo, but anything you planned to say is suddenly forgotten as you feel his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Beommie!" You squeak. “What are you doing?” 

"You thought we were done? You spread your legs for my bandmate. I'm gonna have to look at him every day knowing he had you first. I gotta make sure you and everyone else knows who exactly you belong to."

It may not be the most healthy coping mechanism, but you’ll let him have it for now. You’re sure you wouldn't be very happy if you were in his position either. Besides, getting to fuck Beomgyu isn’t exactly what you would consider a punishment. 

_________

A/N: Click here for the Yeonjun ending on Patreon.

Also for my patreons, you could suggest a scene from gyu's pov and I'll choose one. There will also most likely be some drabbles about oc and gyu's life after the ending (mostly smut featuring our favorite desperate boy lol) and some will be released on tumblr and others will be exclusive to patreon.

Patreons may also suggest a continuation of a previous fic/drabble. I will do my best to release at least something monthly on there.

Taglist: @blxxsss@sanasour@tinkw1nks@lol6sposts@zuzuhasablog@beomsl@seolis-world@stantxtorurmissingout@wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno@leviathanlee26@yomomas-stuff@kurisaiyunobara@girlwholovekpop@zuzuhasablog@viaaasdiary@ho3forkpop@skzvcr@th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 20:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Medical Whump, mention of needles. Got some nice fluff in this one though ❤️

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

Pain.

Excruciating and white-hot.

It pierced with daggers that chiseled through your bones, burrowing their icy blades deep inside. It ripped you away from the tantalizing grip of unconsciousness.

“No… please…” The unconscious plea slipped over numb lips, as nothing more than a weak cry.

That peaceful serenity had so nearly been yours, but cruelly, you found it no longer so easy to fade. Voices carried loudly, echoing through the cavern. Shouted orders cut through your skull like a hatchet, exploding with a nauseating, icy sharpness. Rockets fired behind your eyes, jumbling their words between that constant, shrill ringing.

“Tech! ….ere…”

Hunter's voice rumbled, muted behind that deafening noise. Despite the tumbling chaos of fragmented thoughts and twisted noise, one thought repeated, focused and unmuddled.

Alive. He's alive. He's alive. He fell too, but he’s alive.

You found your hand drifting almost as an instinct, finding purchase in the ground, nails carving desperate paths through the dirt.

Alive. He's alive.

An icy panic drove its claws around your throat, wrenching ragged gasps from constricting lungs as your searching fingers found only cold rock.

Don't leave. Don't leave me here!

The nothingness you had so desperately craved before no longer felt peaceful. Instead, it loomed ominously below, violent and cold.

You could feel it clawing its way up your throat, pulling you relentlessly back down as though punishing your resistance.

No! You wanted to scream. I won’t leave them! You couldn't do that to Hunter. Not now. Not after everything was alright again.

Blinding, piercing waves of icy fire shot down from the base of your neck, ripping a choked scream through gritted teeth, as you tried to turn your head in an urgent attempt to find the man whose voice you clung to so desperately. A pair of strong, steady hands, held your head, stopping any semblance of motion. Tears, sudden and unbidden, trickled down your cheeks before you even realized you’d been crying. A part of you knew why he held you, so still and unmoving. The prickling electricity of pins and needles down your limbs were slow to fade - a consequence of your sudden movement. Purposed, shallow breaths did nothing to dull the sharp, grating agony that flared from your chest at every breathy whimper.

“Hey…shh… Don’t move.” He rubbed gentle circles along your jaw with his thumbs. “I know it hurts… I know. I'm right here, okay?”

You knew that voice. It felt safe, it was something to hold onto.

Hunter.

The deep baritone of his voice cut through the fog.

“Breathe. Look at me. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“A-again…” came the whispered response, lips twitching into some semblance of a half conscious grin. Some part of you registered the ironic humor in your situation, having been in the same predicament only hours ago.

Hunter gave a small huff, unable to stop the brief smirk of relief. “Yeah again. You gotta stop doing that.”

Your eyes drifted closed again, unable to bear the burning intensity of his headlamp any longer. He seemed to realize this and reached up to direct the beam away from your face.

“I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

“...can’t… too dizzy.” It felt like you were yelling, trying to be heard over that damn incessant ring.

“I know, cyar'ika. But if you keep your eyes closed, you have to keep talking to me, okay?”

The ringing was growing nearly unbearable again, drilling through your head, ripping and tearing your thoughts to shreds, pressing, squeezing until you were sure if it kept on, you would burst. Hunter’s voice was fading in and out in an endless cycle. The darkness behind your eyes whispered seductively once again only to be forced back as reality sunk its poisoned fangs deep into tissue and bone. Voices echoed down into the crevasse where you lay, concerned sincerity distorting into deriding laughter as if to mock your futile attempts to stop the pain.

Hunter called out to one of them.

“... on't…. move her…et!”

“...er…have to… help…”

Nimble fingers felt like sandpaper scraping on already raw skin and then a light, assaulting in a forced agony with blazing daggers.

“... pupils un… head…jury”

Tech. A distant part of you knew that voice. Always analyzing, ever observant. Careful but quick.

What was he saying?

There was a brief pause in which even that horrible noise had dissipated as though granting you one last relief. One last comfort before it came roaring back in the full force of overloaded senses. You could feel their frantic touches, voices overlapping one another in some sort of garbled nonsense.

Hands clenched over your leg. They gripped your head, over your chest. Ripping you violently to a blinding focus. Tearing, pulling and twisting daggers of ice into explosions of white hot pain. Hands ripping, tearing at clothing. Hands everywhere, feeling, gripping, holding you in place though you tried desperately to escape - lips parting to beg them to stop, that it hurt too much, but no words would come.

Stop! Please stop! Hunter, make them stop!

And it did seem to stop, though slow and fleeting. That nauseating intensity blurred dangerously with the icy chill, settling through your bones in a gentle numbness - the body’s merciful way of protecting nerves that fired and sparked beyond their perceived capacity.

Maybe it was the weakness of wishful thinking, or maybe it was some lingering strength fueled by a need for control. Whatever the cause, that infantesimal sliver of relief brought with it an inkling of hope that maybe you could survive this - like you were dangling from a precipice, waiting for that outstretched arm to pull you to safety.

“C'm… ack… can't lose…. plea…”

There were hands again - gentler this time. Fingers running through your hair brought a sense of comfort, though muddled and distant voices cut like blades as they danced and echoed through the rocks.

“...ere you go. Good. …ay with me, …kay?”

The iron grip that pulled you from the edge, that baritone whispering.

“Good, cyar’ika. Breathe. Listen to my voice.”

They were Hunter’s hands that gently held your head again. Steady and strong - yet kind and grounding.

That deeply penetrating hurt once again wracked violently through abused bone and seizing muscle, blooming through a daze as though attached to waking consciousness. But at least it was something to hold onto and the touch of Hunter’s ungloved skin was something that made sense in this tumult of fractured thoughts and heightened senses. A feeling of peace - a cool breeze on burning skin.

***

Hunter watched as your eyes rolled back into your head, fading once again into a pained unconsciousness.

I’m sorry. He wanted to shout. I’m so sorry.

Tech scurried about, kneeling over you - packing you securely splinted, while Wrecker had taken over holding your head steady. All he could do was stare - dazed as if watching the scene unfold from above like some sort of cosmic intruder.

It should’ve been me. I should’ve protected her - cushioned the fall. Something. Anything.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, tugging him gently back. Echo’s face swam before him, concern written on his features. “You okay?”

First confusion, quickly swallowed by a sudden anger that overcomes the sudden realization of his own aching side. How dare you! How dare you look at me when you should be focused on her!

“I’m fine.” Hunter snapped, the sharpness of his words matching the shooting pain that accompanied them.

Echo narrowed his eyes, Hunter was lying, but he nodded curtly in professional acknowledgement. He’d deal with him once they were safely back on the Marauder. He turned back to where Tech had finished securing the makeshift stretcher to cables that acted as a pulley system that would allow him to safely bring you up and out of the pit without causing too much unnecessary movement. He grimaced at the agony etched onto your face, heart aching in his chest at the way your eyelids fluttered open and closed. Fear. Pain. Confusion.

Echo didn’t have to imagine what that felt like.

We’ll get you out of here soon, he thought. You looked so fragile, so young - so vulnerable. Did I look like that when they rescued me?

“Echo, we're ready.” Tech’s matter-of-fact tone pulled him from his thoughts.

“Good. Let’s get her out of here.”

***

I am dead. Dying. Living. Unknown.

Flashes of a distant reality, all edged with an all-consuming torment; blurry glimpses of stone and rock; that treacherous, dusky sky; Tech’s helmet and cold, unforgiving plastoid. Hunter’s hand still clenched tightly in your own.

Floating. Moving. Securing. It all pulled you along as if rocking you to sleep. The agony that gripped every part of you was unbearably cruel and cold - but as long as those strong hands stayed by your side, there was hope.

A piercing, stabbing pain shot through your neck suddenly, drawing a barked cry from a dry throat. You jerked away, only to be held fast by those same comforting hands.

“Traitor.”

That mumbled annoyance protesting the betrayal of comfort, drew a soft chuckle. “Sorry, cyare. You’ll be okay.”

The awful, burning sensation that traveled down through your veins, soon felt warm.

---

Hunter watched as you fell asleep. Your exhausted muscles finally able to relax despite how securely you lay, splinted and immobilized, wrapped up in a blanket and thoroughly packaged by Tech’s meticulous hands.

“I’ve contacted Rex and he knows of a medical facility we can take her to safely.” Echo spoke as he strode over to the rack where Tech had settled you. He stood awkwardly before falling instinctively to a resting stance, arms loosely tucked behind his back.

Hunter nodded stiffly. “Good.”

Echo shifted, “You should get some rest, Hunter.”

“I’m fine.” The immediate reply was sharp and decisive, meant to scare away any sense of logic or concern that might take him away from your broken form. But Echo was not so easily swayed. He doubled down.

“You’re not.” He stated. “You can’t take care of her if you don’t take care of yourself.” His lips pulled tight in sincerity, eyeing the Sergeant up and down. He had worked with Hunter long enough to see through the callous facade. Hunter was a good squad leader - listed among the best that Echo had worked with throughout his career - and like a good leader he’d always put the needs of his squad above his own. It was both a strength and a weakness. “You need to rest, Hunter. At least sit down and let me take a look at your side.”

Hunter shook his head and leaned forward, grunting as he brushed a stray hair from your face. He could hear Echo’s words and the truth that they carried, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to make his hand move from where it curled around yours. He could feel the pain of his own injuries but they paled in comparison to yours.

He was of no consequence. You were his world.

It felt like he was standing on a cliff face and some mockery of doubtful anxiety convinced him that if he let go of your hand, he would fall plummeting further and further away.

He didn’t want to respond. It was too hard to admit that he was terrified - too hard to admit that he'd grown so accustomed to working with you, living with you, and that the prospect of losing that connection would be like losing a part of himself.

It was you who’d been there silently beside him as the weight of the rapidly changing galaxy tore apart everything he’d ever known.

That was why he couldn't let go.

You mumbled something in your sleep, eyes fluttering open.

Another pair of hands set the quivering muscles of your body on edge for an instant before loosening at their familiar touch.

“Hey, shhh… It’s just me.”

“Hun’er?” Your words came slow and unfocused, slipping out unfiltered and raw.

“Yeah?”

