#it did help to type all this out at least

[thedandeliongarden]

I actually have to disagree with your conclusions.

Have you ever fought against flexible weapons?

Back when I was doing HEMA, I sparred against training versions of a 2 handed flail, and let me tell you, they are genuinely a right bastard of a weapon, chiefly in the fact that you cannot defend against them normally:

if you intercept a strike via the head it may flip around and you get clonked by the pole and/or the head, not uncommonly in the face.

If you intercept the pole, the head may swing around your guard and slap you in the head

Additionally “rock on a rope” is a historical and historically effective weapon. I personally know it from a specific german husband vs wife trial by combat (it’s a whole thing that shows up in the combat manuals, don’t ask) but it pops up elsewhere (usually earlier on in history iirc) and making said rock sharp metal is hardly going to make it less effective

So let me address your points, such as they are:

Firstly, all “wunderwaffe” in the original context of the word were ineffective money-sinks that harmed the nazi war effort, helping the allies close out the war faster. So it’s kind of odd to mock a historical (if unusual) weapon that did see actual use (the chinese ones were mostly a performance art, but 10 minutes on Wikipedia and you can find several weapons of the type (or at least, that were used specifically because of features you mocked) that were used in warfare) in the same vein as what I can only describe as the most famous set of failures in military science.

The next thing of note is that it’s entirely idiotic to claim a weapon could only ever be effective against a target simulator. Your various criticisms sound like someone whose just been told about plumbata and goes on a rant about how superior throwing axes are by comparison - you’re kind of just ignoring any benefits, somehow completely missing the actual downsides, and concluding that someone who just absolutely nailed 3 targets in a row couldn’t do that to your face because you’d totally move out the way.

So let me cover some actual ground here

the main benefit of “throwing weapon on a string” is that you can retrieve it after you throw it and throw it again - will it be worse on an individual throw? Maybe, but you can throw it again

For the major offensive benefit as a melee weapon, I refer you to my earlier commentary on how fucking annoying it is to try and defend against flexible weapons. I imagine the exact physics works out differently for a weight on a rope than what is fundamentally a long stick attached to a shorter stick, but either way this can absolutely can wrap around your defence in unpredictable/unintuitive ways

You really need to account for the continuous force going into the rope from the wielder. It’s not a limp noodle when it’s being put under tension the whole time, and it won’t behave like a whip from indiana jones

Ok so I think that broadly covers the odd set of criticisms you had, so what about the actual disadvantages of the weapon? Why didn’t it see more widespread use?

Formations and collateral. The bow supplanted the sling because you could put more soldiers in the same area if you used bows. Skirmishers are a little different (and afaik did retain slingers for longer) but main formations wanted to be as dense as possible for most of the history of warfare. And uh. yeah. look it doesn’t take a genius to see how much space you need to use a rope dart to its maximum potential

Skill requirements. There’s a reason it was a performance art, that shit’s impressive - and takes a long time to learn. Much like dual wielding in the sense of two similar sized swords, even though there genuinely are advantages in some situations, learning to do it to a baseline level of competence (i.e without hitting yourself) is dramatically more difficult with flexible weapons than with literally anything else. And so you will only very rarely see this as an army level weapon for the same reason crossbows supplanted regular archery - it just costs more to train the soldiers (english/welsh archery is a notable exception to this rule achieved by a country-wide law prohibiting other sports on sundays, which is kind of insane behaviour but it did work).

Armour. This one’s more of a hunch, but I suspect this is one of the weapon types (like cut-centric swords, clubs, and really any number of weapons) that are disproportionately countered by armour. I think some actual testing would need to be done to confirm, and I cannot stress enough that for most of history that level of armour was not a factor

So yeah. Sure, not a common weapon, and not one commonly used in warfare (at least in china) but until you have actually done some sparring with someone with baseline competence in rope darts, please don’t show your ass by claiming they must be totally useless

Oh, and before I forget - nunchucks were a way around weapon prohibition laws. It’s wrong to compare them to weapons of war, you have to compare them to other concealable civilian weapons like knuckledusters. You have to tune out modern ninja mythos if you want to have useful opinions on weapons involved in it

Demonstrating the rope dart (繩標; sheng2biao1)

[eng by me]

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 1)

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

You are a profiler for the FBI when you get called to help catch a serial killer in Westview. (Killing Eve/Hannibal AU)

Word count: 4200

Warnings: descriptions of violence, fear

The phone rings at 7:30 in the morning on your day off and you want to throw it against the wall. 

You had been sleeping – having a very good dream, actually – when the harsh ringtone roughly jolts you out of your slumber. 

“Hello?” you answer groggily, rubbing your face with your hand. If it’s a spam call, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Is this Agent Y/L/N?” A gruff voice asks and you shoot up out of bed into the sitting position. 

You clear your throat and try to sound professional. “Um, yes, this is she. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Director Hayward,” the man says, and your eyes widen. The head of the FBI is calling you. “Have you heard of the town of Westview?” 

Your forehead wrinkles while you rack your brain for anything that sounds familiar. “No, sir, I don’t think so.” 

There’s muffled sounds from the other side of the phone and then you can hear Director Hayward clearly. “It’s a small town in New Jersey. Nothing special, nothing too out of the ordinary.” He pauses like you’re supposed to recognize it, but after a moment of silence he sighs and continues. “About seven months ago, we believe a pair of serial killers moved into town. Bodies started piling up, seemingly no rhyme or reason to who was killed, only that the victims were all female.” 

“Okay,” you say slowly, trying to wrap your head around all this. If it’s been going on for this long, why haven’t you heard about it? “Are we sure they’re connected if there’s no pattern of victim? Usually men have a type when they do this kind of thing; the women usually look like an ex-lover who broke their heart, or their mom.” 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes through the phone. “They were all killed the same way: poison to sedate them and then their hearts were carved out. And there was a purple azalea left in every single one of the victims’ chest cavities. So we’re pretty sure they’re connected.” Sarcasm drips copiously from his tone and you wince. Way to make a good first impression on the director of the FBI. “And it���s not a man. It’s a woman.” 

This makes you perk up with interest. “Oh?” As a profiler for a branch of the FBI in Miami, you’ve handled your fair share of serial killers. It may make you sound insensitive, but you were only really interested in the female ones. Men were so boring and predictable. Women knew how to make it a challenge, and there was always some deep, underlying motive for why they did it. There was nothing you enjoyed more than piecing together that puzzle. 

“They’re calling her The Witch. The poison used on the victims is like nothing we’ve ever seen before, so we think she must be making it herself. But since female serial killers are kind of your thing–” 

You cut him off before you can think twice, thoughts whirling through your head. “How do you know it’s a woman? Cutting out a heart, that takes a lot of strength. Most female serial killers tend to use gentler methods, like poison, so it makes sense that there’s at least one woman involved. Are you sure she isn’t working with someone though? Lavinia Fisher would poison her victims and then her husband would finish the job.” 

“How quickly can you get to Westview?” He asks, completely ignoring your question. 

“Oh, you want me to go there?” 

He scoffs. “Yes, Agent, we want you to go there. I’ve already informed your boss and he’s given his approval. No one has been better at catching the female killers than you, so we really need you on this. You can take the Miami jet as soon as you’re ready, but they want you there as soon as possible.” 

“Will I be working with the Trenton branch?” 

“Just the Westview PD for now. They’ve assured us that they have their best detectives on the case. But if you need backup, let us know and we can send in some more profilers. Whatever it takes to bring this woman to justice.” He hangs up without another word and you grab your to-go suitcase that you keep packed for times like these. You throw in a few extra sets of clothes just in case it takes longer than expected, and then you’re out the door, driving to Headquarters. 

You walk into your boss’s office and knock on the door. The director of the Miami branch, Tony Stark, looks up at you. “Hope you packed some warm clothes,” he says and you chuckle. You definitely did not.

“Hayward said I could take the jet?”

Tony nods. “It’s out back and already fueled up. Good luck, kid. Be careful, okay?” 

You scoff. “Careful? I’m always careful.” He fixes you with a stern look and you acquiesce. “I promise.” 

“I don’t need to remind you what happened last time you worked on a case like this, do I?” 

It hits you like a punch to the gut and you shake your head. “No, sir, you do not.” But you know he’s going to tell you anyway. 

“That woman destroyed you,” he hisses. “You got so focused on finding her that you stopped eating and sleeping. The obsession completely consumed you.” 

“I caught her, didn’t I?” You mutter, knowing full well that isn’t his point. He slams his hands down on his desk and you jump. 

“She almost killed you,” he almost yells and your face twists at the memory. 

The Scarlet Killer terrorized Miami about three years ago before you finally brought her down. At first, she would sneak into houses of families with twins and slit the parents’ throats and kidnap the kids, but the twins would always resist so she would end up killing them too. 

After a while, she stopped caring about the twin aspect and started killing anyone with children. 

You had spent days in the office, pacing and pouring over the evidence board, trying to make sense of it. There was no DNA anywhere, but there was also no sign of forced entry, so you figured that she was invited into the house somehow. The hunt for children made you think she had lost her own, or had some sort of abusive childhood that made her want to protect kids. She was possibly a twin as well, and very amicable if people were having her over willingly. 

It took two months before you figured out the perimeter of her murders. She was making a hexagon shape with the houses of the victims. Hexagons can represent balance, so you figured she felt as if she was balancing out some score with the universe for something that had happened to her. 

And then one fateful night, you realized where her next target was. A family had just moved into a house perfectly on the border of the hex, as people around the office started calling it, and they had twins. 

You spent almost an entire week camped out in front of their house waiting for the Scarlet Killer to strike. You think during that time, you slept a total of ten hours. Hallucinations plagued you and you would doze off and then wake up babbling something about catching her. Agents would bring food by your car and beg you to take a break, but you kept your eyes strained on the house, determined that you wouldn’t let her get away with it again, determined to prove that you were right about where she’d be.

And you were. 

Except the knocking that should’ve been on the front door of the house, the knocking that would inevitably lead to more death, was on your car window. 

You had jolted awake to find a redheaded woman standing there, looking worried. You opened the door and got out to help her when she had pulled a knife out and stabbed you in the stomach. 

Thank god she didn’t go for her usual M.O. of slitting throats. 

You were able to weakly unholster your gun and take a shot at her as she was running away and by the yelp, you knew you had hit her. A consolation prize as your vision faded to black. 

Somehow, you woke up two days later in a hospital room, Director Tony Stark by your bedside. They had caught the killer a block away thanks to the appendix your bullet had ruptured that rendered her unconscious, a woman named Wanda Maximoff, who had lost her twins in a horrible house fire, and made it a mission to try and replace them.

And her knife had missed anything important, and all you had was a nasty scar and the weariness from everyone else whenever there was a new female serial killer to catch. 

“She didn’t kill me though,” you tell Tony, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be careful. I won’t get too involved this time.”

He slides open a drawer and takes out a file and a business card that he holds out to you. You reach across the desk to grab the two and you scan the card. 

Rio Vidal, Therapist, Westview. With an email and phone number. 

You hold it up and raise an eyebrow. “You want me to see a shrink?” You already completed your mandated fifteen hours of therapy after the Maximoff incident and you weren’t eager to go back. 

“You don’t have to, it’s just so you have an option. In case you feel yourself becoming too ‘involved.’” 

You purse your lips but you slip it into your pocket and tighten your grip on the file. “Guess I’ll see you whenever we catch her.” 

He salutes you and you make your way to the jet out back. 

It’s a three hour flight and you spend your entire time pouring over the case file. You know there’s still some information that you’ll have to get from the Westview PD, like witness statements and exclusive photos that haven’t been released yet, but what you do have is brutal. 

Photos of shriveled up bodies with barely any skin still on their bones, their cheeks hollowed out, like something sucked the life out of them. Not to be sexist, but you can tell why Director Hayward thought it was a woman. 

Although there’s a gaping hole in their chests where a heart used to be, the cuts are neat, precise. And the blood has been completely cleaned up. What should be the bloodiest crime scene you’ve ever seen is void of any fluid, like the killer methodically mopped and bleached and cleansed the scene of everything. But this also means that the victims are dead before the heart is cut out, from the poison. 

The most chilling thing is the singular, perfect flower placed in the cavity of their chest.

You flip through the toxicology reports but can’t really make sense of anything. One report says one chemical was the cause of death, another report says another. The levels of chemicals in the bloodstream are also different from victim to victim. 

It reminds you of Jolly Jane Toppan, who would experiment with different medicines and chemicals to murder patients at hospitals. 

Is the killer a nurse? A chemist? You’re able to figure out why she’s called The Witch, because it’s like she’s brewing up potions of sorts, but you have no idea why she would bother cutting their hearts out if she’s killing them with poison. 

The precision of the blade also means that her hands are steady. Another reason she could be a nurse. 

You flip through the pictures of all the victims – eleven, so far – and the first victim’s cut is just as accurate as the last victim. This woman is either a natural, or this isn’t the first time she’s killed. 

Pulling out your computer, you search the database for any serial killer cases that match this same type of crime, male or female. You’re still not entirely convinced she’s working alone. 

But there’s nothing. No cold cases, no open cases. She has truly shown up out of nowhere. 

You tap your fingers to the tray table, your mind trying to make sense of the details for the rest of the flight. 

When the plane lands, you’re ushered into an uber and taken to the motel where you’ll be staying. Your rental car is already in the parking lot. Even though Westview is a small town, it means a lot that they’re giving you all these accommodations. 

Your room is complete with a kitchenette, a queen sized bed, and a good sized bathroom. You drop the files on the table, throw your suitcase in the bedroom, and grab your work bag before locking the door behind you. 

