#nothing is even happening !! nothing to prompt this

[smitten-miqitten]

Post-Veilguard Solavellan and Rook headcanons:

Because Lavellan is directly in the Fade with no Veil to separate her from it, it becomes a (relatively) simple matter for Solas to reconnect her to the lost immortality of the Elves. It only works while she's physically present in the Fade however, and at first he has to function as a go-between until that connection is strong enough on its own(like an unused muscle).

Lavellan no longer NEEDS food or drink as a result but being without it is extremely uncomfortable. Feeling like you're starving constantly sucks, even if it might not kill you.

This is fine though, because Rook teams up with Dorian to make a plan. The Sending Crystal Dorian gave Lavellan is infamously always on her person, so can act as a beacon to her location. Dorian gets things sent to the Lighthouse, and Rook facilitates the delivery of the goods via helpful spirits with the Sending Crystal being their guide.

Rook works with Archon Dorian Pavus to crush any black market slave trading that they uncover. The Lighthouse is used to ferry the freed people to safety, as it was in the past.

Rook becomes the new master of the Lighthouse. They end up getting a Sending Crystal pair of their own to share with Solas, and he and they collaborate on things as needed. It's an odd friendship. Bitch to bitch communication. It's scathing but heartfelt. They both know he needs a buddy.

Eventually Rook also is reconnected enough to the Fade to the point they also stop aging, but anytime they enter Thedas proper it resumes for the duration they are there. As a result, they will likely either eventually die like normal, or choose to work via proxies while remaining in the Lighthouse physically.

Lavellan and Solas, wherever their vague-ass destination actually is, end up creating a fairly comfortable home despite how 'terrible' wherever they're at is supposed to be.

Cole warns her when Dorian is about to pass away of age, and she says her heartwrenching farewells in his final dream. Dorian wills his Sending Crystal to Rook, with the stipulation that Rook find Lavellan someone equally charming to chat with so she doesn't lose her connection to the real world. It's...a tall order 😔 Dorian is no less dear to Lavellan than Mythal was to Solas, for perspective.

As the one who accompanied the Dread Wolf into exile, Lavellan becomes a mythological figure amongst the few Dalish who still keep to some of their ways, more or less against her will. Her name, Ellenere, means nothing in Elvish originally but becomes the name of the goddess who serves as the heart and guide that endears The People to the trickster Fen'Harel. Statues of a female wolf are placed outside of camps next to those of Fen'Harel, so that she will placate him and he will not trouble the clan. She and he guard or stalk the dreams of the world... depending on the story.

Clan Lavellan is an awkward guest at the Arlathvhen because of their former-First's new deific status. Members of the clan also no longer choose to receive Vallaslin as adults.

In the far, far future Solas and Lavellan have children. This follows the spinning of myths by the Dalish that claimed they already had, which flustered Lavellan greatly and prompted a conversation about whether such a thing would even be possible, let alone advisable. Being born in the Fade, these children do not lack the connection their cousins in Thedas would and are therefore immortal like their parents, at least until they leave it (they do).

Solas and Lavellan fuck like...a lot. There are Dalish myths about that too, eventually 😂 Like when a thunderstorm is happening, they're being too rowdy. The person who started these myths may or may not be The Iron Bull.

[shares-a-vest]

'Steve Harrington – Actual Babysitter?' (Drabble Prompt: Fluff)

Eddie walks into Family Video expecting to find Steve lolling on his swivel chair behind the counter and flipping through a magazine instead of doing... Well, whatever actually is written on that clipboard Robin is typically flapping about for fear of the wrath of Keith.

But Robin isn't in today and the store is quiet. Aka, it's the perfect opportunity for Eddie to come in with Steve's lunch, where they sit together and chat. No, he doesn't bring it every Wednesday like clockwork. And no, he isn't bringing along his own lunch so he can pretend it's a date or anything.

No – definitely nothing like that.

Even if there is some banter that some people (Robin) might describe as flirting.

It's just that he has to take what he can get lately when it comes to his kinda-sorta big, fat, dumb crush on Steve. Especially now that the guy is disappointingly incommunicado on their no-longer Sunday Night pizzas.

Steve insists he isn't dating anyone – and he sure is complaining about that fact enough. But, well...

Eddie does worry.

And he damn near panics at the sight of an empty Family Video. The store is eerily silent too as he steps inside and looks around.

"St – "

"– Oovie!"

Eddie jolts with a yelp as the babbling yell of what could only be the shrill tones of a whole-ass human child reverberates around him.

"Yes, buddy," comes Steve's voice from behind the counter, "Oh – well, maybe not Rambo."

Eddie tip-toes forward and places his hands on the counter before he peers over the edge, where he finds Steve surrounded by the parts of a dismantled VCR. In his lap is indeed a human child, a boy with chestnut brown hair who couldn't be more than two.

He doesn't know all that much about kids, really, but Eddie is pretty certain the little squirt shouldn't be waving around a videotape with such force Steve might get clomped in the head at any moment.

The boy yell-babbles again and Steve swerves away from a side swipe to his beautiful noggin.

"Okay, maybe we shouldn't play with this one," Steve says, gently placing his hand on the tape and giving it a light tug.

The boy squirms, and in doing so makes direct eye contact with Eddie. They both startle, and Eddie thinks if anyone was watching, they might say his eyes look as wide as the kid's staring up at him.

The boy points at Eddie and coos with a big, toothy grin.

"Stee!"

"Can you stop –" Steve grumbles, cutting himself off as the boy begins to tilt them sideways. He looks up and gasps, "Oh!"

Steve scrambles upright with the boy, who makes an (admittedly, adorable) wooshing sound as he is swooped up and bundled into a pair of burly arms that today appear to be bursting out of the confines of a navy blue polo shirt.

Eddie blushes, looking back at the boy in an attempt to regulate his heart rate.

"What's with the baby, Steve?" he says, trying to sound biting rather than flustered as Steve props the kid on his hip like it's second nature.

Steve takes the boy's hand and bounces him a little as he tries to encourage a wave, "You know Angie, my mom's best friend? This is her kid, George."

George finally waves and Steve grins, all proud in a way that makes Eddie's cheeks blush. Shit, he really wasn't prepared for something like this to happen today.

Or maybe like ever, really.

"George," he nods, offering a two-finger salute.

"Angie stopped by and realised she forgot something over at Melvad's," Steve explains, swaying now as George looks around the store, "So I'm taking care of little Georgie for a minute."

Georgie?

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face.

"I s-see," he splutters as he comes up for air.

"And we are fixing VCRs today, aren't we, Georgie?" Georgie tee-hees at that and oh goddamn it, now the little gremlin is trying to get his tiny, pudgy arms around Steve for a hug, "Then we're gonna pick a movie for Sunday Funday."

"Oovie!" Georgie cheers.

Wait.

"You're babysitting on Sundays?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugs before looking down at George with a fond smile, "I kinda like it, y'know?"

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Hi, big fan of your work in the whump community :3

Do you have any prompts/thoughts for one of my favorite phrases: "I thought you were dead" ?

thank you so much!!

dialogue prompts in responses to ❝I thought you were dead.❞

❝I’m not dead, babe. I just ghosted you.❞

❝cheating death is what I do for a living.❞

❝that was weeks ago/months ago. people change.❞

❝not dead. I am Death.❞

❝and it sucked. being on the verge of death. would not recommend.❞

❝that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I literally cannot die.❞

❝no, but you will be if you don’t start running.❞

❝a bullet to the heart can’t kill me. you, out of all people, should have known my heart has already been blackened and dried up a very long time ago.❞

❝surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.❞ (the classic one, I couldn’t not add this.)