“...love you too…”

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

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[meanqueens]

potential hotd spoilers below

i beg your absolute pardon??? alicent hightower will OFFER UP her sons to rhænyra for her and helaena’s lives???????

“Queen Alicent demanded that one of Lucerys Velaryon’s eyes should be put out, for the eye he had cost Aemond.”

“Queen Alicent echoed him. “Nor will they spare my children,” she declared. “Aegon and his brothers are the king’s trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of bastards. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones. One of these Strongs put out Aemond’s eye, never forget. He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature.””

“Queen Alicent had commanded Larys Clubfoot to learn [Blood’s] true name, so that she might bathe in the blood of his wife and children, but our sources do not say if this occurred.”

“None was allowed to disturb [Aegon II’s] rest, save his mother the Queen Dowager and his Hand, Ser Criston Cole.”

“Words of these plans soon reached the ears of the Dowager Queen, filling her with terror. Fearing for her sons, Queen Alicent went to the Iron Throne upon her knees, to plead for peace. This time the Queen in Chains put forth the notion that the realm might be divided; Rhaenyra would keep King’s Landing and the crownlands, the North, the Vale of Arryn, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the isles. To Aegon II would go the stormlands, the westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Rhaenyra rejected her stepmother’s proposal with scorn. “Your sons might have had places of honor at my court if they had kept faith,” Her Grace declared, “but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sweet sons is on their hands.” “Bastard blood, shed at war,” Alicent replied. “My son’s sons were innocent boys, cruelly murdered. How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?” The Dowager Queen’s words only fanned the fire of Rhaenyra’s wroth.”

^THAT is alicent hightower. if the leaks are true, whoever that is isn’t alicent hightower.

[oneshotnewbie]

Hello can you make Maddie and Buck's little sister who is a teenager has an accident or is injured and she calls 911 to find her sister who sends the firefighter and her brother and in a panic with Maddie on the phone who is panicking too

ᕚ---ᕘ

With a choked gasp, you startled and looked around in a halting darkness that human eyes could never adjust to. Cold, rough chunks of concrete that painfully buried you underneath did not let in any light. Not the slightest ray could stray through it.

Orientation in the blackness was almost impossible and the disorientation made you seem even more helpless than you already were. "Hello? Can someone hear me?" Struggling to lend strength to your dusty voice, you tried to straighten your torso, but a searing pain tore through the upper left quadrant of your abdomen prevented you.

The air was damp, musty and cold. Fine particles of the collapsed concrete still trickled onto your tear-streaked face, while your lungs filled with a teaspoon of dust with every breath you took.

You did not know if you were alone when the parking deck collapsed on itself, but the thought that someone else might be trapped in her, or possibly even dead, frightened you. "Please, is someone here?"

The vibrating of your phone pulled you back from your thoughts. Totally forgetting you had it with you and surprised to find it had still a transmission to the outside world, you were grateful.

Silently and cautiously, you pulled out your phone with shaky, wet hands and clung to the piece of plastic, trying to shed some light on your situation. It was only through the brightness of the screen that you had realized, you were in more trouble than you thought you were.

The liquid on your hands was nothing more than dark red blood stretching across your fingers and was trickling down your wrist. Your leg was buried below the knee under a steel beam, which is why you had long lost feeling in it while a small iron rod protruded from your torso and penetrated your lower ribs.

"Crap," you moaned disconcertingly and laid your head back down on the concrete slab that allowed and supported to keep your upper body upright. The chunks of gray stone that had embedded your body, shifted cruelly under your movements, some small pieces trickling down on you from above.

Covering your eyes protectively, you could not feel if new small wounds adorned your skin and you did not dare to move any further to check which put your heart in a more obvious state of panic, but you hardly felt the beating in your chest. It slowed down.

With the last ounce of your strength steadily oozing out with the blood from your wounds, you dialed 911 hoping the network would hold up this conversation. After all, you were buried under debris that could interfere with the signal. "911, what is your emergency?"

"Maddie," you groaned wearily, instantly recognizing your eldest sibling through the cracking line. Her voice was dulled and partially interrupted, yet you felt a deep sense of relief to hear it. You were not alone anymore. "I-I need help"

The brunettes breath caught in her throat as your faint and barely audible voice entered her ears. It had come as quite a shock to Maddie, when she unsuspectingly had you on the helpline and found a chilling story about your well-being. "Y/n, where are you? Are you okay? What happened?"

"T-the parking garage at Cherokee Avenue collapsed," like a second hand, sweat formed on your forehead, although the warmth had long left. Dizziness caught up with you, but with a lot of luck and willpower, you managed to escape it and searched for a spot to focus on in the slightly lit environment. "I am buried under the rubble"

"Oh my god, a-are you hurt?"

"My leg is crushed. A metal rod is sticking out of my stomach, it hurts terribly. I am losing an awful lot of blood," Maddie had to listen helplessly to the spectacle that was taking place in disbelief and bewilderment. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the keyboard and at the same time played with her private phone to call and inform your brother.

Meanwhile, the air was becoming increasingly scarce. Under no circumstances should you breathe in too deeply, using the precious oxygen sparingly. "I can not breathe," it came hoarsely from your lips as tears streamed unabashedly down your face.

A fit of coughing shook you and an iron taste kindled in your mouth. You could hardly breathe, the oxygen supply was running out and your lungs were heavier by the minutes. Just as quickly, the fear of endless, terrifying darkness and the cold that towered over you.

"I do not want to die, Maddie," you sobbed into the phone, the optimism of getting out of her alive dwindling. Walled under concrete and buried under dust, you knew no way out and fear filled you more with every passing minute. "You will not, sweetheart. Buck is on the way, you just have to hold on. Hold on and listen to me while we wait together for your brother, okay?"

The familiarity of Maddie´s voice allowed you to remain calm, at least on the surface, while your soul rampaged around the stable like a panicked horse. And so you had begun to wait for the approaching help with the fear of death and the agony that awaited you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The sun was already beginning to set and the clouds hung gray in the sky as the team around Bobby Nash drove up to the scene. Upon arrival, the remains of various building material and destroyed vehicles were scattered on the crumbling ground.

Cold, dusty air blew in the faces of the team and the feeling that was churning in them as they saw the collapsed building, knowing you were under there, stretched bitterly through their chest. With heavy strides, Evan Buckley ran up to the top of the rubble, his phone clutched tightly to his ear, frantically calling your name while following his sisters panicked statements.

With his right leg, he swept away the small chunks and bits of metal. "Y/n!" his voice sounded rough and scratchy, he could no longer think clearly when uncertainty and sadness overcame him. "Where are you?"

Huffing and distraught, tears welled up in his eyes as he watched his teammates pull some stones from the pile. Evan rushed and jumped down, desperate to get through to you with all of his accumulated power. "Maddie, I can not hear her, is she still there?" with a jerk, he thoughtfully scratched the back of his head while biting his bottom lip hard and tasting the stale taste of blood.

He felt like complete destruction.

"Call is ongoing, but she is not responding to me anymore!" Maddie answered. Hard, he pounded his fist against the stones until his knuckles were severely sore and bleeding, only to repeat the procedure in frustration. Evan Buckley possessed a mental strength that was admired by everyone. But when it came to his little sister, he lost all of the stability and raged through life like a tornado. "Come on, move. We have to get her out of here"

As they spent hours trying to dig their way out to you, you vacillated between consciousness and unconsciousness. The phone meanwhile had slipped out of your hand and was inaccessible, nevertheless your sister was still panicking on the receiver, calling your name several times unsuccessfully.

You had no strength, empty air escaped your mouth instead of simple words.

From afar, you heard murmuring voices gathering around you. They talked frantically and at once a while some of them screamed and interrupted the conversations. Everyone seemed so far away, that you hardly could understood their words. "Y/n, where are you?"

"I am here, please" you whispered in a low voice that was probably barely audible. A violent chill went through you as the voices slowly approached and called out to you. The ground beneath you vibrated, bits and pieces of thick stone clamped above you, whose pillar was preventing it from coming down and crushing you, rained down dust before moments later a faint, dirty light flooded your place through a small crack.

"We found her!"

[agoodroughandtumble]

Zoro x Reader - Lost & Found

Status: Complete Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader Summary: Zoro is, unsurprisingly, lost Warning(s):  None

Roronoa Zoro was, more often than not, lost. Of course he would be the last person to admit that fact. His pride and stubbornness surrounding the matter were infamous amongst his fellow Straw Hats – an unfortunate consequence of his drive and determination. After all, his mind was focused on becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, on protecting his crew, on helping Luffy fulfil his dreams; Zoro didn’t have time to be memorising atlases. Usually he just shrugged it off – arguing that he always ended up where he needed to be eventually – especially as he wasn’t actually lost anyway, so shut up. Besides. He was sure that if he just kept walking he would reach the Sunny eventually. So that was his plan. Just keep walking and eventually he would reach the ship, or at least someone who could point him in the right direction. He might be lost but he wasn’t lost.

Because being lost and being lost were two completely different things. The former he could deal with – just keep walking. The latter, not so much. The latter was a feeling only reserved for you. You made his head hurt, his heart race and his stomach drop. Each part pulling him in completely different directions and he was a futile navigator. From the moment you had joined the Straw Hats Zoro had found himself in unchartered waters, desperately searching for the relief of land. For any opportunity to remove the anchor you had so deeply buried within his chest, and the chain that dangled so carelessly in front of him. Not even his swords were strong enough to cut himself off completely.

You were both his captor and his saviour – the chains binding you together either a death sentence or a lifeline. But God, he didn’t care. He could happily die so long as it was by your hands, happily seek salvation so long as it was by your mercy. He could do all of this and more for you, because of you, despite you, in spite of you. As long as there was you.

Ironically, the situation wasn’t lost on him. Neither was the knowledge that whilst you were indisputably his anchor, he wasn’t yours. It wasn’t surprising, really, if he thought about it. You were bright, a beacon in the dark, his personal north star guiding him home. He was a storm, a hurricane, only useful for destruction. The product of a life dedicated to violence and bloodshed. The product of a life to keep you away from.

In his more selfish moments, Zoro would allow himself to revel in the chains you had unknowingly imprisoned his heart within. He would allow himself to be lost in the ardently naïve hope that you would find him again – that the chains binding him to you equally pulled at your heart, at the fibre of your being. He could admit to being lost, to being a captive to his own desires, to your every whim as long as you were too. If not… well then he was truly lost. Drowning in that unchartered sea, navigating that starless sky, at the mercy of the storms he had once thought to seek solace in.

It was, somewhat cruelly, that whilst he wandered aimlessly he heard a familiar voice. “Zoro!”

He turned around, trying to neutralise his expression lest you realised he had spent this entire time thinking about you. “What do you want?”

You rolled your eyes. Nami had asked you to find Zoro and bring him back to the ship at least an hour ago, but obviously Zoro was going to claim he’d only been gone ten minutes. “I came to find you – Sanji’s already starting on dinner,” you grabbed his arm to interlace yours into his, “So come on. I’m starving.”

His heart skipped a beat at your words. I came to find you. It was innocuous on your part – no subtext, no promises of anything more. He turned his head slightly, a small smile forming on his lips as you started berating him for getting lost again and how you had been all over the city trying to find the “grumpy green haired man with too many swords”. You found him. Regardless of whether you knew it or not, the chains secured themselves more firmly around his heart – and for once, he relished the feeling. He always ended up where he needed to be eventually.

