#is a great comfort he himself is not entirely aware of the importance of

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎNobody's Son, Nobody's Daughter౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎThere's many different ways that you can kill the one you love (The slowest way is never loving them enough)꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: pregnancy, angst, mentions of sexual activity, miscarriage, struggles with eating, weight loss pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: coriolanus has always resisted the unexpected. you surprised him author’s note: some coryo angst for you my loves Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Regret is a disease, in Coriolanus' opinion. It starts small, a thought in the back of one's mind, something that couldn't possibly be true. But time waters the roots until it towers over you, until you are unable to live anywhere but in its shadow.

There were things he wished he didn't do. Or, more accurately, things he wished he didn't have to do. But every movement was careful, every notion considered. He wouldn't be where he was today if it weren't for all he'd done. Both good and bad. It wasn't easy being the man of the house, a title he'd worn for more time than not.

His family was taken care of. Tigris was seeing a flourishing career in fashion, her designs paid for by the highest bidders. The Grandma'am had long passed, but her funeral was as regal and fine as any could be, true to the way she had lived. Coriolanus saw that fresh roses made their way to her grave regularly.

So really, it had all been worth it. He himself was doing more than fine, one of the youngest politicians in Capitol history. The pay gave him an extremely comfortable lifestyle, enough to provide for his cousin too, if she ever needed it.

Quickly though, he learned it didn't matter how much money he had now. Spending his formative years starving in every way possible had cut its mark, leaving a scar he wished he could cover up. The most frequent content of his nightmares consisted of being back in that dreary old penthouse, squeezing his feet into too-small shoes and gulping down a mouthful of watery cabbage before running off to school to maintain an image that had long died. He woke up in cold sweats, fisting his silk sheets, heart pounding. He'd look to the open closet door, where there was an entire row of shoes just in his size, and then ring for tea that was more than just boiled water.

These inner demons caused him to feel reckless. He kept it within for the most part, terrified at the prospect of lost control. Even though there was very little to hide anymore, he was well aware of how quickly good fortune could turn sour. The state of his savings was an indication of that, packed to the brim just in case something went awry.

It wasn't just money or lost investments to worry about. Coriolanus' entire career was dependent on the public eye, his perfect image. Of course, it was easier to maintain now that he wasn't lying about finances, giving him an up from when he was at the Academy. Other less than pretty facets of his past were well hidden, where only one who knew what to look for would find.

He was the only thing he couldn't control.

Being both the only person he trusted and the person he trusted the least was conflicting to say the least. On one hand, he knew himself. On the other, he knew himself. Knew that no matter how much he had, he would always crave what he wouldn't allow himself to have. The list wasn't long, but the contents took up a great deal of space.

Coriolanus had known he'd have to take a wife at some point. Politics were a family man's game. Being head of a household boded well for those wanting to lead the country, apparently. If that were the only requirement, he would have been president years ago. He held off as long as he could. It clearly wasn't that important if he'd been able to get this far.

Still, the higher he climbed, the more of an issue it became. At dinners with his colleagues, he was the only single man attending. During parties, he discovered there was only so much he could do without a partner at his side. A wife would help him make connections, soften his image. He was aware of how he came off because he'd gardened himself to be that way. Getting married was the only way to fix it without changing himself.

The requirements were more than generous. Someone young, pretty, who could hold her own. Beyond that, he couldn't care less. The dreaded L word was so far out of bounds that it was the opposite of a necessity. He observed debutantes with a critical eye, approaching the few he found to be acceptable. Going as far as calling on one or two, he resigned himself to mediocrity, even looked forward to it. This would open doors he'd long wanted to get behind.

Coriolanus met you at a dinner hosted in your father's home. You were seated next to him, beautiful posture and face not unnoticed by him. When you spoke, he heard music, and he didn't even like music. But there must have been a siren in your mouth, because he found himself hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. And then when you turned to him, asked his name with eyes that reminded him of the stars, he knew he was gone.

He'd sworn off love long ago, resisted the strongest of temptations in every facet of his life in order to stay perfect. But you were an aphrodisiac tuned to his senses; a poison hidden behind a flower. You'd smiled at him so sweetly, asking him questions about himself that he hardly heard through the beat of his own heart. At the end of the night, he was forced to accept the truth- that he was wholly enchanted by you.

This was the opposite of what he wanted. Coriolanus told himself to distance himself now that he'd identified the problem, to turn to one of the other girl's he'd picked out and make himself content. The last thing he'd expected was to be swept up in a single girl, to have her face in his mind during waking and sleeping hours. His nightmares turned to dreams of you sitting beside him at the fireplace, lips ever so close but never touching.

This was worse than the nightmares. He could reassure himself that those weren't real. Sleeping pills weren't something he'd touched before. Too addictive, too risky. He started taking two with his nightly tea.

Dreamless sleep didn't fix his waking hours. He couldn't help inquiring about you, learning every tidbit anyone could tell him. You were an accomplished student, raised to perfection for society's prying eyes. Various accounts detailed your charm, your beauty, your genuine sweetness. The vice within him only bloomed with every new detail, until he found himself on the front steps of your dwelling, telling himself he was only going to call. Nothing more. It would satiate his curiosity.

Of course, you were lovelier on your own somehow. A diamond in the rhinestone pool he'd dived into in search of a companion. His calls increased in frequency, the other options forgotten. In what felt like no time at all, the ring he'd carefully selected was on your finger, sitting there like it was always meant to be. Like he'd fixed in the one piece that made you short of the whole puzzle.

He was deep in the whirlwind that was you, under your spell. When he kissed you for the first time, it was dizzying, your touch shutting off his mind. In this way, he claimed you, put his mark where everyone could see it.

All his life, he'd had to guard his possessions, from food to pride to image. He lived at less than half full for the sake of holding onto these things. One sip of posca. Only a few more bites so he could eat tomorrow. Keep yourself alert or they will take everything from you.

You were the one indulgence he allowed himself. He told himself he deserved it, just this one time. Something good on purpose. Something good that was unplanned. Maybe...just maybe. He sobered up quickly on his wedding day.

Seeing you standing across from him, eyes soft, looking a vision in white, it hit him what this meant. He had you. And now he was in danger.

Love had consequences. Love made him blind. Love had almost cost him everything in the past. He'd broken his own rule, made himself a target for tragedy. Worse somehow, he risked you.

Marriage meant sex. Sex meant babies. He'd known that before, of course, but it as staring him in the eyes now, a knife to his throat. Memories of his mother's screaming and her pale, lifeless face were ghosts before his eyes as he recited his vows. His one indulgence couldn't have been a worse one. Your smile suddenly felt haunting, not sweet.

All through the reception, he was making a new list in his head. Now that he'd done the one thing he'd vowed not to, he'd have to deal with the aftermath the only way he knew. Love was a wildfire, and he was prepared to fight it, contain it as best he could. Coriolanus Snow could control the uncontrollable, steer himself away from the wreckage he'd caused.

He had what he'd wanted, even if followed by a worse issue. Till death do us part.

As far as regrets went, you were his biggest one.

Your nightdress tonight was red. A last-ditch attempt. Coriolanus seemed fond of the color, the same as his precious roses, his favorite suit, the Snow family crest. Even his leather briefcase had a maroon tint to it.

When he entered the bedroom, stone faced as usual, he made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and removing his shoes, barely nodding at you. Sitting up straight, you smiled hopefully, waiting for him to say something about your appearance.

He was quiet as he approached you, getting on the bed and holding out a hand, which you took, heart beating optimistically. His hair was a little messy, eyes unreadable as he took you in. When he pulled you closer, you almost sighed at the feel of his skin on yours, the warmth of it making you want to curl up against him forever. Coriolanus leaned in, and you tilted your head up, hoping for a kiss.

Instead, your husband exhaled, looking at you in a way you didn't understand. Patting the mattress, he slid his hand to your back, nudging it a little. "Come on."

Your heart sank, thudding in your belly. Trying not to let your face show it, you rolled onto your belly, his arm sliding around your waist. Another night of this, and he still refused to look at you.

It'd been the same since your wedding night. He'd come into your room, push up your nightdress, and take you the exact same way, not a hint of emotion in the act. You couldn't have predicted this in your courtship, or else you wouldn't have agreed to be his forever.

A friend had detailed the act, describing it as something painful, a task to be done. But she'd smiled at you after describing her experience. "I don't think it will be like that for you. He really cares about you. Anyone can see it."

You'd believed her. Why wouldn't you? He'd been perfectly doting, telling you everything you wanted to hear and bringing the sweetest gifts. The men you'd been called on by before were generic in their efforts. Coriolanus had remembered things about you, spoken like he understood. It was easy to fall for him.

He was handsome and successful, yes, but there was something more to him that you managed to unlock. It was the way he touched you, the way he spoke to you. It felt as though he cared. You would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he'd asked, so smitten you'd grown wings. He kissed you and it made you weak at the knees, something inside you panting for more. If this was how he loved outside, the way he loved within the bounds of marriage was sure to be life changing.

As a child, you were left at the mercy of nannies and tutors to learn how to live. Your parents were distant, participants of an endless social calendar you had to pen yourself into. All through growing up, you longed for a hug, a kiss, a soft word. You'd gotten a taste now. Coriolanus left you starving.

It was rare now that he touched or even looked at you. A switch had flipped after the wedding, and now he was a version of himself you'd never known. Someone who no longer wanted to speak to you, who only called on you when he needed to be seen at your side.

Obviously, you'd done something wrong, but you couldn't decipher what. Had you said something at the reception? Had someone told him something about you? Either way, you had no idea, and he certainly wasn't going to tell you. So you tried to make up for it in any way you could.

The pretty nightdresses. The photographs at every event. You played the part as well as you could, making yourself completely perfect for him. All the while, silently begging: love me, love me, love me. Want me the way you did before.

You never spoke of it directly, but you knew the goal was to conceive as soon as possible. Why else would he partake in such an activity every night, one that he didn't seem to enjoy at all? Hope was your constant. If you were good for him, things would go back to the way they were before. He would be pleased with you and your sex would morph into lovemaking. And you would be happy again.

The week you missed your monthly, you immediately phoned for an appointment with the doctor, elated that you might finally be pregnant. You held off until after confirming to tell Coriolanus, practically bouncing in your seat on the couch by the door. Every second dragged until he finally entered, looking tired as usual from his time in the office. He was handsome as ever though, and you started daydreaming about what the celebration would be like after you revealed your happy news.

"Darling," he greeted, setting his briefcase on and loosening his tie. Since he would only do so if the door was locked, you leapt to your feet, feeling weightless with excitement.

Coriolanus looked at you curiously, removing his coat as well. "Is everything alright?"

Nodding, you reached up and straightened his collar, wanting to touch him more than ever. He hesitated before setting his hands on your hips, and a jolt of joy urged you forward. Palms flat on his chest, you looked into his eyes, the color of a summer day's sky. Unable to help your smile as you said it, you said, "I'm pregnant."

Silence. You held your breath, watching his face.

Then he leaned forward, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, smiling in relief. "Good," he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb. Leaning into his touch, you waited for it to turn to more, for him to pick you up and carry you to your bedroom and tell you how proud he was, how well you'd done for him.

His hand fell from your waist. You opened your eyes in confusion, watching him disappear from sight. Footsteps, the ones you laid awake and waited for every single night, sounded down the hallway until you heard the familiar click of his office door shutting.

The feeling didn't overwhelm you at first. It poked your shoulder, tilted its head at you and settled, curling into your feet before you could ask what it was. It carved a hole into your heart, the spot you'd saved for him. And then you realized that maybe it'd been hollow all along, this just smashed the wall that hid it from you.

You scrambled for something to cling to, coming up short. The new life growing inside you wasn't enough, and neither, it seemed, were you.

Dragging yourself to your room, you didn't bother to change into one of your nightdresses. In the closet, you'd laid out a special one, in deep red and edged with lace, when you were sure tonight would end in triumph. You didn't think you could bear to look at it right now.

Instead, you draped yourself over your side of the bed, facing the wall. Your hand automatically crept to your tummy, but you forced it away, clinging to the blanket under you instead.

There were his sharp footsteps again, getting closer this time. You perked up, but didn't move. Maybe he was coming with good intentions after all. After all, you knew the news of becoming a father must have been shocking. Maybe he'd only needed a moment to collect himself.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to come around to your side of the bed so you could open them and smile up at him and have all be well. His belt clinked with his pants button when he unbuckled it. You knew every move just by the sound. Shoes off. Unbuttoning his shirt. Pants off. There was a dip in the mattress, and then the light clicked off.

The feeling found you again, coming on stronger this time, winding its fingers around your neck. Tears built up in your throat, and you couldn't suppress a sniffle, hoping he wouldn't hear. Coriolanus muttered your name, but you didn't move.

Perfectly still, you resigned to him.

The loss of you was a chasm Coriolanus tried to skirt. He failed miserably.

You were still present of course, your heart still beating, blood still running through your veins. But you couldn't have been further from alive if you'd tried. Gone was the fresh-faced girl he'd married. You were quiet now, paler and thinner.

He knew it was his fault. Coriolanus bore that burden every day, convinced now more than ever that it would be worse for you if he let himself be near. He'd hurt you enough in the process of conceiving a child. That was enough for a lifetime.

After you informed him of your pregnancy, he was finally able to distance himself from you altogether. There was no more touching, no more sex that left him dizzy and wanting you. You were his forever and that was bad enough for you.

