#i won’t guarantee i’ll use every idea but i’ll use the ones i think will work :3

[junebluues]

hey so remember when i talked about my weird flower multiversal dream where every time i got ahold of/sniffed a new flower i would go “deeper” into my dream and experience a new universe where i’d meet my qpp in every single one? i’m writing an ivantill fic based on that and i want ideas for the alternate universes till would be transported to in it!

here some ideas i already had:

mermaids/underwater

the canon timeline (round 6 and the meteor shower)

the ivantill beach au

band au

magic/witchcraft/whimsical ??? au

something something religion au

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,811 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

11/30/24: **This Chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

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It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

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[seancekitsch]

Hello!!! Good (Time of reading :p), could i request a lucifer x reader fic/headcanons (whatever fits) where the reader is new to hell and is way too nice for a place like this? They are in the hotel trying to get redeemed and to be safe.

If you need more ideas: reader cooking dinner for a tired lucifer

its a shortie but its cute!

“Charlie, can you set me up with the new sinner? Lucifer had asked, “like on a date?”

He genuinely didn’t know what he was signing up for, certainly not a fully planned excursion through every sector of the ring. 

But you had politely bodied every challenge, not only endearing him to you, but also the rest of hell. 

You’d politely watched and cheered and clapped at the sex shows, you’d graciously accepted meals in cannibal town, avoided angering any turf wars on picnics and walks. It was like you were trying to score most popular in the Pride Ring. But Lucifer knew that wasn’t the case, he knew this was just you. Sweet you, polite you, undeserving of Hell you. 

“Do you like onions?” you call from the kitchen, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Onions are fine!” He calls, getting up to join you. The smells from the hotel kitchen are divine, your third meal together today being a midnight snack. Lucifer leans over the counter, looking at where you mix diced onion and tomato in a bowl with ease, humming a light tune. 

You turn towards him, a coy smile on your face as you wink at him, then jostle the bowl you’re stirring.

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer asks, his mouth moving faster than his mind. That’s a rude question to ask. Some Sinners are secretive, some are sensitive. The ones at his daughter’s hotel aren’t… but they’re also a little different. 

“Making salsa from scratch,” you answer nonchalant, reaching past him to grab a spice off the rack, “Tastes better that way. I figured you could magic us up some chips?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he can’t help the way he feels his cheeks heat up. 

He chuckles, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly before a bowl of chips appears on the other side of the counter. 

“No I uh- I mean here, as in, you know,” he coughs, “Hell.”

You stir in chili flakes with a wooden spoon, but then stop when his words sink in. 

Shit, he thinks, I’ve fucked this up. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, “Thats a secret, Your Majesty.”

You’re toying with him.

“All I’ll say is that I have a good reason for being here.”

You usher him to try the salsa, and he gladly dips one of his chips into the bowl, scooping out a hefty portion. Lucifer lifts it to his lips, and the moment it reaches his tongue he’s reminded of Heaven. Not actual Heaven, not the feelings of hopelessness or frustration. The nostalgia of the joy he had when he was inventing, thousands of years ago. The experience of a product made with love. Maybe instead of an apple he should have tempted humanity with your salsa instead.

He’s a goner. 

You don’t ask him why he’s here, not in Hell, not in the hotel, not still making this date last almost twelve whole hours later. 

“Are you planning on a short stay?” He asks, silently praying for the first time in centuries to not get his hopes up.

“I’m trying to stay safe, at least until I decide,” there’s a secretive smile on your face, alluring and inviting. Lucifer wants to kiss you, wants to drop the first date gentleman act, wants to make a mess on the counter. But he won’t, and only because he doesn’t want to ruin your handiwork, and because he’s hungry. 

“It’s a good thing I can guarantee that while you’re making up your mind!” he reassures you, inching closer until his chest bumps your shoulder. 

You surprise him by leaning over, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

“I guess now if as good a time as any to tell you I’m notoriously indecisive then, hmm?”

Lucifer hopes you never make up your mind.

[holylulusworld]

How to free a demon (3)

Summary: You try to free the demon you didn’t summon.  

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Librarian!Reader

Warnings: cocky Demon!Dean, mentions of hell/torture/demon deals/, flirting, tension, implied smut, fun, fluff

Catch up here: How to keep a demon (2)

“Fuck, I still got it in me. My mojo is back, sweetheart,” your demon purrs your name and nips at the inside of your thigh. This time, he got it up. More than once, to be precise. “Hmm…good thing you didn’t make a wish.”

“I can’t believe you tried to talk me into selling my soul. You knew what happened down there,” you grumble. “Even worse, I let you turn my life upside down.”

“I made it up to you, right?” Dean looks up at you from between your legs. His favorite meal seems to be your cunt lately. He can’t get enough. “I could make it up to you again and again.”

“Dean, no,” you groan and push against his head. “Not again. I’m already sore.” You whine and try to wiggle out of his grip. “Stop! I need to get up and take a shower. Sam needs my help with one of the books. He wants me to translate it.”

“Boring,” Dean nuzzles your crotch, sighing deeply. He’s not sure if he wants to be the normal guy again. His demonic powers protected you and him until now. If Sam can cure him, he’ll lose his powers and be back to running in circles to keep the people he loves safe. “Let’s stay here and do naughty things.”

“No, let’s get up,” you grumble. “Dean, come on. Do you want the short guy to come back and drag you down to hell? We don’t know if he doesn’t find a way to break the bond protecting us.”

The demon coughs. He was bouncing ideas and options while you were sleeping too. If he goes back to Crowley, there is no guarantee the king of hell won’t hurt you or his brother. If he stays, there’s the chance that Crowley finds a way to get back at you and Dean too.

“What if,” Dean tries to talk you into not curing him, “you don’t cure me.”

“No, Winchester. We will cure your demonic ass. I don’t want to wake up to a guy with black eyes eating my pussycat. I want the green-eyed cocky guy to do it.”

Dean grins. “I knew you’d end up addicted to me, sweetheart. I still got it in me to steal hearts.” His features sadden, and he sighs deeply. “I know you want me to become human again, but giving up my powers will weaken us, Y/N.”

“Sam said he knows what he’s doing. He can cure you, and it won’t change a thing,” you pat his head. “I left my old life behind. I’ll stay here and help you with research and stuff.”

“I wasn’t scared of losing you,” he huffs. “I’m a big bad demon. No one breaks my heart or scares me. I faced worse than a cocky sweetheart wanting to steal my heart.”

You smirk. “I’ll hold your hand throughout the whole procedure. I won’t leave you alone. Please give Sam the chance to get his brother back. He tried to get you out of hell for eight years. Do you know how hard it was for him to fail every time?”

Dean nods thoughtfully. The last thing he wants is for Sam to feel guilty. He knows his brother, and Bobby tried anything to get him out of hell. Dean made the deal, and he was ready to pay his dues.

“Winchester! Come out! You still owe me. I gave you your body and life back! You will pay for the deal you made!” Crowley, the king of hell, yells outside the bunker. “Dean Winchester, don’t think I won’t destroy this little hideout! I’m losing my patience here.”

“Aw, look at the big bad tiny wolf standing in front of a fortress he cannot tear down.” You giggle and wink at Crowley. The demon flashes his eyes red to scare you. “Get off my lawn, king of shit. You won’t get my demon back! He paid his dues. Eight years! He collected souls for you for eight years!”

“He didn’t pay back his debts!” Crowley steps closer to the bunker and sneers at you. “I own him. He’s my demon!”

“I own his cocky ass, king of shit!” You aim a gun filled with devil’s trap bullets at him. “Devil’s trap bullets, you son of a bitch. One step closer, and you are history.”

“You dare to threaten me?” Crowley sneers. “I’m bloody Crowley!”

“Well, shit. I’m bloody Y/N, the owner of Dean Winchester’s cocky ass. Please excuse us now. We will free him off you!”

“Hey! You can’t just leave!” Crowley yells when you go back inside and slam the door shut. “I’m the king of hell! Do not disrespect me!”

“What did you do outside?” Sam rubs his tired eyes. For hours, he tried to cure his brother. “I told you not to leave the bunker. Crowley is out for blood.”

“I made sure the king of shit knows his place,” you casually say. “If he dares touch on my demon, he’ll regret it.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean slowly walks toward you. He grunts as he feels like he got under the bus twice: “My cocky ass is human now.”

“Awesome,” you say, and wrap one arm around his waistline to help Dean walk toward his room. “Your ass still belongs to me, right?”

“Of course, Y/N,” he chuckles. “It belongs only to you.”

Sam watches you and Dean laugh. He sighs deeply. Dean is cured, but Crowley is still out for blood.

Tags in reblog.

[twstwinnie]

Oh gosh I just stumbled on your writings your writing is so nice!, and I loved in a relationship with jamil and floyd they were so good 😭,im sorry if your getting a buncha these now may I request in a relationship with azul if thats ok?

✎ With You ~ Azul Ashengrotto

summary: the highly requested in a relationship with Azul! usual three categories! crushing, confession, and dating!

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, gn! reader

a/n: I adore azul— this just took me forever bc of writer’s block! but!! here he is! i’ll probably spin a wheel for who I do next, but if you’re curious, the current requested are: jack, epel, sebek, kalim, riddle, jade, and vil! so if you were looking out for them, they’re coming soon! also, i‘ve been considering making a tag list, so yeah! anyway, enjoy azul!! — winnie <3

✎ starry - eyed !

» Azul is the type to vehemently deny any feelings he may have towards you. When you first met, he assumed that his interest in you was nothing more than seeing you as a potential business prospect. He kept a close eye on you, but as time went on, his excuses became feeble in the face of what he felt.

» He’d keep insisting that your meetups are “business research,” even going as far as taking notes after every meeting in hopes to convince himself that that’s all it was. However, as time goes on, he finds that he doesn’t even think about finances or his business when he’s with you. He becomes entirely invested in conversations with you and the happenings of your life.

» Upon realizing that he isn’t doing the “research” he foolishly told himself he was doing, his avoidant tactics only increase in strength. He didn’t like you— he couldn’t.

» He wants to convince himself that it’s bad business to get emotionally involved— that there’s no room for romance in his world, but deep down, he knows it’s all an excuse. Truth be told, Azul is terrified at the prospect of liking you.

» With his history of bullying, Azul doesn’t have much of a positive self-image. The people close to him know that his confidence is fragile, and the bravado he hides behind is built on a foundation of power. However, when it comes to the romance world, Azul is playing on an even field with everyone else that may like you.

» In such a world, Azul fears that he has nothing to offer you.

» You’re kind and generous in a way no one else is. Azul’s underhanded tactics aren’t a suitable offering for you. And if power and money doesn’t appeal to you— what then? What can Azul possibly offer to you? What did he have that made him the most suitable option out of the countless people vying for your hand?

» Nothing. That’s what. That’s why Azul cannot like you. Because if he did, it’d be futile.

» There is no contract. He’d be giving his whole heart to you with no guarantee that you’d give anything in return. He’d leave himself vulnerable to being positively crushed by rejection. He could handle losing in business— such losses came with the field, but in love? Tell him— what proven strategies can be put in place to prevent pain or heartbreak? What insurance is there when your heart is tattered with the pain of rejection?

» There is none, and Azul knows this for certain. However, as time goes on, he finds himself unable to deny his feelings any longer as he spends more time with you.

» You happily listen to his business ramblings, propose event ideas for the Lounge, and you’ve even mastered the art of reigning in the Leech Twins. You fit in so perfectly into his life, but that only terrifies him more. He finds himself scared of losing you, but unable to commit himself to the idea of being infatuated by you.

» In response to this standstill, he draws away from you. This way, he becomes used to your absence instead of your presence. Then, should you learn of his feelings, the rejection won’t feel as harsh.

» What he doesn’t anticipate, however, is that you take notice. You recognize this behavior almost immediately. Not only that, you call him out on it.

» “Azul, why are you avoiding me?” you ask as you walk into the VIP room. Azul pauses, surprised at your sudden presence.

» “I— well… What gave you such an idea?” he questions, attempting to play oblivious. You roll your eyes.

» “Ashengrotto. I know you better than most. I can see through that farce of yours. I’m not mad or anything, I’m just worried,” you say as you sit in front of him. “Is it the lounge? Studying? Do you need my help with something?”

» The gentleness in your tone warms his heart. His face flushes red involuntarily. “What would you want in return?” he questions. You laugh.

» “This again? Nothing, Azul. I just want to help you because I like seeing you happy. So? Did something happen?” you ask, tilting your head curiously. Azul looks away, biting back a fond smile.

» He supposes that, if you’re offering, he might as well get clarification on his situation. Of course, he does so without telling you it’s about you.

» After he explains everything, you hum a bit.

» “Well, why are you so hung up on what you bring to the table?” you inquire. Azul halts.

» “Pardon?” Azul tilts his head.

» “Well, what I mean is that a relationship isn’t transactional, y’know? It’s not about if you can bring ‘power’ or ‘money’ to a relationship. In fact, I’d say that that’s useless,” you insist. Azul hums.

» “Then, what do you suppose is the most important quality?” he asks.

» You smile softly. “Aside from being a decent person? Whether or not the person you like likes you back. I know you don’t like things being out of your control, but that’s the truth. I mean— you like this person because you simply enjoy their company, right? Not because they bring anything to you,” you explain. Azul nods.

» “That… is correct,” he mumbles.

» “Exactly. So, who’s to say it’s any different for them? If they like your company, that’s more than enough. They won’t need power, fame, money, or any of that. In a relationship, you and your effort are enough, Azul.”