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 11 -- The End!

This is the last part everyone! I may right little snippets after this one if the inspiration strikes, but this is the definitive end to the series.

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

CW: Mentions of death, low self-esteem thoughts, brief vague mention of sex at the end, two kisses

Part One Here

Part Ten Here

At first, they thought he was sick. Jonathan didn’t ever give them a cell phone number, so they couldn’t call and check on him. By Wednesday they drove round for three hours after work, trying to find the neighborhood that housed his apartment, with no luck. By Friday, worry stayed a constant pit in their stomach.

Monday morning brought the news that Jonathan had “transferred” to another in another part of the country. Civilian had to suffer all day through the cloying sympathy of their coworkers. Gloria had even hugged them. Everyone assumed a breakup occurred so horribly awkward that it drove Jonathan to move several hundred miles away a week before the holidays.

For the rest of December, Civilian kept up religiously with the news, looking for something big enough to fit the plans Jonathan had hinted at — massive art theft, large scale arson, hell even a government coup.

There was nothing save for constant Christmas ads that Civilian tuned out.

Eventually they had to accept the truth that Jonathan had just got the fuck out of dodge and didn’t look back. Fine. Civilian knew their ‘relationship’ had an expiration date, that it had never existed in the first place. But they had expected some kind of goodbye, even if it had been a threat to stay quiet — not this slipping away in the dead of night like a ghost.

Maybe his plans fell through and he had to leave before someone else discovered him. Maybe the Agency had found him despite his best efforts and he had to abandon everything. Both scenarios were more likely than the one echoing cruelly in Civilian’s head at night:

That they had driven him away; that he couldn’t take their needy loneliness anymore and bounced.

It’s a thought that hounded them for the next six months, followed them as closely and loyally as their own shadow. As the weeks drifted by, Civilian burrowed further and further inside themselves, rejecting offers from Gloria to eat lunch, rejecting their mother’s requests to call or visit, rejecting drinks after work with the other members of their department.

It wasn’t that Jonathan broke their ability to trust anyone — it was the stubborn, naive belief that if Civilian chose to be alone then they weren’t lonely, that it didn’t count because it was self-imposed, a choice, a preference. And being around other people reminded them so sharply of feeling not alone that they couldn’t handle its absence once the night was over.

The whole thing was ridiculous, and Civilian berated themselves at each night for it. They were acting childish and silly. Jonathan was right: the only thing stopping them from having friends was their own fear. They could find a new job, move to a new city, find a place where Jonathan had never set foot in and build anew.

But they didn’t.

And six months later, the bank went under.

Ironically, the one thing Civilian needed to watch the news for, they had ignored in favor of a Buzzfeed shopping list. Their mom had sent a text with a link to a video and a series of question marks.

Isn’t this your bank????

The video explained how the entire board of directors had been arrested for fraud and embezzlement to the tune of billions.

Billions with a B.

After that number, Civilian’s attention went a little fuzzy. The explanation of the complex series of fund transfers and shell corporations and blah blah blah faded to the background as Civilian tried desperate to work out just how the hell Jonathan made it happen.

Over the weeks, each man screamed his innocence of course, but camera footage and witness testimonies — even ones from the other board directors, all eager to stab each other in the back — denied those claims. Each director passed a psych test with flying colors, despite their protests of their body moving with out their consent. It all looked very much like a bunch of disgustingly wealthy men got caught trying to illegally make themselves even more disgustingly richer.

After a certain point, Civilian could have spoken up about Jonathan, and no one would have believed them anyway.

It was the perfect crime and now Jonathan was walking out there will several billion dollars in his pocket and Civilian . . .

Well Civilian was now out of a job, living off a pathetic severance package, and trying to find a solution to their problem that did not involve moving back in with their mother.

It happened in the middle of the night. The ear-popping pressure of a powerful aura dragged them from sleep. In the soft darkness of their bedroom, they could just make out a shadowy figure looming over them.

In seconds confusion crystalized sharply into fear. Civilian’s hands dove under the pillow for the knife they kept there and yanked it out. Their hand froze in the air, gripped by invisible fingers Civilian knew all too well.

“Did you just pull a fucking knife on me?” The figure asked incredulously.

The familiarity of his voice hit them like a physical ache, like a thumb on a bruise.

“Jonathan?”

The lamp switched on, bathing the room in a dim glow. Civilian squinted and blinked against the sudden light. Standing there, eyebrows raised and dressed in all black, was Jonathan Anderson.

The knife gleamed between them. He glanced between it and Civilian and shook his head.

“You should give me that before you hurt yourself.”

He took the knife gently out of their forcibly relaxed fingers and set it on the nightstand, far out of their reach.

Their chest was a swirling maelstrom of too many emotions to count — joy and fear and anxiety and relief.

But most of all anger.

How dare he just show up after ten months of nothing.

“You should go fuck yourself,” they retorted, sitting up and swinging their legs over the side.

“Awww, Civilian, did I upset you by leaving?” He gave them a mocking frown. “Did you miss me?”

The truth of his words pierced them, sending a hot flush of humiliation up their neck.

“No, I did not miss you, you sick on of a bitch — ”

Jonathan bent down, cupping their face in his hands and cutting them off with a fierce, almost desperate kiss.

“I missed you,” he breathed. “So fucking much.”

Civilian’s heart pounded like thunder in their ears. How often did they daydream this kind of moment happening, and yet now that it was here, they couldn’t help but doubt it. It felt dangerous to believe it.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” they demanded. “For all I know, you could be here to kill me and — and tie up loose ends.”

Jonathan had the gall to laugh. “Where do you think we are — a mobster movie? Do you think I’m going to tie cinder blocks to your legs and throw you off the pier?”

“You wouldn’t need the cinder blocks to make sure I drowned,” they said mulishly. “You wouldn’t even need a pier. You could make me smother myself right now with my own pillow.”

Why they were arguing this, they had no idea. Perhaps stubbornly clinging to the belief that he didn’t care about them protected them from hope. Jonathan’s grin faded into something more somber as he studied them. Then he slowly sank down on one knee before them, putting him at just under eye level.

“Why would I come here to kill you after everything I’ve done to protect you?”

“Protect me? Is that what you calling taking off with no goodbye like I didn’t mean anything?”

“Tell me, Civilian, how suspicious it would have looked if I had stolen all that money and then skipped town? How many people would be scrutinizing the newest hire that suddenly disappeared and anyone who associated with him? How long before the Agency would come sniffing around, looking for someone with my skill-set, and find you and your glorious little secret? Hmm? Tell me.”

Civilian glared at him and his tight, unbeatable logic. How dare he make sense.

“Some warning would have been nice,” they said instead, crossing their arms. “I thought I had — that you ran because — ”

They couldn’t finish the thought, it was too embarrassing. How stupid they had been, obsessing over a silly kiss, when Jonathan was executing such grand larceny on an unheard of scale. Like he had even spared it a second thought.

He gave them a knowing, crooked smile. “You thought I took off because you kissed me and I flipped out.”

“No,” they lied. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” he agreed. “It’s the one thing that made it hard to leave in the first place. And I couldn’t let you know, in case someone did question you. You were my insurance, not my accomplice.”

The one thing that made it hard to leave. Staying angry at Jonathan was getting more and more difficult. Civilian tried to hold onto it, but it slipped through their fingers like an eel.

“So the bank . . .that really was you?” they asked.

This time his smile widened into a full smirk. “Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“Beautiful? It fucked over a lot of people — including me! I’m out of a job now, you prick.”

He shrugged. “People will move on just like they always have. As for you . . .that’s why I’m here.” He reached out and traced the pad of his thumb down their jawline. “To spirit you away.”

Civilian fought and failed to hold back a shiver at the light touch. “You mean kidnap me.”

“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t volunteer for it,” he said. “You’re being very stubbornly angry with me. You must have missed me quite a bit.”

They swallowed thickly. “I hate you,” they lied.

He smile, soft and gentle, his thumb swiping over their bottom lip. “You wish you did.”

Civilian’s pulse fluttered. They wanted very badly to kiss his thumb, his hand, anywhere they could reach. “And where would you take me?” they whispered instead.

Jonathan turned his hand so the back of his knuckles brushed over their cheekbone. “Where do you want to go? I have more money than God, Civilian. We can go anywhere in the world and disappear and never have to look over our shoulders again. What say you to that?”

“What happens if I say no?”

As tempting as his offer was, they had to ask the question, regardless. His answer determined everything.

“You will never have to see me again,” he said, taking his hand away. “And I will find a way to anonymously give you enough money to do whatever you wish in a way that can’t be traced. With me or without me, you will have the same freedom from the Agency that I do. I had planned for that for a long time.”

Whatever resentment for their months alone evaporated in an instant. This time Civilian took his face in their hands and kissed him, long and fierce.

“Take me to Greece first,” they said. “I want to see the ruins.”

Taglist: @those-damn-snippets@heroes-villains-side-blog@anonymousewrites@follow-me-into-the-fog@sunnyside-world, @rivalriotrenegade@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room@midnightsillusions@villain-obsessed-word-nerd@deflated-bouncingball @pickleking8 @cesspitoflove@to-sneak-away-and-hide@im-a-wonderling@hasel-anne@ghostly-writer@moonknight-s-cumdump@valiantlytransparentwhispers@galactic-squiddo@boomimhere@organizedchaos03@dungeon-roomba@vidiaka@powerflower119 @cbiom @meltedgallium@skevethefool@sarcasticlittlebook@lisapicklemagick@dragonfirephoenixflame, @royalmuffinsworld@sillypeachduck

[obscurehistoricalinterests]

'Sisi' was a terrible empress. Her romanticization needs to STOP.

In more recent decades, Elisabeth has received a growing attention in pop culture: there are several series, films and even a musical paying tribute to her legend. Her beauty is admired, her trials and tribulations are pitied, her struggle to escape the chafing constraints of royal life is celebrated. There's a whiff of feminism surrounding her lately - a strong, intelligent woman, metaphorically, and if we take the film Corsage, even literally flipping off the patriarchy. She's galloping through forests barefoot, she's facing off her tyrannical mother in law, she's fighting for her freedom, for control over her own life. German writer Karen Duve goes as far as to call Elisabeth "an undiscovered feminist icon." 

But... was she? One of her ladies in waiting once said that Elisabeth will "live on in legend, not in history". And right she was. You see, Elisabeth has triumphed. When I look around, it seems as if we see her exactly as she would have wanted us to. A tragic heroine, a beautiful apparition, a nymph who somehow got trapped in the mortal realm, to her immense suffering. And for a modern woman,  there is much to empathize with in Elisabeth: her sublime sensitivity, her iron self-discipline, her headstrong character, her inborn thirst for freedom. But upon lifting the starry veil of this ethereal fairy-tale queen, one will find the face of a much more complex, flawed and ultimately human woman. Self-obsessed and narcissistic, monstrously selfish and possessive, cruelly indifferent to her empire (with one all-consuming exception), incessantly self-victimizing and deeply, deeply unhappy - overwhelmingly through her own fault.  

[scotianostra]

On 15th September 1773 the emigrant ship “Hector” arrives in Pictou Harbour on Nova Scotia carrying 189 Highlanders, most loaded two months earlier in Ullapool.

Although they were not the first Scots to arrive in North America they were the vanguard of a massive wave of Scottish immigrants to arrive in what is now Canada. In the century following the landing of the Hector more than 120 ships brought nearly 20 000 people from Scotland to the port of Pictou. By 1879 more than ninety-three percent of the region’s rural property owners had Scottish names.

