#like are we forgetting that he’s seen her die in front of him

[azriaann]

no literally it pisses me off so much, there is no SHOT that he wouldn’t be beside himself with “omg i hurt my friends” ESPECIALLY WITH IT BEING LUCY!!!

it undermines the severity of natsu’s loss of self control too… like why in the world would him scaring the shit out of everyone and trying to literally murder the water dude be a joke😭

they easily could’ve used this moment to set up natsu’s character and continually flesh out his guilt+fear of hurting his friends throughout the series BUT NO!!!! they just decided to mischaracterize him instead🙄🙄🙄 anyways i agree this is the worst scene ever

I despise this moment with every fiber of my body.

I think Natsu is so out of character here, I don't even know what mashima was thinking.

What do you mean you just burned one of the most important person in your life and the reaction is THAT? Joking like it was nothing, like what Lucy went through was nothing. She put herself in danger, burning herself in the process of saving him and this is what we get? Yeah, he apologized but come on.

I know it's been a long time since this happened but it's like my Roman empire in the worst possible way.

[frudoo]

Slasher 141 again, sorry to bug, I'm chomping at the bit. She meets the others? I humbly ask for more pleaseeee

Can y'all tell I'm horny for slasher Johnny

Warnings: Smut throughout, so MDNI. Fingering, strange men, reader is just getting a taste of what she signed up for. Fem!Reader obvs.

     Simon doesn’t talk much. Maybe it’s because Johnny’s got his hand down your pants and he doesn’t want to interrupt, but even so, he just gives off that kind of vibe. Johnny’s trailing kisses down your neck and you’re whimpering, just trying to get the two of them to make small talk.

“S-Simon, are you… do you also- um… you know. Kill people?” You wince at your poor choice of words, but the kisses from your date don’t let up, so maybe you’re alright.

     Simon’s beady eyes meet yours through the rear-view mirror. Fuck, if he’s not a serial killer, he should be. Those dark brown eyes are deeply unsettling, making you nauseous. He nods in affirmation before turning his eyes back to the road.

"We all are."

Well, shit. Is there such a thing as a murderer-radar? Because if so, yours is in mint condition. 

     Johnny bites down on your neck harshly at the same time his middle finger slips inside of your pussy, and you squeal. Is this what they do? Seduce a vulnerable woman with deadly curiosity such as yourself, just to take her away and dice her up? God, you really should have paid more attention to the warnings in all those true crime documentaries. Now you’re going to end up in one. 

     “Are… are you going to kill me?” You sigh—rule number one: don’t question what the big serial killers are going to do to you while you’re in their truck.

     Johnny grins against your neck, his hot tongue soothing the bite he’d just left on you. He inserts another finger, and, well… maybe getting the best finger-fuck of your life before you die isn’t the worst way to go out. You mewl when he curls them right up against your g-spot and almost miss Simon’s low voice answering your question.

     “If we wanted y’dead, y’already would be,” he shrugs, pulling onto a long dirt road that leads to a large farmhouse, past herds of cattle and fat pigs who look like they’ve never missed a meal. 

     Simon’s answer does nothing to settle your nerves, although the orgasm that Johnny coaxes out of you works well to distract. There’s a black cat waiting by the front door when they guide you inside, and your head starts pounding. If that’s not an omen, you don’t know what is. Damn Johnny and his beautiful, charming self, and damn you for not being bothered enough by his career choice when you should have been. Now you’re not even sure what you’ve gotten yourself into.

     It’s warm inside. Inviting, despite everything, with cozy furniture littered across the den and taxidermied animals decorating the walls. Extravagant chandeliers hang from the ceiling, lighting up the area with a dim yellow aura that helps remind you to breathe. The walls are painted a dark green and the fireplace is going, and on the largest couch sits two more men—one with blue eyes nearly as piercing as Johnny’s, and another with the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.

     Now that you can see him better, you realize that even Simon is ridiculously handsome, with short blonde hair and a scar across his lip that must have been the result of repairing a nasty split. More white marks are littered across his face, but the honey of his brown eyes don’t seem nearly as cold under this warm light. It almost makes you forget what they do for a living.

     “I’m guessin’ this is her, since she’s not hog-tied,” the one with blue eyes speaks gruffly, standing from his seated position and slowly stalking closer.

     He’s taller than Johnny, but not quite at Simon’s height, and his hand is rough against your skin as he cups your cheek in his palm. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, eyes taking in every inch of your person. The man hums thoughtfully before removing his hands from you, looking between the men who stand by your side.

     “Pretty thing, ain’t she? Nice and soft, too,” he concludes, calling the other man over to check you out as well.

     Your breath hitches in your throat as the new man smiles down at you, those luscious lips spread across a perfectly straight set of white teeth. He doesn’t touch you, just gives you a once-over before nodding.

     “She’s perfect,” he confirms to the previous man before looking to you again. “M’Kyle. Tha’s John, and m’sure y’know those two already.”

     You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. You still have no idea what the hell is going on, or what they mean by perfect. Perfect for what, exactly? More taxidermy? Pig food?

     “Glad ye approve, Cap’n, Gaz,” Johnny beams, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Knew ye’d love her.”

     Your eyes widen slightly when Simon leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, followed by Kyle, then John. You’re frozen in place, but Johnny just chuckles and scoops you up into his arms, strong legs striding down the hallway into one of the bedrooms.

     “Dinnae be afraid, hen. They like ye. Ah told ye, ye’ll ge’ along jus’ fine,” he presses his lips against your temple, then lays you on his bed. 

     “We’ll ge’ yer room set up in the mornin’, but ah need tae taste tha’ sweet cunt reit fookin’ now. Dinnae be quiet, lass, let ‘em hear yer bonnie moans."

[stevieschrodinger]

Everything is going slowly foggy. The fear is fading. Eddie's vaguely aware that it's probably because he's dying. What was terrifying a couple of minutes ago, is only vaguely of interest now. An ephemeral pressure on the back of his brain. Present, yet easy to ignore.

All he can taste is his own blood, but it's not so bad. At least he can tell Dustin how much he loves him. And Steve's there. Steve Harrington. Who knew he would turn out to be such a great guy? So, yeah. It all feels alright.

Eddie feels sleepy, vaguely aware that he's, actually, probably dying.

He closes his eyes.

There's a strange sense of vertigo, strange enough that Eddie notices he's standing up before he notices that someone's kissing him. It's a soft press of lips. It's wonderful.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, and from an inch away, he's looking at Steve Harrington.

He's standing in a kitchen. it's nice. Eddie's clean; he's wearing sweats and a tee. Barefoot. The kitchen smells like coffee, and sun is shining in through the window.

Somewhere in the house, a child sequels; Eddie startles. "Steve?" He asks, carefully. "I mean...not that it isn't-"

The child comes barreling into the room. It's a little girl. She's wearing the smallest Dio shirt Eddie's ever seen. She throws herself at Eddie's legs, screaming "Papa!"

Eddie has no idea what his face is doing as he looks down at this little girl, but Steve is taking his hand, tugging it, Eddie looks up, "it happened again, didn't it? You forgot again?"

"I...what?"

Steve scoops up the little girl, throwing her over his shoulder, she squeals again, laughing like this is the best thing ever, "come on pumpkin patch, Papa's not feeling so hot today and auntie Robin's going to be here in two whole minutes."

He looks back to Eddie, mouthing 'just wait, okay?'

Eddie, at a loss, just nods.

He creeps to the doorway, watching, fascinated, as Steve Harrington fixes the little girls hair into pig tails. Helps her get her socks straight. Helps her tie the laces on her sneakers. Gets her back pack on her, "eat your carrot sticks today, okay Ronnie?"

'Ronnie,' Eddie mouths to himself.

Watches as Steve puts her little hand into Robin's, standing on the front porch. Robin looks different. Older. She's smartly dressed.

Steve whispers something to her, and she looks at Eddie. Smiles a sad smile. They leave.

Steve stands there for a moment, waves them off, then closes the door. He seems to steal himself, and then he turns and comes back to Eddie, "I have to go to work, but, come on, let me show you something."

Eddie follows Steve into an office, there's shit everywhere, "I don't come in here often, your mess drives me fucking batshit," Steve digs into a desk drawer, brings out a notebook. "I have no idea what's in here, I've never read it. Something about...what happened. You did die. You were oxygen deprived long enough to cause a brain injury, so sometimes you...forget everything. After the second time it happened, you started writing letters to yourself. So, yeah...you call it your instruction manual, I get it for you when this happens."

It takes Eddie what feels like a really fucking long time to process this, and he can't help but notice that Steve's eyes are wet, Eddie feels crushingly guilty about it.

"Okay so what do I...do?"

Steve shrugs, "read it, I guess. You add to it whenever anything important happens...Eddie...just, the bats, they did a number on you...when you, when you look at the scars, the first time, just, brace yourself, okay and...don't forget that I love you, no matter what, I love you."

And Steve just...leaves the house. Leaves Eddie in this absolute disaster of an office. Leaves him holding a notebook that's ratty and untidy and feels like it's bursting at the seams.

Eddie reads.

So, I'm going to try and keep this simple, but I'm you, from the past, and our dumb ass has fucking brain damage...

You're not going to fucking believe this...we bagged Steve Harrington...

Hold on to your hat big boy, but we got fucking published! And if you're reading this, then you are in for a treat, because it means you get to read our genius for the first time all over again...

Okay, so this one was a bad one, we initially, didn't react so well, so, here's what I was worried about, and I'll talk you through it...

So, I need you to not fuck this up for us, okay? So, this is the Steve Harrington play book. The man is romantic, buy flowers, do nice shit. I cannot stress this enough - just pick up your crap man, he hates it when the place is messy. Now, we have to get it right so here's everything I know, I'll start at the top and work down. He loves having his hair played with, and tugged, but not too hard, gentle but firm, there's a sweet spot. The neck, the whole thing is an erogenous zone, I really can't downplay the importance of the neck...

We bought a fucking house! Look at it! Just look at it! And Eddie does, because there's a Polaroid stuck to the page.

So, this might sound dumb, and I probably should have written to you sooner, but...Steve jizzed in a cup for Robs, and Nancy turkey basted it, you know. Anyway, the point is...Rob's pregnant. With our baby. And then me and Nance got drunk, like, to celebrate, and she got all sad that her and Robin weren't having a baby, stay with me, I know this is mad as shit, but Nancy wanted our kid and their kid to grow up together....

Look, I don't know if it's the stress of like, imminent fatherhood, but we've been forgetting a lot lately, so, here's the plan for when Rob's in labor, and everything you've talked to Steve about when it comes to being the stay at home parent, okay...

The next page is just a Polaroid, a little scrunched up face. A little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Ronnie Jamie Harrington'...

And the next page, another Polaroid, another scrunched up face, another little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Stephanie Edwina Wheeler'...

Steve comes home. He looks exhausted. Like, drained. And, worried and scared and pale and lots of other things Eddie can't even begin to imagine. Eddie holds his arms out and Steve practically throws himself into them, "how long does it take, for me to get back to normal?"

Steve shrugs, "it's different every time, but it's a good sign you're still here, sometimes you run. Those times are the worst ones."

Six weeks later, Eddie writes to himself, "do not, under any circumstances, run away..."

Eddie thinks he's seeing things. Thinks maybe he's going senile. But he hasn't forgotten for...well, it's been years now. At least seven or eight. And yeah, Ronnie might be about to finish high school and Steve might be stressed to fuck over her college applications, but...Eddie's glad. He's glad she's spreading her wings. He's glad they managed to produce a stand up human being.

He's really glad her and Steph are trying for the same colleges, they're always going to have each other.

But yea...he's worried his mind is kind of...slipping. Hasn't told Steve. Doesn't want to worry him. They're both sprouting a few gray hairs, no need to add to those.

But sometimes. Sometimes when Eddie looks out of the window, he thinks, for a moment, that the sky is dark and...it looks like snow?

And sometimes, Eddie catches himself in the mirror, and he's sure he's dirty. A mess. Covered in blood but...no. He walks back a step, checks again. Everything is fine.

Sometimes he's sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Sometimes, in the beat of the music or the rumble of the car engine, he swears he hears things. Sometimes a voice. Sometimes it sounds like they're yelling.

Sometimes it sounds like Steve.

And once, he blinked awake, Steve bringing him a coffee. But it wasn't Steve, for the time between startled, half asleep blinks, it was Vecna.

It gets worse.

Something isn't right. The house is empty, and it shouldn't be.

He can hear Steve, but he can't find him. And that's silly because the house isn't that big. He searches and searches, growing more frantic. He calls back to Steve, but Steve...doesn't seem to hear him.

There's something dim about the light, but the light has always been that way, hasn't it? Something...dusty, in the air. Eddie feels like he's dreaming. He has to be dreaming; there's a crack in the living room wall. A crack that spreads and lengthens until the whole house is crumbling and Eddie can see clearly now that the sky here flashes red.

That it's always been flashing red.

How did he not see before? The dust on every surface? The pages of his notebook are blank. Eddie knows. He's always known.

Steve.

Steve is here. He's hanging from Eddie's fist, bruised and bloodied and begging Eddie. Begging Eddie to stop this, to hear him, to see him. It's Steve.

It's Eddie's Steve.

Next to him, Vecna says, "finish it."

Eddie has something in his hand, the hilt of something he's sure of, long and sharp and dependable.

Eddie doesn't think, he just moves.

He drops Steve.

He doesn't need to look. Eddie turns, and he swings.

Part Two

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Reasons why Sylus and MC’s Love is Strong and Enduring

The Front Side

Their relationship may have started in a wrong foot but they gradually (specially MC) come to terms that Sylus will constantly be at her side.

In “No Way Out” and “Radiant Brilliance” Sylus, the ever elusive and strong leader of Onichynus has no problem is showing weakness with MC. This is huge considering Sylus reputation. Being vulnerable and open is not something easy for a man like Sylus, but he let MC see every side of him.

Sylus is the first LaDS men to ever directly tell MC that he loves her and proves it to her in every way possible. (Source: Razor Grip)

Sylus is a man of confidence and conviction. MC is not very fond of him at the beginning (Nor he is fond of her) but I don’t feel that they genuinely hate each other. More like irritated and frustrated. But after all of the things ended in Sylus’ branch of the story, Sylus gradually but firmly makes his way to MC’s life. He always makes sure MC is alright and got everything she needs.

The memory “Wild Gaze” and “Melodic Weave” Is probably where Sylus gets the “sugar daddy” label. He really doesn’t mind spending his fortune with MC.

The Back End

They are on the opposing end of the society. Let’s not forget MC is a Hunter and Sylus is a wanted person of her organization. But romantically involved or not, MC never spilled anything about Sylus upon her return to Linkon from the N109 Zone. From this perspective, MC might be eternally grateful that she was able to return home, but this is huge for her. Considering she is all about being a hunter that not even Zayne is able to stop her from doing dangerous missions, her keeping secrets of Sylus whereabouts ans dealings is no easy feat.

