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sasheemo · 4 months ago

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Friday Thoughts

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Sharing dinner with Agatha and Nicholas shouldn't be too hard, right? But Saturday night at Agatha’s has other plans. As the evening unfolds, tensions escalate and desires ignite, promising anything but an ordinary end.

Chapter Tags: Mutual Pining, Power Dynamics, Gay Panic But Make It Domestic, The Tension Is Tensioning, Accidental Eavesdropping, Masturbation

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Chapter 3 is here! Spoiler alert: it’s long. Like, the longest chapter I’ve ever written for any multi-chapter fic, it took a lifetime because I wanted to pack in so much. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about how many times I wrote, re-read, and completely tore it apart because I hated it. It’s been through the wringer, y’all.

Am I 100% happy with it? No. Will I ever be? Also no. But if I keep tweaking it, it’ll never see the light of day, so… here it is, flaws and all!

Let’s just say things are heating up, and this chapter sets the stage for the spicy goodness that’s coming in Chapter 4.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading, enjoy 💜

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

The clock creeps closer to seven as you sit on the floor with Nicholas, your hands idly stacking blocks while your thoughts wander to the kitchen.

Agatha has been in there for a while now, the faint clinking of dishes and the soft rush of running water weaving through the quiet of the house.

At one point, unable to resist, you’d stood and smoothed your sweater nervously before edging toward the kitchen doorway.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” you’d asked, your voice hesitant as you lingered just outside.

She’d glanced over her shoulder, a wisp of hair falling loose from behind her ear. Her lips curved into a faint, almost absentminded smile.

“No need, hon.” she’d said lightly, returning to the cutting board without missing a beat. “After a day like today, this is how I unwind. Just keep Nicholas entertained, and make sure you’ve got an appetite.”

You’d nodded, retreating to the living room with a strange mix of relief and unease, unsure whether to feel dismissed or reassured.

Now, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen doorway again, catching fleeting glimpses of Agatha as she moves gracefully through the space. The subtle flicker of her silhouette, the fluid motion of her hands as she reaches for something on the counter, it’s almost hypnotic.

You find it harder and harder to look away, your eyes drawn back to the doorway every few moments.

Then, the realization that you’re about to sit at the same table as her hits you like a brick wall, and your brain immediately kicks into overdrive. Where will you sit? What will you say? How will you stop yourself from staring at her like some starstruck idiot? The thought alone makes your chest feel tighter, and you let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

Dinner hasn’t even started, and you’re already losing it.

Finally, her voice calls out from the kitchen, announcing that dinner’s ready.

Nicholas springs up instantly, his blocks forgotten as he rushes toward the kitchen. You follow more cautiously, your pulse quickening as you step into the room.

The table is set simply but elegantly, with the kind of care that feels distinctly Agatha. At the center, there’s a steaming dish of herb-roasted chicken rests on a platter, surrounded by golden baby potatoes and vibrant roasted vegetables.

The scent of rosemary, garlic, and lemon fills the air, rich and inviting, but it only makes your stomach flip—not from hunger, but from the realization of where you are and who you’re sharing this moment with.

Agatha stands by the head of the table, placing the final plate in its spot, her expression is calm as she straightens and meets your gaze.

“Sit.” she says lightly, gesturing to the seat across from hers as though this is all perfectly normal.

You glance at Nicholas, who’s already climbing into his chair without hesitation. Taking a steadying breath, you lower yourself into the seat she’s indicated, trying not to think too much about how surreal this feels.

Agatha moves with her usual composure, taking her place at the table. She leans back slightly, one hand curling around the stem of her wineglass, her gaze drifting over the food before landing on you. It lingers just long enough to send a flicker of heat up your spine, your pulse quickening under the weight of her attention.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” she says, her voice warm but commanding, the kind of tone that makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like a quiet decree.

“This is so good, Mom! Did you make the potatoes crispy on purpose?” Nicholas asks with a grin, already halfway through his first bite.

“Of course.” she replies, arching an eyebrow as her lips curve playfully. “Is there any other way to do them?”

Nicholas shakes his head vigorously, his mouth now too full to reply properly. You suppress a laugh and glance at Agatha, who catches your eye with an amused glint in her own.

“And what do you think?” she asks, her gaze settling on you like a spotlight. “Passable for a last-minute effort?”

You blink, caught off guard by her directness.

“It’s delicious.” you say, and you mean it, though the compliment feels inadequate. “I think Nicholas might be right about the potatoes. They’re perfect.”

Agatha tilts her head slightly, as if weighing your response, before giving a soft hum of approval.

“Good.” she says, her voice low and velvety. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

Her eyes lock on yours, a spark of mischief flickering just beneath the surface, as if she’s gauging your reaction, or outright daring you to respond.

Then, as if to twist the knife just a little deeper, she adds a slow, languid wink that sends a sharp jolt straight through you.

You’re left speechless, grasping for a response that never comes. Agatha, of course, doesn’t wait for one.

She shifts her attention back to Nicholas, asking about his latest castle design, her tone light and engaging as though she hasn’t just left you squirming in your seat.

As they talk, you force yourself to focus on their conversation, chiming in occasionally, but your mind keeps wandering. Every so often, your gaze drifts back to her, trying—and failing—to reconcile the poised, commanding Agatha you’ve come to know with the one sitting at this table.

There’s a warmth to her, something relaxed and comfortingly domestic. It’s strange, watching her here, casually slicing into a piece of chicken and humoring Nicholas’ endless stream of questions.

And yet, as foreign as this moment feels, there’s something about it that tugs at you, a quiet sense of belonging you hadn’t anticipated.

As dinner ends, you rise from the table, stacking your empty wineglass atop your plate in an effort to make a smooth exit.

“Thanks again for dinner.” you say, keeping your tone light but sincere. “It was wonderful. I should probably let you two enjoy the rest of your evening—”

“Wait!” Nicholas bursts out, his chair scraping against the floor as he jumps to his feet. “You can’t go! We have to watch a movie!”

You gape at him, eyes wide, like he’s just suggested skydiving without a parachute or eating soup with a fork.

“Uh, a movie?” you repeat, glancing between him and Agatha.

Surely, this is where she steps in to say it’s too late, that it’s time to wind down.

But to your surprise, Agatha simply raises an eyebrow, her expression amused.

“A movie.” she echoes, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“You always say that! Come on, mom. It’s Saturday!” Nicholas complains dramatically, his hands on his hips in a way that’s almost comical.

You open your mouth to help, to offer a dismissal Nicholas might accept—“Maybe next time” or “Your mom probably wants to relax.”—but before you can get a word out, Agatha’s gaze shifts to you.

“You did say your evening was wide open. So, what’s it going to be, hon? Care to join us?” she asks, leaning back slightly in her chair.

Each syllable feels like a finger pressing to the one thought you’re trying desperately to bury: that not only do you have nowhere else to be, but if you’re honest with yourself, there’s nowhere you’d rather be.

Her lips curve into a knowing smile, the kind that suggests she’s already read your mind and is simply waiting for you to catch up.

“I—well, I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude or—”

“Intrude?” she interrupts, her brows lifting in mock surprise. “On my son’s demands and my… oh-so-thrilling evening of cleaning up after dinner?” She leans forward slightly, her smile softening but never losing its edge. “Come now, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you scramble to find the right words, your tongue suddenly feeling two sizes too big.

“I just thought—you know, maybe you’d rather spend the evening relaxing. Just the two of you. I wouldn’t want to… overstay.” you manage, your voice wavering as your face burns hotter by the second.

“I wouldn’t exactly call the cinematic torture Nicky usually puts me through my ideal way to relax. But if you stay, at least I won’t have to endure it alone.” she muses, the words landing with practiced subtlety, as though she’s tossing the suggestion into the air to see how it falls.

It’s not quite an invitation, not explicitly—but the subtle curve of her lips and the way her eyes insist on finding yours tell a different story, one she keeps ambiguous enough to leave you guessing.

If you choose the professional route—thank her again, grab your things, and leave—would you ever forgive yourself? Could you really walk away now, knowing you’d just turned down the chance to sit in her orbit a little longer?

But staying… staying feels like opening a whole other door. The kind of door that leads to a night even more absurd than this one already feels, where the lines between reality and your own impossible daydreams blur so completely, you’re not sure you’d know the difference.

You’re stuck in the tension of that choice, the possibilities pressing down on you, when Nicholas’ voice explodes through the moment, shattering it entirely.

“I’ll go pick a movie!” he announces, his excitement bubbling over as he bolts toward the living room, a blur of motion and enthusiasm. The spell is broken, and you exhale, blinking as reality floods back in.

You glance back at Agatha, half-expecting her to change her mind now that he’s out of earshot. Instead, she leans back in her chair again, her eyes glinting with that usual quiet amusement.

“There you have it.” she quips lightly, gesturing toward the living room. “Looks like the decision’s been made for you.”

Her words land with a calm finality, and for a moment, you simply stand there, unsure of what to do next. Before your nerves can get the better of you, you decide to grasp at the first thing that feels remotely purposeful.

“I’ll help clear the table.” you offer, your voice quick, almost rushed. “It’s the least I can do.”

You reach for a plate before the words have fully left your mouth, but as you stack the dishes and carry them to the sink, you can feel her gaze trailing you, quiet and intent.

You roll up your sleeves, the simple motion grounding you as you turn on the faucet. The water’s warmth seeps into your skin, and the rhythmic clatter of dishes offers a fragile sort of focus.

For a moment, you dare to think you’ve managed to steady yourself.

But then, the scrape of her chair against the floor echoes through the room.

The steady rhythm you thought you’d found falters as you hear her footsteps closing the distance between you. She moves into the space beside you, her presence altering the air itself.

The faint clink of glasses being placed on the counter pulls your focus for a second, but it’s the feeling of her hand brushing against your waist that makes your body freeze.

With the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweater, the plate in your hands slips through your grip. You fumble, the sharp sound of porcelain against the sink cutting through the quiet as you catch it just in time.

“Careful, hon.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly close, rich with that maddening calm. But there’s no hint of apology, just the smug confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

All of a sudden, the water streaming over your hands feels unbearably loud, each droplet amplified against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the roaring in your ears.

Each of your senses narrows, zeroing in on the spot where her hand rests against you. Her touch isn’t pressing, nor forceful, it’s just there, as if she’s delicately testing the boundaries of the moment.

Your cheeks burn, and you’re sure she can see it, but you can’t bring yourself to look at her, not when every nerve in your body feels like it’s caught fire.

Before the moment stretches into something unbearable, Nicholas’ voice cuts through the stillness.

“I found the movie!” he calls from the living room, his excitement palpable. “Come on, it’s starting!”

Agatha straightens, her hand leaving your waist, and the absence feels almost as intense as the touch itself.

“Duty calls.” she says smoothly, her composure unshaken as she heads toward the living room without looking back.

You exhale shakily, gripping the edge of the sink for balance as you force yourself to calm down. With one last glance at the water, you shut it off and follow her, stubbornly pushing aside the ghost of her touch that refuses to fade from your body.

When you step into the living room, Nicholas is already curled up in one corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket with the remote clutched triumphantly in his hands. His grin is so wide it’s almost glowing, radiating the pure victory of having secured his movie of choice.

It’s a scene of pure innocence, simple and easy, but your focus falters when your gaze shifts to Agatha.

She pauses at the edge of the couch, leaning down to unfasten her heels with graceful precision. The soft thud as they hit the rug feels somehow amplified in the quiet of the room. A low, contented sigh escapes her lips as she straightens, the sound carrying the unmistakable weight of a long day finally set aside.

Then, she sinks onto the central cushion of the couch, elegantly tucking one leg beneath her, folding into the space with casual confidence. One arm lifts to drape over the backrest, her fingers splayed idly.

You hesitate, your heart stuttering as the realization hits.

You weren’t prepared for this. You’d assumed Nicholas would sit between you, a natural, innocent buffer that would keep you at a safe, comfortable distance. But now, the couch looks impossibly small.

Panic rises even more when you realize you’ve been standing halfway between the kitchen and the couch for far too long, awkwardly frozen in place like prey caught in a snare.

For a fleeting moment, you genuinely consider sitting on the floor. But, as always, Agatha’s timing is impeccable.

Her voice cuts through your inner turmoil like silk, laced with that signature teasing amusement that makes you want to both melt and scream.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” she asks as her eyes lock onto yours. She tilts her head slightly, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

Forcing your legs to cooperate, you move toward the couch, every step slower than the last. By the time you lower yourself onto the cushion, your body feels coiled, as if every muscle is bracing for impact.

You try to sit casually, like you’re perfectly at ease, teetering on the very edge of the cushion as if that extra inch might save you.

But the effort is useless. The space between you is practically nonexistent, laughably small, and you’re acutely aware of every inch separating you.

She makes no effort to adjust her position or move her arm, leaving it draped lazily across the backrest, her fingers resting just shy of your shoulder.

You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, fixing your gaze on the screen with a determination that borders on desperation.

Nicholas, oblivious as ever, starts the movie. The opening scene bursts to life on the screen, colorful and loud, his excitement spilling over as he narrates every detail.

You nod along absently, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. But the truth is, you couldn’t explain a single thing happening in the movie if your life depended on it.

All of your attention is wrapped around Agatha, around her presence and the quiet weight of it. It’s nothing short of consuming, and every movement she makes feels seismic: the subtle shift of her posture, the barely audible rustle of her clothes as she settles deeper into the cushions, the gradual ease of her shoulders as though she’s letting the weight of the day melt away.

You feel like you’re about to lose your mind trying to understand how she can appear so perfectly composed while you sit there, silently coming apart at the seams.

And then, without warning, her knee brushes against yours.

Instinctively, you shift slightly to the side, leaning further into the backrest, but the movement only makes things worse.

The arm that had been resting lazily behind you is now definitely touching your shoulder.

Your breath catches, your body locking up before you can stop it, every nerve screaming at the contact.

Surely, she’ll move away. She has to.

But she doesn’t.

Neither her leg nor her arm budges, as if the contact is completely natural, as if she didn’t even notice. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re drowning in the sensation.

Her proximity completely floods your senses. It feels as if the world has shrunk to the points were your bodies are touching, the faint pressure on your leg and shoulder anchoring you to the spot.

And then, as if to seal your fate, you feel her gaze on you.

You don’t dare look at her, but from the corner of your eye you can see her head turned toward you. Her eyes are fixed on your face, and they might as well be burning holes through your head for how intensely she’s staring.

Everything begins to blur, the room fading as your thoughts swallow you whole. Once again, you find yourself grasp at rationality, trying to explain away her behavior and your own feelings, convincing yourself it’s all in your head.

But the longer you sit there, the harder it is to believe that.

It’s been four months since you started working for her, four months of walking into this house, telling yourself you were foolish for even entertaining the thought that someone like Agatha Harkness could ever see you that way, as anything more than Nicky’s babysitter.

During all this time, you’ve dismissed every fleeting glance, every teasing word, every ambiguous gesture, chalking it all up to her natural charm. You convinced yourself you were imagining things, creating meaning where there was none, deluding yourself into believing you could ever hold her attention.

But tonight? Tonight feels undeniably different. Especially after what she said last night.

The tension has been simmering beneath the surface for this whole time, each moment building on the last, and now there’s no mistaking it: Agatha’s behavior is intentional, deliberate in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

These aren’t the actions of someone indulging in a meaningless game. Sure, Agatha has a very teasing nature, you know that. But she isn’t careless, she doesn’t do unprofessionalism. She wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable—or worse, crossing a line—without a reason, especially when it involves someone so closely tied to Nicholas.

You wonder if you’ve been blind to something that’s been there all along, oblivious to what’s been right in front of you—if you’ve had an actual chance all this time and simply refused to see it.

Because at this point, no other explanation fits.

Your heart races, the possibility exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, a mix of longing and fear swelling in your chest.

When the credits finally roll, Nicholas lets out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before slumping back into the couch. His eyelids droop heavily, but there’s a satisfied smile on his face.

“That was the best movie night ever!” he declares with a sleepy grin, his voice softening as exhaustion starts to win.

He turns toward you, pushes off the blanket and practically climbs over Agatha to crawl over and wrap his arms around your shoulders in a hug that’s warm and unexpected.

“Thanks for staying.” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your sweater. “It was really fun doing this with you and Mom.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink rapidly, taken aback by the tenderness of it all.

Words fail you, any attempt at a response dissolving into nothing as an involuntary smile tugs at your lips. You feel yourself melt into the embrace, your hands settling lightly against his back as you return the hug gently.

Nicholas pulls back, his grin bright despite his sleepy eyes, and he turns toward Agatha, who’s already rising from the couch.

“Mom, can we do this again soon?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet.

“We’ll see.” Agatha replies smoothly, resting a hand on his back to steady him. “Now come on. Bedtime.”

Just before they step out of the living room to head upstairs, Agatha glances back over her shoulder. Her head tilts ever so slightly, the soft glow of the room catching the sharps curves of her profile. Her eyes find yours, holding them with an intensity that feels almost disarming, and for a moment, it feels like the air stills around her.

“Wait here, won’t you?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper laced with quiet insistence “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You don’t even think, your head nods instinctively, a reflex before your mind can catch up.

As she turns away, you catch a faint glint in her eyes, something unreadable that looks almost like… anticipation?

The quiet sound of their footsteps fades into the background, leaving the room steeped in silence. It’s just you now, alone in the living room, with nothing but the weight of her words and the echo of your own thoughts.

The thing is, the babysitter would have left already.

You’d planned to leave the moment she was done working, when Nicholas no longer needed you and when Agatha was free to reclaim her evening.

