#its been 24 hours and I'm still a mess

[starboye]

pairing: vinnie hacker x male reader

wanrings: smut, blowjob, cursing

summary: giving vinnie head while he's streaming

a/n: idk how to feel about this one chat

"vin can we please do something else" you whine tugging his shirt lightly "y/n c'mon i'm streaming" vinnie says turning to look at you "you've been streaming for the past 5 hours cant you take some time with me" you plea "i promise we'll do something later" he says "but i wanna do something now" you continue to pester "inna a minutes i promise" vinnie reassures turning his focus back to the stream.

you walk back too your room and flop on the bed with a loud huff, you lay there for a while before conjuring a plan in your head so you get up and head back to vinnies room, sneakily crawling your way in and under vinnies desk "y/n whare you doing" vinnie asks glaring down at you "nothing" you nonchalantly say palming vinnies now hardening dick.

"this isn't funny" vinnie says with a hushed voice so the stream wouldn't hear him "well you didn't wanna do anything with me" you say slowly pulling his pants down before his cock springs out "please stop" vinnie pleas "do you really want me to stop" you say licking his tip "n-no" vinnie lowly says "then don't mind me you can go back to playing your game" you smile before sinking your mouth onto vinnies dick.

vinnie leans back up and goes back to gaming but with every lick you make on his tip or every time his dick hits the back of your throat he struggles to control his moans withe each one becoming more and more apparent "you good vin" one friend asks vinnie through is mic "ye-yeah just a little hungry" vinnie says silencing a moan "you sure" the friend asks "yeah im sure" vinnie reassures.

"are you sure vinnie" you say smacking his dick on your tongue making vinnie silently whine "you want me to all the way" you ask locking eyes with vinnie "please" vinnie whimpers lowly as his chat begins to blow up with messages "omg is vinnie getting head" "y/n's def under the desk" "not vinnie getting head" is a few vinnie sees before internally freaking out.

vinnie abruptly and quickly turns off stream to avoid anymore suspicion "looks like someone is desperate or this" you smirk "shut up just please keep sucking" vinnie groans throwing his head back in the chair "fine" you chuckle before sinking back onto his dick, bobbing your head up and down and working wonders with your mouth.

"fuckkk" vinnie moans out gripping the arm rests tightly, you continue working wonders with your mouth as vinnie sloppily trusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust upward "its so warm" vinnie huskily say "m'gonna cum" he moans pushing your head deeper on his dick.

his cum spurts deep in your mouth before he pulls out and watches the mess he made all over you face "swallow" vinnie murmurs, you oblige and swallow all his cum down with a big gulp "looks like you made a mess" you laugh licking the leftover cum and saliva from vinnies still twitching cock.

"yeah and sorry for not giving you the attention you needed earlier" vinnie sweetly says "eh you're good this was way better anyways" you grin "you look better covered in my cum" vinnie says "careful what you wish for or ill be milking this dick 24/7" you say "that not the worst idea" vinnie chuckles

[fushigur0ll]

24/7 SURVEILLANCE

꒰ ♡ ꒱ — you snuck in the kitchen late at night to eat all the sweets but earth42!miles catches you [ sequel to in sickness & in health ]

including; kisses, you getting caught eating cake, miles carrying you, cuddles and black fem reader!!! not proofread, ignore mistakes

“i’m not even gonna lie, i’m not in the least bit surprised” miles announced out-loud, making you flinch and yelp, turning around to face him with your mouth messy from the cake and icing.

It was around 5 AM, and miles was rolling into yet another comfortable position in bed when he realized that he wasn't holding you in his arms. He had been hugging air for about an hour now, and as he looked at the bed, he noticed that you were no longer there. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern.

"Babe.." he called out, but received no response other than the faint sound of padding downstairs. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, stretched his limbs, and with a groan, swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He walked across the room towards the door and exited as quietly as possible, hearing the fridge opening and closing. As he walked towards the kitchen, he heard you curse in a loud whispering tone. He saw you struggling to take off the plastic from the cake container, but they made too much noise.

He watched as you huffed in frustration and stepped back, staring at the vanilla cake sitting in its container. You thought to yourself, "If I were to just take it off, it would make too much noise and wake up my beloved sleeping boyfriend." Unbeknownst to you, he was already downstairs, leaning against the doorframe and watching you with amusement.

You sighed and touched the container again, staring at it before taking a deep breath and coughing as loudly as you could to rip off the container. The way you ripped it off was so delayed to your coughing that he wanted to laugh right then and there. However, he held back his laughter and watched as you did a little dance in celebration.

‘cute’ he thinks to himself. you get a fork and start eating the cake, moaning and humming in delight from the taste of vanilla swarming in your mouth.

"I'll have a few more bites, then I'm done," you mumbled to yourself with a mouthful of cake, your words slightly muffled. Miles heard you nonetheless and watched as you took a few more bites which turned to another few more and more and more and more— so you basically lied to yourself but the cake was just too good! you continued to enjoy the half-eaten cake.He glanced at the clock and saw that it was 5:49 AM. Shaking his head, he decided to bring you back to bed. He wanted to present himself to you, and that's where the beginning of this story began and now continues.

you stared at Miles after he announced himself with a fork in your hand, covered in cake. Your mouth was also covered in cake, and even the tip of your nose was smudged with it. Miles couldn't help but laugh as he looked at the mess you had made. You continued to chew and swallow whatever was left in your mouth while still staring at him.

"hi baby!" you smiled and grabbed a paper towel to wipe your mouth off. Miles composed himself and walked towards you, taking the towel from your hand to wipe your mouth. He held your chin and tilted it up to get a better view of what he had to clean.

“so you escape from my arms to come and eat cake because i said no yesterday when you were sick” he raises an eyebrow and you look away

“..because you were being unfair- but me being unfair got you better no?” he cuts you off and smirks when he sees you glare and huff.

“tired of you” you mumble but collapse into his chest hugging him tightly and he hugs you back, kissing your head.

“did you at least enjoy the cake” he asks, looking down at you and you stare back up at him with your chin on his chest.

“it was so good” you whisper, shaking your head and he chuckles, patting your bonnet/hair wrap protected head. “wanna go back to bed now?” he asks removing his arms from you to put the fork in the sink and putting the plastic back on the cake with your arm still around his torso. he looks at you when he was finished and hoists your up and over his shoulder making you yelp and hold his lower back.

“MILES- BOY WHATS WRONG WITH YOU” you panic, kicking your legs and he just pinches your thigh making you hiss and give up. “i hate you”

“you love me” he retorts

“i do, i really do” you sigh helplessly and he laughs, walking out the kitchen and turning off the light on his way out.

he stops suddenly and scrunches up his face. you get confused. “baby? you okay?” you try to look at him from upside down and just as he was about to say something he lets out a huge and ugly sneeze. his eyes widen and then puts you down, glaring at you to which you blink up at him in confusion

“something happened?” you frown and cup his cheeks but they suddenly feel warm so you feel his neck and forehead.

“miles you’re burning up-ohhhhhhh..wooow” you realize as to why he’s glaring at you and suck your lips in trying refrain from laughing but he notices and pounces at you but you were too quick and was already running up the stairs cackling with him right behind you also too fast and caught up with you. he flings you over his shoulder again and sighs, walking towards the bedroom with you giggling drunkly upside down

“and what did i say yesterday?” he grumbles, gently throwing you on the bed, causing you to bounce on it.

"Uhh... that you love me?" you blinked flirtatiously, but all he did was hit you with a pillow, making you laugh even more. He fell on top of you and sighed, sniffling.

“now i have to take care of you” you smile, rubbing the back of his neck and cheek, feeling him doze off on your chest as he just mumbles incoherent things.

“lucky i love you..would’ve thrown you in the garbage can” he mutters tiredly, getting comfortable on your body and you snicker.

“certainly lucky, very lucky indeed”

fushigur0ll © 2022 all rights reserved. do not plagarize, translate, or post to other sites please.

[r0se1111]

Can't stop thinking about being Ford's assistant and you're there when Stan shows up and the portal mess happens... you just lost your best friend, and sure his brother might be a bit weird but dammit you are not leaving this weird little town until Ford is back! So you and Stan work together and live together trying to get him back... you eventually agree with his whole "Mystery Shack" business and fall into a sort of strange but comfortable domesticity.

You teach him about interdimensional physics and quantum engineering, and he teaches you how to be a better liar and how to mark up prices just enough that people don't complain. The two of you get greasy meals at midnight in grimy 24/7 diners after hours of trying to decipher Ford's journals... you take long car rides listening to the fuzzy radio... you watch shitty TV together and who really minds if his arm finds its way around your shoulder, or if his hand wanders a little too close to your thigh to be considered platonic. It's really not a big deal you tell yourself, if you find his over-the-top 'Mr. Mystery' act more endearing than annoying, and if the wall between your two rooms seems a bit too thick some nights.

And well, it's just natural that you two get married a few years down the line because "Mr. Mystery needs a Mrs. Mystery... just think of all the merchandise we could sell!" and if Stan blushes when he sees you in your thrifted white dress on the way to the local courthouse- well he's never seen me dressed up, that's all- and if the rings you exchange are definitely more than you two can really afford but no less meaningful, you don't blink an eye.

It's not until 30 years later and the twins have come into your life, between Mabel's puppies-and-rainbows attitude towards love, more specifically the love she swears to see between you and Stan, as well as watching the man bond in an almost fatherly way to Dipper (who reminds you so much of Ford it hurts sometimes) that you begin to reevaluate your guys' relationship. The little touches, the playful flirting, the hours spent in each other's company. What once was a marriage of convenience, a relationship which you could swear was just two good friends, now is subject to your critical review as you shakily realize. Shit. I'm in love.

Before you can figure out how to tell your husband of 30 years you're in love with him, ta-da Ford is back! He's shocked to find that his brash brother and quiet assistant are now married, and after watching your interactions for a few days assumes it is a marriage of love. It's not until you ramble to him in a panic that you "have feelings for Stan and probably have since you'd first met him but we only got married for practicality and he probably doesn't see me like that and we just flirt for fun and he's your brother what do I do??"that Ford sighs heavily and in true annoying brother fashion, forces the two of you to confront each other.

I bet you didn't see this coming reader, but ofc Stan returns your feelings with a sort of blinking awe. He's torn between a sort of excited "I've still got it" and a sheepish "It took us 30 years of MARRIAGE to realize we like-like each other Jesus Christ..." But your relationship had already been so couple-y that the two of you adjust easily.

ALSO also... since Stan faked his death and took Ford's identity technically you're married to Ford... he very graciously divorces you (sorry Ford girlies... it's just for this imagine </3) and you and Stan have an Actual Wedding where you two are Officially In Love. Same little courthouse, same too-expensive rings, but different because now you are surrounded by family and friends as you happily enter officially married life. Sigh... idiots in love <3

[thelastofhyde]

hit the road, jack!

pairing. ex!jack daniels x fem!reader synopsis. the last time you sat in jack’s infamous bronco, you broke his heart. now, a year later, you’re sitting in it with a mud-stained wedding dress and he’s driving you back to the man you left at the altar. is one night, a thousand miles, and a well-timed car radio enough to remind you of the love you shared? warnings. road trip au, exes to lovers, runaway bride!reader, mutual pining, miscommunication/no communication, idiots in love, exes in love, minor character death, infidelity, one ( 1 ) comment regarding food restriction, mentions of period, smut ( unprotected piv, dirty talk, sex in public spaces, implied creampie, fairly non-descriptive ) the reader of this fic is mostly non-descript, with mentions of having hair long enough to stick to her neck when wet and hands smaller than jack's. word count. 14.7k hyde's input. quick disclaimer that this fic was admittedly better in my head, but i tried my best :') it unfortunately never got to reach it's full potential as my friends dragged me off on an unexpected trip on friday for my birthday (which is today aka the 23rd). because of that, i've not had time to finish the last few scenes as well as i'd hoped to (it's literally 5 am as i'm editing it bc it's the only chance i've had) but i don't want to post this any later as this is my entry to the #SummerLovin'24 event, organised and hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery & @amanitacowboy , a massive thank you to them for creating such a fun event. i really enjoyed taking part and i can not wait to sink my teeth into the other amazing fics from this event. if you care to listen, here is a playlist of songs mentioned/featured in the fic.

INTRO — silver springs.

“Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

Stevie Nicks et al chant out of old speakers, a bass blown out over time and an intruding static that demands to play alongside the band. Perched upon the bar counter, they sit adjacent to a cash register that shakes each time it opens, a slam seemingly the only way to close it. The swish of a mop over chequered vinyl flooring and the squeaks of a waitress’ coffee-stained sneakers play to their own tune. The passing of time turns it all to background noise.

Through lunch, through dinner, and two shift changes you’ve survived. Out in the parking lot now sits only a semi-truck, its drivers, two men in scuffed boots and jeans that fray at their seams, the only other customers that remain. One tucks into a Sloppy Joe, the other has fallen asleep against the table, his coffee turning as cold as your own.

You ordered the coffee for nothing more than an excuse to sit a while longer. Time for figuring out what’s next. What you’ll do, where you’ll go, how you’ll get there. The elderly couple who’d been kind enough to take you off the side of the road, moving luggage into the trunk to make space for you in the backseats, are now long gone from the roadside diner.

It wasn’t a sorrowful departure. You were quite happy to see them leave, and take their pitiful glances and unasked questions with them. The looks still linger on in others. Each pair of eyes you’ve encountered, dragging over the expanse of your messed up hair, and your smudged eyes, and your mud-stained gown. It’s not hard to imagine the scenes they play out in their heads, of a bride scorned and abandoned on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, a day meant for vows and first dances twisted into one of heartbroken wandering and roadside pit-stops.

You wonder if any of them know you’re not the victim, but the aggressor. The one who fled, leaving behind a bouquet of striped carnations, marigolds, and purple hyacinths.

Tires crunch on gravel as a car rolls into the parking lot. Whichever fool sits behind the wheel has their full beams on. A light flickers over your head. It’s been doing so for the past hour, an irritating reflection in the window that steals your attention back into the diner.

The waitress is eyeing you again, a weary look on her face that tells you she wants to approach but doesn’t know how. Maybe she wants to ask if you’re okay, or enquire about the events that led you here, deep in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe she just wants you to close your tab and leave. 

The bell above the door rings as it opens. It’s been a while since you heard it do so. A smile comes over the waitress as she greets the newcomer. Her eyes seem to take them in, slowly. From top to bottom, and right back to the top. Innocent, if not a little flirtatious. She’d not looked at either of the truckers that way. Perhaps this is her lover, here to wait about and keep a watchful eye as she works the night shift. You can’t imagine it’s the safest place in the world for a woman to find herself working through the twilight hours, nothing but open road and sky-rise trees surrounding the diner.

A sip from your coffee. It’s as cold as you expected. Bitter too, having not found your voice in time to ask for sugar. Your stomach growls, a plea for a meal. If you’d only stayed at the venue, you’d be full of vanilla frosting, and smoked oysters, and… had it been the coronation chicken or the roast sirloin the wedding planner had gone with in the end? You can’t remember. What you do remember is her unwanted advice: just stick to some light bites, no bride wants a food-baby in her pictures.

In retrospect, you’d disliked her from the moment you met her. But you had no desire to plan a wedding. And no time either, much to your future mother-in-law’s chagrin. So out she’d gone, a cat on the hunt, dragging home some mousy-brown haired wedding planner as a sacrificial lamb. Better it be her than you who stresses over the shade of napkins, and the taste of merlots, and the seating arrangements.

Footsteps thud against the floor. Slow, deliberate, not a stumble in the way they move. You stare back out the window and spy a cowboy hat reflected in it. It belongs to the waitress’ lover, who by now is likely making his way over to pull her in real close and swoon her with a kiss only men blessed by southern charm possess.

A different version of you, a happier version, used to be kissed like that every morning.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice of a man echoes. Softly spoken, yet loudly heard in the quiet of the diner. In the window, the cowboy hat stands right behind you. You turn slowly, let your eyes dance over its owner. Like a sculpture plucked out of ancient Rome, he’s a fine art only the most delicate hands could shape. He’s brown-eyed affection. He’s an aquiline nose. He’s a well-groomed moustache. He’s Jack. “Think it’s a few miles up north they’re expecting a pretty bride.”

Leather jackets and well-fitted jeans have been traded in for a suit. Simple, classic. White shirt, black tie, a trademark cowboy hat you’d never failed to spot amongst any crowd. There’s a crinkle where a cheeky grin meets eyes framed by full brows and lashes, a scar on his right temple a reminder of the kind of man he is. Dauntless, righteous, brave. An undercover agent, posing as the CFO of one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the world. 

An illusion plays out where no time has passed and his is still the face you come home to each night. A lot can change in a year, however, like the bed you sleep in, or the ring upon your finger.

He welcomes himself into the seat across from you. The protective barrier of a water-ring stained table keeps a safe distance between you both, yet you still feel his knee knock against your own as he makes himself comfortable. One arm stretched over the backrest, the other rests against the table and drums a nervous tune with his fingers.

“You’ve worried a lot of people, darliln’,” his gaze studies you. You wonder if it’s the same look he used to give his targets. The thought sours the sweetness of seeing his pretty eyes after all these months. “Runnin’ off like that, not even a hoot or a holler to let your daddy know you’re alright.”

Your dad. He’d slipped off to the bathroom, a kiss to your cheek and a promise he’d be back in time to walk you down the aisle. What must he have thought, rounding the corner to the sight of a bouquet, abandoned a la Cinderella and her glass slipper. Before you stew in guilt for too long, the rest of Jack’s words catch up to you.

He knew you ranaway. That glimpse of a cowboy hat amongst the pews had not been an illusion.

Jack was at the wedding.

“What happened?” His hand seeks you out. Warm as you remember him to be, large enough to engulf your smaller palm in his. “Why’d you run?” You stay quiet. Shrug your shoulders, eventually, and stare down as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You gonna give me a proper answer, sweetheart?”

Another shoulder shrug leads Jack to a sigh. There’s a pause in the quiet tension brewing between you, in the shape of the smiling waitress, pen and pad in hand. Her eyes seem to dart between you both, and you can almost hear her wondering who Jack is, if he’s the man you were meant to meet at the end of the aisle. There’d been a time when yes was the only possible answer to such a question.

“A glass of your finest whiskey. Neat, of course. And how ‘bout somethin’ to please a sweet tooth, hm?” His foot bumps yours beneath the table, calling you to look at him. You meet his eyes, watch him raise his brows in question. “Spied a pretty mean lookin’ cherry pie on my way in. That sound good to you, darlin’?” Your mute staring continues. Your stomach takes control, answers him with a disgruntled growl from within. His head turns to the side, laughing, and he nods at the waitress. “Think she’s gonna need a slice of that pie, miss!”

The right to speak returns to you at last, as you watch the glass of liquid caramel be placed down in front of him, head turning to stare out the window, a familiar Bronco sits poorly parked, obnoxious in the way it treads the line of two parking spaces.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

Surprise flashes over his face, but he recovers quickly, untensing his shoulders as he sinks further into the booth. “Didn't order it for me,” he slides the glass of whiskey over to you. “Eat up, drink up. You need it.”

Though it kills you to admit it, the first bite out of the pie feels like heaven in your mouth. Tart, sweet, with pastry so golden it’s as if King Midas baked it under the heat of his own hands. A sip of the whiskey isn’t so great, but you stomach the burn and accept the erasure of nerves it promises. Your eagerness to clear the plate and empty the glass has nothing to do with the approving smile Jack watches you with.

“How did you find me?” 

“You doubtin’ my skills?” He’s teasing. You know this. Still, you fall into the trap of a panicked head shake, a cough over the final bite of cherry goodness. “I stopped at a gas station. Runnin’ on an empty in the middle of nowhere ain’t on my list of wants, you see. Overheard two kids talkin’ about some bride sittin’ at a dinner a few miles down. Don’t take no Hercule Poirot to figure it was you”

“Oh.”

You shouldn’t feel disappointed by his answer, there’s no reason a man you hurt so deeply would have any vested interest in finding you.

The last you’d seen of Jack was through your car’s rear-view mirror, his tear stricken face watching you drive away, five years of clothes, and shoes, and memories stuffed into your car. He’d begged you not to leave your shared home; offered to sleep in the spare room, give you both time to work things out between you. You’d been the one to declare it useless.

“This isn’t something we can fix, Jack!”

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

“A happy coincidence, I was lookin’ for ya anyway. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours yet?” At least this time your mute stare is paired with a head shake. “Look, I mean well when I say this, but darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mighty mess. Now, a pretty mess that may be, but a mess all the same.” His hand is back on yours, squeezing with enough strength to ground you and keep you from floating off into the landscape of your own conflicted mind. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take a trip to the gents, then I’m gonna square up whatever we owe this fine establishment, and then we’re gettin’ that pretty caboose of yours up'n out of here.”

Frozen where you sit, it takes a few moments for the warmth of whiskey to settle in your bones, lurching you forward when it does, a gasp and a tight grip at his wrist, holding him back before he can stroll away from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

You and Jack are no strangers to a late night drive.

An entire love story, told within the confines of four wheels and a chassis. The very night you met, you wound up in his passenger seat, arms up in the air and the wind blowing through your hair, the charming cowboy next to you taking every joyful laugh as a plea to go faster, nothing ahead but the open road and a southern voice crooning out of the radio. Too lost in your own head, that’s what he’d claimed you to be, having strolled up to a lonely-you in a crowded bar, lamenting over a glass of bitter white wine, freshly fired and with no real clue of what you were going to do next. Never one to entertain a stranger, you’d tried to brush him off, but he flashed that smile and invited you, so tenderly as the intro to a Bruce Springsteen song began to play, to just give him one dance.

One dance led to unimaginable love.

As time passed, a relationship burst into full bloom, the imprint of you carved into the car’s leather. Jack insisted you grow accustomed to the life of a passenger princess. He picked you up from work, drove you to all your girls’ night outs, sacrificed hours of necessary sleep to drop you at airports, and train stations, and whatever other public transport your work trips demanded you to travel upon. But how could you dream of saying no when you got to ogle the view of him, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, effortlessly manoeuvring his beloved vehicle. 

The car came on couples' vacations, too, road trip getaways. Up north, past the Canadian borders, and down south to the skyline of Mexico City. Out west, a trail up to the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building in the east. But the late night drives, those were your favourite. Times when life felt too much, with work stressing you out, or your parents giving you grief, or a stress headache gnawing away at your remaining sanity, Jack would tug you wordlessly out into the driveway, buckle your seatbelt, and drive off into the night. Roof down, radio on, the cool breeze clearing your mind.

The only breeze you feel now blows in through an open window.

Pulling away from the diner, Jack turned the wheels south, out into the dark of the night. Trees wall the road in, a never ending sea of pine-green lit by headlights, the looming presence of a dark, dangerous, rumbling sky above. A storm brews ahead, awaiting the perfect moment to crack open and drop a downpour on the world. Little words have been exchanged between you, most of them spoken by Jack, as he tells you about the nightmare he had checking in at his hotel, and the difficulty he had finding the venue, and just how beautiful you look in your dress, tears tracks and messy hair aside. Softly playing over the radio, Billy Joel seems to speak to you, pleading that you slow down, you crazy child.

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

Your head snaps over to Jack. His eyes remain on the road ahead, and a part of you is thankful, unsure of how you’d fare gazing into them as melancholy tangles itself in their shades of brown. The other part misses how it used to feel to catch him watching you from the driver’s seat, affection incarnate as his loving gaze burned heat into your cheeks, your own voice pleading him to pay attention to the road, the light’s already green, Jack!

“How could I forget you almost getting us kicked out of Saint Peter’s church?”

“Hey, now darlin’, let’s not start playin’ the blame game!” His head turns once in your direction, a teasing smile splashed upon his rosy lips. You try not to think about how you’ve felt that very smile pressed against your mouth, memorised the shape of it so perfectly you could draw it with your eyes shut. “You knew what you were doin’ wearin’ that pretty little sundress.”

The dress in question had been a purposeful attack, an attempt at getting payback for the night prior, in which Jack found pleasure in reducing you to tears, begging for release hour after hour, after hour of edging touches. Never the best at putting up a fight against his pouting lips, pleading eyes, and filthy tongue, you’d caved into his hands the moment they skimmed their way up the length of your thigh, the watchful eyes of any Lord above be damned.

“I still dream of the garden’s at Schönbrunn Palace,” a sigh floats out of you as your brain hits play on a kaleidoscope of memories of strolling the grounds, hand in hand with a man you’d imagined yourself being with for the rest of your life.

If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? He’d asked, as you watched a couple get engaged before your very eyes.

Promise me we’ll get married here, and I’ll consider it.

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

“The boat!” The patterns in the kaleidoscope shift into images of a viennan skyline reflected upon glassy waters, a city cruise dragging you down the canal. “I still can’t believe you fell off it!”

“I jumped.”

“Backwards? Just admit it, you fell into that water!”