The rental car is a small sedan that has a strange smell, but it does the job and you drive through the quaint twisting roads to get to the police station. You park up front, take a deep breath, and walk in. 

No one stops you or asks what you’re doing here (no wonder this case hasn’t been solved yet) so you make your way to the back where you find the Chief’s office. 

He’s a skinny man with a mustache, spots of something that looks like mustard on his shirt, talking to a woman with her back to you. All you can tell is that she has long, dark hair that flows down your back.

“Hi, excuse me?” You say, knocking on the glass door. The Chief stops and the woman turns around to face you and you’re momentarily struck by how attractive she is. “I’m Agent Y/N? The, uh, criminal profiler from Miami? The FBI sent me to help with The Witch case.” 

“Oh, shoot, that’s right,” the man says, wiping his hands on his jacket before standing up. “Chief Phil Jones. This is Detective Agatha Harkness–” He motions to the woman standing there who smiles knowingly, raking her eyes up and down your body. “– our best. She’s been working this case day and night.” 

“Any leads so far?” You ask her. 

“Why don’t I show you what we have so far?” She offers and you nod, following her out of the office and trying not to look at her ass. She takes you into  a different room with a bulletin board filled with pictures and string and post-it notes. You squint at it, trying to take everything in, while you hear more people enter the room behind you. 

“So, Miami, what do you think?” A man taunts and a few others snicker at him. You ignore him, you’ve been used to this your entire career. 

You’re still scanning the board when something catches your eye. The witness statements. They don’t corroborate with each other. From the six people that have seen something, they all agree that the killer had dark hair. But some say it was long, others say just past her shoulders. Some think she was taller and lean, others say shorter and just a little more filled out. There’s a detail from two witnesses that gives you pause though: they say the woman had a mask of sorts on the bottom of her face, almost like a skeleton. The other witnesses make no mention of not being able to see the killer’s entire face. 

You tap the papers. “Why don’t the statements line up?” 

“Surely you know how unreliable eyewitness testimony is,” Agatha drawls, and when you turn around, she’s watching you carefully. 

You frown. “I do know, but it seems like there’s two different people here. So either we have a copycat, which would be unlikely due to there being no change in the level of detailedness from murder to murder, or–” You trail off, chewing on your lip. You’re waiting for someone, Agatha maybe, to finish the sentence, or to tell you you’re being crazy. 

“Or?” She prompts like she’s daring you to go on. There’s a look in her eyes, a look you don’t quite recognize. 

You give the men in the room a glance. Will they laugh? “I really think we’re dealing with two killers here. Working together. One poisons the victims, the other cuts out the heart. I thought it was a man and a woman, but it seems like two women. They’re obviously very close to each other, and they’ve got it down to an easy routine.” 

“Why hasn’t anyone seen two women then?” Agatha asks, but you feel like she’s just guiding you to a realization, rather than criticizing your theory. 

You hum, tossing the question around in your head. “Maybe…maybe because they want us to think there’s only one killer? They’ve fooled everyone, even the FBI. Easy to chalk it up to faulty witness statements.” 

“Why wouldn’t they try to look alike then?” Agatha presses, and your brow furrows. It’s a good point. 

The pictures of the mutilated victims on the board stare back at you while you look for anything you could’ve missed. “Are they toying with us? Do they want us confused? The poison, the cut-out heart, the flower left behind, the different descriptions, it’s like this is a game to them. They’re cocky, they feel confident that they can’t get caught. Maybe both of them are narcissists, but definitely are on the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum.” 

“Why do you think they do it?” Agatha says in a hushed voice. You can’t help but notice that she seems excited. 

Is that because she finally might be getting a break in her case? 

“I don’t know,” you admit and she looks disappointed. You spin to face the board again. “There’s no obvious connection or pattern between the victims, so it doesn’t seem like there’s a personal vendetta against them. Nothing stands out about the locations either. It seems like they’re just killing for fun, right now.” 

“That’s pretty dangerous,” she says, and you can feel the front of her body brush against your back. You’ve been so entranced that you didn’t even hear her notice her coming over. “That means anyone could be next.” 

Goosebumps spread over your body at her hot breath on your neck, but her words sober you up. She’s right. You’re not able to rule out potential victims based on how many kids they have or don’t have, like with Wanda, or what they look like or don’t look like. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “We need to send out a BOLO for two women with dark hair now. Put these descriptions out, tell them to keep an eye out for a skeleton mask? Hopefully we can get some tips and put a stop to this before anyone else gets hurt.” 

“What should we call the other woman?” One of the male officers speaks up and you’re surprised that it’s an actual question. 

Agatha watches you with interest while you think about it. “How about…Lady Death?” You offer and she gives a nod of approval. “Put a BOLO out for Lady Death and The Witch.” 

You make copies of everything that’s on the board and paper clip them together to put in your bag. As you’re packing everything up to go back and leave to the motel (Tony would be proud of you for leaving the station at an acceptable time), Agatha comes over and leans on the table. 

“What do you think their relationship is? Lady Death and The Witch,” she says, amusement lacing her tone when she says their nicknames. 

You shrug. “Sisters, friends, wives? Maybe they’re just two crazy people who met each other and want to kill people.” She chuckles and studies you curiously. 

“You know, we’ve had some other profilers come in, but none of them have been like you. You know your stuff.” 

“Female serial killers are kind of my thing,” you say. “There’s just something about untangling the mystery that’s so much sweeter. Makes me feel…alive. Which I know sounds bad, because so many people have died, and I’m sorry.” 

Agatha looks like she knows exactly what you’re talking about. “No, don’t apologize. It’s exciting, isn’t it? The exhilaration, the moment when you finally get what you want, what you’ve been working toward.” Her voice is low and you nod, leaning in before you can realize what you’re doing. Your gaze drops down to her smirk and then back to her blown-out pupils. “Do you think you’ll be able to find them?” 

“Yeah, I do,” you breathe, and she looks positively delighted. Out of nowhere, the scar on your stomach stings and you grimace. Agatha looks at you, concerned but you brush it off. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask, standing up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder. 

“See you then, superstar,” she says with a grin and watches you leave. 

When you get back to the motel, you spread all the pictures and notes out, trying to connect some dots. You scribble down Friends? Sisters? Lovers? on a sticky note and press it to the wall. 

Why do you think they do it? Agatha’s question still haunts you. You don’t want to believe that it’s just for fun, there has to be some meaning, some motive for poisoning and then physically removing hearts. There has to be some significance to the flower left behind. 

But what is it? 

Your stomach grumbles so you decide to take a step back and go pick up food from a restaurant in town. As you’re pulling out of the parking lot to come back to the motel with wings and french fries, you get a call from Tony Stark. You accept it, taking a sip from your cup quickly. 

“Hey, Director,” you say. 

“There she is! How’s it going?” 

You shrug even though he can’t see you. “Not too bad. Just went and got dinner. See, I’m taking care of myself.” 

He laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard. “Glad to hear it. Any new leads in the case?” 

“There’s two women, not one. They’re working together.” There’s silence on his end of the line for a second and you wonder if he heard you. “Did you–?

“Yeah, I got that. Shit, so you think you’re looking for partners? I don’t like this,” he says. 

“I’m okay, I promise. What happened with Wanda won’t happen this time,” you reassure him as you turn back into the motel lot. “I’ll check in with you whenever you want. I’ll go see that shrink. I’ll be careful.” You’re worried that he’ll pull you off the case if he thinks you’re too obsessed. Your hyperfixation tendencies almost cost you your life, and you know Tony doesn’t want that to happen to you again. He’s become somewhat of a father figure to you since you started working there, and it’s touching how much he cares.

He hums in satisfaction. “I expect you to eat three meals a day and get at least five hours of sleep.” Before you can protest, he continues. “And I want you to make an appointment with that therapist. Just get ahead of your spiral, maybe talking about the case with someone removed will help you be more level-headed.” 

“I will,” you vow. “Okay, just got back to the motel, I’ll talk to you later.” He says goodbye and hangs up. When you get out of the car with your food, the hair on the back of your neck stands up and your scar tingles. 

Something feels off. 

You get to your door to find it slightly ajar and you frown. You remember locking it. Maybe room service cleans at night? 

“Hello?” You call, pushing it open. Taking a few cautious steps into the room, you scan from wall to wall looking for anything or anyone.

There’s no one there, nothing seems out of place except for your suitcase that is now on your bed. You tentatively walk over to it and unzip it, jumping back like you’re expecting something to pop out. Inside, you find all the clothes you packed gone, and entirely replaced by a new wardrobe. Pulling them out, you gasp when you find cashmere sweaters and silky blouses and comfortable but professional looking pants. There’s a bottle of perfume with the word “Thanatos” printed in perfect calligraphy and you take a whiff. It smells like flowers and wood at the same time and it makes you think of a forest. 

So someone broke into your motel room just to give you some new clothes and perfume? You rustle through the rest of the suitcase and a piece of paper flutters to the floor. 

Heart pounding, you lean down to pick it up. It’s the same sticky note that you put on your wall before you left to get food. 

Friends? Sisters? Lovers? 

Only now, the word ‘lovers’ is circled, with a small heart drawn. You drop the paper like you’ve been burned and run over to where all your case information is and you feel nauseous. 

Nothing has been touched. Nothing is out of place. 

Except for the single purple azalea resting on the middle of the table. 

They were here. 

[vifilms]

tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it. 

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand. 

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before. 

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers. 

“i know what you’re gonna say.” 

“and what’s that?” 

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.” 

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue. 

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.” 

“this is not, um, i didn’t—” 

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”  

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath. 

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her. 

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach. 

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake? 

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

[starfilmz]

close to you | rafe cameron

summary: you and rafe are together and no matter how long you two have been together, he still gets jealous. even if you’re admirers are 80% girls.

a/n: basically the jealousy trope but girls. bc i love girls :D

navigation

rafe cameron wasn’t the type to get jealous. at least, that’s what he told himself, day in and day out. but when it came to you—his girlfriend, the one person who had him wrapped around her finger—he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something every time a group of girls swarmed around you.

it was always the same. the way they’d giggle, whisper behind their hands, and act like they had some secret world he wasn’t a part of. he didn’t mind the guys; they were easy enough to brush off. a few sharp words and they’d back off, retreating into the background where they belonged. but the girls? it was different. they didn’t look at him like they were trying to size him up or steal him away. no, they acted like he wasn’t even there.

and that, to rafe, was a problem.

“you look good today, yn,” a girl would say as she sidled up beside you, eyes lingering just a little too long.

"thanks," you'd smile, not noticing the way rafe’s jaw clenched. you were always polite, always kind to everyone, but it did little to ease the tension in his chest.

he’d stand there, arms crossed, waiting for the moment to pass. but it never did.

“i can’t wait to see you at the next surf competition, yn! i’m sure you’ll crush it like always.” one of the girls would chirp, grinning like she had just made the most profound statement in the world.

rafe’s fingers dug into his palms as he glanced over at you, a possessive, yet proud look flashing across his face. he had to remind himself that it was because of you that all these girls were so…obsessed. you had that effect on people, on both guys and girls alike. it didn’t matter how many times he told himself he should be happy for you, that you deserved all this attention—there was still that sharp edge of irritation whenever you were in the spotlight.

“yeah, can’t wait to see you in action again,” another girl added, leaning in a little too close to you.

rafe resisted the urge to step in, though the thought of it brought an all-too-familiar feeling of frustration. you weren’t just his girlfriend—everyone knew that by now. yet somehow, you seemed to be this magnet for attention. people loved you. especially the girls.

but it wasn’t just the compliments or the giddy talk of your next competition that bothered him. it was the fact that these girls seemed to have no problem showing up at boneyard parties just to catch a glimpse of you.

“i heard yn's gonna be at the party tonight. i’m so excited!” one of them said to her friend, eyes practically sparkling. “i’ll be there early so i can get a good spot by the bonfire.”

rafe rolled his eyes, his hands curling into fists. you didn’t even notice them, didn’t care about any of this. you were just trying to enjoy yourself, trying to live your life, but it was like everyone wanted a piece of it. and most of all, they wanted a piece of you.

finally, rafe couldn’t hold it in any longer. as the girls continued to talk and laugh around you, he walked up, his presence undeniably commanding. he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close, his face a study in controlled frustration.

“let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. the girls hesitated, looking from him to you with a mix of confusion and intrigue.

“rafe, don’t,” you whispered softly, reaching up to touch his arm, trying to calm him down.

he gave you a tight smile, but there was something unspoken in his eyes. his possessiveness wasn’t something he liked, but when it came to you, it was almost uncontrollable.

“i’ll catch you guys later,” he said, his tone colder than usual, and with that, he guided you away from the crowd.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you let out a soft laugh. “you’re a little dramatic, you know that?”

“i don’t like them around you,” he admitted, his voice low but serious. “it’s not like i think you’ll do anything, yn. but you’re mine. and i hate how they act like you’re some prize to be won.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “and i’m supposed to be okay with you making a scene every time some girl talks to me?”

“you’re my girl,” rafe repeated, his eyes narrowing with that familiar intensity. “why would i want anyone else thinking they can just get close?”

you shook your head, a playful smile curving your lips. “you know i don’t belong to anyone, rafe. but i’m with you. only with you.”

he snorted, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “that’s not the point. the point is—i’m not sharing, not now, not ever.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, pushing his shoulder lightly as you continued to walk away from the crowds.

rafe couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was still a little irritated. at least, for now, you were his—walking beside him, oblivious to the crowd and the chaos you left in your wake. he could live with that, for now.