But then came dinner, a polite invitation you couldn’t bring yourself to decline. And later, when the plates were cleared and you’d readied yourself to go, the movie became yet another reason to stay.

But now it’s late. Nicholas is heading to bed. There’s no reason for you to be here. And yet… she wants you to. For the third time tonight, you’re faced with a choice, though deep down, you know the decision has already been made.

You’ll wait. Because she asked you to. Because it’s her.

You lean back against the couch, exhaling shakily. Your mind spins, grasping at the threads of the evening, trying to weave them into something coherent.

Agatha descends the stairs a few minutes later, the faint sound of her steps barely registering over the buzz of your thoughts. She doesn’t spare you a glance, doesn’t say a word, moving with singular purpose as she crosses the living room and disappears into the kitchen.

The faint clink of glass and the soft pop of a cork being pulled echo faintly, carrying with them a sense of inevitability that sets your heart racing.

Moments later, she reemerges with the bottle of wine from dinner in one hand and two glasses in the other. Her movements are smooth, practiced, as if this is all part of some unspoken ritual.

She sets the glasses on the coffee table and pours the wine with precision before handing you one and taking the other for herself.

Then, despite the now ample space on the couch, she chooses the same spot as before, her knee brushing against yours once again when she crosses her legs.

“Cheers.” she says lightly, raising her glass in your direction.

“Cheers.” you reply, the word coming out softer than you intended as you lift your glass.

The first sip settles warmly in your chest, cutting through some of the tension of the evening.

For a while, the two of you talk easily. She asks about Nicholas and your morning job, and you gladly share little stories about his antics and your shifts at the café.

Agatha listens intently, her occasional hums and soft chuckles weaving seamlessly into the conversation.

You ask her about her work, though she keeps her answers vague, offering only the occasional quip about paperwork, tedious calls and demanding clients. It’s clear she’s deflecting, but her tone is so effortlessly charming that you don’t press further.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the exchange, the wine loosening the edges of your nerves.

By the time the third glass is poured, the atmosphere feels incredibly comfortable, like the two of you have settled into a pocket of time removed from the rest of the world.

You’re leaning back against the couch now, your own legs crossed on the cushion, and the soft hum of casual conversation filling the space between you.

But then, completely out of nowhere, the words spill out of your mouth with an abruptness that shifts the air immediately.

“Do you always drink this much with your babysitters?” you ask, your tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an edge of nervousness beneath it.

Agatha’s response comes slower than expected, but when it does, it lands like a deliberate blow.

“Only the ones worth breaking the rules for.” her voice is low, sultry, and laced with an edge of amusement that makes the room feel impossibly smaller.

Your throat goes completely dry on the spot, and you try to will your brain to keep up, to find something clever to say. A snarky remark, a witty comeback, an equally teasing reply, anything.

You fumble with your glass, taking a sip longer than necessary, the wine coursing through you like liquid fire. Each drop seems to stoke the embers in your chest, unfurling in waves, merging with the simmering frustration that has been tightening its grip on you all night.

Boldness—fueled by the wine, the smoldering tension, and the enigma that is Agatha—surges to the surface. Before you can think, the words slip out.

“Why do you do this?” your voice is sharper than you intended, and it cuts through the air between you like a knife.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening as she leans back against the couch.

“Do what, exactly?” she asks, feigning innocence, though the glint in her eyes betrays her.

“This.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration bleeding into your tone. “The teasing, the looks, the… the way you—” you break off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like you enjoy watching me lose my mind.”

She chuckles darkly, the sound almost dangerous, and it sends a shiver down your spine. She sets her glass on the coffee table, her movements unhurried, calculated.

“Maybe I do.” she murmurs, her tone dropping into something quieter, more intimate. Her gaze locks onto yours, and she leans forward slightly, slowly closing the distance between you inch by inch.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body on high alert. She’s close enough now that you can feel the faint warmth of her body.

But she doesn’t stop. She leans in further, her face now just a breath away from yours. Her eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment, and your breath catches.

“You’re not the only one losing their mind tonight, you know.” her voice drops to a whisper, low and raw, and you’re pretty sure your pulse flatlines.

The world around you fades, the only thing grounding you is the way her icy gaze holds you captive. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you think this is it—this is where the line between you finally blurs.

But then your eyes flicker down, catching sight of the glass still clutched in your hand, and reality slams into you like a freight train.

The wine—it’s been warming you, emboldening you, loosening you. And now, with her so close, you can’t shake the fear that it’s not just you under its influence. What if this moment isn’t real? What if it’s the wine, not her, driving the spark in her eyes, the closeness of her breath? The thought twists in your chest, sharp and painful. You don’t want this, her, to be something fleeting, something hazy and tainted by doubt.

You pull back, the movement abrupt and jarring, completely annihilating the moment.

Agatha freezes, her body leaning back instinctively, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“I can’t.” you say quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “Not like this.”

Her brow furrows, and she tilts her head.

“Not like what?” she asks, her tone still smooth but tinged with curiosity, fascination even.

“With… with the wine.” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t want to— I mean, I don’t know if—” You let out a shaky exhale, setting your glass down beside hers. “I just… I can’t.”

You rise to your feet, your movements hurried and almost clumsy as you try to put some distance between the two of you.

Agatha doesn’t stop you, but her gaze follows your every move, unreadable and heavy.

“I should go.” you mumble, your frustration bubbling to the surface. Even though you’re not sure if it’s directed at her, at yourself, or at the entire night.

You barely take a couple of steps toward the door when Agatha’s voice calls after you, firm and unyielding.

“You shouldn’t leave.”

Her voice echoes through the room, and even though her words aren’t a real command, they sure feel like one.

You halt mid-step and slowly turn to face her, your chest tightening at the sight. She’s still seated on the couch, her posture casual but her gaze piercing, pinning you in place.

“It’s late.” she says, her tone measured, as if explaining something obvious. “You’ve had wine. The roads are dark. I’d rather not spend the rest of the night worrying about whether or not you made it home safely.”

Her words are practical, almost dismissive, as though the charged moment between you never happened. But there’s something beneath the surface—a subtle current in her voice that makes it impossible to tell if she’s truly unaffected or simply hiding it well.

“I’m fine.” your reply is automatic, defensive. But even as you say it, the shakiness in your voice betrays you.

“You don’t look fine, hon. You look like someone about to storm out into the night just to prove a point. Agatha says, her tone steady, though her expression softens just slightly.

There’s still an edge of steel in her eyes, a quiet challenge buried beneath her words.

“I can handle myself.” you bite out, though the words sound hollow, even to you.

She exhales softly, the faintest flicker of something—annoyance? amusement?—crossing her features.

Then, with a surprising grace for someone that just had three glasses of wine, she rises from the couch and closes the distance between you.

“I don’t doubt that. But tell me this: what exactly are you proving by leaving right now? And to whom?”

Her words hit their mark, and you feel the fight drain out of you. Because she’s right, you’re not leaving because it’s practical. You’re leaving because you’re overwhelmed, unsure, afraid of what staying might mean or lead to.

Agatha’s eyes stay locked on yours as she continues, her voice taking on a tone that’s almost… tender.

“Stay.” she says simply, the single word carrying so much weight it feels like it might crush you. “It’s late. There��s no reason for you to go rushing out into the night when you don’t have to.”

You glance toward the door, then back at her, weighing your options.

The truth is, you are tired—tired of the emotions, of the push and pull of the evening that’s left you feeling completely unraveled. The idea of staying, of letting the night end on a quieter note, is far too tempting to resist.

“Fine.” you finally answer, your own tone colder than you expected.

“Good.” she says, stepping back to give you space. “The guest room is ready. It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight.”

She turns and starts toward the stairs. You hesitate for a moment, your mind still spinning with the events of the past hours, before following her.

You sigh, exhaustion settling into your bones as you reach the top of the stairs. Right now, none of it matters—not the tension, not the confusion, not the endless spiraling questions that have chased you all night. All you want is to sleep, to let the haze of the wine fade away in the quiet refuge of a bed. Whether it’s your own or the one in Agatha’s guest room, it doesn’t seem to make a difference anymore.

You barely notice as Agatha pauses by a linen closet, pulling out a neatly folded towel and an oversized t-shirt.

“This should do.” she states, handing them to you.

Her tone is neutral, almost too casual, as if nothing about the evening had been remotely unusual. Her gaze doesn’t linger as long as usual though, she doesn’t meet your eyes for more than a second before nodding toward the guest room door.

“That’s yours for the night.” she gestures briefly, indicating the room between the bathroom and Nicholas’ door at the far end of the hall. “Bathroom’s just here.” she continues, pointing to the door next to hers on the opposite end.

“Thanks.” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you grip the towel and shirt tightly.

Agatha hums faintly, stepping back toward her room. For a second, you think she might say more, but instead, she simply glances over her shoulder.

“Goodnight.”, her tone is warm, yet the word feels strangely clipped.

Before you can respond, she slips into her room and disappears in the ensuite bathroom.

You stand there for a few seconds, awkwardly rooted in place. Your own “Goodnight” comes out almost as an afterthought, mumbled into the silence as you step into the guest room and close the door behind you.

The room is elegant and cozy, a neatly made bed dominating the space and a single lamp casting a warm glow over the soft cream walls.

You drop the towel onto the edge of the bed and hold up the shirt, its fabric soft and worn in a way that feels oddly intimate.

You undress and slip it over your head, only to be immediately engulfed by Agatha’s perfume. It clings to the fabric, potent and intoxicating, and for a moment, you allow the scent to wash over you and flood your senses.

Heat coils low in your stomach, and you shake your head quickly, brushing off whatever effect wearing something of hers seems to be having on you.

With a steadying breath, you fold the towel over your arm and step back out into the hall, heading towards the bathroom.

The splash of cold water against your face is grounding, but even as you dry off and prepare to head back to your room, you can’t shake the way her scent fills you nostrils with every minuscule movement.

Stepping into the hallway, you’re greeted by darkness, broken only by a faint sliver of light seeping from beneath your door.

You take a step toward the guest room, but a faint sound slices through the stillness.

It’s almost imperceptible, a noise so soft and muffled that, for a second, you wonder if you imagined it.

You hold your breath as your eyes flick toward the ajar door of Agatha’s room. You think about just brushing it off, receding to the relative safety of the guest room and pretending you heard nothing.

But then you hear it again.

Your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you a step closer, as quietly as possible on the wooden floorboards.

And the closer you get, the clearer the sound becomes.

Another low, broken noise escapes, this time accompanied by a faint rustle of fabric.

The realization dawns slowly, burning through you like wildfire. Your stomach twists, heat pooling low in your abdomen as the truth of what you’re hearing sinks in.

You consider retreating. You do. But your legs refuse to move.

Something keeps you rooted in place, drawn forward as though compelled by a force beyond your control.

Your bare feet barely make a sound against the cool wood floor as you edge closer to Agatha’s door, muffled moans growing more vivid with every inch of space you gain. You can hear her breathing now, shallow and uneven, each exhale laced with pleasure that seems to echo in your own chest.

Your knees weaken as you reach the doorframe. And then you hear it.

“Yes… oh fuck, yes.”

Her rough voice rips through you like a physical force. The raw intimacy of it, the unguarded need, sends a sharp jolt straight down your spine. Your lips part on a shaky breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively against the unbearable ache building between them.

Every nerve in your body is on fire, wetness pools between your legs, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck, your skin hypersensitive to even the faintest brush of air.

Another broken moan follows, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to make a sound in return.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to will yourself back to reality, to sanity. But all you can picture is her—Agatha, in the darkness of her room, her head tilted back, her lips parted as she whispers filthy, desperate things into the still air.

You can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be the reason for those sounds.

The thought is intoxicating, dangerous, and far too tempting.

But you know you can’t let your mind go there. You know this is the moment to turn around, to leave, to escape before you lose yourself completely.

Pressing your back against the wall beside the doorframe, you focus on steadying your breath, though every nerve in your body feels alive, thrumming with a tension that leaves you trembling. Each sound she makes only tightens the coil in your stomach, the ache quickly approaching unbearable levels.

You take one last, shaky breath as she whispers another low curse that shoots straight through your core. Then, with every ounce of willpower you can muster, you step back, your movements shaky and reluctant.

Each step toward the guest room feels like a battle, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn back.

You step into the guest room and close the door behind you, leaning against it trying to steady yourself. Your heart still pounds, each beat reverberating through your chest, your entire body tingling in the wake of what you just experienced.

The room feels quiet, mercifully so, the sounds that had haunted you moments ago are now gone, silenced by the thick walls of Agatha’s home. You take a moment to reassure yourself—there’s no way Nicholas could hear anything, not from his room at the other end of the hallway. Agatha knows her house, knows its secrets. Of course, she’d be careful.

With that thought, you push yourself off the door and move toward the bed. You slip under the covers and reach for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it off.

Darkness envelopes you, but it does nothing to quiet the sensations coursing through your body. The ache low in your stomach has only intensified since you left her door.

Your fingers tighten on the edge of the blanket, your breathing uneven as you squeeze your thighs together, desperate for even the smallest bit of relief.

But it’s no use. The ache is too insistent, too consuming. The memory of her moans, her breathy curses, fills your mind. You can still hear them, low and filthy, the rawness of her need reverberating throughout your whole body.

Your hand moves on its own, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt. Your fingers trail over your stomach, climbing higher until they reach your breast. The moment your palm cups the soft flesh, a sharp jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

You suck in a breath, biting down hard on your lip to muffle the quiet whimper that escapes your throat.

Your thumb brushes over your nipple, circling it slowly until it hardens beneath your touch. The sensation sends a wave of heat straight to your core, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the covers.

Your other hand moves lower, brushing over the waistband of your panties. There’s a moment of hesitation, but it’s brief. The heat pooling between your thighs is unbearable now, and you can’t deny yourself any longer.

Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, sliding over the wetness that greets you. You gasp quietly, the slick evidence of your arousal coating your fingertips.

“Fuck…” you whisper, the word slipping out unbidden, the sound barely audible but laced with desperation.

Your fingers glide over your clit, the swollen bundle of nerves already sensitive, and you bite back another moan. You begin to circle it slowly, the pressure just enough to stoke the fire burning in your stomach.

But you need more. You press your fingers lower, sliding one inside yourself, then another. The stretch is delicious, the rhythm instinctive as your hips buck against your hand.

You curl your fingers, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure that ripples through you makes your toes curl.

Your hand moves faster now, your palm grinding against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. The wet sounds of your movements would be obscene if they weren’t muffled by the covers, but instead of embarrassment, it only fuels your arousal.

And then, Agatha seizes complete control of your mind. You imagine her fingers instead of yours, the way they’d explore you, claim you. You picture her leaning over you, her voice condescending and commanding as she tells you how good you feel, how she can’t get enough of you.

Your back arches off the bed as your hand moves to your other breast, kneading it roughly. Your nipples are so sensitive now that each pinch, each roll between your fingers, leaves you wetter, the slickness between your thighs growing with each needy, breathless motion, soaking your fingers as you lose yourself completely to the sensation.

You imagine her lips replacing your hand, her tongue flicking over the hardened peak before she bites down, just enough to make you gasp. Your hips jerk involuntarily, the image too vivid, too real.

Her voice fills your mind, rough and low, the way she cursed earlier. But this time, it’s for you.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Let go for me.”

You can almost feel her breath against your skin, her weight pressing you into the mattress, her fingers fucking you with a precision that leaves you shaking.

Your fingers thrust deeper, harder, curling just right as your thumb flicks over your clit. The tension in your stomach coils tighter, impossibly tight, until you’re teetering on the edge.

“Agatha…” you whisper, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

The sound of it, the feel of it on your tongue, pushes you over the edge.

The tension snaps, pleasure exploding through you wave after wave, so intense it leaves you trembling.

Your thighs clamp around your hand, your hips grinding against your fingers as the aftershocks ripple through you. Your other hand grips the sheets tightly, your knuckles white as you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.

For a long moment, you lie there, your chest heaving, your body a trembling, oversensitive mess. Slowly, your hand slips away, the wetness on your fingers a reminder of just how badly you want her.

You don’t bother cleaning up, your limbs too heavy to move. Sleep tugs at you, irresistible in the aftermath of your release.

As your eyes drift shut, her name rests on the edges of your consciousness, a soft echo you can’t help but chase.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha x y/n #aaa fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha harkness fanfic

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 5 months ago

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"Download all your fics before Project 2025 goes into effect-"

Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut up, shut up, shut up!!!!!

Fandom is one of the only safe spaces for mental escapism that some people have right now, and fear mongering and spreading misinformation is helping no one. Fanfiction is not going to disappear off the internet tomorrow.

I understand that a geriatric orange beast winning the election is very upsetting and it has led to a lot of people mentally spiralling into doomsday scenarios, but the last thing that fucking cheeto is coming for is your fanfiction. AO3 is so fucking low priority - it's not even on their radar.

And even though you consider smut to be porn, by most legal definitions, it's not. If they would try to institute a porn ban (which would be incredibly stupid and would probably upset a lot of old Republican white men anyway, and we all know they don't do things that go against their own personal interests) - they would be going after visual media. Not written media. And while Project 2025 does talk about banning books, it speaks about banning mass produced, widespread books with certain subjects in them - not some indie fanfic with fisting with 100 hits on AO3.

The fact that AO3 is a non-profit and does not make any money and does not have any ads is usually what protects us in these legal situations. And like I said - scrubbing 10,000 gay Destiel fics from the internet forever is incredibly low priority (likely not a priority at all) for the Trump administration.