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

“Oh, don’t worry, me and the coast guard were definitely laughing!”

A silence settles between you both. Jack drums his fingers along to the closing notes of the song, your foot does the same. It crosses your mind that this, in itself, may very well be a dream. Sitting back in the Bronco, staring over at Jack as he drives you both into the aimless night. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s visited your dreams.

You watch him inhale, deeply. With a blink, his eyes reflect the moonlight, glassy with unfallen tears, the image of him too beautiful to be fiction. 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left Vienna.”

His words cut you deep, the sorrow he speaks them with cuts you deeper. Barely a week back in your own home, suitcases still unpacked, pulling into the driveway hours after the unexpected funeral of a friend, you broke both your hearts.

All that goes up must come down and, in the very same place your relationship started, it ended. Sat across from him, rain beating down on the windows, tears trailing down your face. He begged you to stop before those words came out of your mouth, tried his best to switch the engine back on and pull out into the road. You’re just stressed, darlin’, he’d said, a deceptive whine in his voice cracking his straight-faced facade. Just need to clear your head, right? Lemme take ya for a drive. It was too late, your own hand curling back around the handle and forcing the door open, the water from outside flooding in. I’m sorry, I can’t be with you. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you exhale, shaky. Swallowed emotions, a tight lipped smile, eyes that search for sanctuary out the window. “Me too.”

In the wing-mirror, lighting crashes amidst the sea of pine-green.

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

Mother nature’s mid-June release of pent-up heat, making space amongst the skies for what’s yet to come in the scorching months of July and August, the last of any rain to be seen until September brings back the sombre skies and cooler weather. The rain falls heavily, a persistent thump-thump-thump of water that bounces off the car’s roof, bonnet, windows. In the sky, thunder roars an angry sound, each one louder than the last, followed by an even brighter flash of lighting that electrifies its surroundings, turning the black night into shades of violet, and midnight, and indigo, and purple.

“You’ve not bought any new albums? None at all?” The question comes as you flip through Jack’s collection of discs, a notable lack of change in his roster since the last time you’d sat in his car.

This lack of change is likely not without good reason, like the lack of time to go CD hunting between secret missions to save the world, or a general lack of interest in newer records. He’s always been a fan of the old fashion, after all, the home you’d once shared made up of collections of vintage whiskeys, and classic records, and faded wallpaper that he convinced you gave the kitchen charm.

“Nothin’ new since…” His eyes shift over your way, the look in them enough to wordlessly end his sentence. “You were always the one buyin’ me music. Said you didn’t want me get-”

“Getting bored on missions,” impulse seems to be what forces you to speak, an honest smile sent his way. “I remember.”

It had been a while into your relationship, with i-love-yous and apartment keys exchanged, until the truth of Jack’s job came up.

On your first date, he’d told you he was a businessman. A few dates later, he specified that he was an investor, dipping his fingers into the honey jar of some classically Texa whiskey distillery. Only a half lie, and not one that was hard to believe. Every fibre of his being, stitches and loose threads included, made sense as a man in the business of selling whiskey. The overzealous amount of Statesman whiskeys occupying the shelves in his apartment, the photos he’d send of the view from his high-rise office, the endless number of suits and ties that occupied his wardrobe, even his damn name, Jack Daniels. 

Then, out came the truth.

A phone call from one of Jack’s co-workers, Ginger, lasting no more than five minutes and of which only three words mattered: Jack’s been shot.

A bullet through his head. Any ordinary man would have died. Yet there was your Jack, eyes open, a measly bandage over his temple, and standing up-right. To your own credit, you managed to keep a grasp on your sanity long enough to drive him home, cook him dinner, and sit yourself down across from him at the table. But when he pricked his finger on the tip of his knife, the rivulet of blood dripping down his finger was enough to send you over the edge. Open mouthed sobs, hands clinging to him the instant he sank down on his knees at your side, tears staining every inch of his white cotton t-shirt.

You could’ve died, Jack.

Now how could I go dyin’, when I got such a pretty reason to live for?

You begged with questions, he promised with answers. Hands intertwining with your own, a gentle voice guiding you out the apartment, the soft slam of a car door closing. He turned the key in the ignition, pulled your hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and drove you both off into the night. Under the melodic fall of rain beating down on the car, you came to terms with three facts: Jack was involved in the business of selling whiskey; Jack was otherwise known as agent Whiskey, esteemed senior agent to the Statesmen secret intelligence agency; and Jack was not often shot- at least not in the head.

Arriving home that night, with the rain falling heavy on your front lawn, you’d tried your best to dash from the car and into the house but Jack had other plans. He’d gripped your hand, and pulled you close, and kissed you under the flash of lighting. And when you dared whine that your clothes were soaked, he held you tighter and let himself guide your body into a gentle sway, two lovers under the moonlight and the storm. That night had ended with a fatal promise from Jack, your limbs entangled upon a shared bed, his lips pressing into your forehead.

I promise I’ll always come home to you safe.

“Don’t need no discs anyway, already got all I need right here,” Jack’s impeccable timing, seemingly sensing the shift in your demeanour. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking about, and trying to drag you out of the past and back to the present, his fingers stretching over to turn the volume up. A familiar set of haunting chords plays over the radio, a grin instantly appearing on his face. “Shit, they even got Princ-”

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

Despite the confusion, he abides by your words, foot pressing down on the break, hands steering the wheels off-road, fingers switch the car off. Without the hum of the engine, the rainfall grows louder, the view out the windscreen suddenly blocked behind a wall of flowing water. The radio plays on, the voice of an angel singing lyrics that so aptly match the purple shades painted across the sky by the storm above. There’s a cautious echo of your name, and, for a moment, it’s easy to forget this is the first time you’ve heard him actually say it in over a year. It feels like just yesterday he was calling out to you, begging with solutions you weren’t willing to give.

Your heart beats with a longing to escape your chest, hard and steady against the cage that is your ribs. Your eyes fill with emotions from the past and of the present, as every version of yourself that’s sat within this car comes together as one. Your hand curls around the silver grip of the door, pulling it open and lunging yourself out into the pouring rain.

Under the storm's wrath, you’re reborn. Baptised by mother nature, a soul cleansed of all its prior troubles, returned to you brand new and free of heartbreak. As the rain soaks your face, your neck, your dress, it washes all the pain away. Breathing easy, head tilted back, eyes closed. It's the feeling of being alive, an anomalous euphoria found only beneath a thunderous sky. The tears that dare fall here mean little, a known comfort that they’ll mix with the rain and be swept away.

Enthralled under the moonlight and barefoot, you drift on through the trees that line these woods, chasing the sweet promise of petrichor. You’re unsure if it comes from the sky, or the trees, or Jack, but something calls your name. A fallen tree trunk becomes your own personal tightrope as you dance over the length of it, one careful foot in front of the other, arms stretched out to the heavens above. All it takes is one misplaced step and you lose your footing, slipping over moss and bracing for impact that never arrives.

“Heaven to Betsy, darlin’!” Jack’s hands, warm as a summer breeze, catch you by the waist, your shoulder socking him square in the face as you fall back into his figure. He makes no complaint of pain, taking it like a champ and placing you back down on steady ground, upon unsteady feet. “Did’ya sneak a few extra whiskeys when I was takin’ a leak?”

You open your mouth to reply, to deny, but the rain comes to a stop, and the thunder no longer rumbles, and the moonlight breaks through the parting blanket of clouds, and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you both are.

Like his hands, do his lips still feel the same? Soft as a feather, pillowy as a cloud, as sweet as a peach? It’s not something a married woman should be thinking about another man, about the man another version of her had loved.

But you’re not a married woman, are you?

Wet to the bone, it's as if your wedding dress has shrunk, possessive linen meant to warn you away from leaning forward till your face meets his.

“Careful where you point those eyes, sweetheart. Don’t go givin’ me a reason to make a dishonest woman out of you.” His warning only makes you want to lean in more, test just how dishonest he’s willing to make you, in a dress you wore for another man, upon a forest floor covered by moss, and mud, and rainfall.

He’s stepping back and holding out his hand before you can even try, saving you the trouble of mixing up your head even more. 

Careful steps back to his car, where the radio plays on as Prince’s voice slowly fades out. The headlights are back on, the key sits in the ignition, and you half wonder just how quickly he chased after you, abandoning his precious car so carelessly at the side of a darkened country road, free for any Tom, Bill, or Sally to claim for themselves.

“You’re lucky I got spare clothes in the back,” Jack’s voice echoes out from where he stands, bent at the waist, and rummaging through the floor of the back seats. You want to think he’s not going this on purpose, putting himself on display so obviously, but it feels easier on your conscience to blame him for your own inability to stray your eyes away from how snugly the soaked dress pants hug his behind. “Ain’t no hope in hell I’d let you in my car, all drippin’ wet.”

“You never used to complain about me being wet in your car.”

It’s a quickfire response, the kind you don’t quite get the chance to think over before you say it. Though it may shock your own ears to hear, it seems to shock poor Jack more, the smack with which his head hits against the car’s roof loud enough that you almost feel it in your skull.

You rush over to his side, dress dragging through more mud, and more leaves, and more broken gravel. No chance to even rest your hand upon his arm, Jack’s already pulled himself out the car to face you, a splash of pink brewing across his cheeks and a hand soothing over the back of his head. In the backseats, his hat lays abandoned, knocked off in the commotion.

“Can’t just be sayin’ things like that, darlin’,” he says as he holds out a change of clothes for you, smugness in his voice yet a shake in his hand. “Not unless you’re tryin’ to give old Jack over here a heart attack.”

In silence, you both turn your back on each other. Jack does so in spare of your modesty, and you, in search of someplace dry to lay down his clothes. You do so upon the passenger seat, hands immediately contorting every manner of way they can to reach the dress’ buttons that span down the length of your spine, each more finicky than the last. You manage to free only two, in the very centre, before you sigh and wonder if the entrapment you feel in the white gown could get any more literal than this.

“Jack,” it only feels right to seek out his aid, you tell yourself, the sooner the buttons are undone, the sooner the dress will be off, the sooner you’ll be changed, and the sooner you’ll both get back on the road again, destination unknown. It only makes sense, really, so who could blame you when you say, “come help me out my dress.”

No reply comes your way.

At first, you think he’s not heard you. Then, you worry that he has, and is choosing to ignore such a request, thinking it best he keeps his hands away from any act that involves undressing you. Then, fear that you’ve given him that heart attack after all. Fingers brush wet hair off your shoulders before you can turn to check on the cowboy.

Cicadas scream out into the night, and some faceless host rants over the car radio about the rising conspiracy theory of spycams in childrens’ toys, and your heart beats louder than any set of drums could ever hope, but all you can hear is the steady breaths Jack pulls in and blows out behind you, so close you feel each exhale brush your skin. His fingers do so too, with each button they pop loose, each inch of skin he reveals.

Before you can ask him to touch you with more than just his mouth and breath, his own voice fills your ears.

“I used to dream about doin’ this someday.”

“I think we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a girl out her dress, Jack.”

“Is your mind ever anywhere but the damn gutter?” A pinch delivered against your left side, a chastising tsk accompanying his words. “I meant that I dreamt about this, me helpin’ you take your weddin’ dress off.”

There’s an audible hitch in your breath, one that perfectly tells Jack everything your own voice seems to fail to. Air stings at your eyes, yet you refuse to blink, too aware of the tears building within them. His warm hands dance back up your spine as the final button is loosened, tracing slowly over skin he’d once memorised, a missionary returning to the land it once knew.

Your dress falls to the floor.

“‘Course I never thought I’d be doin’ it on the side of the road, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

The realisation dawns upon you twenty minutes after you hit the road again. Confined to the small space of the Bronco with little to look at— besides Jack, his clothes still damp and smelling of summer rain, a towel laid over his seat— you’ve resorted to the finer details, picking apart the scraps of clothing he’d handed you. A plain white t-shirt that, when paired with one of his tight-fitting jeans and a corduroy-lined leather bomber jacket, becomes a Jack Daniels staple. You find it best to ignore how it smells of campfire, and sweat, and the cologne you’d bought Jack on your last anniversary. He’s paired it with a pair of blue chequered pyjama pants, loose-fitting yet tied securely around your waist by a fraying draw-string.

“Took myself and the old gal up to Alaska a few weeks back, chasin’ after a view of the Northern Lights.” There’s a flash of something hot, bright, green as you register his words, myself and the old gal, tamed and dampened only when you remember that’s what Jack calls the Bronco, his old gal. “I was livin’ out my car the whole trip, figured it was easier than trynna find some inn out in the middle of the Alaskan woods. In fact, if you check down there, pretty sure you’ll find some uneaten energy bars I packed for the trip.”

He seems to point aimlessly down at a space around your legs, hand back on the wheel and guiding the wheels around a harsh bend before you can truly pinpoint what he’s referring to. You settle on the glove compartment, sitting upright and reaching a hand out to pop it open.

Then you remember what it houses, the weapons Jack carries in there. The lasso, the whip, the pistol, the bullets. A sickness burns your throat, your eyes unable to even glance down at the opened compartment, instead searching for Jack’s own eyes that stare back with equal amounts of surprise.

“I forgot those were in there.” He steals the words right out your own mouth, a nervous chuckle following them. You’d known to never touch the dreaded compartment, for your own sake, too eager to forget about the parts of him that made him an agent, the parts of him that put him in danger. “You can read ‘em, if you want. They were written for you anyway.”

Confusion floods the soul, curiosity winning over survival and dictating that you muster the courage to turn your head, take a peak at what sits inside the glove box. When you do look, you find there’s no whip nor pistol, no piece of Agent Whiskey in sight. What is there are the energy bars he’d promised, a hiking guidebook of sorts, a map, and a stack of wrinkled envelopes.

One glance back at Jack, he encourages you to take them with a nod, and so, you do. Feel the weight of them all in your hands, do your best to not drop any as you pull them out onto your lap. They scatter all over you, each a different shade of white, unopened and all sporting a red return to sender stamp. All appear addressed to the same place, and it takes only a moment of wondering why it seems so familiar for you to realise.

It’s your old address.

“They’re all labelled with dates, I wrote the first one a few weeks after you left. Wasn’t sure where you’d moved to, I figured there was a chance you’d gone back to your old place. I never forgot about how much you loved that apartment,” he says, and you did. Leaving it behind had been hard, the first real home you’d made for yourself since moving out of your parent’s place, the first space you made your own in the world. The idea of making a new space with Jack, a place you could build together, share together, had outweighed the pain of saying goodbye to your little one-bed apartment. “Wrote the second one because you didn’t reply, and I was missin’ you. Then I just kept writin’ em, and sendin’ em, and waitin’ on you writin’ back, even if just to tell me to get lost. I got a note back, along with the letters, but it wasn’t from you. Some older couple moved in to your old place, told me they’d been keepin’ em all safe incase you ever came round to collect your old mail, but they figured it was time I stopped writin’ to a ghost.”

Attentive to his every word, you search for the letter with the earliest date. Sent two weeks after things ended, with a colourful stamp and a seal that’s slightly opened at the edges, the glue’s hold loosening with time and neglect. You tear it open completely and unfold the sheets of paper found within, eyes drawn immediately three quarters down the page.

I saw our friends tonight for the first time since you left. They asked how you’re doing and where you were. I thought they were just being cruel at first but no, they didn’t know about the break up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, that you decided to stay home tonight. I guess I just wanted one more night where you were still mine, even if it was just in the eyes of our friends. I will tell the truth next time I see them.

You feel as though you’re invading his privacy, reading over words he’d written months ago, despite being the intended audience. That doesn’t mean you have the willpower to stop, however, eyes diving deeper down the page.

Or maybe I won’t have to tell them. Maybe, next time I see them, you’ll have come home. There’s still a chance for us. I believe it because I love you. You said this wasn’t something we can fix. I think you’re wrong. There’s never been an issue we couldn’t solve by talking it through, why should this one be any different? Let’s get coffee, darling. Our usual place, our usual time, next Tuesday. We can get through this, you just have to let me know it’s something you want, that I’m something you still want. 

Jack’s quiet in the driver’s seat, forgiving with the time he gives you to read over his letters. When the turning of pages and the ripping of envelopes rings too heavy in the car, your shoulders tensing up in a discomfort of disrupting the peaceful silence, he wordlessly turns the radio back up and the voice of Jeff Buckley greets you both.

You return to his letters, the second he’d sent already open in your palm.

I went to our usual spot. You never showed up. Your lack of reply to my letter should have been enough to tell me that, but I still had hope. Maybe I really am a fool. Our friends seem to think so. I told them about us and they immediately asked what I’d done wrong. There was no answer I could give them. The worst thing isn’t just that I’ve lost you, it’s that I don’t even know why.

You open the next envelope, and the next one, and the next one, paragraphs melting together into a heartbroken shape.

I tried to sleep in our bed. I lasted half an hour before crawling back to the guest room.  Our room just feels too empty without you. I smell you everywhere no matter how many new sheets I buy.

Eggsy and Tilde got married. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to without you. I’m doing a lot of firsts without you recently. I hate it. Our friends (am I wrong to call them our friends? I’m not ready to just call them mine) tried setting me up with someone new. They showed me a picture and she’s beautiful, but I just kept comparing her to you. Against your beauty, she’s nothing.

Your mother was at the Statesman ground tour today. I was surprised to see her, she already done the tour years ago. I tried not to talk about you too much, I didn’t want her knowing how desperate I am to hear about you. Congratulations on your promotion, I always knew you’d get it. I’m so proud of you for finally applying for it. I heard you’ve started seeing somebody, a veteran turned mechanic. Your mother was kind enough to give me his name. I hope you understand that I don’t want to invade your privacy but I had to make sure you’re safe. The guy’s got a clean slate, other than a sketchy trip down to South America with some other vets. He seems like a good man. I want you to get your happy ending. Are you happy? I’m not. 

Only one envelope remains unopened. The weight of it sits heavy in your lap, a fear settling in that has you not wanting to open it. You study the front of it, find out it was mailed three months ago. The radio moves in sync with you, it seems, the song that plays reaching its climatic moment at the same time as you do, tearing open the final letter. Next to you, Jack clears his throat and wrings his hands over the steering wheel.

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

Spring came faster this year. The daffodils you planted bloomed in early March. I’ve been tending to the garden, I know how much love you put into it. The flowers are coming up alright, the fruit and vegetables not so much. If only I had your green thumb.

I visited Tequila last week. I don’t know if it’s right to call him that anymore. Champ’s still not named his successor, part of me thinks he wants to retire it. That’s not what Tequila would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted Ginger taking on the mantle. The grounds he’s on are beautiful, if not sombre. They overlook a lake, and the grass is cut everyday, and the sun shines on his grave from sunrise to sunset. I didn’t say much to him, just sat and enjoyed the view. Thought about a lot of things, and finally realised why you left.

You were scared. For me. I thought you were being selfish, breaking my heart like that, but I finally understand how awful that day must’ve been for you. We’d just buried my comrade, our friend, and you had to watch Tequila’s wife say her last goodbye, knowing it was almost me in that casket and you on the podium. That was my mission he went on, I could’ve been the one who didn’t come home to the woman I love.

I’m sorry I took so long to understand. I retired from my position at Statesman. I’m agent Whiskey no more. I’m coming to find you, and hope you give me one last real try at fixing us.

Love always,

your Jack.

“Your wedding invitation found me first,” Jack says, foot off the accelerator, eyes off the road, hands on the wheel.

The weight of his stare drags down to your lap, where the heap of papers now all sit, piled atop one another and rustling with every movement you make. Your own eyes have welled with tears that slip down the apples of your cheeks and splash the papers below, smudging the ink.

The confirmation of his invite knocks out the questions of how he wound up in the pews.

“I didn’t invite you,” you’re unsure if the truth is crueller than fiction. No part of you wants him to think you’d be so spiteful, so hurtful as to invite him to a day you’d once promised to share together. “I didn’t invite anyone. I was… busy, with work. My mom dealt with the invites, she must’ve written you down by accident.”

Your lips may be the ones to say it, but your own ears struggle to believe. Your mother’s always been a meticulous woman, practical, with her affairs eternally in order. The only mistakes she makes are the ones she means to.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs out from the driver’s seat, resignation in his voice. “I figured you didn’t invite me.”

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

Out the car window, you watch as the world flies by, a blur of unlit trees and unmarked road signs. Earlier’s storm has rolled away and revealed the blanket of stars above, twinkling alongside a full moon. The road is long, and winding, and seemingly never ending. There’s no discussion of destination, no sanctuary you’re waiting to reach. You feel no urgency for it, either. So long as you sit right where you are, passenger in a car, you don’t have to take the wheel, you don’t have to choose where to go, or what to do. You can just exist within this liminal space, where no wedding lies in the balance and no hearts lay broken.

It’s just you and Jack, like the old days, going for a drive.

“Ask me,” permission comes off your tongue as you observe the driver and his less than subtle glances your way. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Everything you wanted to know in the diner, I promise I’ll answer this time.”

“I guess I’m tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, figure out what was runnin’ through that pretty head of yours,” Jack is, at his core, a gentleman. For hours, he’s let you sit beside him, biting his own tongue and fighting back his own curiosity, a trait so vital to his existence it led him into a world of spies, and guns, and movie-esque kinds of evil. Even now, with your promised approval, he eases his way into his questioning, the part of him that knows you better than your own self dictating that this is something he must address with care.  “How’d you do it?”

“I just slipped out the back, Jack,” there’s a chuckle of sorts that welcomes itself out the depths of Jack’s chest, your choice of words going hand in hand with that of the Paul Simon record reaching its end over the radio. As quick as the humour appears, it goes, leaving nothing but the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Someone left a door open, it led out onto the back gardens. The further away I got, the faster I started to run. I made it all the way past the highway on foot before an older couple pulled over. They dropped me off at a diner, and that’s where I stayed until-”

“Until I found you,” it’s a reminder you shouldn’t want, the image of Jack setting off to find you in the midst of the commotion of a missing bride. It’s not healthy for your poor psyche, already at odds with what it wants, no need for further complications brought on by unresolved feelings. You can’t help but smile at him, however, no filter strong enough to cover your subconscious’ joy. “Why did you run away?”

Your smile fades.

The promise you made is already at threat of being broken. You thought there’d be more questions, more time until he hit you with the heaviest of them all.

Why did you run away?

You know the answer. Of course you’ve known the answer, from the moment you decided to turn on your heel and sprint down the halls, in search of an escape. As much as you can pretend otherwise, and feign naivete, you can’t change the truth. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to admit it out loud, and so you refute it with a question of your own: “Why did you come to the wedding?”

It would be easy to forgive Jack for getting irate when faced with your avoidant response. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he spins the steering wheel and shoots you a smile, the kind that used to keep you warm at night.

“I wasn’t goin’ to come at first,” comes his admittance. You can’t say you blame him, really, a picture of yourself in his shoes, receiving an invite to his wedding. The thought conjures a painful throb from your heart. “Nearly tossed the damn thing into the fireplace when I got it. A few weeks later, I met with Champ for a drink. Drank myself blind, till I started tellin’ him all about the invite. He told me I had to come.”

A lift of your eyebrows, a snap of your head towards him. There’s a desire to have his full attention on you. There’s also the awareness that the road acts as a buffer for the tensing heartache that swells and lulls between you, each exchange of words a game of painful chess. You make the choice to bring forth a pawn this once, a simple why?

“He said I’ve been livin’ with life on pause since you left, maybe watchin’ you marry another man would be the thing to help me hit play at last.”

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

No matter how easy it is to forget about the world outside, look out the window and pretend you’re simply on a train, trapped in a constant onward motion, there’s no ignoring the orange glow that begins to grow on the horizon, nor the red lights on the car radio that read 05:38. A new day grows fast upon you and, where you remain mute to it, Jack can not allow the fantasy to go on any longer.

The tires screech against the gravel and everything comes to a stop.

“Thinkin’ time’s up, sweetheart,” his hands retreat from the wheel, finding purchase on his thighs. You try not to follow their descent over the tailored suit, try not to think about the thick muscles that sit hidden beneath the black trousers. It’s not your place to think about them anymore. “Where are you goin’?”

Decision has never been something you’ve struggled with, much less when the choices are so simple and limited. Either you go back to the wedding venue, and meet whatever fate awaits you of scornful mothers, and disappointed fathers, and abandoned fiances. Or, you can go anywhere.

You make a mistake, let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, and end up asking yourself where will Jack go. He still lives in the home you once shared, this you know. Will he go there, pour himself a drink, and try to forget this night even happened?

You can still picture it all. The coffee table Jack hand-carved, both your initials engraved on the side. The picture frames all along the wall, a mural of memories shared between you. The matching set of mugs, eternally sitting on the drying board, waiting for Jack to stagger his way down the stairs and fill them with boiling coffee. If you walked through that door again, would you find everything just the way you left it? Or, has he gotten a new table, changed the pictures in the frames, bought new mugs? Is there someone there, right now, sleeping in his bed and waiting on his return?