“just don’t let them get too close next time,” he grumbled, eyes scanning the horizon as if daring anyone to make another move.

you rolled your eyes, but there was something in your expression that softened. “okay, rafe. i’ll try. but i can’t promise anything.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the smile tugging at his lips said it all. for now, at least, he had you all to himself. and that, for him, was more than enough.

[pickingupmymercedes]

A Christmas Carol - Lewis Hamilton

A Christmas Special

genre: fluff (there's a bit of angst because it wouldn't be me without it)

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't planning on doing one, but alas, like the Grinch "I'm toasty inside and I'm leaking". Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Christmas was supposed to feel magical. It was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine, sound like kids laughing over the crinkle of wrapping paper, and taste like mulled wine and homemade cookies.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I power-walked from the kitchen to the dining room, a tray of meticulously arranged appetizers wobbling precariously in my hands.

“Where’s the rosemary garnish?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“On the counter where you left it,” my mom’s voice floated back, tinged with just enough exasperation to make me grit my teeth.

“Right, okay. Thanks!” I tried to sound upbeat, but it came out brittle, like one of the ornaments I’d already broken this week.

The house was perfect. Lewis’s Colorado cabin looked like it had been ripped from the pages of a Christmas catalog.

Snow blanketed the landscape outside, and the living room’s towering evergreen glittered with gold and red ornaments.

Both our families were here—mine and Lewis’s—mingling in various states of holiday cheer.

Everything looked exactly as it should.

So why did it feel like everything was on the verge of collapse?

I was usually the type to wing things. I’d always believed the joy was in the process, not the end result.

But this was different. This was the first Christmas we were hosting as a couple, the first time our families were all under one roof, and the first time I felt the weight of needing everything to be flawless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lewis had said a week ago, catching me mid-panic as I tried to finalize the seating chart. “It’s Christmas. Nobody’s going to care if the napkins match the table runner.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him then, brushing off his easy confidence. “This is important, Lewis. It’s our first big family Christmas. I need it to be right.”

But now, with the pressure mounting and the hours slipping away, I was starting to wonder if he’d been right all along.

Still, I couldn’t stop.

There was too much to do, too much riding on this. It wasn’t just impressing everyone else; it was proving to myself that I could pull this off. That I could create something perfect.

“Y/n, the caterer just called. They’re going to be an hour late,” came Lewis’s voice from the kitchen, calm as ever.

I barely acknowledged him, my brain too busy spiraling into contingency plans.

Late appetizers meant a delayed dinner schedule, which meant the kids would get restless, which—… Okay, breathe.

“It’s fine,” I said tightly, not looking up from my task. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Babe, it’ll be fine,” he replied, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. How could he be so relaxed about this?

This was the first time I could show everyone that I wasn’t just good at planning vacations—I could host the kind of Christmas that would make everyone look back and say “Remember that year at Lewis and Y/n’s place? That was perfect.”

But perfect came at a price. A steep one.

I was usually laid-back on holidays, but this one… well, I was turning into someone I didn’t entirely recognize.

Someone who had snapped at Lewis when he joked ironing the napkins was a bit much. Someone who brushed off my mom’s attempt to help set up because “I’ve got it, thanks.” Someone who hadn’t stopped to sit down—or breathe—since the day before.

I knew I was being ridiculous.

Rationally, I knew that no one cared if the table settings matched the garland on the fireplace or if the cranberry sauce came from a can instead of being homemade.

But rationality didn’t exactly have a seat at the table in my mind. Instead, it was crowded with doubts, insecurities, and the quiet, nagging fear that if I didn’t get this right, it meant something about me.

I wanted so badly to prove that I could do this—not to Lewis, not even to our families, but to myself. To prove that I could handle blending traditions, making everyone feel at home, and creating a holiday memory worth cherishing.

The irony? In chasing that, I was starting to lose the very thing that made Christmas special.

“Y/n,” Lewis called again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the same strand of lights for a tad too long. “Why don’t you take a break? Have some wine or something.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than intended. He didn’t reply, and the quiet that followed made me feel worse than any argument ever could.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, the lights still tangled in my hands.

I glanced around the room, the half-decorated tree leaning slightly to the right, the dining table still bare, and the unmistakable hum of chatter from the kitchen where both families mingled.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But as I sat there, surrounded by the mess of my own making, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that it didn’t have to be.

I had just managed to shove the last box of ornaments under the console table when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Y/n! You didn’t even say hi when we walked in. What the hell?”

I turned, my brother already halfway across the room, his lopsided grin in place and a lumpy gift bag dangling from his hand. He had that look he always got when he was about to annoy me out of spite.

“Hey,” I muttered distractedly, glancing at the clock. Dinner prep was starting to fall behind, and I still hadn’t decided which candles to put on the table.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “That’s it? Not even a ‘Merry Christmas, so glad you’re here, oh wise older sibling who taught me everything I know?’”

“I don’t have time for this, asshole” I said, brushing past him to fix the garland over the fireplace. “You and everyone else are so very welcome here, but I have a million things to do.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone’s really leaning into their inner Scrooge this year.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy adjusting a stocking that was slightly off-center.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time. “You didn’t even notice when your niece tried to hug you.”

Guilt hit me like a truck, but I pushed it aside. “Nothing, I swear. I just… I want everything to be perfect, for her too, okay?”

“Perfect?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who once wrapped all Christmas presents in newspaper and duct tape because you forgot to buy wrapping paper.”

“I was sixteen and broke.” I snapped.

“And happy,” he countered, his voice pointed but not, at all, unkind. “We all were. Because no one cared what the presents looked like. Or if the tree was crooked or the turkey was dry. We were just… together. That’s what made it Christmas.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “Are you seriously trying to give me some kind of Christmas ghost speech right now? Because I don’t have time for—”

“Maybe you should make time” he interrupted, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in despite my resistance.

“Look, I get it” he continued, his voice softening again. “You want this to be special, and it will be. But not because of the table settings or the garland or whatever else you’re obsessing over. It’ll be special because you’re here, and we’re here, and that’s all that ever mattered to us as kids. It’s all that matters now, too.”

“Thanks for the Hallmark moment. Really. But I have things to do.” I sighted instead of admitting he was right, as I turned back to the fireplace.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Suit yourself, sis. But don’t come crying to me when the ghost of Christmas present shows up later to say ‘I told you so.’ over dessert”

I was halfway into rolling my eyes when it hit me. The pie.  but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips as he walked away. Still, his words lingered, like the faint smell of cinnamon that seemed to follow me everywhere this week.

“Seriously, what’s going on, now you look like you seen a ghost?” my brother asked, peering into the living room.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I had forgotten dessert.

My brother smirked. “Guess perfection really is a myth.”

Lewis appeared in the doorway; eyebrows raised in concern. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I forgot the dessert. I can’t believe I forgot the dessert.”

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“It’s Christmas, Lewis!” I suppressed a yell. “You’re supposed to have something sweet.”

Lewis exchanged a glance with my brother, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Your turn.’

“Hey,” Lewis said, tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. “What’s the one thing you always say when things don’t go according to plan?”

I blinked at him, tears threatening. “I don’t know.”

“You say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’”

“I’ve got it” I replied, careful to keep my tone light.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he came closer, a quiet warmth that made me hyper-aware of how tightly I was holding onto the matchbox in my hand.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and that was all it took for my defenses to wobble.

I set the matchbox down with a shaky exhale, staring at the empty plates in front of me. “I just want everything to be perfect” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He stepped closer, his hands brushing lightly against my arms before resting on my shoulders. “It already is” he said.

I laughed under my breath, a sound that came out more bitter than I intended. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the cranberry sauce yet.”

“Babe” he said, his voice full of that frustrating calmness that made me want to hug him and throw something at him, at the same time. “No one’s here for cranberry sauce.”

I turned to face him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

They weren’t teasing or dismissive or even annoyed, like I probably deserved after snapping at him all day. They were warm, steady, and so full of love it made my chest ache.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my arm. “You’ve been running around for days like you’re hosting the royal family instead of our families. What’s really going on?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve starting to crack. “I just…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small I sounded. “I want them to have a good time. I want them to see that we’re good at this, that we’ve got it all together.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity he always had when he was trying to read between the lines.

“You mean you want to prove that you’re good at this,” he said softly, and the truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “It’s stupid, I know” I whispered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice firm. “But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/n. Not to our families, not to me, and definitely not to yourself. You’ve already done more than enough by bringing them all over.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I just… I want them to look back at this and remember it as something special.”

He reached out, tipping my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “They will,” he said simply. “Not because of the candles or the napkins or whatever else you’ve been stressing over, but because they’re here. Together. And because you made that happen.”

His words settled over, softening the tension in my shoulders and quieting the storm in my mind.

“I don’t know how you always do that,” I said with a shaky laugh, brushing at my eyes.

“Do what?”

“Manage to say the exact thing I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it. Especially then”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a talent,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but his eyes still serious.

I leaned into him, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor me. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.

“About everything?”

“Don’t push your luck” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my waist. “Come sit with us for a while,” he said. “The table can wait. Dinner can wait. Right now, I just want you to stop and enjoy this.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking toward the half-finished table.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Please.”

The weight of that single word unraveled the last of my resistance.

“Okay,” I said softly, letting him guide me toward the living room and let myself just be.

Dinner was still salvageable, the table was mostly set, and the stockings—mercifully—were straightened.

It was fine. I was fine. We would be fine.

I hadn’t slept much. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the last few days finally wearing off, or maybe it was the quiet nagging feeling that I hadn’t quite nailed it.

Either way, when Lewis stirred beside me at the crack of dawn, his alarm buzzing softly, I was already awake.

He leaned over to kiss my forehead, murmuring something about taking a quick shower before the kids woke up. I mumbled back something that sounded vaguely coherent, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, I slipped out of bed.

Still in my pajamas, hair a mess, and not a speck of makeup to hide behind, I padded softly down the stairs. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes in those fleeting moments before the day begins.

The living room came into view, and I froze for a moment, leaning against the doorway. The tree stood tall, its lights casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The presents we’d spent hours wrapping were still neatly stacked, though I knew that wouldn’t last long.

I sat down on the edge of the couch, tucking my knees under me as I watched the room come alive in slow motion.

First came one of Lewis’s nieces, her sleepy face lighting up the moment she spotted the tree. She gasped, then bolted back upstairs, her little feet pounding against the steps as she woke her brother.

A chain reaction followed—one by one, the kids tumbled into the room, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.

Next came my mom, her robe tied loosely around her as she headed straight for the kitchen.

I could hear her humming a Christmas carol as she rummaged for the hot cocoa mix. Within minutes, the scent of chocolate and marshmallows filled the air, mingling with the pine of the tree.

I didn’t say anything; I just watched.

Watched as the kids tore into their presents, the floor quickly becoming a chaotic sea of wrapping paper.

Watched as my mom handed a steaming mug to each child, all looking up at her with a grateful smile.

Watched as my brother shuffled in, still half-asleep but smiling as he plopped onto a chair with his coffee.

And then, almost as if she sensed I needed it, my mom came over to the couch and sat beside me, handing me a mug of cocoa, the marshmallows bobbing at the surface, and settled in with a soft sigh by my side.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as warm as the drink in my hands.

“Merry Christmas, Mom” I replied, leaning my head on her shoulder.

We sat there for a while, watching the chaos unfold.

One of the kids trying to explain a new gadget to my dad, while my niece proudly displayed her new doll to Lewis’s mom.

It was loud and messy and completely uncoordinated.

And it was perfect.

“This reminds me of Christmas when we were kids,” I said quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the laughter and chatter.

My mom turned to look at me, her brow lifting slightly.

“You know,” I continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “When we’d open our presents in the morning, and you and Dad would be in the kitchen getting food ready. All the relatives would be there, the cousins running around, someone always spilling something…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It was chaos, but it felt like Christmas.”

My mom chuckled, her hand brushing against mine as she squeezed it gently. “That’s what makes it special, honey. It’s never about the perfect decorations or the perfect dinner. It’s about… this.”

She gestured to the room, where Lewis’s nephew was now gleefully dragging people to play with him, everyone looking thoroughly confused but nodding enthusiastically anyway.

“The mess?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“The mess,” she affirmed, smiling. “The people. The noise. The love in all of it.”

I blinked back the sting of tears, resting my head against her shoulder again. For so long, I’d been chasing perfection, thinking it was the key to creating something memorable.

But sitting there, surrounded by laughter and torn wrapping paper and the occasional shout of “Where are the batteries?”—I realized I already had everything I’d been looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get it this messy, this right, every year” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

She didn’t reply, just leaned her head against mine, and we sat there in the quiet chaos, letting it all wash over us.

It wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better. So much better

And as if on cue, my mom glanced up and caught sight of Lewis standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his pajama pants, his grin warm and knowing as he watched us. With a soft smile, she nudged me gently.

“Someone’s waiting for you” my mom murmured before excusing herself, her footsteps light as she headed toward the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t waste a second, crossing the room to take her spot beside me on the sofa. He flopped down with exaggerated effort, his arm draping lazily along the back of the couch.

“Well, well,” he teased, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out of the bedroom without a fully picked-out outfit, perfect hair, and makeup in days?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been… intense. Haven’t I?”

“A bit” Lewis replied, grinning as he reached over to tug my hands away. “But only because you care”

I lowered my hands, glancing at him shyly. “I just... I wanted this to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect. Not just for everyone else but—” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“But?” he prompted, his tone gentle.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking to the kids tearing through their gifts, then back to him. “But for me. For us. For... the possibility that this might be our future someday.”