There was a twinge in his heart each time he saw you. He tried to reason with himself. It was for the best. You didn't need the likes of him around while you were already dealing with something like your pregnancy. He could barely process that it was his child. Something he'd done to you.

The doctor's reports that darkened his desk each time you had a check in only grew more concerning in content. Losing too much weight...decreasing appetite...not safe for the baby...

Coriolanus pushed the evaluation to the side, despite the growing pit in his heart. You were seeing the best doctors in all of Panem. Surely, they'd find a way to help you before it was too late. He tried to focus back on his work, picking up his pen and staring at the words in front of him. It was dark, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on his desktop.

His mind wandered. The image of you the last time he'd seen you- gaunt and ghostlike, curled up on a chair and staring at the same page of a book for near twenty minutes- was burnt into his eyes. Even through his avoidance, you would always try to speak to him, ask about his day or chatter about yours. He'd found it painful at the time, when he was forced to brush you off. But now that it was gone, he missed it.

One night, he had decided to go downstairs for dinner, though he usually didn't take meals with you. Telling himself he only wanted to check on you, he entered the dining room and found it empty. Not even a light on. The staff were very consistent about mealtimes. He only grew more confused at the fact that everything in the room appeared untouched.

A single ask, and he learned that you weren't taking regular meals, simply ringing up for tea every now and then. "I send a sandwich or two up with her tray," one of the cooks told him shyly, wringing her hands. "I feel right awful for her, in her condition. And the plate always comes back empty."

It was on his mind as he stared at the doctor's report where he'd pushed it. Tapping the end of his pen on the desk, he tried to suppress the draw of you from your bedroom. It was as if there was a rope tied around his heart connecting it to yours.

He dropped his pen, watching it clatter atop the document he'd tried to study. Pushing back in his chair, Coriolanus stood up, wincing at the ache in his legs from sitting so long. Being holed up in his office for close to days at a time was beginning to take a toll.

There was no thought, his feet took him to your door in an instant. When he opened it, you were right where he'd seen you last, not even trying to pretend to read the book in your lap. Your hands were folded primly. He looked to the wall as if he'd see whatever you were.

Waiting a moment, he stood still in the doorframe. You didn't acknowledge him, not even a head turn.

Finally he broke, making his way over to kneel at your side. "Darling," Coriolanus offered softly. "How are you feeling?" His head was telling him to walk away, but the rope gave a tug, and he remained beside you.

"I'm fine," you whispered, voice raspy. Your hand migrated over your belly, and his eyes went with it. There wasn't much to see yet, but he could immediately tell the difference. The way your belly was rounding with something he'd sworn he imagined until now.

Looking back at you, he suppressed every protest that arose. "Have you eaten yet?"

You finally met his eyes. He found himself suddenly in need of more air. "No."

Coriolanus nodded once, keeping his expression neutral. Tearing his gaze away, he said, "I'll ring for something for you."

When he began to stand, your hand shot out, curling around his wrist. Fire. He was getting burned and he didn't want it to stop. "You're not staying?"

The disappointment in your voice nearly caused him to deny it. But he'd never lied to you, and he wasn't about to start now. "No."

"Oh." The word was a defeated, empty thing and he wanted to scrub it away immediately. Your eyes dropped, and you began to pick at the skirt of your dress.

"I still need to get work done," he explained keeping his tone even. "Eat something. It'll make you feel better."

"I'm sure." That got his attention. Your tone with him had never been anything but soft, but now it was flat, nearly sarcastic.

He stopped. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Nothing you want to give," you said, standing up and smoothing your dress down. "I don't need you to ring. I want tea."

"Darling-" You shook your head, and he felt like a scythe had been driven through his chest.

It was quiet for a moment. The look on your face crossed the bounds of language, and he felt his heart dip.

Every horror he'd endured paled at the hollow space in your eyes. You watched him, seeming to wait for something. When you spoke it was soft, but he was tuned into every word. "What did I do wrong?" It was the unsaid that threatened to bleed him dry. The tears he could hear gathering behind your eyes with five words.

Then he realized what you'd said. Brow furrowing, he shook his head before he could get his response out. "Nothing. You've never-"

"I must have," you interrupted, voice breathy with unborn crying, eyes wide as a baby deer's. Your hand found the sweater material of your dress over your collarbone as your breathing grew unsteady. He was too stunned to do anything but watch. Months of marriage and this was the first time he'd seen this side of you. "You won't touch me. Or even see me anymore." Blinking fast, you whispered, "I thought you would love me."

He spent nearly all his time loving you. "I'm doing what's best for us," he maintained, straightening and ignoring the way you seemed to sink further into yourself. "This is for the best."

"I did do something." You nodded, looking away and swallowing hard. Though he could see the tears in your eyes, you did not let a single one fall.

Then, your posture leveled, and you lifted your chin, and he found himself in the starlight of your eyes once more. "I want to fix it." You stepped forward, grasping his wrist in one soft hand. He forced himself to stay in control, hand limp as you held it with both of yours. "Let me."

Coriolanus nearly crumbled. Every weakness he possessed was urging him into your light. Your touch, your scent, your eyes, your voice. The sight of you with his ring on your finger and his child growing within you.

But he had to. Pulling his hand away, he exhaled, resisting the urge to take you into his arms. "I'll ring for your tea. Eat something."

All the way back to his office, his ears were ringing. He made sure to call for your meal before collapsing into his chair, chest nearly heaving. It had gotten to a point of no return. Everything within him was warring, fighting to be heard. And everything was right.

Never before had he been so wholly consumed by a single person, so much so that it hurt to be apart. Coriolanus pressed a hand to his chest, willing the ache to lessen. There was no point in denying the problem any longer.

You thought it was your fault. He'd never even considered that his distance would cause something like this. And your guilt was literally eating you alive.

It was his fault for being close to you. It was his fault for not being close enough. Both options fought until the image of you bloody and pale reemerged, silencing everything in his head. Even the sleeping pills couldn't prevent this nightmare.

When he went to bed, your tea tray was being retrieved by a maid who kept her head down as she passed him. Both halves of the sandwich were still on the plate.

Shadows. The tile was cool on your cheek, and you were too weary to open your eyes.

Blooming. Your body was burning, a fist tearing something from your lower belly that you would have fought if you weren't so weak. Something wet and sticky pooled at your thighs, but you couldn't move. Your dress was ruined, you knew without seeing it.

This was it. The end of your loveless years. Losing. Every hope you'd gained was shattered at your feet along with the one thing you'd thought could save you.

He crossed your mind, just once. Yet another thing you'd chased away. You'd tried so hard to be perfect that it had driven him from your side. You'd been tricked into life's truest bind, but now you were being released.

The ring on your finger was heavy in a comforting way. It reminded you how desired you once were, that old dream coming back like a fond memory. Oh, to be so naive again.

Someone was calling your name. An angel? You mumbled, waiting for the searing pain to fade into nothingness.

Instead, a pair of hands found your body. Your heart found relief, one desire fulfilled. The most impossible one, you knew, although you couldn't recall what it was.

Your mind cut out before you could remember.

His visions had come true. Coriolanus had been convinced he'd imagined it to life as he'd collapsed at your side and bellowed for help. you barely stirred as he pulled you into him, every wall he'd built shattered into nothingness.

Whispering your name over and over like it was a cure, he'd held you to him until help arrived, leaving him alone on his knees in your blood on the bathroom floor.

The doctor worked quick, apologizing in hushed tones for his loss when he was finished. Coriolanus barely felt it. All he heard was that you were alive, that you would open your eyes once more. He went through the motions of cleaning himself up rigidly, returning to your side as soon as he was able.

His heart was numb. The unthinkable had happened. But you were still here. This upset the balance in his head, leaving him reeling for answers. All his life had been a game of the worst cause and effect. Goodness triggered loss of it. But you were still here. You were still here.

Coriolanus found himself kneeling by your bed as if in prayer. Your breathing was steady, and you looked more at peace than in months. His tight grip on control began to loosen as he watched you sleep, let himself linger on the smooth surface of your skin, the curve of your lips. Every detail he'd pretended not to notice in his destructing act of protection.

He didn't need it spelled out, but the doctor told him anyways. Stress. Of course, the man couldn't possibly know the cause of it. The guilt cloaked him until he sank to the bare truth. He'd be atoning for the rest of his life. Beyond, if he was lucky.

Everything he thought he knew was in ashes. He wanted to retreat into himself, hide away in his office and bury himself in a shallow grave of paperwork. Ignoring everything as if he were a concept and not alive was his usual style. But the lesson stood tall above the wreckage. The only thing worse than having you was losing you.

Succumbing to the wildfire, his eyes didn't leave you when you began to stir. Your eyelids lifted, and he saw stars again.

He wanted to shoulder the weight he'd added to you. With his ring, he'd ruined the perfect girl he'd sworn to love and protect. With one of those notions, he destroyed the other.

Locked in your eyes, Coriolanus hesitated, sentences fading between his tongue and teeth. Everything he wanted to say was beyond words, instances that took more time than he had. There was only this moment to begin. And so, for the first time, he let his heart guide the way.

Reaching out, he almost expected you to withdraw. But when he settled his palm on your cheek, you merely shut your eyes again, tilting your head up into his touch. He had a foot in the door.

When he removed his hand, you didn't react. But when he crossed around your bed to sit beside you, stretching his arm out so you would rest on his chest, you snuggled close, blinking sleepily. His touch was careful, almost sure you would shatter under it.

Your ear covered his heart, listening to it beat for you. His hand smoothed your hair. The warmth of your body distilled the ache for now. Reaching down, he kissed the top of your head, holding his nose there to breathe you in.

The disease had switched courses. Regret now laid in the past, not the future.

[polistini]

see it not cut up here

yayyy wayfarer comic

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [4] - Spark

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ I hope you’ll like it, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤️

Summary: A quiet night on the rooftop holds new promises.

Word Count: 3500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“I’m not saying my best friend in the entire world betrayed me, but I’m kind of tempted to change her name into Brutus in my contacts.”

“Just because she cancelled on this dinner you mentioned?”

“It’s a tradition at this point,” you said, leaning back on the couch. “Us and the Barnes family get together every two months, we’ve started it way before my mom passed away. I get that it’s the bachelorette party of her friend’s sister, but still!”

Dr. Cooper smiled calmly.

“Are you nervous because Bucky is going to be there?”

Your head shot up and you forced a nonchalant laugh.

“Bucky doesn’t make me nervous,” you said, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush and she raised her brows.

“Doesn’t he?”

“He annoys me,” you pointed out. “There’s a difference.”

“I can see that,” she said. “And why does he annoy you?”

Your eyes snapped up at hers and you shifted your weight on the couch.

“We have history.”

She hummed. “What kind of history?”

You nibbled on your lip, your stomach doing a flip at the memory but you pushed it to the back of your mind, rolling your shoulders back.

“Let’s change the subject.”

She thought for a moment, then put aside her notebook to with a sigh.

“Y/N,” she said. “We’ve been having these therapy sessions for three months now, am I correct?”

“Yes,” you said. “Sarah Wilson recommended you, she’s a good friend of mine.”

“And you were seeing Dr. Phillips before?”

“No offense to Dr. Phillips but I don’t think we were a good match.”

She nodded.

“That can happen,” she said. “But I just need to make sure you understand that if these therapy sessions are going to work, you will have to step out of your comfort zone sometimes.”

“Oh, therapy isn’t in my comfort zone,” you said with a wave of your hand. “You’d think it would be, after years and years of experience but…”

“I’m aware this is not what you want to hear but for us to make progress, you will have to be open with me,” she said. “Instead of changing the subject all the time.”

You smiled. “I don’t think me being completely open with you is in your best interest.”

“Why not?”

“Just a hunch,” you stated, your voice completely flat and she hummed.

“How about this?” she said. “Perhaps you could just try sharing something small with me. I’m not saying you have to share every single thing if you’re not comfortable with it, but…maybe something that happened recently and how you reacted to it?”

For some reason, “Someone tried to shoot me a week ago” didn’t feel like it was a great conversation starter so you leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to come up with something.

“I’ve recently found myself in sort of an… unideal situation,” you ended up saying and she nodded her head.

“That’s a wonderful start,” she said. “Can you elaborate?”

“Someone acted very rude towards me the other night when I was having dinner with a friend from college,” you said. “And I was annoyed at how inconsiderate it was to pull that shit when I was in the middle of something. Like what, you couldn’t wait an hour or so to do this on my way back home?”

“How did you react when it happened?”

“I didn’t get to react much because Bucky placed himself in that situation as well.”

“He was there?”

“Passing by,” you spat, “Anyway, he got involved and the situation was resolved pretty fast.”

“In disagreements like these,” she said. “It’s incredibly important that we make our stance and boundaries clear.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t disagree.”

“So this inconsiderate person you speak of, would you say they know how you feel about the issue?”

You repressed a smile, then leaned back, crossing your legs.

“I think so,” you said. “I expressed very clearly how I felt about the issue and now, well…I’m very certain that they won’t do it again.”

                                                *

Normally you didn’t mind these dinners mainly because you and Becca would have a lot of fun once the dinner was over. George and Winnifred had always been nice to you and Winnifred had more than once said you were family, seeing that you and Becca were inseparable even when you were little.

And you were hoping Bucky would be busy the whole night so you wouldn’t have to spend the night delivering snarks back and forth.