So don't panic download every fanfiction you've ever read, and please don't panic if you don't have 7 hard drives to download all of AO3 onto. Everyone is just upset about the results of the election and apt to believe that the world is going to change overnight, but it won't. If (and that is a big fat IF) the internet will be censored (which will be damn near impossible to do) and IF the future of fanfiction will be jeopardized, we will have more warning to prepare before it happens.

Carry on as usual.

PS: fuck you to everyone spreading the misinformation and speaking about this as if it's going to happen for certain tomorrow. You are only adding to the gloom and causing more dread and anxiety where there is more than enough.

#i am still soooo fucking ill and I took the time to write out this post #because i hate that i have seen SEVERAL POSTS warning people to download fics #fuck #ao3 #archive of our own #sundrop speaks #fanfiction #project 2025 #us politics #psa

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flyingwargle · 1 month ago

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february fanfic recs!

sakuatsu

glass star, glass heart t. 7.4k. atsumu gets a star chart for sakusa as a joke, but it turns out, sakusa didn't think of it as a joke. absolutely beautiful hurt/comfort and fluff <3

How To Be The Best Wingman t. 11.1k. komori tries to set up sakusa with atsumu because of all the tension he senses between them. he is honestly the best cousin, ever, and this fic is hilarious.

again, like this e. 55.7k. 6/6. knocking off one of sakuatsu's most beloved fics and it did not disappoint. lots of spice, hurt/comfort, and eventual romance. i love the sunaosa side story as well, the loveliest thing.

the posterior probability t. 58k. 9/9. sakusa, phd, meets atsumu, md. truly one of the best written fics i've read, with healthy slow burn, prose, and narrative detail. there's a lot of fics in this series that i'm slowly going through!

sunaosa

“thank you for changing my life” “im literally a compression sleeve” t. 4.6k. very funny fic where suna loans his compression sleeves to osamu and experiences Gay Panic. a good read if you need a good laugh!

Can’t help falling in bed with you t. 6.7k. 5 times suna and osamu accidentally share a bed, and 1 time it's deliberate. very cute and fluffy.

the art of keeping up t. 12.3k. ooooh my gourdddd the trope of asking your best friend/crush to help you write a confession letter for THEM is so good. this is so good, the pining is unbelievable.

Of Monsters and Mayhem e. 83k. 16/16. recommended by my mutual and it hit hard. i always love a good supernatural au with healthy miya twins angst and side sakuatsu. do note that it's very graphic if you want to read it!

iwaoii

Sunset Wheeling t. 6.9k. iwa teaches oikawa how to skateboard and oikawa falls in love. this is one of those fics where you know the writer knows what they're talking about, and it's absolutely beautiful.

Terrarium t. 11.4k. the first gift iwa gets for oikawa (technically it's for oikawa's mom but we don't care about that) is a terrarium, which oikawa cares for throughout the years. the SYMBOLISM. i love me good symbolism and this fic delivered.

Fernweh t. 19.6k. 2/2. a character study of oikawa tooru and how he yearns for home not only in argentina but in iwaizumi hajime. beautifully written and absolutely poetic.

bokuaka

special shoutout to all the works posted in the bokuaka valentine's reverse bang! be sure to check out all the amazing works in the collection! <3

august, honey (i'm still july) m. 24.6k. 6/6. it's bokuto's last summer in tokyo before he moves to osaka to play for the jackals, and he makes a bucket list of things he wants to do with akaashi before then. the pining!! the prose!! they're so in love with each other, it hurts. i highly enjoyed this one.

kagehina.

because I care, dumbass t. 6.4k. 5 times kageyama made sure hinata is taking care of himself and 1 time hinata checked on kageyama. the gradual transition of checking on hinata for the sake of winning to actually developing feelings for him is gold. i love these two.

between two rays of sunlight g. 10.9k. last month, i read the miwa perspective in the series (within two waves in the ocean) and this is the natsu's perspective. i love natsu very much, and reading about her and hinata's relationship, alongside his blossoming feelings for kageyama, is just a great mix of everything i love in a fic.

other

rated m for t. 10.6k. matsuhana. i discovered the secret to happiness in life, and it's reading matsuhana fics. this was hilarious and i absolutely love the banter between mattsun and makki. truly top-tier.

FAITH/FULL g. 20.9k. miya twins. i saw this recommended on twt as the miya twins fic and i have to agree. it takes place during their 3rd year of the spring high and i have many feelings and thoughts about it, especially with their respective feelings about the future and how they'll no longer pursue the same paths. i love the twins to death, and i'm happy there are writers who love them with even more ferocity to produce god-tier works.

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beanarie · 5 months ago

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21 hours

i just kept rolling around the moment from my last fic when tommy said "i turn into the unabomber when i get scared, just ask hen and howie" and i wondered, what could possibly be scarier than thinking he might lose buck right after getting him back. (tw: panic attacks)

Hen's feelings on Tommy Kinard are... malleable. He was trash when they met, and for a solid few months after that. They remained on the same crew, struggling and bleeding and getting each other out of scrapes. That built a measure of trust. After Gerrard and the worst of his minions vanished, he changed. Became almost sweet. He and Chimney, who had always been okay, hit it off like a house on, you know. Hen liked this new version of her teammate, who seemed to be finding his feet after losing some seriously bad influences. She enjoyed their group hangouts. Maybe a year after his transfer to Air Ops, her friend Casey shared that Tommy was gay and out to his new unit, which, good for him.

She never forgot the asshole who helped make her feel like she would never belong, but he got smaller over time, easily overtaken by whoever Tommy felt like showing her.

The call today was going fine until it all went to hell, another unwelcome similarity to the night Buck got struck by lightning. The victims were alert and on their feet, ambulating on their own power right ahead of him, when he saw the heavy mahogany shelving unit lose its moorings and shoved the family out of the way just in time. That of course put him right in its path.

For a long, terrible minute while he was pinned she and Chim thought they didn't have a pulse. But it was there. They found it eventually. And he made it to the hospital without crashing.

Having heard a little about Buck's efforts to rekindle their relationship (along with his feeble arguments that they were strictly platonic), Hen isn't shocked when Tommy shows up at the waiting room. But she wasn't expecting the asshole.

Chimney eyes her, asking if she's seeing what he is. They recognize this man. The linebacker set of the shoulders, the distancing lift to his chin. Bobby asks him if he wants coffee, and he simply wrinkles his nose.

He's pissed. Maybe he blames them for letting Buck get hurt.

"Enough," Eddie says, flinging himself out of the chair. "We're taking a walk."

"Don't speak for me," Tommy spits out.

"Now," he growls.

Surprisingly, Tommy goes, but Hen isn't sure that's a good thing. Eddie has a history of making problems worse with his fists. Chim is on the phone with Maddie, figuring out the logistics of two scared parents who can't be in two places at the same time. He's no help. Hen considers asking Bobby if they're gonna let Buck's sort of ex and his best friend lay each other out while he's in emergency surgery. But he's never really up for mediating nonsense when one of them is badly hurt, especially not when it's Buck.

The surgeon comes out and speaks for a moment. Hen now has a compelling reason to intervene. She turns a corner and soon finds them. Eddie leaning in, glaring, while Tommy cuts him off and stalks away a few paces.

"You're not even trying," Eddie says tightly.

"Shut up." Tommy whirls back the way he came, breathing hard.

"Three things. Chim's baby could do it and he can't even sit up by himself."

"One day, Eddie. One. Are you fucking kidding me?"

Hen blinks. Tommy sounds like he's holding back tears.

"Tommy, man, come on. If you pass out and end up in the bed right next to Buck, he'll 100 percent blame me. Get it together."

The dots connect themselves. The pacing. The irregular breathing. Eddie prompting him to list three things. Tommy is having a panic attack.

"Guys?" Hen says. Tommy's head snaps up. Their eyes meet and if she wasn't already sure, this would do it. That isn't anger. That's pure terror. "Surgery went well. They're wheeling Buck into recovery. They said someone can go be with him when they bring him around."

"Tommy's going," Eddie announces. "If he can remember how to breathe."

Tommy has a hand on his own chest. "Dickhead."

"Hen, can you walk him over?" Eddie raises one shaking hand. "I need to sit for a minute."

Tommy's eyes widen. "Shit, Eddie, I didn't even ask." Tommy comes close to invading Eddie's space, stopping only when Eddie holds him off.

Eddie gives him a half-smile. "I'm fine, Tom. The rest of us are all fine. It's just an adrenaline dump. I'm gonna call my kid and let him bitch about organic chemistry and the school musical until my heart stops pounding." He squeezes Tommy's shoulder and gives him a shove. "Go on."

All the way down the hall, Tommy mutters to himself, trying to do what Eddie asked and regulate his breathing, but it doesn't seem to be working.

"What happened yesterday?" Hen asks curiously, stuck on his earlier comment.

He's so surprised his lungs stutter to a complete stop. He looks down at her, blinking hard, and he shakes himself. "We agreed to try again," he says.

"Damn," she blurts out, and almost apologizes before he lets out a humorless little laugh.

"I know!"

She doesn't tell him how it felt to watch her son coding not two weeks after they got her daughter back. She's not sure how to say this is just their lives, that the only reason they get through it is because they have each other. He's spent enough time observing them.

They've reached the recovery room. Tommy cracks his neck and straightens his spine. "Hen?" he asks, tentatively, pausing with one hand on the double doors. "Do you need to go home? Karen-"

"Isn't expecting anything but updates from me until morning," Hen says. This isn't a regular day.

He nods. "Can you stick around? Some of these doctors suck at communicating and- and I want to make sure I'm ready for whatever he's gonna need."

So maybe he has figured it out. "No problem, Tommy. I'll be right here."

"Thank you." He takes a deep breath and pushes the doors open. Through the split second sliver before they swing shut again, she catches a glimpse of Buck on the gurney, his face mottled with purple from the books that flew off the top shelf (an encyclopedia, like they used to keep in the '90s). He looks terrible. When he wakes up for real, he's gonna feel even worse. But she's pretty sure he'll be just fine.

#911 abc #bucktommy #hen wilson #tommy kinard #lowkey wanna expand this to more povs #but it might just be enough as it is #my writing #things by beanarie

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supercorpkid · 2 months ago

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Truth Be Told 2

Supergirl. Baby Danvers. Lena Luthor x Reader! Kara Danvers. Alex Danvers.

Word Count: 3210.

It’s been a whole week since Lena's confession and the whole thing is still eating you alive. So when Kara invites you to a sister's night, you're more than willing to come. At least you'll have some distraction and you'll stop thinking about Lena for a hot second.

It's supposed to be a quiet night—just you, Kara, and Alex, for real this time. The three of you gathered around a few takeout boxes, laughing and talking about everything and nothing. The kind of night where you don’t have to pretend, where everything feels easy.

But then Kara, with her usual lightheartedness, leans over, nudging you with her elbow in that teasing way she does. “So, now that Lena’s out of the closet,” she says, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, “what are you gonna do about it?”

Alex chokes on her drink, coughing once before setting it down with a laugh. “Oh my god, yes!” She wipes her mouth, leaning back in her chair with a smirk that only she could pull off. “It’s not like you haven't been pining for her or anything.”

You freeze.

You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected them to notice, let alone joke about it. The air in the room suddenly feels thick, like it’s pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. The playful banter you’d been enjoying just a second ago feels miles away now.

“What—what are you talking about?” Your voice cracks on the words, betraying you before you can even catch up. You try to laugh, but it’s hollow, high-pitched. “I—there’s nothing to do.”

Kara’s grin widens, and Alex leans forward, amused, clearly not realizing the depth of what she’s teasing. “Oh, come on,” Kara says, not picking up on the panic that’s creeping into your voice. “She’s single and gay! You two have always been close. You should go for it.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “No. No, it’s not like that.” You push your food away, the sudden loss of appetite is jarring. “She doesn’t—she doesn’t feel that way about me. It had nothing to do with me.”

It's what you've been thinking since she came out, but now that you said it out loud to other people, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Your heart sinks low on your chest, drowning in the sorrow of your words. It has nothing to do with you.

“Really?” Alex’s voice is quiet now, no longer mocking but full of that sharp, knowing edge she gets when she’s about to press a point. “Because the way you two look at each other begs otherwise.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. “She doesn’t love me. I’m not—I’m not—I’m just her friend. I’ve always been just her friend.” Your voice cracks, and the reality of the situation hits like a punch to the gut.

Alex and Kara exchange a glance. One glance and you know what they're thinking. You've watched them sharing glances and understanding all your life. They know.

The air in the room feels heavier than it did just moments ago. You want to disappear into the floor, to sink into nothingness and escape the heat rising in your face. You can’t look at them. Can’t meet their eyes. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like everything you’ve hidden is suddenly spilling out for everyone to see.

Kara’s smile fades, and Alex’s smirk softens into something more concerning, but you don’t know how to handle either of them right now.

“Wait—” Kara tilts her head, her voice softening as she leans forward, and you can’t take it anymore. She knows! They know! They all know! Your mind screams at you to run, to get out of here before you say something, before they say something that will destroy whatever fragile thing you’ve been pretending is safe.

Before you can think, your legs are already moving. You stand up too quickly, the chair scraping against the floor as you stumble back, eyes wide and panicked.

“I—I have to go,” you stammer, and then you’re out the door, heart pounding, thoughts racing, each step carrying you farther from the mess you’ve just made.

What did you just do? What did you just confess to?

You barely register the sound of the door behind you opening, Kara’s voice calling your name, but you can’t face her—not yet. Not until you figure this out.

You've been running. Face it. There's no other explanation for what you're doing. You're terrified to face your sisters when they know so well how you're feeling.

And you're also terrified to face Lena.

You've loved her for so long, convinced she was straight, and so sure it didn’t matter that you built walls around your feelings. You told yourself you couldn’t, wouldn’t, needn't to act on it. But now? Now, you’re torn in a thousand directions—wanting to give her the space to finally live her truth, to experience everything she’s been denied. But the love you feel is a wildfire, and it burns so fiercely that you can’t stop yourself from wishing, aching, to be the one she shares it all with.

So yeah, you have been avoiding everyone for obvious reasons. But you still have to show your face at the Tower and do your job.

You’re sitting on the couch when Lena walks in. You can’t just get up and leave. So, you stay there, frozen, silent, praying nothing comes up.

The silence between you is not uncomfortable, but thick—heavy with the things you both can’t say. You can feel your chest tighten every time you look at her, like your heart is pulling itself out of your ribcage and running a race you’re too afraid to finish.

You can't believe you're the first one to break the silence, “Hey. I just want to make sure you know that I'm really proud of you for living your truth.”

Lena smiles, her voice soft but steady as she speaks, her gaze distant, like she’s trying to piece something together. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I always thought I was just picky, but then I realized it wasn’t that at all. It’s just…” She trails off, chewing on her bottom lip, then finally meets your eyes. “That last guy? I just couldn’t see myself with him, you know? He didn’t — he didn’t feel right for me. I thought maybe I was just waiting for something more, but maybe I was just waiting for someone else.”

Her words hang in the air like they’re trying to fit into some puzzle you’ve been too afraid to solve. She’s speaking so honestly, it begs you to do the same.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. “He could never be right for you. You deserve so much better than that guy. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, someone who knows you and thinks you’re the most incredible person in the universe. He couldn’t do that. Not like I—” You cut yourself off, the words coming out too fast, too reckless, as if the floodgates just cracked open and you couldn’t stop them.

The room feels suffocating as you try to recover, your breath coming faster now, the adrenaline making your limbs heavy. You immediately regret what you almost said. What you did say.

Lena doesn’t seem to notice how you’ve frozen. Or maybe she does, but she doesn’t acknowledge it—her eyes soften, understanding flickering across her face. She smiles, and it feels warm, like sunlight breaking through the clouds after a storm. “Yeah,” she says quietly, almost to herself. “Someone who really gets me, who knows exactly what I need.”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You can barely breathe. She’s looking at you, and for a moment, you can’t tell what she sees. The pause between you stretches, and you’re too scared to move, too scared to break it.

But then Lena laughs softly, her tone light, but there’s a sadness underneath it—something wistful that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I guess I’ve always been waiting for the person who really knows me... the person who’s always right there.”

You want to scream it. You want to tell her everything—how you’ve always been the one who saw her, how you’ve always known she deserves someone who gets her like you do. But your tongue feels heavy, your heart too loud in your chest. The words catch in your throat, and you can’t say them.

Instead, you just nod, the silence growing between you, unresolved but full of understanding.

It would be easier to be the runaway type if you didn’t have Kara and Alex as your sisters. They’ve never stayed out of your business—especially when they can tell you’re hurting. So, it’s no surprise when you get home one night and find them inside, waiting for you with ice-cream and beer —a clear mix of their personalities.

Kara sits cross-legged on the couch, smiling at you with that earnest grin that’s impossible to hate, while Alex leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Whatever they’ve planned, you won’t be escaping easily.

“Hey, bubs.” Kara says, patting the couch next to her.

"The key I gave you guys was for emergencies only.” Your voice comes out snappier than you intended, so it's no surprise when Kara flinches a little.

“We figured it was time for an intervention. You’ve been kind of... distant lately.”

You drop your bag by the door, your shoulders stiff. “I’ve been busy.”

Alex snorts. “Yeah, busy dodging us.”

You glance between them, trying to gauge how much they know—or think they know. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I just needed some space.”

“To do what?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow. “Mope by yourself?”

“I'm not moping.” You are. You brush past Alex towards the fridge, but she steps in your path.