» Azul’s eyes go wide as you explain that to him. While yes, it’s a simple concept, it’s something an over thinker like him easily forgets. He can’t help but smile softly and thank you for your advice.

» It’s then and there that he decides he must confess to you. Not only did he already like you, but the way you approached his problem with a level head and a kind demeanor only solidified to him that you completed him. When he approached a situation with logic, you reminded him that sometimes, it was better to be emotional. And when he got too emotional, you grounded him with logic. Above all else, though, you support him through so much.

» And Azul is nothing if not competitive. He refused to lose to someone else. He had to show initiative and confess to you first. If he does, you’d know how serious he is about you.

» With that, he quickly starts drafting up a few ideas.

✎ say the words !

» In the journey to come up with the perfect confession to win your affections, Azul faces many obstacles. The biggest one being his competition.

» Azul tasked Jade and Floyd to keep tabs on people who also sought your companionship. This resulted in the knowledge that, apparently, you were getting confessed to on a near weekly basis. Jade mentioned a few names, but they were all faceless students that he didn’t quite remember.

» While Floyd, with a strangely giddy expression, would always report that you rejected the potential suitor, Azul still became nervous. Would the next confession be a rejection, or would you accept? How would his confession stand out amid so many others? Were you even interested in romance, or did you already have someone else in mind?

» Eventually, Azul decides that collaboration is the best way to go about it. Attempting to find an idea himself is like talking into an echo chamber— it results in no progress. Initially, he turns to the twins for assistance, but they both give him eerie smiles. Instead of helping, they insist that it’s “fun to watch him figure things out,” thus denying any assistance.

» Azul knows he won’t be able to convince them otherwise, so he seeks help elsewhere. He considers a few options: Jamil, Riddle, and Ruggie, but ultimately decides that those are people he’d rather not be open and vulnerable with. Eventually, he settles on discussing the matter with Idia during their club hours. While he was certain the other lacked romantic knowledge, he at least knew that he’d receive brutal honesty in regards to the situation.

» “Idia. I have an inquiry regarding a personal matter,” Azul starts. Idia narrows his eyes at him.

» “Uh… I have no interest in your shady dealings,” he mumbles. Azul huffs.

» “It has nothing to do with my perfectly sound business practices!” Azul shakes his head. “Actually, it has to do with romance.”

» “Huh?! Romance?! Whaaat… so even a shady antagonist can have a heart,” Idia mumbles before continuing. “Uhhh my knowledge doesn’t extend beyond video games. Why bother asking me?”

» “Because I know you’ll be impartial. Anyway, I have a… friend that I’m rather fond of,” Azul starts, but Idia quickly cuts him off.

» “Not to ruin your moment, but I know who you’re talking about. You’ve got low-tier stealth stats. It’s obvious you like them,” Idia mentions with a sigh. “I mean, they’re oblivious to it, but still. I’m guessing you want some s-rank confession to woo them?”

» Azul pauses, shutting his mouth and huffing. “Yes, I want to… ‘woo’ them. I have no idea how, though. I’ve drafted countless ideas, but all of them seem plain. During lunch hardly seems romantic, and the beach seems cliche. I’m at a loss,” Azul admits. Idia stares at him for a few moments.

» “Please tell me this is some weird joke. Are you being real right now?” Idia deadpans.

» “What? I’m hardly joking! I’m truly at a loss. Why else would I request assistance?” Azul mutters. Idia groans.

» “This is like grinding hours for a total OP secret weapon, then not even using it in the final battle,” Idia mumbles. “You have your glitzy lounge, right? Close it for a day and confess there. Seriously, I’m a newbie in romance and I could even think of that.”

» Azul goes silent as he thinks about it. He’d always viewed the Monstro Lounge as nothing more than a business prospect. Though, the atmosphere was certainly ideal. He made sure of it himself. You did quite enjoy studying there, too.

» Azul let out a long sigh. It was so obvious that he almost wanted to slap himself for not seeing it sooner.

» “That is a great idea, Idia. Thank you. I’ll close it down early Friday night, then. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have many preparations to make. And a lifetime of embarrassment to work through for not realizing such a simple solution,” Azul insists, quickly leaving the club room.

» With that, his plan is in motion. Jade and Floyd, while not willing to help him previously, are now willing to help put his plan into motion. They ensure that the Lounge is fully closed that night and pass on the invitation to you. Floyd cooks a specialized menu Azul put together, and Jade helps decorate for the occasion.

» After everything is ready, Azul awaits your arrival nervously. Floyd and Jade keep him company, though mostly tease him for being so clearly anxious.

» “Azul. At this rate, I’m afraid you’ll break the seat with how tightly you’re gripping it,” Jade mentions. Azul straightens, pulling his hands away from the chair he’d been leaning on.

» “Eh? To be fair his nervousness could be faaaaar worse. Imagine if we told him what we saw earlier~” Floyd teases. Azul tenses.

» “Oya, Floyd. We said we wouldn’t mention that to him. Now look at him. He’s even more fearful than before.” Jade smiles simply. Floyd laughs a bit.

» “Ah, well. Too late~ You know, they got confessed to earlier. It was another random bottom feeder, but~ figured it’d be better that you knew,” Floyd sings, smirking. Jade chuckles.

» “It shouldn’t be an issue. I’m certain,” Jade says. Before Azul can pry for details, footsteps echo through the lounge. “Oh? Seems our guest of honor is here. Good luck, Azul.”

» With that, Jade leaves, Floyd following him out. Azul lets out a shaky sigh and turns to face you, putting on his usual expression as you walk over, eyes wide as you take in the decor. Dainty lights were strung overhead and gentle flowers decorated the tables.

» “Wow, this is pretty. I knew you were closing early today, but I had no idea it was for this. What’s the occasion?” you ask with a bright grin. Azul smiles, pulling out your chair for you.

» “There’s no occasion. It’s simply a gift to you,” Azul states, seating himself after you. You give him a teasing smirk.

» “What’s this? Azul Ashengrotto giving me a gift with no strings attached? Color me surprised~” you hum. Azul blushes and rolls his eyes playfully.

» “You're speaking as if this is a one-time occasion. I’ve gifted you plenty in the past, you know. Or have you forgotten my generosity already?” Azul asks, faking a pout. You laugh gently.

» “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I could never forget the generosity and kindness that rivals that of the Sea Witch. I dunno… I guess it almost makes me feel special!” you mention. Azul pauses for a moment before looking at you.

» “It’s because you are special,” he blurts out suddenly. Your eyes widen and you go speechless. For a moment, the silence weighs heavy between you both before he clears his throat.

» “Forgive me… I know you’ve already leant your ear to another for a confession today, but could you listen to one more?” Azul asks softly, vulnerability lacing his tone. You wordlessly nod, keeping your eyes on him. Azul shifts a bit under your gaze but persists.

» “I’ve felt this strong affinity for you for quite some time now. At first, I thought it was just a mutually beneficial friendship, but then… I realized it was more than that. I tried to distance myself out of fear, but you managed to stop me before I could get far. You’ve always been good at recognizing when something’s troubling me.” Azul gives you a fond smile before continuing.

» “You reminded me that relationships don’t need to be transactional. That I’m enough. I greatly enjoy your company. I know you don’t want my money or my power, but it feels wrong to confess empty-handed. So, instead, in this verbal contract, I’d like to offer you two things.

» ���First, a promise. I promise to do all in my power to make you happy, and to be a suitable partner. But more importantly, I’d like to offer you my heart. I cherish you more than any other. All I ask for in return… is an answer. Will you accept my confession, and the terms of my verbal contract?” Azul looks at you with bated breath. The air is tense and you don’t say a word, but soon, a few tears slip down your cheeks. Azul’s eyes widen and he rushes to your side.

» Before he can inquire about your well-being, you wrap your arms tightly around him, nuzzling your face in his neck.

» “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for that? Great Seven, I’ve rejected so many people just hoping that you might eventually say something. Yes. Of course I’ll accept. I’d love to be with you, Azul,” you express happily. Azul lets out a relieved sigh, embracing you and reveling in the feeling.

» “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. You have my sincerest apologies,” Azul mumbles. You shake your head, pulling back to smile at him.

» “You’ll always be worth the wait, Azul.”

✎ at last , with you !

» Unsurprisingly, given that they were eavesdropping the entire time, the Leech twins are the first to learn about you and Azul’s relationship. Now that you two are together, they reveal that they’ve known the feeling was mutual the entire time.

» Azul gapes at them, angrily asking why they hadn’t said anything sooner. Naturally, they respond that it’s far more interesting to let these things play out without interference. As irritated as he is at the notion, Azul feels grateful. He feels much more sound in his decision since he had time to truly think it over.

» However, that brings up more curious questions to him. How long have you liked him? Who else knew of your feelings? Was he the only one kept in the dark?

» With a laugh, you express that you’ve liked him for quite some time now. This shocks Azul beyond words, but it also makes him feel elated and secure in his relationship with you. He can’t help but feel just a tad cocky. All of these people were confessing to you, yet you still chose him? It’s quite the phenomenon!

» Of course, as usual, you insist that he’s the phenomenal one. You waited for him because you loved him, and that’s a fact he should never doubt. Azul knows it’ll be a struggle to get past his insecurities fully, but when he’s with you, it feels like that goal is far more manageable.

» As your relationship develops, you two eventually find a nice balance. Azul is still running a business in tandem with his studies, so he gets incredibly busy, but you have your own obligations, too. You’d think that you’d have no time to spend together, but Azul goes out of his way to make time for you.

» Whether you’re silently reading in his office while he works, or he’s going over paperwork in your room while you’re studying, you two always find ways to spend time together. Even if it’s just being together in silence while you’re both working, Azul feels at home. Being in your presence is enough to soothe him.

» However, every so often, your schedules align and you’re able to go on a proper date together. Azul plans these as far in advance as he possibly can. The moment he notices that your free time lines up, he’s planning a proper date with you.

» Azul is (secretly) a hopeless romantic, so he adores having romantic dates with you. When caught up in a cold world filled with emotionless business decisions, it feels nice for him to be able to step away into the warmth of your company. So, his dates reflect that accordingly. Whether it be a private dinner or a stroll beneath the stars, he makes sure every date is one to remember.

» You allow Azul to be himself when he’s with you. He isn’t trying to run a business, make deals, or keep his grades up. There is no facade for him to upkeep when with you. He’s the same, sensitive octomer that he's always been ever since he was young.

» At first, Azul is still weary of being vulnerable around you. After all, you’re his beloved partner! He can’t stand to show a shameless side of himself to you. He wants you to think highly of him. He wants to show you his best. He can’t imagine what you might think of him if he were to show you that younger, weaker side of himself, let alone his merform!

» This all changes after his overblot, though. You easily notice the build-up of stress and the increase in contracts, given that you’re always by Azul’s side. In the beginning, you turn a blind eye to it all, but once your friends get involved, it’s hard for you to play clueless much longer.

» You assist in the plan to take him down, fully expecting Azul to hate you for it. Azul expects much of the same. He took things too far, and he hurt you. When you tried to get him to stop on your own, he didn’t listen. Instead, he pushed himself beyond what he was capable of and showcased the ugliest parts of himself to you.

» When he wakes up, you expect him to be angry. Instead, you’re met with a look of sorrowful shame. Azul can’t meet your gaze, face flushed red and eyes glossy with tears.

» “I-I’m sorry… I’ve shown you something so unsightly and I nearly hurt you,” he mumbles. He mentally braces himself for the breakup— for you to turn away and leave him behind. The worst part about it? He’s powerless to stop you. He’s lost all of his contracts, but he doesn’t care about that anymore if it means losing you, too.

» However, he’s surprised to find that you don’t leave. You let out a relieved sigh, smiling at him warmly.

» “Azul. I’m hurt that you went that far, but I’m more hurt that you didn’t tell me you were struggling so much. I love you. All parts of you. You didn’t show me anything strange. In fact, I’m glad I saw everything,” you explain gently, leaning your head against his.

» Azul regards you with a fragile expression, eyes wide. “You… aren’t leaving? Why? Why stay?” Azul questions. You hum gently, running your fingers through his hair.

» “Because one mistake doesn’t define who you are as a person. You’re still my Azul, even with your past, present, and future mistakes. I love you as is, good and bad. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you mumble. Finally, in such an intimate moment, Azul fully lets his guard down and allows tears to slip.

» “I thought I lost you, too. I don’t care for those petty contracts if it means you’ll no longer love me,” Azul’s voice cracks as he speaks. You gently wipe his tears away, smiling as you pepper his face with gentle kisses.

» “You could never lose me, Azul. My heart is yours. Nothing will change that. Now, come on. You still need to heal, so rest. I’ll be here when you awaken again.”

» Throughout his recovery, you remain dutifully by Azul’s side. He feels incredibly grateful to you for it. You saw the things he tried so hard to erase and accepted him in his entirety. His true form, his pain, his past— none of it phased you. If anything, it gave you a better understanding of him.

» Azul gradually returns to his usual, slightly arrogant self, but you can see the change clear as day. He still uses his usual dealings and business practices, but he no longer uses it as a means of coping with his perceived weakness. Instead, when he does feel that lingering doubt, he turns to you for support.

» And when he’s resting in your arms after a hard day of managing the lounge, he knows that he has no need to hoard power for the sake of protecting himself.

» After all, his heart is in the most capable hands possible.

» He’s yours. And that’s all he’ll ever need.

— fin.

[grapejuicestyless]

No One Wants To Die In The End.

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: United through grief, Harry and Y/n have to navigate the same fates they witnessed as young children as understanding adults. After all, no one wants to die in the end, we can only hope death comes easy for us.