Ironically, very few of the Hector people stayed on the Pictou Plantation. They had been cruelly deceived by the shipping company that brought them out to Nova Scotia. The land was not ready for settlement as promised and supplies for the coming winter were meagre. Most of them moved on to settled parts of the province leaving an intrepid handful of their countrymen to fend for themselves in an uncultivated wilderness.

The Hector was owned by two men, Pagan and Witherspoon, who bought three shares of land in Pictou, and they engaged a Mr John Ross as their agent, to accompany the vessel to Scotland, to bring out as many colonists as they could induce, by misrepresentation and falsehoods, to leave their homes.

As they were leaving, a piper came on board who had not paid his passage; the captain ordered him ashore, but the strains of the national instrument affected those on board so much that they pleaded to have him allowed to accompany them, and offered to share their own rations with him in exchange for his music during the passage. Their request was granted, scrolling through various passenger lists I have found out the Piper was more than likely a man called William McKay.

All those travelling that were aged over 8 were required to pay full fare for the passage, those between 2 and 8 were charged half fare under 2’s were free. It was bad enough that they were conned with the promise of land in Canada but conditions on board the Hector were said to be horrendous, the ship was barely sea worthy and has been described as a crumbling wreck. I can’t find any mention of how may survived the 11 week journey or how the passengers were related to one another it was a nine week journey over the Atlantic, Smallpox and dysentery took their toll on the infants and children on board. In all, eighteen died at sea, I think by that they mean 18 children, poor things. By the time the rotting hulk landed, people were picking at the planks to find worms to eat.

On arrival about all that they seen was the dense forest grew down to the water’s edge as far as the eye could see.

The unfamiliar customs and appearance of the natives inhabiting the area so terrified the settlers that they remained on board for two days despite their desire to walk again on dry land. Finally, on September 17, 1773, dressed in full Scottish regalia, with all pageantry of their kilts and the pipes, they went ashore

The “Hector” pioneers faced extreme difficulties during their first year in the New World, but with the development of a lively timber trade with Scotland and the finalising of land grants, conditions improved and the development of what is now Pictou County was under way. The land was rich, the rivers and oceans plentifully stocked with fish, and the timber of high quality.

Pics are of a stamp issued in 1973 to mark 200 years since the crossing and the Hector replica at Pictou. The Hector Heritage Quay is one of Nova Scotia's major cultural tourist attractions. The Hector is a full-sized replica of the original ship. A Highland Homecoming, a celebration of the strong Scottish spirit, takes place on-site every September. and kicking off today.

You can find all the details on their FB page here https://www.facebook.com/shiphector/

[imgeekgirlfan]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VII]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: You start a new life on the planet Olega with the man you love. If your life were a novel, this would be the happy ending. But fate never lets you rest. One day, you find yourself facing three unfamiliar Jedi, and one of them, a Jedi Knight named Yord, captures your attention in an inexplicable way.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : Since there are more chapters now, if you don’t want to miss any updates, you can ask me to add your username for notifications whenever a new chapter is posted. Just let me know in a reply, and I’ll make sure you’re included in the next update.

ps. I'll be in Singapore for the F1 from this Thursday until next Tuesday, so I'll pause updating my fic for one week. I hope you can wait patiently.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

[Episodes 7] It is impossible to live in the past, difficult to live in the present, and a waste to live in the future.

It’s often said that the safest place is also the most dangerous one. 

Perhaps that’s why Qimir chose to remain hidden on Olega, despite it being home to the Jedi Temple, a major stronghold of the galaxy’s peacekeepers.

For most people, there was no reason to fear the Jedi, who were meant to protect them from harm. But that wasn’t the case for you. You remembered well what Qimir had told you: the Jedi were looking for you, too. Even though their exact motives remained unclear, the sense of paranoia never left your mind. Especially after the massacre on Tatooine, you and Qimir felt like fugitives—always just one step away from being caught if any evidence linking you to the crime surfaced and exposed your secret.

You hated being here. Given a choice, you would have fled to some remote planet at the edge of the galaxy. But Qimir had different ideas. “Most of those who know about your bounty are outlaws or trade federations. Neither group gets along with the Jedi, so they won’t be snooping around places where Jedi gather,” he reasoned. “And the Jedi? They’re too preoccupied with galactic affairs to pay much attention to the planet they’re on. Besides, you don’t have the Force, so finding you would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

Qimir wasn’t wrong. Life on Olega had turned out to be unexpectedly peaceful. Despite the city’s persistent chaos, it made hiding much easier. You and Qimir had managed to stay under the radar for over a year without major problems. Everything had settled so seamlessly that you almost forgot what it was like to be on the run from other planets.

With no need to keep moving, Qimir had shifted from his life as an illegal mercenary to opening a modest pharmacy. He also worked as a broker, selling medicines and various odds and ends to travelers passing through. Meanwhile, you had taken on the role of his assistant and personal apprentice. Qimir was dedicated to teaching you both the theory and practice of his knowledge, especially in combat. He also encouraged you to continue developing your powers rather than suppressing them as you had before. Like your mother, Qimir believed your abilities were too valuable to be wasted.

“Haven’t you ever thought,” Qimir once said, “that someone like you could rise to replace the Jedi one day? With your power, you could bring far more to the galaxy than they ever could.”

His words seemed absurd, like a far-fetched joke meant to tease you. You laughed every time, confident that such a thing would never happen.

Never getting involved with the Jedi, no matter what, had always been your rule for survival.

But sometimes, fate can be cruelly ironic, and this was a joke that wasn’t amusing at all.

That's what occurs at noon on a Friday—one of fate's cruel jokes when you unexpectedly find yourself face-to-face with a group of Jedi.

It all takes place at Qimir’s pharmacy on a day he isn’t around. Lately, he has been disappearing more frequently—sometimes for two or three hours, or even the better part of a day—claiming he has business to attend to involving herbal shipments from other planets. As a result, you’re left to run the store in his absence, handling the medicines and assisting customers as usual.

But everything changes the moment the shop’s bell rings and the door swings open. Brilliant sunlight floods the store, heralding the arrival of three strangers you’ve never seen before.

One of them is a teenage theelin-human hybrid girl, with paper-white skin adorned with spots and orange hair with small horns encircling her head like a crown. The other two are human men—one middle-aged, with long black hair tied in a half-ponytail, his face stern and serious; the other younger, with sharp features, sun-bronzed skin, and a tall, muscular frame, likely not much older than you.

They couldn’t be more different from each other, except for their identical attire. They’re dressed in light yellow tunics, covered by long brown robes, and each wears a large belt with the unmistakable emblem of the Jedi Order.

Jedi—The realization hits you like a bolt of lightning the moment your eyes land on their belts, and you instinctively draw in a sharp breath.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt, composing yourself with practiced ease. Lifting your head from behind the counter, you address them with a polite, businesslike smile. “How may I assist the three of you today?”

The older man, likely a Jedi Master, introduces himself with courtesy as Sol, while the young girl, his Padawan, is named Jecki. The other young man, a Jedi Knight, is introduced as Yord. “We’re here on a mission,” Sol informs you, his voice laced with concern. “We’re investigating a serious incident that occurred in this city.”

You have no idea what serious incident he’s referring to or how severe it must be to involve the Jedi. For a moment, your mind jumps to the possibility that it might be connected to you—until Jecki explains further, warning you to keep the information strictly confidential.

It turns out that the serious incident is a series of murders currently happening on Olega. Four bodies in four months—each victim a high-ranking Jedi responsible for overseeing the temple here.

"Since the incident is still recent, the killer might be someone who just moved here or snuck into the city illegally," Sol continues. "There are many of these types around the spaceports, which is why we need to increase security in those areas to ensure the safety of the citizens."

You can tell Sol's words hold only a half truth. The Jedi aren't particularly concerned about the lives of citizens since the killer's targets are not random people but specifically high-ranking Jedi.

The presence of the three Jedi at the pharmacy today is no coincidence. As a newcomer here, you're automatically placed among the suspects, though none of them have the nerve to say it outright to your face.

Understanding this, you begin to relax a little. After all, you have nothing to do with these murders, so there's no reason to worry. You just need to play along with the Jedi's charade until it's over.

Sol, the group's leader, takes charge of questioning you, with Jecki also taking part in the interrogation. Most of their questions are basic: had you noticed anything strange or seen any unusual people recently? They also delve into your personal history—your identity, background, and reasons for ending up on this planet.

You respond naturally, mixing truth with lies, careful not to arouse suspicion. You're confident in your ability to act convincingly—that is, until you sense the sharp gaze of the one Jedi in the group who hasn’t said a word.

You furrow your brow, the intense scrutiny from the Jedi named Yord making you increasingly uncomfortable. You try to ignore him, but there's something inexplicably magnetic about his presence—an instinctive urge that draws you to meet his gaze.

At first, you think he's trying to catch you in a lie, but when you see his expression, you're surprised.

He’s not scrutinizing you for deception—he’s staring at you in shock, as if you’re some kind of ghost.

As you peer deeply into his brown eyes with curiosity, time seems to stretch unnaturally long. You find yourself not looking at the present but plunging into the past. Every moment flashes before your eyes like pages of a book flipping by—one year, ten years, a hundred years, up to a thousand years.

Suddenly, your consciousness is yanked back to the present. You startle as your entire body trembles with the icy chill sweeping over you. Pain surges through you like a jolt of electricity, followed by the sticky sensation of blood trickling from your nose.

You know exactly what’s happening. The side effects of your vision are punishing you for seeing what was not meant to be seen.

Closing your eyes, you take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady yourself and acclimate to the pain. As your senses return, you hear Sol’s concerned voice. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine," you quickly reply, shaking your head while wiping the blood from your nose with a handkerchief. You feign composure, even though the lingering pain continues to gnaw at you from within.

Sol looks at you with disbelief, but he doesn’t press further. His face betrays concern, and you can’t help but think how fitting he is as a Jedi. His every gesture screams 'purity' If goodness had a color, this man would be the brightest white—so blinding it hurts to look at.

The awkward silence breaks as Sol clears his throat, returning to the topic at hand. “We still don’t have any more leads on the perpetrator, other than the fact that they’re highly skilled with weapons—probably a former soldier or maybe...” He trails off, as if he almost let something slip, but catches himself just in time. "Anyway, if you find any suspicious leads, don’t hesitate to contact me or any other Jedi.”

You watch as Sol places a thin metal card on the counter before bidding you farewell with the classic phrase, "May the Force be with you." He and the other Jedi then leave the pharmacy quietly.

You reach for the card, running your fingers along its cold metallic edge. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s an electronic contact card, storing his information. The front clearly reads, ‘Sol, Human, Jedi Master.

For a brief moment, you consider throwing it far away, but something compels you to tuck it into your pocket instead.

The sun slowly sinks, signaling the approach of evening. Hours have passed, but you're still lost in thought, pondering the group of Jedi you encountered—especially Sol’s story of the horrifying Jedi murder case. Though it has nothing to do with you directly, you can't shake the unease creeping into your mind. It's an inexplicable feeling of foreboding, devoid of any logical reason, as if instinct itself is whispering from deep within, warning you to be cautious. Yet you have no idea what or whom you should be wary of.

And then, there's another matter weighing heavily on your mind—the Jedi Knight named Yord.