“Bullshit,” she says. “We know you’re hurting. You’ve been dodging Lena ever since she started seeing that loser. We figured that would stop after she came out. But it hasn't. So what's going on?”

Your stomach twists at Lena’s name. You grip the counter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Nothing’s going on.” Then a piece of the marble comes off in your hand. Shit. Way to make it obvious. Alex just looks at it, unimpressed.

“Try again.” Alex presses. “Without the lying this time.”

Kara’s tone is softer now. “Just talk to us. Please.”

Your heart stumbles and the urge to deny it rises instinctively. But Alex is watching you too closely, and Kara’s expression is too kind. They’ve cornered you.

You finally make your way to your couch, dropping on it with a loud sigh. “It’s complicated.” To that, Alex offers you a beer.

“I don't think it's that complicated. She came out, she is single, you're in love with her and you're single too. It kinda sounds too easy, actually.”

“It's not that simple, Alex.” you say quickly. “She just figured out who she is. She’s living her truth, and she deserves that. She deserves to have every experience. I don’t want to get in the way of it.”

Kara places a comforting hand on your arm. “You’re not going to get in the way. You’re one of the most important people in her life. She deserves to know how much you care about her.”

“And what if it messes her up?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if she feels pressured or obligated because of me? I can’t do that to her. I can't force this.”

Alex sighs, her expression softening. “You’re overthinking this, as usual. Lena’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices. But pushing her out of your life? That’s not helping anyone—least of all you.”

Kara squeezes your arm, her smile encouraging. “Y/N, if you wanna give her a real choice, you gotta let her know that you are an option.”

The knot in your chest loosens, but only slightly. You’re still terrified—of Lena’s reaction, of her not feeling the same. But maybe they’re right. Maybe this is not your decision to make at all.

The air feels heavier than usual when you knock on Lena’s door. It’s late—too late for this to be casual—but you’ve spent the entire night replaying Kara and Alex’s words until they drowned out every excuse you had left. Also, and less important, they kicked you out of your own apartment until you fix this situation.

Lena opens the door, wearing a soft sweater and an expression of mild surprise that quickly shifts into something warmer. “Hey you. Long time no see.” she says, stepping aside to let you in.

You hesitate on the threshold, your heart pounding so loudly it’s hard to think. But you step in anyway, because this isn’t something you can run from anymore. Lena scans your entire face, before she can say something else.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, her tone laced with concern.

You swallow hard, shifting your weight awkwardly. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” you admit, your voice unsteady. “I just... I needed to see you.”

Lena tilts her head, her brows drawing together slightly as she studies you. “What’s going on?”

There’s no way to ease into it. You take a deep breath, your chest tightening as the words begin to spill out. “I’m in love with you.”

The silence that follows feels deafening, like the world itself is holding its breath. Her expression shifts, her lips parting slightly, but she says nothing, and the weight of it compels you to keep talking.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, Lena,” you say, your voice cracking under the pressure of the moment. “I thought I could bury it, ignore it, but I can’t. And when you came out... I wanted to give you space, to let you live your truth without me complicating things. But the truth is, I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t feel this way. I don’t want to.”

Your voice fades into the silence, and you risk a glance at her face. Her eyes glisten, her mouth trembling slightly like she’s trying to form words but can’t quite find them. The stillness stretches, and with each passing second, the panic in your chest builds.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, stepping back as the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Wait.” Her voice is quiet but firm, cutting through your spiral. She steps closer, her hand reaching out to catch yours. The warmth of her touch stills the shaking in your fingers. “Don’t apologize. Don’t you dare apologize for loving me.”

Her words stop your breath. You blink at her, disbelieving, and she lets out a soft, nervous laugh as tears slip down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”

“Wait... what?” The words tumble out of you, half-broken and incredulous.

She takes another step closer, her other hand lifting to cup your cheek. Her palm is warm, her thumb brushing away a tear that escapes despite your best efforts. “I’m in love with you too. And have been for so long. But I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I was so scared of not having you in my life anymore.”

Her confession hits you like a tidal wave, sweeping away every fear and doubt that had been holding you back. You let out a shaky laugh, the relief and disbelief tangling together in your chest. “Lena, I— I didn't know.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” she teases gently, her lips curving into a watery smile. “I came out because of you. Because I needed you to know I wanted this. Us.”

The tears spill freely now, but you don’t care. You laugh through the sob that rises in your chest, your hands finding her waist as you pull her closer. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you before. I should've. It would've made things easier.” you manage, your voice thick with emotion.

Her hand slips down to intertwine with yours. “Well,” She draws a sharp breath. “I’ve known how you feel about me for a while now, you did manage to scare off my last boyfriend.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I did no such thing!”

Lena tilts her head, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “He said a superhero threatened to kill him if he hurt me. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't Kara.”

You scoff, your cheeks heating. “Ok, look, I said I’d make him disappear. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.” Her grin widens.

You smile too. “Honestly, Lena, what were you thinking? He was clearly a bad listener. Not good enough for you.”

“He wasn’t the one right for me, anyway.”

You smile despite yourself, shaking your head at her playful tone. “Yeah, he really wasn’t.”

When her lips meet yours, it’s as if the world stills, shrinking down to the warmth of her touch and the intoxicating scent of her. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like she’s tracing the edges of something precious and fragile. But then you deepen it, your hands cupping her jaw, your fingers threading through the silk of her hair, and she lets out a quiet, breathless moan that trembles against your lips. It feels like the universe finally aligns, like exhaling after holding your breath for far too long, or stepping into sunlight after a storm—a warmth you didn’t know you’d been aching for until this very moment.

When you finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes shining with something raw and unfiltered. She truly is a work of art.

She brushes her thumb over your cheek in a touch so tender it sends shivers down your spine. You smile, kissing her hand, your lips lingering for just a moment. "I’ve been waiting for you for so long." You search her gaze, your voice softer now, almost pleading. "Tell me I’m not dreaming, Lena. Promise me this is real. Promise me you’re mine."

Lena’s lips part as a gentle smile breaks across her face. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles, her voice laced with something raw and vulnerable. "You’re not dreaming," she whispers. “I won’t make you wait a second longer, darling,” she says, green eyes locking onto yours. There’s no hesitation there, no doubt—just warmth, shining with honesty and something deeper. Love. Her hand tightens slightly around yours, grounding you. "And I’m all yours." she whispers, the words carrying the weight of a promise she’s been holding in her heart for far too long.

She kisses you again, her lips lingering as if to seal the moment. The warmth of her arms around you feels like home, like everything you never thought you could have but always wanted.

When you part again, her smile is radiant, impossibly bright. "Oh whoa, I really am gay." she jokes, her tone light but her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The laughter that spills out of you is unguarded and raw, carrying with it every ounce of relief, love, and joy you’ve been holding back. It feels like breaking the surface after being underwater too long, like the start of something impossibly bright.

"Oh, Thank Rao."

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #lena x reader #reader insert #supergirl fanfiction #alex danvers #baby danvers #supergirl imagine

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playboysaleen · 4 months ago

Text

Through Ash and Iron (12)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

This is actually the last chap for a few days cause this is actually where i stopped (oops). So soak it in and reflect cause baby this writers block aint it- Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Cant even lie i cringed a bit on some of these things but fffffuck was i down bad these last two weeks for jinx and caitlyn.

Word Count: 9.3k

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The soft hum of your lamp illuminated the small trinket in your hands. It was a delicate piece, carefully crafted with intricate gears and a tiny painted bird that reminded you of Isha’s wide-eyed curiosity. The brush in your hand moved with precision, adding the final touches of vibrant blue to the wings. You smiled faintly to yourself, imagining the way her face would light up when she saw it.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comforting. You were alone, but not lonely. The promise of Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha arriving later for dinner filled you with a rare sense of peace. For now, the soft clinking of your tools and the faint scent of fresh paint were your only companions.

But then, everything shifted.

It was subtle at first—a faint prickle at the back of your neck, a sensation you couldn’t quite place. Your heightened senses, a gift and curse of the shimmer in your blood, suddenly flared to life. The comforting silence was no longer still; it felt heavy, oppressive. Every sound, even from the distant streets below, seemed amplified. The faintest intake of breath, too close, too foreign, sent a jolt through you.

You didn’t hesitate. In a blur, you sprinted for the balcony window, your body moving on instinct as the front door exploded inward. A shimmered soldier burst through, their massive frame colliding with the doorframe as they entered.

The apartment became a war zone in an instant.

You vaulted through the open balcony window, your feet barely touching the ground as you scaled the adjacent rooftop. The soldiers followed, their movements unnaturally fast, but you were faster. The rooftops became your battlefield.

One soldier lunged at you, their hand swiping inches from your shoulder. You twisted mid-air, your boots catching the edge of a railing as you flipped onto the next roof. The sound of their heavy boots pounding behind you pushed you forward, your muscles burning but refusing to slow.

A second soldier closed in, their arm outstretched to grab you. You ducked low, sliding under a low-hanging pipe and using the momentum to kick their legs out from under them. The soldier hit the ground hard, and you didn’t wait to see if they got up.

The chase continued, your movements precise and calculated as you weaved through obstacles. You scaled walls, leapt over gaps, and sent two more soldiers sprawling with swift, brutal strikes. But then, you felt it—a sharp impact to your side.

The advanced soldier.

The blow sent you crashing through the roof of your apartment. The world spun violently as debris rained down around you, your body slamming into the floor with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain radiated through you, sharp and unforgiving.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arms shook, and you collapsed back to the floor. Your vision blurred as the advanced soldier loomed over you, their massive frame outlined against the light filtering through the hole in the roof.

Before you could react, they grabbed you by the neck, their grip like a vice. You clawed at their arm, your muscles straining as you fought to free yourself. They lifted you effortlessly, your feet dangling above the ground.

With a roar, the soldier hurled you through the balcony doors. You landed hard on the handmade patio, the wood splintering beneath you. Memories of quiet moments spent here with Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha flickered in your mind—laughter, conversations, warmth—all of it now reduced to shattered wood and broken glass.

You forced yourself to stand, your breathing labored. Your eyes burned with anger, glowing a fierce purple as the shimmer surged within you. But before you could act, the soldiers stilled.

Mel stepped forward from the shadows.

She was calm, poised, her golden robes catching the faint light of the shattered apartment. Her expression was unreadable, but the glint in her eyes was anything but.

“You really are extraordinary,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “More powerful than I realized. I’ve seen you hold back time and time again. For them.” She gestured lazily toward the horizon. “For Caitlyn. For Jinx. Belittling yourself. Dimming your own light to protect theirs.”

Her words dripped with venom, cutting deep.

“Tell me,” she continued, taking a step closer, “how does it feel to give everything to two women who will never truly understand you? Who hold you back from being what you’re meant to be?”

The insult hit like a dagger. The anger in your chest ignited into a roaring inferno, and without thinking, you charged.

You moved faster than should have been possible, your body a blur of motion as you closed the distance between you and Mel. But just as you leapt toward her, the advanced soldier intercepted you, their massive hand wrapping around your neck once more.

You struggled, your hands clawing at their grip as you fought to free yourself. But they were relentless, their strength overwhelming. Mel approached you slowly, her gaze cold and calculating.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against your face, a gesture as mocking as it was intimate. “You’re wasted on them,” she murmured. “But don’t worry. Soon, the world will see what happens when the Commander of Piltover’s forces and Zaun’s most infamous rebel find out I have you.”

Her words sent a wave of rage and hopelessness through you. You roared in defiance, your voice raw and desperate. But Mel simply nodded to the soldier.

The soldier’s grip tightened. Pain exploded in your head, and the world began to spin. Your struggles weakened as darkness crept into the edges of your vision.

Your body went limp.

Your arms fell to your sides, your fingers twitching once before they stilled. The last thing you heard before the darkness took you was Mel’s voice, calm and triumphant.

“Bring them.”

Jinx strolled next to Caitlyn with a rare calmness about her, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Isha walked between them, occasionally glancing up with her wide eyes, splitting her attention between the two women. For once, there was no tension. No insults. Just the quiet sound of boots and shoes hitting the pavement as the trio made their way toward your apartment.

“You know,” Jinx started, her voice carrying her trademark teasing edge, “this whole thing? Us hanging out together like one big happy family? I didn’t think I’d hate it as much as I thought I would.”

Caitlyn smirked, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable. I still have a list of reasons why I can’t stand you.”

“Oh, yeah? Go on, Piltie,” Jinx shot back, her grin widening. “Make my day. Let’s hear it.”

“Where to start?” Caitlyn mused, tapping her chin dramatically. “The explosives? The chaos? The constant threats to my life?”

“Pfft,” Jinx waved her off, leaning down slightly to nudge Isha. “Kid, you think I’m a threat, don’t you?”

Isha giggled silently, her blue hair bouncing as she reached up and slipped her hand into Caitlyn’s. The unexpected gesture stopped Caitlyn mid-retort. She looked down at the small hand gripping hers, the soft, trusting eyes staring up at her, and something in her chest tightened.

Jinx caught the look, her teasing expression softening for a moment. “Guess the kid likes you, Piltie,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Caitlyn squeezed Isha’s hand gently, her lips curving into a small smile. “I like her too.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Isha now clutching Caitlyn’s hand as Jinx walked slightly ahead, her gaze scanning the streets around them. “You know,” Jinx said after a moment, “maybe we should… I don’t know, do this more often? All of us. Together.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, surprised by the suggestion. “You mean… spending time together?”

Jinx shrugged, trying to play it off. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re still annoying as hell. But… they like it. You know, being with both of us. And I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly. “High praise, coming from you.”

As they approached your building, Isha let go of Caitlyn’s hand and started to run ahead. Jinx smirked. “Hey, careful, kid!”

Isha’s foot suddenly caught on something, and she stumbled, nearly falling. Caitlyn was quick, lunging forward to catch her before she hit the ground. “Got you,” she said softly, lifting the little girl into her arms.

Jinx frowned as they both looked down at what had tripped her. It was one of your tools��scratched, familiar, and out of place. Caitlyn’s expression shifted immediately, her sharp eyes darting toward your apartment building just a few meters ahead. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it.

The patio.

Your handmade rooftop patio, the one where you spent countless quiet moments with them and Isha, was in shambles. The wood was splintered, the furniture overturned, and jagged glass glinted in the fading sunlight.

“God,” Caitlyn whispered, her grip tightening around Isha as her heart raced.

Jinx’s hands balled into fists as she stared at the wreckage. “No. No, no, no,” she muttered, panic rising in her chest.

They sprinted toward the scene, Isha clinging tightly to Caitlyn as the two women climbed the stairs and burst into your apartment. The devastation was worse up close. The door hung off its hinges, the walls were scorched, and debris was scattered everywhere.

“Y/n!” Caitlyn called out, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. She set Isha down carefully and began searching through the wreckage.

Jinx was already tearing through the room, her hands shaking as she pushed aside broken furniture and shards of glass. “Where the hell are you?” she shouted, her voice cracking.

Isha wandered toward the center of the room, her wide eyes scanning the chaos. She picked up a small trinket—the one you’d made for her—and held it tightly in her small hands.

“Y/n?” Caitlyn called again, her voice more frantic this time. She was holding it together for Isha, but tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Then, a faint sound broke through the silence.

“Mama.”

Both women froze.

Isha’s voice, barely a whisper, carried through the room as she clutched the trinket to her chest. She was searching, her small lips forming the word again. “Mama.”

Caitlyn turned away, unable to hold back the tears as she covered her mouth with her hand. Jinx scooped Isha into her arms, holding her tightly as her own tears slid down her cheeks.

“Isha…” Jinx whispered, her voice breaking. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

Caitlyn’s gaze fell on the broken glass near the balcony. Among the debris was a faint smear of purple blood, its unnatural glow catching her eye. Her stomach twisted, the sight confirming her worst fears.

“She’s hurt,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice hollow.

Jinx turned to her, Isha still in her arms. “What?”

Caitlyn pointed at the blood, her jaw tightening. “She’s hurt, and someone took her.”

Jinx’s expression darkened, her tears drying as a fierce determination took over. “I know who it was,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Caitlyn straightened, wiping her face as she stepped closer. “Who?”

Jinx’s grip on Isha tightened. “Mel.”

The scene began with a heavy steel door, the kind that sealed away secrets too dangerous to surface. Deep in the bowels of Mel’s tower, beyond layers of cold stone and mechanical locks, the air was oppressive, stifling. Muffled sounds seeped through the cracks, but as the door came into focus, the noise grew louder—violent banging, chains rattling, and primal screams that echoed with fury and defiance.

Inside, the room was cavernous, more like an abandoned auditorium than a cell. The floor was slick, faintly reflecting the dim light of a single, swaying bulb. In the center of it all, you struggled against heavy iron chains. They coiled around your wrists and ankles, tethered to thick metal anchors embedded in the walls. A heavy collar wrapped around your neck, its chain rattling every time you moved, forcing you into a bowed posture that left you vulnerable.

Your body was bruised, cuts lining your exposed arms, but it was your eyes that radiated defiance. The electric purple glow swirled like a storm, flickering with rage as you strained against the bonds.

Across the room, Mel sat leisurely in a sleek, high-backed lounge chair, her golden attire catching what little light the room offered. She crossed her legs elegantly, a goblet of wine in her hand. She observed you with a look of utter satisfaction, the corners of her lips twitching as if suppressing a smirk. She reveled in your fury, your unrelenting spirit, and the raw power you exuded even in chains.