“Has anyone ever survived beyond the death rattle breathing?”

I hear my mother ask in a hushed tone, the nurse who came to send my grandma away giving her a tight lipped smile.

I sit on the bed pretending not to be able to hear them, pretending the sound of my grandma choking on her own saliva is normal and the staggering of her breathing between heavy wheezes isn’t concerning while I tell her all about what I learned in fourth grade.

She doesn’t remember me, not much anyway. Ever since the illness started taking pieces of her brain, I’ve been stuck in time. She only knows my name now, and my mom warned me on the way here today not to cry if she couldn’t even remember that. It was her illness forgetting, not my beloved grandma.

Mom says she loved me with all my heart, and that once the illness passes through her, she’ll remember me again fondly. I’ll get to tell her all about my life and growing up and she’ll understand what I’m talking about. She won’t give me the blank stare she does now while I hold her hand, and her skin won’t be so frail.

“We usually recommend getting everything in place by the end of the day. Gather her papers and say your goodbyes. We can’t guarantee anything with how much longer she’ll hold out for.” The nurse says, and though my mom doesn’t cry, I can see her skin hugging her throat constricting it and the soft fluttering of her wet eyelashes.

My mom pulled me away soon after, telling me to say goodbye. This time felt different though, even at age nine I knew that. So I told my grandma I’d be back, even if I wasn’t sure just because it always made her smile, and I promised to keep dancing around in my pajamas before breakfast like she loved.

That day at school, the one after I left my grandma with hundreds of promises to live freely and trust with my heart, I found my mother sat out on the front steps by our old white porch with her head in my hands.

“Hi mama. Can I go to Megans?” I had asked her cheerfully, excited about seeing my best friend, my neighbor and my sister.

Mom had this sad look in her eyes, one that told me to come close without her having to say it. And as I stood between her bent knees and felt her hands on my hips, I saw her shake her head.

“Y/n/n, grandma didn’t make it, baby.” She declared softly, and at the time I didn’t know how to process it, the idea of someone being gone forever. As mom told me how she had only left for a minute to go home and shower and came back to my grandma unresponsive in her sleep, I didn’t think about the fact that my grandma’s laugh would fade with the years, but rather how sad it was that she had to go alone. I prayed selfishly under my breath that I would have someone’s hand to hold when I went, that my rotting body would mean more than any shower ever could.

I didn’t tell mom this, my feelings on the death of grandma, the death of her mom, so I did what I knew how to do best, and I ran, begging softer this time to be able to go across the street just until dinner.

When I got there, I was greeted by Megan, and she looked sad. That’s how most people in my life seemed to look these past few hours, ever since the way my grandma breathed changed.

She pulled me into a hug and cried on my shoulder, promising to be there for me always, that it would get better. At the time I didn’t get it, why my best friend as a child would feel so much grief for a woman she barely knew, how she could feel so much more than I did, but grief hits differently in every person, I wished that someday I’d be able to process it openly instead of suppressing it somewhere I’d never find it. I wished that someday I’d learn how to cry.

Grandma didn’t get a funeral, they stuffed her ashes into a pretty vase with golden birds and her favorite flowers and held the wake early in the morning. Most of her friends I’d never met. It was a small service, a slow one. I spent most of my time playing hide and seek with my cousins and stealing the mints the funeral home left out for guests while my mother cried shaking each guests hand.

“How should we send out the letters?” My mom whispered to my father quietly, like it was something she didn’t want her children to know about.

“What’s the difference? Word spreads fast about people like him.”

People like him, that’s how my dad worded it. People like him, veterans who fought in a war they couldn’t even remember by the end of their lives and refused to replace the old wood paneling on their living room walls from the eighties.

My grandpa was the definition of people like him, he had lived enough lives to grow in white hairs by fourteen years old. Fighting alongside Elvis in the war and dancing with his dying wife in the afternoon.

I never met grandma, my dad said cancer took her before I was born, he says that’s why my name is the way it is, she picked it. But, I did meet grandpa.

He had white hair and a soft stomach from all the Swedish meatballs he made in his spare time. War does funny things like that to a man, make someone so against cooking love the simplicity of it, the safety of food consuming him.

I never really liked his Swedish meatballs, I didn’t like how he made them without sauce, when I was ten my world revolved around marinara sauce.

When I was twelve years old, I remember missing the softness of my grandpas stomach when he hugged me and the lingering smell of Swedish meatballs in his kitchen at dinner time. Which was weird because I never liked it before, but maybe my nose had changed while grandpa was changing in his own ways.

Cancer seemed to run in the family, something that was so small nobody ever suspected it was invading their bodies until the doctors became frantic to get it out.

My grandpa has bright white hair before his treatment, and small silver glasses perches on his swollen nose while he sat in his old brown chair and watched his grandkids school plays through the CD’s my parents would send him.

What a lonely life to live as he got older. The death of his wife and the absence of his grandchildren as they became less and less interested in family time and more focused on running outside freely with their friends.

I was so sidetracked I didn’t even know when grandpa died right away. Not until my father sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch where I laid with my mother rubbing his back slowly, a heavy look on his wrinkled face.

“Grandpa passed last night, Harry. He loved you very much.”

I didn’t cry as my father spoke, simply nodding before walking to my room to toy with my baseball cards and gameboy. I didn’t cry thinking about his passing, which confused me because I was twelve. I understood what death meant and how there was no one who had the power to reverse it, but I felt incapable of crying.

I went to school the next morning like my parents hadn’t told me the news, and my history teacher pulled me out into the hall during second period. He looked sad for me, his hands on my shoulders as he told me he would give me all the time I needed, not to try snd jump back into normalcy during such a tough time.

It made me feel embarrassed, which felt weird considering the context. I felt fine, completely indifferent to something I should have been breaking down over. But I guess grief is weird like that, and I wish I had the strength to be weak.

Grandpa had a big funeral, open casket with formal attire. He didn’t look like grandpa with all that makeup on him. I wanted to open his eyelids to see the colors in his eyes one last time. But that’s unacceptable to do, so I simply kneeled by the casket and prayed for him.

A big black limo took us from the boiling hot church to the graveyard where uniformed men loaded their guns and fired at the sky in honor of my grandpa. The smoke smelled like the low tide at the beach, and some people I’d never seen before sobbed a few rows behind me.

A lot of people showed up for grandpa, veterans from around the country and school friends from when he still had all his youth. Looking around at the crowd, I hoped I too would be able to make such a big impact on so many people. I selfishly prayed under my breath that one day I’d too have a large funeral. That people would care enough to come and cry for me because I would matter that much.

“When did you find out?” Harry asked softly, his large hand capturing mine in a paw-like grip over my knuckles.

I swallowed, wondering when I suspected it in comparison to when I finally got the guts to ask someone for help.

“I’ve known for a while, probably since I was nine. It runs in the family, you know? All these health issues that eat away at our brains?” I laughed, but neither of us found it funny, not when I ran my fingers through my hair to calm down and chunks cane out between my knuckles.

“I just thought I’d be gifted more time, thought biology would be kinder to my bones.”

Harry looks at me with a broken stare, one that hits me in the heart. We both tear up, but neither of us cry. We are our parents, we are the spitting image of them sitting us down to break the news. But at least they went peacefully, right? I know no peace, but still I don’t cry for myself, I feel too pathetic to even try.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, looking bitterly at the youthful green eyes in front of me, how his curly hair seems even more vibrant than nearly a decade ago. He ages backwards and I am already one foot out of the door.

Harry shakes his head.

“You did everything right.” He tells me, fingers pulling the hair from my hands to hide it behind his back.

“Then why do I feel like I have?”

“Nobody wants to die in the end, Y/n/n. It’s a game of chance, each day we live we gamble on how long we have left. Some people search for that end and others stumble on it accidentally, it’s just the chances.”

When he puts it like that, it makes me feel even worse, knowing how quickly I’ll be gone. How I’ve failed my future children I’ll never get to have, my husband who would have loved me I’m sure, and my poor old dog who waits by the food bowl only to find it empty each day I’m gone.

“I don’t like these chances.” I laugh with tears in my eyes, hands holding onto his as our forehead touch, my best friend holding me like no one ever has, not even Megan, who had long grownup into a woman I barely knew, a friend who drifted from me when we were thirteen and cried to her mother about how she missed me when she was sixteen.

Megan held me when my grandma died that day when I was nine, and I was confused as to why she was so sad, but with Harry holding me now, I understand it all better.

“I’m only twenty nine, Harry. At least my grandmothers dementia took away the intense pain of remembering what she was leaving behind.”

“And she lived not knowing who her daughter was for the rest of her life. She must have been so alone.”

I look down at my lap, my palms still pressed against his.

“I’d never forget you, even if my memory starts to go. I’ll never forget you because you’re too important to forget.” Harry smiles when I say that, pulling his hands away from mine to tap his chest quietly.

“And I’d never forget you, even when I’m old and crazy. I’ll keep photos of us on my walls and talk to them when I get bored.” He promised me, the dull light from the sun making the once lavish room feel less like a clean living room and more like a cold hospital.

As the months pass, my hair has been traded for one of Harry’s favorite hats. My shirts switched out for backless gowns with blue dots on the paper like material. My arms are not decorated with the same ink as Harry, but wires and tubes that come from the table beside my hospital bed.

I am twenty nine, but I must look about sixty now with how tired I am from simply trying to steal back the life that was ripped from me unfairly.

And as I fight to keep up with the beeping of the monitors hooked up beside me, I feel my throat rejecting my saliva and my sick coughs stuck behind my teeth.

I heat the same cracking sounds that my grandmother made when I was nine, and I feel relaxed knowing now that it doesn’t hurt to breathe this way, not right now anyway.

And in the silence I can hear an echo of my mother’s words from outside my door, her feminine voice exchanged for the deep one I’d grown rather fond of.

“Has anyone ever survived beyond the death rattle breathing?”

Harry asks in a hushed tone, the nurse different but her answer just the same.

“We usually recommend getting everything in place by the end of the day. Gather her papers and say your goodbyes. We can’t guarantee anything with how much longer she’ll hold out for.”

It’s happening again, the spirit leaving my bones to join everyone I’ve ever loved before, my father and my grandma. My mother and my old cousins. I only wished I didn’t have to leave Harry behind, I wished I could dance with him in our college dorms just one more time like we used to, and set fire to the box mac and cheese just one last time.

I remember everything about Harry, the nurse warning that my image of him might waver as my blood begins to slow under the skin. She tells him not to worry when my skin gets cold, it’s natural for people to cool down as their heart gives out.

Harry comes in and holds my hand, pretending the sound of my breathing doesn’t bother him and the sound of me choking on my own saliva is normal and the staggering of my breathing between heavy wheezes isn’t concerning while he swears to every single higher power he can think of that I’ll be okay.

And I believe him.

Because while he holds my hand in death, he’s fulfilled the one wish I prayed so hard for a a kid. The one selfish wish I made for myself in a time of need.

When I was nine, standing between my mothers legs with my nails between my teeth I prayed selfishly under my breath that I would have someone’s hand to hold when I went, that my rotting body would mean more than any shower ever could.

And here Harry was nearly two decades later, holding my hand and promising serenity in the afterlife.

What he doesn’t know is that I am one of the lucky ones. Even after my heart has stopped, I am given one last gift as an apology for such a short life. I am given an extra second of my brain living on, the soft cries of “I love you’s” from Harry the last thing I hear as my dying gasp is cut short from my death rattle breathing.

I have a small service, Harry and some college friends standing in line shaking the hands of the few guests who walk by to look at my body. My nephews and nieces play hide and seek with each other until the ceremony was over, mints stuffed deep in their pockets as they filed out of the funeral home like nothing had happened.

Being famous is weird, especially after a loved one has passed.

We send out prayers to the families of those affected, the media says, but how has the death of this person affected Harry? How has Y/n’s slipping away crushed him beyond belief? Will he dedicate his next album to her?

They don’t care about Y/n, they only care about how she makes a good headline for their companies, and it makes me sick to think about. How they profit off of my grief while I try to stop memorizing the sound of her broken sigh as she went.

I wonder if I was enough for her during her final days. If my touch was enough to cure her for just a brief second.

It’s no wonder I turned to move-on pills. Ones that lift me up and break me down further until I am face up on the bathroom floor we once shared, my eyes wide as I choke on my breathing and count how many times the lights multiply as I look up to the sky.

It’s not a shock that the headlines are out by the end of the day, the sirens enough to alert all of Hollywood of my dying dreams and my perfect execution.

My family stands in a line while they put my casket into the hearse, makeup on my face like they put on my grandpa, I can barely recognize myself as I watch the funeral service from another space.

And as they bury me under the ground, the media announces their grief and well wishes to all that attended and the millions watching from their televisions.

As a kid, I hoped I too would be able to make such a big impact on so many people. I selfishly prayed under my breath that one day I’d too have a large funeral. That people would care enough to come and cry for me because I would matter that much.

But now that it’s happening, I only care for one thing, I only asked for one thing in the letter I left behind. Lay me beside my best friend, so I can keep holding her hand through death, and we can laugh in the afterlife like we did when we were healthy, happy, and together.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Bargain in the Shadows Pt. 1

Summary:

Y/N, a prisoner, strikes a bargain with Azriel to share information about a dark prophecy. Navigating mistrust and hostility, she hides a critical secret about her role in the prophecy, determined to find a way to save Prythian without sacrificing herself.

Word Count: 2328

Warnings: This one-shot contains themes of imprisonment, tension, and deception. It features complex relationships, flirtation, and manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.