The words faltered, vulnerable and unsure.

Lewis didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already more than perfect.”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, but he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks as he looked me in the eyes.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been dreaming about a future with you long before these past few days. Ever since I saw you barefoot on that trail, convincing Willow it was the best way to feel the earth beneath her. Since you let Roscoe slobber all over you on the beach the very first time you met him. Since we spent three days on that road trip, eating two-day-old sandwiches and drinking from streams, and you still made it feel like the greatest adventure of our lives.”

My eyes glistened, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes” he replied with a playful grin before his expression softened again. “ You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, watching the kids dive into their presents. The room buzzing with laughter and the occasional triumphant shout of “Look what I got!”

My chest felt lighter than it had in days, my worries dissolving like the marshmallows in my cocoa.

I rested my head against Lewis’s shoulder, my heart settling into a steady rhythm that matched his.

But then, a thought struck and I sat up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Lewis asked, trying to pull me back by the waist.

I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Alright, who’s ready to make a mess in the kitchen?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Me!” erupted as they abandoned their toys and raced toward me.

I led them to the kitchen, my laughter echoing through the house as I opened cabinets and pulled out bowls, flour, and cookie cutters.

Within minutes, the kitchen was alive —flour flying, cookie dough being enthusiastically rolled and eaten, and the sound of uncontainable giggles filling the air.

Lewis stayed back, leaning against the back of the sofa, watching the scene unfold with a smile tugging at his lips.

I caught his eye once, winking at him as I smeared a dollop of cookie batter on one of the kids’ noses, eliciting a delighted squeal.

This could be our forever. Far from perfect, but perfectly us.

_____________________________________________________________

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[inhuman-obey-me]

The End Times

Well, here we are. The final lessons have been released, all in a flurry. It's been interesting times, y'all.

JK, they said the world of OM will continue, and we're not going away either. We still love our demonic dumbasses. This is, however, the last lesson of the apps. And, uh, we didn't talk about the last 3 before this either, considering the flurry.

So, maybe for one last time: let's get into it.

(spoilers up to NB Lesson 60)

Nightbringer

The first thing to address here, perhaps, is truly: for splitting off a whole ass second app titled Nightbringer, they really didn't tell us anything about him in the end, huh!

We never did get the answers to what he wanted out of our second set of pacts, what his deal with Solomon was, what his overall goals are, or who he even is. He just showed up, we got some early info on him, and then he basically fucked off for the majority of season 2 and basically all of season 3. At least they did end on a nice little message from him, though, echoing the start of the game...

So will we eventually get the answer to ANY of those major questions? The world may never know...

A Celestial Shitshow

What we do get, first, is the resolution of the whole Raphael arc of this season -- at least, the closest they could come to giving us a resolution.

We do not get a precise answer to what he felt or thought in the moment of Michael refusing to even try to appeal to Father on Simeon's behalf, which he was seemingly so unable to confront at the end of 55. However, after the collapse of Babel, Lucifer and Simeon go to talk to him again, more calmly this time.

The source of Raphael's distress comes down to loneliness. Like Simeon, he remarks how quiet it became in the Celestial Realm when the brothers, apparently the only loudmouth troublemakers that ever existed there, fell after the war. With the possibility of Simeon also becoming a demon, Raphael felt incredibly lonely at the thought of losing another former seraph and friend from the Celestial Realm.

Luke comes up to chime in about being there for Raphael, and Simeon realizes he doesn't want to just leave those "two kids" alone to fend for themselves. With that decided, he concludes that he is not so fine with becoming a demon after all, because he wants to return to the Celestial Realm for their sakes.

MC, with the help of Lucifer's power, then breaks through Babel's projection of collapse, which had reflected Raphael's distraught feelings, to restore it to its actual not-destroyed state, and further uses their new protection powers to return everyone to the Devildom. More on that later!

Also, Michael is a dick again. Raphael is set to be punished for the whole Babel thing, and Michael basically plans to let that happen, until Simeon threatens to "hold it against him" as a grudge. Which is hilarious, because Simeon has no real power or anything against Michael at this point, but angy Simeon is so scary, Michael apparently backs off.

Anyway, setting all the all of that aside, there's also still more SF to get through.

Three Worlds-building Science

In the process of restoring Babel, MC and Lucifer conveniently also remove all the demonic powers/energy from Simeon, so that works out nicely! He's no longer "demonic." However, of course, this couldn't just be such a nice simple wrap-up as that, so next, we get a whole bunch of lore-contradictory worldbuilding around the way cells work for each type of being!

It turns out, while angels and demons both have homogenous cells which are purely one or the other, human cells can actually transform into either one, in the right conditions. And although all demonic energy has been cleared out of Simeon, he apparently still has some of those transformed demonic cells, and it's possible he will have his demonic cells activate or start to transform again in the future. Plus, even with his decision that he wanted to return to the Celestial Realm after all, it's not really in anyone's control out of the cast to do that for him, and the Celestial Realm would not allow him back if he has any demonic cells.

This brings up some pretty terrible implications about the Celestial Realm, which we're not sure were the devs' intentions exactly, but which become implied nonetheless. After all, Simeon's punishment was to become a human, but if it's a known fact that humans can turn demonic and they would refuse to take him back with any demonic cells, even dormant ones, that's just a really shitty trap of a situation! Plus, they were able to convert his cells from angelic ones to human ones, so if they have the ability to change him at a cellular level, why can't they just purge the demonic cells from him in the process of changing him back to an angel? Lucifer has specifically noted before on his transformation to a demon that he supposed that was his punishment, so that also seems to have been a punishment inflicted by God, implying the ability to also manipulate the brothers at a cellular level into demons! And if human cells can become angel ones as well, what does that mean for Simeon's punishment of becoming human? Could the punishment be undercut by his cells naturally turning back to angel cells? Come on, devs, it's called consistency!!

But hey, it's not like this series has been particularly consistent on its lore in the past either...

Anyway, the Science Fair is still going on -- and Leviathan has a mad scientist moment, coming across a unique potion that could help with restoring Simeon back to a more fully human state, ridding his body of any dormant demonic cells! The problem is it requires three very rare and hard to procure ingredients, but it turns out Solomon had also thought about this potion a while back, so he conveniently already has two of the three rare ingredients! Part of the reason Solomon never brought it up before, however, is that the potion only has a 60% success rate and is known to have some pretty bad side effects including the briefest mention of possibly even death???, and with how complicated Simeon's feelings had been up to this point, it didn't feel like there had been a good time to bring all that up.

Deciding that Simeon can decide for himself if he wants to take the risk after the potion is ready, we have a little adventure to obtain the third ingredient that places us back in the Starfall, which we visited during our time in the past. We momentarily have to avoid the subject of the past as Leviathan recalls that you were there, but is brushed off as misremembering because that wouldn't make sense, after all! Haha...ha...

Leviathan makes the potion for the Science Fair, and then Lucifer and MC keep Simeon company while he takes it. Simeon begins to succumb to the potion's effects pretty quickly, but Lucifer steps in to try and take the pain from Simeon and transfer it to him -- with MC then also stepping in to help share it. Simeon ends up not suffering as much, but is still knocked out with a fever for a bit.

Upon waking from his fever and analysis of his cells and some other genetic science, Simeon has now returned to his fully human state, meaning that he should be able to get back to the Celestial Realm! -- if they'll have him.

The end of the game seems to initially imply that he might be reinstated as an angel -- but the very last text we see is that Simeon will be opening up the Angel's Halo again in the human world. So is Simeon still a human? Did he become an angel again but they have him stationed in the human world?? No clear answer!!! Why would they ever end the final lesson on giving us any clear conclusions? Nope, never, and so here we are with no more lessons and yet another big fuckin' cliffhanger.

Well, they did say there are new projects in progress, at least...

Anyway, Later is Now

So, back to MC and how overpowered we've become.

Through this last season, there has been a focus on how much stronger MC has become, especially when it comes to their protective/defensive magic. We know it's because of the double-pacts, but that is a secret from most of the cast to avoid space-time fuckery.

In Babel, MC is able to control this magic for the first time. As mentioned above, we use our pact with Lucifer to break out of the illusion created by Raphael's breakdown, which also clears Simeon of his demonic energy. MC then uses their power, with some guidance by Solomon, to get out of Babel and return everyone to the Devildom.

That's a great sign, as otherwise MC has had zero control over this power activating. Of course, that means we have to use it one last time as the game comes to an end -- but this time, on the moon.

That's right. The Devildom moon is really into MC and is on a crash course to the Devildom (hi Majora's Mask) to also get some of that sweet, sweet MC power. Our cast gets thrust into having to deal with the situation as the final Science Fair competition, because the Research Institute is basically giving them the responsibility (with the House of Lords being ridiculous and not getting the news to Diavolo faster because, um, they suck).

Satan wonders if MC's protection power can be used here and stop the moon on its crash course, so of course that is what we are going to do. Solomon leads you up into the sky, and after a pep talk, leaves you to choose one of the brothers to help carry out this mission. Whichever brother you choose ends up getting knocked out in the process, to protect you. After a few days, we find out how to wake them back up and yay, they're conscious again!

With that handled, it's time for the classic OM tradition, throwing a goodbye party for the exchange students!! PARTY TIME! Everything's good now! Hurray!!!

Does this all seem rushed? Sure. Does it reek of them hurrying to tie up loose ends because this is the last lesson? Yup. How much of this was actually planned in this messy rushed way from the start anyway? Who knows! Did they also leave us on that big Simeon cliffhanger anyway, for funsies? Abso-fucking-lutely.

But that's it for the last 4 lessons! After 5 years, finally, MC has completed all of their tasks...congrats to us!!! 🥹

Now to wait for whatever new projects are coming next...

[quarterlifekitty]

Something, something, König picking up gaming in his free time, not uncommon for an older guy especially with a cute little thing who has a nice set up for gaming and he absolutely takes to it with flying colours. Kinda pissing you off how he’s gotten leagues better than you at one of your favourites in such a short amount of time. So when that skin you absolutely NEED drops you’re going insane grinding for it. It’s frustrating too because all the sweats have come out of the woodwork to grind for it too, leading to a lot of swearing and groaning on your end, coincidentally, König’s free time aligns and he’s more than happy to help you grind the tougher parts if you sit pretty on his lap and drain his pent cock.

What’s better than two stress relievers when he comes home from a high tension workplace environment?

(Bonus points if he’s your weird online long distance boyfriend who definitely told you an age younger than what’s on his ID and the place he comes home to is just your apartment that he decided was his too.)

Brother. The way this ask is in my mind. I would like to preface this by saying if you or a loved one is playing a video game with microtransactions and limited edition skin drops it’s not too late to get help. We can beat this together.

cw: he’s kind of a creep in this. Red flags abound. Somno/dubcon type stuff

Gonna make a couple of amendments to this one if that’s ok. 1) König is never going to be a god gamer because his hands are too fucking big and also I WANNA BE THE DOMINANT GAMER IN THE RELATIONSHIP. My ass is carrying HIM in apex. I don’t care that he knows how to shoot real guns. Don’t take this away from me

2) while he didn’t outright lie about his age, he did not say shit that would lead you to believe this man was over 40. He shared very few details about his personal life. Just that he was in the military, Austrian, and now? A gamer. Those are all the hallmarks of being a man in his 20s! Except the Austrian thing— that can happen to anyone.

I like to imagine he treats you like his discord kitten tho. You ask how old he is and he’s like “I’m an adult, if that’s what you’re worried about” or “old enough” or “don’t worry about it” and you say “okay 💖 yay 💖”

And he’s 100% your sugar daddy. Constantly buying you games just so you can co-op with him, gifting you in-game currency to spend on battle passes, absolutely ravaging your wishlist— steam, amazon, or otherwise.

He finds himself in your area for work and you tell him your address so he can meet up with you.

And you’re kind of a stupid femcel so when this dude shows up at your door, almost seven feet tall and wearing a surgical mask, scarred face with a healthy grey streak in his hair, it’s not setting off any alarm bells. There’s like at least 5 red flags here but you’re colorblind and inviting him in.

You didn’t realize that he was planning on staying with you while he was in the area. You also didn’t realize that the moment he found out he’d be stationed near you, he decided it was time to take your relationship to the next level.

Which is how you end up stretched out on his cock on the same day that you met in person for the first time, with him grunting in your ear about how he dreamed of this— thought of it every time he jerked off when you fell asleep during a discord call. He could tell just from your voice that you’d be pretty and soft and tight and perfect for him— and he was ready to settle down.

Good thing you didn’t really have any plans for the rest of your life, or you might find how fast he moves a little scary.

So it makes sense that you’re still a little shy. Too nervous to initiate things usually. So he just has to motivate you a little.

This skin’s an exclusive, can’t be earned with currency, and available as a drop for just 7 days. You can’t put in the hours to get it on your own, not to mention how tedious it is, and it can’t be bought. But it’s so cute.

So he makes the offer. He’ll spend his precious leave time helping you earn it if you keep his cock warm while he does it. He’d initially planned on using that time to rearrange your guts, so you’re gonna have to make it worth his while.

And maybe you exaggerate a little. You’re used to saying these things over calls— where nothing has any repercussions in the real world. Where you can promise anything from the safety of being on a screen a world away.

You tell him you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you if he can get that skin for you. After a moment you realize the implications of saying that to someone who can and will hold you down and make out with your cervix using the tip of his cock.

He borrows one of your elastics to tie back his hair.

He’s gonna get you that skin. And then he’s gonna get you pregnant.

You did say anything.