“I must say,” Mel drawled, swirling her wine, “you’re quite the sight. All that anger, all that fire. It’s… intoxicating.” Her eyes lingered on you, tracing the lines of your tensed muscles and the veins that pulsed faintly with a purple hue. “Those eyes of yours—they glow so beautifully when you’re like this. It’s almost like they were made for me.”

You growled, the sound animalistic, as you tugged at the chains again. The metal groaned under the strain, and a faint creak echoed from the wall. “Mel,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom, “the moment I get out of these chains, I’m coming for you. You won’t make it out of this room alive.”

Her laughter was soft, almost amused, as she set the goblet down on a nearby table and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, “you’re already mine. That anger? That hatred? I own it. And, by extension, I own you.”

She tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Though, I wonder… what would dear Caitlyn think if she saw you like this? Or Jinx?” She let the names hang in the air like poison, watching with glee as the chains rattled violently when you surged forward.

“You don’t get to say their names!” you roared, the sound reverberating through the empty room. The chains tightened, straining against the metal anchors in the wall. The sound of creaking steel filled the space, and for a brief moment, Mel’s expression faltered. But only for a moment.

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate as she approached you. From her pocket, she produced a small vial of shimmering liquid, holding it up between two fingers. The vibrant purple inside seemed to glow unnaturally, swirling hypnotically within the glass.

“This,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery, “is what you’re meant to be. This little vial holds your full potential. The true you.” She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “But look at you. Cowering, leashed like a puppy.” Her words were sharp, designed to cut deep. “Isn’t that what you are? A loyal little pet for Caitlyn and Jinx?”

You staggered back, pressing yourself against the cold wall as if the shimmer itself burned. Your chest heaved with fury, your teeth bared. “I don’t need that poison!” you spat. “And I’m no one’s pet.”

Mel’s smile widened as she closed the distance between you. Her hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly. Her nails dug into your skin as she tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her golden eyes roamed over your face, lingering on the fresh wound on your lip. Slowly, she swiped her thumb over the blood, the touch invasive and mocking.

“I wonder,” she murmured, leaning in so her breath ghosted over your lips, “how far your loyalty really goes. What would they do if they saw you like this? Would they still love you?”

You snarled, your body trembling with the effort to pull away. “Get your hands off me!” you roared.

Mel didn’t flinch. She stopped just short of kissing you, her lips inches from yours, her smile never wavering. “So loyal,” she whispered, her voice both mocking and admiring. “It’s almost endearing.”

Then, she stepped back, her hand falling away from your face as if releasing a toy she had grown bored of. She turned to the shimmered soldier standing silently in the shadows. “Show them how to behave,” she commanded, her tone cold and authoritative.

The soldier moved immediately, his massive frame looming over you. Before you could react, his fist collided with your stomach, the force knocking the air from your lungs. You gasped, your body jerking against the chains as another punch followed, this one aimed at your ribs. The sound of cracking bones filled the room, but you didn’t scream. You refused to give Mel the satisfaction.

“You’ll regret this,” you hissed through gritted teeth, your voice strained but defiant. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Mel watched from her chair again, her eyes gleaming with amusement as the soldier continued. “Oh, darling,” she said, raising her goblet in a mock toast, “I’m counting on it.”

The days passed in a blur of pain, rage, and exhaustion. The dim, cavernous room had become your prison, the chains your constant companion. Each day was a test, a battle against the oppressive weight of the restraints and the unrelenting presence of Mel. She visited often, her golden robes glinting faintly in the pale light as she lounged in her chair, always watching, always waiting for you to break.

You didn’t make it easy for her.

The first time she mentioned Caitlyn and Jinx, you lunged forward, the chains straining against the anchors in the wall. The metallic groan filled the room, the sound of your strength testing its limits. "Say their names again," you barked, your voice sharp and venomous, "and I’ll make sure they’re the last words you ever speak."

Mel only smirked, her chin resting lazily on her hand. "Oh, darling," she drawled, "do you think they’re even looking for you? Caitlyn’s busy saving Piltover, and Jinx?" She tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting with malice. "She’s probably found someone else to play with by now."

Your roar echoed through the room, a sound of pure fury. You jerked against the chains, the collar around your neck biting into your skin. But before you could lunge any closer, the shimmered soldier stepped forward. His massive hand struck like a hammer, slamming into your side and sending you crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, but you didn’t cry out. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

"Such a temper," Mel mused, standing slowly and approaching your crumpled form. "It’s almost... charming." She crouched beside you, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. You flinched, your eyes glowing fiercely as you glared up at her.

"You’ll pay for this," you spat, your voice low and seething. "Every bruise, every insult—you’ll pay."

Mel laughed softly, the sound dripping with condescension. "And yet," she said, leaning closer, "you’re still here. Still chained. Still mine." She straightened, her gaze cold and calculating. "But let’s see if we can’t find a way to teach you some manners."

She motioned to the shimmered soldier, who stepped forward again. His fists were like battering rams, each strike a calculated effort to wear you down. You took the blows silently, your body screaming in protest, but your eyes never lost their defiance.

It wasn’t until she mentioned Isha that something inside you snapped.

"That little girl," Mel said, her voice soft and deliberate, "I wonder if she even knows you’re gone. Or if she’s already moved on. Children are resilient like that, don’t you think?"

Your entire body tensed, the glow in your eyes intensifying as your breathing became ragged. "Don’t," you growled, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t you dare talk about her."

Mel’s smirk widened, sensing the shift in you. "Oh, but she’s the key, isn’t she? The one thing that keeps you tethered. Such a sweet little thing. It would be so easy to bring her here. To show her what happens to disobedient pets."

That was it. You roared, surging forward with a strength that surprised even the shimmered soldier. The chains rattled violently, the wall cracking slightly under the strain. Mel stepped back slightly, her composure faltering for a split second, but she recovered quickly, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.

"Finally," she whispered, stepping closer as you slumped, exhausted but still defiant. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. "There it is. The fire. The rage. I knew you had it in you."

You jerked your head away, glaring up at her. "I’ll never be your pet," you hissed, your voice raw but steady.

Mel leaned down, her face inches from yours, her golden eyes boring into your own. "We’ll see," she murmured. Her hand trailed down your jaw to your neck, her touch invasive and infuriating. "Everyone has a breaking point. Even you."

When she finally straightened, she motioned to the shimmered soldier. "Teach them some respect," she ordered coldly.

You spat at her feet as the soldier approached, your chest heaving with fury. "You’ll never win," you snarled. "They’ll come for me. And when they do, you’ll wish you never touched Isha."

Mel paused, her gaze flicking back to you. Her smile was icy, her voice almost a whisper. "I think I’ll bring her here," she said, tilting her head. "Just to make sure you behave."

Her words hit like a blow, and for the first time, a flicker of true fear crossed your face. You struggled against the chains, yelling threats and curses as the shimmered soldier advanced, his massive fist raised.

But as the blows rained down, one thought burned in your mind, brighter than the pain, brighter than the rage: They will come for me.

The chaos within Zaun was unparalleled. Streets that once simmered with the quiet tension of survival now burned with uproar. Jinx stood atop one of the towering buildings, her purple eyes glowing with fury. The radiant hue pulsed, reflecting her emotions as she overlooked the city below. Her hands were clenched into trembling fists, her knuckles white, as her mind raced with thoughts of you.

Her voice carried like a storm. "No stone unturned! No corner untouched! Find them!" she bellowed to her people, her voice echoing across the jagged streets. "Anyone who knows anything, I want to hear it! NOW!"

Her loyalists scattered, even those who feared her more than they respected her. The sheer power emanating from her, the glow of her eyes, was enough to send shivers through the bravest. Even the rebels who had long opposed her rule bent under the weight of her rage, searching tirelessly for any trace of you.

On the other side of the city, Caitlyn’s office was a hub of frantic energy. Papers littered every surface, maps strewn with red markings of places searched. Enforcers came in and out, relaying reports of dead ends, but she refused to stop. Her pristine uniform was disheveled, the buttons at her collar undone, her hair tied back messily. Her eyes, dark with exhaustion, burned with the same determination as Jinx's.

"Double the sweeps in the lower districts," she ordered sharply, slamming her hand on the table. "Every alley, every abandoned building. If it’s big enough to hide a body, I want it searched."

"Commander, we’ve already—" one of the enforcers began, but Caitlyn cut him off with a glare that could silence a storm.

"Do it again," she snapped. "And again, until we find them."

The fire in her voice left no room for argument, and the enforcer nodded before hurrying out. Caitlyn leaned heavily on her desk, her hands gripping the edge as she stared at a map of Zaun and Piltover, her mind racing. "Where are you?" she whispered under her breath, frustration etched into her features.

Vi moved through the streets of Zaun with a purpose, her jaw clenched and her fists wrapped tightly. She was paired with Sevika, a partnership neither enjoyed but both knew was necessary. The tension between them was palpable, but they set their differences aside for one reason: you.

"You’re slowing us down, Vi," Sevika grunted, glancing at her over her shoulder. "Do you always walk this slow, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

Vi shot her a glare. "I could say the same about you, tin-arm. Just keep moving."

Despite the biting remarks, the two worked in tandem, questioning anyone who looked suspicious, chasing leads no matter how thin they seemed. Even Zaun’s most notorious dissidents, those who opposed the alliances you were trying to build, found themselves cornered and interrogated.

"If you’re hiding something, now’s the time to talk," Vi growled at one man, pinning him against a wall.

Sevika loomed beside her, her mechanical arm whirring ominously. "We’re not playing games. You tell us what you know, or I make sure you regret it."

Caitlyn’s quarters were eerily quiet despite the chaos outside. Jinx sat across from Caitlyn, her leg bouncing restlessly. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the sound of papers shuffling as Caitlyn reviewed reports. Isha sat in the corner, clutching the trinket you’d made her. She hadn’t spoken or smiled since you vanished, her wide eyes now dull and distant.

Jinx finally broke the silence. "This… waiting around. It’s killing me."

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It’s killing all of us. But we have to keep our heads clear if we’re going to find them."

Jinx’s eyes flicked to Isha, her expression softening. "The kid… she’s not herself."

"None of us are," Caitlyn admitted, her voice heavy. She hesitated, then added, "They mean so much to her. To all of us."

For once, Jinx didn’t respond with a snide remark. Instead, she looked at Caitlyn, truly looked at her. "They mean everything to me," she said quietly. "I know it’s the same for you. So maybe, just this once, we try to work together without killing each other?"

Caitlyn met her gaze and nodded slowly. "Agreed."

A commotion downstairs snapped them out of the moment. Shouts and muffled arguments echoed up to the quarters. Caitlyn stood abruptly, grabbing her firearm. "Stay here with Isha," she instructed Jinx.

"Like hell I will," Jinx shot back, already following her.

They hurried downstairs, finding Vi and Sevika in a heated exchange with the enforcers at the entrance. "You’re not authorized to be here!" one of the guards protested.

"Let me through," Vi growled, her fists clenched. "I’ve got information."

Caitlyn stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise. "Stand down. Let them through."

The enforcers hesitated but obeyed, and Vi and Sevika wasted no time stepping into the room.

"We found something," Vi said, her voice low. "Singed. He’s working with Mel. And…" She hesitated, glancing at Jinx. "They’ve got shimmered soldiers."

Jinx’s eyes widened, the purple glow flickering faintly. "And?"

Vi sighed. "I think they have them. In her tower. Deep down, somewhere."

Jinx was already moving toward the door. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go."

Caitlyn grabbed her arm. "Wait. We need a plan. If we rush in—"

"We don’t have time for plans!" Jinx snapped, pulling away.

"Enough!" Sevika barked, silencing them both. "We move now. We can argue about strategy later."

Caitlyn reluctantly nodded. "Fine. But we’re doing this together."

They turned back upstairs to gather their gear, but the moment they entered Caitlyn’s quarters, the air changed.

Isha was gone.

Caitlyn’s heart dropped, her eyes darting around the room. "Isha?"

Jinx was already searching, her movements frantic. "No, no, no. She was right here!"

Caitlyn’s chest tightened as she noticed the open window, the faint breeze stirring the papers on her desk. She clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "They took her."

Jinx turned to Caitlyn, her purple eyes blazing. "We get them both back," she growled. "No matter what it takes."

—

The days blurred into a haze of agony and exhaustion. The shimmered soldier’s “corrections” had left you battered and weak, each session pushing you closer to a breaking point you swore you’d never reach. Your face bore fresh bruises, your lips split, dried blood crusted at the corner. Your arms, once strong and sure, trembled as you tried to remain upright. The chains rattled softly with your every shuddering breath, reminding you that you were far from free.

Mel sat a short distance away, her posture relaxed in a lavish lounge chair that belonged more in a palace than this dank, hidden auditorium deep beneath her tower. She observed you with that maddening smirk, sipping from a goblet as if attending a show. She had made a sport of taunting you. Every mention of Caitlyn or Jinx brought your anger roaring back, every implication that they’d abandoned you sparked another desperate attempt to lunge forward. The chains would screech, and the soldier would punish you anew, leaving you wheezing and cursing.

“That temper,” Mel murmured, leaning forward with a feigned concern painted over her arrogant smile, “it suits you more than the docile hero they think you are.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, eyes half-lidded in delight. “You’re only stalling the inevitable. They’re not coming. They’re busy playing house, doing what they do best—forgetting.”

You snarled, your voice raw. “Shut your mouth. They’re looking for me, and when they find out what you’ve done…” Your threat trailed off into a cough, your strength waning.

Mel tilted her head, her laughter low and indulgent. “How adorable. Such faith.” She was about to continue when the heavy door groaned open. The shimmered soldier stepped aside as a Piltover enforcer tossed a small body into the room.

You felt your heart stop. It was Isha. She stumbled forward, confusion and fear distorting her usually bright eyes. Her small frame trembled, and she looked so out of place in this grim hall. The enforcer backed away, merely watching her, as if awaiting orders.

You strained against the chains, ignoring the pain slicing through your shoulders and wrists. “Isha!” you managed, your voice cracking. Your cheek was pressed against the cold tile floor, and you could barely lift your head, but you had to let her know you were here.

Isha turned at the sound of her name, her gaze sweeping the room until it caught sight of you, chained and broken. You watched her face crumple—there was shock, and terror, but also a heartbreaking relief when she recognized you. She clutched a small object in her hand, the trinket you’d made her before all this began. Quiet as ever, she took trembling steps forward, each one a struggle against her own fear, until she knelt beside you.

“Mama,” she whispered so softly that no one seemed to catch it but you. It broke something inside you—your anger wavered, your eyes stinging with tears. She pressed herself gently against your side, hugging you with all the might her tiny arms could muster. Your vision blurred as you tried to comfort her without words, your entire body aching to protect her.

Mel stood, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. You tensed, trying to shelter Isha behind you despite your chains. “It appears I’ve struck a nerve,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her—if you see reason.”

You bristled, fury refueling your battered form. “You brought a child into this? You piece of—”

Mel raised a hand, and the shimmered soldier took a step closer, warning you to choose your words carefully. “Let’s talk arrangements,” she purred. “I want you. Your loyalty. Your hand… in marriage, shall we say? We can unite under one roof—a councilor and a… what are you again? A hero without a cause?” She laughed lightly. “If you marry me, I leave them alone. All of them. Jinx, Caitlyn, this precious little one.”

Your swollen eyes widened, horror etched into every line of your face. “You’re mad,” you hissed, voice trembling with disgust and anger. Marry her? The idea was so vile it choked you. You tried to shake your head, your neck chain rattling. You couldn’t form words.

Mel delighted in your shock. She reached out as if to stroke your cheek, a twisted parody of tenderness. Isha, terrified but brave, tried to stand between you and Mel, pushing at the woman’s arm with tiny hands. Mel snarled softly and slapped Isha away. The crack of that slap echoed like a gunshot in your heart as Isha tumbled onto you, clinging to your broken form, her cheek red and stinging. Your rage exploded into a roar, purple sparks flaring in your eyes. The chain rattled violently as you surged forward, but the soldier yanked it back, forcing you to choke on your fury.

Mel stepped back, her face calm but her eyes dancing with glee. “Isha, is it? She’s quite protective. Almost like a daughter.” She let that sink in, enjoying the despair on your face. “If you’d just cooperated, this could have been simpler. Marry me, and none of this would be happening. You’d be at my side, revered, adored.” She sighed theatrically. “But no, you cling to them—and to your misguided ideals.”

Your chest heaved. “I’d rather die by your mother’s hand than marry her filthy, corrupted daughter,” you spat with every ounce of venom you had left, your voice scraping your throat raw.

Mel’s hand lashed out, slapping you hard enough to snap your head to the side. The metallic taste of blood spread across your tongue. She grabbed your chin roughly, leaning in close so that your noses almost touched. “You will marry me,” she hissed, her voice low and chilling. “I’ll break you piece by piece until you beg for it.”

She released your chin and spun on her heel, robes whispering against the floor. As she strode away, she tossed an order over her shoulder. “Make sure they understand who’s in charge here.”

The shimmered soldier stepped forward. You braced yourself, shielding Isha as best you could, though you were helpless in these chains. The soldier’s blows rained down, each one a hammerstrike of pain. You grunted, your voice rising in furious oaths and hollow promises of revenge. Through the haze of torment, you managed to twist your body so Isha wouldn’t see the worst of it. She clung to you, trembling, tears falling silently.

“I’ll get us out,” you murmured to her between gasps, voice muffled and choked. “I promise.”

But the soldier’s blows only intensified, and you could do nothing but endure.