His name has settled deep into your thoughts, etched onto your lips. A strange sense of familiarity fills your chest, as though you’ve known him before, despite seeing his face and hearing his name for the first time today.

How odd you think, fragments of a past you can barely recall flicker in your mind, disjointed and unclear. You want to focus your power on a vision, to delve deeper into the memory, but your body is too frail. It would only bring more pain. All you can do now is predict the hazy path of the future, as far as your bruised mind will allow.

You close your eyes, adjusting your breathing to a slow, steady rhythm. You let your mind sink into the stream of consciousness of possible futures.

There’s a ninety percent chance.

Certainty rises inside you—the answer you seek will come when you meet him again... soon.

The Bene Gesserit meditation gradually envelops your mind, nurturing it with such calm and a cold, almost numb detachment. Your fingers gently brush against the knife hidden in your cloak, recognizing that it may become necessary if things spiral out of control.

You step toward the front door of the shop, hand reaching for the handle, but a sudden hesitation grips you, freezing you in place.

A moment of silence surrounds you. You feel like a fish swimming towards a hook, drawn into a dangerous situation you shouldn't be involved with. The closer you get, the harder it becomes to turn back.

But in the end, you open the door anyway.

You stand there, waiting for something to happen. It doesn’t take long before someone grabs your arm, pulling you swiftly into the narrow alley beside the shop, hidden from the bustling street.

Your back hits the wooden wall of a nearby house—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to knock the wind out of you. You look up, meeting Yord's eyes with a calm expression, showing no sign of surprise. You know he is waiting for you, just as you are waiting for him.

“Be careful. You’re in a place you shouldn’t be,” he warns in a firm voice. “Get out while you still can.”

That’s all he says before releasing your shoulder and quickly walking back to the street, disappearing into the crowd while you stay still, watching his broad back in the yellow Jedi uniform fade from view.

In that moment, it's as if a veil of uncertainty is lifted, revealing a truth you had suspected before.

You are certain now. That Jedi can see the future—just like you.[1]

Footnotes:

[1] In Star Wars canon, some Jedi can see the future, but only a few—usually masters with strong Force abilities like Yoda (though as he got older, his visions became less reliable). You can see that Jedi powers and the Bene Gesserit abilities are somewhat similar (because Dune inspired Star Wars). However, in this fic, the author wanted to create a special distinction between the Reader (who is a Bene Gesserit) and the Jedi, so regular Jedi can’t have visions like the Reader. Yord’s case is unique and will have significant importance to the plot later on.

[romanoffsbish]

I Still Can’t Fucking Breathe…

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

I Can’t Breathe

Requested 🥺 | Avoid this fic if you know you won’t fair well with “vivid” imagery

Warnings: Heavy on the past Self Harm/Current Temptations(Indulgences—ED/Physical stimuli—Cold Bath), Blood, Overall Numbness, Ideation. Ends happy, and this one shows the Reader saving themselves a bit 🥹 | 3,082 Words

Numb—A state of mind that is all consuming. Feeling anything at all is next to impossible. The thing about it too, is that it never goes away; it can be dulled, buried even, but in the silence it always finds a way to creep back in.

—————

For almost two years now you'd managed to evade its cold grasp, but after the fight you had with your girlfriends, and their disappearance immediately after for a month long mission, you find yourself back where you'd started. Thoughts of how the world would be brighter without you consume your mind whenever you have the energy to think, and when you don't all you can do is stare mindlessly at the door.

Everyday you lose more of your fight to stay, the lack of Natasha's comforting humming to put you to sleep has left you perpetually tired, and without Wanda's cooking you're starving. Pathetic is all you feel at the prospect of not being able to even exist without them here; it accompanies the numb well, because you cycle between fits of sobs, and dissociative episodes.

Two weeks of mindlessly existing went by in a blur, everyday you spent even more time in the bed, in unchanged clothes that reeked of musk. Trudging down the stairs had become a chore, one that seemed unnecessary when you knew the women you loved weren't coming back yet.

Your mind cruelly reminds you that it might even be permanent, flashes of their faces full of disappointment plague your mind all day long.

It's funny really—if only you could laugh...

You honestly can't remember why the three of you fought at all, it's all irrelevant now though. Nothing matters, no rational thought process is going to bring you out of your current spiral. Finding a cause for it will have no effect here... Natasha and Wanda's return is the only way you see this coming to an end, well, you also envision other ways but those come with a permanence that you're honestly unsure of.

Death has been a potential occurrence that you'd welcomed since your early adolescence. Memories of lying awake while your parents fought over God knows what echo in your mind as you ironically lay in this bed in total silence. A childhood spent fighting to survive breeding an adulthood where said concept was all but played out. Fighting everyday just to reach the end of your youth to find it doesn't get better. All you do now is scrape by with more burdens.

However, every time you feel those burdens weighing you down you remember that you had two people who were rooting for you to push back. Even with your doubts on if they still want you or not, a tiny part of you still holds onto hope that they do, and that's all that seems to be keeping you from the edge.

It'd been an entire sixteen hours since you last left your bed, every muscle in your body ached as you failed to utilize them, and there was also this really intense pressure on your bladder. Still, you generally found yourself unmoving, but then the air kicked on and you were aware of the stench you were apparently exuding.

Shockingly enough you were repulsed so badly by your own stench that you now found yourself standing still in the bathroom while the tap runs freezing cold water into the tub. Your lovers paid the bills, but in your mind you were undeserving of the hot water they funded. Cold water was a punishment you were worthy of, and so you entered the tub without a shiver; you didn't deserve to express your discomfort.

You watched the spout with an unwavering intensity, observing as the droplets of residual water fell about every forty five seconds. The minuscule sound of them rippling into the water reminding you of the way the crimson droplets of the past used to drip onto the tile flooring from your arms. Temptation is at its absolute precipice here, but then you start to see flashes of them with every single drip...

Drip...

The flash of crimson against a murky yellow tile fades from your mind fast. It's replaced by Wanda's smiling face and calm voice., "You're stronger than your thoughts are detka..."

Drip...

Your lip quivers as you see the oozing marks on your arms, too deep for your own patching up, you felt that familiarity; cold. When you blink you're quickly thrown into another memory. Natasha's arm is over your abdomen as she hums and smiles down at you, your attention slowly shifts to the opening door to see Wanda with a tray of food, and a wide grin; warmth.

Drip...

"Moya lyubov', I'm so proud of you.," Natasha cheers while placing soft lips to your faded scars before pulling you into a tight hug.

The last memory had felt so real, your wet body trembling as it imagined the pressure of a hug. Tears now befell your cheeks, but this time they were different as you now felt a glimpse of hope for the first time in two weeks. Their love was everything to you, and it was what guided you out of the cold tub, and what allowed your fingers to drop the untainted blade into a bin.

—

Natasha was thrashing about in the hotel bed, her mind wandering back to the night they left. Nothing felt right in her chest when she thinks of how sad you looked when they left in a huff. Angry words were muttered in the heat of the moment over shit that held no significance. Everyday that went by on this no contact mission led to a deepening sense of dread for the both of them. So much so that the top agent willing broke Shield protocols for you.

They tried to use a pay phone to call you, but you expectantly didn't answer, and they've been feeling even more uneasy ever since. Calling anyone else would've given themselves away, but now that she's staring at the ceiling of this dingy hotel room she reasons it would have been the smart thing to do regardless.

"I feel this tightness in my chest Natasha...," Wanda winces as she sits down beside her., "Something's wrong, and I'm not going to just ignore this and stay here two more weeks."

Natasha only nodded, hers was more akin to a deep pit in her stomach, but it was a definite sign that this mission was to be abandoned., "Let's go home.," she extended her hand out for her love, then guided her out to the incognito jet that was already holding their belongings.

—

It wasn't much—you knew that, but you were actually proud of yourself for being here at all.

Stood in the kitchen, dressed in Nat's sweats, and Wanda's oversized t-shirt you stared warily at the egg that was sizzling in the frying pan. Days had gone by since you last ate, so it was a daunting challenge to eat at all at this point. Fears of throwing it back up as your body is prone to retaliating against you in such ways consume your entire being leading you now to the safest bet you have—an unseasoned egg.

The crackling over the stove leaves your tired mind a bit preoccupied as the front door creaks open. Natasha enters first, followed quickly by the frantic witch who's heart momentarily settles at the sight of you cooking some food. The peace doesn't last long though when she fails to hear your thoughts, the emptiness in your head a frightening bout of deja vu.

Last time you were this calm they nearly lost you, and that wasn't a reality ever worth facing.

Natasha clued in to your state as well, her eyes roamed your body, taking notice of the way you had clearly thinned out in such a short time. Adding onto that the way you left your hair a sopping mess, and the lack of length on your nails she knew you'd been here suffering alone.

The women shared a moment of sorrowful eye contact, the witches lip trembling, but the former assassin shook her head—not now... Wanda nodded, then the pair made their way over to your rigid form, and as softly as she could Wanda laid her hand over your very own.

"Detka.," her word was a whisper that drew an audible whimper from your throat., "It's okay."

It wasn't really, you all knew that, but you all also knew that now that you're all together again that it would be fine eventually, and well quite frankly that had to count for something because if not, you were all left with nothing.

"Come here love, let me handle your hair...," Natasha coo'd in your ear as she gently guided you out of the kitchen and up to your room., "Sit down at the vanity for me please detka.," her voice was soft as ever so that she wouldn't startle you, she even smiled at you too for good measure, and though you couldn't return it just yet she saw the gratefulness within your orbs.

Natasha entered the bathroom with the intent to collect your brush, along with a variety of products for your hair and skin. The mess on the floor was overlooked completely as she rummaged around, but she stopped in her tracks when the lights reflected off something. Her hands trembled as she dropped the products in the sink before reaching for the trash can by the door., "Please, no, no, no..."

The truth became clear as she lifted the metal from the trash, a few tears fell from her eyes at the reality of what they were dealing with here. Thoughts of what could've become of you sends her tumbling to her knees, choking back her sobs because you didn't need more burdening, a tear falls atop the blade, and that's when she notices how easily it cascades off the metal.

The closer she observes the piece she realizes that there were no traces of blood on it, and no uncleaned stains along the tiles or sink either. It's enough to stop her tears, but the damage to her heart and psyche had already been done. The Russian rushes out of your joint bathroom, the need to be with you imminent, and when she finally reaches you she feels the need to hug you tightly, but she fears it might be too much too soon for you to handle.

Natasha set a hand on your shoulder, a clear yet non startling sign to you that she returned., "I'm going to blow dry your hair, then I'll put it up in a bun.," you shook your head., "Braids?," she tried again, and to her relief you nodded. The redhead went slowly, her hands gentle as they tousled through your wet locks, moving the hair around to aide the machine drying it.

After the hair was faintly damp she began to separate the strands meticulously, her eyes double focused as she caught ever tick of your face as she worked to tightly braid your hair. There was a ghost of a smile on your face when she scratched at your scalp affectionately, and her heart fluttered in her chest at the first sign of you coming back to them., "All done love."

"Detka, can I take your hoodie off please?," you looked at her warily, but eventually nodded., "Thank you.," she smiled softly at you even though her mind was screaming at her to hurry and make sure you were okay. At the sight of your unmarred skin she knew you were, her shoulders tension instantly eased up. Once you were slyly assessed Nat went into the hallway to collect her favorite hoodie from the dryer., "Arms up.," she gently commanded, and then she smiled when you groaned appreciatively.