Secret Dates and Escapades Shenanigans. This is one of the best tropes Sylus and MC have. The thrill of not to be caught together adds flavor to their relationship. We can see this on both “Melodic Weave” and voice call “Keep Distance”. Yes, Sylus couldn’t care less about what happened to him but MC is clearly not comfortable in the idea of them being seen together.

Given the conclusion above, they both still makes efforts to be together. And one of my favorite moments of them was during the “Riverbank Scenery” Phone Call. Sylus have to send a”suspicious” letter just to invite her out. And the fact that he called their meeting as a “rendezvous” instead of a date adds to anonymity on it and also heartbreaking. They may not directly say it,but they cannot be seen together. Which is why towards the end of the call, Sylus almost pleadingly ask her to stay with him longer.

The Consequences. By the time the we get to the “Razor Dance” memory, it’s clear that MC already has feelings for Sylus. But they are still keeping things a secret and I feel that the deeper reason for this is MC’s situation. What will happen to her once they are found out? MC might be branded as a traitor and lock her up. I know that Sylus will do anything and literally everything to save her but the real question is, will he risk it? I know for a fact that MC will not die but if the association finds out about it, she might be facing a problem same with what Ever Group is posing. MC has a very valuable asset and there is no guarantee that the Hunters Association will not take advantage of her as well.

The Conclusion

MC do not show any signs of giving up being a hunter or ever leave Linkon. She mentioned it in all the memories under the Wander in Wonder Event. She really hopes to return to Linkon and she misses her home. In the same event in the “Grassland Romance” with Sylus she asks him if he ever consider living in Linkon so they could always meet up and he readily agrees. With this we can assume the extent of Sylus love for her. He is willing to give up everything for her and be anything for her.

But although MC is not ready or willing (Depends how you take it) to give up being a hunter or leave Linkon, we cannot ignore the danger she is putting her self in every time she meets with Sylus. MC inviting him to live in her hometown can be taken as she wants him being in a more peaceful environment to keep him safe.

Their love story ma not be easy flowing but it’s not toxic. It may need a lot of effort, but it doesn’t make it less true. Loving Sylus can be a pain but it’s still rewarding.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

“My Apologies You Must Have Me Mistaken For Someone Else”

+Synopsis+

AU where MC(You) remembers everything, but the LADS Men forget everything. Guess it's your turn to make them fall in love all over again. You did it once you can do it again. Right?

How do you tell someone they've loved you for centuries? In every lifetime? You don't. You love them in silence and do your best in hopes they'll reciprocate those feelings you're trying so hard not to show too soon.

Zayne

Your memories of everything with Zayne came flooding back one day. So fast that you actually almost passed out. The pain was excruciating who would have thought remembering could be so painful. Even worse it was in the middle of a battle with a wanderer. In the midst of you holding your head to try and subdue the pain you were pierced straight through the chest.

It was as if everything seemed to slow down. So much blood you could feel your vision darkening while your head was swimming as you lay there on the ground. Your life, no your lives literally flashing in front of your eyes.

"Y/N!" He's yelling. Zayne is yelling. You've never seen this much emotion on his face. Your face is soaked his tears must be dripping onto your face. No wait those are your tears. You're crying.

"I'm sorry" Your voice is nothing more than a raspy whisper. You can feel the pressure of his hands on your body. Why is he so cold? No wait. You're the one that's cold. He's warm.

So warm. You're no longer in pain anymore. You must be dying yet all you could focus on was the fact that Zayne has sacrificed himself again....and again.....and again.

For you. Always you.

That's the only thing that hurts now.

You try to curl into his body but you can't feel your own. It takes everything and then some to reach a hand up and caress his face. That stoic face, which isn't stoic at all now, just one last time. "I'm so sorry Zayne" I'm so sorry I keep forgetting you in every life. You deserve to be happy. I hope we meet again in my next life since I can't seem to die correctly. I'll come back to you and I'll remember you this time. I'll make it right. I'll do whatever it takes to get to you. Don't give up on me.

You died in Zaynes arms that day. The God Astra was pleased by your declaration so he figured he'd give you a little.....gift.

You woke up in the hospital with a jolt almost head butting the person standing over you. It was Tara. "You're awake! oh my gosh you're awake" She ran from the room in a hurry yelling down the hall for a doctor.

She came back shortly with two nurses and ..... Zayne? Your heart rate shot through the roof as he approached the bed taking a seat next to you. You couldn't help yourself the biggest smile plastered on your face as you wrapped you arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

It felt so good to have him in your arms again.

He sat there frozen not moving an inch. You noticed the confused stares of his colleagues and Tara behind him. Was he just being professional? You figured he'd at least be happy you remember him this time.

You died in his arms why is he acting like this? There was a quick double pat on your back as he slowly removed your arms from his neck. "Glad to see you're awake Miss..." He trails off as he looks at you chart "....Miss L/N. You were out for quite some time"

You stared in disbelief there was no way he forgot you. It had to be because there were others in the room with you. "Can I have a word with you alone Za- .... Dr. Zayne?"

His expression gave away nothing as he dismissed the nurses and Tara followed close behind. "I'll be right outside" You gave her a curt nod and a tight lipped smile. As the door closed behind her you turned to Zayne who was already getting started on checking your vitals.

"Zayne" He raised a hand cutting you off.

"Your vitals are stable we should be able to discharge you in two days tops." So professional. "Now what is it you'd like to speak to me about?'

"You- you don't remember? The wanderer and me in your arms and the blood" He stops you again.

"Ah yes your co-worker said you were pierced center mass during battle and hit your head pretty hard." He flips a page for your chart giving you nothing but professionalism. This isn't the Zayne you remember. "Luckily she got you medical attention in time. The attack grazed your heart and managed to puncture a lung in the process which saved your life in a way. We will need to do regular monitoring on your heart and lung just to be safe considering your profession as a hunter"

"You don't remember me do you?' You question with a shaky voice.

"My apologies you must have me confused with someone else." He stands and switches your IV bag before settling his gaze back on you. "Two days. We'll schedule your first two appointments on your day of discharge now please get some rest your heart rate has been elevated since I arrived." With that he turns and exits your room and just as soon as he leaves Tara is hurrying to your side to hug you with tears in her eyes. You stare blankly at the wall as tears slowly stream down your face.

So this is what it feels like. The love of your life doesn't remember you while you remember everything. It almost feels as though everything you two once had was never real.

He doesn't remember, but you do. You've switched places. But you made a promise and you intend to keep it.

"I'll come back to you and I'll remember you this time. I'll make it right. I'll do whatever it takes to get to you"

Rafayel, Xavier, and Sylus coming soon....

[maxillness]

╰┈➤Gorgeous || SV5 x Mark’s gf!Reader

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, cheating, bathroom sex, public sex, blowjob, sub!sebastian, fingering (for like a second), orgasm denial

Wordcount: 1.2k

Mark’s girlfriend was lovely, she really was. She was younger than Sebastian, but it was something nobody paid any attention to

They were out celebrating one time, she had gotten drunk and made fun of the way Sebastian talked

It made him kind of sad, but she was drunk, she wasn’t thinking straight

Later in the night, she was sat opposite to him after Mark had left for some shit

They didn’t talk. She looked at him, but his eyes were into his almost empty glass at the table in front of him

“You’re so cool, it makes me hate you so much” She muttered to herself, too low for Sebastian to hear over the loud music

She had never seen anyone as gorgeous as Sebastian. She couldn’t say anything to his face, cause, I mean… Look at his face

He should take it as a compliment that she talks to everyone else but him

She had left the table to get another drink at the bar, in the meantime, Mark had returned to their table

“I don’t think she likes me” Sebastian said to Mark as he sat down

They both looked up at her as she stood at the bar “No, she likes you. She just needs a little warming up” He said, turning back to his teammate “Try go up and talk to her” He suggested

“Are you sure? I really don’t think she likes me” The German sighed

“Just try and go up and talk to her. She’ll come around” Mark encouraged him

He sighed and nodded shortly before leaving his glass and walking up to the woman

“Hey, can we talk?” Sebastian asked, touching her hand slightly before retrieving it

She turned around, sighing softly “What?” She Said more firm than she had intended

“Why don’t you like me?”

She looked into his eyes. The ocean blue of them made her feel like she might sink and drown and die

She looked over at Mark who was talking to someone before she turned back “I’m so furious, that you make me feel this way, but what can I say? You’re so gorgeous” She sighed, subconsciously leaning towards him

She sighed as they were way too close now, but she was way out of it to pull back “You should think about the consequences of touching my hand” She said softly

“What are you talk-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence before her hands were on his waist, her lips softly against his

“Why… You… You’re with Mark- I can’t-“ “Just shut up” She demanded as she kissed him again

“Come on” She took his hand, leading him to the bathroom, taking a quick glance over at Mark, making sure he wasn’t watching them

She has him pressed up against the door, her lips aggressively on his, her hand locking the door, her other hand pushing on his hip

“You’re with Mark” He said it more to remind himself that she was a no touch zone

“You’re all that I want” She panted, her lips going to his neck, kissing and sucking harshly, making Sebastian’s mind cloudy, and forget everything about her dating his teammate

He had tried so hard not to let any sounds slip, but the feeling of her lips sucking on him, made him slip and moan softly

He didn’t realise her lips was gone from his neck before she was on her knees and her hands unbuckled his belt

“If Mark finds out-“ “Don’t talk about him when I’m about to give you a blowjob” She interrupted, pulling his pants and boxers down to rest at his mid thighs

“I just don’t- fuck” He interrupted himself with a moan when her tongue slipped over his slit

“You don’t what?” She asked in a teasing tone, holding his waist with his shirt ridden up

“Nothing- fuck. Scheiße“ He panted as she hollowed her cheeks, taking most of him in

She gaged slightly as he hit the back of her throat, sending vibrations through him, making him moan softly

“We shouldn’t-“ He cut himself off with a moan as she started bopping her head slowly

One of his hands threaded with her hair, holding the locks, not moving her, while his other hand settled on her shoulder

He shut his eyes closed, his head falling back against the door as he bit his lip, trying to hold his sounds in as her tongue traced a sensitive vein

She sped up her head, holding onto his waist tightly, her nails digging into his skin

“He’a gonna kill me” He whispered to himself, moaning slightly

She scratched at his skin, reminding him to not talk about Mark while she has his cock in her mouth

He hissed slightly at the pain, but was quickly turned into a moaning mess when she sped up her head again

He started bucking her hips into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and sent vibrations through him, getting him closer to his orgasm

“Mh… So good” he moaned “Close” He chocked out

She got off of him, a string of spit connecting her mouth and the tip of his cock

She wiped her mouth, chuckling slightly at his whine of denial

“Don’t be so sad. I want you to fuck me” she said, kissing his jaw softly “Can you do that for me?” She teased to which he nodded

She bent herself over the sink, lifting up her dress, revealing her soaked panties

He walked over to her, almost drooling at the sight

He pushed her panties to the side, one of his hands on her waist, holding up her dress, the other hand feeling the wetness with two of his fingers

She whimpered softly as he pushed in his fingers. She was looking over her shoulder, biting her lip softly

He pulled out his fingers, lining himself up with her. He slowly pushed into her. Her whimpers and soft moans music to his ears

He sat into a slow pace, gradually getting more rough, his hands tight on her waist, holding her as he pounded into her, moans escaping both of their lips

One of his hands went to her front, his fingers circling her clit, making her moans louder while she clenched down around him, pulling him closer to his orgasm

“Ah- so close” He moaned, his cock twitching side her, his thrusts getting sloppy and out of rhythm

“Come on, baby. Come for me” she encouraged him, holding on to his wrist on the hand that was rubbing her clit

Her encouragement and her touch sent up of the edge, his hips stilled as he filled her up with his cum

He moved his hips slowly to ride out his orgasm. The feeling of his cum filling her up was sending her over the edge as well, clenching down rapidly around him, his name rolling off her tongue

“No mentioning it” she said, trying to fix her hair in the mirror

“Of course” He sighed “Is this gonna be a casual thing, or was this it?” He asked, fixing his clothes

She sighed at his question “We’ll see” she smiled, kissing his cheek before leaving the bathroom

Mark looked at them both confused “Took you long enough” He said

“We fell into talk” She nodded

[fireheartpages]

other plans | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader part one. two. three. four. five. summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. word count: 2.1k ish notes: second person pov but i give the reader a nickname (that i stole from dirty dancing) and a last name bc i'm not using y/n and i want this to be readable. she/her pronouns used for reader. this has been stuck in my head and i thought i was gonna combust if i didn't get it on page. and it's all together hovering somewhere around 7k words so im gonna split it up and post it all within the next few days and then have the whole thing available on ao3! i haven't written fanfiction in at least a good six months, and i've never written for fourth wing, so bare with me a little--i tried my best. i have a chronic attachment to side characters with little to no page time. half of this was written while wine tipsy and all of it was proofread while wine drunk, so we die like men

Bodhi has never seen someone walk across the parapet so easily.

He's never seen someone make a dance out of it. As if it were a show, a production. Your feet are so confident, so sure with every step, every placement that you would make it to the next. It's pouring rain and windy as all hell, and yet you make the parapet look like a children's balance beam.

You land right in front of him, and by the time your eyes meet his, he's already decided that he needs to know everything he possibly can about you. The instant your focus lands on him, he's obsessed.

Garrick has other plans.

"Name?"

"Baby," you say, and Bodhi blinks. "Marho."

Garrick is downright gawking at you. "Baby?"

Something that sounds much more like a name and not what an infant is called slips out on a laugh, and Bodhi can't help but trace the lean lines of your neck. Holy shit. If he thought you were pretty before, it was dwarfed to the sound of your laugh. The sun had to fight for space when you smiled.

"Sorry. Childhood nickname, I forget I have another one sometimes."

"Did your parents nickname you after a hooker?" Garrick asks, jotting your name--the true one--on the roll.

"Did yours raise you to be a dick?" you ask, not missing a beat, and the boy's gaze snaps up to you. If Bodhi had been looking anywhere else, his would have too, but he hadn't taken his eyes off of you since the moment you stepped foot onto the parapet. He felt his brow shoot up, lips parting on a huff.

He bursts out laughing.

You don't move. Don't take your eyes from Garrick, from staring him down, until he tips his head in inclination and gives something that sounds like an apology. It's Bodhi's turn to be the subject of your scrutiny now, and as your eyes trace his shape, shifting with the weight of your gaze and his laugh, he senses more than sees the moment you note his rebellion relic. Your face doesn't shift, but it's as if a proverbial file is created and tucked away into the archive of your mind.

You didn't say anything else as you walk away from the two boys, but Bodhi tracks you as you go. Tracks your movements, as you weave through the crowd with a practiced grace, how your hair moves as you take the stairs down and out of his sight.

