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

[polistini]

see it not cut up here

yayyy wayfarer comic

[gay-dorito-dust]

What about how Bob, Sentry, and The Void would react if you got hurt/injured? Physically and/or emotionally?

Bob- kindhearted caretaker.

The second Bob is aware that you were hurt, he's trying his best to lessen the pain while also trying to calm himself from thinking the worst. He didn't like seeing you hurt , he didn't want you hurt but most importantly he didn't want to just stand on the sidelines and do nothing, he wanted to help however he could while keeping Void and Sentry at bay in the process.

Bob didn't want to think about what either of them would do should they find you hurt first instead of him. He really didn't.

So he counted it as a blessing that he found you as while he was worried to the point he couldn't breath properly until he had gotten you somewhere safe, somewhere where he could have easy access to an first aid kit. He would make sure to ask if you were okay and if he was in any way hurting you while patching you up, stopping now and then to press kisses to your forhead and or your temples as he does so, and making sure he wasn't loosing sight on what was most important: you.

The team can handle the rest of the mission -not that Bob had any doudts that they wouldn't- as it meant that he could focus on you and helping you heal, making sure he was by your side very step of the way to make sure you didn't suffer from any sort of discomfort, even offering to act as your crutch at some points should he see that you were struggling to stand on your own. Bob would try and make your situation more comfortable however he could, change your bandages, make you food, keep you company and read to you and make sure you were taking any medication should you need it to nullifiy the pain.

Anything he could do in hopes to get your -and his- mind off of the pain you were under by being there for you and being that grounding presence that you needed to give you strength. He was worried half to death when you were hurt but quickly takes his position as your caretaker to heart and would do everything to the best of his ability in keeping you healthy and happy, even if you were bedbound, Bob would do without hesitation. It makes him feel useful while he was still understanding his powers.

Sentry- overbearing protector.

Sentry is pissed to say the least. He was meant to be this powerful being, this golden guardian of good, and yet he had somehow had allowed for you to be hurt due to his lapse in judgement. He was meant to keep you safe and far, far away from harm and those who could cause you great harm.

He can heal you with just a simple touch, so like Bob, you were his first and primary focus as he healed your wounds with a flash of golden light that faded to reveal newly healed skin as though you were never hurt at all. Though while your injuries were now no issue, the anger and feeling frustraighted at himself stayed within him for far longer, not liking the idea that the people who had hurt you were most likely still out there.

Sentry would ask how many people were involved and if they were still in the building, if they were then Sentry would most likely keep you in a room somewhere while he handeled buissness. However if they weren't within the building then Sentry would stay guard and keep watch over you closely, protecting you from any potential threats that he deemed could hurt you.

He wouldn't allow you to stay far from him, he wouldn't allow it, he still suspected that the people who had hurt you the first time would come back, or another group of people who hurt you in the future. Sentry took his position as your protector seriously and didn't take to you doing anything he didn't approve of even if you were fully healed, he was still cuatious and would check the entire tower, every single floor thouroughly within mintues before feeling it safe for you to journey without him hovering over you.

Yet there's no point in expecting him to completely leave you alone, for now Sentry doubted the Watchtower was adequet for your safety, only he -sentry- could keep you safe and this had proven just that.

Void- the brutal judge, jury and exacutioner

Void didn't allow any room for the assalents that hurt you any room to breath in the slightest as they were immeidetly made into shadows on the wall with the wave of his hand. He didn't take too kindly to people hurting his little dove, his little daydream, so why sould he allow them a second longer to live while you were writhing in pain?

He didn't see the point as soon enough there were shadows of those had a hand in your hurt, or were just there by assosiation, no one but you was left untouched. He didn't allow any further threats to you to live either, he had pratically eliminated anyone or anything that Void truly believed would only cause you futher harm then you were already in.

He didn't care if the threat was small or non-existance they were rid of with a wave of his hand, erradicating their threat with them in the process. No one should harm you, nor would ever harm you with Void inolved as he would make it clear as day of what the consequences would be known and feared, a stark reminder for what would happen should this situation be repated again.

Void for the rest of the day would act like your guard dog, lurking within the shadows of your room, not trusting anyone that came in to see you or look you over as he watched them closely. He would always linger close by even if you couldn't see him, but he was there even when you were with the team, he didn't trust them to keep you safe as they have shown to fail you before in the past in his pinprick eyes. Void would much rather make everyone pay for your pain ten times over then ever have you be hurt again, you’ve been hurt enough and he’ll gladly be the judge, jury and executioner if it meant passing your pain and hurt onto people he felt were more deserving of it.