A bitter taste overcomes your tongue at the thought, your insides twisting up like you’ve not spent the past few months sleeping next to someone else and saying yes to proposals you weren’t expecting.

“What do you think I should do?” You don’t want him to tell you to go home, you want him to say come home.

“You can’t ask that of me. My answer’s gonna be nothin’ but selfish.” Would it really be so bad, you wish to ask, if Jack was selfish? Maybe life would be easier if he was. He clears his throat, like he clears his mind, and gone is your moment to tell him you want selfish. “I can say this, though… Your fiance’s a good man, a kind man. Kind enough to trust your parents words and let me, a stranger, go searchin’ for you. He deserves to know what decision you make. It ain’t just your weddin’, it’s his too.”

He’s right, and you hate it.

There’s no way you can tell him now that you were even contemplating not going back, of disappearing into the sunrise with him, driving till life leads you down the right roads to find a new home, your old home, Jack.

The muddied wedding dress seems to call to you from the car boot, a whispering of your name that tells you to put it back on, go back, and walk down that aisle. You owe that much to your fiance, if he’ll still have you. With him, you’ve never had to worry about him coming home safe. With him, you could live a happy enough life, keep yourself busy enough to ignore all the what-ifs your mind would try seduce you with.

Besides, that’s what Jack needs, right? To see you marry another man, a final nail in the coffin named us, so he can finally move on with his life. You owe him that much, at least.

With a nod of your head and the straightening of your spine, you set your choice in stone, “drive me back to him, Jack.”

The engine shudders to life and the radio sets itself back on course, some upbeat voice that demands you go your own way, a musical slap delivered upon your face. Jack turns the steering wheel, rerouting the car’s course with an effortless u-turn before he presses down on the accelerator, propelling you forward down the paths you’ve already travelled.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, even if a familiar dread starts to settle in the pit of your stomach, brushing them off as rational nerves. Who wouldn’t be anxious when facing a man they left at the altar?

A yawn escapes you.

“We’re a few hours out from the chateau.” There’s something in his voice that weighs on him, the tone between you shifting to something of desperation. Goodbye is a few hours away. This time, for good. “Sleep, it’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Pull over, you want to say. Let’s sleep. The wedding can wait a few more hours.

How unfortunate that he cannot read your thoughts, understand the intentions behind your staring as you recline your chair, turn to face him on your side, hands crossed protectively over your abdomen.

One blink, and your eyes are already fighting to stay open, dragging you down into the depths of slumber.

“I’m fine. Don’t sleep much these days anyway,” the sound of Jack’s voice fades slowly into the background, melting away with the hum of the engine, and the turn of the wheels, and the voice on the radio. “Never got used to the feeling of an empty bed.”

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

When your eyes next open, the sun’s warmth is caressing your face.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, and the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and the feeling of resting against Jack’s shoulder fills you with dread. Fearful to move, you take in all of him that you can see from this angle.

There’s no suit upon him, replaced with the casualness of a cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded denims. The hat’s back on his head, the curls of ungelled hair that peak through dry as a bone. A cigarette rests neatly between fingers on his left hand, the right one grasping at the neck of a beer bottle. No wheel sits in front of him, no gear shift keeps space between you. The Bronco’s been replaced with the view of your parent’s backyard and the comfort of a well cushioned outdoor couch.

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” just like you remember, Jack’s stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette the moment he notices your open eyes. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my uterus is trying to carve its way out of me,” your mouth plays along with the dream, speaking the same words it had years ago.

“That good, huh?” A beer stained kiss meets the corner of your mouth, another follows up to your forehead, as Jack’s free hand reaches into his pocket, reemerging with silver foil between two fingers. “Got these off your mother. Let me go get you somethin’ to eat, then you can take two, hm?”

You remember thinking that you love him. You didn't dare speak it, however, simply nodding as you took the blister packet of paracetamol out his offering grasp and uncurled your legs back down onto the floor, stretching your arms. Jack bends down, presses his lips against the crown of your head, and then he’s off, venturing over to where your father stands grilling another round of burgers on the barbeque.

Jack’s always been a confident man. He carries himself with a head held high and a careless smile on his face, no chip on his shoulder and no flare for anger in his bones. A southern gentleman, who knows his own charms and, most dangerously, how to use them. Place him alone with your father, however, and watch how he crumbles like a house of cards. To the untrained eye, it’s unnoticeable, but you don’t miss the glances he spies your father with each time he throws out a joke, nor the way his hands can never seem to relax, a nervous tic of drumming against his thighs or balling into fists as he makes conversation with the older man. He’s desperate for the approval of your monotonous father, so desperate he fails to see he won it months ago, 

“Eat up, drink up, you need it,” he says as he hands you the paper plate, and his half-drunk bottle of beer. He settles back down on the couch, pulling you into him once more. “Your old man was sayin’ we should probably head off soon, ‘fore it gets too late. Think he’s startin’ to warm up to me, he’s even worryin’ bout me drivin’ in the dark.”

“Oh, he loves you,” you take a bite, break two of the pills out their casing, wash them down with a swig of bitter beer. The summer sun burns in the corners of your eyes, forcing them into a squint. “He kept looking for you at the dinner table at my mom’s birthday, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him you were stuck in New York slaving away in your office.”

Months later, you’d come to find out he wasn’t in New York, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, but somewhere in the south of France, hunting down some billionaire wine-maker with plans to poison the crops of surrounding vineyards, leaving only his wine safe to consume.

In your memory, Jack plucks the hat off his own head and rests it gently upon your own, a shaded barrier against the bright light in the sky. You thank him, he watches on quietly as you continue to eat, gaze not peeling itself away from you the whole time.

“What? Do I have ketchup on my face? Or, in my hair?” You’d asked him, mid-chew. No answer, more staring. Panic made a debut in your mind, suddenly alert to his unusual behaviour. “Wait, is it a bug? Jack, is there a bug in my hair?”

“I love you.”

No build up, no grand-speech, no overly romantic setting.

He said it like one shares the weather, or the time, or what they’re wanting for lunch. He said it like it was something he always said, would always say, despite it being the very first time you’d heard him do so. Tears had flown in quickly, your hormones already gone haywire with the unexpected arrival of shark week earlier that morning. There’s a vague assurance that you told him you loved him too, through tears, and he teased your weepy face with kisses down your cheeks and full-chested laughter.

“Bless your cotton socks, my sweet girl, cryin’ all cause old Jack says-”

“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”

You jolt awake.

Jack’s by your side, suit on, hair air dried, one hand on the wheel, the other rests out the window. The roof is down, letting the sun shine on you and his caramel eyes. An old Springstein song plays in the background, the very same thing that coaxed you awake. Just like the dream, he takes a few minutes to notice your opened eyes, head turning your way as another car shoots off ahead of you both, overtaking him.

“You were mumblin’ in your sleep. Were you dreamin’ of somethin’ sweet?”

“I was,” too quick comes your reply. Too honest. Nerves have you stumbling over words, scrambling to pick them off the floor of your mind and spew out the first thing that doesn’t involve Jack and his easy-going professions of love. “About the first time my fiance told me he loves me.”

You regret it as soon as you speak, the visible halt to his smile. He overcorrects it, forcing a grin that stretches the corners of his mouth so tight it almost looks painful. “Well, c’mon, don’t go keepin’ it to yourself!”

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

“It was his best man who did it, an ex military pilot.”

As you try to reminisce on the day, little memories blossom in your mind. Instead of vivid motion capture, the day is black and white, no sound. You don’t remember where you were, what he was wearing, how you felt when you read those words up above.

It happened only two months into your relationship, that you do remember. You also remember being parked in your old neighbourhood the night before, twenty minutes spent trying to will yourself to go knock on the door to your old home. The Bronco was in its usual spot, parked outside. No lights were on as you pulled away and willed yourself back to rational thinking.

“Jeez, if that’s how he’s tellin’ you he loves you, I can’t imagine how he proposed.”

You wonder if this is as tortuous for him as it is for you, listening to you detail the life you’d gone on to live just months after walking away from five years of love. “In a restaurant,” you can’t remember the name, or what you ate, or what you wore, as if the memory is one that doesn’t belong to you, never belonged to you. “I ordered dessert, ‘will you marry me?’ was written on it in cherry sauce.”

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

You leave out the part where the whole restaurant had watched him get down on one knee, or the part where you rushed to the restroom right after accepting the ring, spewing your guts out in a stall. By morning, you told yourself it was fine, you were just feeling nervous. 

After all, you loved him enough to spend time with him, so why not spend the rest of your life with him?

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

It had been too easy to forget the thing you loved most about road trips with Jack.

It wasn’t his constant commentary of interesting facts on sites you’d drive past, or his love for taking the long-way to anywhere and everywhere, or his ever-present need to drag your hand up to his lips with every few miles.

The thing you loved most was listening to his voice, unfiltered, unashamed, outloud, singing along to his favourite songs. The voice of a crooning angel and the shyness of a bashful fox. Every so often, when he’d catch you watching him a little too fondly as he sang along, he’d throw in a voice crack, or twist up a lyric into a sickly innuendo.

In the present, it’s you who interrupts his spirited rendition of a Billy Joel classic.

“You were right, in the letters,” the leather of your seat squeaks as you fix your posture, sit yourself up straight if only to force yourself to stop observing the way his lips fall into a natural pout and, instead, focus on memorising the licence plate that drives ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Right about what?” As though nothing has changed, his hand extends towards your own, effortlessly intertwining your fingers, beginning an ascent to his mouth before mind takes over instinct and he’s letting you go, setting you free.

You give up on the licence plate ahead, turn your face once more towards Jack and his pouty lips.

“I couldn’t be with Agent Whiskey anymore.” A relationship made up of a man, a woman, and an agent. Whiskey would kiss you goodbye in the morning, while Jack would be the one to come home to you. With the passing of time, three became a crowd, and so you removed yourself. “I didn’t want to break your heart, Jack, I swear. But I also didn’t want to let you break mine. And you did, every time you walked out of our home and left me wondering if you’d ever come back. Then, when Tequila… You loved your job. You loved being Agent Whiskey. How could I ask you to leave that part of you behind?”

“Darlin’ if you think there’s any world where losin’ you was easier than losin’ Whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Like his first I love you, he speaks words that flow out of him as easily as an exhale, as though they carry no weight to them. As though they do not momentarily flip your world on its axis and have you wishing he’d turn the car around, driving you both off into the forever you never got.

Yet another car overtakes the Bronco, its driver angrily pressing on his horn. You both continue to ignore the speed at which Jack drives. Up ahead, everything you’ve been dreading comes into view, an unmissable billboard. Clearview Manor.

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Those energy bars should still be in there, if you’re wantin’-”

“Jack, I’m hungry,” you say it louder, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re laying down.“Can’t we stop somewhere for breakfast?”

His answer comes in the form of a left blinker switching on, wheels cutting over gravel and carrying you off the main road. Then, as if to break your heart some more than his last declaration, he turns to you. “If it had been me waitin’ on you at the end of the aisle, would you have ran?”

You try to picture it.

Jack, in his suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back to keep him from drumming nervous fingers over his thighs, eyes brimming with tears as you take your first step down the aisle. Would the panic have settled in? Would you have felt that same wrongness as when you’d been sneaking a peak at your fiance waiting down the aisle?

Would you have ran?

“It’s not something I planned, y’know? Running. I didn’t think it was even an option,” you’re laying your final card on the table, a truth you couldn't bring yourself to admit earlier at last coming out to play. You’re unsure if it dismisses or further condemns you for your runaway crimes. “I took a peak, at the ceremony hall, while waiting for my father. I needed to see what I was about to walk into. I guess I thought the nerves were just from that, the unknown. Then I saw you, a few rows from the back. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that you were just a man who happened to be wearing a cowboy hat. But then I saw my mum pulling you in for a hug, and I caught a glimpse of your face. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t… marry another man, not with you standing in the crowd.”

“You’ve not answered my question,” it’s the first you’ve seen Jack put his foot down since he dragged you out the diner, the seriousness etched into his frowning forehead and stamped onto his lips. “Would you have ran?”

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

Squeezed into the corner booth of a dingy, run-down bar, you and Jack sit across from one another, digging into a stack of pancakes lathered in maple syrup.

The bartender and two of his patrons glance at you both every so often, and you have to wonder how odd a pair you and Jack must make. One dressed to the nines, if you ignore the dried mud at the bottom of his dress pants and his loosening tie, the other wearing yesterday’s make-up paired with cotton pyjama pants. You prefer it to the stares you’d gained in your wrinkled gown.

“Deadly. I’m a serious tap-dancin’ student,” his fork stabs into the fluffy goodness, dragging it along the plate, soaking the pancake in as much syrup as possible. You try not to think of mornings that used to be spent like this, sitting at your own table, flour in his hair and eggshells in your own, both of you ignoring the disastrous mess in the kitchen begging to be cleaned as you tuck into your homemade pancakes. “Retirement breeds weird hobbies.”

“Before long, you’ll be playing bingo at the old folks home.”

“I just have to ask, I really do,” a dread you haven’t felt since stepping out the car— with the help of Jack and his offering hand, the other holding your door open— creeps back in. You don’t want to talk about your own current reality, not when it’s been so easy to pretend none of the wedding fiasco happened and, instead, you’re simply catching up with Jack after bumping into each other in this bar.  “This fiance of yours… is he bigger than me?”

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops. 

“Oh my god, Jack!” You laugh, a little too loudly, and dip your head as other tables turn their heads your way.

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” In mock surrender, he throws his hands up. Your own grab ahold of your knife and fork once more, an ironclad focus on the near-empty plate as you will the shameful heat away from your face, mumbling over your words. “But, no, he isn’t bigger. Happy?”

“You’ve no idea.” As though you’re being haunted by music, a song begins to play over the speakers. You’re not the only one who takes notice, Jack’s eyes lighting up with a devious look, his legs already rising out of his seat. “Think that’s our queue, darlin’.”

“Sit back down.”

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t be so uptight,” he lays out his hand, begging for you to place your own in it. Flashes of a memory, six years back, the very same song playing as the very same man attempted to coax a dance out of you. “One dance, sweetheart, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like your younger self, you’re incapable of resisting his baby cow eyes, letting him guide you out onto a makeshift dance floor before it’s too late to run back and hide in your seat, the eyes of strangers already piercing you with their questioning stares. If you weren’t deemed a strange pair with your attire alone, you certainly are now, feet stumbling awkwardly along with Bruce Springstein.

“This song was playin’ when we met,” he says it like you don’t know, like you don’t remember, like you aren’t replaying that night as you speak, pretending you’re both in that same crowd of swaying bodies, young, and naive, and on the cusp of experiencing the greatest love you’ll ever know, rather than here, on an empty dance floor, stumbling blindly through the hardships of holding each other so close, mutually aware you’re dancing on borrowed time and, soon, you’ll have to go. “Knowin’ now how it ends, if I was sent back in time, I’d still ask you to dance. I’d do it all again.”

“This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just…”

He spins you, drags you closer, sways you. It’s far less care-free than the first dance you shared, no alcohol to dull the shame and a whole lot of history packed between your bodies.

The first dance had been the thing you had dreaded most about your wedding, dancing with your husband, to a whole room of loved ones watching. Dancing now with Jack— even through all the embarrassment you feel as an elderly couple point over at you— feels easier, less daunting, so much so that you can’t help the way you start to laugh, arms loosening around his shoulders, hips moving less abashedly.

The two of you inch closer, and closer, and closer as the song reaches its end. Like a happy couple finishes their first dance, Jack’s mouth lands atop yours.

A gentle kiss, innocent of sin, it begs you to give back, to press your own mouth against his. You answer its calling, hand clasping at the back of his neck, holding him safely against you, less he drifts away and reveals this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, a delusion. Like coming home after a cold winter’s day, his kiss is the comfort of knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

You rip away from him, flashes of your fiance’s face blinding you as you stumble off, doing what you do best: running away. You miss the way the patrons all go back to their own drinks, and the way a new song comes on, and the way Jack chases after you, stopped only by the slamming of a bathroom door.

You come up for air when you find yourself faced with the image you paint in the mirror.

Never has there been a more heartbroken girl, eyes a mess of tears, and faded eyeliner, and smudged mascara, hair a nest fit enough for any bird to build its home in, body draped in the clothing of an ex-lover. It’s almost as frightening as the image you made yesterday, wedding gown freshly laced and make-up pristinely done.

A knock rings against the door. 

It’s followed by a gentle call of your name.

You switch on the tap, welcome the cold splash of water over your face. Pray that, if you scrub hard enough, you’ll wipe away the taste of him, forget the shape of his touch, purge yourself of the desire to follow anywhere he may go. Your hand slips down your face, the dim bathroom light catches on something.

Your engagement ring, a tight shackle that binds you to someone else, reminds you of the closure you owe to Jack.

He calls your name again.

“Darlin’,” it’s muffled behind the door, but the regret in his voice is all too clear. “I just got caught up, I’m sorry. Come on out and we’ll get back on the road-”

The hinges creak as the door opens, only a crack, and your hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of Jack’s tie before you can will yourself to be rational.

He lets you invade his space with little protest, mouths returning to the dance they never got to complete. Hands move, slipping off ties, and undoing draw strings, and locking doors. There’s a mumble, are you sure, followed by a moan, please.

All hope of forgetting his skin is lost, a leg hooked around his waist, fingers tangled in his hair. He bites at your neck, and kisses along your jaw, and pants into your ear, all the while his hips rock back and forth against your own, filling you inch by inch. Mouth covered by your own hand, muffling a cry of his name as you feel him brush against that spine-tingling spot inside you. Your head falls back, eyes slip shut. Jack’s quick to rectify it.

“Watch, darlin’,” he whispers, a hand tilting your eyes down to where your two bodies meet. “ Want you to see how perfectly your lil’ pussy takes me.”

You do as he says, hypnotised by the sight of his cock, glistening in your own arousal, sawing in and out of you, each thrust deeper than the last.  

“He can’t fuck you like this, can he?” Despite his ego-fueled words, there’s a desperation in his voice, a soul lost in a sea of darkness, searching for a life jacket. “Tell me he can’t.”

He can’t, you tell him, clinging onto him tighter, needier, begging him to never leave.

Any minute now, you worry, someone’s going to knock on the bathroom door, kick you both out. Instead, the music that plays outside the door seems to increase in volume.

“Fuckin’ made for me, meant for me,” both of you grow increasingly desperate, fingernails digging into flesh, and mouths rejoining in a frenzy of kisses, and the tightening of an invisible string, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge. “My sweet girl.”

An end that comes all too soon, both of you exhausted, and spent, and collapsing against one another, a sticky mess left between your legs where his hips continue to rut into you through his own overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” his head falls against your shoulder, burrows into the warmth of your neck. There’s a press of his lips against your skin, and a million apologies that follow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” you lie, sooth a hand over his back, ignore the tears you feel falling against your skin.

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

The clock reads 13:18 as Jack brings the car to a stop.

A set of stairs lead up to a grand double-doored entrance, a sign post declaring the extravagant building as Clearview Manor. Rented for the whole weekend, the wedding party isn’t cited to leave until late Monday evening. Though all cars remain parked in the driveway, no familiar faces await your arrival.

“I hope you get your happy ending,” the two of you step out of the car in sync. A voice whispers that it’s the last time you’ll step out the Bronco, you brush it off and follow Jack as he makes his way over to the boot. “No one deserves it more than you, Jack.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he extends his arms to you, you almost move in for a hug.

The sight of your wedding dress, no longer porcelain white, stains of brown upon a greying fabric, reminds you of why you’re here. You try your best to smile earnestly as you take it off his hands, but fear it only heightens the distress that dilates your pupils. “I’ll see you inside, right?”

The boot slams shut, and it’s an awful reminder that your time together is coming to a close, Jack dons his signature smile, cowboy hat back on his head, a head that’s shaking no.

“The mighty fool that I am, thinkin’ I could stomach watchin’ you get married to another man. After this little road trip of ours… well, I guess I just ain’t ready to hit play yet.” A tongue made of lead, shoes filled with weights. Moving feels impossible, talking even more so. You want to say his name, tell him you don’t need to marry another man, crawl back into the Bronco and beg him to drive off. “Go’on, get! There’s a good man in there, waitin’ to give you everythin’ you deserve.”

Instead, you just turn on your heel, take the first step towards the rest of your life. A life without Jack.

Halfway up the stairway, the sound of Jack’s engine reaches your ears, followed quickly by the obnoxiously poignant car radio, giving its final performance for you both.

“Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more!”

Eyes meeting where Jack sits, back in the driver’s seat, you share one last laugh.

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Two arms, strong and secure, wrap around your waist.

On the other side of the bridal suite door stands both your mother and your mother in law, ushered out by your fiance upon your return the moment he noticed the panic on your face as questions and fingers prodded at you.

You block out the thought of the scowling faces, burrowing your own into the space between his shoulder and neck, whispering your inquiry on, “how bad is the damage?”

“We told everyone you were suffering from food poisoning. All our guests think you’ve been spewing out of both ends the past few hours, but I think that’s justified for the bruising you’ve given my ego.”

“Santi,” the shape of your fiance’s name feels foreign in your mouth, the taste of it sour on your tongue, so much so that you can’t say it in full. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be, what matters is you’re here now.”

Jack was right, your fiance is a nice man. A good man. A man anyone would be lucky to land in the arms of, the kind of man people dream of, and romance authors write of.

But to you, his arms just feel like a cage you’ve lost the key for. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

“We do,” you pull apart, at last, nodding your head along to his answer. “But is that all marriage should be? Two people who make sense?” You stumble a few steps back from him, feet needing space to begin pacing back and forth as your filter slips and the word-vomit begins to spew itself out onto the pristine carpeted floors. “Do you really love me enough to spend the rest of your days with me? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t think I love you like that either.”

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

The longer he watches you pace and rant, the quicker you do each thing, as though you’re racing ahead to escape the fear of breaking his heart more than you already have, his love possibly more intense than you make it seem. He ends that fear in one foul swoop of words.

“When you didn’t walk down the aisle, I felt relieved. I also slept with someone at my bachelor party and the guilt has been eating me alive.”

“I just fucked my ex in a bathroom!” In an almost paradoxical response, the pair of you keen over in laughter, any expected animosity thrown out the metaphorical window and leaving you both no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “God, we’re a mess.”

“Wait, the cowboy’s your ex? I should’ve known, your dad told him you were gone before he even bothered to tell me.” Santiago had little luck at winning over your dad, though admittedly it was no fault of his own but, rather, your father had yet to move on from Jack. There’s a sudden commotion as Santi rushes past you, peeling back the curtains and peering down out the window. “What car is it the cowboy drives?”

“A Bronco.”

“Well, you might wanna hurry, because he’s just pulling out of the parking bays.” It’s more than just a warning. It’s a blessing to leave. Overcome with emotion, you dive back into his arms and find there’s no fear of goodbye, not like there had been with Jack. An engagement ring that slips off with no resistance, no longer a shackle that ties you both together. You hand it back to him gently. “Go, before it’s too late! I’ll take care of this mess, see if I can spin this in a way that’s heartbreaking enough to get our deposit back.”

There’s more you want to say, but now’s not the time. Apologies and thank-yous can wait till you pick up your things from his apartment, right now you’re too busy rushing to the door.

A call of your name comes when you’ve got one foot out it, treading into the now motherless hallway. You face Santiago with a smile, ready to say that magic word. 

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

You make it out the double-doors, which slam loudly shut behind you, before you spot the retreating shape of Jack’s car and an anxious glee commands you to break out into a sprint, legs kicking faster than they ever have before.

Don’t speed up, you think, watching as the Bronco slowly creeps down the driveway.

“Jack!” You call out to him, hoping that, with the open roof, he’ll somehow hear you over the radio. Pushing your feet to move a little faster, your arms join the mix, waving wildly to the wind, a careless attempt to catch his attention in the rearview mirror. “Wait!”

The car breaks with a squeak, the blaring music comes to a halt, and Jack turns to face you with his own eyes, as though he can’t trust the mirrors. When you reach the car, you pull at the door handle and find he’s already unlocked it. You slide in with ease, back into the seat you’ve always belonged in: by his side.

He can’t seem to move, frozen with his eyes focused on nothing but you.

“Drive, jack,” you finally proclaim, asking him what you should’ve the moment you saw him in that diner, in the pews, in the heartbreaking hours post-burying a friend.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Anywhere, everywhere!” You can’t help the smile that overcomes you as he pulls your hand up to his mouth, planting a familiar kiss upon it, before the engine hums back to life. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you, all roads lead home.”

Like old times, you lean forward and turn up the radio, a familiar tune filling the air as you sink back into your seat, the wind back in your hair and an open road laying ahead, ready to lead you both wherever the wheels may take you.