In the loading docks of Piltover’s industrial district, the air was thick with the smell of oil and metal. Wooden crates were stacked high, and the clank of moving machinery provided a constant, metallic soundtrack. A Piltover officer, helmet tucked under his arm, scanned the area with tired eyes. His name was Garrett, a junior enforcer known for his eagerness to please but never quite rising above mediocrity. Today, he wore exhaustion like a second skin—he’d been running checks on shipments non-stop, searching for any clue of your whereabouts.

As he moved between crates, he nearly bumped into a man wearing an unfamiliar armband—a deep gold emblem marking him as one of Mel’s own officers. The man looked worse for wear: disheveled hair, sweat staining his collar, and a certain wildness in his eyes.

“Hey,” Garrett said, steadying the man by the shoulder. “You okay? You look like you just ran halfway across the city.”

The officer shot him a glare, but it lacked conviction. “Not your concern,” he snapped, trying to maintain some dignity. But Garrett’s presence seemed to crack something in him. He glanced around, confirming no one else was close. “Had a… meeting,” he said, his voice dropping to a hush. “With her.”

Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Her?” He paused, lowering his voice instinctively. “You mean Mel?” The name carried weight—Mel Medarda was a councilor known for her cunning. Her involvement meant big trouble.

The officer rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as if recalling something painful. “Yeah. She’s got that hero locked down, deep in her tower. It’s… not pretty.”

Garrett’s heart sank. The hero. You. He remembered you—he had initially disliked you, or at least he’d claimed to. But now, hearing this, something twinged in his gut. He tried to keep his tone dismissive to mask his unease. “Huh. Good. If they were causing problems—”

The older officer gave a knowing smirk. “You say that, but you look a bit… pale. Too invested?”

Garrett’s spine stiffened. “I’m just tired,” he lied. “Long day.” He caught a few words as the officer continued: “If the hero had been married to a councilor—if this whole… fiasco is discovered—Piltover would burn. It wouldn’t be Zaun this time. It’d be Piltover at war with itself.”

Garrett’s eyes widened. Married to a councilor? His mind raced at the implications. If Mel was scheming something so twisted, it would destabilize everything. He forced a shrug. “Well, Mel’s plans, not my business.” Then he excused himself, trying to appear unconcerned, though his mind was buzzing.

A short time later, Garrett ended up at the main checkpoint, where the chaos of the joint operations between Piltover and Zaun was at its peak. He spotted Jinx there, pacing, her purple eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. He swallowed hard—she was not one to approach lightly, but he had to get this information to someone who could act.

“Jinx—” he began, stepping forward with hands raised in surrender.

Before he could finish, Jinx moved like lightning. She grabbed him by the collar and flipped him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. In an instant, she was atop him, hair spilling forward, her eyes glowing fiercely.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she hissed, pressing a forearm against his throat. “What do you want? I know who you are—Garrett, right? You gave them grief before. Trying to talk to me now?”

His heart hammered. He’d never felt smaller, more terrified. “I… I have information,” he managed, voice strangled. “About them.”

Jinx’s grip tightened. “You think I trust you?” She seemed ready to snap his neck when a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she froze.

Caitlyn stepped in, her eyes still carrying that cold edge but tempered with a calm authority. “Jinx,” she said softly. “Let him speak.” The tension drained slightly from Jinx’s frame as she leaned back, still straddling Garrett but no longer pressing down. She tilted her head toward Caitlyn’s hand, as if drawn by the simple kindness of the gesture. Reluctantly, she let Garrett up, though not without a warning glare.

Caitlyn crossed her arms, her voice cool. “Alright, talk. Make it quick.”

Garrett rose shakily, rubbing his neck. “I… I heard something from one of Mel’s officers at the docks. They said the hero is locked in Mel’s tower. They mentioned… something about Mel wanting marriage, a twisted plan to keep them under her thumb. If it gets out, Piltover might—”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened, shock washing over her features. “Marriage?” Her voice almost cracked. “She can’t be serious.”

Jinx practically snarled, pacing a few steps away. “That bitch wants to marry them?” She slammed her fist against a crate, splintering the wood. “I’ll kill her. I’ll tear her apart for even thinking—”

Caitlyn helped Garrett steady himself. “Thank you,” she said curtly, “You’ve done well. Now, you should prepare. I’m going to need every enforcer I can get.” Her tone suggested no argument. Garrett nodded, confused and a bit relieved, and hurried off to follow her orders.

Jinx watched him go, then turned to Caitlyn, frustration knotting her brow. “What the hell are you going to do, Cupcake?” She tried to mask her worry with anger, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair, her jaw set. “Something very hard,” she admitted quietly. “For all three of us. It’s risky. But it will save them—and Isha.”

Jinx took a step closer, tension thrumming between them. She knew Caitlyn well enough to understand the gravity of that statement. “Don’t keep me in the dark,” she demanded, but her voice softened. “I’m in this with you.”

Caitlyn nodded, meeting Jinx’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “I know,” she said softly. “We all are.”

They turned to go back upstairs to gather what they needed, only to find Isha gone. In her absence, the air thickened with dread. Jinx’s eyes flashed again, fury returning, while Caitlyn closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. They would find you. They would find Isha. And somehow, they would stop Mel’s twisted plan.

You barely had the strength to sit upright, your body aching with every breath. The constant beatings had ceased for the moment, leaving you in a lull of pain and exhaustion. Your back rested against the cold stone wall, your head lolling to one side. Isha clung quietly to your arm, her small body pressed close as if proximity alone could shield her from this nightmare. You whispered faint reassurances, quiet words meant for her, but a part of you needed them too. You told her it would be okay, that you’d figure something out. Every syllable felt like a plea to the universe for mercy.

When the enforcer stepped out, leaving you and Isha alone in that hollow silence, you managed to crack open an eye. Isha began fumbling in her pockets, her tiny hands producing small tools and bits. Confusion mingled with amazement as you realized what she was doing—trying to pick the locks. With painstaking care, you moved your chain-bound wrists closer to her. She worked with surprising skill, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Each click of metal teased hope into the stagnant air.

You whispered her name softly, voice rough with emotion. “You’re so good at this… Jinx’s little minion, aren’t you?” The faintest flicker of a grin tugged at your swollen lips. Isha looked at you, her eyes brightening slightly, and she let out a small, breathy sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so cautious.

With a final, delicate twist, the chains fell away, clattering softly on the floor. Freedom felt unreal. You scooped Isha into your arms, hugging her tight despite your bruises. “Thank you,” you breathed, voice trembling. “We’ll get out of here, I promise. It won’t be easy, but hold on tight when we run.” She nodded, her silent determination shining in her eyes.

Hurriedly, you repositioned yourself, chains draped loosely around your ankles as though still secured, just in time for the enforcer’s return. Isha retreated to your side, feigning calm. The guard looked at you both and sniffed dismissively. He had no idea what was about to happen.

Isha, holding leftover scraps of stale bread she had been given as a meager meal, suddenly flung them at the guard. Her tiny arm’s throw was more defiance than danger, but it was enough. The soldier stiffened, scowling at her insolence. He advanced, intent on disciplining the child. The moment he reached for her, you moved like a coiled spring released, your newly freed hand snapping up around his neck. Purple sparks danced in your vision, fury ignited. He had no time to react before you lifted him from the ground by sheer, desperate strength.

Your voice was a snarl, low and dangerous: “Touch her again, and I’ll send you to hell myself.” With a grunt of pure rage, you hurled him against the nearest wall. The thud of his impact shook dust from the ceiling as he slumped, unconscious, crumpling onto the cold stone floor. Isha rushed to your side, her eyes wide, but you touched her hair gently. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice tight with adrenaline. “Let’s go.”

You scooped her up again, holding her to your chest. She clung to you like a baby monkey, arms around your neck, face pressed into your collarbone. The shimmer in your blood surged. Pain became background noise. You were moving before you knew it, darting out the large cell door, your footsteps echoing through dim corridors. Guards shouted, startled, fumbling to raise their rifles, but you were a blur. They tried to form a line—too slow. You crashed through them, sending them spinning like toys. One’s gun clattered uselessly as you batted it aside. Another swung at you, but you ducked and used your momentum to hurl him over a railing. Your muscles burned, tears welled in your eyes from pain and fear, but you kept going. You had to.

You reached a grand hallway with a towering exit, only to stop short, your boots skidding on polished marble. A flood of soldiers waited at the main entrance, their weapons ready. Isha gasped softly against your chest, and you tightened your grip. Your heart hammered. You cast about desperately, spotting a staircase winding upward into uncertain heights. Without hesitation, you took it, each step a test of endurance as you carried Isha and fled from overwhelming numbers.

Outside the tower, chaos was brewing. Caitlyn, flanked by her enforcers, stood at the main gates, demanding entry. Her posture was rigid with determination, her face set in grim lines of fury. She barked orders, her voice echoing over the crowd, insisting they let her inside. Jinx was beside her, eyes ablaze with wrath and worry, a small throng of Zaunites behind her shouting insults at the guards. Sparks of tension danced in the air. The crowd hissed and spat, voices raised, fists waving. They wanted you back—every faction, every loyalty aligned for one cause.

Inside, a muffled explosion rocked the mid-section of the tower, sending a tremor through the ground. The enforcers at the gate hesitated, fear slipping into their eyes. They rushed back inside to respond to the new threat, leaving Caitlyn and Jinx on the verge of a confrontation with no one to stop them. The pair shared a look—dread and hope mingled. This was their chance.

You climbed higher, a frantic rhythm of footfalls. Bullets whizzed past, pinging off railings and walls. You threw open a door at the top, stumbling onto a broad balcony. The setting sun bathed Piltover in a golden haze. The city spread below like a jeweled tapestry. But you were cornered now. The soldiers massed behind you, rifles raised, their barrels gleaming. Isha whimpered softly in your arms, and your heart cracked. You tried to gauge your escape, your eyes drifting down toward the bay below. A dizzying drop. If you jumped, what then?

You glanced over your shoulder at the lines of soldiers. Mel parted them like a queen crossing a courtyard. She stepped forward, chin high, eyes bright with twisted pleasure. “This is it,” she said, voice cool as wind. “Surrender now, come with me. I can make it easy for you.” She paused, a hint of a sneer curling her lips. “Or refuse, and I’ll ensure Jinx and Caitlyn suffer. I’ll make them pay for your defiance. I’ll rip Isha from their arms, and you’ll watch, helpless.”

Your heart pounded, rage swelled. You bared your teeth, eyes blazing violet. “You can burn in hell,” you spat. “I’d rather die a thousand times than be your pawn. You have no idea what I’ve endured. You can’t break me.”

Below, in the gathering dusk, Jinx and Caitlyn had finally pushed their way into view of the towering structure. A crowd had formed, gasping at the scene above. Caitlyn spotted you first, high above them on the balcony, soldiers pressing in. Jinx saw Isha’s small form clinging to you. Panic gripped them both. Jinx screamed your name, voice ragged, and Caitlyn slapped a hand over her own mouth, tears streaming silently. They were too far away, too powerless, forced to watch as fate played out.

You glanced down at the crowded streets, saw the horrified faces. You looked at Isha in your arms, her big eyes filled with trust and fear. You felt Caitlyn’s soul from afar, and Jinx’s fierce love, pressing against your heart like an anchor. You whispered softly, voice cracking with tears, “I love you—I love you all.” Time slowed, and the world narrowed to a single choice.

The soldiers cocked their rifles. You snarled and turned, your muscles coiling. In slow motion, your body moved. A foot on the railing. A leap into empty air. Isha clung to your chest, her small arms locked around your neck, eyes squeezed shut. You twisted midair, determined to shield her from the impact as much as you could. A shot rang out, a soldier panicking, pulling the trigger. Mel shouted, “Don’t fire!” too late. The bullet hissed through the air, but you had already committed to your fall. The city’s roar muffled, replaced by the wind’s howl as you plummeted thirty stories down toward the bay.

Caitlyn and Jinx screamed, voices tearing from their throats. Caitlyn’s knees buckled and she sagged against a post. Jinx’s eyes were wild, tears coursing down her cheeks. The crowd below watched in dread, some crying out. In that eternal second, your body spun gracefully in the air, the shimmer in your blood igniting in a flash of purple radiance. But you could not fly. Gravity was merciless.

Your back slammed into the water of the bay like hitting concrete. The spray fanned out in a shimmering arc. Thirty stories, three hundred feet, a fall that no one should survive. Your figure vanished beneath the waves, Isha clutched to your chest.

Above, on the balcony, Mel stared down in shock and fury. The soldiers parted nervously, some looking unsure. Below, Jinx howled like an animal wounded beyond reason, and Caitlyn pressed her trembling hand over her mouth to stifle desperate sobs. The crowd murmured prayers and curses. The day dimmed as if the sun itself mourned, casting long shadows over a city that had just witnessed something terrible and perhaps final.

In that final image, as the ripples in the bay spread outward, everyone held their breath. The world paused, uncertain and grieving, as the sky darkened, and no one knew if you would ever surface again.

Sevika and Ekko skidded to a halt on the wet stone ramp by the bay, breathless and desperate. The salt spray and smell of rusted metal clung to the air, the water’s surface still rippling from the impact just moments before. Even before Ekko could reach the edge, Vi had already plunged in, the sound of her body hitting the water echoing in all their ears. Ekko followed without a second thought, his own heart pounding as he dove beneath the choppy surface.

A tense silence stretched, then Ekko emerged, coughing and sputtering, but victorious. He cradled Isha against his chest, the little girl choking on mouthfuls of water. Sevika rushed to them, her mechanical arm hissing softly as she eased Isha from Ekko’s trembling grip. She turned Isha on her side, patting her back firmly, coaxing the child to spit out the brine and breathe. Isha’s eyes fluttered, her small body shivering, but alive.

Moments later, Vi surfaced, her short hair plastered to her skull, eyes wide and frantic. In her arms, limp and pale, was your body. Ekko’s relief soured into dread at the look in Vi’s eyes—there was no spark of hope, only grim determination. She hauled you onto the ramp, water dripping from every seam of your clothes, your limbs hanging slack. A dark, ruddy stain spread across your back, and it didn’t take a doctor’s eye to see it was a bullet wound.

On the upper walkway, a contingent of Caitlyn’s enforcers and Zaunites alike watched with silent dread. Some moved aside involuntarily as they saw your lifeless form laid on the cold, wet ground. When Caitlyn and Jinx arrived, Sevika barked an order, “Nobody passes!” The enforcers at first stepped in front of them, out of protocol, but Jinx snarled, and Caitlyn wielded her authority like a blade. Jinx’s purple eyes blazed, and Caitlyn’s voice cut through all objections. “Move,” she said, her voice edged with frantic resolve, and they parted like frightened animals before a predator.

Caitlyn stumbled down the slick stones, pushing past Vi and nearly knocking her aside. She dropped to her knees beside you. The world seemed to slow to a crawl—the muted thunder of the crowd, the distant cries and clanks of Piltover’s machinery fading into a dull hum. She placed her trembling hands over your chest, starting compressions. Water ran in rivulets from her uniform sleeves as she counted under her breath, her hair clinging to her cheeks. You were so still, so pale, the purple hue of your veins dulled to a sickly pallor.

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Come back to me. Please.” Tears blurred her vision as she pressed down rhythmically, her arms shaking with each push. “We need you—we all do,” she whispered, choking on sobs. “Jinx… Jinx loves you, and so do I. Isha needs you, she needs her—” Her voice hitched, and her words came out in a desperate tumble. “We can’t lose you now. Do you hear me? You can’t leave us!”

Jinx hovered just behind Caitlyn, tears carving silent paths down her face. She held Isha, who had awakened just enough to watch with frightened eyes. The child clutched Jinx’s shirt, still too weak to stand on her own. Jinx tried to calm her, tried to be strong, but a whimper escaped her throat. She’d never looked so vulnerable, the hot rage drained from her, replaced by raw anguish.

Vi tried to put a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, to steady her, but Caitlyn shrugged her off violently. “They’re not gone!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Not gone, do you hear me?” She refused to stop the compressions, even as her muscles threatened to give out. Her tears fell onto your cold skin, mixing with the salty water. “Medics!” she screamed, her voice carrying over the hushed crowd. “Where are the medics?!”

At last, the medical team arrived, clambering down with their stretchers and gear. They tried to reach you, to place you on the stretcher, but Caitlyn huddled over you like a lioness guarding her cub. “No, I’ve got this,” she insisted through tears, pressing her ear to your mouth as if hoping to feel the faintest breath. She refused to let them approach, arms flung wide, even as her voice cracked, “I can save them—I can—”

Vi’s arms encircled Caitlyn from behind, pulling her gently but firmly away. Caitlyn fought, sobbing openly now, her cries muffled by Vi’s shoulder. “Don’t take me away,” she wailed, “I can’t leave them.” But Vi’s strength held her steady, tears glistening in her own eyes. “We have to let them help,” Vi whispered, her voice strained, “Please, Caitlyn… please.”

Jinx watched, teeth clenched, her own tears silent now as Isha pressed her small face into Jinx’s neck. The child trembled, clinging to the trinket that had fallen from your pocket. Jinx swayed gently, whispering incoherent comforts to the girl, but her eyes remained fixed on your limp form as the medics finally lifted you onto the stretcher.

The crowd parted, people craning their necks in horrified fascination. Some covered their mouths, others whispered prayers, and still others turned away, unable to bear the sight. The stretcher bearers hoisted you carefully, water still dripping from your clothes, blood seeping through. The medics’ faces were grim and focused, their steps measured in the silence that followed.

As they carried you away, the city seemed to hold its breath. High above, the tower loomed, its silhouette etched against a bruised sky. Below, the watchers—enforcers, Zaunites, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi, Isha—stood suspended in a moment of collective despair. Each step the medics took with your body felt like an unbearable eternity.