Ian sipped his wine while you texted Becca under the table, complaining about how she should have been there for the hundredth time since the morning before you lifted your glances from the phone.

“Becca gives her regards, everyone.”

“Oh thank you sweetheart,” your father said. “Will she not be joining us then?”

“There’s apparently her friend’s bachelorette party?” Winnifred asked, turning to you as if she wanted to be sure and you nodded.

“Her friend’s sister’s bachelorette,” you said helpfully and George smiled slightly.

“And when will we see your bachelorette, sweetheart?”

“George!”

“Not soon I hope,” your father said with a chuckle and you waved a hand in the air.

“Definitely not soon,” you said and Ian played with his fork.

“I don’t know,” he said with a scoff. “You keep dating civilians, one of them will ask you to marry them sooner or later.”

Your head snapped up and a silence fell upon the table. George and Winnifred exchanged glances and your father raised his brows.

“Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ian doesn’t know what he’s talking about as always.”

“Oh is that right?”

“Our Y/N is a very beautiful girl,” Winnifred said as if trying to de-escalate the situation. “Civilian or not, I’m not surprised many people are interested.”

You offered her a thankful smile and turned to your father.

“I’m not dating civilians,” you assured him. “Or anyone right now.”

“But you know the rules,” your father said. “Any civilian you decide to date has to go through the background check.”

“With good reason,” George pointed out before taking his fork to his mouth and you hummed.

“Yeah yeah, I remember the whole speech.”

“Bucky and Becca got that speech as well.”

“They apparently needed it,” Winnifred said. “I mean do you remember Bucky’s ex girlfriend? Dot?”

That familiar bitterness of jealousy churned your stomach and you pursed your lips, then reached out for your wine glass.

“Were you here around that time sweetheart?” George asked you. “Or were you still away for college?”

The music was booming through the club as you walked back to the bar from the bathroom with Becca, and you looked around for your date as Becca motioned at the bartender, then turned her head when Steve touched her shoulder.

“Hi there.”

“Hey!” Becca kissed him on the cheek and you smiled at him.

“Hi Steve,” you said, taking your cocktail from the bartender. “Um, did you see my date anywhere?”

Steve shot you an apologetic smile. “I told him not to do it.”

Becca sucked on the straw of the cocktail, raising her brows and you frowned.

“What?”

“Bucky.”

Your jaw clenched and you gritted your teeth, putting your drink down.

“Where is he?”

“I just want to remind you that Sam has just bought this club, so he’d be pretty angry if you shot my brother tonight.” Becca pointed out, leaning sideways to Steve’s arm and Steve nodded his head.

“Wouldn’t look good for the club.”

“Where is he, Steve?”

Steve pointed upstairs. “VIP.”

You whirled around on your heels and stomped your way up the cantilever stairs, anger rushing through you. You made your way past his and Sam’s bodyguards by the door, then slammed the door open to step inside. Bucky was talking to Sam as you walked in while a gorgeous girl resting her head on his shoulder and Sam hissed in a breath.

“Uh oh,” he said. “Told you not to do it.”

“Hi Sam.”

“Hi Y/N.”

The girl lifted her head from Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky sat up straighter, and had the nerve to smile at you.

“Hi Charm.”

“Where is my date, Bucky?”

“I think he said he had something to do,” Bucky said, stealing a look at Sam. “Something urgent, right Sam? That’s what we heard.”

“Oh you’re not dragging me into this.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” the girl asked and Bucky cleared his throat, then motioned between you and her.

“Y/N, this is Dot; my girlfriend.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, that familiar bitterness climbing up your throat but you managed to keep your expression flat.

“Dot, this is Y/N. She’s uh…she’s Becca’s best friend.”

Sam tilted his head to shoot Bucky a look of disbelief.

“You’ve just intimidated Becca’s best friend’s date into leaving the club?” Dot asked, confusion laced in her tone and Sam cleared his throat.

“They grew up together,” he explained to her. “Bucky tends to get overprotective of Y/N, kind of an old habit there.”

 Dot pressed a hand on her chest.

“Aw that’s sweet!” she said. “So she’s like a sister to you, Bucky?”

Sam raised his brows as if trying to keep a straight face, then he shook his head slightly while you glared at Bucky.

“Well—” Bucky started but you cut him off.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just a warning. Don’t blame me if you keep dating people who are easily intimidated.”

“Who I date is none of your business.”

“You are Becca’s best friend so it makes it my business—also, you call that dancing?” he asked you. “He was feeling you up, he should be glad he walked out of here with his junk still attached to his body.”

You ran a hand over your face, then turned to Dot.

“Listen, I don’t even know you but you seem nice enough,” you said. “You probably deserve better than an asshole who thinks his dick is made of gold. You could do much better.”

With that, you walked out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

“No, they got together after I returned to the city,” you said. “Like a month after my graduation. I was here, she was pretty nice.”

“I didn’t like her,” Winnifred said and you let out a small laugh.

“And when was the last time you liked anyone he or Becca brought home?”

“When was the last time either of them brought someone I could like?” Winnifred asked back and you held up your hands with a grin, gesturing surrender.

“Daddy is the same,” you said. “But don’t worry, just in case things get serious with a partner, me and Becca came up with a great plan years ago.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll get everyone drunk,” you pointed out, coaxing chuckles out of them. “Should make things easier, at least for the first dinner.”

                                              *

 After dinner, you had excused yourself to go up to the swimming pool on the rooftop, so that you could enjoy the night. After their weekend house, this one was the one you liked the most among Barnes residences; it had such a lovely view of the night sky. You sipped your wine and leaned back on the lounge chair, heaving a sigh and keeping your eyes on the stars.

Becca was still partying with her friends so you were just going to enjoy some peace and quiet until it was time to go home. You loved spending time with George and Winnifred, that wasn’t the problem, but this evening you really weren’t in the mood for Ian’s bullshit. You knew very well that he knew about your date with Ethan, and though he hadn’t told your father yet, you were sure it wasn’t from the goodness in his heart.

Not that he or your father had anything to worry about. You had made sure that Ethan got a background check as your father wanted with all the civilians you dated, back at college and right before you decided to meet again two weeks back, you had done the same. It was safe, whether they approved him or not.

The sound of the door opening made you turn your head and as soon as your eyes fell upon Bucky stepping to the roof, you let out a groan.

“I thought you were busy.”

“I was,” he said, approaching you with a glass of whiskey in his hand before he sat down on the lounge chair beside yours and you stole a look at him.

“You missed dinner.”

“Mm hm. Sorry about that.”

“You never miss dinner.”

“Yeah well, wasn’t exactly my choice,” he said, making you turn a little so that you can look at him better.

“Why?”

“Overtime at the office,” he joked and you tilted your head.

“Trouble?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Does my father know?”

“He does,” he said as your phone vibrated on the small table beside you, making you check the screen.

From: Ethan

My coworkers dragged me to this café and I think you’d like it.

You smiled slightly and typed back your reply.

Well, the only way to be sure is if you invite me there the next time.

It didn’t even take him five seconds to reply back;

Lunch tomorrow?

You typed in a “Yes” and sent it, then turned the phone in your hand while Bucky lit a cigarette.

“Is that the civilian?”

“Ugh, not you too!” you whined with a grimace. “Everyone already gave me the third degree at dinner, you’d think I’m going to elope at any time.”

He shot you a light hearted glare. “They’re just worried about you sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that—and also, you’ve dated one hundred civilians, I don’t see anyone giving you speeches,” you grumbled. “It’s so hypocritical, not to mention medieval.”

Bucky chuckled, then sipped his drink.

“Well…”

“I don’t know why everyone keeps acting like the possibility of me ending up with a civilian would be a disaster.”

“Because it would be.”

“No, you know what the disaster would be?” you asked him. “Me ending up with someone from the business.”

“Oh come on—”

“Pop out a few babies, pretend I don’t know about his mistresses and go to pilates for the rest of my life,” you mused. “Dream life right there.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that and you know that,” Bucky said. “Only an idiot would cheat on you, and in case it has escaped your notice, idiots don’t live long in this line of work.”

You suppressed a smile threatening to warm your face, and instead rolled your eyes at him.

“Not worth the effort,” you said as you downed your wine, then held out your glass in his direction. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards but he still grabbed the wine bottle on the floor to fill your glass.

“Thank you.”

“As the princess wishes,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back again to look up at the sky.

“What’s going on with the business?” you asked. “Are you and Stark still on bad terms?”

“We’re playing nice,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Common interests for once.”

“I’ll pop the champagne,” you deadpanned. “He looks pretty busy; he and my father have a meeting next week as well.”

“Will Ian be there?”

You heaved a sigh. “I’d assume so.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, then turned to you.

“Your father is not serious, is he?” he asked you. “He’s not actually going to name Ian as his successor?”

That familiar bitter taste burned your mouth but you pursed your lips together, then slipped a little on the lounge chair.

“Why are you asking me?” you asked. “Go ask him that.”

“I’m not going to do business with Ian, Charm.” Bucky told you. “If your father retires and names him the successor, that’s it.”

Your jaw dropped as you gawked at him.

“You cannot be serious,” you said. “Just because you don’t like him—”

“It’s not just that,” Bucky said. “Stark and I hate each other’s guts, but I still know he’s not going to break the truce or stab me in the back. Ian, on the other hand…”

“Ian is insufferable,” you said. “Trust me I’d know, I live with the guy. But breaking the truce is a death sentence, and he’s not an idiot.”

“I don’t trust him,” Bucky said. “Neither does Steve, or Sam.”

You massaged your temples with your fingertips. “Don’t put me in a position where I have to speak well of Ian.”

“You couldn't speak well of him if you tried,” he insisted before he took a sip of his whiskey. “Listen, I get why your father made the decision he made after your mother, but that was then. You can’t tell me you’re okay with this.”

You bit inside your cheek, swirling the wine in your glass.

“He promised it to me, Bucky,” you said through your teeth, your gaze fixed on your wine. “All those years ago. I was playing with dolls in the car and and my father pointed outside and told me that part of the city would belong to me when I grew up. So no, of course I’m not okay with the possibility of Ian being the successor.”

“Then take over.”

A small laugh climbed up your throat and you nodded at his whiskey glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“You know me better than that, I’m completely sober,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you take over?”

“Don’t you remember what went down in Massachusetts years ago?” you asked. “That family fight for the crown? They almost brought the whole city down with them, alliances got fucked, so many people died...”

“That was very different, there was no truce there.”

You clicked your tongue. “Still. It would devastate my father if I started a war in the family.”

“Ian is going to burn your father’s empire down,” Bucky told you, his piercing blue eyes locked in yours, making your heart skip a beat. “You think it won’t devastate him to watch that? If you want to be the next leader—”

“Of course I want it,” you cut him off, your whole body tense. “What I want changes nothing here.”

“Charm…”

“My father made sure I stayed out of the business since my mom,” you said. “Which was good strategy on his part, I admit. Ian on the other hand has many friends in the business and they’re completely loyal to him. He would not just hand that position to me, not when he thinks my father will name him as the successor instead of me.”

“He has his men, so what?” he asked you. “Compared to the support you would have if you wanted the crown? You have more allies than Ian.”

You blinked a couple of times, a small glimmer of hope warming your chest before you cleared your throat.

“There’s the code,” you muttered. “It’s family business. No one outside the family can get involved in the decision of who the next leader should be.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and for the thousandth time you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, but then you frowned down at your wine glass and put it on the small table, rolling your shoulders back.

Yeah. Enough wine for the night.

“But a powerful ally in the family would make everything much easier, wouldn’t it?” he asked and you scoffed a laugh.

“My hypothetical rise to power?” you asked. “Obviously. But either way, it’d be an uphill battle. What with the city and family and everything…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said without pulling his gaze off you and you felt your cheeks burn under his intense stare, but managed to keep your expression completely nonchalant.

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“And how’s that?”

Bucky swallowed thickly and downed his whiskey in one go before straightening his back. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was nervous but of course that was nonsense; Bucky was too arrogant to be nervous.

“Come on,” you taunted him. “Humor me, golden heir.”

“Well,” he said after a pause, turning his empty glass in his hand. “You have a point. You would have to get most of Ian’s supporters within the family, you would have to persuade your father, and considering Ian will not want to hand you the crown, that whole process would not go very peacefully. Me, Steve and Sam already support you, but the rest of the families could take some time and effort to convince. I guess some bloodshed in the city would be inevitable as well, it’d be a huge change, considering your father’s influence and power…”

You hummed. “Or?”

A smile curled his lips upwards and he took a deep breath.

“Or,” he said. “You could marry me.”

Chapter 5

[aclowntiny]

🧭 Stray Kids’ Preferred PDA🧭

Bang Chan: This man is a hand around waist guy!!! Too shy to kiss in public, absolutely bold enough to have a protective hold on you especially in crowded places. He may even make a joking excuse like “can’t lose you, can I?” followed by a little chuckle that betrays the last hints of shyness residing. If the two of you are standing still, side by side in idleness, he finds himself running his hand lightly up and down your back, too. Just another gesture to show you he’s got you.

Lee Know: Will kiss you in public without giving a shit. Like will you guys be full-on making out on the corner of a street? Probably not. Will Minho randomly pull you into his lips in a Starbucks line because he wants to? Absolutely yes. Over the years, he has just gotten more comfortable with himself and satisfied with the fact that not everyone will understand him. Oh well. And you sure do, so why not let them know? He’ll get especially more affectionate if you’re wearing any sort of couple item, like he might not seem like he likes such things, but the moment he sees you you’re getting kissed.