He's almost sorry to see you go. But he's determined to see you again.

Bodhi snatches the roll sheet from Garrick as parapet comes to an end, scanning to make sure he has the name correct. He marches up to Xaden, and only pausing for a moment to consider how stupid this is--he literally doesn't know a single thing about you--before throwing your name into the space between them.

"I want her in my section."

"Don't you have better things to do than flirt with children?" Xaden asks impassively.

"She's not a literal baby."

"I'm aware of that," he responds, sounding exasperated. "You're an Executive Officer, Bodhi. Do what you want."

Except Dain Aetos has other plans.

You made friends. You stand with the Sorrengail girl and another he didn't recognize, tucking loose strands of hair back into her coronet braid. What type of person fixed the hair of someone they'd just met? You, apparently.

You're in Second Wing. With Aetos and Sorrengial and the other girl. This is fine. Something about you didn't scream "secret rebel" the way wanted it too.

And then Xaden transfers your squad to Fourth Wing. He had sent Bodhi a glance as he put the squad in Flame section--not Tail--and Bodhi could see there was some sort of ulterior motive behind the decision. It did also mean you weren't under his direct chain of command. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing

Fraternization is frowned upon, not forbidden, after all.

Not that you would be fraternizing. After all.

But, challenging you would be a terrible idea. Terribly adverse, fatally cataclysmic, and ill-fated.

And all of those words mean the same thing.

He would stay clear, watch you from afar, and maybe, maybe work up the courage to talk to you outside of parapet. Possibly.

His confidence needed some serious shaping. Since when was he afraid to talk to someone? A pretty someone, to say the least. He was a gods damned dragon rider. He wasn't afraid to talk to you. He was just... hesitant.

Yeah. That. And he did not need a challenge to break the ice.

Emetterio has other ideas.

He calls your name, then Bodhi's, and Bodhi is pretty sure his heart stops in his chest.

You don't look frazzled or scared, just curious as you study him from head to toe. He guards himself as if you were an intruder in his mind, an Inntinnsic slipping in to spill all his secrets. Except you're an unbounded first year that hasn't even developed a signet, and instead that's just you. He's building up walls just to look at you. You and those bright, keen eyes.

Emetterio calls it, and you're off. Except neither of you move. You pace around, and it's a stand off. You cock your head, and Bodhi tries every trick in the book: the fakes out, glances quickly off to the side, purposefully stumbles--and you're unfazed. Completely and utterly unfazed.

He can't make the first move. He can't hit you--

Suddenly, his feet are out from under him, and he's staring at the ceiling, and you lunge, reaching to pin him to the floor. He reaches out and catches the elbow you throw, but before he can even make contact, you twist, sliding underneath him, and suddenly you're behind him.

You're fast. Really fucking fast. And suddenly, Bodhi has his work cut out for him.

You kick out again, going to the back of his knees, and he recognizes the move, thrusting his body forward to keep control and twisting before he lands, kipping up so you're eye-level again.

Your first catches his nose, and blood goes flying. He makes the mistake of bringing his hands up to cup his nose and it leaves his core exposed. You take the opportunity to land a knee in his gut, probably bruising a few ribs in there, and he doubles over, the wind having been knocked from him. Holy shit, he needs to get at least one hit in. This was getting embarrassing.

He swings blindly, and you dodge--but you don't grab his fist. And you had the perfect opportunity to. You were fast, and your reflexes were quick, but you didn't know how to end this. The realization crashes into him as you swing again. A lot of force, but no follow-though, giving him the perfect opportunity to deflect, pushing your fist and forcing the follow-through until you were swinging behind him with his hand around your wrist and then he was bringing you to him, one of his arms gripping one of yours across your neck, and the other twisting your other behind your back. Like this, your body was flush against his.

You struggle, kicking out, but it was all too easy for him to get your feet out from under you. You weren't small by any means, but Bodhi was bigger, and had a year of training over you. Your feet kicked out, and all he had to do was lean back to incapacitate you. You gave a frustrated grunt that so heavily affected him that he almost dropped you to make sure you were okay before he realized where he was and what he was doing.

"Finish her without making a fool of yourself, please," Cuir chimes in, probably sensing his hesitation and near-miss, and Bodhi sends an eye roll he hopes she can feel, since he doesn't have the brain space to say anything back, with your body pressed against his and the current task at hand.

He twists and take you both to the ground, pinning both your hands above your head, and taking a leg beneath his foot, balancing on a knee. You let out a sharp huff, and he's mesmerized by the way your nose scrunches up in determination. Your free leg goes to knee him, and he takes the hit, leaning into it before transferring your hands so they're both pinned between one of his, sliding one hand down your hip and to your thigh, holding it to the gourd before you can knee him again. He has a free knee to hold him up, but not without giving leverage to one of your legs. So he's pressed against you, hip to hip, face to face.

"Yield," he says, begs, because he can't hold this for long, and because if you figure out just how much you affect him, you'd win this thing in a matter of heartbeats.

"No," you grind out, thrashing. He's spread thin: his wingspan practically encompassing your body, giving you leverage to wear against him. He worries for a moment, a flash of the bruise he could leave on your thigh going through his mind, and two thoughts overtake him at once.

One, that he doesn't want to hurt you. And that while it may be inevitable with where you two stood, he wanted to try and eliminate the possibility as best he could.

Two, that he would leave bruises all up and down your thighs if he ever got the chance to get between them.

And the combination of the two of those thoughts loosened his grip on you, giving you the opportunity to roll away.

"I did not choose someone this negligent," Cuir snaps, and Bodhi panicks, and now you're pinned underneath him again, his front pressed to your backside, and it's a true plea when he breathes, "Yield."

"No!" You squirm, and fuck stop doing that--

"Get yourself together!" Cuir snaps, and Bodhi sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's enough," Emetterio says, pinning you with a look Bodhi would pick dragon fire over. "Know when to quit, Cadet Marho."

"No!" you yelp. "If this were a real fight, no one is calling the shots--"

"If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. I called it. Get off the mat," Emetterio snaps, and Bodhi scrambles off of you.

He offered you a hand that you send a pointed look at, and he can tell you're considering telling him where to shove it, but you take it anyway, and he walks you off the mat with a hand on your shoulder.

"Good match," Bodhi says, genuinely trying.

You open your mouth to respond, looking like you yourself could spit fire for a second, and Bodhi pities the dragon you end up bonded to for a moment.

"You're fast," he continues, before you can. "Quick reflexes, and you're strong."

"I had you," you throw at him, fiery and determined, and your gaze slips to his rebellion relic.

Oh. So that's what this is about.

Bodhi shakes his head, and the grin that had been blooming falters. "I can help," he says. "If you're struggling with sparring, I can help."

You suck in a breath.

"Or Imogen. Or Xaden. Or--" he stops, because, fuck, obviously you don't want to be near Marked ones--

"Thank you," you say, and the ghost of the smile he saw after the parapet makes a reappearance. "Thank you."

And with that, you turn and leave, heading back to your squad. Rhiannon is shaking her head at you, and Violet mumbles something that makes you laugh. Bodhi would bottle that sound if he could. What the hell was a counter signet for? His signet should be used for bottling the sound of your laugh--

"Do not finish that thought," Cuir chides. "Get a grip."

Bodhi grins, his hair falling over his temple as Garrick comes up and slaps him on the back, congratulations on a challenge well fought. He watches you take a swig from the water canteen, traces the lines of your jaw down to your shoulder until you hand it back, then traces the length of your wrist as you hand it--

"Pathetic." Cuir. "You haven't spoken."

"We kind of did," Bodhi says mentally. "I offered. I... tried."

"If you like her, try harder," she chides, and Bodhi sighs.

He doesn't like you, he barely knows you.

"Sure."

[ponderingmoonlight]

Can we get a yuta x fem!reader where he saves reader in Shibuya just in time after not seeing her this whole year?

sounds like a plan to me, let's do it hehe

Yuta saving your ass in Shibuya

Pairing: Yuta x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,7k

Synopsis: You have enough. After fighting for multiple hours in Shibuya, you are the brink of giving up your life, of giving up the pondering about a future with Yuta. Little do you know he's already on his way to Shibuya...

Warnings: language, TW! reader accepts the threat of death (and kinda wants to die), angst but comfort, not fully proofread

„Fuck!“, you cry on top of your lungs, bruised fingertips digging themselves into the debris underneath.

You are so damn tired. Tired of the horrible things you had to endure on this cursed evening, tired of all the senseless fighting, tired of death crawling up your spine. Maybe you just have to realize that your time has come, that you’ll be next. After all those people losing their lives today, it’s finally your turn.

“I’ve done enough”, you mutter to yourself.

The countless creatures in front of you cry out while storming towards you again. The people behind you scream in horror, so scared of dying that it wrenches your heart.

Why? Why do you have to be so damn emotional about this, so wrecked by their helplessness? You shouldn’t bother about their fate at all, should just sit here and await your very own relief in silence.

But instead, you lift yourself back up and draw your sword. Again and again, you slash into their bodies, paint the town around you in purple. Every fiber of your being begs you to stop, to just run away and never return, to sit down and let them slice your head off to end this madness once and for all.

It was definitely easier when he was still around. Yuta Okkotsu, special grade, probably the strongest after Satoru.

And the boy you hopelessly fell in love with until he decided to leave you behind. It’s been a year since you’ve last seen him, a year since you really talked to each other. Damn, how much you wished to see him one more time before you die, to at least tell him about your unwavering feelings. Why the hell are you so attached to him after all this time anyway?

But Yuta Okkotsu isn’t enough. The unsaid words between you two aren’t enough motivation to keep going after you’ve seen Nanami die, after both of Toge’s arms got sliced off, after Sukuna almost killed you.

No. You are so damn tired of it all. Fuck your pathetic life, fuck those people you don’t even know.

“I…I can’t…do…it…anymore”, you huff out.

Like in slow motion, your bloody blades glides out of your weak grip, falling onto the ground with a loud clinking.

This is it. Your final moment on this earth. Maybe that huge curse will bite your head off and let it all end quickly. Hopefully you wake up somewhere nice, maybe at a beach or something. And maybe, just maybe, your brain is able to trick you one last time into thinking that he’s here, that he thought about you as well, that Yuta Okkotsu didn’t forget about your existence.

Just a single moment and it will be over. Just one last breath in this cursed place.

You allow yourself to close your eyes, the desperate cries for help fading into the background. The pain that holds your body, all the horrible things you’ve seen…You smile to yourself gently while sitting down. It’s finally over. Now you’re finally able to rest.

And so you wait in silence for their sharp teeth, for them to finally slice your head off. But something seems off…You furrow your eyebrows. What has gotten into this thing? Is it full already? No, these monsters never get enough. It has to me something else.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You hold your breath, eyes snapping open in an instant. That familiar voice, that white uniform…You glare straight into the stranger’s face.

But no, that isn’t a stranger.

This is Yuta Okkotsu.

“(y/n), is that really you? What were you doing here? That curse could have killed you!”

His words don’t fully reach your ears, cries of the curse who gets eaten alive by Rika ringing in your ears. This can’t be true. He…He wasn’t even on the continent. How did he get here? And why on earth is he standing right in front of you?

Suddenly thick anger rises up your chest. Anger because he your left without really telling you. Anger because he didn’t write or reply to your messages frequently, anger because Yuta never seemed to fully care about you after the year you’ve spent together, after the secret kiss you’ve shared. And now he’s standing in front of you with that single droplet of sweat running down his face, asking what you are doing here.

“You have some fucking nerve”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

You lift your trembling figure off the ground, pushing him backwards with all the strength you have left only to stumble over your worn-out legs.

“You disappear for a whole damn year, never really care about me and then you ask my what I’m doing here!? Do you want to know what I did? I tried to save these people, tried to justify the countless dead jujutsu sorcerers, tried to free Gojo-sensei! What were you doing all this time, why didn’t you even ca-“

With a swift motion, he gets down and wraps his arms around you, cages you against his body. No, you don’t want to be near him, you need to get away, you…

Can’t help but cry.

“Why did you leave me here without saying anything?”, you mutter desperately, fists banging weakly against his chest.

Fuck, why does it have to feel so comforting, why do you have to realize just how much you missed him and the way he holds you? Why does it have to be so damn hard to stay mad at him when all you need right now is a big comforting hug?

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for all those things. When I heard what happens here in Shibuya, when no one could tell me that you’re safe…On my flight back here I regretted over and over that I didn’t have the guts to tell you how I feel”, he whispers against your bloody ear.

“Please tell me you’re alright, tell me I wasn’t too late”, he begs.

Gently, he lifts up your face, forces you to get lost in his blue eyes. Oh, how badly you want to push him away, tell him to leave this place and let you die. But instead, you just stare at him, watch how he scans your body, your countless injuries.

“How long have you been fighting here alone?”, he mutters.

“4 hours. Maybe a little longer. I lost count some time ago”, you mumble, tired eyes still set on him.

He looks so different from when you last saw him. How is it even possible to turn from a boy to a man in the matter of one year? His chest seems wider, jawline even sharper, eyes clearer than ever before. But what changed the most is the way he carries himself. The man in front of you isn’t insecure and fearful. No, he seems absolutely aware of his immense powers, killing of that grade 1 curse with ease.

“You look shocked.”

“I definitely am. After all, a ghost is talking to me”, you reply dryly.

What hasn’t change is the fact that his eyes seem to be the mirror of his feelings, instantly filling with sorrow by the sound of your harsh tone.

“I didn’t want to leave you behind. But…I had no other choice, (y/n)! I owed it to myself and Riko-“

“Oh, so now it’s Rika and you, huh?”, you bark.

Enough. You stand up faster than expected, shooting back up only to lose balance and falling back into Yuta’s open arms.

“Hey, slow down. You have to be exhausted.”

“Yes. Yes I am fucking exhausted. Exhausted from that senseless fighting, exhausted from hearing your excuses! What was the real reason you just left me in the dark? Was it because of Rika, because you don’t care about me like that? You should have thought about that before you kissed me the night before you went to different continent-“

“Trust me, I thought about you all the time, I loved you all the time, (y/n)! It was just as hard for me as it was to you. The last thing I wanted was to leave after that night, but I had no other choice. It was my only chance to train properly, to get the best of me. If I could, I would have taken you with me straight away. But I couldn’t. And I’ll probably never forgive myself for leaving you alone in this mess, for almost losing you!”

He grabs your face passionately, makes you forget how to breathe. Is this really Yuta Okkotsu talking to you? Is this really Yuta Okkotsu leaning closer, his lips only inches away from yours.

“I loved you through everything, (y/n). And I hope you did as well.”

“Are you serious?”, you breathe out, staring at him in sheer disbelief.

“You were the only thing on my mind all this time. You and…that I never told you that I love you”, you blurt out.