“Oh I, I wanna be with you everywhere.”

bts with hyde. this is just a little reflective commentary that i put down here, to avoid flooding my author's note with too much rambling. please feel free to skip this!!

this fic is a compilation of firsts for me. it's the first challenge i've taken part in within the pedro fanspace, which has been equally exciting as it has been daunting. i struggle immensely with writing on a time schedule, and so i'm pretty proud of myself for not posting this (too) late.

this is also my first time writing for jack. admitedly, i'm not sure if i've done justice to him, as his character is somehow incredibly strong and, yet, so open for interpretation that i found myself struggling to connect with him in my writing. i have no plans to write for him in any future wips, but that might change. it was definitely fun to push myself out my comfort zone and write for a new character!

something i want to praise myself for is the attention i put into smaller details of this fic. for example, each flower mentioned in this fic has a very specific symbol/meaning attached to it, fitting with the themes of the scenes in which they're mentioned. the other place i hyperfocused on very unimportant details is the playlist. it opens and closes on the only two songs fronted by a female vocalist, with my intention being that these songs are a representation of the reader's inner turmoils and thoughts in the opening and closing scenes. the rest of the playlist is full of male vocalists, giving a peak into jack's mind despite the entire fic being told through the reader's eyes.

okay, i've given myself enough delusional and unnecesary praise, i'm going to sleep now. please don't be mean if you didn't like this fic, it's literally my birthday 🫡

if you've read this far, ily, i hope you have a good day !

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #14

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You try to move on after the Universe has been saved.

Word count: 4,700

Warning: Angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You're standing in the middle of your old apartment.

The same apartment that had a helicopter crash into it and left nothing but rubble, ash and melted cement in its wake. Except now it's restored, like nothing ever happened.

Your rickety dining table sits in the middle of the room, propped up by a hardcover book to make up for the fact that one leg is crooked. Your tiny double bed with your lumpy mattress is pushed up against the wall. The usual piles of clean and dirty laundry indiscriminately mixed together sits unattended on top of the unmade covers.

You don't understand.

Why is it all back to normal?

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

Miguel… You need to get back to him and you don't have time for this right now.

"Lyla," you summon. A warm ping vibrates against your inner wrist as Lyla appears. "Take me back to the void."

Lyla shakes her head firmly. "I'm sorry I can't do that."

"What do you mean? Of course you can, you've brought us there twice. You did it when Miguel commanded you."

She peers up at you through her pink heart-shaped glasses, with a solemn look in her holographic eyes.

"The first time was a miscalculation. The second was to eliminate the continued threat to your life."

Her words stop you cold. 'Continued threat...' Is she referring to Miguel?

"Lyla, please. Stop messing around. Take me back to Miguel."

Lyla's eyes go blank, no longer the flippant expression you are so used to seeing.

"Request denied. My programming does not allow me to expose you to danger."

"He's going to die if we don't do something Lyla!" You shout at her.

There is a tremor in your hand. Your nerves are shot, exhausted and tired from everything that has happened in the last 24 hours and you can feel the tears pushing up against your throat.

"Isn't it part of your protocol to protect him?!"

"I was built to protect you. My primary directive is to make sure you're safe above all else. That is my purpose."

She recites the words as if she's reading from a manual. It's flat and emotionless in a way you've never known Lyla to be before. Like the line is hardwired into the very core of her basic coding. There are no funny jokes. No sass.

"Lyla, please," you beg.

She doesn't answer you. That same impassive expression as before is still on her face.

"Lyla..." you try again.

You scramble to think of your options. To devise a plan B. But to your horror, you can’t think of anything.

What are you meant to do? You’re not a super genius who can build source code out of thin air that can break the laws of physics. You have no superpowers. No magic that allows you to travel to other dimensions.

The only thing you know how to do is file claim insurance applications. You’re useless.

There's nothing to be done.

It's over.

Your legs give in from the oppressive weight of your realization. You slump to the floor, unable to hold yourself together as the hard wooden floor hits your knees. You fold in two, hunched over the floor and you let the ache inside your chest break and pour over and you cry.

When you come to some time later, you find yourself curled up on the floor. You don't know how long you must've been crying for. But it must’ve been long enough for you to have cried yourself to exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, shivering from the cold breeze of the evening coming through the window.

Your limbs are cramping from exhaustion. You're dehydrated. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with dried tears. There's a deep-seated headache burrowing into your skull. It's a struggle for you to get up from the floor into a seated position, as you properly take in your surroundings.

At first glance, this version of your apartment looks identical to yours, but on closer inspection there are some stark differences.

By the window, there are black out curtains hanging from the ceiling to allow for sleep-ins during daylight hours.

On your bed, amongst the mountain piles of laundry strewn haphazardly, there are items you don’t recognize. Oversized hoodies that are big enough to fit a bear. Male sweatpants. Socks so big they look like they're Christmas stockings.

Walking over to the kitchen area, there's a distinct lack of coffee. It's been replaced by expired Reese's Peanut Butter cups, milk duds, and Hershey bars that fill every corner of your kitchen cupboards to the brim, stuffed haphazardly on the upper shelves that you could never reach. They have even made their way into your nightstand and stuffed and hidden between books on the bookshelf.

Lyla doesn't even have to tell you where you are. You already know.

This is your home. In your other self's dimension. It belongs to Miguel's nena.

Miguel sent you here, the closest universe he knew of that was identical to yours, so that you could live out your days in safety, without him.

Fucking idiot.

This is not what you wanted.

Days pass.

It's an odd and empty existence, you've beaten the impossible odds and won against the universe itself and made it out alive. Yet you're not sure that anything about this truly qualifies as a victory.

For all you know, the world that is your home may have been destroyed.

After all that's what Stark said: there is no guarantee that just because you left, everything would go back to normal.

And who are you to argue with the (second) smartest man on earth?

There's no way of you knowing what the outcome was, and Lyla refuses to transport you out of this current dimension.

You spend most of your days curled into a ball in bed unable to summon the strength to keep yourself upright or awake for more than an hour at a time, haunted by the knowledge that your escape from your death might have doomed trillions to theirs.

In the hours in between, when that inescapable guilt doesn't eat into your mind, the only thing you are left with is replaying the moments of your life in the past three months.

It flits through your closed eyes like an old film reel and in every one of those moments, Miguel is there, reminding you of what you have now lost.

You feel hollowed out, scraped out and empty like there's nothing inside. The only time you manage to feel anything that resembles an emotion is when you clutch onto whatever piece of oversized clothing that once belonged to Miguel. The only physical trace you have to prove to yourself that he existed and it's not just some fantastical made up story in your mind.

Miguel once told you that anyone who gets lost in the void gets erased. Their very existence scrubbed from the records of the world. Does the fact that you can still remember him mean that he's still there? And if so, how much longer will you be able to mourn him before he's faded entirely in that space. Before your very memory of him and the love you have that sits inside you with nowhere to go is gone too?

Nothing about this feels like a happy ending.

In the first few days, you don't leave the house. You tell yourself that it's better that way. Now that Miguel is no longer here, the idea of walking out in into open streets in broad daylight seems strange to you.

Lyla tries to tempt you with exotic holidays.

“Bali, India! The world is your oyster, we can fly out first class tonight and do an Eat Pray Love for as long as you want to!” Lyla’s voice sings in your ear. "Thailand is lovely this time of the year, barely any tycoons."

Most of the time, you ignore her presence, burying your head into the pillow, pathetically hugging onto one of the oversized shirts that’s been left behind.

Everytime you hope to catch a whiff of the remnant traces of Miguel’s presence there. But there’s nothing. It just smells of stale detergent.

After surviving the end of the world, a lot of things that used to be important seems meaningless to you now.

Alive as you may be, there’s no real purpose for you carved out in this dimension. You don't go to work in the mornings, because the you of this universe died years ago. Showing up at your office at the Chrysler building would likely induce heart attacks amongst your old co-workers.

You could scour Careerbuilder for job ads, but there's a sour pit in your stomach that hugs tightly around your guts everytime you think of the prospect of having to speak to job recruiters.

You don't think you have it in you to lie to some stranger at an interview and pretend that being in front of a white screen poring over excel sheets 8 hours a day is the way you want to spend the rest of your life until you hit retirement.

Besides, rent is not an issue anymore. Nor is money when Lyla is there to take care of you and act as your digital sugar momma. A standing order for any and all bills needed to maintain this home had already been set up long before you arrived.

You feel sorry for Lyla. She's been programmed to take care of your mental and physical well being and you know she is at wit's end with your listless behavior.

She pulls out all the stops. Lyla orders take out for you, delivered right to your door to try to get you to eat. If she had a physical body, you think she would hold you down and force feed you.

But something is wrong with you, because even though every dish is your favorite, rounded up from your favorite restaurants in the city, for the first time in your life since you were born, you no longer have much of an appetite.

You usually only manage mouthfuls just to keep Lyla from constantly nagging, before you shove the take-out box back into the fridge and then crawl back into bed.

Everything tastes bland and grey. Everything around you seems to have lost its color and shine. Was the world around you always this dull?

On the fifth day, there is a familiar baby-pink box with Gladis' logo printed on the lid arriving at your doorstep.

“Surprise!” Lyla announces. “It’s your favorite! I ordered the luxury box with the elderflower lemon flavors, as well as the lychee-raspberry jello!”

You sit down by the table, staring at the beautifully adorned cupcakes in the box. Spirals of white and pink frosting with petals of edible flowers. There's freshly cut strawberries and blackberries and chocolate shavings on op.

Picking one up, you cram the whole cupcake into your mouth, trying to cling onto the memory of that first time when the flavor of lemon zest bursting on your tongue had made you squeal with happiness.

That doesn't happen.

This time, as the sugar hits the top of your mouth, all you can think about is how much you miss him. How things will never be the same without him.

How you'll never get to have him sit next to you, smiling softly as he watches you eat. That you'll never get to see him demolish a cupcake in one bite and leave frosting on his nose.

It doesn't feel the same, you just feel hollow. Wetness spills across your cheeks, and snot clogs your nose and throat. You must look like a looney, ugly crying with your mouth stuffed full of cupcake, barely swallowing.

After that Lyla doesn’t order them for you anymore.

It's morning you think, judging from the bright sun pouring in from the blinds.

Lyla is buzzing near your ear where you've taken off the watch and placed it on the pillow next to you for company.

"You need to get out of the house. You're turning into a social recluse. It's not a good look," she says, as she peers down at you over her pink-tinted glasses.

"How about I get a date for you? Have a fab night out on the town? I have a roller-dex of the top bachelors in New York. I'm happy to hack into their calendar!"

You ignore her, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging Miguel's worn hoodie tighter to your chest. You pull the cover over your head, but you can still hear her babble on through the thin separation of fabric.

"What's your type? Oscar Isaac? He’s hot– No, no you're right he's happily married and we don’t wanna be homewreckers here. What about Lenny Kravitz? Doesn't get cooler than Kravitz and he’s long divorced."

"Lyla stop," you groan, poking your head back up above the covers. You just want quiet. Just want to stay here cocooned in this space that is the closest you'll ever get to Miguel for as long as you can remember him, until that too is taken away from you.

"I'm fine. I don't need a date."

"You're not fine though. You've only eaten a box of cupcakes in the last week. You haven't showered and you look like a mess. Your hair is greasier than the BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to keep you safe, and that includes your mental and emotional levels, which are... " she stops, throwing up some diagnostics boxes in floating holograms, then makes a face. "Yikes."

She’s doing this on purpose. Talking incessantly, so that she can nag you into doing what she wants. Suddenly you gain newfound sympathy for Miguel. You used to think it was funny when she nagged him and got on his nerves, but now that you're on the end of it, you see how he must’ve suffered when Lyla was in one of these moods with him.

"Will you stop if I step out of the house for a walk," you offer as an olive branch, hoping for a little peace and quiet.

"How long of a walk?"

"Five."

"Minutes?!" Lyla screeches with outrage. "The general recommendation is 150 minutes of weekly exercise, I'm going to need at least an hour's walk from you boss-girl."

"Twenty minutes."

"Forty!"

"Half an hour, or I'm going back to bed and wearing earplugs."

Lyla grins. "Deal".

The streets here look the same as the ones in your dimension, down to the Bodega owned by the old Korean couple around the corner. This version of earth is identical to yours in almost every way you know of.

Except in this New York, instead of Matthew Ellis, a man named Biden who is apparently over 100 years old (give or take a few years) is president.

In this reality, Leonardo Di Caprio apparently won an Oscar, while Amy Adams still hasn't, which is nuts to you.

The Avengers also don't seem to exist here. Though Superheroes still seem prevalent. A group of misfits that refers to themselves as the Fantastic Four seems to dominate the news cycle more often than not.

Ahead of you, the street splits into two paths and you take a corner into the smaller street that you know should cut through to a dog park.

But it doesn’t. Instead of green grass fields and park benches, you end up in a small narrow dead end of a street. Somehow you're lost. Shit. You should've paid more attention.

Looking up, you turn your head left and right to try to make sense of where you could be. You’re just about to pull up google maps, when the flickering light of the one sole streetlamp illuminating this alley catches your attention.

You're 12 blocks from Chinatown, but you recognize this alley even though it shouldn't be here.

From a distance, you spot the familiar red stall. The same small rickety table. The same red cloth draped on top. The same old lady with her abnormally large shiny head, comically large sunglasses and white-blue robe. The same giant sign spelling out: Fortune teller.

Only this time, there's only one folding chair set up in front of it.

She takes one look at you, as you sit down with a look of familiarity in her milky-white eyes.

"Your bad luck is gone," she says.

You should be more surprised that the scam fortune teller from another dimension seemingly remembers the conversation you had with her other self. But it doesn't. You've learned by now that nothing is as it seems.

Random near death accidents are not just due to bad luck. A superhero that repeatedly saves you isn’t just doing it out of sheer goodwill and duty. A starmap is not just a starmap, and you’re willing to bet your life that this fortune teller is not just a fortune teller.

“Who are you?” you ask her.

“Is that of importance to you?”

“Yes.”

She takes off her sunglasses and stares directly into your eyes. Without the obstruction of dark tinted lenses, you can see that it's not glaucoma causing the whiteness in her pupils. In her eyes, there are galaxies, millions of tiny dots of glowing stars, endless and mesmerizing as you stare back into them.

"My name is Ulana. I’m a Watcher. My role is to observe the Multiverse from the Nexus of all realities.”

There’s no longer that harmless demeanor and friendly smile that makes you drop your guard. She holds herself with reverence as she speaks, with the aura of the divine.

“Does that mean you are able to observe every reality in this moment?” you ask.

“Yes.”

The image of your New York with its pink cracked sky and the chaos you left it in crowds your vision.

"Can you tell me what happened to my old world after I left? Is it still there?"

"Your old home is intact and safe."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you had been holding all this time.

Thank god.

Relieved tears spill from your cheeks. Somehow you haven't single-handedly caused the destruction and death of whole worlds and countless lives.

Even if you can never go back there, that place will always be your home, and your chest warms at the thought that even without you it will always still be there.

You take a moment to gather yourself, to wipe the errant tears that are welling up with the back of your hand.

Then you take a deep calming breath before you ask her the question that has been plaguing your mind since you arrived in this reality.

"Is Miguel still alive in the void?" you ask her.

"Your husband is still alive. But he doesn't have much time left. He's fading."

Your fingers curl into fists on top of your knees, "How do I save him?"

"I couldn't tell you.” She shakes her head sadly. "My kind is not allowed to intervene. We are only meant to observe the ongoings of the universes. I've already meddled too much.”

Ducking down, she reaches under her desk, sorting through the pile of junk paper, before she leans back up over the table.

"This is the only help I can give you," she says, reaching over to place something into your hands.

You look down to see a familiar bright yellow Star Map.

"He'll be home this time," she tells you.

You're standing on the doorsteps of the old brownstone on 177A Bleecker Street, staring up at the old ornate wooden front doors.

Unlike last time you were here, there's no hesitation in you anymore. It doesn't matter that you've come alone with no other superhero to validate your mad and fantastical story about the Cosmos that was out to kill you.

You don't care if Strange thinks you're a random crazy from the streets.

If he doesn't believe you, then you'll make him believe you. If he tries to have you hauled out, you'll kick and drag and scream at the top of your lungs, and chain yourself to his front door if that's what it takes.

You bring your hand to the door knocker and tap it three times. Then you wait.

Nothing.

Didn't the fortune teller say he was going to be home this time?

Goddamnit, was she a scam after all? What kind of name is Ulana for a celestial being anyhow? Did you end up wasting another ten dollars?

You grit your teeth and step forward again, grabbing the door knocker to pound it down against the front door, even harder this time and you don’t stop at one or two, you keep slamming it down fervently.

Mid-knock, the door creaks, swinging open, as an exasperated voice greets you.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. There's no need to knock that aggressively, I'm not going to come to the door any fast–"

He stops mid-sentence as he looks at you. For a man you've never met, Dr. Strange's eyes go wide at the sight of you standing on his doorsteps. His eyes are filled with the disbelief of a man who's seen a ghost.

"You're alive," he says.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Strange says as he hurriedly pulls out a chair by the old oak table in his dining room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says.

He waves his cape with a dramatic flare in the empty space, and from a distance you hear a small click, before you realize that he must’ve used magic to put on the kettle.

For someone that’s supposed to be a sorcerer, you don’t know why the hell he bothers having a kettle. Seems a bit redundant, couldn’t he just use magic to instantly heat water?

You sit down as instructed, hands folded in your lap as you try not to fidget.

There’s a prolonged and uncomfortable silence as you both wait for the water to boil.

Strange opens then closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure of who should speak first. In the end though, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just drums his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface as he smiles politely but awkwardly at you. Across the room, the water starts simmering to a boil.

This wasn’t what you had expected. You had counted on him to try to kick you out and you having to make a passionate plea for him to listen to you. Instead he’d opened the door and insisted on inviting you in and now the two of you are drowning in a sea of uncomfortable silence.

There’s a tinny whistle from the kettle, and Strange darts up from the chair, as if the interruption was a godsend. He rushes over to pick it up, before walking back to the table with it at a much slower pace.

Then he stands next to you, tilting the snout of the kettle into your small tea cup.

Strange stares intently at your face as he pours the boiling water into the cup. So focused on you that he doesn't pay any attention to the level of the hot water, until it spills over the rim and onto the table surface below. Then he seemingly snaps himself out of it.

"Shit! Sorry," Strange begins. He wipes up the spillage with his robe, even though there are perfectly good paper towels behind him, even though he could’ve just used magic to make it vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You look exactly like her," he says, then he stops himself.

Strange considers the statement and does a curt little nod at himself as if berating himself for how stupid that comment sounded. "Which of course you do. You are her, just… from another dimension."

From your time with Miguel, you’ve been able to glean from his childish rants about the man’s “ugly” and “useless” and “impractical” cape that there’s a hostility there towards Strange that goes beyond just Miguel being Miguel.

Judging from the guilt in this man’s eyes as he looks at you from across the table, you can guess that there is a complicated history between Strange and Miguel and you.

“Did you know me?” you ask.

“Yeah, we were friends. Good friends,” Strange corrects himself. Then a sadness seeps into his eyes as he stops wiping the table and pulls back his robe close to his body. “Although I supposed I wasn’t a great friend to you near the end of things.”

He places the cup down on the table in front of you, the rising steam wafts through the air, smelling of mint and honey as he drags out the chair and sits himself next to you.

"Why don't you tell me everything from the start," Strange asks you.

So you do. You tell him of that first day when you fell out of the Chrysler building and was saved by Miguel. Tell him about how Miguel saved you again and again and how you tried to trap him with cookies and how you fell out of the Chrysler building a second time on purpose, which makes Strange laugh that sounds fond and warm.

You tell him of the void, the fortune teller, the Avengers and everything in between, and how despite surviving all of that Miguel had exiled himself to the void and sent you here by yourself, with each event you tell him his eyes grow sadder.

When you're done, Strange nods solemnly. He picks up his cup and takes a small sip of his tea to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. Then he finally speaks again. "What can I do to help?"

"Miguel is still in the void. I need your help to send me there so I can get him back."

Strange frowns, then goes entirely quiet as he stares out of the window in deliberation. It takes several moments before he speaks again.

"The void is a dangerous place, stay too long and you will be erased from existence. If you go in you may not be able to find your way out and I wouldn’t be able to help you from here."

“That’s fine, I just need your help to get there” you say.

He sets down his cup as he continues. "I can’t in good conscience send you back out there. I've already broken my promise to keep you safe once."

Frustration brims in your chest. As flattered as you are over Strange’s concern over your safety, you bristle at the fact that there seems to be none extended to Miguel’s. Every second you spend here is another second wasted.

“Miguel is there. If I don’t save him, he’s going to be erased from existence.”

That doesn’t seem to move the doctor in the slightest.

“For Miguel, his own life is a small price to pay in exchange for yours. He’d sacrifice the whole world for you to live.”

“That’s not a choice for him to make.”

Strange scratches his thumb over his bearded jaw, as if he's trying to figure out how to solve a puzzle, before speaking again.

"Right now with Miguel gone, the volatile cosmic energy surrounding you is stabilized. The version of you in this universe died and is viewing your presence as an equivalent exchange. You could stay here. You'd be safe. Miguel would've known that. That's probably why he sent you here.”

"I don't want to stay here if Miguel isn't here," you counter.

Leaning back in his chair, Strange up at the ceiling in deep thought.

"It's risky, if I sent you there, you may not even be able to find him. He might not even have his physical shape anymore, he’s been there too long by now."

His head ducks back down as he looks at your face, observing you for long moments.

You don't know what it is he sees, but a small amused smile quirks at his lip as he shakes his head again.

"But... I think you already know the risks and nothing I can say will dissuade you will it?" he says.

You nod.

It's not that you've stopped being scared of the void. It's not that the very thought of it doesn't fill your stomach with a cold dread. It's that Miguel is there, and there is no risk you're not willing to take to have the chance to see him again.

You square your chest and confidence swells inside you with your answer.

"Send me there."

~ Next Issue

Credit and Dedication: We're almost there guys! Next issue is going to be the final one. Thanks to everyone who has been with me on this ride! I cannot wait to share the final conclusion with you all.

Special thank you (as always) go out to my bestie: @thirstworldproblemss who is a big reason this story even lifted off the ground in the first place.

Big BIG BIGGEST thanks to my muse @guruan who has gifted me with so much inspiration be it thirsty twitter art of our favorite rude spider or her own insanely gorgeous art. Have you seen this heartbreaking beauty?!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[thurio-edau]

"It was her," Aiden yelled out, trying to get them to understand him. He couldn't get that bloody image of Ashlyn out of his mind. "I swear I saw her this time!"

"Cut it out! This is the fifth time you thought something you've seen is Ashlyn!" And of course Tyler didn't understand him. He never understood.

Aiden was getting mad. He lost control of his emotions without the smiling mask he always wore. "Are you calling me insane!? I know what I saw! I'm not delusional like your m--"

His eyes widened as he realized what he said, already too late. These were his friends, his found family, looking at him as if he was a monster.

"...I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Tyler didn't accept the apology though. He pulled Taylor from the arm and left, he couldn't stand Aiden especially lately. It was his fault. He always messed stuff up. He messed it up again.

"Damn it!" Ashlyn yelled to herself in her mind, waking up in the boring facility room yet again. She was so close to getting there... But she failed.

All she could do was talk inside her mind. Not even out loud, she couldn't let Alex and whoever else was there suspect anything. Now she needed an excuse to have a first aid kit in her room. She wasn't sure if she could walk outside and search for anything in the phantom dimension from how heavily injured she was. Yeah, she had Alex's card thanks to a trick she did, but she didn't have anything in real life except this room.

The walls were plain white. Lifeless and tired, just like her. She missed the braids her mom did each morning. She missed her father's awful jokes. She missed the graveyard, she missed her friends.

She missed that one smile.

The pain in her back and arms were obvious to her. Phantom claws were sharp for sure, she bled terribly in the phantom dimension. And Ashlyn woke up in the facility room yet again... All the distance she went was trashed.

They told her it was a fungus. That her parents knew she was here. That her friends knew she was here. That they were okay with it. They were okay with it. They were okay with her being kept away. They were okay with not getting to see her. They were okay with it.

Tch. Such bullshit. She didn't believe it, at all. It ate away at her, she didn't know how Tyler was right now. How Aiden was right now. A tree and a ceiling. Maybe they were fine. Tyler was alright. Aiden woke up okay. She still felt the way she clung to him once they woke up.

She had to get back. It was so close, why not get closer? One hour was the preparation... If she prepared the night before, she'd have six hours on the road. Right. She could do this. She was Ashlyn Banner, of course she could do it... Well, she needed to take care of her scars first because she could pass out. Every single night was important now, she was practically only alive for 7 hours in the phantom dimension. She felt dead in real life, 24 hours of doing nothing.

"I need to hurt myself somehow... So that I can have some kind of bandaging." Ashlyn thought.

But how? She didn't have a knife to injure herself with. And no way they'd just bring her one upon request. And trying anything drastic was too risky. Injuring her foot or legs were risky too... She needed that to get to her friends. But she definitely needed the bandaging, because her scars were too intense from the phantom claws.