[machisneedle]

hii, I just saw that you have open requests ^^Can I ask for a lighter x reader who has the personality or is similar to Clorinde 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I beg you. I hope it goes well for you 🙏🙏🙏Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes because I lost my glasses.

Hellooo, ofc I can !! Also your spelling is perfectly fine <3

Lighter x s/o with a personality similar to clorindes ・₊✧₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

✧ content: headcannon format , fluff , confessioning love , pre-relationship and current relationship.

Safe for minors to read !!

✧ I feel like his serious but also unserious mood would be a refresher for you , also helping you become more comfortable around him. For example , if you're dealing with something stressful , he'd be the type to try to keep you out of the house and even if it's just to hang out with Lucy or ceaser knowing your not alone makes him feel better.

✧ he'd definitely fall for you first. your strong and stoic front you put on is so intriguing to him because he's a serious person when he wants to be , but the fact he's NEVER seen you break that serious personality apart from a couple chuckles or when your trying to make Lucy feel better about something silly , it makes him want get closer to you. He also finds you badass as fuck but he'd never say it.

✧ when you finally realise you somehow like this man , you considered a complete and utter idiot. You're in complete denial , like how could I fall for HIM type thing.

✧ he is the one to confess 100% . He was confident , but he never thought you'd actually say yes to him. He was expecting you to stare at him like he was a creature from the hallow , so when you said yes he was actually taken aback by your word's , he totally hit you with a " yeah thats cool... cool " while he's internally screaming , before thinking about telling caesar and the others about it. He is a girl dad at heart ok.

✧ it might not be your cup of tea going out to his fights , but PLEASE do it at least once , this man will be yours for life if you do. Even if you sit there looking uninterested as normal because you finally gave into his begs, he'd be over the moon totally, not because you finally gave into going. He'd try to catch your attention by winking at you when you'd look his way , or if he was feeling extra like a little bitch he'd blow you a kiss being met by ur disappointed eye roll never got boring for him. When you find him afterwards dragging him home, he'd hit you with a " c'mon it wasn't that bad darlin " with that classic smirk on his face... let's just say he got a bonk on the head for that one.

✧ he sometimes found it hard to understand your emotions because of how closed off you could be. He would go to one of the girls about it and ask them what he should do , this man is a dumbass when it comes to love sometimes. He'd always be told to just go to you about it , so after a while , he gave in and went to you. It wasn't easy at first getting you to open up for him , but when you did , it made your relationship a lot better.

✧ at first, if anyone tried to hit on you, he'd be instantly at their throats, but there was one time he was grabbing something to drink while you sat and waited. He came back to a guy walking away uncomfortably looking like he was about to burst into tears , " What's up with him, huh ? " he chuckled , sliding you your drink. " he tried to hit on me, so I told him it straight. I wasn't interested. " You shrugged , " you don't say, " he replied. Ever since then , if someone hit on you he just let you give them that resting bitch face that made men run for the hills. Most men apart from him , personally found any face you pulled stunning .

✧ so , in summary you both have your Flaws mainly with communication , but you both try your best and that's all that matters <3

This is my first time writing lighter so sorry if he's abit out of character !! This request was really fun because I love clorinde

[p0pp3t]

damn crew hcs because i miss them every day they’re not posted </3

sometimes when gavin is hanging out with his friends he’ll just. flop down on top of them if they’re sitting or lying down. genuine cat behavior. he gets very comfortable, his ear over their heart and their hand in his. he savors every second he gets. he also complains when any of them tell him they wanna get up

(for someone with such severe self worth issues) damien pampers himself SO much when if comes to hygiene. matching fragrances across all his products, shower steamers, bath bombs, candles, the whole deal. on friday nights you’ll find him wrapped in a plush bathrobe with a matching headband pushing his hair back, a clay mask smeared on his skin. he has a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, with some soft classical instrumentals pumping from the tv speakers. huxley loves coming home to find him so relaxed

sometimes, when he’s upset, huxley will go out into the backyard and lie in the grass for a while - letting the solid ground hold him and the soft grass caress him. other times, when he’s very upset, he’ll dig a hole and lie down in that instead. he feels safer, grounded (ha) and closer to his element. damien checks on him periodically with offerings of snacks and water

lasko is something of a fashionista (it might be why he and milo got along as well as they did at the E&E games) - he’s very meticulous about his closet; every item is lovingly sorted by type, color, material, and season. he frets whenever his “best” pieces are still in the laundry and no combination of the things he has on hand looks “good enough”. he’ll say it’s about being presentable but he also really just likes feeling pretty. dear assures him that he always looks lovely and helps him find an outfit he can at least tolerate for the day. such a diva

freelancer has an absolute BLAST on karaoke night. they’ve sung at least three (3) lovey-dovey duets with each of their friends and aim to do even more. (at first damien took some convincing with a direly serious “you love me, right?🥺”) as of late, their favorite singing partner has been dear - they’re always happy to indulge their freelancer and both their voices just blend so beautifully

in their quiet nature, dear has picked up on a lot of campus gossip when the people around them thought no one was listening. sometimes their students will come up to them and directly fill them in on the most recent, hottest rumors. they know how to keep a secret, but if damien needs dirt on another staff member he always knows who to ask

and speaking of - don’t let their professional appearances fool you; damien and lasko are total suckers for gossip. when their lunch breaks align with dear’s, nobody on campus is safe from their shit talk. lasko has a surprisingly sharp tongue where he feels it’s warranted

[spotsandsocks]

Oh hi!

For my wintery ask to you, I'm sending 🎅🏽 and marshmallow. :)

Hellooooo! Thanks for sending a stocking ask. One ficlet for marshmallow. 570 words . Hope you like it 😊

His phone is ringing which considering the time is enough to make Buck’s heart rate spike. It’s way past the acceptable time for calling without an important reason. Grabbing his phone and seeing Maddies face and name lit u does nothing to calm him down. It’s way past eleven. What's happened?

He answers the phone intent on finding out “what’s wrong?”

“Elves! Stupid things. I hate them.”

It’s not anything close to what he was expecting. At least it’s not an emergency or a disaster which considering thier lives is more than possible.”

“Ok and why do we hate elves at” he checks the time “11.23 at night?”

“Because I forgot about them tonight and Howie’s on an extra shift tonight and I have not idea what to do with the damn things! I need help! You're my help!”

Maddie sounds at the end of her tether, hardly surprising the holidays are stressful, there’s a lot to do and the elves are, he knows from Chimney a major source of stress. He makes a mental note to not start any elf shenanigans when he has kids,

‘“Ok… what have you done already?”

“Everything! Stupid things, maybe they can have an accident tonight…”

“Maybe not, let’s not traumatise Jee ok Mads.”

“They deserve it, they could get locked out or get flushed down the toilet, the oven…”

“Maddie!” He stops her, almost shocked at the level of homicidal rage she has towards the naughty Christmas elves Jee loves to see every morning. “Flour footprints?”

“Basic, did it week one.”

“Drawing on the fruit?

“Done it.”

“Using the pans as drums?”

“Fun but done it.”

“Playing cards?”

“Boring!”

“Top of Christmas tree? Melted ice cream? Stuck to the ceiling? Grated carrot?”

“Buck, you’re meant to be helping me. I’ve done all that, it’s almost Christmas Eve, I’ve got to get creative now!”

Ok… um what have you got in the cupboards?

Almost at once he can hear cupboard doors opening and closing.

“There’s nothing useful! What am I going to do?”

“We’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

With his sister calling out things from her cupboards he tries to think of Christmasy things. Cookies, mistletoe, snow, stockings, trees, presents, baubles… one of his ideas comes back to him; snow.

“Maddie, you got any marshmallows?”

“Umm… yeah, why?”

“Big ones or small?”

“Both.”

Hoping this idea goes down better than the others he takes a breath.

“Ok, build a snowhouse out of the big ones and then use the others for snow and make a snow angel shape with the elf.”

He waits hopefully. There’s silence on the other end of the phone, then a sigh of relief followed by his sister's voice.

“That’s brilliant. Buck you’re a genius! I love you.”

Then she hangs up. About 15 minutes later he gets a picture of the elves doing exactly what he suggested, it looks good if he does say so himself.

Maddie sends a text that says thank you and heart emojis that make him smile.

The next one she sends doesn’t. It says; great job tonight so you can help again tomorrow.

Looks like Maddie’s elf problem is his too now, but then what’s family for if not to put mischievous elves into situations together. He opens a new browser page on his phone and types ‘elf on a shelf ideas’… who needs sleep when there are nieces to keep happy.

[fricc-darn]

A Cultish Christmas

(BEN fluff?! It's a Christmas miracle!)

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

It was that special time of the year again. Cold white specks that blanketed every little thing have replaced the falling amber leaves. Holiday lights and other accompanying decorations were visible across various homes in the neighborhood. No matter where you went, there was stark reminder that today was Christmas Eve.

You didn't know how you felt about the holiday anymore. Always, there was a sudden urge. A spark, an eagerness for another opportunity to make this Christmas better than the last. To try new foods, attend events, and maybe even go to a holiday party. However, the ugly truth of reminiscing was that these thoughts were a cope. You were yearning for what the holiday once was, what it felt like. Cursed nostalgia has you chasing a high you haven't felt since childhood. 

Nothing has been the same, especially in the last few... years? Time meshed together; it was hard to keep track of time with so much happening. Your mind never fully adjusted to the change; how could one adjust to a malevolent hive mind choosing you to be their lifelong plaything—lover? You weren't mad about it, not anymore. The relationship wasn't conventional, but you grew to love it. 

Occasionally, you wished BEN wasn't awfully stubborn. Here you were, hunched over in your chair, at the crack of dawn, typing away at your computer, going back-and-forth with BEN. Trying to convince it to celebrate Christmas with you this year.

Your eyes skimmed over what you typed once more before hitting send.

"Please BEN!! Let's go ice skating or walk around downtown to look at all the lights. It'll be really fun I promise!"

"No."

A loud groan bellowed from your throat. Your hands rubbed your face, trying to subdue the built-up annoyance. A fruitless effort trying to force a horse to drink water. BEN showed no desire to go outside, only using its physical body indoors, around you. Given how jaded it was from days of yore and how deplorable humanity is, BEN clearly did not want to be around those it deemed as lesser. Not like its rationale made this any easier. 

Your hands clicked on the keys.

"Then help me finish decorating the tree. I want to put at least one gift under there, so let me get you a gift!"

"Someone is frusterated."

You reclined back in your seat, rolling your eyes. Maybe you could try going out on your own, but it would be no fun without them. Was this holiday apathy some religious thing? BEN's explanations about its beliefs were a vague and convoluted puzzle you have yet to solve. At worst, celebrating could be a sore spot for the Moon Children.

Your fingers intertwined, fiddling with your thumb. Glancing around the computer screen, you spoke in a hushed tone, walking on eggshells. "You know... You're not committing a cardinal sin by having fun. Christmas is not all bad if you think about it differently. I promise you'll have fun."

BEN wouldn't have admitted how it appreciated your consideration. You always tried to weasel your way into understanding what little you knew about how it felt on pressing matters. Trying to cheer it up was admirable, to a fault. You spoke too much about what you didn't know.

This was not necessarily a matter of sin. This was a matter of right and wrong—semantics. The holiday is superficial and a waste of time. For a day, people pretend to get along and splurge on plastic garbage while others starved, a holiday derived from a tall tale. Simply put, your enthusiasm had them asking why. You were better than this nonsense.

They'll humor you. Your behavior has greatly improved compared to years past; good behavior should be rewarded after all. They've had plans in the works. The coveted notion of converting you into a believer. They wanted to test your willingness to leave all of this behind. To push your devotion to them beyond your limits. For you to be completely theirs, it was an entertaining idea. Occasionally, indulging your frivolous wants would come to their benefit in the long run.

BEN watched as you fussed in your seat. Muttering how you would be downstairs in the living room if needed before you stormed out of the room.

An hour had passed since then. You stood before your creation. A mediocre tree, but it was your mediocre tree! The decorated fern was adorned with sentimental ornaments and cheap multicolored lights, with a cute topper at the tip of it all. Slowly, eying the tree to the base, the emptiness chipped at your glee. Turning around, you bumped into BEN, your pitchy shrieking echoed off the walls, mixed with BEN's maniacal laughter. Before you fell over and capsized the tree, it quickly grabbed you.

"I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that; it's not funny—" Your ridicule came to a screeching halt realizing BEN was wearing a winter outfit. A warm, deep blue and white jacket with gloves. Dark snow pants and boots, as if it weren't tall enough. BEN looked adorable! It was always fashionable, its smile elevated anything it wore. Squealing, your hands trembled with delight, reaching out to hold its face.

BEN let you cup its face, momentarily that is. It took a step back, staring you down. "Go change before I change my mind."

Sporadically, you nodded. Hurrying past them and up the stairs, you burst into your room. You rummaged through your closet, throwing together a nice outfit for the long Christmas date ahead. 

The moon beamed overhead, softly illuminating the sky. The streetlights aided in brightening up the freezing walk back home. You two spent the entire day out and about. The two of you were laughing, walking hand in hand, cracking jokes about stuff that happened today.

You took a quick peek at BEN. Whispy strands of green hair blew in the wind. Its cheeks and nose were a cherry hue, yet BEN didn't seem bothered by the cold. "I'm surprised how well you blend in; you even got compliments! I still can't believe how easily you bullshitted that goth girl about your hair color."