You aren’t even able to turn away from him. In the matter of seconds, his lips are pressed against yours. Just like the last time you’ve seen each other, just like he did at his dorm a year ago. Sparks fly, your heart shivers in sheer excitement. Oh, you’ll definitely not forget that he just left you, that he didn’t message you on a regular basis.

But at the moment, you just close your eyes and let the sensation of his hands caressing your face while his lips brush over yours so tenderly sink in. Just a few minutes ago, you were kneeling on the ground, ready to let yourself get killed here in Shibuya. And now he’s here. The countless nights you pondered when he’ll come back, how he’ll act, how he’ll look.

When reality is so much better.

“I promise that I’ll never leave you again. I’ll make it up to you”, he mumbles against your parted lips.

“I sure hope so.”

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi@weebotaku21@chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez@belovedvamp@wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82

[alien-til-i-stage]

There’s something interesting in the way of how each of the cast are very similar, yet they have castly different ways to cope with what is happening to them. Each of them has their own way to deal with their trauma and because of this and how they cope, it leads them to vastly different endings and life styles.

More down below

- Starting with Mizi, I believe she coped by living in denial. This might sound strange, considering Mizi lived with owners who loved her. Her owners sheltered her because they cared, leading her to eventually join Anakt Garden out of desire to sing. It’s implied that Mizi did not know what would happen in Alien Stage, which is interesting.

We know everyone else knew. Till, Ivan, and Sua all knew and were prepared to fight for their lives. It’s even said that the kids in Anakt Garden were raised to believe dying in Alien Stage was an honor and that they shouldn’t fear death. Its strange that Mizi didn’t know about this, so I believe that Mizi, either consciously or subconsciously made herself forget about it.

She is still a human, a pet for aliens. Vivinos and Qmeng have confirmed that while Mizi is still the one with the closest relationship to her owners, it will never be anything like a daughter relationship, that she is still a pet to them. I doubt that she was never shown any abuse to any cruelities of their society. She must’ve seen it at some point. Especially when she meets Sua, Sua is right behind her as the two of them are with their owners. All it would take would Mizi turning around to see the abuse Sua is suffering, but she doesn’t.

While I do believe that Mizi wouldn’t have been able to tell whats wrong with Sua at her age, I think this was purposefully done to show that Mizi doesn’t look back around Sua. She’s focused on the beauty in front of her, she doesn’t pay attention to anything else. Perhaps this is to represent how Mizi actually ignores or doesn’t pay attention to anything bad, focusing purely on happiness. She puts the bad away from her mind and plays, having fun.

It’s only until Sua dies, that it gets too much for her, she can no longer subconsciously ignore what is happening and is suddenly being forced to notice everything that is happening. Almost like it’s finally being shoved in her face.

-Sua copes by dissociating herself, seperately her body and mind. We can see this as Sua lies doll like in her glass enclosure. She doesn’t move, her eyes are dead and still, she is just there. I believe this represents how she no longer lives in the moment but rather is somewhere else mentally. She’s there physically, treated as a doll in front of the aliens, like a decoration, but she makes no reactions.

By dissociating herself, she has become the perfect doll. It’s easy for her to live life as a doll if she isn’t even mentally there at all. This fits with everything we’ve seen of her, how she constantly wears a deadpan face and doesn’t move unless she is in Mizi’s presence. Mizi makes her want to live in the moment. She legitimately has fun with Mizi, and it’s likely that when she isn’t around her, she goes right back to being doll like. This would give her another reason to constantly be around Mizi, not wanting to go back to the way she was.

If Mizi were to die, she would permanently go back to dissociating constantly, and she doesn’t want that. She wants to live in the moment, she wants to be with Mizi forever, both mentally and physically. But it is impossible for her if Mizi dies, so she sacrifices herself to keep herself from living without her, falling into her sweet dreams with Mizi forever.

-Till copes a much more violent way. Instead he has outbursts and attacks any aliens or humans making him distressed. We see this commonly in the way he rebels. He doesn’t allow others to walk over him. This can be seen when Ivan steps on Till’s flowers and he attacks Ivan. We see a pattern of when Till gets upset, he attacks and gets violent towards the person who got him upset. We see Ivan using this to his advantage multiple times in order to get a reaction out of him.

We can also see this in the scene above where Till attacks the first alien he can, grabbing something to beat them with. It’s likely that Till wasn’t even thinking, but rather just wanted to hurt something. We know that Till had no chance of winning, but that was most likely something he didn’t care or think about at all. This shows that this action was entirely emotional, a decision made rashly. We also know that when Till is hurt badly, he thinks about Mizi to make him feel better, another coping mechanism for him. However by round 6, he has lost both of his coping mechanisms. He lost Mizi, now only able to think about her being gone, and he is reminded that he is powerless, and he is unable to attack back. He has no way to cope, making him much more suicidal in round 6, because he can’t stand or bear his life currently.

-Ivan makes his own life and trauma bearable by constant masking. We can see this happen often with him. He puts on his mask as a way to survive but to cope, forcing himself to be seperated from what is happening to him. Similar to Sua, his mask keeps him away from his trauma. While he still hurts and he is still very traumatized, the effects of his trauma is lessened because his mask doesn’t break. He pretends his trauma doesn’t exist, he pretends he is the perfect person, and no one would be able to guess otherwise.

However the mask is also a trauma of its own. If he were to ever take off his mask, like in round 6 when he did so in front of all the aliens, he would be able to truly express himself. He does so, even at the cost of Till’s dignity and made Till confused and scared. It’s also said that when Ivan takes off his mask around Till, he becomes childish and immature, showing how the mask has also made him mentally younger. How because he doesn’t cope properly or face life the same way a typical untraumatized person would, he is mentally younger, being described a man child in fact.

-Luka projects onto others to let out his feelings of helplessness and powerlessness. It was stated by Vivinos and Qmeng in a Q and A that Luka mentally abuses the other person on the stage, in this case it would be Mizi, because the stage is the one place he can be in control. He feels helpless and powerless outside of the stage, his entire life dictated by his owner as he is unable to chose his own path. He’s been raised from a very young age controlled by everyone around him, so once he gets the chance to have some form of control or power, he immediately jumps on the chance to get it.

He hurts the other contestant, uncaring of how they feel, because it makes him feel in power. He projects onto the other party his pain and his own feelings as a way to cope. Because of this, this could be another reason why Luka is alone. He chooses to hurt others around him because it makes him feel better, so naturally no one would want to be there for him. He has lost everyone because all he does is hurt them, seen with him and Hyuna. How Hyuna is deeply traumatized by Luka and now she avoids him and refuses to think about him.

-Hyuna, similar to Mizi, copes by running away from her traumas, using sustenaces like alcohol or keeping hersef busy to not think. While I did say above Mizi subconsciously forgets what is traumatizing until it gets too much, Hyuna tries desperately to make herself forget. We see her constantly drinking and partying, and when she isn’t, she is on dangerous missions. It’s most likely that she does this to run away from her own mind, that if she pauses and stops for one second, she will become overburdened and overwhelmed but her trauma.

We see her pause or freeze when she sees an image of Luka, forcing her to remember everything that happened. We see her panic on stage, trying so hard to make her voice louder and sing more to forget whats going on in her mind. This makes her trauma a weakness for her, as when she freezes, they are attacked by guards. Because of how long she has been running, the worse the effect of her trauma is to her.

[waltricia]

Bridgerton season 2 episode 3, “A Bee in Your Bonnet” is ✨magic✨ and let me tell you why.

For those of us who didn’t read the book and knew nothing of what was going to happen, we truly went on an incredible and surprising roller coaster of an experience.

We start the episode with seeing the guy from Hellboy and being like ‘oh yay, it’s the guy from Hellboy!’

… only for him to die three minutes later. And that scene is rough. It’s sudden and abrasive. And the sounds are jarring. The death is scored by tense strings. Then a moment of quiet. Then the AMAZING Ruth Gemmell begins taking us on Violet’s traumatic grief journey, which starts with her jolting Anthony (and us) out of the quiet.

And a thunderous heartbeat threatens him as he walks toward this entirely altered, unwanted life path. And that’s obviously the beginning of his PTSD.

In the other flashbacks throughout the episode, we continue to hear horrific, heart-rending pain radiate out of Violet while Anthony must not only attempt to endure it, but cover his own grief. Anthony and his siblings (and again, we the audience) all have to listen to Violet grieve while she’s giving birth! Screams on top of screams.

And the last flashback is technically quiet, but just as devastating because, like the moment of Edmund’s death, the quiet is weaponized. It signifies the death inside Violet.

It should go without saying that Jonathan Bailey is also a brilliant actor, but I’ll say it now anyway. Damn, he good! He and Ruth partnered perfectly in this grief journey. Serious props to them both because I felt this shit.

And then finally we come to the end. We had been immersed in the horrible aftermath of that striking tragedy. Between the flashbacks- in the present day- we had followed Anthony through the rooms and grounds where he had suffered silently. We had seen Edmund’s grave. We had learned that Anthony’s greatest fears and insecurities all stemmed from that tragic event ten years prior.

And then another fucking bee comes along.

And I swear to god, the first time I watched this, when Kate got stung, my heart was pounding, I was terrified, and my instinctive reaction was “oh my god, is she going to die?!” In hindsight, it’s obviously insane to think that she would be killed off at all, let alone in this scene. But the very fact that, for a moment, that was a legitimate fear I had is exactly why this episode is so god damn brilliant. I felt what Anthony felt. And I’m not the only one! I’ve seen other people’s similar reactions to this scene. The episode really is a roller coaster; easy, lighthearted moments (pall mall, drug tea), interspersed with the terrifying drops and loops that are Anthony’s painful memories which constantly haunt him. And then it brought us right back to that first traumatic moment. Because Anthony has PTSD! And that’s what PTSD does. Anthony is right back where he was, literally not far from the same spot outside Aubrey Hall, standing in front of a person he loves, watching them get stung by a bee on almost the same spot on their body. The tense string scoring comes back and Anthony panics because he’s completely helpless again.

And all of those elements- the setting, the scoring, the acting- combined to terrify us and make us forget something critical: most people don’t die from beestings.

And here’s where it gets really profound for me. Because it’s not just about how we feel Anthony’s fear. It’s also about how Kate completely obliterates it. Without knowing that history and without realizing the full extent of what her actions would mean, she does exactly the right thing. Rather than die and rather than also panic or shy away from his vulnerability, she meets it with her own in the form of care and steady assurance, which is true strength. And in so doing, she stops this cyclical moment in its tracks and completely alters the trauma. She puts his hand on her heart, and the heartbeat comes back. But this time, it’s not threatening. It’s inviting.

And just like in the first scene, the moment is over all too quickly. Just like in that scene, Anthony is thrust onto a new path. But where that moment was damaging, this one is healing. And we feel that too. And it’s the greatest experience that art can give us.

It’s catharsis.

And that’s why this episode is magic. 🐝✨

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Thinking of a modern AU when the kids get to be kids after it's all over and they go to the movies, they play games, hang out, all that. And of course, Steve drives them everywhere. He vouches for them in front of their parents, watches them like a hawk, tries to tell them about the adult stuff he's learned so far and chases Robin and Nancy to give them info on uni application and the things he feels he's too dumb for. Still, when Robin and Nancy are away and one of his kids needs something, he'll grab that legal document and either stare at it long enough to get a migraine or begins hounding the smart people who stayed in Hawkins (Mr. Clarke is Steve's go-to person and Mr. Clarke won't say it, but he's so proud of Harrington's progress).

So, Steve's life is basically nonstop work and babysitting (with lots of complaints and grumbling from the teens), they ask him to drive them somewhere and he'll bitch about it, sure, but he will get up after 4 hours of sleep and do it anyways. Dustin often reprimands Steve for not taking care of his health, but he doesn't see why.

When Encanto comes out, El really, really wants to see it, and how can Steve say no to her? He drives the whole gang to the movie theatre (some of them stacked on top of each other, some in the trunk on a pile of blankets) and decides to join them. He doesn't really like animated stuff, but Robin loves these movies and he wants yet another reason to call her and talk through the night.

He didn't expect to enjoy the movie so much, but it's colorful and catchy. The songs are nice and the characters are relatable. He makes a lot of mental notes to discuss with Robin. He thinks she will love Mirabel.

And then "Surface Pressure" starts playing and Steve wonders why he suddenly feels like crying. "I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service" hits especially hard. He's just sitting there and feeling incredibly stupid for tearing up at flying glitter-covered donkeys.

When they leave the movie theater, everyone is pretty excited and discussing which characters and songs they liked the most (even if some feel like rolling their eyes at a kids' movie, El's excitement stops them from doing that). They all start discussing to who they relate the most, El feels with Mirabel for being left out and different, even if she actually is the only one who has a gift, Will dares to utter that he really sympathizes with Dolores, Dustin loves Bruno for trying to fix the cracks in Casita.

And then they turn to Steve and someone makes a jab at him, saying he resembles Mariano the most. Steve is ready to shrug it off, there's some truth in that with what happened to his relationship with Nancy, but El just shakes her head and says: "No. Steve is our Luisa."

Everyone goes silent. There's a lot of hmmming and "well, he did get up to drive us when he had a night shift..." and "we could have just biked...". Steve tries to make them feel better about it, joking that he really has nothing better to do, but the drive home is full of whispering, and the party actually diligently thank him when they leave his car.

The next day is Sunday and Steve is ready for his usual routine, making himself busy until someone needs something. But there's a knock on the door to his small apartment and when he opens it, he sees his group of kids, proudly presenting a tray of muffins and two cartons of orange juice.

Out of all of them, it's Mike who speaks up. "Nancy said you often forget to eat breakfast," he states in his usual annoyed tone. "She also said that you like chocolate muffins, so we are here to ensure you don't die from hunger. Now move, I'll get the glasses and plates."

Steve just watches in awe as they swarm his flat, Will smiling at him and producing a DVD of the latest Spider-man movie. "This one was a tip from Robin, she says you haven't seen it yet."

Max is standing in the kitchenette with her cane, watching the pile of meds Steve has to take after his injuries with disdain. "This has to take forever for you to find what you need. Don't argue, I remember how shitty it was for me. Let me help you build a chart and thank me later."

El and Lucas are rearranging Steve's couch and placing pillows in front of the TV so everyone can sit comfortably. El also ensures the blinds are closed so Steve's eyes don't have to fight against the light.

And if that all wasn't more care than Steve has known in years, Dustin grabs his elbow and sits him down, threatening him with violence if he even thinks about working on Sunday.

As the opening titles start, Steve is surrounded by six teenagers in his tiny and cheap flat, chewing on a subpar muffin with an orange juice that probably never saw the actual fruit, and he thinks that there's no greater happiness than this.