Y/N paced the small, dimly lit cell in the Night Court’s prison. The stone walls were cold and unyielding, but she refused to let her discomfort show. She knew they wanted information from her—information about a prophecy she had stumbled upon. And she had every intention of using that information to her advantage.

The door to her cell creaked open, and she turned to see a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway. Azriel, the spymaster of the Night Court, entered with an air of quiet authority. His shadows whispered around him, as if alive and sensing the tension in the room.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice calm but firm. “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “I figured as much. And what makes you think I’ll just spill my secrets?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Because it’s in your best interest. The information you have could help prevent a catastrophe.”

Y/N chuckled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, I’m sure it could. But what’s in it for me?”

He took a step closer, his shadows curling around him protectively. “You’re currently a prisoner in the Night Court. Cooperate, and we can make your stay more... comfortable.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not willing to show it. “Comfortable, how?”

Azriel met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “You’ll be moved to the House of Wind. You’ll have freedom within its walls, access to the city, and a chance to prove yourself.”

Y/N considered his offer, her mind racing. The House of Wind was a far cry from this dank cell. It would give her a chance to gather more information, to plan her next move. But she needed to maintain the upper hand.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice laced with defiance. “I’ll tell you what I know. But I want guarantees.”

Azriel inclined his head slightly. “Name your terms.”

She straightened, her eyes locking onto his. “I want your word that I won’t be harmed. And if I help you, I want a full pardon and safe passage out of the Night Court once this is over.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “You have my word. Now, tell me about the prophecy.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “The prophecy speaks of a great darkness that will spread across Prythian. It mentions a power that can stop it, hidden in the heart of the Night Court. But the details are vague.”

Azriel listened intently, his expression focused. “Go on.”

“There’s a key,” she continued. “A relic that can unlock this power. Without it, the darkness cannot be stopped. The prophecy says the key is hidden in a place of shadows and secrets.”

Azriel’s eyes flickered with recognition. “The Court of Nightmares.”

She nodded. “Precisely. But it’s not just about finding the key. The prophecy also mentions a chosen one who can wield this power. Someone with a connection to the shadows.”

He frowned, his mind racing. “A connection to the shadows...”

Y/N watched him carefully, sensing his unease. “Do you know who it might be?”

Azriel shook his head slowly. “I have some ideas, but nothing concrete. We need to find this key and the chosen one quickly.”

She smirked, her confidence returning. “Looks like you need me more than I need you, then.”

He met her gaze, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “For now. But remember, Y/N, this is a delicate alliance. Betray us, and the consequences will be severe.”

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer to him. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, get me out of this cell and into that House of Wind you promised.”

Azriel nodded and turned to leave, gesturing for her to follow. As they walked through the winding corridors of the prison, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. She had struck a bargain with the Night Court’s spymaster, and now she had a chance to prove her worth.

They arrived at the House of Wind, its grandeur and beauty a stark contrast to the prison she had just left. Azriel led her to a comfortable room, complete with a large bed and a view of the city below.

“This will be your room,” he said, his tone still businesslike. “You’ll have freedom within the House and the city, but you’ll be accompanied by guards at all times.”

Y/N nodded, taking in her new surroundings. “Fair enough. Now, let’s get to work.”

Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, and he extended his hand. “Welcome to the Night Court, Y/N.”

She shook his hand, a spark of understanding passing between them. “Thank you, Azriel. Let’s hope this alliance is a fruitful one.”

As they began their work, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. The stakes were high, but she thrived in situations like this. And with Azriel by her side, she knew they had a fighting chance to unravel the prophecy and stop the impending darkness.

In the shadows of the Night Court, an unlikely partnership had been forged. And together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Y/N settled into the House of Wind with surprising ease. The grandeur of the place was impressive, and the freedom to move around—albeit with guards—was a far cry from the dank cell she had previously occupied. However, the real challenge was about to begin: meeting the rest of the Night Court.

Azriel led her into the grand dining room where Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, and Amren were gathered. Their conversations halted as she entered, and six pairs of eyes turned to scrutinize her. Y/N held her head high, meeting their gazes with an unwavering confidence.

“This is Y/N,” Azriel introduced her, his voice even. “She’ll be staying with us for the time being and assisting with some... delicate matters.”

Rhysand stood, his presence commanding. “Welcome, Y/N. I trust Azriel has explained the terms of your stay.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a sly smile. “He has. And I must say, it’s quite the upgrade from my previous accommodations.”

Feyre, standing beside Rhysand, eyed Y/N warily. “We’ll see if you can be trusted,” she said, her tone cool.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I suppose that’s fair. Trust is earned, after all.”

Cassian’s gaze was hard, his muscles tensed. Mor and Amren looked equally unimpressed. Y/N reveled in their hostility, knowing that it only made her more determined to find a way out of her predicament.

Rhysand gestured to an empty seat beside him. “Join us for dinner, Y/N. We have much to discuss.”

She glided to the chair, her movements graceful and deliberate. “Thank you, Rhysand,” she purred, sitting down and crossing her legs. She made sure her tone was a touch too familiar, a touch too flirty, just to see Feyre’s reaction.

Feyre’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, her fingers tightening around her fork.

Throughout the meal, Y/N engaged in light conversation, her charm and wit on full display. She caught Rhysand’s eye several times, her flirtatious remarks growing bolder. “You know, Rhysand, you’re quite different from the stories I’ve heard about the High Lord of the Night Court,” she said, her voice playful.

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh? And what stories are those?”

Y/N leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. “Stories of a ruthless, cunning ruler. But you seem rather... hospitable.”

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and Y/N could feel the tension in the air. She reveled in it, her eyes flickering to Azriel, who watched her with an unreadable expression.

“And you, Azriel,” Y/N said, turning her attention to him. “You’ve been such a gracious host. I’m almost starting to like it here.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, and his shadows curled around him protectively. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he replied, his voice a warning.

Y/N’s smile widened. “Oh, I won’t. But I must say, your shadows seem to have taken quite a liking to me.” She reached out, her fingers dancing through the shadows that lingered around her.

The shadows responded, swirling around her hand in a playful manner. Azriel’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

Cassian couldn’t hold back any longer. “What exactly do you know about this prophecy?” he demanded, his tone accusatory.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming. “All in good time, Cassian. I’m here to help, remember?”

Mor scoffed, her eyes filled with disdain. “You’re here because we need information. Don’t think for a second that we trust you.”

Y/N met her gaze, unflinching. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After dinner, Rhysand suggested they move to the sitting room to continue their discussions. Y/N followed, still playing with Azriel’s shadows as they moved. The shadows seemed to enjoy her presence, much to Azriel’s dismay.

Once they were seated, Rhysand leaned forward. “We need to understand the specifics of the prophecy and the key. The Court of Nightmares is a dangerous place, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

Y/N nodded, her expression turning serious. “The prophecy is vague, but it’s clear about one thing: the key is hidden in a place of shadows and secrets. The Court of Nightmares fits that description perfectly.”

“And the chosen one?” Feyre asked, her voice soft but firm.

Y/N glanced at Azriel, a knowing smile on her lips. “The chosen one is someone with a deep connection to the shadows. Someone who can wield them as easily as breathing.”

All eyes turned to Azriel, who stiffened under their scrutiny. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find this key and stop the impending darkness,” he said, his voice resolute.

Y/N’s gaze softened slightly, masking the turmoil inside her. She knew the truth—that she was the chosen one. The prophecy demanded a great sacrifice, one she wasn’t ready to make. She needed time to find another way, to avoid the fate that awaited her.

As the meeting continued, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this prophecy than she had let on. She needed to find a crack in the Night Court’s unity, a way to secure her freedom once and for all.

But for now, she would play along, enjoying the game of cat and mouse she had started. And with every flirtatious remark, every playful touch of Azriel’s shadows, she felt herself inching closer to her goal.

The Night Court members didn’t trust her, and she didn’t care. She had a plan, and she would see it through to the end. Even if it meant breaking a few hearts along the way.

The days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself growing more accustomed to life in the House of Wind. The Night Court members remained wary of her, and she relished their discomfort. Her interactions with Azriel became a constant dance of tension and curiosity.

One evening, as Y/N was practicing with Azriel’s shadows in the courtyard, Rhysand approached her. His demeanor was relaxed, but Y/N knew better than to let her guard down.

“Enjoying yourself?” Rhysand asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N looked up, her fingers still playing with the shadows. “They seem to like me. Unlike the rest of your court.”

Rhysand chuckled. “You’re not making it easy for them to trust you.”

She shrugged, her expression indifferent. “Trust is earned, remember?”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes piercing. “What are you really after, Y/N? You’re hiding something.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral. “I’ve told you everything I know about the prophecy.”

Rhysand’s gaze didn’t waver. “Have you? Or are you keeping something back?”

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. He was getting too close to the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rhysand’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained sharp. “We need you, Y/N. If there’s something you’re not telling us, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

She met his gaze, her resolve hardening. “I’ve given you everything you need. Now it’s up to you to use it.”

As Rhysand walked away, Y/N felt the weight of her secret pressing down on her. She had to find another way, a way to fulfill the prophecy without sacrificing herself.

Later that night, as she wandered the halls, she encountered Azriel. He was standing by a window, his gaze distant. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his features, highlighting the shadows that seemed to cling to him.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, approaching him.

Azriel turned to face her, his expression guarded. “Just thinking.”

She leaned against the window frame, her eyes searching his. “About the prophecy?”

He nodded, his eyes darkening. “It’s weighing on all of us. The idea that one of us might have to make a great sacrifice... it’s not easy to accept.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words. She wanted to tell him the truth, to share the burden she carried. But she couldn’t—she wasn’t ready to face the consequences.

Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “We’ll find a way, Azriel. Together.”

He looked down at her, his gaze softening. “I hope you’re right.”

As they stood there, the silence between them filled with unspoken words, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to change the prophecy’s outcome.

But for now, she would continue to play her part, biding her time and searching for a way to save herself—and everyone else.

In the shadows of the Night Court, an unlikely partnership had been forged. And together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, even if it meant confronting the darkest truths about themselves.

[skelitinonmyback]

short skirt/long jacket

pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader

synopsis: poe is a barista at the coffee shop you go to everyday, and he is absolutely head over heels for you. your femme fatale, business woman vibe makes his knees weak every time you come by. after pressure from his coworkers he put his moves on you. and you are more than happy to take him on.

content warning: SMUT 18+, dom!reader, sub!poe, oral sex (r!receiving), edging, male whimpers, grinding, teasing

word count: 3.9k

You were the only thing Poe looked forward to. His ears perked like a dog whenever he heard the bell at the front of the store chime at the arrival of a new customer, hoping it was you. His coworkers Finn and Rey caught on pretty quick by the way he turned bright red and stuttered everytime you came in. There was one time when Finn swore he saw Poe check his breath when you came through the door and he has yet to live that down.

That was the only reason Poe was putting on his apron now actually. The guarantee of seeing you was a greater motivator than the coffee they sold at the cafe. He clocked in and instead of being a good worker, his eyes were trapped on the door hoping to summon you. Maybe you were wearing a trenchcoat since the fall weather has finally started. God, you would look so good in a trenchcoat.

“You know staring at the door won’t make her get here any faster,” Rey shook her head behind him, the sound of her voice making him jump. 

“Fuck, don’t sneak up on me like that,” he pouted, not happy being called out like that.

She rolled her eyes, she was standing behind him for two minutes before she finally said something. “Why don’t you just ask her out? She totally checks you out everytime she comes in! She even asked where  you were yesterday when you didn’t work.”

“Did she really?” His eyes lit up at the idea, but he soon killed the flame not wanting his hopes to get up. “Whatever. If it’s so easy, why don’t you go ask Finn out hmm?”

Rey’s face turned sour and before she could scold him, Finn’s lovely voice came from the back of house. “What are we talking about?” His face appears from the doorway after his voice with a teasing look on his face. “Is he finally gonna ask her out?”

Poe’s face was starting to flush and he swore steam was coming from his ears with all the teasing he had to endure. He was racking his mind with ways to get back at his meddling coworkers but his focus was broken with the ring of the door bell. With the sound of your name coming from Rey he knew who it was. Didn’t everyone just have impeccable timing today.

“Wow, slow day today?” you questioned, surprised by the bare cafe on a Monday.

“Y-yeah, you just missed the crowd, haha. Get us a-all to yourself” Poe stuttered, turning a whole other shade of pink by your presence. He looked over to Rey for some help who just mouthed ‘smooth’ at him. In his defense, you looked good today, like how you look good everyday but more. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what made you look different today but he knew he liked it.

“Oh lucky me,” you giggled, always flattered by how flustered Poe was when you came in, it’s so cute. “Oh, Rey! I tried that lipstick you recommended. What do you think?”

“Oh my god, it looks so good! I knew that color would suit you,” she gushed. “What do you think, Poe?”

Suddenly, his throat closed up with mucus and he just didn’t know what words were anymore. “G,” he cleared his throat. “Good. I think it looks good.”

“Thank you, Poe,” you said, enjoying the way his eyes widened when you said his name. “I’ll just take my usual.” You set the exact change you’ve come to memorise down in his palm before heading to the end of the bar, talking to Rey who was making your drink. 

You guys were over there talking for about 5 minutes before Poe got suspicious. Before he could intercept the conversation you already had one foot out the door and a napkin that Rey had handed you. When Poe tried asking Rey about it, she just shrugged and said ‘what napkin’. It was stuck on his mind for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t until later that night when he got a text did he realize what hijinx Rey was up to.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hello, Poe.