"Heh, easier for me to blend in than it is for you to walk on icy pavement." BEN was genuinely amazed by the plethora of close calls that happened in one night. Your excitement got the best of you, almost falling and splitting your head open so many times, you had to have broken a world record. BEN tightened its hold on your hand as you approached the frozen sidewalk that led to your house. Those lazy degenerates for neighbors could not bother to salt the ground.

Looming over you, it watched as you fumbled with your keys. The keys jingled a soothing melody among its thoughts. You looked exhausted; good. They were content the night continued to go as planned. 

The door creaked open, you daintily pulled BEN inside. It hung up its jacket and placed its boots on the shoe rack. You kicked off your boots and yawned, mumbling your gratitude. "This is hands down the best Christmas ever... Thank you, BEN." Slowly, but surely, you hung up your coat and gloves. "Did you guys enjoy yourselves, even a little bit? I'm sorry if the strangers got too annoying." You spoke under your breath.

'Did we enjoy ourselves?' BEN pondered. Instinctively, they wanted to deny the lingering truth, but chose honesty. The Moon Children enjoyed themselves to varying degrees. Some took pleasure in sightseeing; others preferred the parade, catching the goodie bags being thrown, even if they had no use for them. It reminded them of when—well, those times didn't matter anymore.

Ultimately, your presence is pleasant... accepting this truth continued to be painfully shameful. BEN let the silence linger on; there was no point in answering if you were hardly awake. It took a step closer, shaking your shoulder. "Go to sleep. It's late."

Just like that, you jolted awake. Shaking your head and whining. "Y... Yeah, but I wanted to stay up longer." Your eyes stared at the tree in your periphery. A Christmas cuddle sounded nice. Cautiously, you continued, "Maybe we can watch a movie or something?"

BEN's eye twitched. You still wanted to do more? After everything you did today? What are you, a brat? It huffed, relinquishing its anger. BEN lowered to your eye level, red irises studying your tired face. It could feel your nervousness rise whenever it got close.

Tenderly, it held your cheek with its hand, grazing the soft skin with its thumb. "Don't be stubborn." BEN grabbed your waist, pressing against your body; it kissed your lips sweetly. "You must sleep. We have something for you." Its voice was a whispery serenade as it walked past you, up the stairs, and to your room, leaving you shocked.

Your mind raced with ideas. Your thudding heart fueled you as you raced up the steps, barging into your room, yet BEN was gone. You took their words to heart, especially after today. Confirming your belief that they weren't all that bad, just temperamental. If they were awful to their core, BEN wouldn't have even bothered spending time with you today.

When you finished getting ready for bed, you plopped onto the mattress. Wrapped under your blankets, you tossed and turned. The adrenaline coursing through your veins clashed with your drowsiness for minutes, until exhaustion gave way.

Muffling. The dulled chitter-chatter fizzled out when your eyes fluttered open. You were graced by a heart-shaped mask with an unrelenting gaze, surrounded by other masked faces. Your body jumped in surprise. Sitting up, you realized there were many familiar faces of varying ages resembling the game's NPCs. 

An awkward standstill took place, a staring contest between you and, what your mind could count, seventeen others. You grew nervous. Fidgeting with the blades of grass, you attempted to pay no mind to your blushing face. Until a laugh broke the silence.

One of the masked children giggled, practically snorting. "You're nervous. Funny." Their ridiculous snorting set off a chain reaction, causing the others to laugh. They exchanged comments about how scared you looked and that your sudden shyness was comical. The tension melting away cracked a smile from your lips.

Another masked child added on in a matter-of-fact, neutral tone. "You know how to play along; we like that."

At the center of the group, Majora nods. Majora never spoke much to you, nor did you see them often. "Yes. Your fun; you made Christmas very fun too." Their girly voice, murine and juvenile.

Soon after, an older member leaned down, whispering into Majora's ear. The two conversed while others listened in, joining the murmuring. The group giggled as the talk finished. Majora turned back to you, taking a brief look at you sitting on the grassy fields of Termina. Majora approached, lifting their covering to reveal their face.

You held your tongue; it wasn't the first time you had seen a Moon Child's marred visage. Certainly, it was not an easy sight to adjust to. Deep gashes on the face and clouded irises, like a muddied pond. Scleras bloodshot and inflamed. Your heart ached seeing someone so young be this hurt. Yet, she—or at least that's what you assumed—was a diamond in the rough. They were all beautiful in their own right.

"We have a present for you." Majora whispered. After adjusting their dirty blond bob, Majora pulled something out of their pocket. Holding it behind their back.

You did a double take, shaking your head and stammering. A gift? They have never given you a material gift before. BEN's gifts were symbolic, like quality time or letting you live. Majora sat in front of you, opening the small sachet that was once hidden. What tumbled out made you gasp.

It was a solid gold necklace, the centerpiece crest moon pendant with a turquoise-colored gem. The jewelry was similar to what BEN always wore.

"It has been ages since we spent the holidays with someone besides each other." Majora leaned in, unclasping the necklace while the others watched on, humming in agreement. "There's not much we can give to you, but we wanted to thank you for your good intent...." Their hand moved away from the jewelry once the clasp was on, looking up to see you all teary-eyed and babbling questions.

The others surrounded you, getting a better look at the waterworks. Someone in the group answered. "It's a lunula, with a moon tear."

A masked face spoke up. "Yes, it is a protective necklace. Luna's grace will protect you when we are not around."

"Do you like it?" The group spoke in a synchronized manner.

Them being so in tune with one another would have been unsettling if you weren't elated. "Yes! Of course, I love it, BEN." No way in hell were you skeptical of the protective properties of this gift. If the Moon Children were giving this thing to you, it's going to work.

"Good." Majora said in a low, honeyed tone, smiling wildly, that their missing tooth was visible.

They leaned into you for a firm hug, almost as if they didn't want to let go. Sowing the seeds of devotion in you as they nuzzled you. You held them in your arms; they were small enough to pick up with ease. Though you wouldn't dare test the thought.

Majora hummed. Premeditation aside, they were relaxed; a genuine sense of comfort washed over them. You were the only outsider they liked to be held by after some warming up. It was a rare occurrence that they even wanted such affection. Majora spoke in a dreamlike, hushed tone.

"We will be there when you wake. We love—"

A grating, piercing alarm blared in your ears, ripping you from the sweet moment. An alarm you don't remember setting. With a grunt, you rolled around in bed wanting to get back into the fading moment. The cold metal against your skin gave you goosebumps, but it soothed you.

Shifting your focus onto the necklace, you smiled. That nostalgic emptiness you once held was replaced. The minuscule glimmer of hope you clung to meant something to someone. You analyzed the necklace, looking over every curve and engraving. The polished gold of the crescent moon harbored your reflection, smiling at your mirror image. A faint, glitchy voice emitted from your phone. 

"Merry Christmas, my love."

[sp1dermann0]

Dean Winchester x gn!reader

Summary: Edging him 😊

NSFW. Minors DNI. Not proof read ❌

I have nothing to say, but I want to say something. So…happy holidays and have a good day 🌚

You’ve denied him at least 3 times now. Letting your hand slip from his twitching cock down to his thigh whenever he was near the edge. And yet he still gave you the same puppy-eyed look.

Dean’s head went back against the pillow with a soft thud. His hips thrusting into your hand to feel and get more of the overwhelming pleasure that he oh so deserved. All while your lips softly pressed against his neck. Kissing your way up to his jaw then up by his ear. Your free hand cradled the other side of his face that you weren’t by.

Although the lighting in the room was dim, you could still see every detail of Dean’s face. The way he furrowed his eyebrows when you twisted your wrist around his cock. The way he looked when he got close.

His moans fell from his lips with every stroke of your hand. A whimper slipping out when you sped up; wanting to help build him up to the edge. Only for you to pull him back. He gave a weak thrust and a squeeze of his hands on your hips. Turning his head slightly to angle himself with your ear.

“Please, baby.” Dean whispered. Looking at you with those damn eyes. You looked back at him, only for a few long seconds though. Otherwise you’re sure you would’ve gave in. “You’re doing great, Dean. But this is what you deserve.” You say, dragging your thumb down on his lower lip, pulling it away from the other. Watching it snap back to place when your thumb now touched his chin. You remembered the way he acted earlier. Snarky remarks and catching an attitude with everyone who spoke to him. Nobody was sure why he acted like that.

You tried talking to him when it was just you two, to figure out what happened for him to be acting like that. Turns out there was no reason for it. No reason except that he woke up grumpy. And so, here you two are now.

“‘M sorry, won’t happen again, swear.” He said, softly. Still looking at you in hopes for some type of mercy. But you didn’t let up. Only starting to move your hand again just to stop.

When your hand resumed your pace on his dick, Dean groaned and let his head fall back against the pillow again. His back arched slightly and his hips went up to thrust into your hand. Your lips went back to his neck. Sucking hickeys that’ll probably get seen by Sam later. Dean didn’t care, nor did you. Well, sometimes. You did what you could to cover them, whether them being on you or him.

He bucked his hips and gripped your hips tighter. You knew he was close, yet still continued to move your hand. You wanted him to get right there before stopping. Make him think you gave in. And that you did.

His breathing got quicker and soon enough he gave one final thrust into your hand, thinking you finally listened to him. But when you pulled your hand away and set it on his inner thigh, he huffed and frustratingly groaned. His cock twitched quickly and was an angry shade of red. It leaked like a faucet. You ran your hand up and down his thigh. The feeling of your nails lightly scratching him gave him goosebumps.

You moved up close to him once again. Making sure your mouth was near his ear. He looked at you with a soft expression, and all you gave him was a slight smile. In which he scoffed.

“Maybe next time.” You whispered.

[blue-drink]

He is Baby (Extended)

It was cold, so very cold. As December approached, Fawcett city was covered in a fine sheet of snow.

For the most, it was no problem. But for one Billy Batson, it was one of the most difficult problems of the year.

He didn't really have a place to stay; he didn't trust the Rock not to displace him in time, the train station to the Rock wasn't particularly warm, he couldn't get into a homeless refuge without risking being caught CPS, and his usual hideout (a falling-apart building) was at full capacity by other teens in similar situations.

That was sub-problem #1. Sub-problem #2 was food.

After a few visits to the realms of different pantheons; at least half of agriculture-related deities had determined that it just wouldn't do for a boy with so many responsibilities to barely be able to eat, so they (collectively or individually, he couldn't tell) decided to bless him.

A tree he planted would give him any and all types of fruits, so he could always have a healthy snack. If he could get his hands on some bread, it would be tastier and fill him more than it normally should. And things had a tendency not to rot even after several days, so a single harvest of the mini-garden he managed to create would last him so much longer.

Unfortunately; that didn't work when there were no plants to plant or harvest, and he didn't realize the shortage he was about to experience until it was too late to get more than barely enough for November.

After they noticed; his patrons became restless, trying to figure out a way out of this one. Refuge was out of the question, he wouldn't risk it; so was the Rock, and it's station, for not being safe enough; and he wouldn't throw another child into the coldness so he could regain his spot at his hideout.

"The Watchtower?" One had proposed. But it wouldn't do.

He didn't sleep, for all the JL knew, and he wasn't going to deny or confirm anything if it could lead up to his identity being revealed. Also, could he even sleep in his Champion form?

Solomon answered that, while he couldn't get a full night's sleep, even just trying would help his brain do some of the things it did while resting. Still, he couldn't go three full months without actual sleep.

What to do?

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

It was too cold.

He should've expected it, that soon it wouldn't be safe to sleep outside. They told him, that it was too dangerous, that he should stay as Captain Marvel until he finds a place to stay.

But he didn't listen. He'd just come back from the Watchtower, from a 4-hour meeting, and was tired of not being tired.

"It won't snow 'till next week," he told them, like a fool. "The weatherman said so," who would know more? The weatherman or a weather-god?

He went to sleep, and barely woke up to the voices of his patrons screaming inside his head.

"Too cold!" "Danger!" "Wake up!" But what could he even do?

He felt frozen in place, unable to move. He tried to scream, "SHAZAM!" But it was to no use, he'd probably already caught a cold and couldn't talk, let alone scream.

It was so cold, it was warm. The feeling lulling him back to sleep, if only they'd shut up. It was fine, he'd be fine.

They probably realized he'd no longer understand them, because their voices were replaced by images. Ice cube, crossed fire, danger sign. Hands shaking, multiple 'Z's crossed as well.

It only made him more sleepy.

"Billy!!", he recognized the voice as one of the gods. But it wasn't inside his head.

His body moved upwards, as he noticed someone'd taken him from the snow into their arms. It was warm, actually warm. Another level of warm.

The god said something he couldn't decipher at the moment, but he felt the magic moving from the god's body to his own.

What did it do? He'd no idea, as he once again succumbed to sleep. This time incentivized by his patrons.

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

It would've been so much faster to sent Hermes or Apollo to bring the child to Olympus; but, in their panic, the god king had completely forgotten about them (which was a bit embarrassing because Mercury also was in Billy's headspace).

They completely ignored the infirmary in favor of their master room, Hera'd understand. The priority was rising the child's body temperature.

They made a bee-line for the bathroom, and willed the room to be ready. With a hand movement, Billy's clothes changed to a bathing robe (they had the feeling he wouldn't appreciate being naked even if it was a life-or-death situation).

As they lowed the kid into the bathtub; Hermes, Mercury and Apollo appeared at the door. The oldest of their present children went to their side almost immediately, searching healing items in his bag.

The speed-gods went together to their other side, and slowly convinced them to get out of the bathroom and let the sun god work his magic.

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

Warm.

Billy woke up, and it was warm.

Slowly he managed to open his eyes. To the biggest room he's ever been to.

Where was he?