[justmeinadaze]

Nothing's Gonna Change My World (Steddie X You) (Regency Era Universe)

AN: This is my first time writing for an era like this so bare with me. I think I could have done better with the details but alas! Please enjoy :)

Warnings: Steddie X Fem Y/N, In universe Regency Era Lords Steddie X Lady Fem Y/N, SMUT and FLUFF, established friendship in alternate universe, Friends to Lovers

ANGST, we learn more about these experimentees, both men talk about their parents and Eddie elaborates a bit more on how Steve treated him in school. Y/N talks a bit more about her family and status. At the end, she talks a bit more about her sister who has died. In the alternative universe, Steve's father is a dick who feels like he isn't measuring up. Calls Eddie and Y/N names (bastard & whore). Reader has a run in with someone who physically hurts her (no elaborate; just the after math), guys defend her.

Word Count: 5335

Series here/ Donate to Me <3

“You were definitely one of the lucky ones.”, the doctor exhales as he continues to make notes without looking your way. “A lot of the participants were either injured or experienced something they’d rather forget.”

Remaining silent, you press your lips together as you nod just wanting this to be over so you can go have a cigarette (and check on Eddie).

“Was there anything that stood out? People you knew or anything like that?”

“Uh, no. A group kidnapped me and wanted to use me for leverage. I was rescued and then went back to a compound where I was talking with people till I woke up. I did have memories of my sister still dying. Obviously not in the same way.”

“Huh.”, the doctor hummed as he made notes. 

“What?”

“It’s just interesting to have two participants experience a kidnapping. Another participant said he saved someone from being taken. Did you see Mr. Steve Harrington there?”

“No, I didn’t.”, you growled, annoyed at the man’s stupidity. 

“Ok. It’s not that outlandish in an environment like that so I’m not too concerned about it.”

“If we had seen each other would it be? Something to be concerned about I mean.”

“Hmmm… not really. It would be interesting to dissect, metaphorically of course. To meet someone you’ve only met through this avenue in an alternate reality, I mean, that would be so fascinating.”

“What if you saw them in more than one?”

The doctor chuckles as he leans back in his seat. 

“Theoretically that’s impossible but, if we’re speaking in theory, to meet the same someone in all different universes including this one? That sounds more metaphysical…like fate.”

“If that’s true…then it implies my sister was meant to die…no matter what universe we both lived in.”

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper causing the doctor to scan you over as he says your name but you promptly ignore him, rising to your feet as you power walk out of the room. 

While walking down the hallway, you hear people still sniffling as they continue to regale people with stories of the other universe and how terrified they were about moving forward. You were so focused on the sounds of sobs; you didn’t even notice you passed by Steve who leaned out of his bedroom when he noticed you walk by and followed quietly behind you. 

Eddie’s door was open but when you poked your head inside you realized he was asleep and still looked incredibly pained. As you tiptoed to his bedside, you noticed a little bruise starting to form where the nurse must have given him a shot to help calm him so he could rest. The other boy watches you with amusement as your sad eyes take in the man in front of you before you turn to the wall behind you, tapping your fingers gently against the light illuminated panel, and waiting for only a moment before a small door opens providing you with whatever it is you had purchased. 

Sitting beside him, you carefully opened the tube you bought, squirting a bit of gel on your palm and rubbing it along his purple wound.

“What’s that?”, Steve murmurs as your eyes flick his way. “That you’re putting on him.”

“Healing gel for bruises.”, you respond while tossing him the bottle so he can see. “That brand is good at soothing swelling and aches. Definitely needed some of it a time or two.”

When you giggle, he can’t help but smile at the sight.

“May I ask why? Why you’re doing that for him? You just…you seem a bit guarded.”, he clarified when you flashed him an annoyed look. 

“Yeah…Comes from years of bullshit. Plus…he was right. I’m terrified to let people in because something always happens. My sister was always there for me through the bad stuff but when I lost her… I just thought it was best to keep people at bay.”

“I can understand that.”, he nods, smirking when your quark your eyebrow his way. “Just because I’m an asshole doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”, Steve laughs. “I’m, um, sorry if I’ve come on to strong with my personality or been rude… It’s just my defense, you know?”

“I can understand that.”, you recite back making both your smiles grow. “I should go back to my room.”

Even as you say your words, your body doesn’t move. You know you should leave but something in your gut keeps tugging you towards the sleeping in man in front of you. He was in so much emotional pain and all you wanted to do was make it go away for him. 

Sighing, you curl up behind Eddie’s back, pressing your face into his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his waist.

***

When the long-haired boy woke up the following morning, he was completely confused when he felt a weight against his body until lifting the blanket and seeing a hand resting lazily against his stomach. 

As carefully as he could, he rolled over coming face to face with your sleeping frame. He should have been confused or annoyed even that you just crawled into his bed but for reasons he couldn’t explain he felt like this was completely normal. Like he had spent the last few years waking up to you already. 

Eddie wondered if maybe the experiment was leaving imprints him as the memories stayed. In the first universe, he hadn’t met you yet but he felt incredibly comfortable with you as that version of himself had already begun hoping for a long future with you by their side. In the second, he and Steve had been with you for a while and even now he could picture some of that Eddie’s memories as if they were his own. 

Memories of meeting you and being skeptical as his friend insisted on bringing you back home. Taking you out to the field near the high school to practice shooting with you and allowing you to try his sniper rifle which he had conveyed to never let anyone before you do. The immediate fear he felt when you didn’t come back and the anger that followed when he found out someone took you. 

As he reached out to caress your cheek, those protective feelings inside him increased and he wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. 

The current reality came rushing back as his eyes glanced at the discounted jewelry on his fingers. He was lower class and would always be labeled that way. Whatever class you were didn’t matter because even he knew he was at the bottom of the society rung.

After crawling over you out of bed, he quietly covered you back up and headed to the bathroom to get ready for breakfast. 

***

“He’s not eating with you?”, you ask as you take a seat in front of Steve and glance towards Eddie who was nibbling on his lunch by the wall.

“Uh, no, not today and I kind of understand why. If I saw what he did I would want to keep to myself to.”

“Is…are your parents…how they are in the other realities?”

The man pauses for a moment before his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Yeah, they are especially my father. I’ve been conditioned to take over his company since birth.”

“Conditioned?”

“Yup. Luckily my dad got a boy on his first try with my mom so…yay me.”, he sasses making you smirk as you exhale at the heaviness behind his words. “What about you? What are your parents like?”

“My parents and I haven’t spoken in a while. I, um, after my sister died…it was like the glue that held us together melted.”

“I’m assuming they’re assholes then?”

“What are we talking about so intensely?”, Eddie asks as he throws his body down next to Steve and continues to eat. 

“Parents.”

“Oh that’s a fun topic.”

“Y/N was about to tell me more about hers.”

They both stare at you with wide, focused eyes as they wait for you to go on and on impulse you cross your arms as your wall begins to go up. 

“Uh, yeah, you can say they are assholes. My father is a judge and my mom is a lawyer. Like you said, my great grandfather has the school named after him because he did a lot within congress. Careers of that degree kind of run in the family so I’m…noted as the failure…”

“You’re not a failure.”, Steve tries to comfort as your eyes become glassy before you hastily blink any tears away. 

“I also don’t believe in my families class system so that’s a point against me.”

“Not really anything you can do about it though, right sweetheart?”, Eddie sighs. “The Harrington’s basically swear by it.”

The other man exhales as his head hangs.

“I was raised to believe that the higher class…were superior…”

“Yeah. To push low level people like me and my uncle aside. Part of the reason our school allowed people like me in was to add to the arrogance of the upper class so they could push us around.”

“I never hurt you, Eddie.”

“Physically, no.” 

At that, Steve’s head jerks towards the boy beside him as anger and shame fills his heart. 

“I’m sorry, Munson.”

As you watch their exchange, you can’t help but feel the pain as well from your seat across from them. This is why you and Kallie hated the class system. From the videos you saw, your great grandfather touted it as a way of motivation and peace. 

“So the higher classes feel safer and the lower classes can aspire for greater.”

All it did was cause pain and no one did anything to counter or abolish it. It was so engrained in society that it was just common at this point but no one in the upper class did anything that made them better people. They continually belittled anyone beneath them and made sure to remind them there was no point in “aspiring for greatness” because this is where they belonged; under them.

Maybe Kallie could have made a difference…

“It’s ok—”

“It’s not. I’d…like to start over…maybe. If we can.” Steve’s hand hovers in the air as Eddie’s beautiful eyes take in the gesture with a glimmer of hope reflected behind them. 

“Alright, Harrington.”, the man smirks as he smacks his palm into his and shakes it making you grin their way.

***

The following morning, Steve woke up in chair inside Eddie’s room with you both asleep in the long-haired boy’s bed and him sitting up against the wall while his palm rested on your bicep as your head slept comforting on his lap. 

You three had spent the evening together getting little tidbits about each other and just getting to know the other more. 

As you spoke, he couldn’t help but study you as your lips moved and your eyes focused as you listened to one of them speak. It was in his nature as an upper-class businessman’s son. He was taught from an early age to read body language and listen to inflections in words which he always found amusing because his father did none of that. 

Bill Harrington did everything with selfish motivation and if someone questioned him or seemed to be disloyal, he attacked whether the person was indeed being nefarious or not. 

In school growing up, Steve was the same but a bit more calculated. He punished people for being weak and quite frankly never even noticed they were always the lower-class student. He should have been more observant and empathetic. He just wanted to belong. 

Lord knows his parents never made him feel wanted. 

Steve couldn’t help but wonder how he would have treated you had you grown up together. He would like to think he would have been kind but the fact that he wasn’t sure broke his heart. Maybe you would have made him want to be a better man. 

He felt that in the last universe he was in; that strong need to be better. The memories that still lingered had him wanting to continue that philosophy. He desperately wanted to make the world better for you and Eddie but the current version of himself was struggling.

He didn’t know how to begin and definitely didn’t want to cross a line. 

Truth of the matter was…he was scared…

***

“What do you think? Three for three?”, Eddie jokes as you guys head towards the pods for you next session. 

“I’m not sure. It does comfort me though…to know you both might be there. I aways get nervous before hand at what we might see.”

“Yeah. We understand the feeling.”, Steve sighs under his breath before giving you both a soft smile as you all separate to go to your areas.

“Alright Miss Y/L/N, here’s your shot…good. And I must insist that when you wake up, please remain in the vessel so we can do our jobs.”

“No promises.”

The nurse narrows her eyes at you as the door slowly slides closed. 

“Dropping down in 3…2…1…”

#########################

“I will not tolerate this insolence anymore!”, the man screams on the other side of the door causing you and Edward’s eyes to lock from your places as you continue to listen in. 

You had known Eddie and Steve since you all were children and it was killing you to hear the latter man’s father scream at him in such a manner. 

Steven did everything he could to appease his parents including taking a woman he deemed boring to a dinner date in an environment he detested. He went with his dad on business ventures overseas to learn more about a company he did not want to inherit, sending you both long winded letters about how drab the whole affair was and how his father belittled him the entire ship ride back home. 

All he wanted to do was spend time with his two best friends like he had always done. 

“You need to get your act together, son. I won’t be here forever to keep you afloat. You can’t make a living running around with the bastard Munson and that whore Y/L/N.”

Your hand reached out to take the boys beside you as he flashed you a small smile and delicately kissed the back of it. 

“Don’t call her that.”, Steven growled. “They are my friends.”

“Pfft. Then explain to me why she’s been seen with every Duke and Lord in the county?!”

“Her father wants her to settle down and marry—”

“She needs to! She’s way past her prime!”

Eddie snickers as you lift your eyebrows as if to silently agree with your friend’s father.

“AND Edward is a respectable gentleman—”

“Whose father ISN’T in the prison for thieving jewelry from castles like ours?”

“That doesn’t make him a bastard.”, Steve whispered under his breath causing his father to stomp forward and hit his son hard in the cheek. 

“It’s too bad you don’t have this kind of fight in you when it comes to a work ethic.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m fighting for something I care about.”, his son spits back before turning and powerwalking out the door running into you both as you lean nonchalantly against the opposite wall. “Oh, that’s inconspicuous.”

You giggle as you run to keep up with him as he continues walking down the hall, your olive-green gown flowing behind you as you do. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll survive.”, he replies a bit curtly before pausing at a set of double doors and grabbing your bicep. “Why don’t we skip this affair and spend some time in the library.”

“Steve.”, you smile as you reach up to move some of his loose hair away from his face. “We all got dressed up to come to your father’s idiotic dance. The least we could do is make an appearance.”

“I think she just wants to impress William.”, Eddie teases making you blush as you reach forward and lightly punch his arm making little to no impact against his black suit jacket he looked incredibly handsome in. 

“Look, your father may be a rude but he’s right.”, you shrug. “If I don’t get married soon—”

Steve’s soft palm extended towards you to cup your face as his thumb slid across your lips to silence you. Touches like this were not abnormal and even you had flirted with the idea of taking your friendship further but shame overtook you when you realized you cared about both men. 

You could care less about your parent’s approval or how society would view you. They did that already with the many men who tried to court you but you did care about them. Eddie was already demeaned for being “new money” since his family didn’t come from wealth. Add in the fact that he rarely behaved or dressed in a manner they found suitable but all that mattered to you was his kind demeanor and how he always made you smile. 

Steve was constantly judged by high society because he struggled to follow the “proper etiquette” of someone in his status. He just wanted to live his life the way he wanted and you encouraged that. He was incredibly smart and protective which is something you enjoyed on late nights when he would sneak into your room and you two would lay together talking about the future. 

A relationship with one of them let alone two would bring undo trouble their way and you loved them too much to allow that. 

“Fuck my father, honey. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

Grinning, you loop your arm through his and gesture towards Edward so you can do the same with him. 

“As long as I’m with my two best friends, I’m happy.”

***

“What do you think? Has she finally found the one?”, Eddie asks as he passes his friend the bottle of scotch they stole from one of his father’s many offices. 

“Please…William Hargrove isn’t the kind to settle down but…who knows. She’s an amazing woman.”

“Yeah she is.”

This was one of Steve’s favorite spots in his large family estate, the garden out back. Since he met you two, he would bring you out by the fountain where you would play games and make him laugh. As you three grew, it because a place to gossip and talk about anything that came to mind. You had made a plan to meet here within one hour’s time so the gentleman could be seen before disappearing but you were late which was making your long-haired friend nervous. 

“You don’t think something happened right?”

“I’m not sure but if it’s something good I know she’d kill us for interrupting.” As Steve chuckles, Eddie can’t help but force a smile before letting out a long-winded sigh. “I know…”

“Maybe we should finally tell her how we feel…say something…”

“Say what?”, you asked with a happy sounding high pitched tone appearing in front of them.

“What took you so long? Talking with William?”

“Oh, yes, I was but he is just so intellectually draining.”, you tease, mimicking your voice to sound like Steve’s parents. 

“Your hair is pulled back differently. Some of the strands are loose.”, Eddie notices as he rises to his feet but at the action however you take a step backward. “Where did you get that shawl?”

“Oh, um, I stole it from Lady Bradberry. That’s what she gets for always calling me a harlot.”