❝of course, you did. after all, it was you who tried to kill me.❞

❝darling, you’re going to have to try harder than that.❞

❝this is gonna sound crazy, but I am dead, and apparently I’m assigned to be your guardian angel now.❞

❝you know I’m not actually real, right?❞

❝no, you left me to die. I was just a survivor.❞

❝yeah, yeah, I heard that before.❞

❝I am.❞

❝did you really have so little faith in me?❞

❝me too! another thing we have in common.❞

❝I did, but it turned out death didn’t want me.❞

❝who’s going to look after you if I’m dead?❞

❝I’ll always come back to you.❞

❝dead? it was just a cut on a finger. stop being so dramatic.❞

❝sorry to disappoint.❞

❝boo.❞

❝you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?❞

❝I’m stubborn just like that.❞

❝is it because I disappeared from your life for 20 years?❞

❝why? what happened? why would you think that?❞

❝oh, I am. and so are you. welcome to the land of the dead.❞

❝I’m a ghost, and I need your help.❞

❝I don’t have much time. you have to find my murderer.❞

❝I am. you’re just hallucinating.❞

❝if I am dead and you’re talking to me, doesn’t it mean you’re dead, too?❞

❝I’m not Dead. I’m (insert character’s name).❞

❝I did. I just crawled out of hell.❞

❝hell was boring anyway. so here I am.❞

❝you can’t get rid of me that easily.❞

❝nothing could kill me. not even death.❞

❝you know I’d never leave you.❞

❝God says it’s not my time.❞

❝well, this is awkward.❞

❝oh, I am. I’m here to take you with me.❞

❝did you cry?❞

❝did you mourn?❞

❝oh please, I was gone for less than an hour.❞

❝there’s been a misunderstanding. It wasn’t me who died.❞

❝I understand why you’d think that.❞

❝I can explain.❞

❝I am, and you will be just as dead as I am if you don’t turn around right now.❞

❝you’re not gonna believe what I saw on the other side.❞

❝why? you already replaced me?❞

❝I was hoping so too.❞

❝I really need to stop dying. let me tell you that shit is not fun.❞

❝I’m sorry if my survival is so inconvenient for you.❞

❝I have always been dead.❞

❝I died a long time ago, actually.❞

❝what are you going to do about that? try and kill me again? because it certainly didn’t work the first 6 times. but hey! maybe seventh time’s a charm!❞

❝I fooled you, didn’t I?❞

❝I’m not going anywhere.❞

❝I’m sorry. do I know you?❞

❝it’s a long story.❞

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Reunion - Aftermath

Masterlist

Pairing: Dick Grayson x (f)reader

Tags: slight NSFW, angst, toxic, you cant fix him, smut, grad school, halloween, Dick is the reader's friend's ex's best friend, reunion, oral, penetration, praise, heartbreak, heartbroken reader,

It took some time to get over your initial jealousy after seeing Dick with the girl at the bar. You excused yourself and left your things with your friends, then headed to the bathroom. You held it together surprisingly well, that is until you saw yourself in the mirror and let out a quiet sob.

Damn you. You fell for it again. Visions of that night replayed in your mind. His kind words, the gentleness of his hands on your body, of his lips on your neck, the way his eyes geld yours - it all meant nothing!

You wished you were a like that. Wished you could indulge in intimate activities without being emotionally attached or vulnerable. That you could just have fun and feel nothing the next day.

"Asshole," you cursed under your breath.

Your mascara was smudged at the sides, giving you away despite your attempts to calm your emotions. You ripped a couple of pieces of paper and tried your best to wipe off the tear smudged eyeliner and bring yourself back to normal.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts.

You sniffled, calling out, "Just a minute!" And collected your things.

Opening the door, you questioned if the universe was testing you today because you came face to face with the same girl you had just been mentally cursing. She was pretty, dressed in a simple sweater and skinny jeans, tucked into high leather boots. The outfit slapped. It actually mirrored yours, and you almost laughed at the thought that Dick had a type. Speaking of, he was right behind her, his face nuzzled between her ear and her shoulder as the couple giggled to each other.

His gaze registered you, and then a look of surprise took over his face. His smile dropped, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

You blinked, partly in surprise, partly to clear a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. Swallowing uncomfortably, you moved out of their way, pressing yourself against the wall in the narrow hallway and trying to escape.

"Honey," the girl took you gently by the wrist. You squeezed your eyes shut at hearing her kind voice. "Are you okay-"

"I'm fine, thanks." You rushed without meeting her gaze. Then you made a mistake. As you walked past Dick, your shoulder nudged his - more aggressively than it needed to, for a random stranger passing by.

You knew your evening was positively ruined. To avoid ruining the mood of your fellow interns, you offered them a made-up excuse about a headache and took your bag on your way out.

"Y/n," the last voice you wanted to hear right now called our behind you.

You didn't turn around, instead holding your eyes closed and sniffling quietly under your breath. "Why, god?"

"Y/n," Dick prompted behind you. "What happened?"

"Oh, shut up." You said, stopping yourself too late.

He paused in front of you, leaning back as if ti assess you. "You're mad at me..." He observed.

Too tired to argue, you took out your phone and checked the bus schedule.

"Why are you mad at me?" He asked.

What a stupid question. You glared up at him from your phone. "Dont you have a face to suck on in there?"

A knowing smile spread across his face, and he shook his head. "I see."

"Good for you." You snapped, murmuring to yourself, "Go after her." You said, feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment and began walking towards the bus stop, grasping at your coat as you shivered.

"She can wait." He took you by your hand and turned you to face him, nearly dislocating your shoulder in the process. You tore your arm away, only to be backed up against the wall of the bar, caged in by his frame.

You lifted you chin, challenging him with your red eyed gaze. You sneered, "Aren't you worried she'll see us?"

"Not really." Dick gazed back at you with equal challenge. This close you could smell the mix of his skin with his cologne, a painful reminder of how close you let him get to you. "At least she knows the meaning of 'no-strings-attatched'."

"Oh yeah?" You shot back at him "Well at least -" Your shoulders rose and fell as you searched for a retort, only to come up empty-handed. "At least..."

Giving up, you felt your shoulders sag along with your gaze as you let out another sob you'd been holding back. You sniffled, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

Something in him shifted. The vision of you crying? He never saw that, nor had he wanted to see that again.

He let go of you, feeling his own shame rise in his throat. His voice lowered to an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. That was... uncool. Had i known you would see us... I would never have done anything in front of you."

Shaking your head, you admitted between sniffles, "I wish I was like you."

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I wish I could..." He swallowed. "Not get attached."

"I don't... not get attached -" he attempted half heartedly.

"Please," you rolled your eyes, taking out a napkin to wipe them. "I'm still covering up hickeys you left two days ago -" You pulled down your turtleneck to demonstrate "-and you're already shmoozing with someone new."

"I..." He swallowed thickly, studying to purple marks on your neck. Ones he left there. They had even begun to fade. It was like he branded you. But now that brand was disappearing. That image summoned a possessive flash to course through him.

You noticed his expression shift. Nostrils flared as his breathing begame heavy, and his gaze was scorching, you could almost feel where his eyes looked on your neck.

Quickly, you covered back up, putting some distance between the two of you. You didn't know what that look meant, but you knew you were just going to end up sad again. "I have to go,"

"Wait," he said, you stood, waiting for him to speak. "This isn't right."

"What?"

He ran his hand through his hair, the action causing his leather jacket to lift, revealing the gun and handcuffs on the belt of his jeans. Your eyes narrowed. Was he out on the field today? Was that how he ended up in the bar?

"Damn it, y/n," he let out in a quiet frustration. "I dont like this, you being mad at me. Our night was good. It was fun. I didn't ever wanna see you hurt. Please believe me."

"I believe you." You said, grasping at the strap of your back.

He met your gaze, searching.