Solomon gladly answered, "It was far too cold for you outside, you were freezing. So Zeus went to get you, you're in their room."

Well, if this was the room of a god, it was far more colorful that he'd ever imagine. Like, he'd expect it to have more white and gold and not so much purple, blue and pink. The floors were a reddish brown, so cool!

Also, he felt great. Like, actually great, "Wow, I'd forgotten one'd feel this good" levels of great. Well, he did feel a little congested; but nothing else hurting absolutely outweigh it!

He heard the door open, and in front of him was a goddess he hadn't met, tho he didn't need Solomon to tell him who she was. That was Hera, if the crown and the peacock-feather necklace were any indicators.

He wondered if he should vow; before Hercules chimed in, saying it's better to play it safe with her. So he vowed.

"There is no need for that," she said. "You're Billy, correct?" He nodded. "Then know that you're as much mine as you're my husband's."

He didn't really understand what she meant by that. But it didn't matter at the moment.

"They've been anxious to see you; so, if you feel alright at the moment, join us in the conference room." Was the last thing she said before turning around and leaving.

He wanted to ask where that was, but Solomon was kind enough to drop a map of the palace in his mind. A little too much information, but it was useful.

He navigated the halls, Mercury creating an arrow towards the destination inside his mind.

In the meantime; he looked around, his brain trying to register every single detail of the place. He’d been to Olympus before, but only as Marvel. When he had a bigger reason to be there, and he instinctually knew where everything was, nothing could surprise him in those moments.

Now everything surprised him. The halls were more like several open rooms, one next to the other. Ten people could be side to side, and they could still walk comfortably. There are also a lot of trash cans, not sure why they would need them tho.

Before he could open the door to the conference room; Mercury ran out of it, tackling him in a hug. He didn't even notice when he stopped being outside the room, and started being inside it.

In one couch was Solomon, beside him was probably Athena. Both were invested in their respective books, but no doubt noticed him. Hercules and Achilles were in another, playing some type of war board game; he honestly couldn't tell who was winning, maybe neither.

Atlas wasn’t there; an image of him holding the sky was pushed to the front of his mind, so that was probably why. Mercury and Hermes were playing some type of game so fast, it was like they weren't moving at all.

And he was seated between Zeus and Hera. They seemed ok with it, the lighting god picked him up and put him on their lap. “How are you feeling now, my champion?” They asked, petting his head.

“Better now, thank you.” He answered truthfully, he felt so much better.

“Are you going to tell him or are you stalling?” Mercury questioned. The king gave a low growl. “They were getting to that.” Hera answered for them.

He turned to the god with curiosity. They put him off their lap, and moved so they could see face to face. Hera moved so she was standing by their side, and pulled some paper from she knows where.

“Well, ...” They stalled, “we are having a baby.” That surprised him, he was somewhat sure they didn't have children since Diana and Donna, much less with their wife. But it was an eventuality. “Oh, congratu—” He was interrupted by Hera slamming the papers in front of him, “It’s you, sign here.”

It would be silent if not for Hercules, trying and failing to hold his laughter. But he was the only one laughing.

Solomon didn’t even pause his reading; Athena did but wasn’t showing any reaction, positive or negative; Achilles was taking advantage of Hercules distraction to cheat the game; Mercury and Hermes were jumping in place; and Atlas, inside his mind, was looking at the situation bored.

Hera had the same serious face as the moment she presented the documents; and Zeus wasn’t laughing, but blushing. So it wasn’t a joke; or the joke was how they told him and not what.

He probably looked like a fish out of water. “... Why?”

Solomon answered, to Zeus relieve, “Because of your situation, it puts you at risk. And you wouldn't accept being adopted by any ‘normal’ family because of your experiences, so this is the best we could come up with.”

He closed his book, “You won’t have to worry about being a homeless teen anymore. Olympus will always be open to you, for you to rest and for you to eat. You won’t have to worry about keeping heroism from your family, because they already know and support you. You won’t have to worry about CPS, the gods have their ways in the systems; you’ll be officially adopted.”

“And if the Justice League finds out, there’ll be nothing they can do about it.” That last part, admittedly, caught his attention more than the rest.

“Explain.”

“If you stay homeless, and they find out, they won’t stop until they make sure you find a home. Because they are ‘heroes’. If you find a human family, and they find out, they can tell them; about you being Captain Marvel, and get you grounded. Which would be detrimental to your position as Champion of Magic; and, therefore, all Magic.”

They met eyes. “But if you stay, they can’t do anything. They cannot take you away, we’ll always find you. They cannot ban you from heroism, we won’t let them, you’ll be a hero for as long as you want. And if they try to ‘kick you out’ or to put you in a different team or treat you different because of your age...”

Hermes completed the thought, “We have a lot of connections, we ARE connections. If they try to leave you without resources, we’ll leave them without help.”

“Okay, pause.” He stopped them from trying to convince him further, “I’m in with no needing to worry about rest, food, or the JL. HOWEVER,” he continued before Mercury could celebrate, “... The ‘leave them without help’, I’m not down with that. They are still heroes, they need the resources to help more people, so... Instead of ‘make it impossible for them to be heroes’, just ‘not help them if they ask’ and ‘leave them to get the resources by their own’? Please.”

He looked towards the god king, “You are too kind for your own good, Billy.”

“Wasn’t that a requirement for the Champion position?” He pointed out.

They sighed, “Fine. If they terminate your position as a teammate; downgrade you; or act different towards you, because of your identity, the Greek and Roman pantheons will cease any help towards them. Leaving them to their own resources.”

“That’s better. Now, where do I have to sign?”

************************************************************************

Prompt:

Second part:

[monkey-overalls]

Project: Eden’s Garden Daily Life Thoughts

Okay, I just finished the Daily Life walkthrough—here are my thoughts so far:

Eva. Eva Freaking Tsunaka. I did not expect her to go from a character I’d basically forgotten about since the prologue to my current favorite. She’s literally everything—it’s hard to put into words how much I love her in all her geeky glory. The fact that her “Ultimate Liar” talent was, in itself, a lie was something I somehow didn’t see coming, but her real talent is definitely more intriguing. Thanks to the let’s-player only choosing her FTEs, we get to know so much about her backstory and how unfairly she was treated by her school, teammates, and the UTP. Of course, some—or even all—of that could also be a lie, but for now I choose to believe she only lied initially to protect herself. Besides, she really doesn’t have much to gain from continuously venting about her past to Damon. I’m pulling a Kaito and believing in her simply because I can!!!

Kai. You bet I’m already attaching myself to the pink-haired, crybaby sidekick. I have a type, and my type is incredibly obvious to literally anyone who’s spent at least five minutes on my blog. He’s obnoxious, whiny, and I can’t help but want to give him a fidget cube and cradle him in a weighted blanket. He’s sopping wet and perfect. I also already shipped him and Damon from the start and boy do I feel vindicated!

Wolfgang. I know he’s the fan-favorite, and it’s easy to see why, but I can’t bring myself to like him all that much because the dude is just so unbelievably shady. Before chapter one, I thought there was a good chance he could be the first victim, especially when he’s so clearly set up as Damon’s narrative foil, but after a while my suspicions turned to Eva (no matter how sick that made me feel). Sorry Wolfgang fans, I actually breathed a sigh of relief when he was revealed to be dead because I was so certain it would be Eva. Hopefully this isn’t me seriously jinxing myself and she turns out to be the killer or something. Also damn his death artwork is brutal.

Uhhh lightning round… Ingrid is so sweet; Applejack is one of my highest kins so you know I’m keeping my eye on this hard-working Southern belle. Toshiko is adorable and her secret made me laugh out loud, though I immediately felt guilty about it. Grace continues to be loud and antagonistic, you go queen. Jett has done nothing of note so far but he’s still at the top of my list for his unmatched Scooby Doo goofiness alone. Diana inviting Eva to be her roommate makes her an automatic winner in my book (and I lowkey ship them) but her questioning of Damon makes me a tad suspicious. My thoughts about Jean can basically be summed up in that one meme that goes something like “I’m gonna be honest, I’m only focusing on your titties right now.” Cassidy’s cool, and I’m almost certain her blackmail picture was a reference to the Jerma onion ring clip. Eloise, Mark, Desmond, Wenona, and Ulysses… exist. Sorry, I don’t have much to say about any of them.

TDLR; Eva Tsunaka lovers unite, Kai sucks but in a lovable way, and RIP Wolfgang I guess lmao

[akimoroll]

nightfall.

yoichi nagumo x fem reader—wc 2.2k—part of a series on ao3—college/uni au. fwb. fluff/smut. mdni.

n/a: continuation of this. if you’re an art student reading this, i apologize!! i know nothing about art school (cries) /// this feels like a filler episode tbh kinda boring and uneventful to me at least lmao so sorry in advance

Tutoring sessions with Nagumo are over and you haven't seen him for over two weeks because of exams. He messaged you a few times during evenings for the first few days but other than that, it was complete utter silence from him. You have gotten used to his presence and it did bother you how quiet he has been. But you weren’t the type to text first, you didn’t even like texting at all. He was being distant so you thought, maybe this was his way of showing push.

Meanwhile, Nagumo was busy staying up in the late hours of the night meeting deadlines, and dealing with the weighty pressure and vulnerability of critiques. But other than that, he was pretty much holed up in his room with a dark cloud of stress over his head. He might have even lost a bit of weight too.

“Do you wanna go see a movie with me after midterms?” He asked you last time you saw each other, to which you said yes. Now that exams are over, he hasn’t made contact yet, not that you were eagerly waiting for his message or anything… Of course not. That’s silly, right?

But you do miss him… Maybe a little bit. “Just his face,” you mused, downplaying whatever it was you were feeling.

As you unlocked your phone, you pursed your lips and went to Instagram. You tried searching for his name (and nickname) but couldn’t find anything. As frustration built up, you turned to your roommate who had just entered the room and asked for her help.

His username had 9 underscores as if he didn’t want to be found. But weirdly enough, for a normal college dude, slash frat boy, slash art student that posted normal college stuff, he had a lot of followers. The accounts he followed were mostly girls, but one stood out—a private account with no display photo. 1 follower, 1 following and hundreds of posts.

Who could that be? You were curious for a hot minute but saw a really cute selfie of him and spent a good chunk of time staring at it. Before you knew it, you had burned the next hours making folders and meticulously sorting the pictures you’ve saved, just as you would with your trading cards collection.

///

The gentle knocking from the door startled you from your sleep. The room was already bright and your roommate had left. Glancing at the bright screen of your phone, you winced before getting up. It’s 9 past 7.

As soon as you opened the door, Nagumo rushed in without a word and immediately began kissing you. He was unusually quiet, almost eerily so, while his hands slipped under your shirt and roamed the skin of your back. You couldn’t say a word with the way he was practically eating your face. He seemed much like a man who had been walking for hours in the scorching heat, chasing you like a tall glass of cold water. He was parched.

He led you to your corner of the room and onto your bed. His body hovering over yours, lips not letting you go. Moments later, you were already naked under him. His hands explored places he hadn’t touched before, his tongue teased the most sensitive spots, turning you into a soaked mess.

He kissed you deeply before letting you go, only to flip you on your stomach with ease. The hairs on the skin of your back raised when his lips grazed your nape, gently trailing their way down your spine. Then he slowly inserted a finger and a few moments later, he added another. His fingers knuckles deep inside you.

There was nothing but the sound of your quiet whimpers and the wet sounds of his kisses as he began preparing you for something else, something that might be too much, something you have found yourself anticipating for. You couldn’t help but moan his name.

“Yoichi…”

Hearing this, he paused, leaving you so hot and bothered. As you waited for what’s to come next, you felt movement behind you and heard fabric rustling—he’s slipping out of his boxers.

He began rubbing his tip to your wet folds as he spread your cheeks wide open, smearing and mixing his and your wetness all over, with his fingers digging the flesh of your ass. Everything was happening way too fast. It felt conflicting but you knew deep down you didn’t want him to stop.

Softly, tenderly, he pushed himself in and out of you. He’s fucking you slowly with your name rolling so sweetly on his tongue like honey—again and again and again.

“Look at you… such a good girl.” He cooed, his voice airy with his lips over your ear. His warmth reached the skin of your back, enveloping you as he rested his whole body on top of you with your face buried in the pillow.

“Lift your hips a little...”

“There you go. Just like that.”

“Fuck…you feel so good.”

And he feels so good too. He kept murmuring your name as he fucks you lazily, your eyes rolling back every time he pushes himself balls deep into you. He was making a mess out of you, your juices dripping down on your clean sheets. Suddenly you didn’t care about getting your bed dirty anymore.

One of his hands began snaking towards your tits, giving it a soft squeeze before lifting your face by the jaw, his two fingers coaxing your lips to open.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered before slowly turning your head so you could face him. You kept your eyes closed as you reluctantly opened your mouth, his tattooed fingers forcing you to taste yourself, “See how good you taste?”

“Open your eyes…look at me.” he murmured, giving each of your eyes a cute kiss before reaching down with his other hand, rubbing slow circles on your clit, just enough pressure to make you squirm under him.

Him seeing you so fucked out and breathless so early in the morning made him fuck you a little faster. And then a little harder. Your whimpery sobs became louder as he continued to thrust himself into you from the back.

“You close? You’re squeezing me.”

“I know you missed me. Let’s take our time, hm?”

“Come on, open your eyes.”

“Look at me.”

“Wake up.”

Wake up?

Your eyes shot up, realizing you had fallen asleep while waiting for him at a diner near campus. You agreed to have brunch together when he finally called in the morning.