[redr0sewrites]

💫A/n: just some general pv x reader hcs. sorry ive been in such a writing slump ://

💫Cw: fluff + smut, praise, use of pet names, minors dni w the nsfw portion

💫 dividers

sfw:

Pure Vanilla is one of the best partners you could ever ask for in my mind

he's very attentive and an incredible listener, while also being so smart and gentle

if you're dating him, you definitely feel cherished. no matter how busy he is, and he is often busy, Pure Vanilla always makes time for you and puts in effort

he dotes on you a LOT!! he is always offering to help you, even at his own expense, and never wants to see you upset. he's a great person to ask for advice, and is endlessly supportive because of these qualities as well

he's very forgiving, and big on commitment and communication. you don't argue much, and even when you do, he's never the type to make you feel as though he doesn't respect you- that doesn't mean you don't argue though, as communication is very veryyyy important to him

i also think that Pure Vanilla, if he's in a relationship with you or even if you're just one of his close friends has a very heavy bias towards you. like if you're arguing with someone else, he would never ever publicly disagree with you and would support you 100%. if he genuinely disagrees with you he'd tell you kindly in private, but he's not the type to cause unnecessary drama for others to see, and wants to make sure that you know he's always on your side.

as positive and kind as he is, i do think that Pure Vanilla cookie has a bit of a self negativity streak in the sense that he can be a huge people pleaser. as his partner, you're one of the few people (cookies?) who gets to witness his more insecure and negative side. he tends to blame himself a lot for simple mistakes or problems that were entirely out of his control, and this can definitely apply to a relationship as well

unsurprisingly, he's very touch starved, and while not unwilling to admit it, he struggles to come to terms with it per se. i think Pure Vanilla would subconsciously be aware that he craves affection, but just doesn't know how to verbalize it as he doesn't want to force his feelings onto you

in tandem with this, i think he lovesss when you play with his hair! he loves that unbridled, gentle sort of affection, and melts whenever your hands go to run through his hair or massage his scalp. this is also a very specific personal headcanon, but i think Pure Vanilla would give the best gentle massages. he's an amazing healer, so you already know that transfers into your relationship, and having the opportunity to relieve the tension from your body is sooo satisfying to him. obviously not in a sexual way, he just wants you to be comfortable and loves helping you in any way he can

enjoys peaceful dates where he just gets to spend time with you!! Pure Vanilla cookie doesn't need anything thrilling to keep him occupied, and is absolutely fine just staying home with you for the evening and reading side by side, cuddling, or just enjoying each other's presence. if you are interested in thrilling dates, like amusement parks or scary movies, he's happy to indulge you, but he absolutely prefers the quiet, simple moments with you that are just so much more affectionate to him

nsfw:

Pure Vanilla cookie is absolutely a switch in my mind. it truly depends on your preferences, as he's down to be sub or dom or whatever works for you. i think he slightly prefers to bottom in terms of position simply because its less pressure for him (especially due to his eyesight conditions and his worries about not pleasuring you,,,, ☹️) but also won't reject topping. again, it really depends on his and your moods

i do think there are times where if you push his buttons enough he does have the capacity to be a pretty hard dom, but most of the time he's quite gentle! he's heavy on praise and reassurance, both giving and receiving, as he wants to make sure that everything he's doing is pleasing to you.

Pure Vanilla's favorite position in my mind would be the lotus flower position, where he basically just gets to be as close to you as possible. he has a penchant for just melting into your embrace and burying his head into your neck with a wordless whine, especially when he's overstimulated, and this position more than allows for that. however, i do also think he'd enjoy a spooning position where you're both laying on your side and he or you can just hold the other back-to-chest and have sex like that, but this position is more reserved for sleepy mornings and quicker sessions before bed.