Changbin: Man will hardly let go of your hand for a second. As long as you don’t need it or have to go somewhere else of course, but if you’re down Changbin would hold your hand almost 25/8 doesn’t matter what you’re doing. The feeling of connection is so important to him that even the simplest link carries great weight. Plus the little protective sensation of grabbing hands in the remotest of tense situations? Changbin lives for it. He wants to feel like someone you can hold onto, depend on, trust, and when you take his hand it feels possible.

Hyunjin: It’s not something he’s consciously aware of at first, but Hyunjin has a habit of tracing patterns on your back as you stand side-by-side or upon your knee when you sit together. He didn’t try to start doing it, but he wonders if it was a subconscious way of trying to record memories, sketch his happiness upon a newly comfortable space. It’s relaxing too, calms any anxiety he might feel. The moment Hyunjin becomes aware of it, though, he asks if the idle motions bother you. When you tell him of course not, it feels nice, the relief dawning upon him as he beams confirms his suspicions.

Han: His favorite thing to do when you’re out and about is to sling an arm around your shoulders. A casual gesture, but it has his chest puffing out with pride- his own little way of showing you off. Smile never failing, Jisung will sit with you in your own little world he encloses, eyes only for you. He loves having a close-up view of the way you throw your head back and laugh, a little avenue to tug you closer and sneak a quick kiss. Actually, scratch all that. His real favorite thing is when his arm is around you and you reach up to grab his hand where it falls, completing the loop of connection entirely.

Felix: Loves, loves, LOVES resting his head on your shoulder. Doesn’t matter the height difference, life Felix finds a way. Especially if you have to stand or sit somewhere for an extended period of time like a long amusement park ride line or a boring ceremony. You are his center of comfort and nestling into you is heaven on earth for him, the subtle warmth, the way his head fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, it all reminds him that you’re meant for each other. Let him stay there, he’ll have the biggest, softest smile of contentment.

Seungmin: He’d have never guessed it about himself, but the habit he develops is twirling you. Taking your hand the moment you step out dressed in something new and giving you a spin to see it all around. Raising your joined hands above his head when you’re bored just to see you giggle and complete the turn, every feature of yours he loves on full display. When you return the favor, reaching up in a clear juxtaposed lead, it brings such a genuine laugh from him he knows he’ll never forget it.

I.N: He calls it ‘standing up cuddles’, you’d call it a backhug or the like. Reaching his hands around your waist and clutching yours close, he can rest his head in the crook of your neck or maybe atop yours. Sway you both back and forth until someone caves and bursts into merry giggles. Your heartbeat against him from any angle is music to his nerves, well, so to speak, the rhythm by which he guides his impromptu slow dances with you.

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

HII!! Its my first time requesting here!! But i have thought about this idea just a minute ago while daydreaming

So, mc was back in the human world and basically, lucifer or satan was forced to get married to maddi. And when mc came back it was the wedding day, and mc was so surprised, scared, angry qbout the news she heard and she feels betrayed so she immediately went to confront him about it and yeah. Idk how will this go but you can decide the ending!!! Thank you so much and have a good day/night/afternoon when u are reading this

Lucifer would not put such a responsibility on any of his brother's shoulders. While conversations of the Wedding Day come about, and your visage dances around his mind, his decision remains the same. "It's gonna break their heart, you know?" Asmodeus, might not be the person responsible for your upcoming heartbreak, but the thought of your sorrows gut him all the same. "Is there really no way out of this?" There's not. Had there been he would have made it so. But it looks like everyone's hands are tied in the situation.

"What would you have me do?"

"Do what you always do and figure it out!" There was nothing left to figure. The ceremony is in a week. Supposedly, The Great Witch has invited all of the guest, picked the venue, and her dress. He'd already been measured for his suit. You already knew, not that he told any of the others. He had gone to the Human World himself to inform you, it was the right thing to do.

You'd been furious. Tears streamed down your face, as you continued to ask how he could do this? His response of that he had to, did not console you, it instead made you all the more irate, sentencing to leave and wishing him a happy life. His only regret, was that in that moment, he could do nothing to soothe you. That after all the times you'd brought him comfort and joy; he brought you misery without any means of alleviating the pain.

The night before, Lucifer dreams of you. Dreams of your smile, of your humour, of the precious memories that he'll keep with him for centuries down the road. Only to awaken with a start upon watching it crumble. The image of you crying and asking how he could do this to you, haunt him right up to the altar as he stands awaiting for it all to end.

"Should anyone wish to object, speak now or forever hold your peace." It's like something out of those movies you'd used to sit and watch with Asmo, the doors slam open, followed by your angry shouting.

"I object! I seriously object!" Lucifer takes a good minute to get over the shock of seeing you.

"How did you get here?" When a certain white-haired demon, who had been missing for a suspicious amount of time, stumbles in behind you, Lucifer can't even prevent his name from falling out of his mouth. "Mammooooon!" Mammon, just hides himself behind you.

"It doesn't matter. You can't stop this, it's for the betterment of the Devildom after all." Maddi, isn't bothered by your interruption, merely shrugging at your presence.

"What if he's already my husband?" The whole room turns to you, Lucifer quirks a brow, surely you don't think your lie is going to convince an entire room of nobles? Especially while, Diavolo sits in the front row, who would have known straight away if this was the case.

"Excuse me?" Maddi now seems to be very irked.

"You heard me, we're already married!" He's got no clue where your confidence is coming from, or how you even concocted this whole idea, but he wants to laugh. "You'd really break the first ever human-demon marriage for something that's been done time and time again?"

"And why was no one of aware of this?" Lucifer thinks your lie has come to an end, especially from how shrink ever so slightly at her questioning.

"You'll have to forgive me Maddi, but I requested the pair to keep it a secret." Only for Diavolo to chime in. "In fact everyone will have to forgive me, because I can't allow for this ceremony to continue, especially given the importance for the Devildom's future that these two remain together." The room break out into murmuring, and Maddi is outraged.

"Lord Diavolo, what about-"

"Yes that agreement, Barbatos found something most interesting about the information you presented me that I believe requires a private discussion." There's not much time for Maddi to react, while Barbatos comes up beside her dragging her through a portal.

The events that follow are almost a blur, until it's just Lucifer, Mammon, Diavolo and yourself in the room. Diavolo lets out a loud laugh, turning to you with a signature grin. "I must say, you're always full of surprises! I had a feeling you were going to appear, but I didn't think you'd be bold enough to tell an outright lie in a room full of Demon Nobles."

"What can I say it's part of my charm." You match his grin with one of your own, something that amuses the prince even further.

"Indeed." Lucifer chimes in almost immediately, and the two of you exchange a wordless glance. There's several words that linger on both of your tongues, eagerly awaiting to be said. But as you both stare at each other neither of you are entirely sure where to even begin.

"...so you guys aren't actually married, right?" Mammon does not help. Neither does Diavolo as his laughter starts up again.

[arthur-lesters-pinky-finger]

(Spoilers kinda for ep 45?)

Just listened to the new episode FINALLY and holy shit. I feel like this episode is so discretely monumental to both main characters, and it's so discrete because it's not really like "this is the end of an era", but rather "this is a halfway mark on a very important journey".

Of course, we have Arthur finally sort of accepting hope into his life, accepting that he is worthy of living despite himself is SO important. But also, John is genuinely such a good friend in this episode??? I always think of the pod as centered around their friendship and holy hell this is such a moment for them. I mean, he's truly empathetic! This god, whose original mentality was "I've been alive for so long and I'm so Great that nothing matters, why would your feelings matter?", is sitting with his friend and going "Arthur... this must remind you of this horrible thing" and he's just a comforting presence.

And that too! When Arthur is given the choice between an item and a truth you're expecting a little discussion between the two- but no, John is completely silent. Because now he's gained this empathy, and this love and trust for Arthur, and he understands that this is a gift entirely dedicated to Arthur for having stayed alive despite losing his child. John, who mocked Arthur for letting her die in the dream lands, who barely ever dared speak of her for like three seasons, understands this pain Arthur carries, understands the weight of Malam's first question ("a man kills a child, does homework deserve to die?")

This is a milestone for them because this is one of the first times that John's humanity isn't put into contrast with an act of monstrosity Arthur commits. They are coming to accept that they love each other, that they need each other, and John shows this through this little act of acceptance (stepping back, and letting Arthur carry this conversation despite having questions or feeling left out), and Arthur shows this through honesty and being vulnerable. Both are nothing new, but I mean come on, it's so rare to see them mixed together like this.

(I'm aware of how pretentious this sounds but I just love this episode so much. This season is so gut wrenching but so soft, I love it, and I'm not one to theorize, so I just like pointing things out :D )

[wrenaspun]

Wrenny!!! Could you please use your golden typewriter to write a bonus scene for selkieverse? This detail always stuck in my head: "He had been so useless at first, a lump on the couch, leg broken, knowing nothing."

I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort so I would love to know how he broke his leg and what Damen did after 🥹🦭

ILY!!

Combining these two similar-ish prompts!! Apologies @sea-cove I didn't manage to reveal how the broken leg happened, but I hope the hurt/comfort vibes satisfy you... -

If Laurent had been thinking clearly, he would never have tried to leave the house. His leg had healed sufficiently — and, perhaps more important, been splinted and wrapped by competent enough hands — that he could navigate his immediate surroundings on crutches, the friendly flat indoor surfaces, the vibrant and well-trodden garden. The steep, rocky downhill path to the beach was obviously quite a different prospect.

Laurent watched forlornly as his right crutch rolled that final stretch of distance which took it out of his sight. Without the distraction of laborious motion, his leg was making its soreness known. The pain was all the worse for being entirely his own fault. After weeks of roaming the house, he’d thought, if he could just get down to that beach — he’d thought, if he could just make his way to where the path started to slope downward in earnest, surely the rest of the way would be manageable. The gravity would assist him, he’d thought. How hard could it be? He wanted to go back to the beach. He wanted to get away from Damen’s sweet brown eyes and ridiculously muscled body and the careful way he treated Laurent. He wanted his skin, and the simplicity of the water, and the human world existing chiefly as a single day’s diversion, careful visits to the larger cities where nobody cared what anyone else was doing. He wanted his skin back. He didn’t even know if it was still where he’d left it.

Sitting here with the cool wind slicing through his thin human skin, staring down the great yawning length of hillside which lay between himself and the beach, he knew that it had been a ridiculous idea, a fantasy born of equal parts overconfidence and cabin fever. He might not be cooped up in the traditional sense — certainly he could step outside and see the wide horizon all around him — but it remained true that his movement was severely constrained.

Laurent sat back against the white rock and indulged in a long sigh. He’d gotten far enough from the house that the trip back would be highly inconvenient on a single crutch. His leg was very sore, throbbing almost. He felt stupid. And he was uncomfortably aware that the rock behind and below him was bleeding the warmth from his body.

And then, as though to make a bad situation into the worst it could possibly be — “Laurent!”

Damen’s voice was close by and concerned. Laurent sat up straight and had to scramble to avoid losing his other crutch to the implacable tide of gravity. He was still stinging with embarrassment when he said, “You said you’d be in the lighthouse all day,” and his voice came out prickly and hostile.

“It’s lunchtime,” said Damen. “I thought — Laurent.” In the tone of a man who has just remembered that he was not the one who was meant to be giving explanations. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Oh,” said Laurent, unable to soften his tone, “nothing at all —” but Damen knelt beside him and the words cut off.

“May I?” he asked. Laurent nodded mutely. Damen checked the bandaging on Laurent’s leg, and his hands were very wide, very capable. “Does it hurt?”

“Not —” Laurent cleared his throat. “Not sharply.”

Damen nodded, sat back on his heels. Laurent’s mouth said, without his consent,”I wanted to go down to the beach.”

Another nod. “It’s no wonder,” said Damen. “You’ve been cooped up.”

Somehow his simple understanding just made the prickliness and hostility within Laurent surge again. “Well, it was clearly a stupid idea,” he said.

“Next time maybe you could talk to me about it first,” Damen agreed easily. Laurent glared at him, at that wretchedly dimpled smile. Damen continued easily, “If you don’t mind being carried, we could go down now.”

Laurent stared. Damen began to look awkward. “I don’t see a way it could be done without carrying,” he said. “Even if we radioed for a chair —” Laurent had vetoed the wheelchair, and the explanations it would require to some faceless bureaucrat on the mainland, with extreme prejudice — “the path’s rough enough that I don’t know if it would work.”

“So your solution is to carry me down,” said Laurent, flatly.

“Yes?”

Laurent ignored the traitorous thumping of his heart. He thought, I am stuck on an island with a madman. Then he said, “Let’s go, then.”

He had to close his eyes to get away from that dimpled smile. With the utmost care, Damen leaned in, gathered him up, and then — stood, as though Laurent weighed nothing at all.

Laurent had made a mistake. He knew it instantly. From this position, every breath he took was saturated with Damen’s scent, deep and rich. Damen’s arms were warm. Far too warm — it couldn’t possibly be healthy. Laurent could feel the distinct line of them across his back and under his thighs, and every passing moment only made the sensation more pronounced, like he was being marked somehow, branded. Like his body wanted to absorb the memory of this touch and lock it permanently into his body.

“Are you cold?” asked Damen.

“No,” Laurent snapped. And then, “I thought you had work to do — I thought it was lunchtime.”