"I believe you." Air left your mouth in a cloud as you repeated yourself. And you did. Truly. You didn't think his actions were in any way deliberate to hurt you. That was just... the way he was. "I'll see you around."

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

Yeah... he fucked up.

Not in his decision to have sex with you. That was great.

No, what he fucked up in was not picking up on the clues that you were not the kind of girl who had casual sex. The women he usually slept with were all looking for the same as him. No attachment, no feelings, just a good few rounds.

And you had him convinced. How early you got up and got dressed the next day, ready to leave quickly. You didn't even wake him up. So he'd assumed you two were on the same page.

He assumed wrong.

No, he had you all wrong. Back in sophomore year, you'd always carried yourself with nonchalance. You underreacred where others overreacted. You prefered to listen rather than speak. You always appeared so... conservative of your energy. That's what made seeing you cry for the first time, which is much more shocking. Dick felt like he'd ended years of inner peace.

What was worse is that that night when he brought home the girl from the bar, he'd closed his eyes, imagining he was with you he was in bed with.

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

"Hey, I'm not like a... bad person, right?" He asked out loud, eyes wandering off behind his mask as he finished dragging a perps unconscious body to the corner of the hangar.

"Who cares?" His youngest brother, Damian, spoke into his comm unhelpfully. The kid had just started the eighth grade, and his voice began to drop. Sometimes, when he spoke over comms, Dick found himself asking who that was.

"What?" Jason asked behind his own mask a meter from him, kicking the limp body of another henchman.

"Where's this coming from?" Tim asked over the comm. He was currently on lookout on the warehouse roof. "Also, you got two perps coming into the warehouse - no, hold on, one."

"Copy that." Dick nodded. "And for the record, I care, you heard me, and -" Dick put up a gloved finger as he listed his answers, then shrugged. "Just curious."

"Nightwing," Jason sighed in annoyance. "There is nothing you could do that would make you a bad-"

Another henchmen ran in, just to be knocked out with a single punch from Nightwing.

"-person." Jason finished.

But Dick wasn't so sure.

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The morning rain poured against the gym’s windows as Dick landed another punch against the bag, harder than necessary. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus, on his stance, his core, anything except the remnants of that night that kept slipping into his mind.

The memories were relentless. Flashes of you beneath him, the feel of your skin on his hands, the way your breath hitched when he kissed a path along your collarbone - they crept in despite his efforts to shove them away. The warmth, the breathiness of your voice, the way you looked at him like he was more everything to you. He shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it.

He threw another punch, this time more controlled, as if he could hit the memory right out of himself. But even now, he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach twisted, that irritating rush of excitement mixed with something he didn’t want to name. You’d thrown off his rhythm. All it took was a couple of tears. And he hated it.

Hell, he was Dick Grayson. He was supposed to have his heart compartmentalized by now - no strings, no lingering thoughts. Just one night and done. So why did the thought of you keep pulling at him, driving him back to those damn memories? It wasn’t like him to get distracted. Yet here he was, haunted by the way your lips had felt against his skin, the softness of your touch. Fuck.

A curse slipped from his mouth as he gave the bag one final hit, feeling the pain in his knuckles. He’d have to get over it, right? But no matter how many times he told himself he’d forget you, he knew the way you’d laughed, the way you’d looked at him like he was worth something real, had left its stupid mark.

Yeah, he fucked up.

[chiefdirector]

Predicting - Tim Bradford | The Rookie

"I don't want to talk about it," (Y/N) said, trying to move away from her husband. She was, however, unsuccessful in her attempt as he grabbed her arm. "Let me go, Tim."

He dropped his grip, "Don't you see the correlation? It's blatant. Dyer has made her move."

"I'm aware of that. Doesn't mean I want to talk about it though."

"Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?" She said as her gaze hardened. "Like I don't care, it's because I can't. Not right now. She wants me to care, to play her game; I refuse, Tim. I'm not going to be a pawn anymore."

"So you're going to do nothing?" he asked incredulously, almost in disbelief that he had to ask the question to begin with.

"Exactly." She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tim tried to hide his dumbfounded expression but (Y/N) caught on quickly. "Think about it, babe. Why would she go through all this effort? To taunt me, first.." (Y/N) paused, finally letting her wall of apathy crumble. "First my brother, now she tries to provoke me with this mess."

"So you're not reacting, at all? What makes it worse?"

"That's what I'm counting on." She said before making her way back to her desk, leaving Tim no room to argue.

—

"You were right."

Tim's voice broke the silence surrounding (Y/N). They had not exchanged words since earlier in the day. Chen helped Tim stew on (Y/N)’s plan, and after he had calmed down, even he could admit that it was a good plan. All they would do otherwise was entertain the criminal.

(Y/N) looked up at his words, briefly moving her attention away from the laptop screen in front of her. She knew that she didn't need to verbally acknowledge his statement, instead opting to pat the space on the couch beside her, beckoning him over.

It only took a moment for Tim to settle in her side before she turned the screen so he could see what she was looking at.

"I've been looking into Dyer's history, known contacts, her usual M.O. Something about her actions now didn't seem to align with the intel we already had on her. So I did some digging, and I was right, it isn't the same."

"Right..." he trailed off.

"Rosalind Dyer plays to win, and this battle could be infinite. She's already on death row, so there isn't anything that she could lose, or gain from this."

Tim hummed, prompting her to continue. "There is no conceivable outcome where she lands victorious. She doesn't want anything; this is a means to an end."

Before she could continue her train of thought any further, Tim's phone rang. Gesturing for (Y/N) to wait, he grabbed his cell and answered it. (Y/N) had thought nothing of it, beginning to pick at her nails when Tim's concerned voice brought her attention back to him.

Questioningly, she raised her eyebrow at him as he continued to talk. Although she wasn't left to wonder for long before he hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"What happened? Is something wrong?" She asked, moved forward to place her hand on his.

"We're testing your theory out now, the Department of Corrections are preparing to transport Dyer to the station. She's agreed to show the location of more of her victims."

"When?"

"She's spending the night in one of our cells, ready to start early tomorrow."

She took a moment to digest the new information. "I'm not going with her. I don't think any contact is a good idea.'

"I agree, but Grey doesn't."

"What?"

"That was him on the phone," Tim sighed, "He wants you to escort her."

"Great," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she began to make a game plan for tomorrow. Although try as she might, (Y/N) could not seem to rid herself of the pit that had begun to grow in the bottom of her stomach.

She knew that nothing could happen, not yet anyways, and especially not tomorrow. Rosalind would be in lock and chains, surrounded by the best police officers Los Angeles had to offer, but he ailment did seem to quell at that thought.

It would be far too simple, far too easy for Rosalind to make her next move when she was out of prison. It would be like taking candy from a baby, which worried (Y/N). She was missing something.

The thought had started to make her head spin, but soon that spinning became an ache and it didn't take long for it to turn into a sharp pressure pushing against her skull. She moved to get up and take herself to bed when she felt her blood rush from her head, dizziness causing her to pause.

"(Y/N)," Tim siad, quickly moving to support her, "Are you okay?"

(Y/N) nodded, trying to stabilise herself, "Just moved too fast I think. I'm fine."

She moved to get up again, this time managing to stand. Collecting herself, she tried to excuse herself to bed, but as she approached the door, her body came crumbling down once again, this time she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo @ladespedidas @omg-its-vixen @agentcable @rookietrek @fluentmoviequoter

P.s if you saw a grammatical error, no the fuck you didnt

[storiesabouteli]

Romance (Maybe it's a place) // Elijah Hewson X fem!Reader. PART 1

prompt: Eli is a vampire who falls in love with a human. The story explores the passage of time and the challenge of maintaining a relationship between two very different beings. It’s a guide on how to date a vampire/human while seeking a place of comfort in someone—and all the complexity that this longing brings.

words: 4K

(it'll probs 2 or 3 parts, it won't be long promise!)