"Now what?," she was shocked to hear your voice this soon, there was an obvious scratch to it from being inactive for several days, but it didn't effect the way she nearly burst into tears at hearing you speak., "Whatever you need.," the tears nearly won out though as she reached out to cup your cheek and you didn't evade her.

"C-can we please cuddle?," you looked at her with the most pitiful gaze, there was an air of embarrassment in them that left her a bit unsettled, but she still took your initiation of physical affection as a good sign that you were headed in the right direction., "Of course moya lyubov', sounds absolutely heavenly to me."

Natasha laid down first, pulling back the blanket she gave you all the autonomy here. Because though she was desperate to hold you, she also knew you were in a fragile headspace. She watched carefully as you slumped into a prominent dent in the mattress, her arms were now resting besides her body in wait for you. Without any words you used your hands to guide her flat onto her back, then after laying atop of her with your head over her chest you squeezed her arm., "Please hold me Natty."

Strong arms wrapped around your body in an instant, her hand was now resting over your head to hold you in place while she hummed along to your most favorite of her lullabies., "Sweet dreams pretty girl...," her hands never stopped rubbing calming circles into your back, and it wasn't long before you were snoring.

It wasn't until an hour later that Wanda quietly entered your shared bedroom., "What is it?," the witch lifted the tray into her lovers eye line, while hers fell to your currently relaxed face., "How long has she been out for Nat?," the redhead murmured her response of an hour while moving to rouse you awake, but Wanda reached out to stop her so she could do it.

"My sweet girl, time to wake up for me please.," her arms wrapped around your body as you shifted ever so slightly, she lifted you from Nat's body and settled you in her lap instead., "I brought you lots of different options honey, we know you're scared, but please try to eat."

Natasha was sat before you with the tray, she playfully waved food before your face to feel it out, her eyes watched your face for the slightest bit of intrigue, and she found that the apple dipped in peanut butter and yogurt chips seemed to win you over., "Here love.," you softly munched on the snack while instinctively l settling deeper into Wanda's embrace, and missing the way the pair were staring at you.

"How about these cucumbers in ranch, hm?," you allowed her to feed this one to you, your heart soon fluttering back to life at the sight of her emotionally charged smile, and also at the feel of Wanda's soft lips against your hairline., "Can you eat a little more for me angel?," you nodded against her chest, then accepted a few more bites of the varying foods until you knew you'd reached your bodies ultimate limit.

As Natasha carried the tray down to the kitchen Wanda continued to hold you close, rocking you in an attempt to soothe your soul. It had even appeared to be working when she felt your breathes evening out, but then she heard you gasping, and it was near painful for her to see you breaking down so candidly.

"I-I'm sorry.," her entire body froze as you not only spoke, but you felt the need to apologize., "No, detka we're the sorry ones here. We not only yelled at you due to our misguided anger, but then we left you all alone without so much as an apology or even a bit of reassurance."

"You didn't deserve that my sweetest love.," her lips tenderly pressed against your tear soaked cheeks., "So please don't apologize to us.," she then laid you down in the middle of the bed., "Let us apologize to you instead, we'll make it up to you, I promise...," her forehead was now pressed to yours, and your heart was cracking as her tears mixed with yours on your cheeks.

"We will, and we just hope you'll forgive us.," Natasha softly adds as she enters the bed, and masterfully pulls the both of you closer to her., "You're our entire world detka, the most precious thing we've ever called ours, and we will never leave you alone like this ever again."

"Nat—.," Wanda kissed your lips to cut you off., "She means it detka, no more joint missions, the promise isn't a fable—it's the truth, because if anything were to happen to you we wouldn't survive Y/N.," her voice cracked, and a steady stream of her tears befell your cheeks again. "Losing you would be devastating for us detka."

"I-I'm not going anywhere.," you sounded so small, like a meek little worker bee trying to impress the queen, but there was also a small flash of determination in your eyes that was caught by the both of them as they adoringly looked at you., "I promise I'm here to stay."

"Thank you detka, for fighting to stay, we know it's hard, but we're so freaking proud of you.," Wanda's lips lovingly pressed to yours, she just needed to feel the familiar touch she desired., "So gosh damn proud love.," Natasha agreed before taking her own chance to kiss you.

Neither of them stayed on your lips for long, they didn't want to overwhelm you at all, but fortunately for them you seemed content with the affection as you sighed softly and smiled softly as you melted back into the mattress.

There was no overnight fix for you here, they both knew that come tomorrow you'll be back in a vulnerable state, but the only difference is they will be there for you when you awake numbed. Natasha will be there to rock you in the morning when you wake up crying, and again at night, as she sings to you for as long as you need to fall asleep, and Wanda will be your hands as she bathes you, and feeds you when you can't manage to do the tasks on your own.

They'll be there to love you back to life every day until being a person again comes naturally, because even just one moment of happiness with you is worth a hundred bad days to them.

—————

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

Of course I cried (a TBB S1 Retrospective and cry fest)

I finished S1 and it honestly is still stands really strong. While I love the other seasons more (for quite obvious reasons), S1 still has really standout moments and episodes such as the finale. Crosshair might be in is bad boy era, but he's still incredibly compelling.

What hurts to me most about S1 is this image above. This is the last time CF99 is all together. Ever. Obviously, we didn't know that and neither did our boys and Omega. Even if the Batch knew in-universe there was a chance that they would never see each other again, I think deep down they hoped they would reunite. I know Omega had hope that Crosshair would somehow find his way home.

What makes S1 (and the whole show in retrospect) even more tragic is that we will never see the BB whole ever again. It makes Tech's death hurt that much more because he and Crosshair never made proper amends. The last thing he hears Crosshair talk about is how everyone else is foolish for not joining the Empire and making his choice to stay. One of the last memories Crosshair really has of his brother is him pointing his blaster at him. After that, it's a one way ticket to suffering for Crosshair.

I know it's just a show, but images like the one above make me wish we had more time with the Batch before they were so cruelly torn apart from each other and it only enhances the tragedy they go through. The series finale, no matter how sunshiney it looks, is still bittersweet. The Batch finally get their freedom but at a great cost. Tech doesn't make it. Crosshair is still deeply hurting. It's a harsh reality that breaks my heart. In Rebels, we had 3 seasons of the Ghost crew together before we lost both Kanan and (temporarily) Ezra. The BB don't even get a single season all together. I would've loved to see them all with each other at least one more time without all the conflict.

But looking at S1 as a whole in general, I still really enjoy it. I love episodes like "Common Ground" or "War-Mantle" because we see how monstrous the Empire really is right out of the gate. Rampart, as goofy as that scream made him look, is a very crafty and entertaining villain who you just want to punch in the face. Crosshair himself is a fantastic villain who's both ruthless and tragic. While he doesn't hold back, the clear attachment he still has to his brothers in the back half of the season make the finale that much more emotional.

And while you can argue there is a lot of "filler," a rewatch proves that each episode happens for a reason. Why did the Batch have to capture a baby Rancor? So they could get info on Fennec. How come they stuck around to help Cid? Because she gave them money and work. I'm not saying that it's the most entertaining content we've seen, but there is a clear purpose for why those episodes happen.

I would've loved to see more Crosshair (for obvious reasons), but I do think the first season does balance out the story arcs well and when we do see him, he is always great. Thanks to the great music and acting from DBB, I do think the first season makes it clear that while Crosshair isn't leaving the Empire, he's not the same man he was pre-Bracca. The chip's influence isn't there (or at the very least severely diminished based on how you interpret Cross' reveal) and he does want them back but only on his terms.

As for the others, I definitely understand Hunter a bit more. He wants to help Crosshair, but he really doesn't know how nor does he want to endanger the others. I wish the group had a least one conversation about it though. For a group that feels like they should be very tight knit, it still feels like they brush Cross' departure off quite quickly. It's kinda like the Tech scenario in S3 where you know they're thinking about it, but nobody says anything. And that's frustrating because you know the Batch have a lot on their mind, especially Crosshair. And ironically, the quietist of the Batch is the most vocal about his feelings. Crosshair is so expressive and it's one of my favorite things about it.

Omega is such a cute munchkin. I adore her with every fiber of my being. She takes everything with stride and I love how S1 establishes many skills (like the hustling) that will later come into play in S2 or S3. And the show isn't afraid to show her learning process. Omega makes many mistakes, but she learns quickly and tries again. She loves her brothers so much.

Overall, S1 is still very strong and much more tragic in retrospect. I guess in someways, it reminds us how unfair life can be sometimes and that's why we gotta cherish each moment. Tech might no longer be with us, but he lives on through each of his brothers and Omega. Cross might never see him again, but as he tries to be better, Tech is no doubt smiling down from Clone Heaven.

Anyways, onto S2 (and more sadness). TBB lowkey is the most tragic of the SW animated shows not counting the Siege of Mandalore arc in CW. Every season, something awful happens to tear our little clone family apart. That's why the ending on Pabu, no matter the quality of writing, meant so much to me.

[outsidereveries]

old asks from curiouscat (15th july 2024 —19th july 2024)

15th July 2024

do you know if haseul from r u next is still training to become a kpop idol and is chanelle going to be one of the new fifty fifty members?

runext's haseul | ace of swords, 3 of swords rx, strength • 4 of swords

she's not trainee currently. she hasn't closed the door for becoming an idol though, she's resting for a bit.

chanelle | the hanged man, the fool rx, 10 of wands rx • 7 of cups

to be honest, i don't see her there, though someone else from r u next might debut there.. however i am not sure if that is actually true (apart from chanelle and youngseo, i mean)

can you reading for nct dream's upcoming comeback? what will the charts be like both in Korea and globally?

korea | ace of pentacles, temperance rx, the empress • 10 of pentacles

i'd say like usual, but might not chart that good. someone might comeback with them and do way better.

outside of korea | high priestess, king of wands, the sun • knight of swords

way better, might chart somewhere? i don't feel and see much :|

is yoongi mad about any of this situation? (hybe vs ador)

9 of cups, the devil rx, the hanged man, 5 of pentacles rx, page of swords, the emperor • 3 of pentacles

to him, it was time for hybe to fail too. somehow.

similar to namjoon, he also expected something to happen. maybe not between hybe and ador specifically, because he hears things from here and there and he seems to believe they're far worse than this public fiasco (i am calling it like that). he is finally relieved (won't say it public though) that hybe have a serious scandal like the majority of the companies because noone is perfect.

honestly, suga doesn't want to say much because he knows TOO MUCH. he listens and remembers for DECADES even if he doesn't want to and he actually told hybe to not test him.. more than once. i'd be really worried if he actually tells something publicly, because if he does, hybe might be really doomed.

he isn't mad. he feels mixed because he wanted hybe to have even more serious scandal, way more serious one. he questions himself was this the way hybe has to start to slip off. he wants them to suffer cruelly, way more than it's now. he hates the corporation as it is and really wants change in it. he hopes for min heejin to make it in the end because he doesn't want to ruin anyone's future when he returns, including bts' group future and he really knows it.

how do bts members feels about the hybe vs ador thing?

rm | the empress, justice, temperance • 10 of pentacles

he seems to be fully on min heejin's side. he judges hybe .. a lot. i'd say rm really expected them to fail, lol

jin | knight of pentacles, the lovers, wheel of fortune • the magician

jin told me a tea that i am allowed to share in the most uncensored way possible😱 so there was an intimate offer to min heejin and she actually refused to do it!! this seems to be additional information.. thanks to jin for the gossip🥰 (i am not ironic with the emojis, deadly serious)

so because jin knew this information, he expected something to happen and he isn't suprised. he also seems to be on her side because to jin min heejin has dignity unlike other people.