As you chuckle, your eyes become glassy as your voice cracks. Both boys take a step forward and once again you back away. 

“Let’s, uh, let’s get out of here. We can go to my estate—”

“Let us see, Y/N.”

This time when Steve extends his hand out you don’t pull away, allowing him to slowly pull down the garment covering your shoulder exposing the slowly forming bruise.

“No, no.”, you scold as you watch their eyes cloud over in anger. “I took care of it, alright? William won’t be a concern anymore. Edward! Steven! No!”, you hiss as you try to pull on their arms to stop them as they begin stomping towards the castle. “No! I won’t let you ruin your reputations over me.”

Abruptly, Eddie turns around and cups your face in his palms as his lips passionately press to yours. You had tasted him before on many a lonely night but this felt different in the best possible way. 

“You don’t seem to understand, my lady. You…mean more to us than any reputation…”

This time you allow them to continue forward, following close behind as they reenter Steve’s home and make a beeline for the study where you had last been. To your surprise, William wasn’t far but to his surprise you weren’t back to reconsider his offer of becoming his mistress. 

Steve’s fist flew before any words were exchanged and your breath caught in your throat as you watched the men you cared for defend your honor. 

“Steven!”, his father shouted as he tried to pull his son off the unlucky man now bleeding on the floor. Friends of the Harringtons and Hargroves ran in to separate everyone but while everyone crowded around the man who had physically hurt you, your best friends backed away to make sure they were front of you, shielding you from everyone. 

“What is wrong with you, you imbecile!”, Mr. Harrington scolded as he pointed his finger towards Steve. “William is set to be married next month to Lady Cunningham. Everyone will be talking about this.”, he gestures towards the man’s bleeding face. 

“That filth put his hands on the woman I love.”

Your hopeful eyes widen at his words and to your relief Eddie doesn’t flitch or hiss at his friend. 

They both care about you to. 

Reaching out, your fingers cling to their formal jackets causing both men to stand up straighter. 

“I’m DONE with all this nonsense! You are no longer allowed to be friends with those two. End it now.”

“No.”

“EXCUSE ME!?”

“He said no.”, Eddie defended. “Y/N and I have known your son since we were children and thankfully he’s nothing you or that scum.”, he growls as he gestures towards William. 

“Get out of my home!”

“With pleasure.”

At Steve’s final words, they both grab your hands and power walk out the double doors into the garden. 

***

Your eyes follow them as they maneuver around the Munson bedroom; Steve roughly hurling off his jacket and Eddie doing the same before gathering some supplies in his lavatory. 

You three had spent many an intimate night here. The first time either of them kissed or touched you was on this floor or in the big comfy bed. You all made a vow that this would never be anything more but never elaborated on why. You knew your reasons but…

“Why didn’t you say anything before? About how you feel?”

Edward smirk salaciously as he kneeled in front of you and placed a cool rag with ice against your now prominent, purple bruise.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because of this.”, you gesture towards your other friend who was now facing you both with his hands on his hips. “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you both lost everything.”

“Sweetheart…”, Eddie cooed in a soothing tone. “You ARE everything.”

Smiling, you run your fingers through his hair as your lips tenderly kiss his till you feel a dip in the mattress beside you. 

“You’re not a…harlot or a whore…”, Steve conveys, wincing at the negative as if he’s disgusted to even say them. “I remember when we were children, your mother would let me sleep over when my father would scream at me and my own mother. You and Kallie always made me smile.”

As he turns to face you, the other man continues to kiss your neck as he reaches behind your back to unlace your gown. 

“I can’t picture my life with you, Y/N. I’d give up everything, my name, status, and reputation… just to have you here with us.”

Your palm caresses his cheek and in return he tilts down to bring his lips to yours. Soft kisses turn heated as they undress you and then themselves. 

“We can go anywhere we want to.”, Eddie breathes into your ear as you lay on your back between them. “We can take one of the Harrington’s many, MANY ships and run to someplace new.”

They smile when you giggle as their palms roam your soft skin. 

“Maybe we can build our own estate where we can be together and happy.”, Steve added as his hand slid between your legs.

“We can grow our own supplies and I can play my music.” 

As the other man speaks his fingers spread open your pussy lips making you moan as he begins to rub circles against your clit. His friend joins him as he guides two of his own into your dripping hole. 

“Oh…my…”

“I can become a businessman and own a shop in town. Maybe you can come work with me and sell things at the counter with that gorgeous smile. Fuck, I love seeing you smile.”

“Would…would we have any…children?”, you ask as you feel that knot steadily building in your tummy. 

“Of course, sweetheart. We’d have so many we’d have to build more rooms in our home till it’s as big as a Harrington Castle!”

You and Steve chuckle at your friend’s exclamation; yours more of a pant as both their rhythm hastens. 

“I love you both…so much…I-I should have said something—mmm—before but…I was scared.”

“We know, honey. We know.”

“Just like that. Fuck, I’m coming.”

Both sets of lips attached to your throat as your body trembled and you came undone. 

“Listen to you trying not to scream.”, Steve teased. “You can here, beautiful.”

You giggle as the other man flips you on to your side and pulls your back to his chest. While kissing your cheek, he lifts your leg in the air and you both groan as he guides his cock into your entrance. 

“Oh god, Y/N.”

“Fuck, Eddie. So big.”

His mouth falls open as his humid breath warms your face and his large palm cups one of your breasts. When your hand covers his, you realize his knuckles still have remnants of dry blood. 

“Thank you—mmm—for protecting me.”

“Of course. Fuck—fuck that self-righteous son of a bitch.”

“You’re safe with us, honey.”, Steve smiled softly as he leaned forward to capture your lips. 

“Always have been. God, you feel so good. Say my name, sweetheart. T-Tell me again you love me.”

“Ahhhh—I love you, Edward. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. Please, make me cum.” Locking your eyes with the man in front of you, your body shakes and you scream Eddie’s name repeatedly as you cum. “Please…please… cum inside me.”

The long-haired boy’s rhythm falters for a moment before his fingers grip your cheeks forcing you face him. 

“Are you sure? We’ve never…”

“I’m sure. I want to have a family with you…both of you.”

“Fuck—”, he grunts at your confession as his eyes squeeze shut and he clings to your sweaty form as he pounds his release into your cunt. “H-Hearing you say that…that you really do want a family with a…commoner like me—”

“You’re not a commoner, honey. Your uncle worked so hard to get where he is.”

“I love you.”, he whispers and kisses your lips. 

Grinning, you focus on Steve and circle your arms around his neck as he tugs you under his large frame. 

“Thank you for defending me to.”

You can’t help but giggle as he trails kisses from your forehead, down to your nose, and along your cheek to your neck.

“I’ll always protect you and defend you. No matter what.” Your eyes roll back as he gradually pushes his length into your slightly sore pussy. “Fuck—I love you, Y/N.”

###############

“And there she goes. Why do I even bother?”, the nurse sasses as you promptly climb out of the pod and run to your room.

You were having so much trouble catching your breath having been pulled out in the middle of your intimate moment. You could still feel the intense want and need of having Steve inside you but more than anything your current reality was mixing with that one as you started to sob, feeling heartbroken that you didn’t hear yourself tell this man again that you loved him. 

A rough palm grabbed your bicep and turned you around as lips crashed to your own. 

The second you recognized the taste, you allowed Steve to push your back against the wall as his arms held your waist as close to him as possible. 

He tastes the same as the other universes. How can that be?

Neither of you willing to separate, you listened to him grunt in your ear as he sloppily pulled down your sweats before tugging at his own enough to free his hard, leaking cock from its confinement. 

“Oh f-fuck.”, you mewled as he stretched your tight pussy open and set an aggressive pace as he slammed his hips into yours. 

Your fingers threaded through his soft hair as you bit into his shoulder to stifle the continuous moans that wanted to break free especially when he took hold of one of your thighs to wrap around his waist as he hit your g-spot at a much more precise angle. 

As you opened your eyes, you were met with Eddie’s soft chocolate ones in the doorway and that was enough to allow the coil to snap as you whimpered Steve’s name repeatedly into his ear. At the feeling of your cunt quivering around him, he dropped your leg and quickly pulled out, pumping his cock in his fist till you felt his spend hit your thigh. 

“I-I love you.” At your words, Steve tilted back to look at your face. “I said it to Eddie again. Y-You said it to me but I didn’t get to say it back. I didn’t get to say it back. I did the same with Kallie. I didn’t say it back and then she died.”

Your arms clung to him tighter as he slid with you to the cold tile floor. A blanket was wrapped around your lower half before you felt another set of strong arms circle around you. 

“Sweetheart, just like that Steve in the other universe, I’m sure your sister knew you loved her.”, Eddie whispered as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”, you murmur back. 

“In every universe my father hates me including this one. He wants me to be someone I’m not. Feeling that in every universe so far… it’s heartbreaking but I know I’m ok because of you two.”, Steve sighs and when you pull back he quickly wipes the tear that escaped down his cheek. 

“In all of mine my mom is dead and my dad abandons me leaving me with my uncle. I…I feel them all…all the memories those other versions of me have with my mother being a loving woman and my father being an abusive piece of shit. I feel what I feel for you and Steve; my best friend and the woman I care for. I get overcome with this strong need to protect you.”, Eddie follows as his voice shakes.

“That has to mean something. If whatever you did in those universes didn’t affect us there…”

“Then it won’t affect us here.”, the metalhead finished. 

Shaking your head, you push yourself away from them and pull up your sweats as you head for the door. 

“You’re safe with us, Y/N.”, Steve called giving you pause. “That’s been the same in every universe to…including this one.”

@baileebear @jasminelafleur @twirls827 @dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @starboygf @alba8688 @crybabyddl @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @utterlyinsanity @hardladyheart @yesimabratandwhataboutot @chelebelletx @season4steve @fic-lover-29 @micheledawn1975

###############

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf

Prologue

MASTERLIST

Summary: The dark hours before the end of Aegon Targaryen II

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, talks about bedding and non concensual sexual relationships, threats of mutilation, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon 

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Notes: A bit short, but I'm setting a tone here

Corlys could sense the tension in the room, everyone, at least, the survivors, were dangerously quiet, they shared concerned looks between them all.

Alicent’s mouth always seemed to be twisted in inhumane ways, but now… the edges of her mouth almost falls down of her face by her chin

“All the traitors are going to die”, said Aegon, twisting his hands, playing with the rings he had placed in his fingers… trying to hide the fact that they were burnt, the skin melted. He used now high colored shirts and vests, but the still raw, tender skin that was never going to heal, could still be seen in the side of his face, no matter he had decided to let his wild hair ungroomed, fall long framed his chubby face.

“We will be overrun”, admitted Corlys, “A Northerner army, a big one, is passing trough Harrenhal right now, they had been joined by people in the Riverlands that still are faithful to Rhaenyra’s cause, and also from the Vale in the Narrow Sea, we will be defeated, and we will burn inside this walls”, he sentenced 

“I think the Velaryon Fleet needs incentive, Lord Corlys, to face the traitors of the Vale”, two years ago, the council would have laughed to the drunken fool’s face that called himself King, but as they looked into his wild lilac eyes… no one laughed

Corlys was the only one to dare directly into his eyes

In defiance

Say it

He begged him with a silent threat in his dark eyes

Do it

Threaten me

“I think we need to send a little message…”, he continued, “I want my little nephew’s cock on a platter, and that little whore… in my chambers by the time we finish here, maybe that way, if we send them a set of sheets with my niece’s maidenhead in them, perhaps we will tell the fucking traitors what will happen to them all”

“Take the black, your grace, step down”

“I will kill them, to every last trace of my cunt of a half sister, i will take away the reason for their rebellion, they were be no other contender to the throne but me, and I will marry Cassandra Baratheon, she will give me true, strong heirs, worthy of the Iron Throne” 

“Your grace”, he said slowly. “maybe, telling them of your marriage with the princess, instead of her bloodied sheets would be more effective”, he counseled

“He is right Aegon”, said Alicent softly, “an alliance between the two branches of the family will ease them, and Cregan Stark, when knowing Rhaenyra’s blood will sit on the Iron Throne one day, he will go back North”, she said hopefully, she placed her hand on his son forearm, but he pulled it, rejecting his mother’s touch 

“Bring her to my chambers tonight”, he said to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he didn't like it, but nodded nonetheless without saying anything

“Aegon”, reasoned Alicent, “she is very delicate, and an innocent in all of this”

“Isn’t she the daughter of my whore of a sister?”, he mocked, Alicent said nothing as she played with her fingers nervously, “isn’t she what you called her a thousand times over? a bastard?”

“That doesn’t mean… we will be surrounded”

“Call in Lord Borros then, they will attack the traitors from the back, and killed them against the city walls”, he mocked

“Lord Borros is dead your grace”, said Corlys, playing with the dragon eye in front of him, he then stopped, and look up at him, he found the twisted King looking back at him with a sick smile 

“Right, sometimes I forget”, he said dismissively, he took the chalice of wine next to him and took it to his lips

5 minutes without drinking

A new record 

“the Lannisters then”, he said

“By the time the Lannister piece together the scraps left of their army, our head will be at stakes at the gates of the city”, Lord Corlys debated, Larys Strong only got quiet, looking to the left and to the right, who was next to speak, who was next to loose his temper. It was truly entertaining 

“We hold the city”, he mocked, “we will close the gates and those savages will be scratching their heads, wondering how they could breach the walls, they don’t have siege weapons

“What they have is the rest of the country’s resources, while they starved us to death”, he fought again

“Not if your armada defeats the Arryn’s, as they should”

Then finally, his crazy, deranged eyes stopped at the face of Corlys Velaryon

“I will cut your granddaughter's ear and sent it to Alyn Velaryon, to go and encourage him to fight the fucking traitors”

That was it

“That is not going to be necessary, your grace, Alyn will fight the Arryn fleet, there is no doubt in my mind, I will send word to him personally”

“there shouldn’t be no need”, he snapped, “I am the King!”, he said, pointing to his own chest, “and they are loyal to me, they will fight”, Corlys nodded 

That was it then

They shared looks with Tyland Lannister

His fate was set 

The small council meeting was done, and everyone return to their chambers, it was already the hour of the owl, the Keep was dark, very lighten up, it lost ghostly, like it had been abandoned 

Corlys walked silently to his chambers, as a maid passed by him, he gave her a small sack and nodded, she barely looked at him and walked away

It was sealed 

“Where is the princess?”, he asked the guard posted at her rooms, he shook his head, the Sea Snake barely nodded, “keep her there”, he commanded, and kept walking

He needed his wits, he was going to need every ounce of diplomacy he still held to survive the coming weeks

A pack of wolves was coming

And they were going to ravage every Green that still drew breath

There had never lived a Stark who forgot an oath

Cregan Stark had promised Rhaenyra he was going to raise an army and march south to guard her and destroy her enemies that still were raising arms

Rhaenyra was dead

And yet the wolf was coming to fulfill his promise 

. . .