There was nothing to expect, no prospects for the next day. Everything felt empty, his chest heavy, despite the absence of a beating heart. He wasn’t tired of the life he led; it was simply that so many years had passed, and he felt he’d experienced it all. Then, you showed up.

“Uh, she has this endearing look when she’s around me, like when you discover something new and know it’s going to be worth every moment. It’s still like that, even though we’ve been together for a while. I think I’ve gotten used to the idea that she knows who I am and isn’t afraid of me, even though I still watch my every move, thinking it might come to the surface one day. My point is, Josh, my human is kind and deserves a beautiful life. We’re not on the same page, but I can’t let her go.”

His voice cracked, eyes filling with tears, and he welcomed the feeling—it had been a long time since he’d felt anything like this. Over time, he’d grown numb to so many things. Josh sighed, understanding the weight of what Eli was going through but knowing there was little he could do.

“Eli, you’ll know what to do. You can agonize over it and delay all you want, but not making a decision right now is already making a decision.”

Josh had offered advice—he was a bit more adaptable to modern trends, though he knew how to use a phone just fine. He had tried getting Eli on board with it, considering up until recently, he still received letters, written as outdatedly as Eli sounded when he spoke on the phone. It was like he was composing his words with an old-world elegance, carefully phrasing each sentiment. But then you came along, and suddenly, he found himself adjusting to screens and adopting habits a bit more in tune with the present day.

Eli rubbed his face with a frustrated urge to shout. He had hoped his friend would offer a practical solution, but he knew this was the truth. Many of them had been through something similar. He knew what he wanted; he’d seen both paths before. And yet, he kept overthinking it, as if that would help somehow.

...

Eli chose heavier coats when he went out with you—usually something soft, like wool, more inviting to touch. “You alright, love?” His thick accent made you glance up at him. You couldn’t answer right away; all you wanted was to stay pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. There were no steady heartbeats to listen to, but his breathing—always at the same, calming rhythm—was comforting in its own way.

“Yes, El,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your own hoodie pockets. The cold air wasn’t helping. “You’re freezing,” he said, with a hint of guilt, the words lingering like it should’ve been obvious this would happen. But you didn’t mind. You chuckled; sometimes he was quick to worry. “I’ll go grab more blankets, alright, grumpy?” You didn’t want to downplay his concern but hoped to ease the way he saw it.

You took his face in your hands, kissing his naturally flushed cheek, then pressed closer, brushing a kiss to his lips. He savored the warmth eagerly, even though he could feel the chill in your fingers and nose—areas that must’ve ached from the cold. Embarrassed, he looked away for a moment, until you returned with more blankets. Wrapping yourself in one and placing another thick layer between you and him, it wasn’t ideal, but it worked; you could hold onto him, enough to count as a hug; proper physical contact.

He took in the scent of your hair, and it was enough—these little moments that reminded him you were his human, seeing every detail about him as a feature, never a threat (which was a little worrying, if he was honest). Eli held you close between the blankets, feeling a bit better.

“You know, El,” you said, turning your face to invite him in for a soft kiss, “your body temperature is going to be really useful in the summer. It’ll be nice.” He laughed, noticing your lips were warming up again.

...

Eli was waiting for your shift to end at the bar, his usual spot reserved with that easygoing smile. You'd started a weekend night job, one that fit around your studies, and he'd made it a point to pick you up every night so you wouldn't walk home alone. There he was, leather jacket, cigarette between his fingers, his hair charmingly tousled. He leaned on the bar, a soft, inviting smile playing on his lips as he ordered a drink. "You look beautiful." He tilted his head, letting the dim light catch his gaze as he took you in. You'd put in a little extra effort tonight – waves in your hair, a cinched dress under your apron, all for the quiet thrill of seeing Eli at the end of it.

"You too," you murmured, cheeks heating up as he let out a soft chuckle. His hand met yours briefly, the contrast in temperature catching you off guard, so he held onto them a little longer than usual. You slipped off your apron, glancing around to make sure everything was in order, and turned back to him. Eli rarely smiled fully-one of those open, toothy smiles. But whenever he did, you couldn't help but imagine those sharp canines showing, a detail he'd told you only appeared at his choosing. You had never seen them before, but fairy tales made you think it would be cute. Eli wasn't the tough type.

"And you're hot," he whispered with that thick accent, words lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more. You felt his cold hands at your waist, fingers resting lightly, and wrapped one hand in his hair, pulling just enough to get that quick intake of breath, followed by the softest sound that showed he liked you being a bit bold. "I like the dress," he murmured faster, hands resting on your hips as he nudged you back against the wall at the exit, his body pressed close against yours. It was quick, a thud against the wall that didn't hurt, but he caught himself, realizing you weren't quite like him. His apologies were soft, but you just whispered, "I like that, to be honest," which made his eyebrows raise in a mix of excitement and teasing.

The hem of your dress hitched a bit as he held you close, your pulse quickening against him, and the smirk on his lips only grew. Your eyes traced the freckles across his nose, his pink lips near yours, and it left you a bit breathless. "You're dying for me to kiss you, aren't you?" And you were. He cradled your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. Your hands trailed up his arms, reaching his neck, pulling him closer. He nestled into the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling your skin. "Missed me that much, El?" you asked before his eyes lifted to meet yours. He finally pressed his lips against yours, slow and deep, and you sighed into it, feeling everything melt away.

"I did. So much." His eyes had a soft gleam to them, a smile lingering, one that felt like it was just for you. Seeing your shaky breaths, he peppered your lips with little kisses until you settled, or at least got used to the fact that he wasn't about to stop. "Do... do your teeth ever show?" It slipped out before you could stop yourself. His eyes dropped for a second, awareness hitting him, and you instantly felt bad. "Sorry, you said I could ask."

"It's fine," he reassured you, fingers still gentle. His rings brushed your skin – a subtle reminder that he was there, by your side, despite whatever thoughts he kept to himself. "I won't bite you, okay?" His voice had a deep warmth, cautious but reassuring, and you let yourself believe him. He kissed you again, the same trail as before, from your cheek to your jaw, then this time letting his lips brush along your neck. You melted, fully aware of the way he held you. The kisses were soft and warm, pulling your eyes shut, and truthfully, you didn't fear much. Eli wasn't cruel, and you'd give him the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. You felt a faint graze, almost a scratch – it felt good. This was good. "I won't hurt you, little one." You'd talked about it before, those early questions you had about his predatory nature, and he'd told you he could handle it. He needed things but managed them.

"Maybe I'd like it if you did," you teased, part joke, part honest. He drew back, clearly content with all of it. "We should go. We're in public, miss." You groaned, laughing in playful protest.

...

The first time, you sent him a message saying you needed company, that you weren’t doing well. That way, he’d have the choice, the option to decide not to stay if he didn’t want to. But Eli called immediately—there was no time for your mind to spin into catastrophic scenarios. He briefly asked what was going on and if you needed anything (he didn’t even remember the names of medications anymore). It was clear he’d be spending the weekend by your side.

There was something about his presence that made you feel better, and knowing he’d be there in person filled you with a renewed sense of relief.

“I can turn my back, even if I’m in the

bathroom.” He said it so casually, and he was hard to read sometimes; every now and then, he seemed almost detached. You curled your toes, wrapped in a towel and seated on the edge of the toilet. He stood in the doorway, trying to figure out the best way to help. You needed a shower—your temperature was all over the place, and it would ease things a bit. But your feet ached at the slightest touch of the floor, and your shoulders were so heavy that you felt you’d collapse if you stood for too long.