“The work can wait a bit,” said Damen. “And so can lunch. Unless you want me to turn around now.”

For reasons unknown to himself, Laurent snapped, “No,” again. He curled his toes, mortified, and felt the low ache which came with the tension of muscle around still-mending bone. Damen just kept walking.

It wasn’t as though Laurent would be able to grab his skin with Damen right there. He could never take such a risk. Even if he thought that Damen wouldn’t try to stop him — the fact of his broken leg made it too risky even to try. He was realising, stupidly, that he didn’t know to what extent the injury would shift form with him; he knew from experience that scratches did, but a broken leg — a still-healing leg — there wasn’t exactly an easy equivalence. He could have gotten all the way down to the beach and shifted form only to discover he couldn’t swim properly. He’d held so tightly to the dream of the ocean that he hadn’t considered its consequences, what would come after.

And still Damen was carrying him down to the beach. Laurent didn’t know what to make of it. He stayed very still in the cradle of Damen’s arms, feeling as though he was being boiled gently from the inside out. He was barely aware of reaching the beach, only blinking back to himself when he was set down on a sun-warmed rock where he could face the sea. It had been a long walk, but Damen wasn’t even breathing hard. He settled himself beside Laurent, not touching, but close enough that Laurent was warmed more by his body than by the sun.

He brought his good leg up and rested his chin on the knee. Behind him, not five steps away, was the rock-shelf where he had hidden his skin. It should have been unbearable, to be this close and unable to reach for it, unable to retrieve it. He should have been burning to get his hands on it. In front of him, the ocean was surging.

There was another force, he thought, more magnetic, more compelling. He slid his gaze sideways and found Damen watching him, eyes warm. Laurent’s cheeks flushed. He was aware of every inch of skin over his body. “It’s a nice day,” he said inanely.

Damen’s dimple appeared. “It’s a nice view,” he said.

Laurent stayed very still, breathing through the rush of his heart. Eventually, he returned his gaze to the sea.

[nilolol30]

Hey can you do scenarios of Wukong and Macaque comforting reader of they forgot their birthday?

(I didn't know if you'd want them together or separate sorry if it was together)

Wukong

Everyone is aware of how easily something's slip over the great sages head but after awhile you two got together he promised he'd always remember every special moment and occasion with you including birthdays.

He had many close calls but never forgetting he went so far to put the date of your birthday on his kitchen fridge, bedroom wall and even a small note on the bathroom mirror it was really sweet but he was bound to forget once.

You received a few birthday calls and texts in the morning from the gang they asked if you could come down to Piggy's Noodles so they could treat you out.

Starring at the text you look over to Wukong who was laying on the couch watching a movie with the little monkeys "Hey you wouldn't mind if I go to Pigsy's for a bit right?" Wukong looked over to you "Uh yeah I don't mind you don't need my permission peaches" he let out a small laugh.

"You want to come with me?" You slightly hoped he'd say yes at least you'd celebrate together "Nah I'm good" he smiled and went back to watch the TV again it's then you realized he forgot but it's okay you didn't want to bother him and it was just another birthday nothing special.

"Okay see you tonight then..." but you gotta admit it still stung a bit.

After you left one of the little monkeys stared at Wukong unimpressed the sage could feel it he looked at the monkey next to him "What?" The monkey only sighed and jumped off the couch and made it's way to the kitchen.

"Well someone's in a bad mood" rolling his eyes Wukong went back to watching the movie after a minute the little monkey jumps back on the couch and shoved a piece of paper in their kings face.

"Hey hey! What's going on with you today what's this?" Wukong takes the paper a read it...it had your birthday written on it and his face immediately fell into disbelief "CRAP" he jumped up from the couch and immediately ran out of the hut and summoned his cloud and speed down the mountain.

He managed to catch up to you halfway down and hugged you "Im so sorry! Im such a jerk peaches I promised not to forget and I did I love you so much happy birthday I'm so-" you hushed him before he continued to apologize again and again you hugged him back.

"It's okay honey! It's not that important-" "Yes it is! You being born should be celebrated! Even all over the world!!" He chipped in and giving you kisses on the cheek "Okay okay but still it's okay!"

After that Wukong went with you to Pigsy's and insisted on treating you and pampered you the entire day while still slipping in some apologys.

Macaque

Macaque rarely forgets things he always tries to keep even the smallest details in his mind but everyone gets forgetful especially after a extremely busy few days you left earlier today even inviting Macaque to come with but he declined.

He thought he saw a flash of disappointment on your face but you smiled and said okay and left now he's laying in bed eating a banana he grabbed through a portal.

Halfway through the banana he decided to listen in on you he swears he only does it to check up on you so he was surprised to hear a friend of yours tell you happy birthday he immediately paused mid bite when he connected the dots.

"Oh sh*t..." He threw the half eaten fruit out the open window and immediately went to work.

You walked to your front door unlocking it your other hand holding a bag with some presents your friend/family gave you when you heard the click you pushed the door with your foot but let out a small gasp at the sight in front of you.

The living room was decorated with streamers and balloons themed with your favorite colors and Infront of you was Macaque himself kneeling holding out a cake with frosting that said 'Im sorry happy birthday!!' You smiled closing the door and putting down the bag.

"Macaque...thank you and it's okay" he smiled and stood up setting the cake on the table "Still though sorry about this morning should have realized sooner" you gently put your hand on his cheek and gave him a kiss on the nose.

"It's fine but you didn't have to do this" you laugh looking at the decorations "Uh yes I did! What kind of boyfriend would I be hm?" Macaque took your hands and lead you to the couch "Now how bout we light some candles so you can have your birthday wish!"

[velmashaircut]

caleb theories/ predictions below. It’s a bit all over the place.

1) I believe Caleb himself was responsible for the explosion. He was acting strange before it occured, paranoid even, especially when he saw MC’s injury, I think he was worried MC had caught on or was beginning to suspect something was afoot. If Caleb was responsible, I think he did it because a) wanted to fake his own death b) kill the granny or c) both. I use to believe he was the target, but leaving the necklace behind was too intentional. If he was abducted, no trace would be left behind. In the trailer he says ‘I’m back’ he knows what he’s done.

2) Since it’s been spelled out to us that Caleb was also experimented on when he was young, I think Caleb always knew the granny was partly responsible for MC and potentially his own suffering, therefore wanting revenge. When he talks about how much he’s struggled hiding parts of himself, that could be referring to what he knew transpired and pretending that he was oblivious, or how he’s been undercover this entire time.

Maybe he discovered what the granny did whilst he was away on missions, or even after the explosion, if he was taken forcibly? Maybe he was even approached by whatever organisation he’s now working with (EVER?), who told him the truth/deceived him so he’d join their cause.

Caleb had a slap mark from MC, perhaps he told MC what believed granny did to her when she was younger as a messed up justification for the explosion, and MC refused to believe it? Ultimately, Caleb would be the individual who would have to comfort her in this situation.

3) I think Caleb is behaving the way he is now because he’s either a sleeper agent or it’s and a product of trauma from the explosion + experimentation, or both. The nice, sweet Caleb from before is real, but I think this new side of him also always existed and has revealed itself after all that’s happened. These two sides of him are battling it out when MC sees him again.

Caleb is in the military, the airforce, he’s a colonel. That side of him yearns to complete the mission no matter what and let nothing get in the way; and that’s why at times he seems more in charge and coldhearted. Then there’s the other side of Caleb, where he’s a your typical boy next door who wants to be vulnerable, kind and dependable…who deep down, is happy to be face to face with the MC again. He’s unsure of who he should be and this conundrum will play an important role in the story regarding his choices. Maybe he even regrets the explosion and killing granny?

If he’s a sleeper agent, there might be a trigger either he, or someone else possesses that causes him to change dispositions. The trailer heavily implies this, when the scene’s lighting changes, so does Caleb. I saw someone say in chapter 4, Caleb suddenly stops mid sentence when a light passes the background, implying he’s under surveillance. Whether there is someone actually watching him at that very moment or it’s imagery of what he imagines/ feels when he’s not following orders is up in the air.

In the end, I wouldn’t be surprised if he mellows out like Sylus and becomes a blend of these two personalities.

4) MC and Caleb being each others failsafes is probably the main reason why the grandma entrusted MC’s care to Zayne and not Caleb. Granny said ‘she could rest easy’ knowing Zayne was MC’s doctor, Zayne being a great doctor for MC’s heart condition is just a coverup for grandma’s true reasoning. Grandma knows Zayne would do whatever it takes to ensure MC’s safety…. It makes me wonder and how much both Caleb and Zayne are aware of this.

If it ever came to MC and Caleb trying to destroy each other, in the end I think Caleb would prevail simply due to his evol being that strong; how can you defend yourself if he won’t let you lift a finger? Honestly, I think MC is Caleb’s failsafe in more of a mental sense, he wouldn’t ever wish to kill MC and I’m unsure how she could use her evol against him. What about Caleb’s evol makes him her specific fail safe? Caleb should be able to stop most people with gravity manipulation. Why MC specifically?

Anyway, Caleb hurting MC is not out of the question for grandma, did Caleb do something that hinted he had the potential to do something sinister? I imagine she took both of them in not only because she felt bad, but because in her mind, if the two of them become friends it would lower the possibility of one of them turning against each other.

5) I hope Caleb faked his death because he wanted to, I hope he betrayed MC willingly and not under duress. I don’t want any of that ‘I was forced to’ bullshit like that. I hope he did it because it aligned with whatever goals he has and he believed the explosion and granny’s death was the best course of action to take. I hope MC doesn’t take this lying down either. The story would be more impactful this way.

6) I’d like to talk about Caleb and Zayne. Caleb’s impeccable control of his evol is a nice parallel to Zaynes lack therefore of; Caleb forces a man to kneel to him without moving a finger, he uses his evol freely, we see this when MC gifts him his necklace. Zayne however uses it sparingly and has to practice self restraint to prevent his evol from spiralling out of control.

In addition, Zayne refused to join the shady Xander sciences, despite their offers. Whether he’s being deceived, forced into it or did it willingly; Caleb aligned himself with EVER. I don’t think this is a bad decision or makes him a villain per se but…Caleb gave in. He gave him, Zayne didn’t.

Both also have military backgrounds. I don’t have much to say for this.

7) Adam and Eve, the commissioned art of Caleb offering the apple to MC with a snake wrapped around him - the snake is whoever Caleb is working for, and the apple represent Caleb’s proposal for MC to join/ go along with him, to let him do what he thinks is right. In one version of this art, neither have taken a bite of the apple, the other version shows that they both have taken a bite - Caleb’s larger than MC’s. She has a taste, it even looks as if she bites it unwillingly, but he devours it. In both versions, he’s watching her with his glowing eyes.

In another commisoned art, we see the two of them falling out of the sky, with MC crying and Caleb smiling as blood covers him. To me, it seems that Caleb was banished/killed for a certain choice he made, and MC decided to go down with him. I think this makes sense thematically: they were meant to destroy one another, and instead they chose to die together. This could be the gist of Caleb’s second myth pair or what he ends up doing in the upcoming main story.

Shoutout to @iraot for coming up with this great theory: In the trailer Caleb says ‘I want to keep you in a world…where it’s just the two of us’ if Adam and Eve were the first two humans, who we see MC and Caleb represent respectively, do you think Caleb believes he was MC’s first/original ‘love’ and he wants to return to whatever he deems the Garden of Eden is with MC? Whether he remembers their past in a different lifetime, or if he’s referring to their childhood…for him the Garden of Eden is probably a time when it was just the two of them and no one else. That is what he wants.

[luminouslywriting]

Bob headcannons, when you cry in there arms

Hi hon! I would be happy to do this one! Reminder that my requests are open for MOTA, BoB, and the Pacific, + I don't mind spam, so keep sending your thoughts in haha!

Dick Winters:

-Honestly the softest about the entire thing. I know that he gives the best hugs and is super patient. He's not gonna break away from the hug or the hold unless you do first.

-Doesn't force you to talk about anything, just wants to know what's going on and if you're going to be okay

-Probably dries your tears and if you're dating, kisses a few of the tear-stains to reassure you that it'll all be okay

Lewis Nixon:

-Is admittedly not super great with emotions? It's one of those things where he's just like ???? What NOW?!

-But he'll do his best at some comforting words and attempt to crack a few jokes or funny stories about himself to cheer you up

-Prefers to see you with a smile on your face and is relieved when the crying stops

Ronald Speirs:

-It's one of two things....he's either the softest and most gentle man about the whole thing or he's waiting for you to calm down before talking to you like an adult and is very reassuring

-Either way, he takes into account what's going to be best for the situation...like if something bad happened and you're hyperventilating, his biggest priority is making sure that you calm the hell down.

-But if it's an emotional thing, he'll sit with you and listen to whatever it is and lets you know that you're not alone. Not by a long shot.

Buck Compton:

-The best at giving rousing speeches and encouraging you to keep your head up and that things will get better.

-Also a patient man when it comes to the hugs and is also down to cuddle after you're done crying too

-He's emotionally attuned to what's going on and very aware that if you're breaking down, sometimes you just need someone to hold you and let you know that the bad won't last forever.

Carwood Lipton:

-A mother hen who is patting and rubbing your back as you cry and softly offering words of encouragement and love

-Knows exactly what to do to get you to stop crying or how to cheer you up; he pays attention to the little things and utilizes that to helping you through the rough times.