Caitlyn, still cradled in Vi’s arms, swallowed hard. She watched the stretcher disappear into the haze of city lights and medics’ lanterns, her heart writhing in her chest. Jinx held Isha tighter, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. The child peeked over Jinx’s shoulder, eyes hauntingly empty, as if understanding too much for one so young.

The world moved in slow motion, every gesture weighed down by sorrow and uncertainty. The echo of your desperate struggle lingered, and the question hung unanswered in the humid Piltover air: would you return to them, or had Mel’s cruelty sealed your fate forever? --------------------------

So, yeah...

I read a post about someone explaining a fic pet peeve where they cant stand how an author can make a book about the main character having so much power, strength and all those things along the lines but makes them so weak and puts them through hell. Like whats the point of making them like that just to make them so small and weak. OKAY? Heros are not someone you can just put in a book and expect them to be this pretty little perfect thing. IMMA PUT THIS MF through some shit. Cause if you follow along and understand the show you already know this damn MAIN CHARACTER is going to go through some shit.

Sigh, it made me upset and hella insecure to keep posting cause damn? just.....keep scrolling? But even if i didnt fall in that, (i did.....LOL) Y/N baby you get no kinds of breaks. I mean you are dating the most dangerous (and insane if i might add) criminal in Zuan and the motherfucking Commandor of the goddamn Piltover Army. What you think I was gonna do? Put you up in the house to cook and clean? Baby this is Arcane! MF you gon see what its about when you fuck around (with jinx and cait) and find out. My case is closed. Thank you for reading. Working on the new chap as we speak. Thank youuuuuuh

#wlw #fanfiction #book #lgbtq #love #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader

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twig-tea · 5 months ago

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East Palace, West Palace in ep5 of Blue Canvas of Youthful Days

I have been punched in the solar plexus by Blue Canvas of Youthful Days episode 5. So much happens in that episode that is overwhelming, from Qi Lu setting up a Netflix-and-chill date with the clear intention of making a move, to his putting on the famous film East Palace, West Palace (1996), to Qi Lu hiding Qin Xiao in the closet, to Qi Lu's panic at his father realizing he's been lied to, to the devastatingly practiced way Teacher Liu steps to Qi Lu being abused and handles his father, to the way Qi Lu shuts down, to the way QIn Xiao keeps sending mixed signals and Qi Lu calls him on it directly. And nobody else in this episode let me rest either; Tan Fan trying to ask Teacher Liu to wait for him and Liu brushing him off AGAIN, and Turtle trying to call out

@lurkingshan was already more coherent than I can be right now about what happened in the episode in her post.

So instead I want to focus on some queer cinema history that this episode evoked by using East Palace, West Palace as the film that Qi Lu shows to QIn Xiao.

For those who don't know, EPWP is considered to be the first realistic depiction of a gay man in film by a mainland Chinese production. It is to my knowledge the first time a gay man says "I love you" to another man on screen. It was made before being gay was decriminalized in China (1997), and it was filmed by an independent production company and smuggled out of China to France in order to be finished and distributed. It ended up at the Cannes festival in 1997, but the director's passport was seized and he was placed under house arrest to prevent him from attending. Despite pressure to pull the film, it still aired that year. In 1998, the Film Law was passed to prevent anyone from making films outside of the studio system (and therefore censorship review), effectively preventing anything like EPWP from being made in the future.

The film is about a gay man who cruises in the notorious bathrooms in the parks on either side of Tiananmen Square getting harassed by police officers (a situation extremely familiar to the historical queer experience in Canada [where I'm from] as well) and playing what I'd describe as a psychological game with one of them; A Lan kisses the cop, runs, and then gets caught a second time, and uses the second police confession as an excuse to tell his life's story in the public record, all while pushing the police officer a little further into deviance. As far as I'm aware, this film has been banned in China since being made and never shown (please correct me if I'm wrong about that!).

This is hitting me hard because of the much more recent history of Blue Canvas of Youthful Days itself. As most of you know, but I'll capture here for posterity, episodes 1-4 of this show aired on iQIYI (a China-based app) on August 6, and within 24 hours they were pulled from the app with no information about the future episodes being shown. When I watched episode 5 today, after waiting for it for 3 months, I was immediately hit with a wave of anger that this gorgeous, emotionally moving and powerful episode had been held back from public consumption for months, for the same reasons that the film being shown within the episode had been withheld from viewing in its own country.

Censorship is such an ugly thing, it's hard to articulate but the emotions around it are so strong because we know, when they pull or refuse to show media that depicts our lives, it's because they don't want our lives to be real; they don't want us to exist. It's a very real threat. And to have this episode--which is all about an abused boy who is in very real danger but so bravely insisting that he shoot his shot and take his best chance at love and happiness anyway, using the iconic confession scene from one of the most famous banned films in Chinese queer cinema history to do it--to have this episode be the one that was prevented from airing......I am overwhelmed.

In the scenes they watch in episode 5, A Lan tries to prevent the officer from uncuffing him, and then the officer lets him go, but A Lan doesn't go far and comes back. He declares his love to the officer's face, and demands that his love be acknowledged and not dismissed. And the officer does not know what to do with it and reacts with violence, which is partially what A Lan has been angling at all along. The show really played with this by having all three of the couples in the show stymied by having their overtures dismissed this episode, but we almost didn't get to see it.

I'm so grateful this got distribution now, and on multiple platforms. Blue Canvas of Youthful Days is airing Saturdays and Sundays on GagaOOLala and Youtube (note, as per @thisonelikesaliens's excellent language posts, the subs on Gaga are much better), and on Mondays on Viki. I know there is an avalanche of content right now, but this show is so good and worked so hard to make it to us, please give it some love!

#blue canvas of youthful days #east palace west palace (1996)#typed so that i can stop thinking it #queer history

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thewitchblue · 4 months ago

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Cass found you healing. There was something about you that healed a part of her that nobody else ever could. Maybe it was her mummy issues, or maybe it was genuinely your loving personality; either way, it didn't matter. You were soothing and patient with her. You even taught her how to speak, read, and write.

She came to the startling realisation she loved you at her family Christmas gathering. You weren't just a friend. You had stopped being a friend in her mind long ago, but she never addressed those feelings. It was safer to keep it all bottled up. She would come back to it another day, like rejecting a phone update until it finally automatically updates. She'll deal with it eventually.

Well, eventually happened.

It started when Steph and Babs both made a joke about the two of you being a lesbian couple. Cass and you both froze in place. Neither of you knew what to do, but your gay panic barrelled through you like a gun to your head.

You had quickly signed something Cass couldn't catch to Steph, who paled and also began to slightly panic. What started as an innocent joke suddenly became a massive plot twist between the two.

Steph. Was. Mortified. She would later brag she is the reason you two got together and that she saw it all along (falsely, as well), but that moment had her horrified. She did not anticipate that she would ever have to deal with this being a possibility. Girls are always close. Why would you two be any different?

She had to wheel Babs far, far away, and have a panicked conversation, which Helena joined in as well with wide eyes.

Barbara was on the gay train immediately and was coming up with plans and bouncing ideas off of the other girls. What do they do? Does Cass know? Is Cass gay? Their heads were spinning. She hadn't considered that any of them could be gay. Well, except Tim, but his relationship with Kon has been so well-established that they don't feel like a gay couple anymore.

Helena "what do you mean she's gay" Wayne was floored. Now she was invested. She needed to study you both before deciding if this was an actual thing yet or not.

The girls all watched you two carefully. Tim joined in quickly as he understood and also became invested. He dragged Kon into it, too, but told him to let the detectives work after Kon complained and told them to leave you two alone.

You tried to act oblivious to their obvious growing group staring you both down. Not cool, Steph.

You glared at Steph, who looked away but looked back again once your gaze was back on Cass. Your gaze softened as you looked at Cass. Your sweet, beautiful, best friend. You'd give anything for her.

Cass was incredibly confused, but she was happy. She wanted to cuddle on the coach, and you laughed your agreement. This was the moment she knew she had feelings for you: cuddling on the coach, watching a terrible Christmas movie, and having hushed conversations with you. You both had content smiles on your faces.

She had blushed hard when you kissed her forehead, but she looked at you like Cupid just hit her with an arrow, and you looked at her like she held your heart in her hands.

The girls (plus Tim and an uninterested Kon) needed to strike. How? Mistletoe? There was no guarantee you wouldn't cop-out and kiss her cheek. They didn't know. They asked Tim how he managed to date Kon, and he shrugged,

"I decided we're dating one day, and then we started dating. I suspect M'gann did something, but I don't know."

Kon shook his head, but he didn't know either, so he let Tim's explanation go by without comment. Tim gave a thoughtful expression. He didn't know what they should do. Kon said plainly,

"We could tell Jason to force them to kiss."

Jason narrowed his eyes at the group. He heard his name amongst the growing group of siblings despite being on the other side of the room.

"What are you idiots scheming?"

He actively had to walk past you and Cass to join the group, but as he passed, he, too, noticed the cuddling duo. He stared for a moment before you tell him to fuck off and he heads back to his scheming siblings.

"We're trying to get these two together. Can you help us?"

Jason crossed his arms while casting his gaze back to you both. He took note how at peace Cass seemed in your arms. She seemed serene and the way she looked at you... Well, it looks like she's in love.

Jason gave a resigned sigh. Even he can see the clear love and devotion.

"What do you need me to do?"

He tried to look disgruntled, but he couldn't hide how curious he was. He watched his siblings carefully. What are they thinking?

"It's not a good idea. Kon wanted to make you force them to kiss. He doesn't trust his superstrength."

Kon shrugged. He's not the brains when it comes to human interactions. Tim and him are both awkward and he struggles with what's normal still.

They watched Cass giggle as you rolled her on top of you for her to sleep. You smiled fondly and gave her a quick forehead kiss. She blushed with a grin on her face. Friends kiss, right? You run your hands along her back and whisper to her,

"I got you."

The evening was surprisingly quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Your eyes landed on the group gathering and narrowed in suspicion. Almost everyone was gathered now and whispering with quick glances your way.

Cass felt so at ease. It was like her heart beat your name. She did consider that you might be more than a friend, but she didn't know how you felt. Sure, you kissed her and cuddled her whenever she asked and you were always respectful by asking before touching her, but you were so close that it makes sense how you'd act. She said in a small voice,

"I have a question."

She took a deep breath to steady her voice, burying her face in your neck. She doesn't want to see your face when you end the friendship.

"Are we... more than friends?"

The silence she received concerned her. She pulled away and looked at you anxiously. After another pause, you asked,

"Would you want to be more than friends?"

Cass nodded. She isn't sure she'd ever survive without your soft forehead kisses and cuddling feels so right. You smiled at her and said in a cheeky tone,

"I guess we're dating then, Miss Cain."

Cass immediately kissed you. You were her salvation and her inner peace. It felt amazing to kiss you like girlfriends. It felt like she could fully relax now that the uncertainty was removed.

The kiss was long and full of love. It spoke all the words she never said and all the pining you both had for each other.

When you pulled back, you both giggled. Your hushed confession of love was for only her ears, but that didn't stop the rest of them trying to listen.

Cass was equally quiet as she whispered to you,

"I love you. You're my saviour."

You kissed her again and raised your middle finger to the group you knew were watching. You love this woman with everything in your heart.

Dick had no clue. He came out from the kitchen with Alfred and both men stopped as they saw the scene. You and Cass kissing, a large group trying (and failing) to pretend they aren't watching. You gave them the middle finger after a while of staring and a couple of photos taken.

Alfred looked relieved, but Dick felt betrayed. Cass never told him she's gay. He's the first one everyone goes to for their problems and secrets. He knew Tim was bisexual long before everybody else, he knows Jason reads fanfiction (he snooped on his phone and found Wattpad downloaded), he knows Damian has hidden a pet fox in his room, he knows everything about everyone except Cass. Cass never went to him, and she rarely caused trouble (that she gets caught doing). Why didn't she want to tell him she's gay? Did she not know until you?

Bruce came down the stairs and also took in the scene. He had a feeling he had more gay kids. He wasn't sure who it was, but it makes sense that it would be Cass. She kept all her cards to her chest, only revealing things as needed. He should have seen it sooner.

Neither of you cared what the family thought. It was only putting a label on mutual feelings that were ignored for far too long.

#lesbian #cassandra cain x fem reader #fem!reader #x reader #batfam x reader

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littlecrow4 · 8 months ago

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His ass is not looking at Stan’s hair

I like sending Fidds into gay panics and it’s hitting hard rn get it “hard” hahaha I’ll leave

This is the first time I’ve drawn Stan’s body type pls be nice 🙏🏻😣 also some tips would be appreciated if it doesn’t look good

Caption that I didn’t feel like adding

Stan: I should probably cut it huh?

Fiddleford: No.. I like it

“Don’t get a boner Don’t get a boner dontgetabonerdontgetaboner”: Fiddleford probably

#my art #gravity falls #fiddleford x stan #stan x fiddleford #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #FiddleStan #stan pines #stanley pines #mullet Stan #the gay panic is strong with fiddleford #Nehehe #book of bill #the book of bill #oh my god fidds could you be anymore obvious 🙄#he fails his monologue btw #pls be nice it’s my first time drawing a chubby body

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stuckasmain · 1 year ago

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Hal’s deactivation is hard hitting across both the movie and the book. It’s been dissected a million times and likely more in the future. Most recently in the way of Hal having little agency…he has no arms to ward off his attacker or means of defense (but I’d argue killing Frank and the others was his defense, especially in the movie when his reasoning is more ambiguous). I do love the idea this is following and hope to see more of it in the future, however the way I’m approaching it is with a more romantic lense.

The entire lobotomy sequence is heart wrenching and almost worse in the novel purely because we get to see Dave’s thoughts on it. Not only do we hear Hal’s frightened pleas for his life but we get the ‘attacker’ perspective and it’s… an act of mercy.

While there is the themes of survival and violence this is approached with a softer touch. It’s much more that he is putting Hal out of his misery. Ending his suffering. Not putting him down like an animal but rather the harsh decision faced when one has an ill/dying lover.

“The only answer was to cut out the higher centers of this sick but brilliant brain, and to leave the purely automatic regulating systems in operation” 155

After the job is done Dave forgives Hal incredibly quickly once all of the facts are in. He can quickly pull together the mental break that must’ve happened and recognizes that Hal had the very human ‘fight or flight’ response to what he had been through. He had always been treated like a sixth crew member, respected and talked to like anyone else but it is only “post Mortem” that Dave recognizes how human Hal was and that true emotion might be more than theorizing.

“And yet, in one very real sense, he was not alone. Before he could be safe, be must be lonelier still.” 153

The fact that Dave genuinely sees Hal as his last true connection. Even after the murders. How he fights and forgives and comes up with excuses to not have to go through with the enviable because then will he be truly alone… but he also knows logically- Hal isn’t right and can’t be left active. Despite his feelings safety and protocol come first.

Hal is human in Dave’s eyes and it makes things all the more tragic, it’s what turns shutting off functions into lobotomy, into murder. He thinks he won’t feel pain, not because he’s machine but because there’s no sense in the human cortex. So human that his “true” voice is unrecognizable and horrifying.

“Bowman could bare no more. He jerked out the last unit, and Hal was silent forever.” 157

It’s not rage which he makes the final blow, it’s sorrow. It’s pulling the plug.

Some of Hal’s lines in the book particularly, as we get more insight into him as well and some of his pleading. His honest to god confusion and panic because he’s so young and has no idea of sleep and …

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me. . . You are destroying my mind. . . Don’t you understand? I will become childish. . . I will be nothing. . .” 156

I don’t know, I’m becoming borderline incoherent but there’s something here that’s so tender and sorrowful that I have to address it. I’m a sucker for the violence = intimacy metaphor just as anyone but the unwitting murderer is also an angle I have to adore.

Maybe in another life Hal got to be a little gay Victorian with someone to hold his hand on his sick bed rather than be murdered. I just think he deserves better; they both do.

Computer death sad -> he should be fed soup

This is when you know you should go to bed.

#sorry that it’s a bit disconjointed - it glitched during the initial draft and half my wording and idea were lost #hal 9000 #meta #2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso #space odyssey #dave bowman #david bowman #metaphor #science fiction #halman #scene analysis #ramble #a space odyssey #2001 meta

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chaosandwolves · 1 year ago

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Ok ok ok

How about

Buck gets a little too invested and crashes into Eddie somehow on the basketball court

they fall down, Buck lands on Eddie who hits the ground pretty hard and Buck looks at him and goes

✨ gay panic ✨

and runs off

Thus the scene in the loft

Eddie is scolding him

Like... Wtf... We talk about things, don't just fucking take off, I'm not mad at you

We're ok

And then there is this moment where they just look at each other and just....

Tommy sees it all on the court and is like... Omg WOW

Later he talks to Buck and is like...

You know you're in love with your best friend, right?

And that he is in love with you... You know that, right?

And Buck goes:

✨ gay panic 2.0 ✨

#Buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #911 spoilers #911 abc #Look #I'm just having fun here #But imagine #Omg

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ocean-blue-orchids · 6 months ago

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Pocky Panic pt 2!