“Can you?” Your voice came out low, soft, as if admitting just how much you needed him, even though you didn’t want to. Eli looked at you, and his expression softened as he came closer, kneeling down in front of you. His hands cupped your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. You looked so tired, and instinctively, your cheek pressed into his palm, despite the chill of his skin against you. He pulled back, but you held his hand there, keeping him close.

“You know you shouldn’t wait ‘til things get worse before calling me, don’t you?” He spoke gently. You nodded, but dealing with this on your own was second nature; it was just how things had always been. Your eyes lingered on his tank top, the small star tattoo peeking out alongside his necklace, and a few scattered freckles across his shoulder. Your warm fingers traced over them, grazing those little dots softly. He smiled, and you looked up to see his eyes crinkling at the edges, that pointed nose and unruly curls, with a few locks twisted just perfectly.

He was beautiful, maybe that was why he wasn't human. Pale, rarely a fan of sunlight, but not repelled by daylight either. He didn’t sleep in a coffin or flinch at garlic; he’d answered all your questions, even if he felt uneasy talking about it. You often avoided asking too much. He needed blood but had assured you it wasn’t as dire as the movies made it seem—he didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t kill innocents.

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. The intimacy of being wrapped only in a towel didn’t faze him; he was there just to help. “It’s chronic,” you admitted, barely holding back tears. “It’ll keep happening, and I don’t want to depend on you… but I’m just, uh, so tired.” He heard the strain in your voice, the soft sniffle, and drew you closer. His hands moved gently along your back as your cheek rested against his shoulder, forehead pressed to his neck. He kissed the top of your head, feeling a deep ache he hadn’t felt in years. For a fleeting moment, he felt the exhaustion you bore—aching shoulders, tired eyes, a sudden warmth creeping into his skin.

He couldn’t take this from you, but he’d stay with you as long as you allowed. “Well, then, I’ll be here with you more often, and as often as you need,” he said, and you simply held him a little tighter, eyes meeting his. He noticed the subtle dark rings beneath them, a telltale human weariness he found beautiful, something unique to you. Morning puffiness, the way your scent changed with the seasons—these little shifts only added to your charm in his eyes.

Feeling a bit lighter, you were ready to try standing. “I won’t look, I promise, love,” he murmured, and you knew he wouldn’t. Slowly, you stepped into the shower, letting the water pour over you, hoping the fever would slip away down the drain. Through the steam, you could just make out his silhouette, back turned, his posture more relaxed with you nearby. You’d seen him tense up in public around you, but you understood.

He didn’t look, not even once. When you were done, you let him know, narrating as you dried off and dressed. When you finally said you were ready, he turned around with a soft smile, placed a gentle hand on your waist, and kissed your forehead. Then he led you out, guiding you with a steady grip.

Lying on your back, you stared up at the ceiling while he lay beside you, careful not to touch, as if he knew it might not be what you needed right now. The bed felt small with him so close. You took his hand and guided it to rest at the crook of your neck and shoulder. “The feeling of warmth happens when the fever reaches the new set point the body establishes. At that moment, blood vessels dilate to release heat, and you start sweating to cool the body down.” Your words came out so precise, almost like a textbook. Eli smiled, clearly thinking you’d looked it up somewhere for him. Still, your temperature was finally stabilizing, and his natural coolness seemed to help. “Do you still feel any pain?” he asked, his eyes growing heavy, yet relieved to see you were getting better.

“Just a little, I’m much better now. You’re like an angel,” you murmured, watching his nose wrinkle slightly. You found it curious how he felt emotions without any functional organs. His body didn’t give him trouble; he was visually healthy, able to just… live. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be like him, but something about it felt unfair. Silence settled over you both, and he turned on his side, his deep, amber eyes holding yours, drawing you in.

“Can you turn people? Just anyone?” The question tumbled out suddenly, genuine, raw. He looked away, as if bracing himself. This was bound to come up, sooner or later. “It’s like when you asked if I’d move away when you leave for college because, otherwise, I might not be here anymore,” you added, trying to ease the weight of your question. You were getting to know him better.

He nodded slowly, knowing he’d answer you honestly if you asked for it. If you wanted, he’d let you be like him. “I can,” he whispered, keeping it brief, not wanting to linger on the subject.

You hesitated, taking in the idea. He knew how much you suffered from chronic pain, how sometimes you just wanted relief, independence. And while he wouldn’t think twice about offering you this existence if you wanted it, he couldn’t shake a selfish feeling—the thought that, in giving you this choice, he’d be binding you to him and trapping you in your current form for eternity. Even so, he’d never refuse to help you if you needed him.

“So… it’s just a bite? And that’s it?” you asked, curiosity shining in your eyes without a trace of fear.

“Biting’s just for blood,” he clarified, his voice softening as he took a deep breath. “To turn someone, it takes a witness and making sure the person won't die, y’know?” He sighed, and you noticed, arching a brow.

“I thought you didn’t feel tired,” you teased, sensing his discomfort and wanting to lighten the moment.

“I don’t,” he said, brushing off the feeling with a small lie. You let it go, realizing you were also getting sleepy, even though he didn’t need sleep the way you did.

He’d once told you he’d been at this for around 300 years, adapting quickly but feeling his enthusiasm fade with time. He didn’t even remember who’d turned him, just that he’d woken one night alone, with the pain of transformation, figuring everything out by himself. That always made you think about your own fear of being alone, especially when pain flared up and made you feel trapped to someone.

“Can you… have kids?” you asked softly, eyes tracing the constellation of freckles on his nose.

“No,” he replied simply.

“I was going to say I’d have your kids if I knew they’d inherit that nose and those freckles, but I didn’t want to offend you or anything.” He chuckled, that familiar, comforting nasal laugh. Eli felt pain, but holding you like this made it melt away. He’d met thousands of people over the years, but you were the one who made him want his world to keep turning.

“Do you want kids?” he asked.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to go through this just because of some unlucky genes.” He looked at you, an emotion in his eyes that made you wonder if he’d learned to mimic human reactions, replicating them when needed, though Eli had never done that with you.

“Would you have wanted them? If you were still… you know,” you asked.

He wrapped you both in the blanket, creating a cocoon. The light smell of cigarettes and mint gum surrounded you. His curls tickled your face, and you reached out to touch his lips with your fingers as he spoke, feeling the faint movement of his mouth. “I don’t know. I never thought about it when I was human, and now it doesn’t make much sense. Maybe I’d be happy, maybe I’d be sad if I’d had kids in a life that isn’t mine anymore. But I’ve stopped dwelling on what I can’t control.”

He said it with a calm acceptance that made you wonder just how long one had to live to reach that kind of peace. You liked living in the moment, but only when it was good. And you understood that Eli wasn’t always okay; he just knew how to deal with what life had given him.

“You don’t see a future with me, do you?” you whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. His arms tightened around you, but his silence broke something in you. Still, you reminded yourself to cherish the present because, as much as it hurt, you understood the complexities of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words soft and full of regret.

...

“Dear Jenkinson, this will be a brief update, yet a necessary one. I’ve bought a cellphone and shall be more present. I still prefer to avoid the daylight; perhaps it’s simply the desire to remain unseen. I enjoy a quiet life—or at least, that’s what I believed. Recently, I’ve noticed a girl at the café near my house, yes, the same place here in Dublin. She comes around midday, doing something on her little black screen, though that detail hardly matters. I simply like knowing she’s there, and that she’ll likely be there tomorrow. I don’t speak to her, and I don’t imagine I will. Is it wrong for me to want to be near her but not seen with her? I mean her no harm, yet my human bears little resemblance to me. I write to you in confidence, as I suspect you’ll advise me to approach her. In any case, it’s a curious feeling, waking with this small excitement, the uncertainty and hope that she’ll be there, sitting in her usual spot.”