no matter your genitals, Pure Vanilla would Love. to go down on you. he's absolutely a munch, and loves pleasuring you in this way and watching you absolutely fall apart. theres nothing more satisfying to him than wringing orgasms after orgasm out of you until your whimpering and whining, and all the while he's squirming and humping the bed while waiting for his own release. something about the eroticism of oral to him just makes him go crazy

when it comes to kinks, at first he's pretty .... vanilla.... (haha.... get it. im sorry) but i think over time he'd reveal his more serious kinks and perversions. he's also down to experiment with anything you're into, as you're his first priority in bed. however, i do think Pure Vanilla would be against anything that could seriously hurt you. he would worry too much, and doesn't like seeing you in extreme pain. in contrast to this though, i do think he would enjoy seeing you become an absolute wreck from overstimulation or edging (especially if this is Truthless Recluse we're talking about,,,, but those are headcanons for another time i fear)

when it comes to general kinks, he has a lot, and you're gonna have to bare with me through some of these explanations. starting off pretty obvious, i'd say praise and just like pampering in general during sex is a pretty big one for him. he loves seeing you flustered, but also enjoys being praised or overwhelmed with pleasure in return. next up, i don't know if this really counts as a kink but like,,, hand holding is super important to him, he loves being close to you. hair pulling, specifically receiving, is HUGE for him. i'm just picturing Pure Vanilla being all soft and gentle during sex, but then the second you pull his hair he's a quivering mess !!

next up, parallel play and just. mutual masturbation in general. he often fantasizes about you walking in on him masturbating and vice verse, and it's just very attractive to him to learn what makes you tick. also kinda similar to this but i think he'd secretly be into being humiliated a bit. i don't think Pure Vanilla would ever admit it, but if you started teasing him about how loud he's moaning or how pathetic he is he'd cum on the spot. he's always trying his best to please others, and so you taking that a step further and getting him all embarrassed really turns him on.

while these are all pretty tame, i do think that Pure Vanilla has some more secretive and embarrassing sexual desires that he absolutely feels ashamed of- and also turn him on more than anything else. i might make some seperate headcanons for what i think his more perverse interests are, but overall i don't think he'd share his fantasies with his partner until you both are very close and very intimate. however, if you're freakier than him and give him the opportunity to share his desires ..... well. that's also quite attractive to him, yk?

overall, i think he's a very sweet lover when it comes to sex, and can accommodate anything you ask, whether it be as tame or as freaky as you prefer !!

thanks for reading !! i haven't written in a hot minute and i feel like it shows <\3 my life has been kinda weird and stressful rn but im trying my best to get back into writing !!! ALSO PLEASEEE SEND IN CRK OR PRESSURE (roblox) ASKS 😞🙏

[1994converse]

‎ ‎ 𝗞𝗔𝗜 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞𝗘𝗥: 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 -

‎ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗔𝗦𝗠𝗦

It’s no secret that you’re kinky.

Kai knows this, because he’s experienced all your depraved fantasies firsthand. They surprised him at first, because someone like you - cute and sweet, with the ability to love so much you’re capable of loving a psycho like him; it just seems like you wouldn’t be into anything beyond missionary, classic love making.

But, he supposes that maybe it does make sense.

Someone who plays with fire must be okay with getting burned.

A girl who lets the devil into her life, her room, her bed, isn’t exactly wearing angel wings herself. That’s just not how things, people, dynamics work, and Kai is smart enough to know that.

It is a hot idea though, he thinks, imagining you as an innocent that he gets to defile. In a way, it makes the whole thing more special, because he doesn’t have much experience sexually. Kai knows he’s hot, but it’s not like women are lining up to get into bed with someone that murdered their entire family. Not that he’d lead with that if he was meeting a woman, but his kind of crazy is something most people can pick up on, he’s noticed.

Even though he’s aware of your kinky ways, has memories of your playtime together burned into his mind to forever get him hard when a vision of them flashes behind his eyes, when you ask him to control your orgasms, he laughs.

Thinks you’re kidding, because the honest truth is that he’s never heard of that before. Didn’t know any woman, man, person would want someone to deny them pleasure. It’s insane to him. Kai would never deny himself anything, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let someone else tell him he couldn’t feel something as great as an orgasm.

Laughing at your request wasn’t to make you feel bad, or to humiliate you. It was a genuine reaction, although it’s not like Kai ever goes out of his way to spare your feelings. He’s not mean to you, and cold isn’t exactly the right word when it comes to describing him, but he wouldn’t feel obligated to tread lightly around you just because. Kai is honest, to a fault.

Unless, of course, he’s lying. Which sociopaths tend to do…a lot. One lie turns into another lie to cover his tracks, and then another lie, and then one just for fun, until sometimes Kai doesn’t even know if he’s telling a real story or not.