-Is also a chronic cuddler

Joe Liebgott:

-We've seen him when his friends are injured and he gets really soft. It's the same with the emotions and crying. Though he's a little more worried about how you're feeling, he'll hold you and stroke your hair and murmur sweet things to you.

-Probably starts telling you a story or asks questions to try and get you to calm down.

-Gives the softest and sweetest kisses oof reassurance afterwards.

Donald Malarkey:

-A little awkward but very gentle about the entire thing. He'll wait for you to calm down before asking some questions to understand what's going on/why you were crying.

-Wants to talk over solutions and suggestions to help things get better. He'd prefer if you had 0 problems in your life since he loves you so much.

-Gives a final hug when everything's finishing up

Eugene Roe:

-Immediately offers the softest words of support in both French and English and gently cups your face to dry off tears

-Super patient about the entire thing and honestly would prefer to cuddle with you for the rest of the night

-Follows up later to see how you're feeling and is on guard for if you're feeling upset about things

Bill Guarnere:

-Slightly panicked man about the entire thing—so he'll awkwardly pat your back and then when you start crying harder, he'll just hug you

-He'll start talking about his family and about when his brother died and so he completely gets what it's like to want to break down

-10/10 gives the best hugs

Joe Toye:

-Quietly just holds you and waits to ask questions until you're ready to talk about the entire thing. You're each other's person so that makes it even more important to support each other.

-Kisses away the tears and kisses the top of your head

-Gets a little sad that you were sad

George Luz:

-The best at cheering you up; he tells you all sorts of jokes and stories to try and make you smile

-If you smile through the tears, he'll tell you that your smile is pretty and that he missed it

-Also a chronic cuddler

[yudrein-aile]

Woah just reached the ch where its revealed Keilusa was planning to appoint Kishi as crown prince.... bro.... the usurp and win Civil War before it begins vibes r off the charts

Reading 536 was such a god damn treat for me personally. Like

As he waited for the coughing to subside, Yuder contemplated Emperor Keilusa's true intentions. According to the Empress, the Emperor wants Kishiar to become the Crown Prince. However, if something were to suddenly go wrong—due to hasty action fueled by newfound hope—and the Emperor died prematurely or encountered any issue, then all his plans would be in vain. The same would apply if something happened to Kishiar. 'Considering that, it's not surprising if he finds it more comforting to prepare for a future he can somewhat control and anticipate.'

I’m not sure Katchian can became a threat as he is – too immature, with too many powerful players on the keyboard, but it would be interesting if Keilusa does die now, wouldn’t? All his plans put into motion, only to die—

You can tell how much I’ve been craving a civil war AU for this fandom lol. I suppose I have one fic heading there but that’s a different conversation

That aside, I have been wondering for how long Keilusa has been planning for this and when he informed Faria of his plan. Like, having the child they wanted to become their successor murdered is already horrible, but I don’t think Katchian was terrible from the start. He was fucking fourteen. Fourteen-year-olds are not irredeemable. Was Diarca’s influence to great already? Did Keilusa also think that Katchian was only going to be Diarca’s puppet and that’s why he couldn’t tolerate him?

Or was it simply a question of trusting his brother more?

I tend to put Kishiar’s Awakening as my terminus post quem for Keilusa putting decision into action. While Kishiar's entire condition is obviously not fixed by Awakening, it has stabilized enough that he’s not dying in the next five years, that he’s most certainly going to outlive Keilusa – and outlive him he did! Even in the first timeline, dying bc of the Red Stone injury, he lived approximately a year longer than Keilusa.

But yeah Keilusa wants Kishiar as his heir so badly.

Like in 60 we got

'Kishiar. So, is your vessel still fine?' 'Thanks to your concern, brother, it's perfectly fine.' When they were alone, Kishiar called the emperor 'brother'. Although this was against etiquette, when they were alone, the emperor called him by his real name, not his title, so it was all the same. 'What a pity. If the late empress saw you alive and breathing healthily without any outburst, she would undoubtedly have been so upset that she would have risen from her grave. It's quite regrettable that I can't show her that her most important decision was so wrong.

And in 110 the info that

Originally, the position of the Crown Prince was set to be Kishiar La Orr's. However, about 20 years ago, due to the strong influence of the then Empress, Inella La Orr, at the imperial family meeting, Keilusa La Orr was appointed as the Crown Prince. It is said that the late Emperor and Empress Inella had a major dispute over this issue for several years, and their relationship was not good.

Like, tbh I think that – unlike Kishiar, who I don’t see as ever really considering the throne as a position for himself – Keilusa was very much aware that their father wanted Kishiar to be Crown Prince (or at least, be given more time to pick which one of his sons would inherit the crown) and continues to consider the position Kishiar’s. Not just because Keilusa genuinely has no other heir he approves of, but because he trusts his brother with it. Keilusa is the pettiest bitch being so self-satisfied that his grandmother’s schemes led to nothing, that Kishiar is still well and thriving.

Uh, excuse the off track ramble.

TLDR: god yeah civil war would be fun, don’t think Katchian could pull it off anymore tho.

[stobinesque]

The last post I reblogged has me thinking about how Lucas is treated by his friends/the wider UD gang in-universe/from a more Watsonian perspective. Because here are the facts:

Lucas has spent most of his childhood being explicitly/overtly bullied for his race [being called "Midnight" by their season 1 bullies]¹

At the beginning of Season 2, Mike clearly assumes that Lucas agreed to go as Winston for no other reason than both of them being black. But when called on this, Mike cannot bring himself to admit that's what he was thinking. (He also does not apologize to Lucas.)

Until Billy attacks him, Lucas doesn't really know why Max is trying to avoid being seen with him when Billy picks her up/at her house, but having been on the receiving end of "my family is racist so I can't be seen with you," whether or not you actively know the reason someone is trying to hide you from another person, it feels alienating. Also, he absolutely figures it out in hindsight.

But since at first he doesn't know that Billy inexplicably and aggressively hates him/doesn't want him interacting with Max, from Lucas' perspective he gets attacked by a white boy 4-5 years his senior and almost twice his size out of literally nowhere. Said boy explicitly declares to him "You're dead, Sinclair."²

Lucas, upon entering high school, decides that he wants to acquire enough social pressure to protect him and his friends from the bullying they had to deal with throughout middle school. Neither Mike nor Dustin seem willing/able to understand why he might be interested in that protection.

There are a couple different ways to interpret Lucas (and Patrick)³ choosing to stay with Jason and Andy, but I think it's reasonable to assume that Lucas would be able to recognize a mob/witch hunt forming, and I also think it is reasonable to assume that Lucas knows that mobs tend to target the most vulnerable members of a population, and that he himself both as a black kid and a member of Hellfire is at risk.

Nancy knows for a fact that Jason was at the army surplus store in search of a gun, and while it is implied that she informs the group of this, they seem not to take that into any consideration when planning because

Taken altogether, this paints a picture that in-universe, all of Lucas' friends should be intimately aware that he has experienced overt racism for his entire life. But, the Halloween costume argument also suggests that even though they're all aware of said racism, none of the white members of the group really feel comfortable talking about it. Lucas does explicitly call Mike out on thinking that he would be Winston (or that Mike can't be) "because he's black," and Mike flat out lies to his face. If this is one of the first times Lucas has confronted one of the Party members about their own implicit racism, I think it would be reasonable for him to walk away from that exchange deciding that race isn't something he can have honest conversations with his friends about.

We also never see Billy attacking Lucas addressed on-screen after it happens. Which means we never get to see anyone check-in with Lucas about what happened, or see him process what happened.

So come season 4 Lucas has great reason both to want more social capital/protection and to feel uncomfortable explicitly talking to his friends about why that might be. (Especially with the added baggage of Billy having just been killed, which assuredly inspired a lot of complicated feelings for Lucas, especially because of how much his death impacted Max.) Instead, he makes one simple request of his friends (who he both wants at his game and still wants to play D&D with them): get Eddie to reschedule the game. And, sure, it's Eddie's fault that the game doesn't get rescheduled. But it is absolutely on Mike and Dustin that they didn't choose to skip (which honestly probably would have forced Eddie to reschedule anyway??).

So for the most important game of the season, Lucas winds up without his friends or his sister there to watch him make the winning shot, and he misses out on the D&D game that he wanted to play with his friends. It's entirely possible that Lucas still would have decided to go to the afterparty even if Mike and Dustin had come to the game. But I think it's reasonably likely that he'd have gone to celebrate separately with them! Or at least would have left the party early, rather than getting so drunk he pukes the next morning. So when Jason riles the whole team into becoming a mob out for blood, Lucas ends up stuck between a rock and a hard place. He can't really say or do anything to stop Jason that doesn't also put a target on his back. Sticking with him is the best way to 1) ensure his own physical safety and 2) have any hope of protecting Eddie/his friends.

And then Lucas risks his life to lead Jason & co. off Eddie's scent and bikes eight miles to come warn Dustin that he's in danger. He actually explicitly says that Dustin is in terrible danger. Lucas (and, honestly, all of the Party--except arguably Will) at this point is intimately aware of the fact that a white boy fueled by rage can been homicidally dangerous. So the fact that even after knowing for a fact that Jason has acquired a gun, the whole team send Lucas, Erica and Max to the Creel house without weapons, protection, or any sort of plan as to how to deal with Jason & co. if they turn up is not only baffling, but honestly feels downright callous.

From a purely Watsonian perspective, Lucas has every right and reason to be absolutely livid with his friends. Their consistent inability to recognize or acknowledge the racism Lucas experiences directly results in Lucas and his sister being attacked and nearly killed--and not even by the supernatural bad guy.

¹The show never returns to this, but to me it is broadly illustrative of the racial climate in Hawkins

²Please do not waste your breath trying to argue with me that Billy "wasn't really trying to kill him." I honestly don't care either way. He threatened to kill a 13-year-old boy whose only "crime" was being black. There is no other explanation for Billy's treatment of Lucas that makes sense, since he explicitly targets him, and not Dustin or Mike. Regardless of whether or not Billy had genuine homicidal intent, Lucas had no reason to think otherwise in that moment. I have no interest in arguing this point with anyone.

³Patrick is another excellent example of the show being unable to meaningfully reckon with with its racial implications, but that's its own post.

[lost-in-lamentation]

hiii! i loved the way you wrote hearts, released, and was wondering if you could do the same concept but with barbatos, solomon, and satan? thank you!! your writing is so good btw hehe

a/n: oh anon you have my entire heart thank you so much ㅠㅠ

i've got another request for a continuation, so i'll probably do another two parts for this particular series!

a continuation of: hearts, released.

warnings: there is blood and injuries, MC dies. references lesson 16 of og obey me in barbatos' part. references to the great celestial war + lilith in satan's part.

important! this story is hurt/no comfort. make sure you're okay with that before reading on.

barbatos, solomon, satan × gen!reader. (separate.)

he thought he was seeing things when he found you in the clearing. battered, bleeding, bruised, as you struggled to stay conscious after what had just happened. the world around you flickered in and out of existence, and the only thing tethering you to reality was the pain that shot through your body. your head fell to the side where he stood, and with what limited strength you had left, you beckoned him over to you.

═  ˎˊ˗

barbatos.

barbatos slowly walked towards you, uncharacteristically hesitant in the way he carried himself to your side. usually so poised, back straightened and all, barbatos was curled in on himself, jaw tightening as he moved closer.

"barbatos, you don't look so good," you said as you tapped the spot next to you weakly. "come sit here." maybe it was the fact that you were dying, but a part of you expected him to reject the request. instead, he graced you with a smile, crossing his legs and settling himself at your side. "answering my final requests, are we?"

barbatos blinked at you, hoping to hide away the tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes. "still making jokes at a time like this?" he nearly whimpered the question out, composure wavering as you coughed out blood.

"of course. you know what i'm like." you grinned at the demon, meeting his gaze; it was empty. you held it for a while, listening to the breeze blow through the trees before speaking again. "did you know this would happen?"

his expression fell ever so subtly, fists clenching as he tried to think of a way to answer. "i was... aware that it would happen."

"did you know it would happen today?"

"... no."

your hand stretched out towards barbatos, finding a place to rest on his knee. "if you did know, would you have stopped it?"

tentatively, he placed his hand on top of yours, fingers curling around your palm gently. "i can only change your fate so many times, MC."

a broken laugh echoed out from you, your own grip strengthening around his fingers. "yeah, that sounds like something you would say." you shuddered against the wind, feeling the blood trickle down your side slowly. "i'm sorry, barbatos," you whispered into the air, hand falling away from his.

barbatos' head drooped, his shadow blanketing the sorrow that made its way onto his face. "it's me who has to apologise," he whispered out, silent tears dripping onto your corpse.

═  ˎˊ˗

solomon.

solomon moved urgently, steps heavy on the ground as he ran towards you. as soon as he reached you, he fell to his knees by your side, trembling while his hand tried to grasp at yours. it wasn't often you saw solomon so panicked. lightly, you touched at his wrist, causing the sorcerer to look at you.