You scanned the first letter; they were all unsealed, unhurried in their elegance, as if they weren’t truly hidden from you—yet he kept them private all the same. You didn’t recognize the name, “Jenkinson,” but something in the writing made you imagine an old friend of his. Strange that you hadn’t heard of any friends. He knew all about your life, perhaps because you were far more open than he was. A pang of guilt hit you for reading his words. You’d picked them up from the mailbox by accident, and now you’d leave them where you found them, pretending you hadn’t seen any. Still, a gnawing question lingered in your mind. Eli cared for you, and you’d told yourself you were fine with this arrangement, just living in the moment—but you wanted something more, didn’t you? Eli seemed so sure of what he wanted from the beginning. You’d hoped maybe he’d change, but could you truly resent him? He wrote such beautiful things about you, didn’t he?

Your pulse quickened as you ran your fingers over the heavy paper, catching another letter. “Dear Jenkinson, I had forgotten that humans suffer, not just from their own mental wanderings like us, but from very real, very physical pain. My human has a condition that keeps her days limited, wrapped in intense pain. I’ve been there for her, and you’ll understand the significance of that, won’t you? It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. Anyway, she’s full of a light-heartedness you’d never picture me having. She deserves so much more, you’d like her, but I don’t intend for things to reach that point—” You felt a sting behind your eyes, frustration and a sense of discomfort flaring up. How could he be so dense, filling these white spaces with beautiful words about you while being so unthinking about the future? After all, he’d have a future, regardless of what happened. His nature was certain that there was a tomorrow.

“Dear Jenkinson, I would never hurt her, truly, nor do I feel any inclination to do so, yet there’s something in her calm, gentle scent, and the eyes that makes me wonder what it would be like to bite her. Am I a bad person for thinking this? I know what it’s like—the taste and the quiet satisfaction when it’s with someone we truly appreciate. I don’t think of it as feeding, but rather as a form of cultivation.”

It was sweet, kind of sexy, in its way, yet left you with a hollow ache. Eli had a life, a very long one, yet he’d never shared any of it with you—not his past loves, this friend, or why, of all places, he still stayed in Dublin. You wanted all of him, but a part of him wasn’t there to be yours, was it? The letters lacked dates, having only found their way back to him. Why were you committing yourself to something that felt like it had an expiration date?

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 19/?

Can I offer everyone some distraction and escape tonight? If you have sent a prompt to my inbox, I will get on those tonight and tomorrow. Just wanted to get a longer offering up as well. It's going to get worse before it ever gets better. Do what you have to do to stay safe, and try to do good where you can. I pray for better days ahead.

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

From the moment Tommy’s coven master stepped into the house, Evan could tell he was powerful.

Not as powerful as Tommy. Not as old as Tommy, either…but definitely not a new vampire. Something about the way he carried himself gave Evan the impression that he was used to being listened to. Obeyed. His dark eyes zeroed in on Evan as he made his way to Tommy’s living room, and even with no fangs visible, Evan absolutely received the message that this man would neither hesitate to kill him, nor feel an ounce of guilt over it. It should have been terrifying. And make no mistake, Evan was wary.

But he wasn’t afraid.

His magic hummed in the back of his mind, strong and ready to use to defend himself. Even if he had not recovered from the effects of using the teleport spell, though…Tommy wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

The knowledge settled in his mind, startling in its surety. Its absoluteness. Tommy wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Evan knew that.

He did not know how he knew that, or why it felt like such an immutable, inarguable fact. It was an insane thought to have. Sure, Tommy had put himself between Evan and danger several times already, but what possible reason could Evan have for thinking that he’d continue to do so? Against his own coven master, no less? He didn’t have one…and yet he was so completely confident in the belief that he met the vampire’s eyes squarely, his magic swirling contentedly through his body.

He listened as Tommy argued back and forth with his coven master, tensing as Alonzo revealed that the vampires were already spreading rumors about what had happened in Greenway’s office. He’d known in the back of his mind that the men who’d attacked them weren’t likely to just ride off into the sunset, never to be heard from again…but the high coven had seemed the larger threat.

He couldn’t even really blame this Alonzo person for asking Tommy to get rid of him, to turn him over to the high coven and just cut his losses. Hadn’t Evan been begging Tommy to do just that before Alonzo appeared? It was the smart play—the only play that could possibly keep Tommy and his coven out of this.

God, he wanted to give Tommy a way out of this.

“I’ve been on my own before. I can manage. Just do what I said before…let me leave and have your coven master lodge a complaint with the high coven. Tell them I spelled you. I don’t—I don’t know what to do about the vampires, but at least that’ll get my people off of your coven.”

“Well. I wasn’t expecting you to be the voice of reason. Listen to him, Thomas. We don’t have a lot of time to go with that story—not even a powerful witch could control you for very long.”

Evan ignored Alonzo, staring at Tommy as he seemed to consider their words. He wasn’t sure how this whole mess was going to end. He hoped Grant and her coven could find what they needed to in time to avoid a coven war…but Evan knew better than most the kinds of things that powerful covens could get away with when they wanted to. He wasn’t terribly confident. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t do everything in his power to give them the chance.

He thought Tommy felt the same way. Like everything else about the vampire, it seemed a ridiculous thought to have. Three days ago, would have laughed out loud at the idea that a vampire could care about innocent people dying in a coven war. But he’d seen firsthand how much Tommy cared about his coven. Despite the horrible way they’d come into each other’s lives, Tommy had been nothing but honest with him. Honorable. Kind.

Protective.

He wasn’t an idiot. And he wasn’t naïve. Tommy had killed people. More people than Evan could probably conceive of, given how old he was. But Evan didn’t think the vampire was faking the disgust he seemed to feel for the wanton violence and cruelty of the party he’d rescued Evan from. He didn’t think Tommy was faking his desire to get to the bottom of whatever was going on in the city. Something inside Evan told him that Tommy wanted to stop what was coming just as much as Evan did.

The difference was, if Evan died in this storm they’d somehow entered into, the collateral damage would be minimal.

Sally had cut ties with him.

His parents had never cared for him to begin with.

Maddie probably thought he was already dead…or had abandoned her.

There was no one left to care if he died, but Tommy had a whole coven who would mourn him. Hell, Evan had interacted with them for less than two hours, but he could tell how close Tommy was with the two vampires who had come to the loft. There was no reason for Tommy to go down this road with him when there were so many people who would be hurt if Tommy got himself killed. He knew Tommy wouldn’t stand for just turning Evan over to the high coven, but letting him go and then taking a story about Evan casting a compulsion over Tommy to them was the absolute best move that Tommy could make. For his coven. For himself.

“I can’t do that.” The vampire’s voice was clear. Steady. Not a hint of doubt or hesitation in the words. Tommy’s eyes bored relentlessly into his, his back ramrod straight as he refused, refused the out Evan was offering him. “Evan, whoever is orchestrating all this, I’m not leaving you to face them down by yourself.”

And…what? Evan startled, barely managing to keep his mouth from falling open in shock. Wait—wait, no, he couldn’t have heard that correctly. That made no sense. That was—

“Thomas, are you insane? You can’t be serious!” Tommy’s coven master sounded as shocked as Evan felt, the cool, calm demeanor he’d been affecting since he entered the bungalow cracking.

He started to pace back and forth, his movements quick and agitated, and Evan tucked one hand behind his back, clenching his fist and focusing on his magic the way Sally had taught him, drawing it tightly inwards, ready to spring forth at his command. No witch was powerful enough to cast without the structure of a spell…but thanks to Sally’s lessons, Evan could cast faster than most.

Tommy stepped deliberately between them, facing his coven master, and Evan felt a flush of warmth he couldn’t even try to deny. Alonzo’s next words, though, were like a bucket of ice water being poured straight down Evan’s spine.