That’s what you get when you stay up way too late looking at his pictures. But none of that matters now. Bewildered, you mused, “Wet dreams? Here? Of all places?”

“Falling asleep in public is so unlike you. Are you okay?” He smirked, voice laced with teasing as he sat across from you.

You exhaled deeply as you hid your flushed face with your hands. You couldn’t dare to look at him.

He tilted his head to the side, now with concern, he asked, “Looks like you stayed up late last night. I thought exams were over?”

“Yes, it is over,” you responded immediately. With your voice still raspy, you snapped at him, “I fell asleep because…I waited too long.”

He scoffed lightheartedly before leaning closer to you with a smug grin on his face, “Someone’s excited to see me. I’m not even late.”

You looked at him after checking the time. Frowning from grogginess, you asked nicely, “Can you go ahead and order us food? I can’t form a single thought.”

He looked at you for a moment and noticed how your forehead was glistening with your face all red, he asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay? We can get takeout and eat someplace else if you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine, Nagumo. Please, just order the food.”

///

You continued eating your meal in complete silence, embarrassment still lingering in your mind. Nagumo, on the other hand, kept glancing at you with concern. Eventually, he asked, “So… Friday, movies, right? Unless you have something else in mind?”

“What? I’m not thinking about anything else,” you retorted after a slight flinch.

He responded with a puzzled expression, trying to figure out your mood, “Okay…? I’ll pick you up at 6?”

“Sure,” you replied way too quickly, voice low as you kept your eyes to your food.

He watched you, observing and wondering why you were being quiet and wouldn’t meet his gaze. You typically spoke too little and had a habit of staring. But you were acting strange, almost defensive, like you were hiding something. Reminiscent of that time when you had a misunderstanding, moments before he kissed you for the first time.

“Hey, be a good girl and quit picking at your food,” He teased, attempting to lift the mood and ease you into talking more.

But “good girl” was all you heard. You abruptly locked eyes as you involuntarily inhaled your food, getting it stuck in your throat. He quickly handed you a drink, worry evident on his face while you uncontrollably coughed.

After chugging the drink to its final drop and slamming the glass on the table with more force than necessary, you inhaled deeply and finally spoke, “Never say that again.”

He narrowed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips, he asked, “Not say what?”

“That. What you just said.”

“Not…pick at your food?”

“No,” you groaned, opening your mouth just to close it again as your cheeks started to heat up once more. You collected yourself as you continued, “Nevermind.”

He caught your reaction right away. The small smile he was holding turned into a full blown grin, he teased, “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” you retorted with a defensive hiss.

“Nothing,” he breathed deeply and shifted his gaze out the glass window, pausing before speaking again, “You got me worried there. But it looks like your other personality has come out to play today and taught me something new.”

“If you don’t stop bringing that up, I’ll leave right now,” You exclaimed as you reached for your bag.

He snickered and stood up, sliding his food next to yours and took a seat beside you to block you from leaving. He gently nudged his arm against yours, “Oh come on, we just got here.”

You answered him with a mere eye roll and turned away from him to gaze out the window.

“Hey,” He ran his fingers through your hair, twirling at the tips, his voice gentle, “Look at me.”

You quickly turned to his direction to warn him time and time again to stop touching you unexpectedly. However, his lips touched your cheek, making you blush once again. He smirked, enjoying how endearing you are and wanting to continue stirring your flustered state, he whispered, “I missed you.”

You took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the smile that threatened to come out as you spoke up, your voice softer than intended, “Nagumo, I told you not to touch me so suddenly.”

He nodded and continued eating as if nothing happened. Out of curiosity, he asked, “Why were you up so late last night anyway? Thought you have schedules and stuff.”

As you calmed down, you answered honestly, “I was feeling restless.”

He chuckled, “Bet you were thinking of me.”

Your bluntness continued as you went back to eating as well, “Yes, but also, no. I was actually wondering why there are so many underscores in your username. It seems quite inefficient for typing. Also, the topless pics, seriously? Have some decorum. And while we are on the subject of decorum, apart from your friends, you only follow people from the opposite sex. What’s up with that?”

Like always, he was surprised and slightly taken aback by your honesty but the thought of you stalking his socials made him nearly choke on his food. You had always been distant, didn’t ask questions about himself, he was the one constantly reaching out. He had gotten used to you not paying much attention to him, just hanging out with you was enough for him. So hearing everything and you being so blunt about it, made him feel things.

He teased with an accusatory tone, “Oh, so you were stalking me. You could’ve just messaged me and told me you miss me, you know?”

You retorted, “Why would I? That’s exactly what you want me to do.”

He pressed further, grinning, “So you did miss me.”

“I didn’t say that,” you stubbornly denied, your voice sounding firm.

“Why were you looking me up then?” He inquired, his tone laced with intrigue.

You pondered for a good while, carefully choosing the right words before responding, “You need to know your opponent in order to defeat them, correct?”

He smirked, a hint of challenge in his voice as he rested his cheek on his palm, observing you, “This is all just a game to you, hm?”

You mirrored him, speaking calmly, “I could say the same about you.”

He nodded, suppressing a chuckle by smiling, “Well played, but you’re not supposed to show your hand to me.”

You smiled back, “What makes you think I’ve shown you everything?”

[kowbelll]

Rules on request??

Can you do one where Stiles finds out his girlfriend has a chronic illness like lupus or something and he adjust his life to be there every step for her. Even the time in the hospital he stays and sleeps in the bed with her holding her. He always seemed like he would be the golden retriever type 🩷 and she doesn’t or does know about the pack you choose

This is literally the sweetest request ever and so on brand for him! I decided to "give" her something else because I don't know anything about lupus. I am definitely not a medical expert of any kind and I do not claim to be, but I have a couple family members who have the chronic illness I chose, so I am slightly familiar with it. Everyone should always do their own research though! What I wrote mostly focuses on the events before finding out, but I can continue this and go into more detail on what happens afterwards if people would like me to. Also, I apologize, but the last third, give or take is kind of rushed. I hope you like it though! Thank you for the request!

Also, I will take any request with a grain of salt and tweak things if I need or want to. But I'm open to anything!

Battle Together

Word count: 1,658

His heart was racing and falling at the same time. There was no way this was actually happening, right? Not to her.  

His hands shook as he gripped his phone to his ear. Focusing on Scott’s voice was getting increasingly more difficult as he tried not to spiral. Why didn’t her dad tell him? Why wasn’t he with her right then, holding her hand and sweeping away her worries. Shit, he was so worried, and Scott clearly didn’t know all of what was actually going on.  

“Scott, wait, what are you saying?”  

“She’s here. In the hospital. All my mom told me was that she passed out and now they’re doing brain scans.” His friend was plainly shaken up too. 

Brain scans? Stiles felt sick. Everything he witnessed his mother go through when he was a little boy crashed into him all over again. What if this was the same thing? What if she had what his mom had? What if- 

“I’m on my way.” 

Stiles broke nearly every traffic law in existence as he raced to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, to his beloved girlfriend. He needed to get there as fast as possible; he needed to know what was going on. He absolutely despised being out of the loop. 

Frantically sprinting into the building and nearly running into not one, but two nurses who were going home for the night, he arrived at the front desk. But where the hell was Melissa? 

His feet almost left the floor when the sweet voice broke through his rapid breathing, saying, “Oh good, you’re here. Come with me.” 

Stiles turned to look at the curly-haired, soft-eyed woman. He couldn’t help that his voice trembled as soon as he opened his mouth. “What’s going on? Is she ok? Did something happen to her? Have they found anything yet? Why did-” 

“Stiles.” Melissa placed her aged hands on his shoulders in an attempt to ground him. “Breathe. Everything’s going to be fine. She’s going to be fine.” 

“Do you really know that...?” he asked hesitantly. 

She paused for a moment, understandably. There was no way to know anything for sure. Not yet, at least. 

“Let’s just go see her for now, ok?” 

He nodded and let her guide him to his girlfriend’s room. As they walked, Ms. McCall told him everything she knew. She explained that the poor girl had passed out in the kitchen while helping her dad prepare dinner, banging her head on the corner of the granite countertop and burning her forearm with spilled gravy in the process. Her father practically carried her to the car as soon as she hazily woke up and brought her in to the hospital. Her second-degree burn was cleaned and treated before the doctor decided to check for a concussion. Hearing the true explanation for the CT scan relatively eased Stiles’ nerves, but there was still so much to decipher. He needed to see her, preferably immediately. 

They reached the door of the room she was checked into when they moved her from the ER. However, Melissa did not reach for the handle, causing Stiles to give her a look of curiosity. 

“Stiles,” she started, exhaling a deep breath, “I want you to be prepared for whatever this is.” 

His curiosity deepened and twisted as the spires of concern within him sharpened and stood taller. “Wha- what does that mean?” 

“It means that, sometimes, something as small as passing out isn’t always as small as it seems...”  

The woman’s eyes were filled with a specific type of pain, one that Stiles was familiar with, but hadn’t seen in her for years. Since he was so young when his mother was sick, he never truly realized how much agony Melissa experienced as she watched a dear friend (and that friend’s family) of hers suffer. It brought her a horrible aching sensation to see the damage a singular disease could inflict on three good, genuine people, and not be able to do something significant to help. That was her job – to help. But there was really nothing she or anyone was capable of to improve the situation.  

Stiles swallowed in a faulty attempt to soothe his suddenly dry throat. He simply nodded, and in return, the sweet nurse gave him an empathetic smile. Of course, she didn’t want to scare him with what she said, but she had given bad news too many times that week. 

“Are you ready?” 

He sighed, trying to take her advice and finding it incredibly arduous. “Yeah, I think so.” 

As they quietly entered, Stiles’ eyes softened upon seeing the girl who stole his heart sitting up on the hospital bed. She looked incredibly tired, but watching her mouth curve upwards when her gaze met his made him feel like the luckiest man alive. Not because of the situation, obviously, but because that cute little smile was for him.  

“Hey, stranger.” Her raspy voice was surprisingly gleeful, all things considered. Perhaps Stiles just had that effect on her. 

“Hey,” he chuckled. “You feeling ok?” 

She simply shrugged and glanced at her father who was standing next to the bed.  

Begrudgingly, the man cleared his throat and excused himself from the room.  He supposed that giving the lovebirds no more than a couple minutes wouldn’t result in an utter catastrophe, even when Stiles is one of the pair in question, who hastily sat down on the edge of the bed as soon as the door clicked closed.  

“Are you sure you’re ok? Do you need me to get you anything? What can I do?” He took her hands into his. 

Her smile grew as she saw the love and devotion he had for her, not to mention the worry. She didn’t want him to stress himself out, but she had to admit that those wide eyes were adorable.  

“I’m fine, I swear. Just... stay with me for a while?” she said, her voice turning bashful. 

“Absolutely. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Got that?” His hands squeezed hers as he leaned forward. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, her face approaching his, “I got that.” 

As if he had a sixth sense for his daughter’s desires, the man swiftly entered the room again, causing both of the teens’ head to lurch backwards. Stiles tried to be sly as he slowly and awkwardly pulled his hands away and stood from the bed, backing away cautiously. A doctor stood in the doorway, along with Melissa. 

“Dr. Vandenberg wants to run a few more tests while we wait for the CT scan results, just in case it’s not a concussion.” Her father began pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I have some things I need to do for work, but I’ll be back in the morning, alright? Is that ok with you?’  

The information that was sprung on her felt like a spear piercing her spine and sending a poison of anxiety rushing through her bloodstream. All she could do was nod. There was no other option, anyway.  

He nodded back at her before his eyes locked onto Stiles. “You’re staying with her.” 

It was more of a command than anything, but the boy would never object to that regardless of whose mouth those words left.  

“Yes, sir.”  

Stiles was by her side for as many tests as he was permitted. He could tell that this was more frightening for her than she was divulging; it was harrowing. Therefore, he desperately desired to bring her some semblance of comfort. And he succeeded, to a degree. 

Afterwards, their time together was briefly ceased while he picked up the closest thing to a couple of “real” burgers Beacon Hills could provide. They contentedly ate their late dinner together, squished against one another once she made room for him next to her. He kissed away the condiment that was smeared on the corner of her mouth, making her giggle.  

Additionally, he held her close and kept his eyes glued to her form, making sure she was snuggly falling asleep without interruption. Without realizing it, he, too, was swept away into a slumber. Their trepidations momentarily fizzled and were replaced by fantasy-filled dreams, and morning rolled in fast. 

When her father returned, the doctor explained the various test results they received. Stiles’ girlfriend was officially diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), a chronic illness which frequently inflicts dizziness and fainting due to a lower blood volume returning to the heart. It can be managed with an increased intake of salt and water, but will be part of her for the rest of her life.  

Stiles felt a surge of anger at the news – there was nothing he could do to make this nuisance of a disease go away and his girlfriend did nothing to deserve it. However, he swore to himself that he would stay by her side, hold her hand, and keep her safe whenever her body got the best of her.  

He kept his promise throughout the rest of school, their engagement after he proposed, and their marriage. He did whatever he could to help, whether necessary or not. He always went the extra mile for her, even though it wasn’t an illness that would debilitate her from living her life. However, it was definitely inconvenient and dangerous at times. 

There was an instance in which she passed out while driving on the freeway, leaving her car to drift into the guard rails. Thankfully, there was very little traffic, so no one else got hurt. However, she was back in the hospital with a few minor injuries and her husband (for every minute of the stay).  

This battle was never fought alone, and Stiles had a unique talent for making her feel cared for without any semblance of being coddled. He knew how admirably strong she was and exactly when she needed him to step in and hold her. POTS would not break her, nor their bond.