"it's okay, solomon," you hummed softly.

solomon shook his head at you. "whatever hurt you just now; it counters my spells. i can't do anything," he snapped at thin air, his words strangled as they fought to be spoken. his chest began heaving, fear settling in his body before his mind could process it. "i can't heal you."

a strange mixture of guilt and dread washed over you; not being able to be saved, and also knowing solomon would be the only one to see you like this made your heart ache more than your wounds did. "that's okay, solomon," you exhaled, wincing as you turned onto your side to try and face him. "just stay with me for now."

solomon slumped unceremoniously closer to the ground, leaning over you to palm at your bleeding side. his breaths caught in his throat repeatedly, quiet sobs filling the air as he sat next to you. "you didn't strike me as someone who would cry at someone's end," you chuckled as best you could.

the white haired man huffed at you, wiping away his tears with his sleeve. "very bold of you to make that statement to an immortal." he spoke coldly through gritted teeth, no longer bothering to look you in the eye. you gave him a forlorn smile in return, trying not to wince at the increasing pain in your nerves.

solomon felt the thread keeping him together unravel when he looked at your expression. "i can't heal you, but i think i can still help," he said, pulling out his wand from his coat. encantations you had never heard before spilled out of his mouth, wispy trails of light dancing around the two of you until you finally felt his magic working. eventually, the pain in your side dulled, leaving you numb to everything other than the fact that you didn't have long left.

"are you in pain?" solomon asked against his own will.

"... no, not so much." you tilted your head to look at him. "are you?"

"... i am."

weakly, you squeezed his wrist one more time before closing your eyes. "i'm sorry about that."

"it's okay, MC." solomon watched as your hand fell away from his, heart shattering at the sight. "it's okay," he said again, taking your hand back in his to wait for the warmth to fully disappear.

═  ˎˊ˗

satan.

the fourth born didn't dare take a step closer. his vision was clouded with red, his anger and your blood swirling together to stain his thoughts. his own blood, boiling, pounded inside his head, drowning out your voice as you tried to call to him.

in a desperate attempt, you shouted his name one more time, tears springing to your eyes when the effort made it feel like there were talons digging into your lungs. satan finally made eye contact with you, fear dancing in his irises. "satan," you coughed out, trying to reach for him. "come."

he followed the order immediately, but unlike usual, remained meek. with his face downcast and his fists balled up tightly as his side, satan walked over to you. if you had the ability to sit up, you would. instead, you had to settle for a frail attempt to catch his hand in yours. your fingers brushed against his leg in the process, and you felt satan stiffen at the contact. "satan," you pleaded with him, now tugging weakly at his clothing. "come here."

satan eventually obliged, bending down so that he could settle back onto his heels, all while pointedly avoiding your line of sight he kept his eyes trained on the ground, too afraid that the image of you dying would cause him to rampage. "i'm here," he spat out, lower lip quivering as he spoke.

"you can look at me, you know." immediately, his green eyes disappeared from sight as he turned away from you. "nothing will happen, satan. i just wanna see your face," you said, words slurring together as you started to lose your consciousness.

satan's gaze flickered to yours, sorrow etching itself into his features, and guilt carving a place in his eyes. "what now, MC?"

your expression softened. "make sure you ask your brothers for help, okay?"

satan immediately growled at the idea, slapping your hand away from him. "with what?"

"you'll know soon enough." you stifled a sob, understanding that satan didn't know any better. saying nothing more, you allowed yourself peace, falling further away from the light until there was no return.

satan wrestled against the thoughts that constricted his chest, feeling every heartbeat slam harder and harder against his ribcage. he hated himself for only knowing wrath; for not being able to show you something else in your final moments. a loud screech tore itself out of his throat, splitting through the devildom and shattering the skies.

for the first time, satan understood how his brothers felt all those years ago. he understood why they went to war for her. because he too, would have gone through war if it meant saving you.

a/n: satan who doesn't know how to process emotions on top !!! also don't ask why solomon can't heal you but can take away pain okay let's all ignore that :)

[joanofarcbutsilly]

shake the frost

simon “ghost” riley x reader

TW: angst to comfort!!!!!! simon and reader’s relationship is undoubtedly toxic (don’t worry it gets better), simon is not emotionally available in the slightest, mentions of sex in a friends with benefits type relationship but nothing is ever described, small disagreement, there’s kind of a breakup???? but it ends happy

not requested but this is for @corvusmorte who had commented on my last post about this song tehehe

simon has this undeniable coldness to him

he just seems to reek of apathy for his fellow man

upon first glance, you might think simon is just another product of military training. in general, for the type of work simon does, anyone would have to be able to distance themselves from people and the emotions they come with. i mean soap is normally a genuinely kind and thoughtful individual, but turns into a whole different being while on the field

simon is just different though. it doesn’t seem like he has any ability to turn it off, it’s just a part of him

without really knowing him, it’s easy to imagine peeling back this layer of his personality and finding a deep dark void where his soul should be

he is absolutely aware of this general aura and has never had the urge to make a change

he doesn’t get a lot of good first impressions because of this, and very rarely does anyone ever attempt to chip away at his shell

i cant stress enough it is HARD WORK to get to know this man

the fastest way to foster a connection with him is through a friends with benefits type situation (although he will not refer to you as a friend either, you are just a coworker with whom he has sex)

when you DO come to understand him a bit better from piecing little morsels of information together, you come to understand that his coldness is just a means to defend himself

years of pain and mistreatment quite literally from the day of his birth has turned him into a cornered dog, gnashing and thrashing at any attempts to get closer, wether you be friend or foe

knowing his reasons for this is one thing, but putting up with it is another. having empathy for his predicament does NOT mean that you should have to put up with any of his unkindness

i just imagine being in a relationship (if you can even call it that) with simon, built purely on physical interactions. you are someone to warm his bed, plain and simple, and he is not afraid to tell you this.

he has his moments, where he tries, in his own way, to maintain the connection you two have fostered

he’ll pick up little trinkets for you on his travels, little reminders that he DOES in fact think about you when you’re out of his room.

he’s also a pillar of stability for you. no matter the burden you carry. simon is one of those people who you just feel more relaxed by extension because he DOES NOT FREAK OUT

you can also take comfort in the fact that simon will ALWAYS be there to protect you. he will ALWAYS have your back, and even if he doesn’t vocalize it, you know that he would kill or die for you without an ounce of hesitation

he cares, not outwardly.

and you know, you KNOW he cares even if he doesn’t say it, you KNOW. but it can be so incredibly draining to be carrying the entire emotional burden of your relationship (which he vehemently denies the existence of)

so things can be good! you and simon have great moments! but some not so great ones as well

as mentioned, he refuses to acknowledge your importance in his life. and even though you can pick up on the clues of his actual thoughts and feelings on you and your whole arrangement, it can be so exhausting to be told and shown the opposite

some nights after your escapades he will let you stay, and sometime in the middle of the night you’ll wake up to a heavy arm across your abdomen and a heavy sigh. you breathe just a little bit quieter and resist the urge to rearrange yourself so as to not wake him up

the next day, he makes no mention of his midnight affection, so neither do you. you think you have turned a corner in the relationship.

but the next time you two- ahem- get together… following the activity he scoops up your things from the floor and drops them next to you on the bed with his eyes straight ahead. while you just kinda sit there in a disappointed stupor he silently walks to his bathroom, and you can feel the unsaid demand to leave his room before he gets back.

this is a pretty typical pattern, there’s the initial hope following an abnormally affectionate behavior or moment, which is immediately crushed when simon all but launches himself away to maintain a comfortable emotional distance from you.

you cannot vocalize your discomfort with this dynamic either. bringing this up would immediately start up an argument, where simon says that you are overreacting, and you knew what this was and what you are to him. this can end up happening a lot, he avoids healthy emotional communication like the PLAGUE.

after some time together you come to learn what sets him off in a fighting mood.

a BIG one to avoid is “prying” into his past. you cannot and should not be the one to ask any personal questions. all you’re going to get is a pissed off simon and a response along the lines of how “if he wanted to he’d tell you”

anything and everything you know about simon’s history is the result of a slip of the tongue, or the occasional comment by him or someone else on the 141

past this, it’s up to you to use your detective skills to piece together a timeline of simon’s life

following every fight or disagreement with simon there is a gap wherein you might as well be strangers.

the silence almost seems like a punishment, which makes fights absolutely unbearable. you’ve always got the thought in the back of your head that you two might never come back from this, and to keep any kind of connection with simon you’ve got to walk around eggshells for the foreseeable future.

the silence is hard, but he also just has his outbursts on occasion where he just absolutely snaps on you

these breaks happen in his own moments of emotional instability, like after a nightmare

when you do end up staying the night with him, and you hear the even cadence of his breathing suddenly interrupted before he tenses behind you, it’s critical to just lay there and pretend it’s not happening. should you wake him up, you have to pretend he was just snoring or moving around too much, and under no circumstances should you let him know you’re aware of his bad dream.

one such occasion ended up being the proverbial straw that broke the camels back. you finally believed the dynamic between you and simon was comfortable enough that you did wake him up and alerted him to the fact that you were aware of his bad dream, and of course he could tell you anything, and talking about nightmares with someone else often helps you get a better nights sleep, he just stared at you with a blank look for a few seconds. he then threw himself up to sit facing away from you, taking some deep breaths that slowly devolved into a growl. you hesitantly said his name again, which apparently set him off, standing abruptly and shoving his nightstand.

“ghost,” he corrects flatly between clenched teeth, “get out.”

it was clear to see there was no arguing with him, so you just peel his shirt over your head and set it on the bed before dressing and all but running away.

simon makes no attempts to talk to you for a while following this incident, and it is was honestly for the best. you love him, but you cannot put yourself in the position to be hurt by him again. this is the forced distance you need to make a break from you very clearly unhealthy situation.

this goes on for months following the initial confrontation, no late night rendezvous, no talks, no nothing. absolutely cold turkey.

the rest of the 141 is so sick and tired of you both during this for various reasons. they can all feel the tension rolling off of you both when you are either in each other’s presence, or one of you is brought up. price, although he does care for the well-being of his teammates, needs to make sure that all of the cogs of the machine are in working order. soap hates that ghost is in emotional turmoil, but can do nothing about it because any hand extended in simon’s direction might be ripped off. gaz is not as close with ghost as soap is, and doesn’t have a real concern in the leadership side of things, but absolutely hates the anxiety it causes. he misses just having fun with his teammates, but now he knows any teasing could go unbelievably wrong.

all of this comes to a head after a particularly grueling mission which lands you and soap in medical. soap ended up fine, he just had a dislocated shoulder and a nasty slash on his leg that the doctors wanted to keep a little bit of an eye on to avoid anything worse. soap was a good bedside companion, and easy company compared to the new norm of being constantly on edge. but all good things had to end, and johnny was freed from bed-rest and had to get back to work after just a few days. you weren’t gifted the same luck, and ended having to stay an entire week due to a broken ankle and a not so great concussion. sitting in the dark and sleeping constantly was a nice break, but it’s inevitable to get a bit stir crazy.

there was honestly nothing that could have been done, it was just a shit show. despite it not really being anyone’s fault, price is not quiet about the fact that maybe things could have gone better if two CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS could act like ADULTS and COMMUNICATE at WORK without RUINING THE TEAM DYNAMIC. price comes to you with this message, which usually would be unwelcome, but after being bored out of your mind, any human interaction was a welcome experience. price also makes the not so subtle threat of forced therapy should you and ghost not talk to each other within the next week (this was not so welcome). you assure price that you will talk to ghost when you’re off of rest.

this ends your little vacation, and you have to start thinking about how you are going to go about discussing this with simon

you have to sit there with nothing else to do other than twiddling your thumbs and staring at the ceiling, stewing in the pit of anxiety that’s brewing in the base of your stomach.

the confrontation comes much sooner than you’d like

just a day before your release you’re going along with your usual rumination of your expected conversation with simon, the metal rings of the curtain around your bed screech as they’re pulled back. a nurse sticks her head in through the window with a smile and tells you that you have a visitor.

much to your surprise you see ghost in full gear standing by the door like a vulture or some sort of gargoyle.

you stare at each other for a moment before you break eye contact and pretend to busy yourself with sorting out your bedding. without looking you hear the scuff-scuff of simon’s shoes dragging across the floor, and then the scream of a chair being carried along for the ride.

simon positions the chair next to your bed and takes a seat.

there’s a long stretch of silence which you decide to break, just to get the conversation over with, you tell him price already explained the situation to you. you apologize for any uncomfortableness on the field and end with a generic “i hope that going forward this will not affect our work relationship”

simon sighs after you finish and the silence returns yet again.

this time you decide that the ball is officially in simon’s court although you couldn’t have expect his next move

ghost leans forward and rests his arms on his knees, allowing his head to meet his hands.

despite his now floor facing position, it’s quiet enough to hear him apologize. simon says he’s sorry. he says the way he treated you was unfair and needlessly cruel.

still a bit shocked, you remark that although his actions did hurt you, you appreciate the apology.

you decide it is only fair that for all the pain he caused, he should sit in the same silence he had left you in all of those times before. he would not find comfort in you.

it takes a while for him to respond, just telling you that he knows.

you tell simon again that you appreciate the apology, but there is nothing much else to say about the matter. as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, you understand him more than he’d like. you know that he is a good person even if he doesn’t think so. but he hurt you. your only crime was trying to be there for him. you tell him it was so unfair for him to treat you like you had done something horribly wrong by attempting to be closer to him. to constantly send you mixed messages about what the two of you were and the nature of your relationship was. you told him you felt like an idiot. for following him around as if he hadn’t already very clearly shown you what he thought of you. it simply wasn’t fair. if all he wanted was sex, you could have helped him find a hooker, hell, you would have payed for it, just to make things clearer for yourself.