POE: hello? can i ask who this is

You sent him your name and a little apology for not starting with that.

His heart dropped to his stomach and his palms got sweaty. Wow, you didn’t even need to be here to get him incredibly nervous.

POE: OH, hi! hope you dont mind me asking but howd you get my number lol

YOU: Rey gave it to me this morning. I hope that’s ok!

His face turned red, so embarrassed by his match making coworker. God, he hoped you didn’t blame him for her meddling, completely ruining his chance with you. 

POE: oh goodness, im so sorry abt her, i hope she didnt force anything on you :/

YOU: Oh, it’s no problem, Poe.

Even the way you texted was so sexy and sufisticated. It really shouldn’t be turning him on as much as it was.

POE: are u sure? if she was over stepping bounds id be happy to make it up to u

Be more desperate, Poe. Jesus Christ.

YOU: Well, if you do want to make it up to me, I am free tomorrow at 6:30 pm for dinner. I’ll be expecting something nice.

POE: oh sure i can do dinner tmrw. have u ever been to ogas grill

YOU: Poe, honey, it doesn’t actually have to be fancy. I was teasing you.

HONEY? God, you were going to give him a heart attack if you kept that behavior up.

POE: no its ok i like it :)

YOU: See you then!

Poe quite literally couldn’t wait. He could feel all of the cells of his body vibrating with excitement and he couldn’t fall asleep. Once he finally did, he woke right back up an hour later when his alarm for work went off. Oh he couldn’t wait to see you when you came in for your coffee as usual but this time you had a date planned. 

And as if time was flipping before him, he was already clocked in for the shift, 30 minutes before you usually come in. His demeanor was distant for he was drifting away in his thoughts that were occupied solely by you. He was distracted in the back, zoned out doing the dishes when Finn calling your name dragged him to reality.

Poe didn’t bother turning off the water before running out front to see you waiting for your drink at the end of the bar. He called out your name in a tired, breathless voice as if he just ran a marathon to see you.

“Hi, Poe,” you beamed with a bright smile that practically burned Poe’s insides.

“Hi, you’re here early,” he observed. “N-not that that’s a bad thing, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before 7:30. NOT that I’m like keeping track of you or you know what I’m just gonna stop talking.”

“It’s ok, honey,” you giggled unaware of the way Poe gripped onto the counter to stop himself from falling to his knees for you. “I just couldn’t wait to see you today is all.”

Poe’s eyes went wide with awe and he had to hold himself back from jumping over the counter and kissing you. “Really?” is all his brain managed to come up with as he started planning out your entire relationship together.

“Yeah,” you laughed at his shock that you were infact excited to see him, gushing over the sheer cuteness that was him. Cutting off your moment together, Finn sets your drink down for you on the bar. “I’ll let you get back to work, but I can’t wait to see you wait at dinner, honey.”

“Me too,” he sighed, eyes dazed watching you leave the store.

“Dinner?” Finn gasped, perplexed by your words.

“Shut up.”

—

Later that day Poe was practically shitting his pants as he waited outside of your apartment. He brought flowers because he thought it was the right thing to do but as he looked at flowers he started overthinking about the casualness of everything. What if you just wanted to get dinner to know him better as a friend and you would laugh in his face and call him stupid for ever believing you would want to go out with him. So he settled on a bundle of baby’s breath and eucalyptus.

When you answered the door all the breath from his lungs escaped him and a stitch started forming in his side from just standing there and looking at you. You were wearing a dress, midi length, that hugged you in all the right places and revealed more skin than he ever thought he’d see on you. Your lipstick red and heels stiletto, doubling down on your femme fatale image.

“You know,” you start, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your apron on. It’s nice, you clean up well.”

Hi siliva stuck to the back of his throat at your compliment, causing him to roughly clear his throat. “Um, I got these for you, wasn’t sure what kind you liked so,” he said humbly, handing you the flowers with weak hands.

You thanked him, obsessed with how bashful he was, and turned back into your house to set them down on the counter before taking his arm and heading with him to his car. His palms were already sweaty simply from the grip you had on his bicep and when he opened your door to let you into his car he felt some relief of getting a little bit of distance from you, just so he could breathe again.

Luckily for him, Oga’s Grill was just a five minute drive down from your apartment, so he didn’t have to worry too much about making polite conversation and instead he could focus on regulating his breathing. It was unfortunate for you however. You loved watching him twitch and get nervous over a car ride with you. It made your imagination run wild, thinking about all the reactions he would have if you were actually trying to make him nervous.

The dinner was, well, awkward. Poe couldn’t stop getting nervous and accidentally knocking stuff over and it was honestly the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could tell he was immensely nervous more than anything but you couldn’t bring yourself to console him, loving how red he got from stirring in his own juices. 

When the check came, he felt panicked because the date didn’t go at all how he had planned. He was waiting for the moment he would gain the confidence to sweep you off your feet but it never came. He put his card in the checkbook, hands shakier than ever, not knowing how to rebound after making himself look like a complete buffoon.

When you guys got back in the car, Poe didn’t put the key in the ignition, instead he just stared at the steering wheel in front of him. Excitement sparkeed in your abdomen, thinking he was finally going to make a move. He swallowed every nerve crawling up his throat so he could get out this sentence.

“I’m sorry for my… behavior today. I was just so nervous, I kept on embarrassing myself, I guess,” he said, too ashamed to look at you.

For the first time that day, your heart actually tugged at the way he struggled to communicate so you officially needed to put his worries away. “Hey, it’s ok. I thought it was cute.” He scoffed at you and you had to double down. “Honest. Really, I think it’s kind of… sexy.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and for the first time in the whole evening he made eye contact with you and you could’ve crumbled right there. The way his eyesbrows pinched together and his mouth pouted with confusion was slowly chipping away at your patience. And the sound of his voice when he said “really?” was practically begging you to go on.

“Come on, you can’t look at me like that and pretend to be confused about what I find attractive about it all.”

“Wait, you’re being serious?” His voice was weaker and he faced his body towards you, the best he could in the car, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss that surprised look off his face. 

“As a fucking heart attack, Poe, I swear I was wet for that entire dinner,” you admit, throwing caution to the wind.

Embarrassingly so, Poe choked on his spit, awed by the words you just said about him. He shook his head, not completely understanding what you meant by that. Frustrated by all the back and forth, you grabbed his hand and shoved it up your skirt to where your thighs parted, where you had undoubtedly soaked through your panties. The sound of a whimper passing through Poe’s lips made your thighs clench around the hand you brought between them.

“Feel what you do to me, baby?” you questioned with a pout. Completely dumb by everything around him, he just nodded, eyes boring into yours. His finger tips twitched, running along your clothed cunt purly on intsinct. “Why don’t you take me home, huh baby?”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He ripped his hand away from you and forced the car into reverse and maybe went a bit above the speed limit to make it home. You weren’t making it easy for him to focus on the road either. You had a hand on him the entire time, running your manicured nails up and down his thigh and he could feel himself twitching and lurch in the confines of his pants.

When you got to the parking lot of your apartment you werre sure he was going to hurt himself with how fast he got out of the car. You couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness when he was already to the front of your apartment by the time you left his car.

“C’mon now, honey, don’t want me to think you’re desperate,” you teased, completely joking. But when you saw the way his eyes twinkled and lips stuttered you knew he was taking you seriously, and liking it. You clucked your tongue at him and shook your head before letting him into your apartment.

You kicked off your shoes in the foyer and he did the same, mimicking all of your actions. Poe was very nervous, he wasn’t really the type to have sex on a first date so he didn’t really understand the protocol or what would be expected of him. You felt his nervousness and knew that he didn’t really know what to do with himself so you threw him a bone.

“Why don’t you go sit on the couch for me, baby?” He immediately followed your instruction, walking the ten paces to took to get from your front door to your couch. Satisfied by his obedience you called him ‘good boy’ that gave you a harsh sigh and a stuttered step in return. You were willing to call him good boy every second of every day if it got you that in return.

“Aww, you like it when I called you that?”

His eyes were wide and lips were parted when he nodded back at you, sitting incredibly straight on your couch. You stood in front of him and shook your head, disappointed with his response. “I need to hear you.”

“... yes.”

“That’s a good boy. You answer all of my questions when I ask them, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” his voice hoarse in response.

Your spine tingled at the new nickname he developed for you and your control almost faded away completely. But, you didn’t want to scare him away by pouncing on him so instead you settled for sitting gently on his lap, lining his hips with yours.

“This ok?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, his voice higher, whinier than before. The sound of it made you roll your hips against his and the jagged gasp he let out had you doing another and then another until he was heavy panting and his nails dug into the fabric of your couch.

“Sorry, pretty boy, you just look so good everytime I do it,” you huffed, unable to straighten out your breathing.

“I’it’s ok, ah,” his voice strained when you started grinding down on him harsher and more frantic. “F-fuuck, oh fuck. Stop, please I’m gonna, gonna cum, oh.”

“Already, baby?” Your hips stilled as you looked at him with curiosity. He nodded and you could tell by the way his jaw was dropped, eyes barely open, and neck completely flushed he was lying. He began to writhe under you, subconsciously looking for the friction that’ll have him finished. “But, you haven’t even touched me yet.”

“Can I,” he cut himself off, looking at the ceiling embarrassed.

“Can you what baby? Come on, use your words.”

“Can I eat you out?” he admitted, bringing his chin down so his eyes could search yours. His desperation grew when you didn’t respond to him right away. “Please, ma’am, wanna taste you so bad. Just wanna make you feel good, baby, please”

“Shh, of course you can, baby,” you muttered. Soon you were yelping when he picked you up to switch positions, setting you down on the couch with your ass to the very edge.

Without any other words, he kneeled down in front of you and fuck was it a sight to behold. He didn’t look up at you, all of his focus was on your legs as he rolled up your skirt with furrowed brows. You felt the scrap of teeth and a tug, realizing that behind the skirt pooled around your thighs was Poe, taking your panties off with his fucking teeth. He reappeared, panties between his teeth. He looked at your face and seductively took them out from between his teeth and settled them on the couch next to you before diving back in.

You inhaled sharply and cursed and the sudden ravaging against your cunt. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to eat you out because his tongue was lapping against your hole like a fucking dog and his nose dug into your clit. You lifted your skirt up enough to grab ahold of his hair and keep him at work tight against you.

“Fuck,” you groaned, “Good fucking boy, ugh, feels so good.” Your voice was deep and raw and the sound of it tagged him on further, making his lick and nudges harder. It didn’t take long for a spring to break in you and Poe clenched his nails into your thighs when you started shaking, trying to get him off you with the intensity of your orgasm. 

Finally calming down, you used your grip on his head to manivuer him back so you could get a good look at him. You wished you could take a picture of him and frame it from the way he looked now. His hair unruly, face bright red, and chin completely damp with your essence was a sight to behold. His chest heaved from the air suddenly rushing back to his lungs.

You pull him up to sit next to you on the couch and you take apart his pants. He lifts his hips so you can pull down pants, boxers following. Soon his cock laid up against his stomch, bright red, leaking, and twitching like he was fighting off an orgasm. Unable to help yourself, you ran your finger nail up the underside of it. His hand darted forward to try and stop you, a hiss escaping his mouth.

“Uh uh, you let me touch what’s mine,” you tsked. When he let go of you and returned his hand to his side you hummed “that’s right,” before wrapping your fist around him. 

Immediately, strings of fuck’s and oh god’s were piling out of his mouth. His hips were jerking along with your movements and precum dribbled onto your hand as a natural form of lubricant.

“Shit, I’m gonna c-cum, I’m gonna,” his rant cut off as you removed your hand away from him. He looked over at you with wild eyes like a puppy you just kicked.

“You only get to cum inside me, ok?” you were stern with your words and he had no other choice but to nod along with them.

You kicked your leg to the other side of him and brought your lap down to his, this time you were touching each other’s most intimate parts bare and the stimulation made Poe light headed. You knew Poe wouldn’t last long but you didn’t mind, completely satisfied with the orgasm he brought you earlier. 

You reached under your dress where you two met and pulled his cock up, lefting your hip with it. You teased the tip over the slit of you, making him bunch the meat of your hip into his fist and whine. You swore you saw tears form in his eyes as he pleaded for you.

Breaking him from his misery, you slowly sid down his length. Thank you, thank you, thank you fell from his lips as he was consumed by you.

It would’ve been embarrassing for him if he could think about anything other than the warmth of your cunt. It only took five more ruts of your hips before his legs tighten, hips spasmed and hands flailing to different parts of you. You knew he was on the brink of cumming but for some reason he was denying himself. He was waiting for you.

“Go ahead, baby, cum for me.”

His eyebrows furrowed and abs tighten with the focus of hold himself off. “But, you haven’t.”

“It’s ok. Wanna feel you cum inside me. Can you do that for me? Can you cum for me baby?”

That last push was all he needed and soon enough he was whining out profanities and thank yous and he shook beneath you. You moaned at the feeling his hot cum coating you inside, at the way his eyes rolled back, at the way he choked on his breath. You gave it a few beats before you made a move to clean up.

“We should probably head back to my bed huh?” you said through the fit of giggles you found yourself in.

“Yeah,” he sighed, head resting against the back of the couch. “Just give me a minute.”

You got up from the couch, cum dripping down your leg, and extended your hand for him to take. “Come on, big guy, let’s get cleaned up.”

He followed your direction and eventually you ended up nice and clean, cuddling up in your bed. He looked over your shoulder at the alarm clock next to your bed and groaned. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot I had work at 5:00 am tomorrow,” he whined, and it being midnight meant that was in five hours.