Putting together a plan wasn't as hard as she thought.

im okay guys dont worry i wrote this out of free will yes sorry it sucks it was the free will

its just buildup rn honestly i literally didnt expect to make this an actual fic but here we go i guess

smoke signals part 2 . part 1 here

[prettygirl-gabi]

Rainy Streams

Rating: General Audiences

Warning:Fluffy fluff, even more fluff

Category:F/M

Fandom: Vinnie hacker (streamer,  tiktoker)

Relationships: !boyfriend Vinnie x !f reader

Summary: You and Vinnie do a late night 24 hour stream

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Vinnie has become a household name in the online world, especially with the teen girls and gamers. However, what many people don't know is that behind his charismatic persona lies a soft-hearted and affectionate person who loves nothing more than spending time with you, his girlfriend.

One rainy night, you and Vinnie were cuddled up on the couch in the cozy apartment watching your all time favorite anime. As you snuggled closer together under a warm blanket, Vinnie turned his head to rest on yours and said, "I have an idea. How about we do a 24-hour stream together?"

You looked at him skeptically. "Are you sure? That's going to be a lot of work, plus its like 3 am right now."

Vinnie grinned mischievously. "Come on Y/n, it'll be fun! We can play games, chat with the fans, and just hang out all night long. Please baby."

You couldn't resist Vinnie's infectious enthusiasm and agreed to the idea. You and Hera watched as Vinnie quickly set up the equipment and started streaming.

"Hey guys I wanted to do a 24-hour stream at 3 am how smart of me right, but I'm gonna have help form my lovely girl to keep me up with you all!" Vinnies stated as he pulled you onto his lap.

As the hours ticked by, you and Vinnie played games together while chatting with the fans who had tuned in from all over the world. The rain continued to pour outside as you laughed and joked around like old friends with chat. The both of you kept taking turns plaing a few rounds with some of the fans from chat just to keep this interesting.

At one point during the stream, You leaned on head on Vinnie's shoulder with Hera in your arms as he wrapped his arm around your waist. "I'm so glad we're doing this," he whispered.

"Me too," you replied softly as you kissed his neck without squashing Hera.

You were about 12 hours into the stream

As the both of you played game after game. Exhausted but happy from how early you both decide to start streaming together, you both had ended up in the pull out bed from the couch in each other's arms.

But the stream was still going and you could tell that some of the fans we just rolling in or just lurking the stream.

"That was the most amazing sleep ever," you said with a yawn.

Vinnie smiled sleepily at you as he rubbed his eyes."Yeah, it was. But you know what's even better?"

"What?" You asked while yawning once again.

Vinnie leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips. "Spending time with you."

The cause you to blush and snuggle closer to him. "I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," Vinnie replied as they took turns keeping the stream interesting while they each got ready and freshend to finish out the stream.

"So Vinnie they said we should cook dinner to end the stream, watcha think." You asked us you look up with the most purest doe eyes ever. "Yeah, yeah let's do it."

Buy the time the both of you were done the kitchen was a mess, the food had long been devoured and stream was ticking closer to the 24 hour mark.

"Alright chat, we're done with our food and it's almost 3 am. I just wanna say thanks for watching and staying the whole stream, and also if we don't post for two days we're sleeping." You chuckled at his statement but nod in agreement.

"Yeah even though we took at 4 hour nap it didn't help much, but we will do another 24-hour stream in a few weeks and we shall be better prepared." You stated as you yawned once more for the 10th time

"Yes but for now everyone, everywhere, I hope you all have a good morning, day, or night, we shall be going to sleep now."

After you both said your final farewells you both crashed and you crashed hard. "Sleep well baby, you deserve it." You said in a low tone as you drift into a deep sleep.

[thewalkingwillowtree]

Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love. 

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 24.

Xilä is my own creation.

Warning! Cliffhanger Ahead

~

Part 15 - Mated Bliss

In the week that Xilä and Neteyam moved into their new home together, their lives had quickly settled into a comfortable routine.

Xi would easily say she'd been enjoying every moment of domestic bliss with her husband.

With every kiss and touch, every sweet moment they shared, even their bickering disputes- he was the best mate she could ever hope for.

Sometimes, when she sat back and really thought about it all, she felt giddy, finding it difficult to contain her happiness.

Eywa, was she blessed.

~

Neteyam groaned. Wiping sleep from his face, he blinked awake. Sitting up with a start when he realized the hour, he cursed, "Shit."

He was late.

Due to meet Tasam at the border before first light that morning, he mentally berated himself for staying up so late. It was his own greedy self to blame really and the culprit over said greed laid right beside him with her tail entwined with his.

Yet still with an uncontrollable smile, he scooted forward to lean over and stare down at his sleeping mate. She had evidently rolled away from him at some point.

"Xi, sweetheart. I'm late. I have to get ready to leave now," he whispered, kissing her exposed shoulder blade.

He leaned up on an arm, peeling away the blanket that covered her bare form, before combing back the loose, soft strands of hair to see her sleeping face.

Her hair smelled intoxicating. She had washed it last night with whatever new made up concoction D'avi had gifted her, and while Xi's intention was to re-braid it, Neteyam had gotten to her first, distracting her from the task.

"Baby, I'm going, okay?" he whispered, having every intention of getting up to leave, even though he further curled himself around her whilst nosing at her ear and down her cheek.

Xilä sighed softly, stretching as she slowly woke. A face nuzzled into her neck from behind as she yawned, while a large palm smoothed up the curve of her hip, dipping into her waist before spanning her ribs. Its journey ended when it began to fondle her left breast.

"'Teyam?" she mumbled groggily, squirming backwards, gravitating to the heat of his body.

He hummed against her skin, peppering tender kisses wherever he could reach. "Don't forget my mother will be coming by this morning," he reminded softly. "She's excited to finally spend a whole day with you."

That had her much more awake now, because she had actually forgotten. Xi rubbed her eyes and asked in a hoarse scratchy voice, "Did you ask Kiri if she would come too?"

"Hm?" He was very much distracted by now. His hand had wandered down the length of her body to inspect the mess between her legs.

Testing to see if she was still drenched from last night's events, he was quite glad to feel there hadn't been much leakage.

"Kiri," she emphasized, breaking him from a naughty fantasy. "When you saw her yesterday, did you remember to ask her to be my buffer for- ooh Ow!" she gasped, hissing with a pained wince when two thick digits suddenly entered her.

Neteyam froze. "What? It hurts?" he asked, easing his fingers out to peer over her in worry.

"Yeah, a bit. I'm sore but it's fine," she assured him quietly as her tail wound tighter around his in comfort. He always got worked up if he ever crossed a line with her in bed, she realized. "Just go gentle."

"No, if you're-" he cut off when she shot him a look. Hesitating, he asked, "Are you sure?"

At her reassuring smile and nod, he relaxed again and continued, moving far more gently than before. He twirled slow circles around her clit with the pads of his fingers, then carefully dipped a finger in knuckle deep.

"Teyam, did you find out?" she asked again, squirming from the sensation between her legs.

Extremely sensitive, puffy and still filled with his seed, her breath hitched when he began to sink in and out of her entrance, testing her readiness this time.

Neteyam snickered. "Yes, babe. I did ask, but Kiri said you don't need her, and that you'll be fine- which by the way I agree with. But don't worry Tuk overheard and invited herself. So you'll have company after all- something about a girls day..." he mumbled.

She let out a breathless, "Oh okay," as the single digit stretching her continued its pace- fingering her until she was ready to accept another one.

Two fingers working her now, every pump caused the insides of her thighs to become painted in the come she'd been stuffed with.

She sighed, giving in to the pleasure. It felt good. So fucking good. Her head collided with his shoulder when she arched backwards and he hummed his approval since the shift seemed to give him more skin to attack with his lips.

Xi rocked against his fingers greedily. She was a squelching mess- his seed mixed with her own arousal. An exasperated whine escaped her when he abruptly stopped, slipping his hand away.

Neteyam gripped under her knee, hooking it over his own to spread her wide. Sticky coated fingers trailing over her skin, smearing his come wherever he touched.

"Look at me," he ordered as his thick digits sank into her again, fucking her at a leisured pace. Filling her up yet giving her nothing at the same time.

"No teasing today," she whined, rolling her hips pathetically, chasing after more.

"Then look at me and I won't tease."

The moment she locked eyes with him, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs again, making her curse in protest. His gaze bore into hers when he pressed those two fingers against her lips, prompting her to open. She held his wrist still as she sucked them clean, humming at the taste of them both, eyes glinting seductively.

Neteyam's pupils dilated and he groaned at the sight. He was fighting the powerful need to devour her- to fuck her ruthlessly as she sobbed and begged him to make her come.

"Tsaheylu, sweetheart," he said huskily, dragging her hips downward so she was closer to his throbbing dick. Tauntingly, he rubbed his tip against her clit.

Xi felt drunk off of his affections. She wanted to scream in frustration. Her being overly sensitive from last night, made his usual teasing exceedingly torturous.

Quickly grappling her queue from behind, she swung it over her shoulder, panting in anticipation as Neteyam did the same.

"Good girl," he praised, sagging against her the instant the bond was made.

He ducked his head with a commanding, "Kiss me," and claimed her mouth as he lined himself up, sinking deep between her folds.

Moving slowly, he stretched her, inch by inch until he was fully sheathed. He pressed down gently on the bulge of her stomach where he sat, amazed every time he felt and saw the outline of himself there. He savored the snug fit inside of her, warm and wet and squeezing him just right.

Xi moaned against his lips, releasing an unhappy whine when made no effort to move.

Breaking the kiss, he grinned wickedly at the scowl she shot him. He loved how needy and desperate she would get for him. The sight of her flushed cheeks and pouty lips- and her eyes...fucking hell, he was done for.

Unable to stay still a moment longer, he rolled his hips, taking hold of hers, controlling her to his liking.

Their lovemaking was slow and sweet that morning. A far cry from the wild, sweaty night they'd shared a mere few hours ago.

Neteyam's movements were lazy, almost as if he had all the time in the world to fuck her. He sensually licked and sucked at her neck, practically feasting on her skin. His tail had abandoned hers- it was now wrapped around the thigh hooked over his, keeping her spread wide.

A nagging part in Xi's mind knew she should care that he would be late for his duties but she couldn't find it within herself. The pleasure was too much, too good, too addicting.

"Faster," she pleaded, hands fisting in their sheets with a wanton whine. "Faster, plea-"

"No. Just like this," he said, denying her request. "Sorry baby, you're sore, remember?" he teased, slowing his pace even further. "You said to be gentle. I'm being gentle."

She wanted to cry, his rhythm was tormenting. About to curse at him for using her own words against her, he suddenly pinched hard on her nipple and a moan escaped her- mingled with pain and pleasure, it echoed around their tent.

Neteyam sank deep into her, ever slowly dragging back so that just the tip of him sat against her slit before delving back in at the same speed, over and over and over, hitting all the right places inside of her.

Body quivering from the pleasure, Xi mewled. She felt like she was going insane, it was too much, too intense.

The build up was torturously good, but yet it wasn't enough. She wanted more- she wanted to come- she needed it.

"I can't- Teyam, please, please, p-"

"You close, sweetheart?" he asked, nipping her pointed ear. His breath was labored, and it was taking everything within in him not to flip his mate onto her stomach and fuck her hard.

The position was also killing his back since he had to practically contort himself around her because of how small she was.

"Mmhmm. So-so close, but I need-" she broke off into a sob.

"What do you need, baby?" he asked in faux concern, tightening his hold on her when she began to squirm.

"More- ugh. Teyam, make me come- Oh Eywa!" she cried when he changed his angle.

She turned to peer up at him, tears welled in her eyes as she bit hard on her bottom lip. "Please," she begged, reaching downward to touch herself. But before she could, he snagged her wrist away, shooting her disapproving look.

Xilä clutched a nearby pillow. Stuffing it into her face, she released a muffled, ragged scream. She was on the cusp, she could feel the rupture right there. All she needed was just a little more.

Finally taking pity on his poor mate, and on the verge of bursting himself, Neteyam gave in.

The hand that had been playing with her breasts- pinching and rolling her nipples, sailed downward to work her clit.

Xi panted and babbled incomprehensibly as he began to rub tight circles on her swollen nub. Her body was tense and shaking, feverishly awaiting the impending crash of her orgasm.

Her hand shot towards his moving wrist, squeezing desperately as her walls clenched around him, causing him to growl against her cheek.

Neteyam came first with a guttural groan, which pushed her right over the edge as she too came with a silent cry- body tense as she snapped. Almost on the verge of pain when she exploded, her thighs trembled- everything trembled as heat licked her inside out.

He continued to lazily thrust into her, pushing his seed as far in as possible, until he couldn't physically continue, limbs gone limp in protest.

They were both panting and spent as they laid still for a couple minutes, gathering their energy, basking in the aftermath.

Neteyam felt like sludge, he felt as if she'd taken everything from him, leaving him weak and boneless. Meanwhile Xi couldn't move a muscle as she recovered from her brain numbing high. She closed her eyes, fatigue fighting her.

It wasn't until Neteyam began to move her, did she rouse from a light doze.

"You're late," she chastised with a blissful smile as she settled more comfortably into the cocoon of his arms, feeling coming back to her numb toes and legs.

He made an offended sound. "Well good morning to you too," he laughed, gently easing his dick out of her. "I just gave you an orgasm. And a good fucking one at that. Are you really complaining?" he teased as he set her thigh down and rolled her onto her stomach to brandish a playful smack to her ass.

She squealed, gasping when he leaned over and bit the flesh he'd just smacked. Huffing at his antics, she complied when he manhandled her into his arms again- front facing him this time.

"How do you feel? Are you okay?" he asked, brushing her bed hair from her face. "You were quiet," he murmured with a frown, eyes tracing her features as if they would tell him what was wrong.

"You mean I wasn't screeching at the top of my lungs like a mountain banshee as usual?" she smiled, voice still soft. "I'm fine, promise. My throat's still a bit sore after last night," she admitted with a blush. "It hurts whenever I talk- but hey, it's nothing a bit of brewed char'mill leaf can't help," she quickly assured when she saw his horrified expression.

He grew panicked at her meaning. Spluttering, he said, "What? Oh shit, Xi. I'm sorry. I- fuck, I should've been more caref-"

Tugging him down by his nape, she shushed him, silencing him with a kiss. Lips and tongue forcing his squawk of protest away, halting his distress.

"Handsome, it's going to be light soon. You should get going," she suggested when they broke apart, trying to distract him from the topic.

"Xilä," he said seriously, cupping the back of her neck, trailing a thumb down her throat. He had fucked her mouth last night not realizing how rough he'd been. Guilt tore at him.

"Stop fretting," she chastised. "I'm already nervous about spending an entire day alone with your mother. You're not helping with that guilty expression of yours right now. It's too early and I'm too tired to make you stop worrying. I told you I'm fine, okay?" she said, forcing a funny looking smile on his face by pushing up the corners of his mouth with her thumbs.

"Fine- but say something next time. Please," he stated firmly, unmoving from the discussion.

'He was so bossy sometimes,' she thought, holding in a snicker. For his sake, she nodded in agreement anyway.

It would be too difficult to try to explain how she'd very much enjoyed what they had done last night, and that she was simply feeling the after effects. 

Disconnecting their queues, he untangled himself from her, and leaped out of their hammock. He hurriedly cleansed his body, chewing on fresh van'eela bark as he washed only the necessary parts of himself for now, before throwing on his warrior garb.

Xi eventually got up too, wrapping a woven blanket around her bare waist as she headed to their kitchenette.

She cleaned her hands first before putting her Qla'ira root tea on the fire. While it boiled she then began to leaf wrap a few thick slices of HoneyCornbread and some tender leftover seared fish.

Grabbing an empty water pouch, she met him at the tent's threshold where he was securing his knives to his chest and hip.

"Have I told you the guys are jealous of all the meals you pack me?" he asked, accepting his breakfast with a smile and a sweet kiss, bending to tuck it and his water pouch into his riding satchel. "All of a sudden the unmated ones want a wife now," he chuckled.

She laughed. "Should I start packing extra then?"

"No. You only get to spoil me," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "I've got a meeting later today, so we'll try for the hunt to not take too long."

"Be safe," she said, hugging him around the waist as he hooked up his comm device to his neck and ear. "Who's your hunting partner? Tasam again?"

He nodded, adjusting his visor, taming down a few askew braids.

Since the increase in palulukan attacks, there was a temporary ban on all solo activities outside of the perimeter of Home Camp- including solo hunts. Xi was relieved to hear Tasam would be accompanying her mate. He was sure to have Neteyam's back, out past the borders.

"You smell like me," he voiced, bending to nuzzle and lick at her neck. "Am I dripping down your thighs yet?" he asked, reaching through the flap of the blanket to drag his palm up her slick coated skin.

"Neteyam!" she laughed, mildly scandalized, stopping his hand before he made contact with her core. "Go already you skxawng. You are making me blush."

"You are pretty when you blush and I like when you smell like me. People know you are mine," he said, swiping a thumb along her swollen bottom lip.

Her blush deepened down to the tips of her flushed, exposed chest. "And you say you aren't barbaric," she teased.

He shrugged as he stepped away, swinging his bag on his back- the strap crossing his chest, bow in hand. "I am but a man who loves his woman, is all."

Xi internally swooned. "You should go now before I seduce you to stay. You keep saying things that make me feel needy, husband."

Neteyam laughed. A bubbling sound disrupted his response however.

His smile dropped and he pulled a face at his offending enemy when he glanced over her shoulder and saw the little pot on the fire, boiling. He could smell the fragrant scent of Qla'ira root from where he stood.

Clearing his throat and not meeting her eyes he said, "Hey um, if you're still sore, you should go lay down in that position I told you about the other day...you know the one with your hips in the air and the pillow under you? It's supposed to be a really good stretch."

Xilä snorted at her mate's subtlety. Hooking a finger into his belt, she tugged him close again- fronts pressing, bare breasts brushing his upper abs. "Ah the position, riiiight...you mean the one that humans use in order to aid in conceiving little ones?" she asked in faux confusion.

His jaw ticked at being found out, and Xi thought the whole thing was entirely entertaining. It was honestly incredibly cute how hard he tried.

"Nice try handsome," she said sweetly. "Now go, Tasam's probably furious that you've kept him so long."

"Fine," he said sourly, stealing a final kiss with a grumpy muffled, "love you,"before raising the flap to head out.

~

After breakfast, Xi hummed as she did a quick tidy of their home.

There wasn't really much to do, but the thick pelt lining their hammock was disgusting after numerous rounds of lovemaking, so she stripped it and put on a new one.

When she finished, she got herself ready for the day and took her time to braid her hair, making sure to put back Neteyam's gifted beads.

Her braiding skill had improved by far. For the most part, Tuk and D'avi loved to style her hair for her but Xi had to learn. Salveen had told her Omatikaya females usually braided their mates' hair once bonded. So Xi of course wanted to learn for Neteyam...and maybe too for their future children when the time came.

"Xilä," called an all too familiar gruff voice from outside her tent. "Are you there?"

Xi's humming ceased. She then scrambled to make her way to the entrance. Peaking out, she saw her father standing at the base of the steps leading to the tent. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she noticed he was guarded by three male Na'vi, all armed with guns.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping out onto the landing, peering down at him in uncertainty.

T'shteyo's eyes narrowed at her response before schooling his face into something more uncharacteristically sincere. "It's been a while...I was badly injured. I thought you'd come visit me..."

When she gave no response he asked, "Won't you invite me in?"

Xi observed him, taking in how different he looked from the last time she saw him two months ago. Two months ago. So much had happened in her life since then. She was a wife now- she was no longer tied to him.

Her father looked good however. Well fed and healthy for someone who was rumored to be on his deathbed. The lingering bruises brandishing his body were the only tells he'd been in a fight.

A fleeting flash of guilt pierced her for not caring or even thinking about him during that time but the phantom ache of her wrist was the reminder she needed to not give a shit.

"Xilä?"

Blinking out of her reverie she shook her head. "No. I'm not going to invite you in," she said, hiding the tremor of her hands by folding her arms. "What do you want?"

He sighed, clearly unhappy with her response yet his face remained passive. "I'm being exiled tomorrow...I came to say- I don't know," he frowned, seeming to have trouble putting his words together. "Those two months of solitude gave me much to think about...I should have done some things differently...it could have been better. We could have been happy."

Xi stared, fidgeting ceased. 'Was he trying to apologize? No. He was capable of no such thing,' she reminded herself.

"Say something," he said.

"What would you like me to say?"

He looked taken aback by that.

"Would you like me to hug you goodbye? Wish you safe travels and tell you that I will miss you? I wish I could. I wish it hadn't come to this."

"It doesn't. If you ask them to let me stay-"

"I can't do that," she said with a frown, cutting him off.

"Can't? Or won't?" he spat, showing her a glimpse of his inner monster for a split second. His features quickly morphed back into that ugly polite expression of his that had her unnerved.

Xilä said nothing.

"It's fine," he scoffed. "What's done is done. I'll be going, I guess."

"Father, wait..." she said, and his head flickered back to her, pausing his departure. "I truly do wish you well and...thank you," she said softly, surprising him, "for bringing us here. For taking me with you. I gained a home and happiness...and I pray you find the same thing one day."

T'shteyo's lips curled into a smile. It felt foreign seeing him look so sincere. He nodded at her once in parting before motioning to the guards he was ready to leave. And without another word, without another glance, he left.

Xilä released the breath she'd been holding as she watched him walk away. This would be the last time she ever saw him, she realized. She searched her inner being for some form of sadness, but there was none.

'This is good,' she thought.

Her father being gone meant she could finally move on without that lingering nagging reminder that he was still around.

This would be a fresh start, not only for her but for him too.

~

By the time Neytiri and Tuk showed up, Xilä had gotten a grip on her emotions.

The duo had arrived with a basket full of goodies and an announcement by an overly excited Tuk, that they'd be spending the day out at a nearby glade.

Although Xi was originally a wreck of nerves at the prospect of spending the day with her mother-in-law, she quickly realized there was no need to. Neytiri was easy going and quite lovely company to be honest.

The day spent together with the Sully females was enjoyable. They picnicked near a waterfall where other roaming clusters of friends and families milled about as well. Their conversation flowed from topic to topic with ease and Xi felt relaxed and carefree as they lounged.

Tuk deserted them at some point, choosing to chase after fluttering woodsprites. She grew bored of those too then trotted off to dip her feet in the pool of rippling water where a few others were also doing the same and Xi and Neytiri watched her with matching smiles as a peaceful silence washed over them.

"Xi," Neytiri, called gently, breaking the quiet between them. Hesitantly, she asked, "Will you tell me about your mother?"

Words eluded Xilä from the sudden question and Neytiri, picking up on her shock, was quick to calm her.

"It is only of course if you want to. I don't mean to pry- well I do actually but- When I asked before...Sal and Neteyam both said it was not their story to tell...I simply wish to know."

Awkwardly shifting under her in-law's gaze and feeling her throat tighten, Xi avoided her stare.

"What would you like to know?" she croaked.

Neytiri laid a palm over her hand in comfort. "Where is she?"

"Gone."

"Gone...gone where? Why? Did- did your father send her away."

Xilä shrugged. "In his own way, maybe he did...He has never been a kind man, but over time he became worse. My mother- I think there was only so much she could take. Sometimes it felt like he was rubbing off on her- she'd always push me hard in my studies...but sometimes was cruel."

Xi took a breath before continuing. "There were plans to escape- months of planning. I never told my father because I thought-"

Staring out unseeingly, Xi swallowed hard. "My mother and a small group stole away one night and I thought- I thought she'd take me with her. I saw when she snuck away. I tried to run after her, but she...she told me to stay."

Neytiri's brows narrowed.

"She told me to remember everything she'd taught me...and then she just...left." Xilä blinked rapidly trying to tame the sting of her eyes. "She didn't even look back...not once."

"She left you," Neytriri said, voice laced in a quiet rage. "She chose to leave without you?"

Xi nodded and that seemed to irk the mother even more.

"Where is she now? Do you know?"

"The Wetlands maybe. Rumors said they went to the Hulanta clan. I don't know for sure."

Neytiri scoffed, glancing away. "She left you," she muttered to herself again, jaw jutting in fury as she pursed her lips. "She left her only child."

Xilä would bet that her mother-in-law was probably mentally cursing her mother. The thing was, she hadn't even told her the whole story- just the gist of it. And the fact that Xi hadn't even told her everything, she felt touched by Neytiri's reaction all the same.

The night she told Sal and Jxo everything about her past, Xi was in shambles after. It was a long emotional night for them all, ending when Jxo left the tent without comment- angry tears and silent outrage rolling off of him in waves.

Meanwhile Sal sobbed hysterically as if all what Xilä had said had physically hurt her- had physically caused her pain.

Neteyam had found out the story in bits and pieces, through scattered conversations during their training days.