suga | strength rx, 5 of wands rx, the hanged man • 3 of swords rx

he seems to be extremely passive and .. very dissapointed. he didn't expected this to happen, especially from bang sihyuk. suga feels really mixed and doesn't know how to react properly.

j-hope | the devil rx, 9 of swords rx, the lovers • the magician

hoseok is trying to be optimistic. he hopes everything will die down in the end and both sides find a solution that will be satisfying for all of them.

jimin | knight of wands, 8 of swords, king of cups rx • 6 of swords

compared to suga, jimin feels even more betrayed. he knows how he feels though, he really regrets renewing his contract with bhm and hybe. he wants to focus on himself and move on. he doesn't want to see them again, at least currently.

v | page of pentacles, 4 of swords rx, strength • the hanged man

he expected it to happen, he was aware of how ador were treated compared to other companies. he believes in min heejin and he feels she'll win the battle in the end.

jung kook | knight of cups, king of swords, page of cups • the star

he tries to gather information about it through other people and doesn't have a specific opinion that is somehow set in the stone. jung kook know what's going on but not the exact details that will make him form his actual opinion.

overall, all members seem to be on min heejin's side despite jungkook's unfinished thoughts and suga/j-hope/jimin's mixed feelings and trying to be neutral or not saying as much as i personally expected. and the gossip jin allowed me to share publicly (allegedly, we don't know if this is true or not) made me shocked because he intuitively said to me to not censor myself and that he's fine with sharing it publicly😭✌🏻

is it possible that aespa will disband soon or their popularity will decrease and they will experience hate train again? or get involved in controversial events...

5 of wands rx, ace of cups, 9 of cups • 8 of cups

won't disband. their relevance seem to be stable enough. i doubt there'll be hate train or will get into scandals.

so roughly, when it comes to their popularity, everything seems to be okay as they have stable fandom.

will i’ll-it’s comeback be successful in korea and will their reputations be recovered or is it too far gone

queen of cups, judgement rx, the moon • 2 of wands

it seems to be pretty much gone. success-wise, i'll-it at its best will be talked quite negatively mainly because of their debut and belift/hybe's mistakes.

is YG happy with the results Babymonster gained so far?

the world, the tower, 5 of swords rx • 4 of pentacles rx

"it's not what we expected."

yge expected baemon to blew up in similar way to blackpink. comparing to treasure, yge are more frustrated.. so no. they're not happy.

does any member of newjeans knows about shifting and if they do, did any of them shifted here?

Minji | 3 of wands, 2 of pentacles, page of cups • 3 of pentacles

Hanni | 2 of swords rx, 9 of swords rx, 7 of cups • the high priestess

Danielle | 4 of pentacles, 5 of swords, 10 of swords • 2 of cups

Haerin | knight of pentacles, wheel of fortune rx, page of wands, ace of cups • ace of wands

Hyein | king of cups, the high priestess, king of wands rx • 6 of swords

all of newjeans seem to know about it (for minji this is quite fresh topic so she might've learned about it recently), to be honest but noone has allegedly shifted from another reality to this one or the opposite.

danielle seems to be extremely persistent to switch to elsewhere, she is extremely attached to this reality. the other members haven't thought about it, but seeing from the cards, they are leaning towards they'd prefer to stay here.

hanni on the other hand in other universes might've shfited (if our reality is no. 1, from reality no. 2 to reality no. 3 and etc.).

can I ask about how successful would Road to Kingdom 2 be with Taemin as a host?

the lovers rx, the tower, the world rx • 7 of pentacles

with one word, disaster. mnet should give up trying with similar shows at this point.

will aespa be able to continue its rising career in the same way?

3 of pentacles, page of cups, 7 of wands • temperance

i am not sure because of the company themselves. as of not, i doubt they'll continue to be as relevant as now.

can you share short reading about RIIZE Seunghan? 1. does sm have plans to bring back seunghan in riize? 2. what's delaying his return? 3. when are we possibly getting an update about seunghan? 4. are fan support projects for seunghan doing anything good?

1: 3 of pentacles, death, 3 of cups • the sun

yes. like cosmos said when they asked, around riize's anniversary. i see the same thing as them too (i am unaware of cosmos' pronouns, sorry, they're youtuber if someone's asking)

2: ace of pentacles, 10 of cups, 4 of pentacles rx, king of cups • 5 of swords rx

it's pretty much seunghan himself, he seems to want to do a suprise this time.

3: queen of wands, 4 of swords, 8 of pentacles • the hermit

as of now i doubt it will be before the period when riize's anniversary happens, it will be around that time.

4: the devil rx, 4 of cups rx, page of pentacles rx • 3 of swords rx

they are neutral. helping or not, it's .. blank. seunghan is very thankful for them, though.

how is the relationship between the ive members and starship ?

Yujin | 2 of wands, the tower • the emperor

basically, she communicates with starship the most. to yujin, they are extremely selfish. if she wants x, they'll make a offer y that will satisfy the company. i've learnt other things that i'll save to myself because they're extemely personal to yujin and i don't want to ruin anyone's image.

Gaeul | 5 of wands rx, 2 of pentacles • justice

i don't think they communicate that often. they talk when they have to.

Rei | death, 10 of cups rx • the fool

it seems that recently haven't talked much.

Wonyoung | knight of wands, strength rx • the lovers

so and so, could be better. same as yujin, i've learned things that i will save them to myself.

Liz | the emperor, the star • 3 of wands

she communicates with them through someone from ive (maybe yujin) and she feels optimistic for her solo path.

Lesseo | judgement rx, the moon rx • 3 of pentacles

similar as gaeul, they talk when they have to. recently the dynamics are way worse and starship'd prefer to talk with her only if it involve ive, like in emergency situations.

what is the possibility of fuko from iland 2 debuting soon?

the moon, 3 of pentacles, knight of cups • knight of swords

fuko seems to be independent as of now. there's a company that offered her a secure spot for upcoming girl group (like, coming in a few months). she hasn't decided yet whether she'll accept or not.

therefore, depends on her. if she accepts, almost 100% because something unexpected can always happen. if she rejects, i am not sure how much (like percents).

how the public views mai from izna during their debut?

depends on which outsiders.

korean: temperance, ace of swords, 10 of pentacles • the devil rx

currently they like her and can see why she will debut with the rest of izna. nothing much to feel and see this time😓

international: the sun, 8 of pentacles, 9 of swords rx • 6 of wands

they (will) like her, maybe a lot. she might have more solo gigs outside of korea, though.

does youngseo want to continue her idol life/return to the idol industry or has she given up? does she still keep in contact with any of the illit members?

[has she officialy gave up?] 3 of cups, 8 of pentacles, 7 of cups rx, king of cups rx • 10 of cups

she has given up, she lost hope and faith she'll succeed in this industry, especially when she turned against her former subsidiary. they watch her too obssesively..

therefore, i don't really believe she's trainee in another company. the 8 of pentacles though can turn into the opposite answer where youngseo is again in similar situation as she was in the past with belift/hybe but i really don't feel it. sorry :(

[communication with the rest of i'll-it] the fool, 7 of wands, 4 of pentacles rx, king of cups, 7 of cups, 3 of cups • 10 of cups

despite pretty much the optimistic cards, the king of cups (someone from belift) forbids i'll-it to communicate with youngseo. they want to talk with her like before, belift don't. however, youngseo also don't want to communicate with the group. so no, they don't.

can you do a reading about pledisngg about the members and their future success?

general check: queen of pentacles, the hermit, 3 of pentacles, knight of cups, wheel of fortune • 6 of wands

so far 2 trainees are more visible:

• queen of pentacles seem to be a visual who's into fashion (and money). i am unsure if she lacks vocal training but with the hermit next to her, she might lack it

• knight of cups seem to have similar vibe as blackpink's rosé when it comes to the idol life. she's here for all of it and loves to sing (and produce, and write the songs, this stuff).

apart from that, nothing much. it looks like pledis is aiming for female seventeen when it comes to self-producing

success: 8 of swords rx, king of swords, 5 of swords rx • the chariot

yes, it can be successful. i see the girls will manifest their relevance and popularity though.

will baemon release a successful song that lacks the yg aesthetic?

2 of cups, king of pentacles, 4 of pentacles rx • 7 of cups

when the founder steps out, sure. until then i don't think so..

17th July 2024

what's relationship between Sion (NCT Wish) and Ningning (aespa) or what do they think of each other?

the world, the star, king of penracles rx, 5 of wands rx • 3 of pentacles

they aren't close but sion wants to know her better. however, he seems to not have the greatest intentions with her and it'll be better for them to be strictly colleagues. when it comes to ningning, she seems uninterested to know him.

what will aespa's next Korean comeback after Armageddon be? concept, genre, lore, vibes, high notes and etc?

the moon, king of pentacles, the magician rx, judgement, 5 of swords rx • 5 of wands rx

when it comes to their next korean comeback, it won't be like aespa personally want. i see someone (king of pentacles) who will limit their comeback sound-wise.

their concept seem to be not polished but will rely on what they've doing after spicy era so far. i don't see the concept being "light" (i.e. spicy, better things), it looks like it'll be similar to drama mv-wise and sound-wise (comapred to supernova+armageddon, drama sticks waaay more).

for the hybe and ador controversy, how it’ll be affect seventeen for next? will they or pledis part ways?

how the drama influence 17: 5 of cups, the moon, 10 of pentacles, knight of swords, the devil rx • 5 of pentacles rx

the group are dissapointed from what the corporation has been doing and are uncertain of their future. they really believe it'll be better to enter into military at once as much as possible (except from the foreigners in the group as they're free in this case) and just not think about it. on the other hand, when it comes to money, that makes somehow the boys more greedier than expected because they're already thinking of their solo paths. it looks like the boys want to separate their way after their contract ends in any way, so for their desires to not continue they aren't influenced because of the situation, they wanted it anyways. they know their ceo isn't at fault and he's innocent compared to .. everyone else who's at fault. seventeen really believe they can negotiate everything for better amount that was planned by them.

seventeen's path and the drama's influence: the devil rx, 5 of pentacles rx, 6 of pentacles • king of cups

the boys are thankful for what pledis have done so far, but they believe now it's the time to move on with their individual desires and i feel they start to not believe the corporation enough, i.e. whatever hybe gave, they'll receive back.

pledis' path and the drama's influence: 2 of swords rx, ace of swords rx, strength, 4 of pentacles rx • justice

the company wants to separate from the corporation but are aware they rely on seventeen a lot (like how yge are with blackpink) and if they leave pledis and hybe, it makes their separation impossible. they are also aware that leaving might not benefit them currently also because they have to pay x amount for separating, so unless tws do decent too with the time, they'd prefer to not act.

which team in f1 next year will be on the top? is max verstappen’s still dominant for winning too?

i'll try to see indirectly the next top team: the magician, 4 of pentacles rx, 8 of pentacles • the hermit

the team is pretty much known. with the bottom card, i see the team not being red bull racing as they might do worse compared to the other with the most points in the future. my pendulum bets on mclarren.

red bull racing and how they'll do next year: 4 of cups rx, ace of cups, the fool • the world

the team will do like usual but will change some people in their team (including adrian newey) that will make other team/s do better. still, the team will be satisfied of how they're doing their job. i believe they'll still do well, so therefore the points they'll have might be closer to the teams that are better than them (allegedly).

do you think soobin will get solo project (like variety show or solo song or collab) this year? it looks like he's the only member in txt who doesn't have this year :(

the hermit rx, 9 of swords rx, 8 of pentacles rx • 7 of cups

soobin works on something.. pretty much alone. since 7 of cups is the bottom card of the deck, i am assuming he's currently learning the details of acting, like how to express himself properly and etc.

there might be something with the cards i am seeing, but i am yet unsure if he's just practicing or working on something while doing that at the same time, therefore i'm really unsure of the answer itself whether he'll have solo gig/s this year or not. sorry if it's not what you expected but soobin might be unsure either :(

19th July 2024

will KISS OF LIFE be more popular in Korea, internationally or both?