“Don’t worry about that now. Just go to sleep and I’ll give you a ride, ok.” Very happy with the sentiment of your statement he drifted off to sleep. He didn’t even consider the inevitable questions Finn and Rey would have for him when you kissed him on the lips and told him to call you when he was off.

[madalice31]

It’s annoying that I keep seeing articles talking about Aaron Taylor Johnson and his wife and how they’re so flabbergasted by everyone’s “fascination” with their age gap.

🙄

Like literally she was 42 and he was 18 when they met and started dating. Hell he might have been 17 going on 18 but i can’t remember. On one of his first movie projects I might add, like this was before Kickass. And she directed him in that first movie. In fact, by the time kick ass two rolled around I think they were already married. She married him before he even turned 21.

You can’t tell me he was not groomed. That’s just point blank. There has been a power dynamic imbalance since they got together. I mean seriously, he was a year older than her oldest kid.

The white media won’t drag her like the black media dragged Draya tho. They’ll just smile and nod and say it’s okay now that he’s in his 30s.

But let’s not sit here and act like this shit is normal. Notice how she’s had a grip on his career ever since? She’s literally a director and producer in the industry. She has weight. This man barely does anything with a romantic interest and I guarantee he would be in a lot more movies if he wasn’t married to her. And most likely he would have much larger parts in the films too. Like aside from bullet train, he’s had such a minute part in every other movie. My bf and I would get excited to see his name attached to a film, only to watch it and realize he has such a small role. It’s like they use his name for clout. Like I’m still trying to remember when he pops up in Tenant. And his name is never top billed when it should be.

I think Kraven will be the first movie he leads since the A Million Little Pieces movie, and he was directed by his wife in that as well! She overly involves herself in his career. She claims they “take turns” on projects so they’re not apart from each other for too long. But it seems his career suffers the most from that arrangement because again, it’s not like he’s off for months and months on a project. He’s not the lead! So he’s there for maybe a few weeks and he’s back home. Hell in a recent interview she was complaining about being away from him for 6 weeks (the longest they’ve been apart) and how they were “never doing that again.” This man is doing press tours for a project she has nothing to do with and and she’s coming with him to every interview. Like why? Ain’t you supposed to be home with the kids bitch? While he’s doing his own thing for a few weeks? Oh yes, that’s right, she needs to control everything he does. God forbid he’s away from her for long enough to realize maybe he’s not actually happy with her.

He likes to defend her by saying he pursued her but it’s like dude, you think so? You know what that sounds like? The 12 year old student who was raped by his teacher and defended her by saying he pursued and wanted a relationship with her. He grew up, married her, and got her pregnant all while she was in prison for being with him. Guess where they are now? Divorced. So just because Aaron thinks the relationship was his idea doesn’t make it right. She had the responsibility to say no, you’re entirely too young for me. Instead she decided to just “go with the flow” and let “a good thing happen” to her after two kids and a divorce 🙄.

Please. 8 or 10 years apart, I’ll give you that. But 20 to 30 years apart AND you met the person when they were still a teenager? I’m not tryna hear that age is just a number bullshit.

Smh. He’s so far gone tho, I doubt he’ll divorce her. He might pull a Hugh Jackman years from now, but at least Hugh was in his 20s when he got with his much older wife. I don’t think she was able to brainwash him the way Aaron’s wife has done. Plus Hugh and his ex never had kids. I’m sure kids being involved makes it harder for Aaron if he’s even thinking about or thought about leaving. So I guess we’ll just see how the cookie crumbles.

I like him as an actor, but I’ve always found their relationship disturbing. So I wish they would just shut up about it and be low key. Cause one thing they seem to steer clear of talking about is the actual beginning of their relationship and the fact that he was a vulnerable, 18 year old first time actor when they met, literally just as career was starting. And he’s never mentioned about how his family feels about him being with her. Never even made a passing comment saying that they love her or anything like that. Just saying, the signs are there.

The quiet on the set documentary clearly shows how young actors are not protected. In this case he was legal, so she got away with it. Smh. I wish him the best.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 13: Budding Spring - Episode 7: Hazy Spring Weather

[Keyboard keys clicking] 

Tsuzuru: ... Uhhh, this one’s kinda... Nah, this one’s too plain... 

Tsuzuru: (Even if they say it’s the same as always, I can’t help but be conscious of it...) 

Tsuzuru: (Just what kind of script do I need to write to ensure we’ll be nominated...?) 

Tsuzuru: (Something that won’t only satisfy our current fans, but will also bring in new ones...) 

Citron: ... 

Tsuzuru: *sigh*... I’ve got no idea... 

Citron: Tsuzuru! We’re having a strategy meeting! 

Tsuzuru: !? Got it. 

- 

Izumi: I can absolutely understand Tsuzuru-kun's conflict. 

Izumi: The burden we’re carrying is different this time around, so it’s harder to pick a topic. 

Masumi: And not just what the play will be about, but also the lead and co-lead. 

Chikage: A topic and cast that will get us the most votes... 

Tsuzuru: It gets even tougher when you put it like this. 

Citron: It’s the rivalry of local craw craws with no blood and tears!

Tsuzuru: ... 

Citron: Tsuzuru, you don’t even have the strength to tsukkomi me!? 

Itaru: Rivalry of local cools, right. 

Citron: It’s rivalry of local warlords!? Even Itaru is acting strange! 

Chikage: In any case, the pressure on Tsuzuru is getting bad. 

Tsuzuru: I was completely absorbed in writing during our debut, so the pressure was completely different. 

Tsuzuru: The Showdown ACT with the First Generation was also real difficult, but at least our opponent there was clear... 

Chikage: This time our opponents are every other theater company + the public who are voting, so we don’t know what the right answer is. 

Tsuzuru: Is there even a right answer to begin with... 

Itaru: ^ This. 

Sakuya: At the end of the day, our only choice is to perform to the best of our abilities. 

Itaru: That being said, it’s still difficult to tell what the best of our abilities entails.

Tsuzuru: That’s true... 

Masumi: Just what is a performance and stage that resembles us, the Spring Troupe, supposed to be? 

Chikage: ... Something that resembles us, huh. 

Sakuya: What kind of play would that be... 

Izumi: ... 

Izumi: I think we should do the event, after all. 

Sakuya: Eh? 

Izumi: The workshop for beginners that we put on hold. 

Izumi: Let’s try going back to our roots and the basics and enjoy theater with people who are experiencing it for the first time. 

Sakuya: Go back to our roots... 

Sakuya: So, something like remembering how fun it was to stand on stage for the first time, and what it felt like to find a place to belong. 

Tsuzuru: That might actually be good. 

Tsuzuru: I want everyone to feel what I felt when I started acting. 

Sakuya: Me too. I want everyone to understand just how interesting theater is! 

Itaru: There are things you won’t understand until you try them. 

Chikage: When we see the participants like that, we’ll also remember what our first time acting was like... 

Citron: It's at times like this that we need to go back to the Barbies!

Tsuzuru: Back to the basics, you mean. 

Citron: Tsuzuru is finally back! 

Itaru: I think it’s good to try new things as much as we can. 

Masumi: I wanna try. 

Izumi: It’s decided, then! I’ll let Kazunari-kun know too. 

- 

Izumi: Are those heavy, Masumi-kun? 

Masumi: It’s okay. They’re light enough that I can still carry you bridal style. 

Izumi: You don’t need to do that. 

Izumi: Let’s ask the shop that lets us leave out flyers if we can put up that poster.

- 

Towa’s aunt: Towa, when you go for your break, could you put this on that table? 

Towa: Got it. 

Izumi: Oh? 

Towa: !?!? 

Towa: Hold up, getting to meet my oshi so often... Is moving to Tokyo some Platinum Ticket that guarantees a response from my oshi...!? 

Izumi: No, I think this is just a coincidence. 

Masumi: We met a bothersome guy... 

Izumi: Are you working part-time here? 

Towa: This is my aunt’s shop, I’m living here with her. 

Izumi: I see. 

Izumi: Ah, right— We just got this flyer printed, but here you go. 

[Paper rustling] 

Towa: Beginners Workshop...? 

Izumi: You said you haven’t watched a live play yet, so maybe this is coming too quickly... 

Izumi: But this is an event we came up with after talking with you. 

Izumi: I think it’ll be a good opportunity for people to learn the appeal of theater and the Spring Troupe. We’d love it if you could come. 

Towa: Ah... Umm... 

Masumi: The Director invited you, so come. 

Izumi: Masumi-kun, could you work on your invitation skills!? 

Izumi: If you’re interested, think about it. 

Towa: Okay... 

momo has entered the chat  momo:  my oshi pull luck is so strong that it’s scaring me, but just thinking of acting in front of him makes me want to kms momo: i wanna sit out. i don’t wanna embarrass myself in front of the spring troupe shiki: it’s aimed towards beginners, so aren’t they already expecting everyone to be bad at it? Kar has entered the chat Kar: suuup, what’re we talkin bout?  Iv: he was invited to a workshop for beginners by his oshi and he’s hesitating  Kar: is there anyone who wouldn’t go to that?  Iv: ^ this  momo: butbut  Iv: just go and see  Kar: and if you can’t do it just go back home  shiki: they went through the trouble of inviting you, it’d be a waste not to go. won't you regret it if you don’t go?  momo: true, but still

previous episode | masterpost | next episode

NOTES:

(1) citron's barbies line is originally him saying they should go back to being girls instead of beginners/inexperienced by confusing 女子 (joshi, girl) with 初心 (shoshin), barbies was the closest fitting thing i could think of

(2) towa's kms line is originally something close to him feeling that just thinking of acting in front of his oshi feels like a public execution, i thought kms was a fitting alternative considering the setting (a group chat consisting of high schoolers)

(3) i drove my friend/proofreader/strongest soldier i know crazy with both of the above

[waterfire1848]

Deadpool Anon here!

Could I get #1 Soulmates AU for Zutara please?!

Hello, deadpool anon!! Of course you can!!

This is in the regular universe but in this universe I'm going with a classic tattoo AU where everyone has a tattoo describing their soulmate

Every since Zuko could remember he had this annoying blue ribbon with a light blue pendant tattoo on his neck. It was there the day he was born and it would be there the day he died as well. Zuko would often step in front of the mirror to see if it had changed at all, maybe into something more closely associated with the Fire Nation, but it never did.

"An even greater shame on the Royal Family." His father grumbled.

"You don't know it's someone from the Water Tribe." His mother argued back.

"It's a blue ribbon!" Ozai yelled.

"The color blue doesn't mean it's guaranteed to be a tribeswoman! Think of Fire Lady Ilah!" Zuko shuttered at the mention of his grandmother. She was the only reason he was alive. When he was born, his father was sure that his soulmate would be someone from the Water Tribe and wanted him killed for it. Azulon, who hadn't said a word, spoke up for the first time.

"Your mother had blue in her hair as her mark. A rare mutation of a soulmate mark, but one that led me to her. It was blue not because she would marry someone from the Water Tribe but because she would marry me: someone with blue fire." Ozai never said a word about Zuko's mark after that in front of Azulon.

This wasn't to say Zuko could flaunt his tattoo as he wished. His teacher, schoolmates and even family, including his mother and grandfather, still looked at it with disdain whenever they saw it. Which is why Zuko had taken to covering it up as best he could at every possible opportunity.

"Do you really think your soulmate could be a tribeswoman, Zuzu? Would that mean you have to move to the North or South Pole?" Azula asked, jumping on his bed.

"Go away, Azula." Zuko mumbled.

"I'm just asking questions. Oh! What if your soulmate is a prisoner in the Fire Nation?" Azula asked, "I wonder if you'll be able to marry-"

"At least I'm not a confirmed disgrace to our grandfather's law!" Zuko snapped.

When he saw Azula's face, he instantly felt bad. Maybe that was too far. Azula, same as Zuko, had also received her mark at birth. The only problem was that her mark were ribbons for circus performers. Ribbons that only female performers used. Azula’s soulmate was a girl.

Zuko didn’t hear the first half of what Azula said but he did hear her mumble something along the lines of, “Not my fault.”

“We both got soulmarks we don’t like.” Zuko said.

“I guess so.” Azula agreed, “What will you do if you soulmate is from the Water Tribe?”

“I don’t know.” Zuko shrugged, “But I can’t be with someone from the Water Tribe. You heard what the tutor said. They’re violent and dangerous. I can’t date someone like that.” Azula nodded, agreeing with her brother’s statement, “If it is someone from the Water Tribe then I guess…I’ll just ignore it.”

It wasn’t unheard of for someone to ignore their soulmate mark but it was incredibly uncommon, “Good idea.” Azula said, “I think I’ll do the same.”

“Even though your soulmate is Ty-“

“Don’t! I-…we don’t know it’s her. It could be anyone. Besides, I don’t even like Ty Lee like that.” Zuko, knowing better, hugged Azula close to him, “We won’t say a word about our soulmates?” Azula asked, holding out her pinkie.

“Not a word.” Zuko agreed, wrapping his pinkie around his sister’s in solidarity.

————————————

Katara always hated her tattoo. It was the mark of the enemy. Orange, yellow and red flames on her wrists mocked her whenever she took her wrist cuffs off to wash or for bed. The told her that she was a traitor to her people, a traitor to her family, a monster for having a soulmate from the Fire Nation.

Her mother had been the only one who was kind to her about who her soulmate was.

“It doesn’t matter what mark you have. The spirit’s never make a mistake. Your soulmate will love you and they will be as kind and as caring as you.” Kya promised, offering her a soft smile.