simon’s shoulders raise and his chest expands with an uncharacteristically shaky breath. you look away after this, unwilling to admit that for all he’s caused, his pain is directly linked to yours, and seeing him in any kind of distress causes a physical response in you.

this is why you don’t notice when simon moves his hand from his knee to the railing of the bed. you only notice when you hear the his hand sliding across the fabric of the thin sheet that covers you. unwilling to investigate visually where this is going, you continue pretending the ceiling is more interesting than whatever the hell simon is doing.

your feigned boredom makes the surprise of simon resting his hand on yours all the more shocking. this must show on your face, because when you snap your head up to meet simon’s eyes, he seems a bit hesitant. despite this, he keeps his hand on yours, letting the unspoken question of wether this was ok hang thick in the air.

you nod and he nods back, curling your hand around to entwine your fingers with yours and starts rubbing his thumb back and forth across your knuckles.

he apologizes again. and says he knows you’re a good person. he knows you mean no harm, but he’s just afraid. he can’t help but think of how people who were supposed to love him treated him, and what happened to those who actually did. he knows this isn’t an excuse, but he needed to tell you. he needed to tell you that he misses you.

this is new. very new. you could never have dreamed of a conversation of this nature taking place with simon, and yet there you were

he tells you how much you mean to him, even if he doesn’t say it, and it’s not fair that you he can’t tell you.

there’s more silence, you don’t know if you could respond even if you tried

simon continues

he tells you he loves you

this obviously doesn’t fix everything, simon still has so much trouble believing your good intentions, but the difference now is that he’s trying

he decides that if he wants a real future with you he has to put in the work, so at your gentle suggestion, he asks price about his options for some therapy services he can get into contact with through the military (price choked on his own smoke)

you can still see simon trying to pull away sometimes but he warns you

when he comes back from a mission you hadn’t gone on for whatever reason, he will tell you if he had a particularly hard time. how he’s not feeling like himself at the moment and might need some space in the coming days.

he’s come to discover that this is much preferable to how he handles things before. you don’t get mad at him, you thank him with a comforting smile, telling him that you appreciate the fact that he told you and if he wants to talk about it you’ll be right here.

the nightmares are getting better too- well not the subject matter, but how he handles them

you’ll wipe the sweat from his brow after a nightmare and he tenses like he did when you thought it was over, but now he takes a few shuddering breaths before yanking you to him, arms wrapped around you in a vice grip and face shoved into the crook of your neck. he’s still tense, but not in the flight response you’re used to. breathes in your scent and mutters a gruff thank you as he tries to settle back into sleep. he hasn’t worked up the courage to tell what they’re about yet, but he takes comfort in the fact that you’ll be there for him if he needs.

he starts telling you things too.

simple things at first, like when he first read his favorite book. how his favorite color is dark blue because it reminds him of a blanket he had as a kid. you made some cookies for him one time, and he said he loved them, and told you about the last time he remembers having that sweet treat with his family.

most of it seems trivial, but such a huge step in the right direction it’s almost like he has been replaced by some imposter.

the culmination is when he takes you back to where he was raised. he walks you through the streets, hand in hand, and periodically stops to grab your attention. he will point out where he had his first job, his favorite restaurant that he only really liked because it was his moms favorite.

he is so much… more… now

the new best part of every day is when you and simon part ways for the day

as you go off to leave your practically shared room in the morning, simon always catches the you by the arm to bring you closer. he raises your hand to his lips, and closes his eyes, mumbling a quiet i love you against your skin

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO LONG

requests are open!

[differenteagletragedy]

Hi, if you're willing, could I request some clingy Cove headcanons? Thanks

Clingy Cove is the best! Love him to bits.

-- When it comes to you, the boy just does not need personal space. It's not a requirement. Totally unnecessary.

-- If you do need it, that's fine! He'll absolutely give you as much as you need with zero complaints! Being clingy often has a negative connotation, but that's not what it is with Cove. He fully supports you doing whatever you need to do emotionally, having friends, being with your family, all of that OBVIOUSLY.

-- But if it was entirely up to him, he'd just rather be with you always. You are home to him, you have been for almost his whole life. With you he feels safe and comfortable, he feels like himself. He feels seen and accepted and loved, and it's the best feeling in the whole world.

-- So if you need some time to yourself, just tell him, ok? Because otherwise he's going to want to be right there.

-- You don't actually have to DO everything together, parallel play is wonderful! If you work from home, he'd just want to hang out in the same room if he's home too. If you're cooking dinner, then he can help, or at least sit on the counter looking pretty. If you need a nap and he's not sleepy, maybe he'll lie down with you anyway and read. And when he's older and more settled, why take two showers when you can just share one?

-- For real on that last one though especially, he's in ORCA, he's going to be about water conservation. Baths/showers together are very very important quality time.

-- It's like he just sort of doesn't understand the appeal of being alone if he could be with you. Again, if you do, that's great, he's more than willing to work with it.

-- I am going to be lazy and copy and paste something from another ask because it fits here too and I was thinking about this one when I wrote it lol

-- The whole thing about Cove is that to him, you are the best person in the world. And that's not just something to say, he literally thinks you are the best person in the entire world. He doesn't know most of the other people, sure, but he doesn't have to because how could anyone else be better than you? Remember, when he was little he thought you were actually made for him, and even though he's grown up and he's realized that's not how people work, the general belief is still there. You are the only person for him, and in that way, you were made for each other.

-- When you live together, if you like to sleep in or if you just sleep a little later than he does, every day is going to start with him trying to figure out if he should get his day started or just cuddle you for longer.

-- Sometimes if he really needs to get something done and decides to get up while you're still sleeping, he'll feel bad and try to sneak back in bed without waking you up. This, or if he really is just too busy, you have to get in bed earlier to make up for the lost time.

Cove: Come on, it's bedtime!

You: It's 8:30.

Cove: Yeah, and there's a cuddle deficit that we need to address.

-- He knows the exact math on this, don't try to argue with him.

-- I could genuinely do this all day.

-- What if after Step 3 you move away? Man is that gonna be hard.

-- I don't generally like the idea of taking Cove away from the beach, but I think if it's between the beach and you, he's going to pick you every single time.

-- So it may take him a little bit if plans are made more last minute, or if you don't confess right away, but if he knows you're going to college for FOUR YEARS far away, or if you get a job in another state? He's going to have a hard time just letting that be that.

-- When you are apart, he will text all the time. He's not expecting a conversation every time, he's fully aware of how clingy he is, but if he sees something that reminds him of you, he'll send you a photo, stuff like that.

You: *checking your phone on your lunch break to see several texts from Cove*

Cove: Do you remember when that bird stole dad's sandwich lol *sends video of bird*

Cove: I wish we were at the beach

Cove: Can we make fudge tonight

Cove: I miss you

-- This is obviously cannon, but when he gets settled he doesn't care that everyone knows how clingy he is.

-- Why would he? He is SO PROUD to be yours!

[rosesloveletters]

teddy bear hugs.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 1,497

Warnings: No major content warnings apply.

Summary: A part two of my Wonka Valentine's Day fic.

Author's Note: Sorry it's been such a long time since I wrote! I've been very busy since I'm currently working two jobs, but I've been writing a lot more recently, so I have some new fics to post. This was obviously supposed to have been posted a long time ago, but I hope you enjoy regardless. Also, the photo of the bear is mine.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

A gentle breeze stirred the curtains and the soft light shining in through the open window fell upon your body; you were lost in a sweet, peaceful slumber, your eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings as you dreamt. 

Your gentle snores were interrupted by the bedroom door creaking open as Wonka stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind himself.

You were still lying in the same position you had been when he left to get dressed and as he crossed the room to your side of the bed, he fondly noticed you were still unaware of the teddy bear he had placed in your arms the night before. 

A smile appeared on his face as he sat on the edge of the mattress and placed a hand on your knee, above the duvet. 

You cooed and mumbled, nuzzling into your teddy bear’s fur the same way, Wonka noted, you so often did with his hair. 

He could not take his eyes off you as you slept, knowing that any moment you would wake up and be delighted to find the little bear he had given you to snuggle with when he was busy and could not give himself to that same physical affection you both craved so much. It bothered him that he could not stop to hold you as often as he would have liked. His success could not hold a candle to your importance in his life, yet he knew that neither you nor he were ready to settle down in a way that erased who he was. His factory was as much of a blessing as it was a curse, though now was he beginning to view the downfalls a bit more prominently than he did in the past when he was the sole owner and caretaker of the facility. 

Wonka had never truly been free.

It was somewhat ironic that his own imagination was what kept him imprisoned, a complex that felt more like a Shakespearian tragedy than one he had chosen for himself. 

He kept himself as closed off as his factory gates and very few people had a key. 

At first it was to protect his life’s work, but it had slowly become much more than that. 

Trust never came that easily to him; most of his eccentricity was a mere guise to keep his much truer self detached from the world. 

No one ever knew what he was thinking and he liked it that way. 

He felt comfortable playing the role of the reclusive and whimsical chocolatier. It was fun to spread joy and create wonder; he had always enjoyed that aspect of his career. 

There was only one person he trusted with his entire self and he wondered if you knew how great of an honor he had bestowed upon you. 

Wonka had the feeling that you did, considering how similar you both were in this regard. 

Two closed off individuals who had found solace and connection, learning to trust and find comfort in one another; it almost sounded too good to be true, but in a place that seemed to defy any kind of logic, fairytales were the least surprising thing one might find here. 

Wonka was lost in his thoughts when you finally began to stir, emitting a high-pitched moan as you gave a full-bodied stretch and opened your eyes, blinking dazedly in the early morning light. 

“Good morning, my dear,” Wonka’s smile, even brighter than the sun, greeted your open eyes, “sleep well?”

You nodded, your acknowledgement followed by a yawn. 

He knew the moment you became aware of the plush bear in your arms. 

Your tired eyes took on an alertness he only saw after you had had a chance to let your body naturally awaken and your arms seized the bear, yanking it to your chest for a tight hug. When you finally relaxed, you held it up so that you could admire it, taking in the little details which made it such a unique and special gift—the best gift he could have given you, aside from all his love. 

“Willy, what is this?” you gasped in surprise as you turned the bear around, taking in its appearance from all angles, “how did you…?”

“You like it?” he asked, though he did not need to; the answer was clear in the way you were grinning like a small child opening their presents on Christmas morning. 

“Of course!” you exclaimed, “I love it!”

You were still admiring your present, your fingers delicately smoothing out the little outfit it was wearing: a perfect replica of the one your beloved proudly wore. 

“He even has a little bowtie like yours! And look, his own golden ticket! Oh, my goodness, how on earth were you able to get this for me?!”

Willy tilted his head, a smug grin tugged his lips into a crescent smile as he took on an air of mystery, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” his cryptic reply made you giggle, “but, trust me, it was money well spent.”

“I love it so much my oh my gosh it’s the most perfect gift ever thank you, Willy!” 

He chuckled as he listened to you babbling in appreciation, a fond smile on his face as you clung to your teddy bear, hugging and cuddling it as he had intended, “you are very welcome, my dear. Now, you shall have someone to hold when I am away.”

You kissed your bear’s fuzzy little head, “thank you, Willy. I truly appreciate this much more than I could ever put into words.”

You wanted him to know how grateful you were, to not make him question whether he was taken for granted, but Wonka never had those concerns with you. 

Your gracious nature was never lost on him and you did your best to reciprocate as often as you could, yet Wonka did not want anything in return; the only thing he wanted, exceedingly more than any material gift, was you.

“I can tell,” he laughed lightheartedly, “you’re squeezing him tight enough that I can feel it.”

His little joke made you laugh in response. 

You set the bear aside and sat up, putting your arms around him. 

He accepted your embrace with his own, gently scooping you into his arms like you were precious glass and would shatter if he wasn’t careful, which had proven could be true if he was not even gentler with you than he was with himself. 

 To him, even if you could hold your own in this world, you were delicate and he at least hoped to make you feel that way while you were with him. 

He desired that you felt your emotions in his company and not bottle them up like his fizzy lifting drinks because a person could often forget the tremendous power behind restrained emotion until being shaken up and then it all would burst forth in a frenzied, bubbling mess... 

Wonka wanted you to be free in ways he never had been.

You were unabashedly yourself in front of him now and though it may have taken some time for you to feel comfortable being so vulnerable and exposed, you were eternally grateful to be loved by someone so determined to show you that you were safe with him and would never be judged, ridiculed, harmed or mocked for being nothing but your beautiful, loving self. 

You deserved the same kindness that you put into the world and Wonka would give it to you tenfold. 

“Thank you for my teddy,” you whispered into his ear and Wonka had to suppress the pleasant shudder that went down his spine at the sound of your voice, “but nothing could ever compare to the gift of being able to hug and to hold you.”

Wonka was so overcome by emotion that all he could do in response was hold you a little closer, his arms tightening just enough to convey all he longed for you to know. 

He had given you a safe space; he was someone you could rely on no matter what, even when he wasn’t physically around, because you could feel his love like it was a part of you and carried it everywhere you went. 

The teddy bear was not a replacement—nothing could ever take his place in your heart, but he was about to learn that you had every intention of cuddling that bear as often as time would allow. 

It would see many tears, of sadness and of joy, as you and Wonka embarked on many new adventures and chapters of your shared lives. 

It would carry the weight of every memory attached to it and of all the love built up from every hug you gave it and if it was to set any example for Wonka, it was to show him, through an outside perspective, how much you truly loved and cared for him. 

Willy Wonka had never been more honored.