You’re just lucky he really has nothing to lie to you about. At this point in your relationship, all you do is fuck and kiss and talk and watch movies and go out together when time allows. You’re with each other more often than not, and you’re a good girlfriend, because the times when you’re not together you completely turn a blind eye to whatever he’s doing.

It’s one of his favorite things about you. That, and the way you ignore whatever new blood splatter might stain his clothes, or his shoes, or his fingertips. It’s sexy, how oblivious you pretend to be just to keep the peace.

You’re his girl, and in his own way, he…cares about you. A sociopath can never truly love you, not like the fairytales you used to read when you were a little girl. There’s no fireworks with Kai, at least not for him, no kissing in the rain or love letters or moments where he holds your face in his hands and proclaims his love for you.

But he does prioritize you. He considers you important. He can protect you and he loves to learn more about you, does the things required to stay in your life since he doesn’t want to lose you. You make him laugh, he loves fo fuck you, he feels comfort when you’re near. Is it true love? Not for him, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

Because you love him. And anyway, Kai treats you better than some of the so called “normal” boyfriends your friends have. It works for you.

So when Kai laughs at the idea of controlling when you get to cum, he doesn’t do it to be mean. He doesn’t do it with the purpose of teasing you, but when he sees the reaction it gets out of you, that you squeeze your thighs together for some relief because him teasing you and humiliating you is such a turn on, he begins to understand.

“Oh, you’re really into this,” he says with a grin, in that sort of crazy way of his. That signature smirk of his that he gets when he feels magic, power. There it is.

He’s excited, but not in his pants. Not yet. It doesn’t happen that fast.

It takes a few times with this level of control you’re giving him over you before Kai really begins to understand the appeal. What’s not to like? All Kai has ever wanted is control, and you, his beautiful, too trusting, fucked up girlfriend are giving it to him on a silver platter.

Because you are fucked up, he thinks, when he ties your hands behind your back with a piece of rope he literally has casually tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. He doesn’t even remember where it’s from. You’re fucked up when you let him push his hard cock raw inside of your tight, wet pussy, your panties still on because you begged for the sting of the feeling of him fucking you with them just pushed to the side.

Make me feel dirty, you said, and Kai can do that. He loves to get dirty.

“Naughty,” he remarks, because it’s fucked up how wet you are you when he’s got you face down, ass up, about to use your body to get himself off while you get nothing. Wrists rubbed raw from the rope, your ass probably stinging from his smack, and no matter what he does, you take it.

You’re very fucked up. And it’s one of his other favorite things about you.

Kai will give you this, this thing you’re desperately craving. Having no control. He’ll spank you and pull your hair, fuck your mouth and watch you choke on his cum. Make you feel bad, in a silly way, when it leaks out of the sides of your mouth. “Aw,” he’ll say, his grip tight on your hair, “I thought you said you could take it.” He’ll tie you up until you’ve got rope burn, tease you with his fingers until you’re almost crying, desperate to cum, only for him to deny you.

“What?” He’ll ask, trying to sound fake annoyed, when really his dick has never been harder. The sound of your cries - god, it drives him wild. My girl, he’ll think fondly, looking at you when you’re so desperate to cum that you’re willingly humping his leg. “You asked for this,” he’ll remind you, smirk on his face because he knows that even if you asked to go back to the way things used to be, he’d never relinquish this power he has over you.

My girl, he’ll think again, pushing you down in the bed after you’ve just gotten ready for a nice day out. What did you think, he’ll reason, wearing a little dress like that? If you look that good, you obviously want him. That’s really the way he sees it, sees the world, with a crazy confidence only a sociopath could have - that everything and everyone is for his picking. Waiting around for him to take what he wants.

Kai’s always enthusiastic and clumsy about it too. Trips when he pushes you down on the bed and tries to get his belt off, hurts you without meaning to because he’s just so excited to get his dick wet, it’s all he can think about.

You’re lucky it’s a kink of yours, to be completely dominated, otherwise his sexual selfishness wouldn’t be so fun. Like when you watch a movie together, with your head on his chest. Kai clings to you like you’re his favorite teddy bear, always wants to be touching some part of your body, and it’s romantic to you.

Even when he pushes you down to the bulge in his jeans and takes his cock out, holds your head down until you take him in your mouth. Yes, even when he’s holding the back of your hair, harsh but fondly, rubbing up and down your arm affectionately, possessively, probably thinking about what kind of spell he could possibly do to make you even more at his mercy.