“How do you know, mom? What if they’re evil? Like in the stories?” Katara asked.

“Honey. Remember a few weeks ago how Ulu’s dad was attacked by a wolf? You were pretty mad at that wolf, huh?” Katara nodded, “Does that mean every single wolf in existence is as bad as that one?”

“No.” Katara answered.

“Exactly. Maybe this Fire National isn’t as bad as the soldiers. Maybe he wants to escape and join us.” Katara allowed herself some hope for her mother’s words.

The hope vanished the moment she ran into her house and saw her mother burned alive. Her mother, the one person who had tried to encourage her to believe that her soulmate was a good person, was dead.

Hakoda found her later that day because Sokka ran to find him, “Dad! Something’s wrong with Katara!” Hakoda was by his eight year old’s side in a second.

“Katara?”

“I don’t want it!” She sobbed, “I don’t want my tattoo! Get rid of it!” Hakoda looked at her wrists, noticing quickly that they were bright red and Katara’s nails had broken the skin.

“Katara, baby, you have to stop-“

“I DON’T WANT MY MARK!” Katara screamed, “They killed mom! They’re monsters! They should all die! They’re evil! Mom-…I want mom.” Katara couldn’t keep up her yelling by the end. She collapsed into her father’s arms as he stroked her hair.

“Shhh. Shh. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Hakoda promised.

“Want mom.” Katara sobbed.

“I know. I know.” Hakoda felt Sokka wrap himself around them so he used one of his arms to bring his son into the hug, “We’ll be okay.”

“But…but I’m still a traitor.” Katara whimpered.

“You’re not a traitor. You didn’t choose that tattoo. The spirits did. Katara, look at me,” Hakoda gently cupped Katara’s chin so he had to look up at him, “your mother never cared about the mark on your skin. She loved you. She loved you so much. Never forget that. Never forget that she didn’t care about your tattoo, she just wanted you to be happy. That’s all she ever wanted: both of you happy.”

Sokka took a look at his own wrists which had small fans on them. The fans themselves didn’t indicate much until Kanna claimed that she had seen them before. She took out a book and showed them Avatar Kyoshi’s fans. They matched perfectly.

“My soulmate is a dead Avatar?” Sokka had asked, earning a laugh from the adults.

“I think her wife might have a problem with that.” Kya told him, “But it means your soulmate will probably be from the Earth Kingdom and they might be a nonbender too.” Sokka practically glowed at that realization.

“Or an earthbender.” Kanna added, “Avatar Kyoshi used her fans to compensate for her inability to bend small objects in earthbending. Your soulmate might use the fans for that.”

“I wanna meet them!” Sokka said, jumping up and down.

“You will. When you’re older, you’ll meet them at just the right time.” Kya told him.

“I don’t want my soulmate, dad.” Sokka was brought back to reality by Katara’s words.

“You don’t have to make a decision now, Tara. Take some time and think it over.”

So, she did. She thought over her tattoo and what it meant while she buried her mother, while she mourned her, while she assumed responsibility in the tribe, while she watched her father go to war when she was only 11, and came to a conclusion. She put on wrist cuffs to cover her mark and hide it away from the world.

Never to be seen again.

—————————————

The Western Air Temple was certainly a new hideout for Team Avatar. They’d been in temples before, as had Zuko, but it was different to stay and life in one as opposed to just visiting it for a few days.

The first few days in their new makeshift home were…uncomfortable to say the least. It was clear that no one trusted Zuko, no one more so than Katara, and they acted like it. It was subtle but visible how the Gaang would sit in front of Haru, the Duke and Teo to protect them from Zuko or how Sokka always had a weapon with him when Zuko was around or Aang always having a hand on his staff.

Even if they said nothing, their minor actions were more than clear: they didn’t trust Zuko.

Then, slowly but surely, that distrust melted away. The more time Zuko spent with them and proved himself, the more the Gaang slowly grew to trust him.

“To Zuko. Who knew after all those times he tried to snuff us out today he’d be our hero!”

“Hear hear!” Everyone, minus Katara, cheered to Sokka’s toast.

“I’m touched. I don’t deserve this.” Zuko said.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Katara grumbled, getting up and walking away.

“What’s with her?” Katara heard Sokka say.

“I wish I knew.” Sensing that Zuko was following her, she went into her tent. To most people this was a sign that she wanted privacy.

In her isolation, Katara removed her wrist cuffs just as Zuko pushed the flaps of her tent open. Their eyes connected for a moment before Zuko’s eyes landed on her wrists.

“Your tattoo.” He whispered.

“What is wrong with you?!” Katara snapped, “Who charges into someone’s tent?!”

"Sorry. Sorry. I just...your tattoo is fire."

"What about it?" Katara snapped, putting her wrist bands back over her.

"Is your soulmate a firebender?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never met my soulmate. I never really had any want to after their people murdered my mother." Katara's voice cut through Zuko like a knife to his heart.

He had known for some time now that Katara was his soulmate. While there were thousands of firebenders, there was only one person Zuko had ever met with the same blue necklace around his neck. For the longest time, he ignored his feelings because she was the enemy but to know she had a tattoo that symbolized him was incredibly. To hear that she wanted nothing to do with her soulmate was more heartbreaking than anything else.

"Maybe you should give your soulmate a chance. He or she could surprise you and-"

"I don't want them! With my luck they're probably some firebending soldier working for Ozai. The last thing I need right now is to go looking for someone like that." Katara grumbled, "Now, if you have nothing more to say, can you leave my tent?"

Zuko's hand grabbed at his collar that kept his tattoo covered, "I...ummm..." He took one final look at her wrists before sighing, "I want to talk about why you don't trust me." He went with.

Zuko and Katara never spoke about soulmates after that. It just wasn't really a topic that ever came up. However, it never left Zuko's mind that Katara was his soulmate. Whenever he could, he sat next to her at dinners, laughed at her really bad jokes, helped with chores. But the biggest moment would always be the lightning strike. Zuko didn't even think during that moment. His legs acted before he did and he jumped in front of the bolt.

His vision going dark.

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

The next time Zuko woke up, he was still in the arena and the sky was still painted red with Sozin's Comet. Was he dead? Is he a ghost now? No, no he felt very much alive, in incredible pain, but alive. Suddenly, Katara's smiling face was looking at him.

"Your tattoo." She whispered.

"Surprise." He tried to smile at her even though everything in his body hurt.

"How long have you known?" She asked.

"Since the earthbending prison when I found the necklace. It matched perfectly with my tattoo." Zuko explained, "I should have told you but I-"

"It's okay. I understand why you didn't. You didn't know how I'd react." Katara took her hands away from Zuko's injury and undid her wrist cuffs, "I started wearing these when I thought no good could come from the Fire Nation. I wore them as a reminder everyday of what I was fighting for. Now...now the war might be over and I don't think I need them anymore."

"If the war is over...do you think you'd want to try going on a date?" Asking his soulmate out on a date while she was healing a life threatening lightning injury was not how he imagined asking out Katara would go but he had a feeling that taking after taking a lightning bolt for her was probably as good a time as any to ask.

"That sounds great."

[planetamarte]

love in the future

shadomega. poetry in first person pov. warning for major character death. ao3 link

Shadow the Hedgehog, knowing that immortality is not a guarantee for a machine, thinks about the day that will come when E-123 Omega is no longer with him.

---

Grief is a close friend of mine.

I know it’s one of yours, too.

When you go, I will grieve like I never have.

I have kissed the steel strip directly beneath your head across lifetimes,

savoring each spark of electricity when you kiss me back.

I've known the closeness of your metallic flesh,

tracing my fingers along every inch of your chassis,

loving every inch of your sturdy frame

even as it’s rusted and discolored with age.

You've given me quite the amount of scares,

making me carefully move around the wires in your insides

tender enough so I don't break you.

(I used to be way worse at it.

I've gained experience throughout the generations we've spent together;

now I know you like the back of my own hand.)

Every time, I heave a sigh of relief when you power back online,

knowing that the love of my life is still there,

the lines of code that make up your sentience still remaining in their respective places.

I worry for the day you don’t wake up.

That it’s finally time every time.

Maybe you won’t go out that easy;

I know you’re stubborn enough that you wouldn’t want it to happen that way.

I love that about you.

You're not even as stubborn as you once were,

yet you refuse to even entertain the idea of leaving me behind.

I know it hurts you just as much as me.

I have had to worry far less about losing you than everyone else,

but I know the day will come

that your CPU malfunctions—

you take too bad of a hit—

and you won't turn back on for me to look into your optical cameras,

you into my eyes,

and call me your beloved anymore.

When that day comes, I know I will cry the same way I always have

whenever Death knocks on the door of someone close to me

with the sharp tip of his glaring scythe.

I'll lay you to rest, my darling, and I know it’ll hurt when I do.

You want to be the last surviving machine around,

so if it turns out you’re not—

(I know you refuse to think you won’t be)

—I’ll carry your dead processor chip on a necklace close to my heart until the end of time

so that eventually, when the heat of the sun destroys the Earth,

you’ll come right along with me.

[papyrus-in-practice]

Hey, y’all! I wanted to give an update on Papyrus in Practice and other related stuff.

“It’s been about a year, where’s the next page!?”

Wow, when I saw it’s actually been a year, I kind of blanched a bit. I didn’t mean for the hiatus to last that long. Next page is actually done. In fact, a couple of pages are either done or close to done. I’m trying to build up a big buffer so that, hopefully, there will be a smaller gap between updates in the future. My plan is to have eight pages completed, line art for four pages done, have the script for the next scene done, and have a couple of pages worth of sketches ready. As I’m typing this, six of the eight next pages are done with the remaining ones in various stages of completion and two of the four next pages have finished line art. I’ve been working and reworking and re-reworking the script for the final scene for the past twenty months and honestly frustrated in how to wrap up the chapter in a satisfying way that won’t make me stuck on chapter 4 for another two years because the climax and conclusion is so long. So, that’s where I’m at now.

“I wrote something in the ask blog and didn’t get a response.”

I read every comment and every ask sent to me and, most likely, have at least attempted to write a script to answer it. But, I gotta weigh my options. Do I answer it at risk of delaying Papyrus in Practice for another month or focus on the comic? Depending on how elaborate the answer is, it might take a while to make a response. There are also things I just don’t know how to answer to and, believe me, I’ve tried coming up with a good answer, but I’m also still learning about life myself and I’ve found that, sometimes, my answer to a question has changed a lot over time. Sometimes, I’m afraid of saying something that’s ultimately harmful. It’s a tricky balance. At the end of the day, I've never guaranteed a response to any ask and never will guarantee a response. There are still some asks that I'd like to get around to, maybe if chapter 4 finishes or I get burnt out while making it and need a change of pace.

“Are you actually a therapist?”

Yup. I just graduated this past May with a masters in art therapy counseling. My title right now is a qualified mental health professional or QMHP. I’m waiting to take the National Counselor’s Exam to obtain my LPC but government paperwork is a looooong process(seriously, some of my colleagues have been waiting in the queue for over a year to get their LCPC). In the meantime, I can still practice as a therapist as long as I check in with a supervisor and have been practicing and slowly building my caseload for the past couple of months.

“Can you be my therapist/give therapy to this person?”

The short answer is no. The long answer is that there are a lot of ethical concerns when it comes to providing mental healthcare and breaching ethical guidelines could impede therapy progress, bring potential harm to the client, myself, or I could get in big legal trouble. I can also only practice if the client is located in my home state and goes through the company I work for since I need supervision to practice. However, I’d be happy to provide resources like websites that help you find a therapist, even for a reduced price, or self-help sites that can help you learn skills and develop tools to use that can boost your mental well-being. I cannot, however, provide mental health services.

“Will (insert character’s name) meet with Papyrus?”

Maybe. I’ve got ideas for characters in mind, but it’s more a question of how much longer I want to be doing this for. I’ll be honest with y’all, I’m getting burnt out. I want to do different projects or even revisit older projects, but I tell myself I can’t do that until I finish Papyrus in Practice or, at the very least, finish chapter 4. I didn’t think this chapter would go on for as long as it has, but it also makes sense. We’ve already hit page 25 which is almost as long as the entirety of chapter 3 and I don’t even know if we’re halfway done with the chapter yet. The way it’s looking, chapter 4 may easily hit at least 50 pages.

“So, when will you be posting again?”

Soon! Hopefully, before the end of the year. When I start updating again, I’ll be posting one page every other week which gives at least a few months of content for y’all.

That being said, I’ll see you soon!

-Meemie

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Surprise!

Ten - Him Letter Ten of The Surprise! Writing Game Letter One - Her by @toomanystoriessolittletime Letter Two - Him by @supernaturalgirl20 Letter Three - Her by @prolix-yuy Letter Four - Him by @misspearly1 Letter Five - Her by @scorpio-marionette Letter Six - Him by @boliv-jenta Letter Seven - Her by @sturkillerbase Letter Eight - Him by @absurdthirst Letter Nine - Her by @quica-quica-quica Letter Ten - Him by @just-here-for-the-moment

Summary: Frankie gets a surprise letter overseas early into 18-month mission from you. Pairing: Francisco Morales x fem. reader "Bubbles" Wordcount: 494 Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, talks about a One night stand, talks about condoms

Banner made by @toomanystoriessolittletime

Goddamn, Bubbles… You can’t just tease a man like that with lacy things and not give him a heart attack! 

You look amazing. Fuck it, amazing isn’t a big enough word. You look fucking gorgeous, serene like a goddess, and so round and luscious. 