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros”, she sang softly, grabbing tightly the small incense in her hand, “Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis”, she kept lighting up the candles, “Hen ñuhā elēnī, Perzyssy vestretis”, she wavered, looking up at the skull of Balerion, “Se gēlȳn irūdaks. Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi”, she moved to the next table, lighting up the small candles one by one, it could be maddening, but she had been here every night, “Ezīmptos laehossi”, she continued, “Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli”, she looked up at the huge skull again, hoping, praying for something, like he was going to brought the black dread back to life

“Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī”, she finished the song with a single tear falling down her cheek

“Balerion, Jaes morgho, mazēdas ñuha lentor, sir gūrogon zirȳla, nyke jorepagon syt se morghon hen dārys”

[Balerion, god of death, he took my family, now take him, I pray to you for the death of the Usurper], she whispered 

She looked down at the candles, as she played with her fingers in the small flames, she could feel nothing, her skin didn't melt, unlike her sleeve

“Morghūljagon”, she whispered, extinguishing the flames from a simple blow of her lips 

Die.

[ashleyhuh]

Hyper analyzing Devlog 07

I am just too excited for this and I NEED to talk about Devlog 07 and just the implications and some speculation of each screen shot AND the new art!

I wanna start from a more overlooked screen shot which really puts us in Andrews shoes and more!

In Andrew's eyes he doesn't even value his friend enough to consider him anything other than "Friend B" which to me is probably how he remembered it as I'd like to imagine in this scene he sticks up for Ashley and probably might even stop being friends with him again, somewhat how like they tried forgetting Nina and blocking out her name and face from their memories only this time he wasn't even important enough to Andrew his name was simply forgotten, not important enough because Ashley is far, far more important to him.

This to me really confirms that Nemlei wants to tell this story for how it is and how many of us see it. A romance novel, even in Decay we see Andrew still loving Ashley but angry he loves her and angry with himself for being this way. We see this in how he is still physical with her tho he is using that touch as a means of frustration, he wants her but he hates that he does. This drawing is also just super fucking cute I love it

I think honestly its incredible how this is the first time we see a police officer this late into the game considering what types of antics they've been up to. There isn't much to analyze here other than with the officers seem to have a more relaxed mood, talking more about the monotonous parts of their job and as such I don't believe they'd be looking for Andrew, but Andrew is still hiding from them as he can't afford to be seen by Police.

This to me could say a lot or nothing. The soul in front of lord unknown could very much so be Andrew's as it's popular speculation that he is going to be sacrificed and Ashley has to get him back. The game has made it clear to us that when you lose your soul you don't die which is a key element if Nemlei is going to ever develop that detail further with what we've speculated from before. This area could also have major significance if it's important that Ashley and Andrew try to summon lord unknown in the optional part of the game. Who knows it could matter it could not such as with the gun having bullets or not.

[theonlyqualitytrash]

Memento Mori - Fyodor x Reader

Synopsys: Do not forget that you will surely die someday, and as such, that is the more reason to live now. Fyodor returns to St. Petersburg, where a compassionate ballet teacher’s acceptance of life and mortality quietly transforms his jaded soul.

Warnings: fem!reader used, heavy themes of existential dread, mortality and religion, some russian words used, spoiler to Fyodor's ability (even though everyone and their mom is probably up to date with the manga)

A/N: I always found it weird for an immortal being to be religious, so I wanted to imagine a reason for Fyodor's faith. Anyway, this was a good outlet for all my existential thoughts, and I hope I did the character justice

Words: 3,900

Our existence is quite fascinating: we are born from death and return to death once we are finished stealing breaths from the world. Our existence has two parts—the physical and the bodiless. The first represents your autonomy, your biology, while the latter represents the mind, the consciousness. 

19th century, Russian Empire

It was not uncommon for Fyodor to return home every five to ten years. Not out of homesickness, but there was something about the cold climate that always brought him back to St. Petersburg. He often found himself revisiting the same cathedrals and dark alleyways.  

Over the decades, places had changed, yet he remained the same. And circling around him were the same filthy, grotesque people—sinners with empty human souls, their hearts filled with religion and vodka. Religion to keep them fearful, and vodka to keep them compliant.  

Religion was a coping mechanism to manage the fear of death. And it was necessary because it thrived on fear. And what, he would ask, is the most primitive emotion in our brain? Fear. Fear is indeed primordial, clinging to us since the moment we are born.  

As humans, when we take our first breath, our first instinct is to cry and cling to our birth-giver. Why? Because we feel fear.  

The pavement was wet with snow that had fallen a few days prior and still plagued the stones. The sound of distant bells tolled in the background, marking the passage of time, but to Fyodor, time seemed irrelevant, like a vague murmur beneath the weight of his thoughts. The cold seeped into his bones, but it barely registered—his ushanka perched comfortably on his head, his coat keeping him mostly warm. Besides, he had a specific place he wanted to visit this time around. He had always enjoyed the fine arts, and ballet was no different. 

So there he stood, in front of the Mariinsky Theatre—a grand green-washed building. The architecture, coupled with the color of the opera house, reminded Fyodor of mildew. He entered and had someone take his dark coat, doffing his beloved hat politely before walking to his seat in the mezzanine. The seat loomed over the ground floor, giving him a perfect view of the performance as well as the people attending. 

He took a moment to observe and take in everything. The paintings on the ceiling were slightly more discolored than the last time he’d visited, and the people were the same cookie-cutter elites he saw every time. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they, too, didn’t age and that the same people came to the opera house each time. Everything was quite boring and dull, and he was tired of it all, but he still wanted to see the show. Giselle was one piece he had seen before but kept returning to. Why? 

It was probably the tragic story that began with Giselle’s all-consuming love that lead her to madness and death. Her transformation—from grief and heartbreak to forgiveness and redemption as she forgives Albrecht—it all leads Giselle to spiritual liberation, demonstrating the healing power of selfless love and the importance of moving beyond bitterness. 

He didn’t understand that. 

Giselle, in his eyes, was a naïve fool. The man didn’t deserve her forgiveness or pity. If a woman’s heart is moved to pity, it becomes more dangerous than anything. She is bound to want to save him, to bring him to his senses, to lift him up and draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life and usefulness. And yet, such dreams were futile. Fyodor knew all too well how far that kind of idealism could lead.  

As the orchestra swelled, the soft, lively melody of the second act began, pulling him from his thoughts. The dancers took their positions, and he settled back into his seat, his gaze fixed on the stage. The performance resumed, the air thick with the delicate balance of art and emotion.  

He remembered everything that was supposed to happen, from the slight movements of each ballerina to the clicking of the wooden pointe shoes on stage. So it struck him when the lead—a fairly average-looking woman—came out in the second act with a violin. His usual disinterested gaze followed the ballerina. 

There was nothing particularly remarkable about her; she moved with the same elegance as any other ballerina, wore the same costume he’d memorized. But the fact that she decided to depart from tradition and bring an instrument on stage while also dancing made him almost reevaluate his opinion of her. On one hand, it was a pleasant surprise to see something different, opposed to the harsh rules of Russian ballet; on the other, why would she feel the need to defy tradition? 

With a few simple inquiries, he soon found out that the woman was a teacher at the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet. It was expected—being the only relevant ballet school in St. Petersburg, many ballerinas who graduated from this academy went on to perform at the opera house. 

The academy had the same sickly yellow walls he had grown accustomed to; almost everything in this city was like this. From the faces of the people walking the streets to the wood holding up and supporting the buildings, the color of decay that seemed to seep into every corner of St. Petersburg. 

The woman’s name was (Y/N) Agafonov. As stated, she was a teacher at this academy. 

The porter let him in without fuss, seeing the polite, respectable man as someone who belonged there, and he oh-so-politely nudged him toward the room where you held your dance lessons. The door was open, almost inviting him to glance inside. 

You stood in the middle of the grand dance room, your eyes soft yet stern, focusing on the girls before you, helping and correcting them. You didn’t notice the eyes that were on you the whole time. He quietly observed everything—the way you stood and walked, the way you spoke to the young women so gently, as if afraid to break their hearts and confidence. 

As Fyodor observed the class, a peculiar thought flitted through his mind. How can such a gentle creature, such as herself, be stuck in such an unclean, unrighteous world? His gaze lingered on your soft yet commanding presence as you guided the young dancers. There was a part of him that expected you to break—to succumb to the world’s nature or fall in line like everyone else. But there was something in the way you held yourself, something almost fragile but resolute. He couldn’t look away. And so he stayed—silent, watching, unable to understand why someone like you seemed immune to the harshness of your surroundings. 

Not long after, the class ended, and you let the girls stretch and leave. What caught your eye was the stranger standing outside the doorway. He could have been mistaken for a statue, as he stood so still and stoic. You took a step forward and gestured for him to come in. Without hesitation, he approached, his steps quiet, like a cat’s. When he stood at arm’s length, you offered him your hand. He stared at it for a few moments, contemplating, before slowly, and surprisingly gently, lifting your hand to his lips and placing a kiss on your knuckles before releasing it. 

What he saw surprised him further—the subtle or not-so-subtle marks around your nail beds. Probably signs of stress and overthinking. He pondered the question: How can I relate to this woman? He believed he was nothing like you; you held a strange humanity about you, while he hadn’t felt human in a long time. He couldn’t relate to your gentle nature or soft gaze. Of course, he wouldn’t voice any of this. 

“Privyetstvuyu, Miss Agafonov, my name is Fyodor Dostoevsky. Apologies for intruding during your lesson,” he spoke, his voice low and almost quiet, as if sharing a secret. 

“Dobroye den, Mister Dostoevsky. It is quite all right; my lesson wasn’t disturbed, so there’s no need to worry. May I ask what business you have?” you said, your voice quiet and warm, as if still speaking to the girls. It filled the room in a soft echo. A quiet part of Fyodor admired your bluntness and need to get to the point, but this forwardness clashed with your way of speech. Your honeyed voice was calming, while your words were stern. It was obvious that you had a sharp mind, but your quiet, almost lamb-like demeanor contrasted with it. 

Fyodor cleared his throat softly before speaking again. “I had the pleasure of being at your last performance, so if you have time, I’d appreciate it if you would answer some questions about it.” 

You observed him for a moment, unsure of his intentions. Checking the ticking clock on the wall, you saw that it was late—past noon, with no more classes to teach. Perhaps you would indulge his curiosity. 

“I happen to have the time. Yes, we may speak in my office.” 

Fyodor hummed in acknowledgment before quietly following you. You entered the room and gestured for him to sit. After he took a seat, you soon followed, facing him. “May I offer you some tea?” 

“No, thank you,” he replied, his tone polite but detached. 

There was a moment of pause between you two. The man you came to know as Fyodor struck you as rather odd. His thin frame made him look as if he were swimming in his long black coat. His eyes, often described as windows to the soul, betrayed nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling at that moment. He looked pale and almost sick, faint bruises under his eyes likely from lack of sleep. He had an overwhelming air of fatigue, and yet he still looked elegant and put together. 

“You came to speak to me about my last performance, da?” you asked. 

“Da,” he replied slowly, his voice calm and measured, taking one more moment to choose his words carefully. His dark eyes held an intensity that could make any stone wall crumble. “I haven’t seen anyone perform Giselle’s part in the second act as you did.” 

For a moment, the thought flashed through your mind: Was he a critic here to berate me for choosing to go against the traditional interpretation? No—perhaps you were jumping to conclusions. He would speak, and you would discover his intentions. “Ah, you mean where Giselle enters the world of Wilis, where I played the violin?” 

“Da.” That was all he said, though something about his tone invited you to continue. 

“I took some creative liberty with that part, as it was my last performance,” you explained, pausing to consider whether you should delve deeper. “It may sound silly, but I often think about death—not because I wish to die, but because I know we are temporary. My small act of rebellion was a way for me to exercise the free will given to me by our Lord.” 

This intrigued Fyodor. The woman before him hadn’t made her choice for attention or acclaim. It was more humble and personal, a way to come to terms with her mortality. This was a new perspective to him. As a man who had lived many lifetimes, he had grown desensitized to death and the fleeting nature of those around him. 

“That is an interesting perspective,” he finally said, though his tone didn’t convey approval. “You think about your own fragility and thus want to escape it by exercising your free will?” 

“You are partially correct, sir. I don’t wish to escape it; I want to come to terms with it. I know my death will come at one point, and I am not afraid of it. But perhaps...” There was a short pause, your eyebrows furrowing as you searched for the right words. “...perhaps, I don’t wish for my consciousness to be erased, to lose who I once was.” 

Sometimes, Fyodor wished his consciousness could be erased. The weight of his own memories—the unrelenting flood of time—pressed down on him, crushing his bones. He envied those who lived in blissful ignorance, their minds free of the burden of awareness. But perhaps that was the nature of existence, he mused. We all find our peace with it in different ways.   

Quiet eyes flickered as you watched him, your gaze momentarily distant. You, too, had once wished for a simpler life, one where you could close your eyes and not feel the weight of the years pressing in on you. Your body had once moved with the grace of a child, unburdened. But now, as time wore on, you saw your own fragility—your inevitable decline. 

He offered a small, contemplative nod. It was not in his nature to find kinship with another person, yet you stirred a faint echo of familiarity—a kindred desire for understanding amidst the ephemerality of existence. 

"So, you wish to accept death, but not to be forgotten?" Fyodor asked, his voice carrying a tone both curious and heavy—perhaps judgment, perhaps something else, something deeper, impossible to name. “You believe we can make peace with it, despite knowing it will come?” 

You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his question. A quiet hum of approval escaped your lips before you replied, your tone calm yet resolute. "Da, death is something unchanging, constant. Something that will come either way. And a part of me finds comfort in the fact that something is predestined to happen in this chaotic world." 

As you spoke, there was a moment when your eyes met his, and in that fleeting instant, neither spoke, yet something passed between you, an unspoken recognition—neither pity nor empathy, but an understanding that was both intimate and alien. Two souls, caught in the same current, yet separated by different shores. Before either could name it, the moment was gone, leaving only the quiet air between you. 

After a few more quiet inquiries about religion and philosophy, you parted ways—but not for long. Fyodor was left perplexed; he sensed that you were something rare, something he hadn’t encountered before. 

---  

“You cannot age,” you murmured quietly, breaking the peaceful silence that had settled between you. 

Fyodor had anticipated this moment. He’d chosen to stay by your side through the years, knowing that eventually, you would notice—the ageless stranger who never changed while you did. He placed his teacup gently on the table, meeting your gaze as he prepared to respond. 

“That is correct. I wondered when you would bring it up.” 

The silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on you both. You stared down, your hands fidgeting under the table, unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails, almost trembling. Your mind seemed to whirl with questions—how many years, how many lifetimes had he endured? Decades, centuries, millennia? You could only imagine the pain he must have felt, watching the world around him age and fade while he remained unchanged. After a moment, you looked up, your gaze softer, almost pained. 