He loves to tease you with his fingers and cock, and sometimes his tongue. It’s delicious, it’s painful, and it’s endlessly entertaining for him. Kai could torture you for hours, although it rarely ever gets that far, lucky you. His attention span is short, and his ability to not prioritize his own arousal is even shorter.

You’ll beg, eventually, kicking yourself for ever asking this maniac to have any type of sexual control over you. Please, you’ll say, I take back what I said about wanting this. Just let me cum. I’ll do anything. And maybe a normal boyfriend would give in, but not Kai. He’s just got this power over you, you think he’s going to let it go?

“Anything?” He’ll say, lightly flicking over your clit, so swollen since you haven’t cum in weeks. He loves the way your pussy looks, so desperate, so wet from nothing, and he uses it to his advantage. Will come up behind you when you’re doing your makeup, slip a hand under your dress or skirt or down your pants, just to cup your mound and see the way you act like you’re in fucking heat.

“Anything,” he’ll repeat, a look on his face, that smirk that makes your entire body freeze in fear and arousal. “Well, we’ll just have to see if you really mean that.”

‎ ‎ written by: @tinysunshine

[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.

[plaguewormart]

Delicious Benitez whump concept because I think you would appreciate it:

Vincent's spent most of his life eating a very simple largely vegetarian diet, because most of the places he's worked there wasn't a lot of money to go around, and there were always better uses for it than buying meat. He usually didn't eat meat except for special occasions.

Then after he moves to the Vatican, due to the sudden and drastic diet shift to but richer foods he becomes quite ill.

Ooooooh I love this!! I kinda changed it a little bit because I wanted to draw out the suffering,,, hope u enjoy!!

Vincent had expected a lot of hardships to come from his role as pope. He had been well aware of the scrutiny of the press that would analyze his every move and word, had been expecting working long hours and spending countless days in meetings with diplomats and members of the Curia. He had known that the papacy would make him unable to ever live a normal life again.

What Vincent hadn’t expected was the constant nausea. During the conclave, when tensions were running high and he often skipped meals in order to pray for guidance or walk alone in the gardens whenever he had a chance, he had felt weak and tired, but in comparison to his normal routine of working from sunrise to sunset, his lack of energy and slight nausea had been nothing to worry about.

During his first weeks as God’s representative on earth, Vincent had assumed the sickness came from the anxiety of suddenly being one of the most famous men alive, suddenly in charge of the entire Roman Catholic Church. Whenever he woke up with an aching stomach or ended up on his knees in front of the toilet, he thought the illness came from the grief of leaving his flock behind.

It wasn’t until a month and a half had passed, that anyone noticed how Vincent seemed somehow skinnier than the already borderline malnourished man that had appeared in the office of the Santa Martha. How the new Holy Father would seemingly have to force himself to swallow the food presented to him by the nuns, as if each bite was torture.

The nuns panicked, thinking that the Pope disliked the food they were cooking, Aldo kept inviting himself over to the Holy Father’s table at meals to watch him eat, and Thomas was fretting over the pope as if he were an overprotective mother.

Vincent never complained. Whenever the nuns would ask him his favorite foods he would, to their great dismay, wave them off with a comment of appreciating every meal they cooked. When Aldo would gently try to pry about his eating habits and weight loss, Vincent would tell him that he would make sure to take better care of himself. When Thomas practically begged Vincent to tell him what was wrong, Vincent would reassure him that it was simply the stress of the papacy getting to him, and that he would surely become better at handling it as time went by.

But time didn’t remove Vincent’s ailments. He would keep going through the days burdened by not only the papacy but also the pain that never seemed to leave him alone. He would pray for guidance and help, for forgiveness - just in case his pain was some kind of punishment. For a while he considered that God was finally striking him down for the sin of being born with a uterus.

Three months into Innocent XIV’s papacy, the pope was invited to share a meal with some of Rome’s homeless population. Vincent had loved the idea, finally getting to interact with and help people in need instead of trying to lecture world leaders on the importance of basic human decency.

The lunch was great. Vincent hadn’t been that happy since before the conclave began. He got to share a table with men, women, and children who told him of their lives and the things they’d experienced. He could comfort the hurting and feed the hungry. He’d even been able to almost ignore the pain that had become his constant companion.