I can’t explain what your photo did to me. Yes, it was sexy, but more than that, just knowing that’s MY baby in there, that you’re carrying around a part of ME… makes my chest swell with pride. You’re mine. Mine, baby. I know this whole thing is crazy and we’re on fast-forward but … 

Fuck it. Marry me. Please. I’ll do premarital counseling or a prenup or whatever it takes, but I can’t stand the idea of living away from you and not waking up next to you every day. 

I know we don’t know each other at all. I know this is crazy. I know it’s a lot of things that people would say we shouldn’t rush into, but I need to grab hold of you and not let go. 

One thing I know is that we’re not guaranteed happiness in life, and when you do get some you should hold it close. So please… Marry me. Be mine. 

Holy SHIT… my CO just walked in with my letter. Leave got approved! I’m coming home three weeks before your due date, and I get another nine weeks after that. We’re gonna be a family, Bubbles… you and me and Mia. My family. 

I didn’t want to pressure you, but my old college buddy is a real estate agent, and he sent me an email with this listing for a great house just on the other side of town from your apartment. If you and Mom can go look at it and tell me what you think… I know I’m asking a whole lot, I’m asking you to move while you’re pregnant, but I’ll pay for packing and moving. You won’t have to pack a goddamn thing (except maybe that purple lace stuff… please). 

It has three bedrooms, two baths, a nice backyard that could hold a swingset for Mia (don’t laugh at me, I know I’m getting ahead of myself). 

If you like it, just say the word and I’ll put down the down payment on the house. You’ll have to go to the bank and do your part of the mortgage application, but I have all these military bennies and a guaranteed lock on a good mortgage rate, and I never felt like using them before, but they’re all yours. I’m all yours.

I know it’s a lot, it’s a LOT to ask, sweetheart, but I need to know that you and Mia are settled in a big, nice place before she comes. And the minute I get back you won’t have to lift a finger ever again, my love. I’ll break my back to make you comfortable, if that’s what it takes. 

All my love, Frankie

[melodygatesauthor]

Weekly Update

8/27/2023

Announcements/Reminders

Next week is my 1 year ficversary! - I'll be doing a BIG post and a tiny celebration for that since I just had a celebration for my 2k followers.

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I'm taking art commissions! - Pricing - Follow my art blog: @melodymakesart

Fic Updates

Disclaimer - I never know which way the winds of inspiration will blow. Timeframes aren’t a promise/guarantee, they’re a goal.

Fic Updates Legend:

Blue - Update this week

Pink - Update in progress

Red - Backburner Fic (not currently working on. See WIP list for status)

You can find my current WIP list here

Chaptered Fic Updates

A Bit Dodgy - Chapter 17 is coming tomorrow! I don't think it will be out early in the morning like usual but it will be out tomorrow at some point during the day!

Always Yours, Never Mine - Chapter 4 is in progress, hoping to have the next update out in the next couple of weeks!

The Fractured Moon - My primary focus this past week has been getting A Bit Dodgy finished, and also working on getting the requests and stuff for my 2k celebration done. I'll be working on part 4 of TFM this week to hopefully post next week!

Remember to look at my WIP list for other backburner fics

Mini-series Updates

Feeling You Can’t Fight - Chapter 3 is done! I had meant to get editing done for this fic last week but it got away from me! I'll be working on it this week.

All on the backburner for now but will get additional chapters soon:

Not a Doctor - Part 2

Worth the Risk - Part 3

AI Character Bot Updates

I currently have the following bots on my list that I’m working on. If you have any suggestions or additions you’d like, please feel free to ask! I won’t make every single one I get asked for but I’ll make some of them as I get time!

DBF Jake and Steven (I already did Marc...did I ever post him? I thought I did but maybe not)

Patient Steven and Marc

Moon Knight Rescue scenario

Am I missing any? Don't see one on the list that you want to add? Send me an inbox or private message! No promises, but if I like the idea I'll make an AI bot.

I think that's all for now! Much love!

Don't forget to follow my other blogs:

@melodymakesart - My art blog

@lockandkeynovel - The blog for my original fiction novel, Lock & Key

@melodyreadsfanfiction - The blog where I reblog works I intend to read, a good place for fanfic readers to follow!

@melodygatesupdates - This is where I'll reblog any chapter updates for my fics and whatnot. This is what I use instead of a tag list!

[dangerous-advantage]

tips and tricks for writing (new and improved)

So you want to write something. Maybe you have this idea that you just can’t get out of your head but every time you start to write, you can never seem to finish it. Maybe you want to improve your skills but nothing seems to be helping. Maybe you want to get back into writing, but don’t know where to start.

Whatever the case, you could use some inspiration (or maybe motivation!) While I can’t guarantee this post will give you that, it might provide you with a little something-something to make writing a little bit easier on you.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to be a writing “professional,” but I have been writing since I picked up a pencil, so I’d like to think I’ve learned a thing or two. I also want to specify: what works for me may not work for you.

Regardless of what you might hear, there is no formulaic “wrong or right” way to write. If you have the skill and the patience, you can pull anything off (and somebody will probably like it.)

Another note: I’m writing this as a neurodivergent person for other neurodivergent people, but anyone can benefit from these "hacks." These are just the tips that I personally use to stay motivated, avoid burnout, and keep writing.

i. Warm yourself up before you write.

This is perhaps one of the most helpful tips I have ever acquired. Before you start writing, pull out a separate piece of paper/notebook, navigate to another document and set a timer for 15-20 minutes. (You can adjust the time limit to what works best for you, but this is generally the time I use.)

Press start, and begin writing. 

It can be anything you want. Maybe you want to challenge your skills a little. Maybe you’re following a specific prompt. Maybe you’re just writing off a whim. Whatever the case, write. 

Don’t navigate away from the page. Don’t look up synonyms or facts or anything at all. If you have a browser extension to check your work, turn it off. This isn’t supposed to be good and you probably won’t even finish it. That’s fine. That’s what you’re supposed to do. 

Don’t think; just write. Nobody but you is going to see this (unless you want them to), and if you’re like me, you’ll probably never return to this again. 

Maybe something you write will provide motivation or inspiration. What you do with it is up to you. But when that timer goes off, that’s when you return to your WIP.

Modify this as you like. I personally keep all of my writing practices on one document that I return to every time I start writing. You can start a different prompt every time or add on to one that you liked. Whatever. 

The point of this is just to get into the flow of writing. If you're already there, feel free to skip. 

ii. Use music to stay focused.

This one works well for some people and fails for others. I generally prefer music, as it keeps me on task and creates a barrier between myself and outside distractions, but if it ends up becoming a distraction itself, that’s when you leave it behind. 

Depending on what I’m writing, I’ll generally personalize it to fit the mood. Battle scenes, gothic westerns, and sci-fi space operas all tend to have a different vibe. There are some playlists that are helpful as background noise, but in the end, it just comes down to what you prefer. 

Some good options for me are playlists from ‘nobodys’ channel, as well as playlists designed specifically for ADHD/Autistic people, such as this one. Compile all the playlists you like, and go to them for when you want mood music. (Generally, instrumentals work better for me, but not always.)

Avoid changing music as much as you can. If this is a big problem for you, spend some time compiling your own playlists with music you know won’t interrupt your focus.

iii. Keep rough drafts rough.

For me, a big part of writing is keeping up your momentum. If you have inspiration or motivation, ride that wave for as long as you can. This means that when you write your first draft, you treat it as it is – a rough draft. 

If you forget a word, or need a synonym for a better word, or just can’t figure out what to put here/have the motivation to do so, or need to double check on a fact – unless it is pivotal to the rest of the scene, for the love of god, don’t. 

Use the brackets method instead. Don’t know what to say? Put it in brackets, bold it, and move on. Often, answers or inspiration will come to you from your later writing. If you can, don’t even address those areas until you start your second draft. 

Here’s an example of what I mean by this, taken from my own work: 

Another note: certain fonts can help you be more productive. Comic Sans, for example. (Yes, I know, the dreaded comic sans. But this is a rough draft. If all goes well, it will never have to see the light of day.)

iv. Use resources.

I have had one person, another writer, tell me that “real authors don’t use writing resources.” If you know somebody like this, remove them from your life immediately (/j). My entire foundation is built on writing resources. 

Writing generators, like first line generators, dialogue generators, name generators, appearance generators, or anything else under the sun can and should be used. You don’t need to worry about every little detail, and at the very least, they can help a lot with motivation/inspiration. 

My best friend and long-time favorite has to be Onelook Reverse Dictionary. I’m not kidding when I say this has changed my life. It’s a thesaurus, but better than any other thesaurus I have ever used. It can be weird figuring out at first, but like ao3, take advantage of the advanced filtering system. 

(I would also recommend double-checking connotations or usage of any words that you want to use but don’t recognize, just in case. Oh, and pro tip: if you have a word with a lot of meanings, click on the one that best fits what you’re looking for. It’ll sort the results by most relevant.) 

Some other very helpful resources include: Rhymezone (for poetry), YouGoWords (another rather thorough thesaurus, of sorts), Word Type (for all your grammatical needs), Transition Words (for technical writing, but also variation), Descriptionary (for all your descriptive/imagery needs), and Hemingway Editor (for an extra set of eyes), and Writing Exercises UK (for improving writing/writing generators).

v. Organize your work.

This may very well only be applicable to me, but I find that organizing my work into folders and keeping drafts separated from one another is very helpful.

 For my current project, I have a multi-layered folder, with a document for my rough draft and an entirely different one for my revised/edited version. I’ve even considered making a third, for an extra level of smoothness. 

I find that rewriting my work line by line helps me stay thorough and can remind myself of little details in the past that could be important to future plot points. I’ll copy and paste some, but a lot of times, I’ll add/revise sentences or entire paragraphs.

Keeping them separate also helps with productivity. If I assign a certain “task” to a certain document, it can help me stay focused on that task. It can also feel a lot more satisfying to see your work all nice and formatted fancy, instead of a messy rough draft.

vi. Don't overwork yourself.

The leading causes of burnout for myself tend to be overworking myself, or little external feedback. I’ll get to that in the next section, but for now, overworking yourself. 

I know I talked about “riding your motivation as it comes” and “keeping momentum,” but in the end, that’s not always healthy. Taking a break to focus on other projects, or just giving your brain a breather can be incredibly helpful.

Maybe you want to focus on improving a certain aspect of writing. Maybe you just need a week to chill. Whatever it is, don’t feel afraid to step away from your project. My number one rule with it is this: if it starts to cause you stress, you won’t want to do it. As soon as it gets labeled as “work,” it can become a problem.

Some people don’t have a problem with this. But for those who do, I promise you. Avoid overworking yourself at all costs. It will kill a project.

vii. Get an alpha/beta reader.

This is a bit more difficult. Finding somebody who is both at your level and whom you trust to be vulnerable with your work can be a difficult task. 

But it’s the same concept as comments/kudos on your fic. Finding somebody to offer perspective, ideas, advice, whatever, on your work can be so goddamn motivating. This is why leaving comments/kudos on fics, especially comments that point out specific things you liked/noticed is probably one of the most supportive things you can do for a writer. 

It can also give you a sense of external motivation. If there’s somebody else who’s constantly hyping you up/excited about your work, whether it be a comment or an alpha/beta, you’ll be motivated to write more as well as stay on task/less likely to lose interest.

If you get an alpha/beta reader, outline what you expect/want from them. This guide by Reddit user YoungRL has much more information and includes some helpful resources.

If your beta/alpha is causing you more grief, don’t be afraid to tell them you don’t think it’s working out. A beta reader/alpha reader should be there to help your writing shine and your ideas fly. If they aren’t doing that, then you might want to reconsider your choice.

vii. Final thoughts.

I wasn’t gonna include this, but I decided, fuck it, why not. Here are a few more miscellaneous tips and tricks I use in my writing process:

– When outlining your work, don’t feel like you need to put in every single detail. Some people can do that just fine, but it can be a big cause of loss of motivation if you’re bored by what you’re writing. Leave some stuff for yourself to “discover” as you go along. 

– Set attainable goals. If you’re someone that uses goals to motivate yourself, don’t set your standards so high for yourself that you’ll never be able to reach them. Perfectionism is a constant foe in my own writing, and if you feed into it, it will mess with your writing. Not everything is going to be “perfect,” but that’s okay. It doesn’t need to be. 

– Never delete your writing. Unless you know you are good and done with it, store it elsewhere and pick at it for easy motivation/ideas later on. Instead of deleting that whole chapter, just move it elsewhere. Even if it’s horrible and you hate it, I guarantee there will be stuff in it that you’ll want to borrow later. 

– And finally: be kind to yourself. After you’ve read something a thousand times, you’ll probably hate it a little bit. But that’s to be expected. Just remember, other people out there will enjoy it. Your ideas aren’t bad, you’ve just seen them a million times. 

Writing is about learning what works for you and implementing it. Any time I see a guide that says, “Here’s what you should ALWAYS do” or “Things you should NEVER do when writing,” I disregard it. 

While those can be good for beginners, there is no “right way.” You can make virtually anything work just by putting your own spin on it. There will be people who enjoy it, or at the very least, enjoy parts of it. Even if those people are you and your friends.  The same thing goes for your process. Everybody’s style of writing is individual.

Don’t be afraid to experiment. Find things you like, tactics you see other authors use and implement them into your style. Publish, or don’t. If you’re brave enough to put yourself out there, I applaud you. If you’d rather write fanfic, I love you so much (/p). 

And remember: writing is a labor of love. In the end, if you don’t enjoy it, that’s okay. Don’t burn yourself out over something that only brings you frustration.