“Fyodor,” you whispered, “aren’t you tired?” 

Another pause, this one stretching unbearably. Fyodor could feel your empathy radiating across the table—a kindness he had never allowed himself to indulge. He’d always regarded empathy as a weakness, an opening that could be easily exploited. And yet, something about your simple, compassionate question stirred something long-buried within him, something vulnerable he instinctively wanted to bury again. 

“Da, ya ustal,” he admitted softly, letting the words slip out like an exhale, as though he were surrendering a truth to the night. 

At this, a single tear slipped down your cheek, glistening in the low light. Your sorrow made him shift uncomfortably; he’d always hated tears, a visible testament to human frailty. But this time, he hated it for a different reason. This tear was for him. It unsettled him because you were weeping for him. It made him feel bare, more vulnerable. He almost wanted to pull away, to get up and leave, and never speak another word to you again, but he didn’t. 

“Please,” he murmured, his voice suddenly low and tense, “there’s no need for that.” His hand almost rose, hovering just above the small round table, as if he might wipe the tear away. But he stopped, uncertain. You raised your head, meeting his gaze again, your kind eyes searching his. 

“Pozhaluysta,” you said, your voice almost pleading. “I want to know. I need to understand.” 

And that you did. He spoke more words about himself at that table than he had in all his years of living. His silver tongue felt rusted, each word pulled up with effort, forcing him to pause often as he searched for the right ones. It was uncharacteristic of him, and yet it made you somehow happy that he was willing to share the burden. 

Speaking of burdens: his gift, he explained, had been a cruel joke. He remembered the first time he’d been killed—how young he was, how his lips coughed out their last breath, how cold his body felt when his soul was leaving. And yet, moments later, he was drawn back again, but into a different form, his chest still throbbing from the wound that should have ended him. He had gasped for air like a newborn, his body wracked with pain and confusion, holding his own lifeless body in his hands as he shivered and wept. He’d only been a child. 

Your face remained soft, solemn, though quiet tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. Your cold tea sat forgotten on the table as you listened, your heart aching. Only a child, you thought. He was only a child. Children, the purest part of humanity—the ones who needed to be protected and cherished. How could anyone harm a child? 

When he finished, another silence fell over you, but this one felt different—lighter, calmer, as if a weight had lifted from his heart. You felt an urge to comfort him but knew he wouldn’t accept words or gestures. Instead, you rose quietly from the table and crossed to a narrow yellow wood cabinet. You opened it and drew out a silver cross necklace, holding it close to your heart before you returned to sit across from him, holding it out for him to take. 

“I know you don’t accept faith, but perhaps... wear this as a reminder. If you can, bring fortune to the world, Fyodor, maybe even a blessing for the children who will follow.” 

But he did not accept. He politely declined the cross from you. “Perhaps there is a divine being out there, something out of this world that we cannot see. But faith left me long ago, so I cannot accept this,” he had said. What soon followed was a quiet apology for his heresy, a glance away as he spoke. You did not blame him and hadn’t pressed him further, only nodded as though you’d expected it, though a glimmer of sadness flickered in your eyes. 

---  

What he thought would be a short visit to his homeland stretched from a few days to a few weeks, then to a few months, until it bloomed into decades. At first, he assumed this was a fleeting curiosity, one that would fade in a matter of days. But as years passed and he still couldn’t get his fill of your company, he began to wonder: Perhaps I misjudged the situation. Perhaps I was crass and too quick to dismiss her. 

He had found someone who brought him a rare peace and understanding, despite your clashing mentalities—a connection he never grew tired of. Every time you met, you found some new topic to discuss, and each time he left feeling more alive. 

As we have come to realize, life is fleeting, and time is a cruel mistress who waits for no one. Each second slips away, unnoticed and irretrievable, like sand through open fingers. We may comfort ourselves with the thought that existence after death is peaceful—just as existence before life was peaceful—as though one could simply slip away into sleep. And as all things, good and beautiful, must come to an end, so too did your life. 

---  

You had held the cross out to him once before, fingers delicate, your gaze full of quiet insistence. Now, in the emptiness you had left behind, he found himself holding the small cross in his palm, its edges warm from your touch alone. He slipped the chain over his head, feeling its slight weight rest against his chest. He didn’t know if he could fully embrace your faith, but he wanted to feel a part of your presence linger. And maybe, in this quiet act, he was allowing your wish to come true, as your memory lived on in him. 

Fyodor stood in the dimly lit church, his eyes resting on the flickering candles. He had never understood this before—the way the simple act of remembering someone could tether them to the world long after they were gone. But now, as his thoughts drifted to you, he realized that you—your soft gaze, your gentle words—had become the anchor to his humanity. The strange pull he had felt toward religion, the gradual acceptance of mortality, it was all for you. Your belief, your grace in the face of death, had become his guide. He wasn’t just remembering you now; you had become a part of him. And in some way, by carrying your memory, he was keeping you alive. 

Rising slowly from his seat, Fyodor moved toward the coffin, his steps heavy. His cold, detached gaze softened at the sight of you, lying there in stillness, your expression almost peaceful. Was that the shadow of a smile on your lips? Reaching out, he clasped your hand—soft, motionless, yet warmer, somehow, than his own. 

He lingered in silence, his breath catching. How strange, he thought, that even here, in death, you still have the power to warm me. A sharp ache bloomed in his chest. For years he had watched you, a steady presence that grew unexpectedly precious, but had he ever told you? Had you known? The question hung there, unanswered, filling the quiet with the weight of all he’d never said. 

The cold silver lay heavy on his heart, like a whisper. ‘Remember me,’ it seemed to say, and in his silent acceptance, in the quiet solitude he vowed that he would. Fyodor closed his eyes. 

You wanted to be remembered, he thought. 

And I will remember you, dearest. But more than that, I will live by the lessons you taught me. 

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Wild Nights || CL16 {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Summary: You show your support for Charles and he shows his support for you. Warnings: 18+only, just Charles being himself WC: 2k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

“Hurry up or you’re going to be late to your own show,” Bea urged as she tugged at your arm. “Come on, we have to go!”

You rose on your tiptoes and tried to look over the sea of people. “Just one more minute.”

“I gave you ten.”

You checked your phone again but there was no new message from Charles since his last update that he was just going to quickly shower. You had briefly seen him before the free practice, but other than a few quiet words in the back of Ferrari’s hospitality you hadn’t really spent any time with him since landing in Las Vegas. 

You had thought scheduling concerts in the same city would mean seeing more of Charles but nothing was ever quite that simple.

Sighing, you sent him a message apologising for leaving without a proper goodbye and reminded him not to wait up for you. It would be late by the time you finished the show and he needed an early night before his qualifying race, but hopefully you were able to find a few minutes together in the morning before he left.

The drive through the city was long with traffic congestion and you spent most of it checking your phone to the point that Bea leaned over and ripped it from your hands.

“Hey!” you growled as she tossed it into the front seat beside the chauffeur. “I was using that.”

“No, you were distracted by it.” She grabbed a bottle of champagne from the minifridge and popped the cork. “Here, bottoms up.”

“Classy,” you murmured as you took the bottle and drank straight from it.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and took it back for a quick swig of her own. “At least I know it will get you to relax. Luckily your makeup has survived the day, there won’t be time to redo it.”

“There was a time when you said I didn’t need make up, is this you saying I’m getting ugly?”

“Pfft, bitch, please. If I thought you were ugly I would tell it to you straight, like a good friend. You’re beautiful and I’m jealous, I just thank god I have these,” she said as she grabbed her boobs for emphasis. “They kill my back, but they look damn good.”

“Forget your back, I heard they nearly killed Pierre,” you chuckled. “I think his fans would have a problem if you accidentally smothered him with those.”

“At least he would die happy and doing what he loved. Imagine that obituary.”

“I’d rather not.” Your nose wrinkled at the thought of any type of obituary for a racer, it was an all too real possibility you tried not to dwell on.

Bea agreed quietly with another drink from the bottle and cast her eyes out the window, taking in the bright lights of the strip. She nearly spit out her mouthful at the sight of an electronic billboard advertising the first Las Vegas F1 race. “Wow, they really got him again?”

You leaned over the seat and saw the ad of Charles decked out in a glittering jacket, elvis wig and pink feather boa as a deck of cards rained down. A laugh bubbled up as you took the bottle back and brought it up to your lips with a dopey smile. “He’s too sweet and trusting, a little gullible too.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she joked as the car pulled into the service entrance of the MGM. and she took the half empty bottle away. “Can’t have you drunk on opening night.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

She reached through the front and grabbed it off the seat. “Fine, but no moping like a sad sap because we have to run.”

The door to the car opened to an entourage of people chiding you for the tardiness and you were hustled through the back channels of the building, stopping briefly in a room little larger than a closet to change outfits before you reached the backstage area.

“You have five minutes,” the head coordinator warned as Bea arrived with a cup of lemon, ginger and honey tea to help warm your vocal chords.

You thanked her as you sipped the hot drink and felt your phone vibrate with a notification as Scuderia Ferrari’s Instagram went live. ‘Music Challenge’ was the caption and you waved Bea over knowing they were always entertaining.

“Oh, I love this song,” Charles exclaimed as he nodded his head along.

“You say that every time,” Carlos complained.

“Kill Bill?”

“Correct!” The interviewer confirmed as Carlos groaned and fell back into the couch in defeat.

“How do you know that?”

“I listen to a lot of music.”

They both fell silent as the next song started and they both smashed their hands on their little bells.

“Flowers,” Carlos shouted. “Flowers, flowers, I got it first.”

“You got it loudest,” Charles disputed but the moment the next song started he was jumping up and pinging his bell in time. “Y/N, Love You Need!” He turned to Carlos and blew him a kiss. “It’s my song.”

“That’s not fair, I don’t have a song.”

“I’m sure someone has written a song about you, probably not a love song though,” Charles teased before he checked his watch. “Ay, I need to go or the next song she writes about me won’t be happy either. Ciao!”

“He quit so I win, right?”

“No, no, no I didn’t quit.” Charles paused his exit to point an accusing finger back at his teammate. “You took so long fixing your hair that we started late.”

“Still, I win, because you’re leaving.”

“See this,” Charles turned to the camera, his hand still waving to his team mate, “he doesn’t care about winning, he’s just upset he wasn’t invited to Y/N’s concert. Carlos?”

Carlos batted his eyelashes with a smile. “Yes, Charles?”

“Would you like to come with me?”

Carlos was already on his feet. “I thought you would never ask.”

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Vamos, we’re late.”

You turned to Bea as the live feed ended and you shoved your phone into the storage cupboard beside the stairs leading to the stage. “Did you know he was coming?”

“Duh, who do you think set him up with a backstage pass?” She shrugged and put her own phone away along with her jacket. “I gave him a few in case he wanted to bring some friends.”

You cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You mean Pierre…”

“I mean friends, and if that happens to be Pierre then I have no problem with that.”

You didn’t have an opportunity to tease her further about the commitment issues the two of them had before a microphone was shoved into your hands and you were pointed to the stage entrance.

“Kill it babe!” Bae shouted with a thumbs up as she jogged around to the other stage entrance for her cue.

The sold out crowd was a swirling mass of energy and it swelled as you stepped into the spotlight, their screams barely blocked by the earpieces that you had pushed into your ears as you took the stairs. The rush of seeing the excitement on their faces never ceased to amaze you and you bounced on your toes eagerly.

“What’s up, Las Vegas? Are you doing alright tonight?” Their responding screams shook the stage and widened your grin. “That’s good to hear, because, for me, well, I’m Fine.”

The music started and remembered the day you started writing the song, taking off from Monaco. It had begun as a tribute to Bea and the friendship you shared but then as the weeks went by and Charles stayed in touch it had evolved. It really was a song for any sort of relationship and why it was one of your favourites after Love You Need.

“Woke up too early, Almost put salt in my coffee, Oh, I thank God that you stopped me before that.”

You grinned to the shadows where you knew Bea was waiting, having been the inspiration for the line.

“Tripped over something, Spilt it all over your front seat, Didn't even say I'm sorry about that.”

You had been so frazzled trying to clean the mess up in Charles’ ridiculously expensive car that you had forgotten to apologise at the time. You had made it up to him later, and luckily it hadn’t stained, probably credit to the expensive upholstery.

“On and on, it's just more of the same And even when you ask if I'm okay… I try to say I'm fine (I'm fine).”

The drummer came in with the heavy beat for the chorus and the hands in the crowd waved in time as Bea jumped into the spotlight for her parts. This was what made it a favourite of yours, when she grasped your hand like she had when you had broken down over your ex. She had called you on your bullshit when you said you were fine and she had been there through the worst. It made performing this with her even more special. 

The entire concert was going to be even more special knowing Charles was going to be in the crowd soon and he knew exactly which songs were devoted to him. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was coming because he balanced you, and everything was equal between you. You supported him in his races whenever you could make it to them and he supported you when he could make it to yours, but you knew how tired he would have been after his day. 

There were thousands of people beyond the blindly bright lights of the stage but somehow you knew where to look when you felt the energy shift halfway into the set. And there he was. 

He must have changed in the car as he was no longer wearing the bold red Ferrari shirt, opting for more sedate casual clothes to blend in with the crowd. It didn’t exactly stay that way when you pointed to him during one of his songs, singing the lines solely for him and drawing the attention to him.

“Can we stay frozen in time, in between hello and goodbye?”

You collapsed onto the bed of the hotel still riding the high from the concert and Charles fell down with you, equal parts of happiness and exhaustion warring in his eyes.

“You should get some sleep,” you said as you rolled onto your side to face him so you could cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the 5 o’clock shadow along his jaw. 

“I will soon,” he murmured as his arm curled over your waist and pulled you closer. “I just want to hold you for a little while.” He tucked you into the curve of his body until there wasn’t any space left between you, his cheek resting atop your head. “You make me so proud, seeing you living your dream. I wish I could be at every concert.”

“Me too,” you sighed longingly. “It’s the hardest thing when we have to say goodbye.”

His chest rose and fell slowly as he relaxed in the embrace, bordering on the edge of sleep. “You’ve never asked me not to race.”

“Why would I do that?” You pulled back to see his face and recognised the look. It was something his ex had asked of him. “Would the moon ask the sun not to rise? No, because both are equally important and their paths still cross. We are the sun and the moon.”

You felt his smile as he kissed your forehead. “Am I the moon or the sun?” 

“The moon,” you stated as you tipped your head back so you could stare into those gorgeous eyes if his. “You are there to lighten my darkest nights.”

“And you make my day infinitely brighter.”

Click here for the epilogue.

Tagging: @91vhs @alwaysclassyeagle @applespiez @ravenqueen27 @booksobsess @tempo-rary-fix @baw-sixteen @im-an-overthinker @notleclerc