From since early on in their friendship he'd had a knack for getting her to open up. And although most times he'd be quiet and brooding after she'd share something new about her past, he never made her feel bad over it.

If anything, he'd constantly remind her of how strong she was, that she was safe, that she was never going back there.

"Over his dead body," was what he'd say.

And Mo'at. Well Mo'at was the first soul she'd ever told. Tsahìk was the first person to hold her while she cried as she spewed the truth. And though Xi had seen a crack in the elder's demeanor, Mo'at was strong- she showed Xi true strength.

"Thank you for telling me...you didn't have to, but I'm glad you did. Being a mother, deep down I needed to know," she confessed, tone soft as squeezed Xilä's hand again, comforting as best she could. "You deserved so much better my child," she said sadly. "Parents who loved you."

Xilä gave her a wobbly smile. "It's in the past now. And I have Sal and Jxo, they are my parents...It- it may sound horrible to say this, but...I would live through it all over again if it meant I'd end up here. I found a home. I found Neteyam," she declared.

Neytiri stared at her through shining eyes. "You know, I prayed Eywa would bless my son with someone strong. Someone with heart. Someone the people would admire and stand by. Someone who would love my 'Teyam down to the core of his being...I thank Eywa for answering my prayers. I thank Eywa for blessing us with you, Xilä."

If it wasn't for the interruption of an oblivious to the moment and overly animated Tuk, Xi knew she'd have burst into happy tears.

~

Later that night as Xi puttered around their kitchenette, she told her husband about her day. She left out the part about her and Neytiri's little heart to heart however.

"-oh, and the waterfall was amazing! We should go sometime for a date night. What do you think, handsome?"

"Sounds good, baby," her mate mumbled distractedly.

She glanced at him and snorted in amusement.

He was crouched at their workstation, frowning in concentration. Xi had put him to work, asking him to dice the root vegetables she'd layed out for dinner. The poor man was incredibly focused on the task at hand, cursing under his breath when he realized the pieces weren't cubed as she'd asked him to cut.

It wasn't usual for them to have dinner at home. Most evenings they ate with the rest of the clan or with either of their families but Neteyam had asked her to stay in tonight and she didn’t mind one bit.

He was reserved when he got home, she'd noticed but she didn't comment on it. She knew he'd eventually open up when he was ready.

When they'd finished preparing a hearty stew, they made themselves comfortable around the beautiful table Jxo had crafted. The main room felt cozy too since her husband, ever the romantic, had lit little candles all over the space.

Conversation flowed between the two as they ate. Half way through their meal however, he'd had enough distance from her.

"Come here," he said, patting his lap, pulling her into the cradle of his thighs before she could try to move herself. He kissed her ear before offering her a bite of food.

"You know I can feed myself, right?" she laughed, accepting the vegetable anyway.

"Humor me," he smiled, popping a piece of tender meat into her mouth this time before licking the juice off his fingertips.

"So, I have to tell you something," he said, after chewing on a bite of his own.

"Oh?" She turned to see him better, giving her full attention.

"There's a small team flying out to the C'ontiqu mountains tomorrow," he said, mindlessly wiping away a drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth and sucking it off his thumb. "It'll be a two day- three day trip at most, just to clear the area and mark it as a safe zone...I'll be heading the trip though."

"Oh...this is for the whole, war clean up thing, right?"

He nodded, "Yeah, the RDA left their marks all over Pandora. It's a long overdue project but it'd be worth it in the end. Better to be safe than to stumble onto an old landmine ten years from now."

She nodded. "Alright...I miss you already," she said, hugging him round the waist. And it was the truth, she felt a little pang of sadness from his news. It also occurred to her that this would be their first time apart from each other for longer than a few hours.

As if reading her mind, he lifted her chin and bent to kiss her jaw in apology. "I'll be back before you know it, sweetheart. And hey, you've got that practice with Lo'ak and his trainees tomorrow, so you'll be plenty busy and distracted until I get back."

Lo'ak had been promoted a few days ago. Since then he'd promised her a place on his team for whenever she wanted to improve her skills, citing he'd be, "a much better mentor than her skxawng husband."

"That's true," she replied. "And maybe I'll invite my parents over the next day? They haven't been over since we moved in," she pondered, already thinking of inviting D'avi and her family as well.

"See? I bet you won't even notice I'm gone."

"I'll notice," she frowned, snapping her head up to eye him.

Neteyam openly stared. Gaze roaming over her features, he observed her as if trying to memorize every inch of her face.

"What?" she asked, lips quirking upwards in amusement. She poked his cheek, waking him from his thoughts. "What?" she laughed.

"Nothing...I'm just trying to decide whether to fuck you and fill you with my come tonight and cuddle you in the morning, or to cuddle you all night then fuck you and fill you in the morning. It's a kind of a tough decision," he said in faux seriousness.

Her eyes glinted and she bit her lip to stifle her laughter. Her husband was always saying such wild things. Half the time she either blushed so furiously, she was pretty sure she turned purple all over. The other half of the time she couldn't help cracking up at his absurdity.

"Liar," she said, fighting a grin. "Tell me the truth."

His knuckles caressed her cheek. "Fine...I'll miss you, is all," he mumbled. "You're turning me soft, you know that?" he teased in mock fury, shuffling her around so she straddled his thigh, large hands palming over the skin of her waist. "How'd you manage to have me wrapped around your little finger? Don't you know I have a reputation to uphold?"

Xi scoffed. "Everyone already knows you're soft for me though. So I don't know who you're trying to foo- OW! That hurt!" she complained, swatting his hand away to rub at her stinging backside.

He had flipped up her skirt to smack her on the butt because of her sass.

"Want me to kiss it better?" he asked with a wild grin, leaning forward to nip her pouting bottom lip.

"I don't trust you near my ass, honestly," she said, gaining a loud cackle from her mate who tossed his head back with a hoot.

When they finished their meal, they decided to go out for a night stroll. Xilä loved observing the activity of the clan around this time.

Hunters, gathers, fishermen, warriors, healers, all reuniting with their families and settling in.

The smokehouses and food tents were stocked with the day's harvest and prepped for the next day.

Teenagers mingled about until the last second-until they were called home by their yelling parents.

And Xi love to hear the muffled conversations and laughter emitting from homes when they strolled pass.

It was comforting.

It was home.

"Hey, can we take the ikrans out when you get back? Journey is going to miss her boyfriend. Buddy is so much more calm around her," she mused.

He groaned in mild annoyance. "Xi, baby. They aren't boyfriend and girlfriend. Stop listening to Tuk's make believe stories...But yeah, we can do that when I get back."

She grinned triumphantly, plastering herself to his side even more as they continued walking.

"'Teyam," she said, remembering something. "Tell me the joke you didn't want your father to say the other day."

"No."

"Why not?" she grumbled.

He sighed, shooting her a fleeting side eyed stare. "Baby, you'll only be embarrassed, trust me."

"Wait...am I part of the story?" she asked in suspicion.

Neteyam bit the inside of his cheek. He contemplated whether he should say. "You remember that one night I ate you out behind the labs?"

Xi stopped walking, peeling herself away from him. "What about it?" she asked in dread.

Her husband wiped a palm down his face with groan. "I sent you away after, remember?"

She nodded, clearly remembering it was when they'd still been fooling around. Neteyam had dragged her behind a link shack, determined to have his way with her.

"Well I uh-" he cleared his throat, "I stayed behind to take care of um, my-" he gestured to his dick. "I was just sneaking back out from our spot when dad and Gwuyle caught sight of me. It was kind of obvious apparently...And even more so, when you came back."

The moment clicked for Xilä when she realized what happened after.

"Oh Great Mother," she said, hiding her face.

"Yep."

That night, Xi had returned to the side of the labs when she noticed she'd forgotten her undercloth. Jake, his second in command and Neteyam were all further away, talking by the time she'd gotten there.

They'd all shot her varying looks she was too distracted to interpret, and not wanting to interrupt them, she walked ahead and snuck back behind the trailer to search for the abandoned flimsy material that was torn off her.

Unbeknownst to her, Neteyam was the only one to feel the knowing stares from his dad and his second, embarrassment clouding his face as they so clearly put the pieces together, figuring out what he and Xi had been up too.

The worst part- the part he decided to keep to himself, was when Gwuyle smirked and said, "Brother, you've got a bit of something right here," as he pointed to the corner of his own mouth.

Neteyam flushed, hastily wiping away the remnants of Xi's slick, while Jake coked on air and averted eyes before quickly changing the topic.

"I am never looking your father in the eyes again," Xi stated in utter mortification.

He laughed in agreement. "Aww, baby. I'm sorry," he sang in awe of her cuteness. He pulled her into his arms so she could hide from the world as she cursed him.

Grinning into her hair, he received his scolding without complaint. He knew damn well it was all his fault.

~

Neteyam was wrong.

Xi did notice his absence. She missed him like crazy.

On the first night, she barely slept, not only due to his missing presence but also because she was completely alone. She was half tempted to sneak into the little room she had at her parents' place.

She hated being lonely.

Xi woke extremely early on the second day after a shitty night of sleep. Stretching out her sore muscles, she snuggled into Neteyam's side of the hammock, wishing he were there.

Even though she hadn't chosen Warrior as her path, her husband still pushed her to keep at her training when she could and Lo'ak- the liar, was brutal on her and his group of trainees yesterday.

He made them run through drill after drill with no remorse. So it was no surprise that her body was aching, tired and begging for one of her mate's delicious, full body massages.

It was still quite dark out so Xi mentally planned her day as she relaxed.

She had an early morning class in a few hours with Tsahìk who no longer referred to Xi's lessons as healer training, but Tsahìk training.

And after that, Sal and Jxo were coming by for a late lunch, so she made a quick note to get her laundry out of the way before then.

Xi also had to request some cloth from the tapestry tents since the skirt she wore to training yesterday was badly torn. She would have to sew a new one- or maybe she'd just ask her mother to do it.

Her thoughts were interrupted however when she heard a nearby twig snap. Thinking nothing of it, she closed her eyes, intending to go back to sleep for a few more hours. But then another rustle was heard from just outside her tent- too close for comfort this time.

Ears twitching, she strained to hear if the sound was just her imagining things.

It was far too early for visitors, so Xilä slung herself out of bed and headed out into the main room. She frowned when she saw a shadow grow at the tent's entrance and gasped when her father pushed the flap aside and strode in, completely uninvited.

"Nice to see you again, Xilä," T'shteyo said pleasantly, eyes greedily taking in the interior of her home- walking about as if he owned it.

Shock taking hold, Xilä stared, completely at a loss for words.

He was supposed to be gone.

Jake and a team of warriors had personally escorted her father out of the Omatikaya forest yesterday. Jxo had even told her that they'd sent him off with more than a generous amount of provisions.

Fear rippled down her spine and her jaw hung in disbelief. "What are you doing here? Please leave," she managed to get out.

"You didn't think I was actually going to leave without you, did you?" he asked, head titled as he seemed to be admiring the colorful tapestry hanging Neteyam had gotten made for her.

"How'd you think I did with my goodbye speech? I thought I did quite well- Oh come now, don't look at me like that. Don't you remember? I told you, we are going back home. About damn time too."

She gaped at him. He was crazy. He had to have been. "Father...you need to leave, I-"

"Didn't you hear me girl? Pack your shit. Let's go."

"No!" she snapped.

He looked almost stunned for a moment before he was quickly advancing on her.

She jumped at his sudden movement, scrambling backwards on shaky legs. Xi tripped, knocking over a basket of sewing materials, knee colliding with the fort of assembled cushions and blankets Tuk had made when she, Lo'ak, Kiri and Spider visited last night.

Her father made a wild grab for her but she dodged him, causing him to run into Neteyam's collection of weapons- a few of them clattering to the floor with a loud CLANG.

Xi made a run for the tent's threshold but he caught her, grabbing hold of her queue, fingers clenched tight while she cried out in pain.

Thinking fast, she rammed her head backwards, catching him in the face with force.

She made a dive for one of the fallen weapons, snagging a small dagger just in the nick of time.

"Stop!" she yelled hysterically, brandishing the knife in front of her as she backed away.

The Li'ona male had no care however, he advanced towards her, dodging her skilled swings of the weapon, trying to catch her wrist.

Xi managed to nick him twice before slicing a deep gash to his stomach.

When he was momentarily stunned by the cut she inflicted, Xi used the opportunity to stab the short blade into his shoulder, twisting it for added measure. He roared in pain and anger and Xi made another attempt to flee.

She screamed when he clamped a fistful of her hair and roughly slammed her to the ground. Xi rolled and kicked his knee with all her might, making him buckle and grunt in pain. She crawled on all fours, trying to get to the exit but it was futile.

T'shteyo grabbed her ankle and dragged her backwards, rolling her over to restrain her thrashing. She struggled against him and scratched at his face- fingers digging into his flesh as he growled and seethed.

Xi released a gut wrenching scream for help- hoping someone would possibly be up or nearby at this hour but she was just as quickly silenced.

T'shteyo smacked her cheek so hard she went mute. Seeing stars as her cheek stung bad, she whimpered.

Her father stood at his full height, pulling her up with him as his palms circled her throat, squeezing whilst he fixed her with a murderous glare.

She clawed at the backs of the hands crushing her windpipe- her fingernails drawing blood as she struggled for breath, her feet dangling off the floor.

She was no match for him.

"P- p- please-" she gurgled when he tightened his grip.

"Try that shit again, and I'll kill you," he threatened. "Answer me."

"Ye-" she made a choking noise, blinking frantically as her vision swam.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to pack your shit like I told you and then we are going back to Li'ona. Understood?"

He let her go and she crumbled, catching herself on center table, gasping and coughing as she cupped her bruised neck. He laughed when she tried to call for help again but was unable to. "Now you can't scream."

Xi's throat burned and frightened tears stained her cheeks.

Panicked now that she couldn't yell for help, she tried to make another dash for the exit but he fisted her hair again- pulling at the roots painfully.

Ignoring her cries of hurt, he dragged her by the braids as she tripped over her feet, leading her towards her and Neteyam's private quarters.

He shoved her onto the bed roughly and backhanded her for the trouble she caused him.

He winced, looking down at the knife still embedded in his shoulder. With a simple tug he removed it, barely blinking an eye at the blood gushing from his wound.

Tearing apart a blanket from her bed, he dabbed away the excess blood. Taking a fresh strip, he tied the cloth tightly to his injury. And then, turning away, he began rifling through their possessions, stuffing item after item into a spare sack he found.

"Pack!" he barked, making her flinch.

She was too terrified to move however.

He admired one of Neteyam's chokers before taking it too. "It will go well with my staff once Su'ko returns my title to me. After all, what I've offered him, the bastard couldn't possibly refuse," he said almost conversationally.

He smiled when he found the boots Sal had made for her and tossed them at her, catching her in the face. "For the weather," he snarled, shouldering his stolen items onto his good shoulder.

Xi stared at the pretty boots in her lap- she hadn't worn them in months.

"I- I don't want to fight Father..." her voice was hoarse, raw from the trauma he'd inflicted to her throat. "I don't- I'm not going. My life is here...please don't do this."

She was shaking, fear rooting her to the spot. She was almost mad at herself for not fighting harder, for seeming to forget everything Neteyam had taught her in their lessons- for not trying to escape at the first sight of the man before her- for forgetting what he was truly capable of.

"Well tough because I didn't ask what you wanted, did I? I need you to complete the deal anyway," he said, walking back out into the main room.

Xi blinked, mind blank as she tried to process the situation. She gingerly walked toward the main room again, holding her side with a wince. T'shteyo was busy stuffing another pack now with the food from her kitchenette- blocking her from escaping.

"What deal?" she couldn't help asking, quietly.

He merely glanced at her. "You."

"M-me?"

"Su'ko sent a message. He agreed to take you in exchange for the title," he said mindlessly, moving on to scrutinize her husband's scattered weapons, stealing a few as he spoke. "He gets a whore and I become Olo'eyktan once again. A fair fucking deal if you ask me."

Xi blanched. "What? No- I am already mated! Neteyam is my hus-"

"That love sick fool is nothing! You're lucky he's not here tonight. I was planning on killing him before we left."

At the fleeting thought of her father killing her mate, fear and nausea wrecked Xilä.

"I gave no permission for him to have you. I decide who you are given to. Me! Don't forget it. We are not forest pests. It is not our way."

"Then what was the point of us fleeing here father?!" she yelled as loudly as she could manage. "Su'ko wants us dead, and you're going to- give me- to him? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Completely enraged, her words hissed like venom, "I am Omatikaya. I am the wife of the future Olo'eyktan, daughter-in-law of Toruk Makto! I will be Tsahìk. So you will treat me with resp-"

SMACK!

Xi crumbled in a heap to the floor from the blow and T'shteyo crouched in front of her to grip her jaw hard, forcing her to look up at him.

He smiled cynically and said in a calm, almost conversational manner, "Oh, but you are nothing, darling, you are beneath me. So fuck you and your plea for respect. You disappoint me Xilä. What about our ways? What about our people? Do you not care?"

He shoved her away looking disgusted. "Of course you don't care. You are just like her. Just like your fucking mother. I should've killed the bitch when I had the chance." He spat a blob of saliva at her as he got to his feet again, striding over to his loot to continue his packing.

Xi blinked back tears as crimson liquid pooled from her mouth. It was staining the pretty floor tapestry her in-law's had gifted them. Her ribs ached from when he'd tossed her to the ground and her cheek burned, she was sure that it was split open.

The clinking of glass had her head flicking up. The items in her father's hands were foreign- obviously from the lab.

A needle and a clear vial.

"You know, these blood demons aren't as useless as I thought," he said, clumsily filling the syringe with liquid from the vial. "The fuckers kept me...what was it they called it? Oh right sedated with these funny little contraptions. Wasn't hard to steal a couple while they weren't watching," he smirked.

Xilä's stomach clenched in fear.

"Get over here," he ordered, walking towards her. "You've stalled me long enough. Let's go already. I want to get away while it's still dark out," he ordered, "and before the chaos begins."

She shook her head frantically, trying to back away but it was no use. He grabbed her throat roughly and stuck her with the point. Xi gasped at the slight prick on her neck, frowning up at him in confusion when he released her.

"What was that?" she demanded, fingertips pressing at her skin in terror.

Limbs turning heavy, she blinked rapidly as darkness began to cloud her vision. Her head swam and she felt herself begin to slip away.

"Wah id yoo doooo," she slurred.

Panicked, she eyed the exit to her tent. If she could just move- if she could just scream.

Just before Xilä's eyes rolled up into her head- just before she collapsed into the abyss, she heard the loud familiar roar of a palulukan, followed by a slew of screams.

~

Neteyam was shaken awake by a member of his team. Immediately alert as he sat up, his eyes darted around for sources of danger.

"What is it?"

"Neteyam," Tasam said gravely. "There's call waiting for you. It's the chief's personal line. Answer it, quickly."

Fumbling with the earpiece he had popped off before going to sleep, he frowned as he watched his team hurriedly packing up their makeshift camp, called ikrans flying towards them at speed.

On his feet, he pressed on the device circling his neck, "Sir, you there?"

"Neteyam...bro, it's me." It was Lo'ak...and he sounded, off.

"What in Eywa's name is going on brother? Why is my team scrambling at this hour? We're set to leave first thing in the morn-"

"Neteyam."

Neteyam stilled in trepidation. Hearing the seriousness in Lo'ak's tone filled him with dread.

"I don't know how to say this but- look you need to come home alright? It's Xilä-"

"What about Xilä?!" he shouted, ignoring the concerned glances from his team as they hustled around.

"She's gone man. She- we can't find her. We think something happened- we think it was T'shteyo." Blood rushed in Neteyam's ears, muffling the rest of his brother's words. "We have units out searching for hours now-"

"Hours?! How long has she been missing? Why the fuck are you only telling me this now!" he hissed as he grabbed his bow and bag, blowing out a loud whistle as he strode straight to the edge of the cliff they were camped out at.

"I'm sorry but we thought we'd find her by now. There was an attack and- It's like she disappeared into fucking air! There are no tracks, her ikran is still here-"

"Have all the borders been checked?" Neteyam asked, mounting Buddy the moment he landed, flying off immediately- his team following behind.

"Yes, multiple times! We have teams set up incase they-"

"Who was the last person to see her?" Neteyam demanded, cutting his brother off again as he urged his banshee to fly faster, the wind whipping his braids backwards.

"I was. We all hung out late at your place and-"

"When did you realize she was missing? How long till someone noticed?!"

"Bro will you calm d-"

"Don't you tell me to calm down, Lo'ak! My mate is missing! MISSING! She is missing while I have been here strolling through a fucking mountain when I should have been out there searching for her! But no I wasn't, know why? Because I wasn't told anything until HOURS later! So don't you dare tell me to fucking calm down!"

He ended the connection and urged Buddy to go faster, praying to Eywa to keep his wife safe and praying for sanity since he felt himself spiraling.

There was one thing for certain however. If it truly was T'shteyo behind his mate's sudden disappearance...

Neteyam knew.

Without a doubt.

He was going to kill him.

~

I would just like to apologize in advance...as a reader who absolutely detests cliff hangers herself, I'm so so sorry.

But I do hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I can't promise when the next part will be out, so please bear with me lovelies.

And of course, once again a big special shout out and hug to my friend Tori. 💛

As always thank you for reading, please let me know your thoughts :)

Tags: @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @granddearduck @riatesullironalite @strawberri-blonde @earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop @blkmystery @neteswife @luvteyams @isnt-itstrange @erenjaegerwifee

If you'd like to be tagged or I forgot you by accident, please let me know.

[caberzatto]

a quiet sunday

fem!reader x Minho

summary: You're enjoying a peaceful day off with your boyfriend when expresses his complaints about his overgrown hair. So you offer a solution that he's admittedly reluctant about.

word count: 1.5k

*nothing but fluff

author's note: this is proofread, but I may have missed a few things so yeah...

You lay in the small twin bed in your hut, your dark-haired boyfriend snuggled up into your side. As your chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths, Minho's head followed suit; resting on your chest.

His athletic arms encapsulated your body between them, as he hugged you tightly, adding to the warmth of the blankets you both lay in.

It was Sunday, meaning you both had the entire day off from work and when these days came around, you always took full advantage of them. During the week, you were both constantly busy; Minho off in the maze from dawn until the sun began to set behind the walls, and you in the medhut all day treating the rest of the gladers who showed up with injuries.

All work came to a halt on Sundays, the day being treated as if it were a holiday by everyone in the Glade. Almost everyone would spend their 24 hours of peace lying in and simply chilling the shuck out, our one day of bliss if you will.

As you ran your fingers gently through your boyfriend's hair, lying together in silence, you felt his head shift against you as he tilted it back to look up at you.

You smiled softly at him. You could stay here forever. "Hey," you cooed.

He returned the smile, looking up at you like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars combined, "Hey back."

A few strands of his dark hair fell in front of his eyes, his head tipping further back so he could get a better look at you. You carefully brushed the hair away from his eyes, "Your hair's getting long, isn't it."

"Yeah, and it's been bothering me for the past two shucking weeks," he mumbled lowly in displeasure, "it's started to get in the way when I'm running, not very ideal, can't even see where I'm going anymore."

You chuckled at your boyfriend's exaggerated words before an idea popped into your head, "Hey, why don't you let me cut it for you?" continuing to stroke his hair gently.

"Mmmm…I don't know if I trust you enough with scissors around my hair," he joked, "don't know if you've noticed, but I take great pride in these gorgeous locks."

It's true. He spends at least 30 minutes of his mornings just styling his hair; making sure it looks just right.

"Oh come on," rolling your eyes at the boy lying on your chest, "I cut my own hair all the time, I'm basically an expert at this point."

His head dropped back down to its previous position, stroking his fingertips up and down your arm, thinking the idea through, before lifting it back up to your gaze once more, "Fine. But if you mess up, we are so over."

You smiled brightly at him, before moving from your position to climb out of the blankets, rolling over him to plant your feet on the floor of the hut. He groaned as you pulled on his arm, forcing him out of his previously comfy spot in the bed.

Still gripping his arm, he plodded closely behind you as you led him into the small bathroom in your hut - One of the perks of being the only girl in the glade; having your own hut. Which also means having your own bathroom.

"Okayyy," once in the bathroom, you placed your hands on his shoulders, "Sit please." The wide grin plastered on your face was making him much too nervous for his liking, yet still, he obliged, taking a seat on the toilet that sat in the corner of the cramped space.

Turning your back towards him, you searched for the pair of scissors that you regularly used to cut your hair. After a few seconds of fiddling in the drawer between the sink, you turned back to face him, snapping the shears open and closed in front of him.

"Yeah…that smile on your face is not concerning at all," he stated, sarcasm clear in his voice. The comment only caused you to smile even wider, "Would you relax, it's gonna be fine, I know what I'm doing you shank."

As you stepped closer to him, scissors in hand, his body leaned away from you, clearly indicating apprehension. "Minho, if you don't want me to cut your hair just say so, please. I wouldn't even be upset," you drew a cross over your heart, "swear."