“If you do this, then I’ll have no choice but to disavow you. Sever our alliance.”

He gasped. He knew he gasped, the soft, breathy sound of it punching out of him entirely without his permission. No. No, Alonzo couldn’t be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting. And even if he was, there was no way that Tommy would—

“Exactly,” Tommy said. His voice was still so steady, so sure. As though he was talking about something as minor as changing the paint color in his living room or what he might make for dinner and not…not…

Tommy and his coven master continued speaking, but Evan couldn’t make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. He felt frozen, stopped, his mind swarming with memories and feelings that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to examine in years. The blood pounded in his head, his focus on his magic splintering. No. No, Tommy couldn’t—he wouldn’t…

“Thomas. You’ll be convenless.”

“I’ve been covenless before.”

Covenless. There were a thousand other meanings for that word, and Evan had lived every one for the last five years.

To be covenless was to be nothing. Less than nothing. When Evan had been banished from his coven, he’d lost everything. His home, his family, his familiar. His future. His identity. Everything that made him who he was had been stripped from him, and he’d been left to rebuild himself from fucking scratch…only he’d never be able to. Not really.

To be covenless was to be alone. Completely alone. Unwelcome in every corner of the world you’d thought would be yours forever, unwanted and uncared for. Evan had lost his coven bonds and he’d become a ghost. He’d lost everything when he lost his coven. How could Tommy just give it up?

Why…why would he do something like that for him?

Evan watched in frozen, horrified silence as Tommy did it. Severed himself from his coven. Turned his back on his home, his family, the people he cared for…for Evan. He listened to the oddly formal words—completely devoid of the power that he’d felt when the Pennsylvania high coven handed down his sentence, and yet somehow just as heavy. Just as important. Some part of him tried to remind himself that Tommy had said vampire covens didn’t function the way witch covens did. Vampire covens were alliances, not bonds that were formed in blood and magic…but it didn’t matter. Tommy was giving up his coven. For him.

To protect him. He’d said it. He’d said he wasn’t going to leave Evan to face this storm alone.

It was impossible. It was irrational. It made absolutely no sense. He was watching it with his own eyes, and he didn’t understand. He’d given himself up for Maddie. He’d sacrificed everything he ever was or ever would be to keep her safe, to make sure that she didn’t suffer for what she had to do to set herself free from Doug. He hadn’t set out to lose his coven because of it, he’d just known it was a likely outcome. Had Tommy known he was going to do this when his coven master walked through the door? Had he looked at the situation the way Evan had all those years ago, his sister’s heartwrenching sobs ringing in his ears as they stood over Doug’s still body, and made the same choice Evan had in that moment? How? How?

It had been an easy sacrifice for him to make for Maddie. Losing his coven had been the hardest thing he’d ever experienced or ever would experience, but it had been worth it to save his sister. Keep her safe. Protect her.

But…but he loved Maddie. Loved her more than anything else in the world, loved her more than he loved himself.

What motivation did Tommy have to give up his coven for Evan?

Tommy was still for a long moment after his coven master–fuck, his ex coven master, what had he done?—left the bungalow. Evan listened to the sound of the vampire's car start up, still feeling like he'd been encased in a block of ice. Tommy's shoulders slumped slightly as the sound of the car faded down the driveway, growing more and more distant, and he cracked his neck a couple times before turning to look at Evan.

Evan didn't know what his face looked like, but Tommy's immediately softened. It was almost unbearable to watch…Tommy had just made himself covenless, how could he have room to feel sympathy for Evan?

“Evan, remember. Coven bonds aren’t like what you’re used to for us. This isn’t…it doesn’t hurt me,” he said, and his voice was so, so gentle.

As if Evan was the one who needed to be handled carefully, as though Evan was the one hurting. Because he was hurting. Evan knew that without a doubt, knew it the same way he’d known that Tommy wouldn’t let his coven master hurt him—it was a quiet certainty, a solid as stone beneath his feet. He felt suddenly sick, too hot and too cold at the same time. His heart pounded in his chest, his magic thrumming through him insistently, and he shook his head.

“Why…” He broke off, suddenly unable to meet Tommy’s eyes, and swallowed hard. “Why did you do that?” he managed to choke out, his voice sounding alien to his own ears.

Tommy tilted his head slightly, a stepped toward him, closing the distance between them until he was right in front of him. “I’m not letting you do this alone,” he said, as though that were an actual reason to leave his coven, to voluntarily give it up.

Evan shook his head again, his head still spinning. “That doesn’t make sense!” he burst out. “Tommy, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Infuriatingly, Tommy’s lips twitched into a smile, and he reached up to lay his hand on Evan’s shoulder. There was no heat from the touch, of course, and yet Evan swore he could feel the shape of Tommy’s hand on him like a brand. His magic sparked through him, swirling in his chest like champagne bubbles. “I’ve heard that before, Evan. Hasn’t happened, yet,” he said.

“It’s not worth it,” Evan said.

Losing your coven isn’t worth it, Evan meant.

I’m not worth it, Evan meant.

Tommy’s hand loosened briefly, his fingers twitching like he wanted to move them. For a few heartbeats, Evan had the bizarre sense that Tommy was restraining himself from reaching up, brushing the skin of Evan’s throat, skating his fingers higher and higher to touch Evan’s face. Even more bizarre was the pulse of disappointment when Tommy merely patted his shoulder and stepped back, a strange expression twisting his features.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the vampire said. “Now…are you ready to start this snipe hunt?”

*

“How worried do we have to be about one of those locator spells?” Tommy asked as he guided the SUV onto the highway, heading for the address that his friend Chimney had provided.

Evan blinked, startled out of thoughts that would not stop racing in circles no matter how hard he tried. He was glad for the new topic to focus on, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window. “Depends. If your, uh, if Alonzo lets the high coven have some of your stuff when he talks to them, it could be a problem. If it’s something you’re really attached to.” He opened his eyes and shot Tommy a sidelong glance. “Do you have a lot of things at your coven house?” he asked quietly.

Tommy chuckled, not taking his eyes off the road. It was hard to get a read on his expression, but he didn’t seem especially upset. “Some. Not as much as you might think someone could collect over eight hundred years. I’ve never really cared about things. Most of what I really give a shit about, I keep at the bungalow. But I can text Sal and Lucy and tell them to hide a few other things at the coven house.”

Evan nodded to himself. “We should have a day or two before it even becomes an issue—and they might not think it’s worth it. It’d be hard to hold a locator spell on a vampire. Most of our really complicated magic doesn’t work so great on you.”

Tommy made a curious hum. “Why’s that?”

Evan shrugged. “No one really knows. Probably for the same reason that you can’t turn witches.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “I can cast a charm that’ll let me know if someone’s trying to spell you,” he offered after a moment. “And disrupt it.”

“Will it be a drain on you? I’d rather you save your strength for when we run into trouble.”

“A disruption? Yeah, that’d be hard for me to keep up for very long…but the alert charm is simple. Sa—someone taught it to me when I was a kid, to help me channel my intentions in a spell. Those kinds of things, losing my coven bond doesn’t really, uh, doesn’t really affect me that much,” he finished quietly. “But it’s still a spell. I, I, I get it if you don’t want me casting anything on you.”

Tommy was silent for a long moment, before he said quietly, “I trust you, Evan. Do I need to pull over?”

“Wait, not? You want me to cast it now?” Evan blinked, the calm certainty in Tommy’s voice when he said he trusted him catching him off-guard. Tommy shrugged one shoulder.

“Might as well. I don’t want to risk getting distracted later—and any advantage we can get is worth taking.”

“Um, okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Uh, no, it—you won’t feel anything. Maybe like, a tingle? But it won’t hurt or anything. I can do it while you’re driving.” He pressed his lips together, considering. “Can I have your hand?”