This is a continuation of the “what if Yuu introduced the pocky game to NRC and it caught like wildfire” prompt from @the-fab-fox ! I took some of the pairings he suggested and wrote some of them! And snuck my own oc in too because :3 I can :3

Gay chicken and tooth rotting fluff ahead‼️

Pairings are: Trey x Vil, Riddle x Floyd (this one has a short drabble too!), Azul x Cater, Jade x Ruggie x Jamil, Leona x Silver, n2squad (aka Jamil x Leona x Vil, named and basically created by @mellosdrawings), Jade x Finn x Trey (Finn being @the-fab-fox’s oc, hope I did him justice!), and Wiro x Sebek (Wiro being my own silly little guy oc bebo)

This is all mostly off the top of my head and absolutely not beta read lol. I hope people enjoy!

Trey x Vil

-going back to the “vil wont participate because of the sugar content in Pocky” thing…we know Trey has baked healthier sweets for Vil before and by GOD does he have some extra motivation to do it now

-A giant variety all in Vil’s favorite flavors (which based on his favorite food of smoothies, is probably fruity flavors), and he bundles them up in a bag and puts a nutrition label on it and Trey you aren’t beating the mom friend allegations ever

-But yes this does indeed work and Vil has to try to keep cool and act like this very romantic act that’s tailored directly to him doesn’t make him want to giggle into a pillow like a teenage girl.

-That’s hard to do when he’s also like an inch from Trey’s face but. Well. It’s fine he’s fine

Riddle x Floyd pt 2 eelectric boogalo aka “Candi somehow convinces themselves to super ship FloRid after years of not really caring for the ship just by writing some fluff”

-Hm yeah I can say more on this topic. Because Riddle could literally collar Floyd and he would STILL be begging to play this with him

-I mean, it’s Goldfishie! Every reaction Riddle has is like Floyd’s favorite personal react channel. He needs to see how this would go

-But after being collared twice and almost getting hit by a flying cauldron once (thanks Deuce) he is completely lost for ideas

-He complains about this during a basketball club meeting…and maybe Ace is annoyed with Riddle for one reason or another, and he mentions the fact that rule #267 is that any new sweets that are to be presented at an unbirthday party must be thoroughly taste tested by the Queen first!

-And there’s a taste testing day coming up soon…

-Cut to Floyd baking up a STORM in the Mostro Lounge kitchen (which Azul is typically fine with, since he gets to add new things to the menu). Floyd gets the hang of making pocky pretty fast and bakes a bunch. And then maybe he breaks into Heartslaybul to plant the pocky in with the other sweets. And then also he hides in the room with the sweets overnight

-I mean he is an ambush predator so-

-And woagh! The plan works and now Riddle is shouting because Floyd jumpscared him when he went to inspect the pile of sweets

-oh my god I’m writing a snippet AGAIN? Man we’re only two ships in but the voices. The voices!!!

—————

Riddle instinctively tossed the first thing in his hands at the intruder-a frosted sugar cookie. Floyd caught it in his mouth with minimal effort.

“Mmh. Dish ish good stuff, Goldfishie~”

Riddle’s face moved on from pale shock into a pinkish red as he realized who he was dealing with. He should have expected this-who else would bury themselves in the Heartslaybul pantry like some sort of raccoon?!

“But not as good as your face right now~! Man, you really should get a portable mirror, you’re missing out on yourself.”

“This is absolutely UNACCEPTABLE! I know you like to cause chaos, Floyd, but this is a new level of ridiculousness! When I tell Azul that you’ve been snooping around the Heartslaybul pastry storage, he’ll-“

“Eh…why’dya think I’d care if you told ‘zul? Not like he’s my dad or somethin…”

Floyd stood up from where he had been hiding all night, his body making slightly unnatural clicking sounds as he stretched.

“Besides, don’tcha have a bunch of taste testin to do now? Why waste your time yelling at me?”

Riddle’s face was currently at tomato red, working its way up to beet-but he paused to think about what Floyd was saying. He scanned the pile of containers and counted at least fifteen new sweets to taste test…and he had a study session in an hour, and it absolutely wouldn’t do to be late-!

“…you’re right. For once. Now get out of here so I can get to work! You have ten seconds before I collar you and send you back to Azul with your tail between your-or-your legs between…uh…TEN, NINE, EIGHT-“

“Aw, come on!”

“-SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR-“

“I’m here to help youuuu…”

“-THREE, TWO-“

“You can’t follow your rules without my help!”

“-..? What are you talking about?”

“That rule you gotta follow says that you have to give a thorough examination of the sweets.”

Floyd approached Riddle, leaning down slightly to lift a container filled with the sweets that had been the bane of Riddle’s existence for the past week. He shook it slightly for emphasis.

“How did you know about that rule-no, that’s not important. There’s nothing about those dreadful fad sweets that I need your help with.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t think you gotta put it through a pocky game stress test? Seems pretty neglectful of you to ignore that…”

Riddle took a moment to run that absolutely insane logic through his head…and the conclusion he came to made him let out a small huff. He snatched the container out of Floyd’s hand, opened it, and took out a pocky, pointing it at the eel.

“Very well. Your logic is…somewhat sound. And I’m on a time crunch as is. So you get one. Game.”

Floyd’s eyes widened like a dog being shown a new treat. He grinned, his face now a mix of sinister satisfaction and childish glee.

“Yaaaay~! Ok, ok, Floydie’s going first!

He eagerly leaned down slightly and bit his end of the pocky. It was raspberry flavored, and sure enough it was delicious. The ball was now in Riddle’s court.

Riddle was glad he was in his dorm uniform, his heels gave him the hight to reach his end of the pocky.

It’s just some candy. Just a silly little game.

Riddle bit down, not looking at Floyd-who was keenly looking at Riddle’s face.

Floyd took a surprisingly small bite. They weren’t too close now…maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Riddle took a similarly small bite.

Then Floyd followed by halving the length of the treat-Riddle was so close that he could swear he had heard a second pair of teeth crunch down on it.

For once, his face was turning red for a different reason.

Floyd grinned, almost giggling like a child at the sight.

Two more bites later, and the pair were almost out of pocky. Riddle looked at the pocky, then at Floyd. That was a mistake-Floyd was still looking right at him! The eye contact startled him and kept his face matching the pink hue of the pocky in their mouths.

Riddle had never willingly been this close to Floyd, and any time he had gotten this close before, he would quickly blast Floyd away. But now that he was so close…

Had Floyd always looked at him so intensely?

If Riddle didn’t know better, he could almost see a look of admiration on Floyd’s face.

No, no. That’s silly. It’s just entertainment. Maybe…this could still work out in Riddle’s favor. Floyd was just a childish eel, after all, and the best way to handle him would be just giving him the funny experience he wanted so bad. Just a peck on the lips, and he would probably finally get bored and move on to pestering someone else.

Riddle bit down on the last section of pocky. If Floyd didn’t chicken out, which was unlikely, the next bite would be a collision. Their lips were so close, he was surprised they weren’t already touching. It almost felt like they were.

Floyd wasted almost no time once the ball was in his court. He snatched up the last bit of pocky, and kissed Riddle.

It was an awkward kiss, their lips adjusting from holding the candy to a proper peck on the lips. It didn’t help that both of their eyes were open. Despite the butterflies in his stomach (which he was willfully ignoring), Riddle hoped this would be over soon so that Floyd stopped looking at him with that dumb look on his face.

That stupid smile totally screamed “haha, I won!”, didn’t it?

And the way he was leaning forward was clearly to try and knock Riddle off of his balance since he was already feeling lightheaded-which was only because of the strange situation, of course!

And the look in Floyd’s eyes…

Was…

The look in Floyd’s eyes was one that Riddle hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of before. He had thought he had seen the look once or twice, but whenever he saw it, it swiftly disappeared. Now he finally had a chance to see that Floyd was looking at him with…

No, it couldn’t be. Floyd couldn’t be looking at him with adoration. That had to be wrong-this was just him playing a little game with his favorite toy! So he should look like he’s proud of himself, or he should have that dumb sweet face he makes when he’s just told a funny joke, or-

The kiss was over now. Floyd had ended it, to Riddle’s surprise.

But Floyd didn’t move far away. He just…kept looking at Riddle. Scanning his whole face with that same strange expression, as if Riddle’s face were a precious gemstone glittering and reflecting onto Floyd.

His eyes were fixed on Riddle.

Floyd was always calling Riddle “entertaining”. Riddle was accustomed to taking that as yet another insult from someone who viewed him as nothing more than a passing interest. He was entertaining in the same way a cheap toy was. That had to be it.

But Floyd wasn’t looking at him like a toy.

He was looking at him like the sun.

He wanted to see that look more.

He wanted to…do that more.

So he did.

This time Floyd’s expression had a hint of surprise on it-that quickly melted into elation as he wrapped an arm around Riddle to support the second kiss.

——————

HAHA WHOOPS THAT GOT OUT OF HAND UHHH NEXT COUPLE QUICK GO GO GO G

Azul x Cater

-See…these two are idiots

-They’re talking about the game all the time. After all, they both watch trends as a part of the their passions; Azul keeps the lounge updated with themed foods, Cater’s posts stay on trend.

-So of course Azul comes to Cater to talk about the new trend and scheme I MEAN…plan out some new business ventures

-And despite these two being all happy and cute and down bad for each other I firmly believe neither has the romantic confidence to ask the other to play the game with them

-So naturally Jade and Floyd see this happening while Cater and Azul talk in the lounge and their solution is to quietly shut down the lounge for the night, dim the lights, serve up the food Cater ordered and the pocky special…and lock all of the exit doors (Jade pickpocketed Azul’s master key)

-They send Azul a text letting him know he’s not leaving their romantic setup until he mer-mans up and plays with Cater

-Pucker up fish boy (Cater tries to play it cool when Azul asks to play with him especially because Azul is trying to sound suave and completely failing-Cater can tell when he’s nervous by now)

-Something something shalalala don’t be scared

Jade x Ruggie x Jamil

-And if I said that this instantly becomes a “who can spoil Ruggie the most” competition

-His tail WAGS. When you give him SWEETS

-This is an almost everyday thing for Jade and Jamil, trying to beat the other to the punch on playing the game with Ruggie

-One time Jade finds an excuse to be at the Savanaclaw dorm at the crack of dawn to gift Ruggie more pocky and play with him (Leona sees this and thinks it’s pathetic-)

-Meanwhile Jamil is using that hypothetical excess stock from Kalim’s overbuying to try and one up Jade on quantity

-Competitions like this are probably a form of flirting for Jade and Jamil. Which means eventually one of their play arguments ends when Ruggie lifts a pocky stick in between them

-They mellow out a little bit after that. Only a little though

Leona x Silver

-honestly these two kinda stumped me at first but then I locked in and opened my mind fr

-Neither of them seem very keen to follow trends, they seem like a couple that goes on casual dates and often naps together

-But I’m sure that Lillia keeps his son updated on trends, and Leona has head or it by association with seeing his underclassmen doing it

-So I think that perhaps on one of their sleepy dates, Silver jumps into Leona’s dream as may be the usual for them by now

-And perhaps the ever so cool Leona is actually having a dream about playing the pocky game with his darling. Little lovesick lion

-So of course Silver does a quick change with his dream self and enjoys the game with Leona in his dream

-It’s so enjoyable that he goes out to get some pocky for them to play with in real life, and he swears he heard some purring when he gave the box to Leona

————

Ok and now for some self indulgent ocs and also n2 squad aka: “man I hope I get these dynamics right”

————

N2Squad (Jamil x Leona x Vil)

-Ok what if I said that this happens during the early “Jamil is feeling a little awkward around the pre established LeoVil couple” period in the relationship

-Kalim won’t shut up about the trend and Jamil has half a mind to offer to do it with Leona and Vil but what if it turns awkward? Any good planner thinks of all of the possible outcomes and all Jamil can think of are the worst, most embarrassing situations possible

-So when trend setter (and trend watcher) Vil comes over to Jamil and Leona with the pocky Jamil is extremely relieved that he didn’t have to make that move. Touched, even. Not that he’d say it.

-However his little reaction, the small widening of eyes that Leona notices and the way he sat up straighter that Vil caught, gives him away. Vil and Leona watch Jamil just as closely as he watches them, Jamil’s just been so preoccupied with his own low self worth to realize it.

-Leona and Vil don’t let onto this though. They play the game as usual, although I imagine they all play in different ways

-Leona intends to end every round with a kiss. He will get a surprising amount of the pocky in his mouth in one bite just to surprise whoever is on the other end with a kiss

-Vil on the other hand does enjoy the feeling of being desired. So if he deliberately bites his end in a way so that every round ends in the other player having to make the move to kiss him…wow, what a coincidence! Leona and Jamil clock this like three rounds in. Jamil still goes for the kiss. Leona starts messing with Vil and trying to stick him with the last move instead and now they’re somehow competing. At the pocky game. Good job boys

-As for Jamil…I don’t want to say “uncharacteristically flustered” but what else do I call it? I mean can you blame him? His boyfriends are cute, and they’re playing a game about kissing each other for sevens sake

-He actively chickens out the first few rounds, although he tries to play it off

-Eventually he cools off enough to beat Leona to the punch and take a big enough bite for them to kiss. It’s hard to tell if Leona is more satisfied about the kiss or about being outplayed. He gets Jamil back right away of course

-And Vil refuses to make the move for a kiss until Leona insinuates that perhaps Vil is the truly flustered one in this scenario, which Vil objects to fervently.

-TLDR they go through quite a few boxes that night, and for what it’s worth, Jamil feels a bit better about his place in the relationship by the end. It’s a start, at least. (Jamil turn around Jamil your boyfriends have more pocky to play with Jamil they’re behind you jAMI-)

Jade x Finn x Trey

-I know I play around with if the characters are dating or not in each of these so to clarify, this is in the cringefail flirting/pining stage of the ot3. Man I hope I got this close to right 🙏

-As the trend spread, it probably hit all three dorms at the same time. Jade was helping Azul develop a new pocky menu, Trey was seeing Adeuce being not subtle in the Heartslaybul lounge, and Finn probably helped Jamil transport all the pocky Kalim bought to a cooler when he saw poor Jamil lugging box after box through the halls

-So it was only a matter of time until someone made a move and of course Jade was the first to think of this

-His plan was likely to offer to play the game during a lunchtime study session in the courtyard. Good atmosphere, it’s lunch so they’re already eating, and most importantly, it would be just the two of them. No green haired competition to get in the way

-Of course Jade couldn’t account for Trey having baked some pocky of his own for Finn to try. How in the hells did he even know where to find them anyway?

-So while Jade and Trey are proooobably lowkey making some passive aggressive (emphasis on the passive, knowing these two) remarks to each other, they’re too focused on that to notice poor Finn’s temporary blue screen

-Pocky game? With Jade AND Trey? Right now??? At the same time????????????

-and I think it would be very funny rom com love triangle shenanigans if the only way the two are able to settle this is by playing the game themselves-whoever chickens out goes second

-At some point during this discussion Finn manages to squeak out an “ok” to the situation

-Watching Trey and Jade play probably doesn’t do anything to help him calm down

-And for what it’s worth Trey and Jade are making wayyyyy too much eye contact to be normal. Calls coming from inside the house you two

-Surprisingly Jade is the one to back out first? It’s…weird. Uncharacteristic of him. But Trey goes first with strawberry pocky

-Finn is probably just as red as the pocky at this point and he’s so obviously flustered as they play…poor Fox probably has to loose the round once Trey gets within an inch of his face. It’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss Trey, I just imagine that he’s probs flustered out of his mind

-Which is why Jade lost on purpose-he wanted to go in for the weakened prey I MEAN UHHH he wanted to swoop in after Trey went

-He uses some lavender pocky he got from the lounge, and he makes small bites at first unlike Trey’s medium ones

-So Finn is actually able to hold his own for a bit, it’s not too overwhelming!

-until Jade goes for a MASSIVE bite in true eel style and ambushes Finn, getting mere centimeters away, close enough to just close the gap by shifting his face

-He grabs Finn by the chin, thumb under his lips…

-…and pushes the sliver of pocky into Finn’s mouth, ending the game

-He didn’t want to be too brash, after all. He’s playing the long game here. So he lets Finn win the round, and makes quite the impression of course

-Oh and if that isn’t the passing period bell! Time to go to class-and Jade has to go to a different one than Finn and Trey, so he’s off~!

-Trey may have been a touch outwitted but he does get to walk a flustered Finn to class, and he gets to leave his baked goods in Finn’s bag (he slipped them in before they started walking)

-Poor Finn probably looks like a ghost when he gets back to the dormitory-Kalim probably asks if he needs to see the nurse

Wiro x Sebek

-Ok this is self indulgent lol I couldn’t help myself. I did restrain myself from doing the entire freshman polycule, that is my version of restraint

-But assuming Wiro and Sebek are still stubbornly fighting over dorm pride…there’s honestly no way they don’t end up playing this game of gay chicken

-Every argument they have is a game of gay chicken anyways so uhhhh what’s the difference lmao

-They do this during some meeting after school, treating it like it’s a duel when they’re literally playing a kissing game

-They do keep chickening out of it an equal amount, because who would want to kiss their enemy??!! Duh!!!!

-Until they’re at Sebek 6 Wiro 5 and Wiro can’t afford to loose the round

-Octavinelle dignity is on the line!!!!! He’s gotta do something!

-But no matter how close he gets and how warm Sebek’s face gets, Sebek isn’t backing down to Wiro’s frustration

-But Wiro isn’t planning to back down either…even as they get closer, and closer…

-And eventually he moves in for what could be best described as a collision

-It’s not exactly the most romantic kiss but it certainly leaves the two stunned for a moment

-And then they agree that it’s a tie

-Guess they’ll just

-Have to have a rematch

-Of course. That’s only logical

-(If the music club sees Wiro suddenly writing love songs for the club, no they DONT)

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