He quickly reassured you, "No, no, that's not it…I just-you can understand my concerns though, right?"

Your eyes softened, giving him a tender smile, "Of course I can, but I assure you, once again, I know what I'm doing, okay?" He sighed sharply, before simply nodding his head in response.

You were now standing between his legs, gently running your fingers through his dark hair once again. "Okay, I'm starting, you ready?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get this over with already."

Positioning your free hand on the back of his head, to give you stability, you began snipping the hair on the top of his head. The first 'snip' of the scissors caused him to wince slightly in anticipation of the next cut.

Black strands of hair began slowly falling to your feet as you continued snipping off small sections of Minho's overgrown hair. Your fingers combed through his hair, directing it in an upward direction before stopping, where you'd cut off about an inch.

By the time you had finished working on the top of his head, you moved and used your free hand to angle his head down so you could begin working on the back.

Starting from the nape of his neck working up, you snipped away at the course hair. Minho's forehead was now resting on your stomach as you very carefully made sure not to nick his scalp with the sharp tool in your hand, "Mmm, feels s'nice," he grumbled into your midsection.

It was very clear that your previously reluctant boyfriend was now enjoying the lengthy process of getting his hair trimmed by you. A smug smile replaced your, once stoic, expression, "Mmm, I know sweetie, just relax m'kay."

His hands slid up from their prior position by his side, leisurely making their way up your bare legs to sit just below the hem of your shorts under your ass, his fingertips tenderly drawing circles on your smooth skin.

You finished up the back of his head, cutting it nice and short; just the way you know he likes it to be. You tilted his head to the right, then to the left, tapering off the sides. Finally, you lifted his head up, your finger softly positioned under his chin as you gave the completed haircut a final look-over.

As you studied your work for any needed improvements, you could feel your boyfriend's gaze burning into your face. "The shuck are you staring at you, dong?" you quipped as your fingers raked his hair, making sure it was even.

His eyes not straying away from you, "The beautiful girl standing in front of me," not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

You couldn't have hidden the bright beam that crept its way onto your face even if you tried your hardest.

"Okay whatever," rolling your eyes playfully, "I'm done, so would you go to the mirror and look at it, please."

The warmth on the back of your legs abruptly disappeared as Minho made his way over to the sink to take a look at his, now much shorter, hair in the mirror. He examined it carefully, turning his head in all different directions - very obviously trying to mess with you.

A few more head turns later and you were getting very impatient, awaiting a response from the puckish boy standing before you, tapping your foot hurriedly against the floor, your arms crossed over your chest.

Finally, he turned to face you with his lips pursed and squinted yes, as if he were about to tell you that he didn't like it. Your heart dropped in your chest with the thought, until he, at last, said something, "I love it."

Relief coursed through your body, your head falling back, accompanied by a long sigh.

Minho snaked his arms around your waist, peppering kisses along your throat before moving to your face, causing you to shake your head around in a poor attempt to get him to stop, giggles escaping from your lips, "Stop it, shuckface."

Your palm slipped between his lips and your face, pressing against his lips to push his head back, "Do you really like it, or are you just scared of hurting my feelings? Cause I'm a big girl y'know, I can handle the truth," your eyes squinted as you searched his for answers while your arms remained by your side, refusing to hug him back until he answered.

He laughed in response, "Of course I like it, I'd tell you if I didn't, honest," withdrawing one of his hands from your waist to draw a cross over his heart, just like you had done earlier.

A big smile replaced your once blank expression, finally lifting your arms to squeeze him back, dropping your head onto his shoulder in satisfaction. You still held the scissors in your right hand, so you had to make sure not to accidentally scratch him with them.

"I hope you know that you'll be cutting my hair for me every month from now on," your boyfriend stated, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Exactly the reason why I've never offered to cut your hair before," mumbling into his shoulder.

The two of you swayed from side to side in each other's arms, enjoying the rare quiet of the glade. Sundays will truly always be your favourite day of the week.

@iloveetoeatbananas (more minho content for youu <3)

[lewsnumerounofan]

party foul part 2 (jeremiah fisher x reader)

summary: so what if you're in love with your best friend jeremiah fisher? one drunk kiss won't change anything. right? (spoiler: it does)

notes: not biblically accurate conrad, kissing, smut, unprotected oops, somewhat public, 3k words, reader previously dated co**ad, angst/miscomm., not proof read at all

+ part 1

+ i fucking hate htis one its so bad i'm so sooryim gooo fuckjuhnbsorry oh my god and dw abt the header image!!!!!! it's okay!!!!!

your phone hit voicemail again. it was the seventh time you’d tried calling jere, but still no luck. 

“maybe he’s staying at a friends place,” belly supplied, but she looked worried too. ever since you and jere had kissed the night before, he’d been mia. steven, you, conrad and belly had all taken turns trying to reach him with no success. at first it had been expected, but it was now rounding out on 24 hours since he’d left, and worry was starting to permeate amongst everyone. well, everyone except taylor. she wasn’t too worried about it. he’s probably just moping around feeling sorry for himself, she’d said. 

unfortunately, you couldn’t quite master taylor’s level of nonchalance. in fact, you felt awful. for a few minutes, everything had been perfect. you’d been kissing the boy of your dreams–the boy you were in love with. and then…

“yeah, he kinda checks out when he’s upset. he did the same thing after mom died.”

conrad, this time. him and nicole had just come back from driving through town trying to find him. you nodded, but a tightness was slinking into your chest. jere hadn’t ‘checked out’ after suzanna died. he’d called you, and together you’d talked for hours as he wandered the streets of boston. never before had he shut you out like this. it made you worried. more than worried; it made you feel scared.

“i think i’ll try him again, just in case,” you said. because you couldn’t not do something. because you were scared you’d messed things up permanently, because jeremiah had never, ever ignored your calls.

“okay, well i’m ordering pizza. jere disappearing or not, i’m fucking starving,” said taylor. she’d hopped off her place on the counter and now started flipping through the take out flyers stuck to the fridge. steven and belly sounded their agreement. 

“i can pick it up,” you offered, “it’ll give me a chance to go look for him too.”

you were out the door soon after, steven and taylor’s argument about whether pineapple belonged on pizza still lingering in the background. feeling a bit better now that you had something to do, you let the warm summer air breeze through your car windows. jere was out there somewhere, probably doing just fine. it’s not like he’d do something dumb or get himself hurt. if you were honest with yourself, he’d most likely just crashed at an old hook up’s house. there were plenty of those around in cousin’s, and they’d likely all enjoy having jere back. you tried not to think about it. 

-

the pizza place was a 20 minute drive from the fischer’s, and you took the long route along the beach. it was a perfect summer night: seagulls called off shore, the sunset lingered to the west, and couples lazily strolling back to their cars. it was the type of night jere loved.

you were a couple minutes early for your order, so you decided to make the most of it and join the sparse crowds decorating the beach. you pulled over and parked, grabbing a light sweater for the evening weather. 

amongst the waves and people’s quiet chatter, the beach possessed a lingering hum. it was a sound that accompanied many of your fondest childhood memories, and you took comfort in it’s familiarity and peacefulness. you couldn’t help but think of jere–think about what had passed between you last night, mostly. 

did you finally tell her you're in love with her? 

you hadn’t been able to get steven’s words out of your head. the thought of jere ever liking you was one thing, but love? it felt too good to be true. 

and besides, it’s not as though it would matter if you never even got to see jeremiah again. for the first time, you almost felt annoyed at his vanishing act. he’d left you confused and frustrated and wanting more.

just then, as if you’d conjured him yourself, you noticed jere on the beach before you. his curls were unmistakable–almost the same colour as the sand. his hands were tan and strong as he leaned back on them, sun-bleached bracelets wrapped around his wrists. you wanted to take a picture of him there. keep this precious moment of discovery and summer immortalised forever.

and then he turned around, blue eyes catching yours. 

you could see the moment worry set in by the tight line that furrowed over his brows. he started to rise from the sand and you moved towards him, carried by adrenaline and anger and a little bit of excitement. halfway down the beach you caught each other, but before you could speak jeremiah was shrugging past you.

“you shouldn’t have come.”

the waves and gulls seem to mock you then–the whole perfect august night laughed in your face as you stopped, stomach sinking. it took a few moments for his words to register, and a few more for you to whip around and catch up to him. he was almost past your car when you finally managed to grasp onto his sleeve. deja vu hit you hard enough that you almost stumbled. just last night this same action led to jere’s lips on yours, his mouth hot over your body. today’s jere must have seen the memory on your face because he scoffed, pulling back sharply.

“see? you can’t even think about what happened without looking disgusted,” he said. his voice was low but convicted. closed. you hated it. 

“jere, what are you talking about? you wouldn’t know anything about how i feel–you ran away last night and no one’s been able to contact you since,” you tried. he made an attempt to keep walking but you didn't let him, this time coming to stand between him and the road. ridiculous.

“no calls, no texts, nothing. do you have any idea how worried everyone has been?”

at this jere’s eyes blazed and he took a step forwards, letting his head lower as he spit the words into your face, “yeah, i’m sure you and conrad were just about worried sick huh.”

it took quite a lot of effort on your part not to roll your eyes. what was with this boy. had the kiss not been enough? did he really think, after all this time, conrad stood a chance?

“you’re such an idiot sometimes jere,” you said, regretting it as his chest shuddered under a heavy breath. 

he laughed and looked away. his eyes were bright in the dwindling sun, his jaw harsh as he fought to control himself. slight smudges under his eyes, extra tangled curls, slightly red eyes. now that you were up close, jere looked a mess. heart hurting you reached for him, wanting to smooth back the stray hair falling over his cheekbones. to smooth over this, over him, to let him know everything was alright. he caught your hand. even this, even his firm grasp on your skin, had your body lighting up. awakening in a way it only would for jere. 

“you sure know how to make it hurt. why can’t you just fuck off and we can pretend this never happened, okay?” he hissed, but you knew jere. the way he blinked more and the way his voice changed. “just- just please go home. it hurts me to look at you right now. it hurts.”

his voice broke and he dropped your hand. you couldn’t stand the look on his face. you didn’t let him turn away from you though. this was your boy, the boy you’d been in love with every day for a year. and you wouldn’t have him thinking otherwise.

your pulse raced as you said, “it’s you, jere. it’s you and it’s always been you. not conrad. and it would hurt me if you thought anything otherwise.”

he flinched at your words but there was something in his face that changed. something small, something that took you having to know how he breathed to notice. hope. 

“jere, look at me. look at me,” you said. and he did, his eyes wide and blue. the same eyes you dreamed of. 

“i love you. i love you, jere.”

you folded the words onto his lips as you kissed him. wrapped them in sugar and pressed them onto his mouth, begging him to understand. to see what had been obvious every night you’d called him, every time you’d hugged him, every time you’d smiled at his dimples.

“i love you.”

and then you couldn’t say anything else because he was cupping your jaw, tilting your face and running his tongue over your teeth. panting as he consumed your gasps. pulled the air from you. 

jere shuffled you back until the cool press of your car met your hips. under him and the way he kissed at your neck, you had no notion of what surrounded you. no idea of anything except the heat of his tongue against your throat. your ear. your lips. 

“up,” he mumbled. that was all the warning he gave before lifting you onto the hood of your car. the metal was cold beneath you but his hands were burning as they circled your thighs, coaxing your legs apart until he could press himself against you. 

he was so big in front of you. the wide span of his shoulders, the strong shape of his hands. he was kissing like he’d hurt if he didn't. you felt feverish, you felt elated. jere broke away enough to rest his forehead on yours, chest rising and catching.

“need you,” he said. his voice was tight.

“what?” 

“said i need you.”

“here?” 

you were incredulous at first, but jere didn't even bother to look embarrassed. his gaze was level with yours and you had to blush and look away.

“we could- i mean, we’ve got my car…”

he grinned as he pulled you down, and the giggle came before you can stop it. around the vehicle and into the back seats you were both trying to stop from laughing. it was such an encapsulation of being a teenager. of sneaking around and driving each other crazy and being in love. the feeling had you collapsing onto his lap as he pulled the door closed, huffing onto the tan skin of his neck.

“this is so stupid,” you said. the grin jere gave leaves you breathless. your fingers pressed over his smile, tracing the red line of his mouth. the car was warm and dark and protected. 

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this,” he said, “waited for you.”

you wanted to laugh again but his hands were pulling up your shirt. goosebumps followed the path of his thumb over your bra, under your bra; when he put his mouth on you you moaned. in this little space you’d made the sound was a feeling and jere grinded into you at its touch. focused as he toyed with you, painting your chest red and purple with his lips.

baby, baby, you were saying as strong hands held you close. even as you tried to pull away–push closer?–from the intensity of his kisses. of having his curly hair fall against your chest and stomach. of his eyelashes brushing over your collarbone. you molded your palm to the thick muscle of his shoulder, watching it shake as he took his time drawing you out.

“please, jere.”

he knew what you meant. off comes his shirt, crumpled on the ground beneath the drivers seat. outside the sun had set. gulls still called from offshore, quiet on the other side of the car’s window. 

neither of you bothered getting fully undressed. after struggling with both your pants, he tugged down his boxers enough and helped your trembling fingers pull aside your own underwear. he was whispering you’re sure? even as you raised up on both knees, murmuring in your ear until you had him notched inside you. 

except for your stuttering breaths, it went silent in the car. jere’s hands were at your back, gently gathering your hair into a loose ponytail. he was shaking too then. 

it almost doesn’t seem real–that moment. the press of warm, bare skin. that just days ago you were best friends, and hours ago you weren’t sure you’d have a relationship at all. and now you were here on top of him, having sex in your car at the beach. you wanted to laugh again, but you were seeing white as jere filled you.

you couldn't keep your head up. you were dizzy as you fell forward into his warm chest, taken over by the stretch of him, the perfect fit. he found his breath again, enough to murmur that you were taking him so well. that you felt so good. 

“jere,” you said as his hands found your hips. nodding, kissing the top of your head, he guided you forward and then back, transfixed as he watched where you two fit together. 

it was a tight fit in the car. you had to bend over him so as not to hit your head, and jere’s long legs pressed against the back of the front seat. you don’t care much though, not when you could grind down and watch him tense up, muscles in his neck tight. it should have be criminal to look that pretty. his hair, slightly damp from fucking, curled tighter around his temples. his eyelashes were long over his cheek bones as he tilted his head back, eyes closed. leaning down to lick his adam’s apple you listened to him groan.

“can’t believe ive been missing out on this,” he said. his voice was breathy and quiet and warm on your face and you drew even with him. you wanted to arch into his hands, to bend yourself around him until every piece of your skin was held by his. you felt crazy. 

talking to him like this, when he was still inside you, when you were riding him, made you clench. already you were aching for it. jere knew it too. he was watching you, watching the movement of your body and your face like it was a special act just for him. like you were beautiful.

“jere,” you said. it was just about the only word you can remember.

he shifted beneath you, one hand coming to map the side of your ribs, the other between your legs. the rhythm changed as he began to meet you with his hips, and every breath became hinged on a moan. the way he thumbed over your clit, the way he mouthed at your tits. control was slipping away from you. fast. 

the new angle was almost too much, and as jere buried deep you gasped. your body was liquid and you almost tipped backwards, grabbing at his shoulders. like a man possessed, jere didn’t even pause. his large hand gripped the front headrest above you as he laid you down over the armrest between the front two seats. 

lying prone and naked half in the front of your car, you realized something quite quickly. your back windows were tinted. the front ones most definitely were not. 

“someone could see, jere!” you said, attempting to lift yourself up. most beach-goers had cleared out after the sunset, but faintly you could still hear the sound of people playing in the surf. jere’s tan hand on your chest stopped you.

“we’d better be quick then.”

before you had time to try reasoning, jere was pushing back into you. unable to argue, unable to say anything, you found his hand and laced your fingers together. it was all you could cling to as he fucked into you, as the heat of his body spread over you. it was warm and close and dark and when you finished, together, he stopped breathing. just for a second. then, while your mind was still hazy he pulled you back onto his lap and kissed you. hard. 

holding you there, safe in his arms. at some point he found his sweater and pulled it over your head. warm against his chest, body and legs aching. he whined when you clenched, absently, around him. still pressed inside you. it’s funny so you giggled and he groaned again and threw his arm over his face.

“don’t do that,” he grit out.

“why not?”

you were teasing. his eyes found you, tongue already in cheek. you couldn't look away from his red mouth.

“because i’ll get hard again.”

it amazed you how ready you were at the possibility. your spine already straightening. you don’t think you’ll ever stop wanting him.

but, faintly, you heard your phone ring. it was beneath a pile of clothes and it was on the last ring when you finally managed to snag it. 

“hello?” you said. jere watched you lazily, still smiling. 

“hey, uh where are you?”

you pulled the phone from your ear. the caller id read conrad. shit. pizzas. you’d gotten a bit… distracted. jere caught the name too and though his expression faded slightly, his gaze remained on yours. you smiled at him and couldn't help but kiss him. quickly. 

“yeah sorry about that conrad. listen, bad news is the pizza might be a bit cold,” you could hear groans from the other end of the line, “but uh. good news is i’ve found jere.”

you didn't bother to listen to the response, instead you leaned up to the boy you loved. kissed over his cheek and his dumb grin.

“i found my jere.”

[poppyseedqueenz]

(Hopefully Final)Update On the owonekko situation:

Okay so just today the situation has reached its peak so a few hours ago Nondi has worsened this whole mess by making a follow-up response to not only Jouusta but to her critics AND her fans as a WHOLE and let's just say it's probably WORSE than her first response

How did she Respond? Did she apologize? Is she taking a break? Did she realize her mistake?

Well.....

Okay I'm not gonna hold back

Nondi This is the Most NASTIEST, IMMATURE, RUDEST, DISRESPECTFUL Thing that I have Ever Seen! Where do I even start?? Lets start with the fact that whole Animatic low-key ridiculous not only is the whole thing lowkey disrespectful to EVERYONE involved with the portrayal of Jo, Her Critics, HER FANS. But this video is anything BUT respectful! She went silent for almost 5 to 10 days after her Livestream only to make an EVEN worse response not only that but the fact That now she's trying to turn the whole thing into a race issue when race was NEVER even mentioned by Jo or anyone EXCEPT Nondi! Nondi was the ONLY one who said anything about her skintone but now I'm starting to realize something

At this point this isn't even about the AI anymore Nondi is just being a straight-up bully and slandering Everyone involved specifically Jo painting her in a TERRIBLE TERRIBLE Light(whilst now Nondi fans are also now sending Jo hate comments and a few were DEATH THREATS)

Not only that but in the description to her animatic not only is she "Not sorry" she made a lengthy doc(and yes I read every single word) where she fails to take accountability and passes blame onto the critics and Jo and making excuses for her behavior and adding extra things that are half-true, not relevant to the situation, gaslighting fans, and downright lies of which she claims is the "truth"

Nondi's Doc:

Let me remind that after Jo's video went up she made a Pinned Comment and made a few edits to it when Nondi's livestream went up This is What she Said:

Jo's Pinned Comment: "EDIT (9/12/24): Thank you to all who have let me know about Nondi’s most recent livestream and livestream thumbnail. I have not watched the full VOD, but I have seen the thumbnail and… obviously, I am not okay with it. Not in the slightest. That being said, it’s very clear to me that she’s having a mental health episode of some sort. I’m hoping after that livestream she’ll take some time off the internet and not entertain this controversy anymore. I’m disappointed with her actions, with her portrayal of me, and with how she’s handled everything, but at the end of the day I want her to be mentally well, and I feel bad that I contributed anything to the deterioration of her mental state. I still stand by everything I said in this video. I still think she’s wrong for misgendering the larger creator (and continuing to justify it). But I think this will be the last thing I’ll say regarding this video and OwONekko. If anything else happens, I’m not gonna address it (unless I feel like I REALLY need to). Again, don’t go and harass Nondi. Don’t be nasty to anyone. Take care of your mental health too. . . . . . . . . A few more notes here! I changed the title of this video from “How to Lose an Audience’s Trust - OwONekko’s AI Art Stance and How it Harms Artists” to “OwONekko’s Generative AI Stance and How it Harms Artists” because I felt like that was a more concise and less offensive way to market the video. I also want to say I do NOT think Nondi is a bad person for using and liking AI for the reasons she does, I just disagree with her reasons, and I should have been more clear about that. She’s entitled to her opinion about AI as much as I am entitled to mine. I may go here or on my insta to say a few more things regarding this situation if anything else happens, but I’m not going to make any more video content because I don’t want to egg on the people that have been relentlessly harassing Nondi because of my video. Genuinely, I feel awful about that. If you have anything to say about this discourse, keep it on MY video and off of her twitter/ Youtube page. She’s seen all the arguments, criticism, and nasty shit that’s out there. I may have criticized her for blocking certain users in my video, but at this point I think that course of action is 100% justified. If I had known this video was going to be shown to over 200,000 people in less than 48 hours, I would have been a lot more clear and less reactive with how I expressed things in this video. I’ve never had a video perform like this one did.. like, genuinely, I thought this would be watched by the people already in this discourse and MAYBE just a few others. It was not my intention to bring so many new eyes to her channel, especially in this light, but that’s what happened. As for the transphobia claims, she says it was an accident and will not repeat this mistake going forward. She hasn’t apologized for misgendering the creator, which I absolutely disagree with, but she’s made it clear she doesn’t stand by what she originally did. (that being said, I am not trans or queer, so whether or not you want to support her for this going forward is completely up to you. Just don’t go and be a bother to her.)(edit: she has continued to justify her misgendering the larger creator so idek anymore) I’ll edit this comment if I have anything else to add, but for now that’s all I have to say."

I am 100% on Jo's side of the drama

Jo said that nondi was entitled to her opinion and was not calling her bad in ANY WAY Jo was rightfully upset about how nondi portrayed her in the Livestream(she hasn't seen the Animatic yet) and for some reason nondi and her die-hards decided to attack her when Jo just made a harmless statement and even said not to harass anyone at the VERY beginning of her video plus she Cannot be blamed for who saw the video she is not in control of what the algorithm shows us as she said that her intended target for the video were people who WERE actually aware of the situation WITH the exception of a FEW new eyes NOT 200,000(now 400,000) new eyes and she did apologize for that and I do agree if people did not watch Nondi's ai stance video and then Jo's video(even though jo DID say to watch Nondi's video first to get the full context)

(Note: I watched Nondi's full ai stance video before Jo uploaded hers) and just saw Jo's video(depending on how much you watched of Jo's video) and just relentlessly attacked nondi are also in just as much of the wrong telling her to "Kys" is not helpful and making her more stubborn and while I don't agree with her deleting comments that DO know the full story those critiquing her with no context are 100% justified beacuse context is EVERYTHING however Nondi's reactions and responses are NOT justified whatsoever she is a GROWN ASS WOMAN who knew DAMN WELL what's she's doing especially when she went live with that slander video, Twitter posts and even TODAY'S video and the fact that people are still defending what she's done are also the problem she is not the victim she is the perpetrator and when other people did what she's done now they were called crazy, were ridiculed or nearly lost or DID their careers entirely)

The last time a rapper(Doja Cat) made a post disrespecting her fans the same way nondi did she lost almost 200,000 followers

When this rapper(Nicki Minaj) went on a whole Twitter rampage and a crazy rant on IG live beacuse of Hiss (by Meg Thee Stallion)(in this case Nondi went on A coke rant on YT live)she was called a fucking cokehead

When this youtuber(Colleen Ballinger) made a video pinning blame on the internet for banding together, calling her out on her predatory behavior and made a ukulele musical as a response(in Nondi's a fucking snl skit) her response was seen as the worst youtuber apology/statement videos to date

(Note: this is not an attack on Nicki, Doja nor Meg as I love and respect all 3 of these artists however I can't say the same thing for Colleen as she is a terrible human being)

And while people are saying "omg the art community is so sensitive" and you know what? You're right the art community can get sensitive over everything and anything but that that's not the case people are rightfully upset at nondi she montitezed her ai Playlist Made by a company who's under fire for stealing unauthorized audio and using it but now she's attacking fans and critics who were trying to tell here what she was doing was WRONG

AI is a dangerous practice and a very controversial topic that is threatening not only art but jobs in general if ai was not being trained on stolen work and being seen as a replacement then maybe I would have a different opinion the problem is its not being seen as a tool but as a REPLACEMENT for human artists whist stealing art from them and creating entirely new images for the stolen work and people keep Making excuses for ai if "get with the times" mean I have to just let ai steal my work then I rather be left behind

And when I was looking at Nondi's Doc she keeps using race(she used are a total of 3 times even again race is NOT the problem and the fact that your using the race card is downright sickening and this is coming from a black person) and she tried to make Jo look like the bad person and acting as if what she's doing isn't overreacting guess what nondi You ARE overreacting and this Animatic and doc is proof and the way you responded has just made things worse you could've used that short hiatus to reevaluate or make a statement no one asked you to apologize for the A.I video but for the misgendering, the hateful comments and to Jo but instead you make 2 videos(one of them being a YT live) and slandered many people(even though you said you don't like bigger platforms using their influence to harm others) she is becoming the thing that she doesn't want to be and it's sad and the fact that fans still defend and fight tooth and nail for her just proves how ignorant these people are critics will critique ANYTHING, EVERYTHING and EVERYONE that should be common knowledge if you become a content creator or a public figure(such as a celebrity, influencer or musician) if you can't wrap your head around that then content creation isn't for you She is a GROWN woman who went on a two-year old rampage over a controversial topic

Remember the reason all of this is happen is beacuse she got pissy over ONE comment and she's using her race as a sheild

This isn't a RACE issue this is an ETHICS issue and she's treating it like some Anti-Black Campaign

Nondi This is Unacceptable

Leave the internet or take a hiatus beacuse this is too far

[kai-anderson-whore]

Vanishing point (jmp x fem reader smut)

Summary: you had a sneaking suspicion that your husband has been bedding his ex wife till he proves you otherwise

Warnings: smut, p in v sex, oral reader receiving, ex wife drama, accused of cheating, fluff, love making.