Until, of course, it all went wrong. A short while after finishing the meal, Vincent felt the now all too familiar sensation of nausea, and knowing that there was no way to prevent the inevitable, he quickly excused himself from the table. Yet, this time something felt different. The nausea was accompanied by a strange itching in his throat, and the strange sense that he could not get enough air to enter his lungs.

He only made it a couple of steps away from the table before he realized something was very wrong. It felt as if his throat was closing, and every breath became more difficult than the next. He clawed on his cassock, trying to pull it away from his throat as if it were the white vestment that was suffocating him.

Vincent heard a voice yelling something, and he recognized it as one of the homeless men he had just been dining with, but his mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t understand what was being said. As he felt his body start to give up, his knees folding underneath him and his vision blurring, the last thing he felt was fingers on his neck and hands lifting his legs into the air.

-

Vincent awoke to the sound of beeping and the sterile scent of a hospital. His mouth was dry and instead of his normal white cassock, he had been dressed in a flimsy blue gown. Next to him, on a chair, was Thomas. The man looked exhausted, his skin a pale, almost gray color, and dark bags were present underneath his closed eyes.

Vincent watched silently as Thomas moved from bead to bead on the rosary, his lips twitching in silent prayer. He wondered for a moment whether Thomas had regained his ability to pray, because it didn’t seem as if the man had any issues right now.

When Thomas opened his eyes and saw Vincent looking back at him, he nearly fell off his chair in surprise. “Vincent! You’re awake!” Vincent smiled at the man’s excitement, “I wouldn’t have you hold another conclave so soon.” He joked, only to be met with a stern expression.

“Well you nearly did, Your Holiness.” The title was spoken as if it were an insult. “You didn’t think to mention to anyone that you’ve been feeling sick? We’ve all been trying to get you to open up to us, and you’ve been saying that you’re fine!” Thomas pauses his rant, grabbing Vincent’s hand as the anger seems to drain from his body.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Vincent. But you nearly died. If it weren’t for Mr. Bilal, you would be dead.” This shocked him, he knew something had been wrong for quite some time now, but to have been that close to death? In a situation so much safer than most of his work had ever been?

“What happened?” He asked.

“You had an extreme allergic reaction. Anaphylactic shock, they said. Mr. Bilal used to work as a doctor in Syria, and managed to recognize the symptoms fast enough that the ambulance arrived in time to give you epinephrine.”

Vincent was confused, “allergic reaction?” He asked. “I don’t have any allergies.” Thomas looked at him with raised eyebrows and an expression that showed how stupid he thought the comment was. “Right, sorry, I obviously do… but I didn’t know that!”

Thomas sighed before speaking, his tone that of a tired man trying to explain something to a child. “You wouldn’t have known, for a while. But once you came to the Vatican, it should’ve been quite obvious. And I know that it has been. We’ve all seen you lose weight, leave meetings to throw up or try to skip meals whenever you feel sick, unfortunately we all assumed it was because of the stress… because that’s what you told us.”

Vincent grimaced at the frustration in Thomas’ voice. But calmed when the other man grabbed his hand in his own, gently caressing it with his thumb.

“The doctors believe you have an allergy to…” he pauses to squint his eyes at a paper lying on Vincent’s bedside table. “Galactose-alpha-1,3-galactose protein.” Vincent levels him with a blank look, conveying that he has no idea what Thomas is talking about. “Apparently it means you’re allergic to red meat.”

Vincent once again blinks in confusion. “But I’ve had red meat lots of times?”

“Apparently, you can develop this allergy through a tick bite. You probably got bitten and didn’t even realize it. But God…” Thomas runs a hand over his face. “You must have been feeling so sick, for months!”

Vincent nods shamefully. As he thinks back to the previous months, it all seems so obvious, how he’d suddenly started eating a whole new type of diet, and how he would never leave food on his plate, not wanting the nuns to think he didn’t appreciate their food. How he’d been feeling nauseous constantly and throwing up more often than he’d ever done before. The pain that had become part of him. And the fact that hiding it all could’ve killed him.

After that day, Thomas makes Vincent promise to never ignore medical problems again, and to always tell someone if he was feeling sick. Vincent promises to try to take better care of himself, and to start asking for help when he needs it.

5 months into the papacy of Innocent XIV, one Mr. Bilal receives a letter requesting his expertise as the private doctor for the pope.

[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 )

[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.

[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

[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.