Local relevance: the lovers, 2 of swords, 4 of cups rx • the world

Might not be as relevant as desired at first in the future as they might do things that they will be done for the first time. When it comes to their popularity, KIOF should be cautious of their future actions as it might be good for the foreign places but not in Korea. They might not be as impactful as Hwasa years ago in the end.

Outside of Korea: judgement, knight of swords, 8 of wands • 7 of cups

This spread is a lot better. Based on what I see, KIOF will have cruicial moment that will make them popular internationally. They have the idols who can be relevant in variety shows in one way or another (I see especially Julie) and they can make it work outside of Korea.

In Korea it seems to be less likely to make it BIG in the end comapred to the foreign lands. KIOF also have the potential to do it there but .. it's yet to be seen if it can compared to BLACKPINK. Overall, internationally >> Korea.

[gojo-mochi]

Softy my dear! Please, I give you this star 🌠 in exchange for kissing Toji under the missile toad. Thank you for the surprise request opening & I hope you're having a wonderful holiday!

[She / Her are my pronouns 🩶]

Happy new year!!!! sorry it kinda late waHHH!

Idk why it got so….like that at the end … blame toji

You were snuggled neatly on Toji’s lap, head tucked under his chin, as he flicked through various TV channels. To your surprise, he lands on one of those cheesy Hallmark movies. He settles on the couch, pulling you back with him. An arm snugly wrapped around your waist, fingers softly tracing patterns on your hip, sometimes sneaking a thumb in your waistband and feeling the plush skin there. You thought this was like a ‘Netflix and Chill’ kind of excuse where you put on a shitty movie and pretend to pay attention. But somehow, Toji’s attention was fixated on the movie.

It was the normal storyline: a big city woman goes back home to her small country town and meets a local there. They butt heads but soon are forced to fight together against the big bad evil corpo that is threatening to ruin Christmas for the small town. Then, in the end, they fall in love, and the woman leaves the city to be with the small town guy. You were only a quarter through the movie, but every plot point was playing out like you expected. “Are you secretly a romantic or something, Toji?” You teased lightly, stealing some of the popcorn from the bowl and munching on it. Toji snorts, “I just like making fun of them; look at how stupid everyone is. Especially the female lead; I mean, she’s leaving a rich lifestyle for some country town snob.” Now, you really didn’t expect Toji to be that invested in this plot. He rolls his eyes as the male lead accidentally bumps into the female lead, causing them to topple on top of each other, looking longingly into each other's eyes.

Toji makes snide comments here and there, his hand fully making its way under your shirt at the halfway point of the movie, just keeping it there for warmth. You eventually settled in, enjoying your boyfriend’s warmth, the cheesy movie, and stealing most of the popcorn from under his nose. Toji’s hand goes to the popcorn bowl only to find it empty, and he turns to you with a small frown. “What happened to all the popcorn?” You shrugged with a mischievous grin. “Maybe the ghost of Christmas’s past got to it?” Toji narrows his eyes at you, grabbing your salt-covered hand and sticking your fingers in his mouth. "Hmm, you taste like a liar and a thief to me.” 

He purposely drools on your hand, his grip iron tight on your wrist, not letting you escape. “Ew! Toji! Stop that.” He only chuckles cruelly in response, pulling you in towards his chest and tickling your sides. You squirm and wiggle in his grasp, trying to escape, only to be pushed down on the couch with Toji on top. His hands are still glued to your sides, and fits of giggles bubble from your lips. Then both your attentions get torn back to the TV as the climax of the movie is reached and a loud and cheerful Christmas song is played as the two main leads are seen going for a kiss under a mistletoe.

Toji snorts, but an idea pops into his head as he watches the scene. He squishes your cheeks in his massive palm, making you pucker your lips together. “This is a fitting punishment for a thief like you." He leans in, his whole tongue sticking out as he licks your lips messily, chuckling at your whining and squirming. Shushing you with a proper kiss this time, his lips searing themselves to yours, his tongue coming out again to poke and prod its way into your awaiting mouth. Tasting the salt from the popcorn and some sweetness from the hot cocoa you were sipping on. He pulls away, leaving your face and lips a mess. Slick and shiny with his drool and spit all over your chin. He coos at you as he wipes away at your face, coating his hand in his own drool. 

“I think we can still use this somewhere else..”

[animeomegas]

Cooking ask anon here. Can I get your thoughts on the omegas that aren't all that good at cooking please?

Of course you can! I'll pick a few of the kitchen disasters for you hehe. I assume you mean MHA and Naruto?

Iruka:

He will burn the food and break the kitchen while he does it.

This will never change. Hopefully his partner is a good cook, or there will be a lot of takeaway ramen in this house.

Aizawa:

Can't cook and refuses to try.

The only thing he hates more than cooking is food shopping, so it's pretty hopeless for him.

He would live off of coffee, high calorie bars and jelly forever if you let him.

If push came to shove, he would be capable of using a rice cooker and boiling some vegetables competently. That's all.

Itachi:

At first, Itachi is a truly horrendous cook.

And he's a perfectionist so this stresses him out immensely.

Basically, when he first retires, he's very eager to get into the househusband role, and he truly wants to excel at it.

And while cleaning and organising is fine for him, cooking is a massive pitfall.

Itachi is lowkey salty that the one skill he's choosing to learn is something he's bad at. He hates killing people, but damn is he good at it. It feels cruelly ironic.

So he tries and he tries and he tries.

The food bill is so high for months because he just cooks and cooks and cooks until he can make some passable dishes.

He will throw a kitchen knife at his alpha if they try to eat any of his failed attempts. Everything must be perfect.

Eventually, he does learn, through sheer will and great effort. His food becomes pretty good, still in the average range for sure, but tasty and enjoyable!

Naruto:

No one taught him how to cook :(

And he never really got around to it growing up because he couldn't afford the ingredients and honestly he had bigger things going on.

And when he's finally an adult...

Why would he cook when he has money to pay for delicious restaurant food (Ichiraku ramen)???

He doesn't really seem to get why he should learn either???

He finds it boring and hard :(

Naruto does lavish praise on his alpha if they can cook though, he's so blown away by their skills, even if they're only average.

Todoroki:

Doesn't know how to turn an oven on.

If his partner meets him when they're both adults, Shouto will already have a cook for some days, and on the others days, he'll order food or eat out.

He really likes to watch his partner cook though, it's so relaxing for him and he'll heat or cool anything needed, quickly defrosting or reheating food at his partner's command.

He is also a very good student, so he learns to make both his and his alpha's favourite foods.

He still very much defaults to not cooking, but if his alpha ever said that they wanted him to cook, he would take it seriously and try his best for them.

And he would stand by the finished product like a puppy waiting to see if you like it and maybe hoping you'll praise him 🥺

[ariel-seagull-wings]

@themousefromfantasyland @the-blue-fairie @thealmightyemprex @piterelizabethdevries

"I've always been a big fan of Ke$ha. The music of her early years was like a gateway for me letting myself to like Top 40.

I was a huge fan of her aesthetic of this flagrant shameless image... it was fun, it let you feel like being broke and young and partying all the time was aspirational.

It felt like a pass not to care about the world. At least as long as her music was on.

But then, years pass and it comes out that all of those party girl songs were made during years of physical and emotional abuse by her producer, that the party girl image was a construct that she didn't really have control over and maybe even didn't really like.

And knowing that in a world where otherwise I would still play the hell out of those Ke$ha early years music, it just doesn’t feel the same anymore.

I want to go back to the way her music made me feel in 2010, just unapologetic and dumb and glittery, but even though I want to, I can't.

Because now I know the circunstances under which that music was made.

And if you watch a piece of media, had an emotional reaction, whatever it was, and then learned that the context involved a certain level of exploitation, it changes the way you view the media, wheter you want it to or not.

Maybe Harper Lee's old age and deteriorating mental state were exploited by her publisher, in order to knock out a quick sequel to an American Classic before the door closed.

Maybe Ke$ha's party-girl image was carefully crafted by a sexually abusive iron-fist producer who had 100% control of her public image.

Maybe a lot of the art you consume, or even that you love, only exists because a person or people, or an entire island nation, were exploited by more powerful business interests.

But, that's capitalism.

Profit driven exploitation doesn't always have the last word.

Ke$ha's still locked into a contract with the label that enabled her abuser, but at least he's not there anymore?

And there are elements of the Hobbit Law that are up for repeal now that Labour is back in power, particularly the bit about outlawing collective bargaining, which to me is the most heinous part.

But these are only half measures, particularly the Hobbit Law repeal, which itself is no guarantee. I reached out to several people affiliated with the various New Zealand film guilds, but none are making comments to the media about the law until the law gets repealed.

If it does get repealed...

If you discover that a brand or company, like a bank or something, did something bad or unethical, it isn’t surprising. People just kind of shrug and go, yep that's how banks roll.

And maybe you'll close your account and go to a different bank, but the reality is that you probably don't care enough to even do that much, because unethical multinational corporations doing terrible things to people in the name of profit is just, kind of, the world.

You don’t have the brain space to care about all of them. We pay monopolistic cable companies for internet access, we have 401ks run by morally bankrupt hedge fund managers that we will never know, we still buy IPhones, we still buy cheap clothes while paying vague leap service to the knowledge that people are being exploited somewhere so we in America can boss Siri around.

In some ways we engage with a multitude of brands and corporations every day that someone, somewhere is getting exploited by, often cruelly so.

But media is different. Media is personal.

Media is designed to provide an escape, to stir emotions, to inspire.

The film industry is by no means the industry with the highest incidence of sexual harassment, but people care more about it when it gets exposed in the film industry, because the film industry creates media that hits emotional nerves.

And then when we find out that something we loved was made by someone who said or did bad things, it's like betrayal.

When people ask wheter is moral to separate art from the artist, or in this case, product from multinational conglomerate, what they're really asking is:

'How can I go back to consume media like I did when I was a kid? When the most context I had or cared about was who the author of my favorite book was, or why I like this actor, or what Ke$ha's real name and birthday is.'

But as an adult, you're expected to be an ethical consumer of media.

And it's somewhat inevitable that some people resent that, because consuming media the way children do is comforting.

Consuming media like The Hobbit as an adult is complicated and in this day and age, it's hard to do so innocently.

And I totally understand wanting to return to that innocence, and I don’t really have an argument against that worldview other than... that's adulthood."

(LINDSAY ELLIS: THE HOBBIT AN UNEXPECTED AUTOPSY (PART 3/2)- THE DESOLATION OF WARNERS )