Word count: 1,6k

A/n: this song has been playing in my head 24/7 and it made me think of James patrick march

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•. .•°˚˚°

Ever since you were bound to this art deco filled hotel you began to uncover new emotions you never felt before. Envy, lust and wrath and greed all deadly sins that can lead to some terrible things.

That's how you ended up in this mess dead. All because of lust and greed. After being charmed by the founder of the hotel cortez James patrick march. Immediately compelled by his wit and charm he managed to sweep you off your feet with his old fashioned ways.

Soon enough falling for the murderous ghost you decided to spend the rest of time with him till the vanishing point. You thought nothing can go wrong. James always spoke about his ex wife the countess that's when you discovered evny and wrath. The way he recalls all the memories of when she was the only one who had his heart.

But now he has you yet he still talks about his ex wife like they were still vowed to one another. It made your skin crawl and blood boil.

You sat on the foot of the bed waiting on James coming back from dinner with Elizabeth like they always do regarding the hotel. But you couldn't help but think your husband had bedded his ex wife. The thought made you physically sick you tapped your foot on the ground a glass of whisky in hand you have had enough.

Another half an hour later James finally enters the room. Expecting you to be asleep silently closing the door removing his neck scarf. "Ah darling I thought you would be asleep" James's velvet accent echoed through the dim light room. He then started removing his suit jacket and removing his suspenders. You just stared blankly at your husband taking a large sip of the whisky that didn't make you hiss anymore.

James strided over to you placing a kiss on your temple. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours dearest?" He asked taking a seat next to you not before pouring himself a glass of whisky. "How was the dinner?" You asked trying not to let the tears fall just yet.

"It was like they usually are just discussions regarding my hotel nothing new" James shrugged summing up his conversation he had with his ex wife moments ago. "Hmm" you hummed unimpressed downing the last of your whisky. "Are you sure your alright?" He questioned more noticing your demeanour.

"I'm fine James not like its normal constantly talking about your ex wife and having dinner with her no I'm completely fine with that" you scoffed getting off the foot of the bed. James furrowed his brows at your sudden remark.

"The dinners with the countess are strictly for the purpose of this hotel my dear nothing more nothing less" James told you but you didn't believe him. "Then why do you talk about her like I'm not your wife reminiscing on the past when she was going to leave you huh James how do you think that fucking makes me feel" you snapped.

James didn't say anything he knew that it wasn't fair on you. The countess was his first love the woman at one point had him on a chokehold. "Do you still love her James be honest" you asked the tears slipping out your eyes. "Of course not dearest" James chuckled at how bizarre you sounded.

How could he still love the countess when he had you. Someone who truly loves him for him. "Your lying" you accused clenching your jaw, gripping the glass tighter. James stood up walking over to you placing his ice cold hands on your shoulders.

"I do not love the countess she's history you are my present and future y/n" James stated wiping the stray tears from your cheeks. "You really mean that" you asked James nodded the line of his mustache going upwards as he smiled. "Your a thousand times mine and I'm a thousand yours until the vanishing point and not a moment before" you smiled at James's way of words like a poet.

He pressed his lips to your own passionately and lovingly. His ice cold hands on your hips guiding you to lay back on the velvet bed. Your back pressed against the bedsheets as he now paid attention to your neck. "I'm going to prove how much I love you" he whispered his voice velvety sending shivers down your spine.

You nodded your head moving your neck to let James have more access. His lips trailing peppering softly on your skin all the way down to the valley of your breasts. Your chest rising in anticipation.

"You are my queen not her, she's history you are my present and future" James hummed in between his soft lips touching yours traveling lower and lower until he faced your heat.

You bit your lip as James pulled your thighs apart. Revealing yourself to him he smirked dipping his head down giving your thighs peppered kisses leaving one of your clit. Your hands gripped the bedsheets as he devoured you.

James continues to lick a strip along your slick folds making you gasp then proceeds to suck your clit. Your fits started to grip the sheets tighter till your knuckles turned white. "Oh fuck" you moaned out your head hung back, your legs threatening to close around James's head. His strong cold hands holding your thighs apart.

"You taste exquisite dearest" James hummed sucking on your clit, your breathing heavy as your hands started tugging on his gelled hair earning a groan from James.

You began feeling that knot forming in the pit of your stomach building up for your sweet release. James began inserting a finger into your entrance curling it up hitting your sweet spot. Your moans filled the room, calls of James name left your lips like your only prayer letting everyone in this very hotel know who was making you feel this good.

James added a second finger adding to your pleasure. You squirmed from under him from the movements of his very skillful tongue. It was all too intoxicating the way his tongue would circle your clit then suck on it like his life depended on it, the way his fingers would curl upwards hitting that perfect spot bringing you over the edge.

"I'm so close james" you gasped out your soft legs threatening to enclose over James's head, "let go dearest" that was it for you the way James's velvet accent beckoning you to slip over the edge. Your back arching as you came over his mouth, James sucking up all your juices with every last drop.

Once you calmed down James removes himself from between your legs. Your legs felt shaky your eyes were heavy. "James that was wow" you chuckled lightly regaining your breathing back. James laid down on the bed beside you a devilish smirk across his pale complexion. "I'm far from done with you my dear" he grinned now climbing ontop of you making you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck.

You began unbuttoning James crisp white shirt, your lip tucked between your teeth. Detaching the last button on James's shirt you pushed the soft fabric off his pale shoulders discarding the material on the floor. James pressed his lips back on yours this time with much more hunger and passion than ever before.

With one hand holding himself up the other hand removing his dress suit pants meeting the same fate as his dress shirt did. You sat up removing your night dress leaving yourself bare for the man you loved. Your hair was all messed up by now from wiggling around but James still thought you were as perfect as ever.

Now both completely bare as the day you were born his cold hands roamed your body. Squeezing your breasts, thighs and legs peppering your soft skin with his lips tickling you with his pencil mustache. You were too focused on his lips you gasped as he entered your dripping wet heat. Your hands gripped his shoulders his thrust started slow letting you feel every inch of him Stretching you out blissfully.

"Your the only one I want not her" James whispered against your ear. You felt your heart flutter hearing those words a soft droopy smile on your lips. "I love you james" you panted a hand on the back of his neck bringing his lips to yours as he kept his slow, passionate thrusts.

"I love you more dearest" James grinned against your now swollen lips. Your moans filled the room your legs clamping over his waist feeling yourself getting closer to the edge once again. "I'm so close" you moaned bucking your hips up. "Me too darling" he grunted you felt him twitch inside you his thrust got more harder chasing your highs.

You let go over him your back arched. James watched in awe at your beauty unravelling beneath him. He couldn't believe such a creature like you would want someone like him he didn't deserve you he thought. A few more thrusts James reached his climax spilling him seed inside you.

Milking your highs James dropped ontop of you his face buried in the crook of your neck placing lazy kisses on the exposed skin. You grinned tiredly your hand playing with his hair. "Your the only one I want y/n, you and I till the vanishing point" he said rolling off you only to pull you close to him.

"And not a moment before" you smiled snuggling closer to him closing your eyes.

[sananaryon]

Hey you said on march 24 you have an au of trixie and dash becoming celestia and luna and then never elaborated. Can you. Please.

Tagging @sighlentknight since they also asked. Sorry it took ao long, got distracted by dishonored au. Anyway

I'm playing a bit fast and lose with the canon timeline in this au cause let's face it the canon timeline is a mess and i'm just trying to have fun here.

The AU starts with Rainbow and Trixie being sent back in time. How, I don't know, it's not super important, maybe a messed up magical experiment, maybe Discord, maybe a weird phenomenon, anything goes. Point is that they're sent 1400 years back in time, to the Reign of Discord.

After spending a while bickering over who's fault this is (they do a lot of bickering, not gonna mention it every time so just assume they're always bickering), they try to set out and find their way home, weirded out at the chaos wastes they've ended up in. Eventuallu, they run into a group of important figures, either the founders or the pillars of Equestria, the specifics don't matter, but this is how they learn that they've ended up back in time.

Obviously freaking out, they eventually calm down enough to get the lay of the land and explain what's going on to the locals. They figure that finding Celestia and Luna would be the best shot at getting back home but weirdly none of the locals have ever heard of Celly and Lulu. Still, it's the reign of Discord so they gotta be around somewhere, and Rainbow happens to know that they're gonna get the elements of harmony from the Tree of Harmony, so just go there, wait for them, be home in time for dinner, no problem. Trixie is a bit doubtful of her confidence but hey, not like she has a better idea.

What follows is an epic quest as they make their way across the Chaos or Discord's reign with the help of locals, which would take at least another full post to explain so I'm gonna skip most of it. Point is, Rainbow and Trixie get some time to both bond and get really frustrated because finding Everfree is next to impossible when the world is all topsy turvy and directions don't make sense.

They eventually make it though, finding the cave with the Tree untouched by Chaos. Great, just gotta bunker down and wait for Celestia and Luna to show up, what could go wrong?

A lot, as it turns out. When they approach the tree, things happen. Maybe it senses potential in them, maybe its because they're time travelers and thus rather unusual, or maybe it's just cause theyre the first ponies who've made it this far and the Tree is low on options. Either way, the world is wildly out of balance and someone are needed to fix it and these two are as good as any.

In a bright light, Rainbow Dash and Trixie are ascended to alicornhood, their cutie marks changed into something more appropriate for the chosen guardians of Equestria's balance; a sun for Rainbow and a moon for Trixie.

Cue them freaking out for several hours because What The Fuck!?!?!

No time for that though because something like this has not gone unnotices by Discord. In a flash, he appears, curious about the two embodiments of Harmony in front of him. They're young so he could defeat them easily, but where's the fun in that? Instead, he wants to play with them a bit, taking their companions hostage so they'll play along.

This goes about as well as you could expect, Rainbow and Trixie may be confused and freaking out but neither take well to having their friends threatened. They confront Discord and, not really knowing what they're doing, use the Elements on him, ending his reign.

In the aftermath, they find themselves with a lot of ponies bowing to them, both strangers and ponies they met and helped out during their quest. Soon, it is pretty clear that they are being declared rulers of Equestria despite their objections. The people will accept no one else.

At the crowning, they are given regnal names. In a way, they chose them themselves. After all, they had both been quite insistant that Discord would be defeated by alicorn princesses named Celestia and Luna.

Over the years, they grow into their roles. Rainbow Dash's coat and mane is bleached by the sun she has found herself raising every morning, while the opposite happens to Trixie since she spends most of her time at night. Her eyes and magic color also changes as a result of her new magic. They both get into the flow of ruling a nation.

Throughout it, they of course don't give up on returning home, but experiment after experiment amount to nothing.

With time, their relationship also degrades. I mean, not like it's ever been good, I mentioned how they spend most of their time bickering, but with Discord defeated and them acclimating to their new situation, they no longer have more pressing issues distracting them from how much they REALLY don't get along. Trixie and Rainbow are hardly the most compatible of ponies in the best circumstances, and now imagine that but upped by hundreds of years. The only reason it doesn't happen sooner is because stuff like Sombra and Tirek pop up to distract them.

But Nightmare Moon does eventually happen. Afterward, Rainbow slips more and more into the Celestia persona. It's still a mask, something she puts on because she feels she has to, but without Trixie, there aren't a lot of ponies around who see her as anything other than the immortal dignified deity, so she spends more time being Celestia than she spends being Rainbow.

Eventually, the day she has marked on her calendar comes around, and she sees a huge rainbow spread across Equestria. It's fun seeing it from the outside, she so rarely has the chance to do it herself nowadays.

After 1500 years of life, tutoring a filly version of one of her best friends is still the weirdest thing she's been through.

It hurts seeing the mane six get together and be friends. She's happy for them, of course, but seeing her younger self laugh and be happy is a painful reminder that she will never be that pony again, her friends can never really see her as one of them again because even if she's still Rainbow Dash, she's also an immortal god empress and thats a rather big hurdle to overcome in a relationship.

With Trixie back at least, she starts letting the Celestia mask slip. Poor Twilight gets a heart attack first time she hears her mentor call Luna a bitch for taking the last slice of cake. With someone around who actually knows her as Rainbow and not Celestia, she can finally be her authentic self again, the mask becomes less something she wears all the time and more something she just puts on for court and lets slip in private. Those who know her are shocked at the change, but she seems happier than anyone has known her to have been for centuries.

She both dreads and looks forward to the day Twilight visits to tell her that Rainbow and Trixie have vanished. On one hoof, getting to finally drop the mask entirely and reveal who she is will be such a relief. On the other, how do you explain that their friend is both gone forever and standing in front of them?

Meanwhile Trixie has to be held back from having a threeway with her past self and Starlight.

[mossycoffee]

October 18th 2024

Everything is a mess, this always happens and there's no one to blame but myself. I say the universe is testing me, but it's really just me making mistakes and not learning from

anything i do, the mistakes i make. I'm the one responsible for this. I put myself is these positions of life where i think it's all awful and im so unhappy and miserable but i keeping making these choices that make me feel this way. I can't blame others, I can't say "well if this didn't happen" Because i just need to think, use my brain and not let these things blur my vision. I'm worried about my future now. With the way that this life is going i have no idea what the future is going to be. I'm so worried about if im going to ever feel like myself or if im going to be that person that is always chasing after something i want to be. I want to work on those things and no feel like that, but i truly don't know how to get my brain to think different. I do the things that people say will make me feel better, i try to create routines, and practice self-care but it all feels fake. That im. Forcing myself to do this things, and having the expectation that it's going to make me feel better. I force myself to feel these fake positive emotions about myself and about life. I don't know what to do to get rid of the wall in my head. It feels like i have another side of me in my head that im trying to treat well, and im trying to make her proud so i do these things hoping that if i make this part of me happy then i will overall be happy and its never been that way but I still do it. What else am i suppose to do? I know that the second part of me i want to impress is deep down my mother, either im trying to make her proud of me or im trying to prove something to her. That other side has never been me, and its always been her that im doing these things for hoping that If i make her proud and happy then that will fix everything about me. I know, I really do know, that's not how this works and no matter what i do and no matter how hard i try that its never going to work out but I don't know how to move the path, and focus on making myself happy. On doing these things to make ME proud and happy. it's something I've always done and im scared that it's something that I will do my whole life. She lives out of state, and is returning in less than 24 hours and I've never been so anxious about it. I'm worried because I know that my room is messy, and i bet the house isn't as perfect as she wants it to be. I don't really live there but for some reason the responsibility of the house always falls on to me. My brother lives there and is there everyday all day because he works from home, but some how im the one that needs to make sure that the house is clean, the dishes are done, the trash is taken out, the cats are feed and have a clean area. But yet im not the one that's living there and making the "mess" I know that when she returns it's not going to be a fun time. I don't expect myself to change how I live my life, and where i sleep at night. I know that's going to be something that she's going to want to talk about and of course In my head im standing my ground, and vice created those boundaries with her. But the moment my eyes see her im 17 all over again and i have to do everything she says, I have to put my life on pause to make sure she gets what she wants, and im no longer a person, but i now belong to her. I've ran circles in my head on these things are going to go, the things im going to do and the things im not, how important it is to have these boundaries with her but I know I can't keep those walls strong. She hasn't been physically apart of my life for 3 years, living out of state, and me having to learn these things and learn how to be an adult on my own and she doesn't see the things that i do, she doesn't know that life that i live and i know that's going to randomly be a problem for her because I barley have time for myself, but i should have time for her and that i need to cancel the plans that i have for my life because I haven't seen her.

I hope i can do this and i can be the adult i say that i am, she's just someone that I can't use these skills with. She takes a calm conversation into a pissing match and that's never how i want things to go. I just want to live my own life, i want to be in control on my life but im in the backseat with a mask on and I have no idea what's going on. I need to take the wheel from the other side of me, and form her. I'm almost 22 years old i can have this person controlling me still. She doesn't support me, financially or emotionally so why should she have a say in other aspects of my life, she a should in her head think for a second that she has a saw in what i do with myself, and with my life at all. She needs to see those boundaries.

Ihope i can do this and i can be the adult i say that i am, she's just someone that I can't use these skills with. She takes a calm conversation into a pissing match and that's never how i want things to go. I just want to live my own life, i want to be in control on my life but im in the backseat with a mask on and I have no idea what's going on. I need to take the wheel from the other side of me, and form her. I'm almost 22 years old i can have this person controlling me still. She doesn't support me, financially or emotionally so why should she have a say in other aspects of my life, she a should in her head think for a second that she has a saw in what i do with myself, and with my life at all. She needs to see those boundaries i set and respect them and not see how fast she can break it down. I want to be a better person, I want to be happy, i want to wake up every morning energized and happy. i want to be excited to get ready for the day and go be a person out in the world. Work on myself and do the things that are going to benefit me, make me thrive and create. Not hold me down, doing the bare minimum, whatever is going to get me to the next day. That's not what i want my life to be, this is the only one i got, I know how cliche that is to say but it's true. Why waste this time wanting for something different, and not being happy. When i could be happy and thriving and living my best life? I've made these mistake, i know how my brain works (kinda), and I've learned my lesson so why keep making mistakes that make me question everything. I'm hoping that the only way that i can go is up. I'm going to really try and move up, learn what's going to make me happy, and not the secondary person i want to impress.

I don't want to wake up everymoring to make other happy, that's not my mission. I only have myself, when im alone it's just me and what good is it going to do if im alone, and im unhappy, but this one person that i broke myself to make happy is doing great, and is happy right now. That doesn't benefit me. I come first, im the most important person in my life and i need to learn that. I need to learn that all these people could leave one day. 5 years down the road and they might not be involved in my life anymore. 5 years down the road it will still be me. So focus on making ME happy!

This was very much of a ramble, and brain dump. It's been hard to find the words but once i started typing I couldn't stop and things just flowed out.

I hope everyone is doing amazing! Happy October :D Do you guys have any plants for Halloween? Costume ideas?

[liliasmaestra]

Well, that was the completely unsatisfactory male-centred bullshit I was worried about.

The Wonder Twink can make the Road real but doesn't even try to fix the Coven's deaths despite his crying about it.

Literally the entire show was a vehicle for his manpain, including the suffering and deaths of the women, gee, if only some of us saw this coming.

Agatha experiences 0 growth. She's still avoiding everything, still just power hungry, no coven only using the zombie for her agenda.

Agatha literally dies for the narrative purpose of becoming his "guide" ("iN ThE cOmICs" a lot of things that happen in comics are in fact terribly written dogshit!)

The fight between Agatha and Rio was boring and ruined by Pound Land Superman's useless interjections, they wasted Aubrey's big moment.

Literally the same fatal flaw as Wandavision in turning into a typical superhero CGI fest at the end.

Apparently Agatha COULD control her powers this entire time? If only the narrative confronted that at all.

I did like Rio's indignation at being called evil; her use of nature and explanation of herself were the best part of the finale.

Pacing was a mess both episodes, zipping through what should've been the big scenes and crawling through everything else.

The Kaplans get five seconds of screentime where nothing gets explained except one line of exposition that dipshit mcgee was gone 24 hours.

Jen flying away looked weird, then again all the flying in the MCU looks laughable to me

Her being the Path Ahead was, what, set up for Midnight Sons(/Suns)? A weird vaguerie about her flying into a new day? Because we got two minutes of grappling with Agatha being the reason she was bound and then poof. Disappointing.

I did like that we got time with Jen's grief over Lilia. I'm going to headcanon that she took care of closing up Lilia's business and is the real carrier of Lilia and Alice's memories.

RIP Sharon you were just a redshirt after all.

What happened to Senor Scratchy?

The forced Wandavision parallel after the big battle.... embarrassing.

Poor Tommy/Whoever has the most fucked up existence that will not be appropriately confronted ever.

The kids shouldn't exist, Rio's right.

No explanation of Mr Magoo suddenly having a costume or his full abilities. OK.

I don't mind Agatha being a villainous bitch, it's sexy and fun, but it doesn't jive with what we've been watching even with the winks and nods, or with her becoming Wonderbread's personal ghost.

Lilia saw the future to warn Agatha how, exactly? Her visions that we explicitly saw on the show are a result of her being unbound in time and experiencing moments randomly. They did not show us a witch with pure divination powers ala Trelawney. I can believe she has those powers but they never showed us that clearly.

Actually quite shitty to have Alice lampshade how unfair her death is!

I can't get over Jac Schaeffer bragging about breaking MCU death norms because, honey, killing off or otherwise shoving to the margins all the women around your special white man who faces no real danger or consequence or test is in fact the most tired trope on fiction not just the MCU.

Agatha creating the Ballad with Nicky was a a bit of a foregone conclusion, and Nicky in general only existed as a plot device so its hard for me to care about him either way.

They really wasted Agatha's true rage, which was engaging and earnt, and the idea of being trapped on the Road.

Even the flashbacks are just set up for her imprinting on Mr Misogyny.

Agatha hates Rio now? Full on? It was all manipulation but also she's an idiot who apparently doesn't understand that if she wasn't a serial killer she wouldn't be stalked by Death so much?

The entire 'end' to that relationship is nonsensical and the beginning is nonexistent.

Agatha does a 180 because Billy No Boundaries invades her mind and invokes Nicky, ugh.

I guess "Agatha All Along" refers to the Road being a scam/her turning into a ghost?

No real time spent exploring the ramifications of everything being created by Billiam, just him whining about his manpain over it.

Honestly, I was just so very bored as soon as it became clear everything was indeed going to be about Palette-Swapped-Arrow.

Everyone I know IRL is confused and unsatisfied by the ending, and these are people who were so excited the past two months and some of them even started watching MCU stuff just because of this show. So that's sad.

[hanasnx]

don't know if u watch marvel or not but i'm playing the spider man game rn and i cannot stop imagining anakin as spider man?? like w reader being a black cat type of character and ur always flirting with him, trying to get him to crack and he's just tryna stay loyal to his gf, bonus if u always piss off the wrong people and he has to save ur ass 24/7 and u offer to thank him in other ways wink wink

this is me just emptying out my thoughts but i couldn't get it out of my head so i thought i would share 😊😊

HELLOOOO??? ok i see u anon, marrying my interests—

i used to be a huge fan of marvel, but i’ve been a longer fan of spider-man,, like i cant even remember when i first obsessed over him bcos it was so long ago srsly

spider-man 2018 is no joke one of my favorite games of all time!!! and believe it or not i have imagined ani in the suit kdjfkdj i love the suit sm i want spidey to keep it on during sex which is why i wrote a smut about him forever ago LFKsK

also i wouldve loved to see hayden back in the 2000s as peter parker, he would’ve been so goddamn cute like look at this—

pete vibes.

i loveee black cat and i love her and spidey’s relationship in the game it makes me so akdlfjsf LIKE I KNOW THOSE TWO HAVE FUCKED ON A ROOF

dear god imagining him ripping off the mask and his chestnut curls just exploding in a mess of sweaty hat hair he’d be so cute i could die

☥ imagine circling him, playfully tracing your clawed fingertips across his back as he pivots his head to look at you from the contact.

“you still with that little girlfriend of yours?”

he’s silent.

“oh,” you flash a feigned pout, “didn’t work out?”

“what do you want, (y/n)?”

“maybe she left you after she found out you’re on a first name basis with your arch nemesis. or when you told her that after the first time she dumped you, you came crawling to me like a kicked puppy? nothing heroic about what we did that night, spidey.”

☥ the way he’d be so stubborn about keeping you safe, always saying its the last time but it never is. you make it up to him, turning him into a begging, heaving, sweaty mess in the late hours of the night.

☥ i love the idea of how exasperated he’d get with you, and you’re like “what are you gonna do about it? whip me?” he just might girlie… he just might…

☥ SOMETHING ABOUT SUPER STRENGTH being able to overpower you, lift your entire body above his head with one arm, fuck you on the ceilin g

iiiii im short circuiting over here…