Tommy startled a little at that, shooting him a quick, bemused look. “Sure?” he said, stretching one hand out toward Evan.

Evan took it, cradling it in his palms and resting two fingers on where Tommy’s pulsepoint should be in his wrist. It was odd not to feel the beat of life underneath his fingers, to trace skin that was oddly cool, blue veins standing out more starkly than he was used to. He leaned over Tommy’s hand and started chanting, his magic all but leaping to his fingertips as he murmured the familiar spell. Tommy kept his eyes on the road, but Evan could sense him shooting quick little looks his way, even as he held his hand trustingly still.

It was strangely intimate. The thought skipped through Evan’s head and was gone as he felt the spell building, his hands beginning to glow with the white light of a witch’s power. He breathed out the last words of the spell and pressed the magic gently into the skin of Tommy’s wrist, a sigil glowing briefly before fading to near invisibility. Tommy shivered as the sigil sunk in, his fingers flexing, but he held still until the light of Evan’s magic faded. Moving slowly—almost reluctantly?—he slipped his hand from Evan’s grasp and looked at the inside of his wrist, his eyebrow twitching upwards minutely.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it,” Evan confirmed, settling back in his seat and going back to staring out the window. “If anyone tries to cast on you, I’ll know.”

“Thank you, Evan,” Tommy said.

Evan nodded silently, watching the LA scenery fly past the window as Tommy sped towards Greenway’s house. He felt like his brain was spinning as fast as the tires, too much happening for him to really get a grasp on it. He needed to. He couldn’t afford to be spiraling with them potentially heading into a hostile situation. Everything—his confusion and disbelief and, yes, all right, his guilt over Tommy giving up his coven, his worry about what they were walking into, his fear for what could happen in this city if they failed, he had to let it all go. He could almost hear Sally’s voice in his head, chidingly reminding him that he needed to stay focused.

Find an anchor, little love. A single thing to concentrate on and hold onto that, no matter what.

Good advice…but advice he’d struggled to take all his life. He looked over at Tommy again, taking in his profile as he tried to read his stoic expression, tried to figure out what might be running through the vampire’s head. Tommy said he trusted him. After knowing him only a couple of days, Tommy was willing to take risks for him that he wouldn’t have asked of anyone in his coven except maybe Maddie. Had made sacrifices for him that Evan knew down to the marrow of his bones his own parents would never have made. Tommy said he trusted him.

Evan breathed out slowly, his magic ebbing through him in time to his heartbeat. In the face of everything, he let the simple truth that had been trying to form in his mind since Tommy had given up his place in his coven to protect Evan wash over him. He trusted Tommy, too. And that was what he was going to hold onto, no matter what.

*

Jonah Greenway had lived on a surprisingly quiet street in a small, nondescript house that was neither especially nice nor especially run-down. Tommy took a couple of laps around the block in the SUV, trying to scout if there was anybody already there. Evan had been slightly worried that the place would already have been under a police investigation, but credit where credit was due—the SoCal high coven was very good at keeping their world secret.

“Looks clear,” Tommy muttered after the third lap around the block. They’d stopped a few intersections and pulled into and reversed out of a couple of driveways to hopefully make it look as though they were just lost to any nosy neighbors who might notice a large SUV with heavily tinted windows. He pulled to a stop about a block down the street from Greenway’s house.

“Wait—how are we getting you in there?” Evan asked, tipping his head towards the window…and the sun-drenched street outside it. It would have been easier to wait ‘til at least dusk to leave the bungalow, but the need to give Grant and her coven enough time to do their own investigations created a sense of urgency that would not be ignored.

“I can take sunlight for a few minutes,” Tommy said, frowning distastefully and twisting in his seat to dis around in the floor behind him. He sat up a moment later with a large black hoodie and pulled a pair of gloves out of one of the pockets. “Although no offense, I’m gonna walk a hell of a lot faster than you.”

“Dressed like the villain in an after-school special?” Evan asked dubiously, his eyebrow climbing when Tommy pulled his sun visor down and grabbed a large pair of sunglasses clipped to the edge. “Really?”

“If you have a better suggestion, I’d love to avoid the third-degree sunburn I’m about to get.”

Evan debated a moment, drumming his fingers on his thigh and poking at the edges of his magic, feeling out the strength. Then he turned in his own seat, staring hard out the back windshield at the corner of Greenway’s house that was visible. There was a decently-sized porch with a roof, and Evan knew any witch worth his salt would have had look-away charms on his house, though they might have lost power when Greenway died. Still, if that was the case, then any hexes or traps he’d laid on the property would also be defunct, and Tommy would be able to break into the place quickly. Evan felt confident he could handle any hexes that were still active, and short out an alarm system fast enough that it would register as a glitch.

“Try not to move, okay?” he said, reaching over to grab Tommy’s wrist as he focused on the corner of the porch he could see, and chanted the spell.

His ears popped, the whole world going quiet and shadowy, sound muffling almost to the point that he was enveloped in silence. The air around him turned absolutely freezing, colder than any Pennsylvania winter, and as the spell ended he couldn’t help coughing. Beside him, he heard Tommy gasp something in a language he didn’t recognize—though by the tone, he could tell it wasn’t polite—and the vampire scrambled to his feet, his wrist twisting under Evan’s to grab at his hand and yank him to his feet as well.

They were standing on Greenway’s porch, well-shaded from the afternoon sunlight.

“What the hell?! What did you do?” Tommy demanded, looking around him in shock. “That wasn’t the same thing you did at the office!”

Evan laughed shortly, pulling away so he could examine the door in front of them. The fact that no defense spells had triggered when they appeared on the porch was encouraging, but he wasn’t going to just take it on faith that Greenway didn’t have something more powerful than simple charms and hexes waiting. “No—a teleport is major magic even when you have a coven bond. I’m not risking that unless there’s no other choice. I took us through the between.” He reached out and let his hand hover over the doorknob, unable to feel the telltale tingle of magic against his skin.

“The…wasn’t that where Greenway hid the flash drive?”

“Yup.”

“And you can…go…there?” Tommy continued slowly.

“If you know how. Most of us just use it like Greenway did. Like a hiding place. Kind of a magical safe-deposit box? But the between is as big or small as you know it is, and it exists wherever you know it will. So, if you know it’s big enough to fit you, and you know it exists where you want to be, you can get to it.”

“That—okay, that actually makes a weird sort of sense and explains a couple of encounters I’ve had over the years. I haven’t met any witch who could do something like that in a century or two, though.”

Evan shrugged, still examining the door. “Not a lot of us can, anymore. It’s old magic. Like, old-fashioned magic, not, uh, not old as in ancient. It’s easy to get lost in, so it’s not like it’s in the normal, everyday lessons. Sally only taught me because—” He broke off, his brain catching up with the amount of private information his mouth was just casually giving away.

Tommy was silent for a moment. “Sally was your familiar?” he asked gently.

Evan clenched his jaw, before nodding quickly. “I don’t think there’s any kind of spell on the door,” he said. Thankfully, Tommy accepted the abrupt subject change, stepping around Evan to grip the doorknob and give the door a fast, almost casual shove with his shoulder. The deadbolt snapped in an instant, and Tommy stepped back to interpose himself between Evan and anything that might be waiting for them inside.

Only silence greeted them, however.

Tommy cocked his head, listening intently, before his shoulders relaxed. “It’s empty,” he said. “But stay close.” He stepped inside the darkened interior of Greenway’s house. Evan took a deep breath and followed, his eyes roving over his surroundings curiously.

The house was surprisingly…sterile. It had all the trappings of a home—comfortable furniture, plush carpets on the floors, bookshelves full of books and mementos, art hanging on the walls. Yet, the place felt cold to Evan. There was none of the warmth and character of Tommy’s bungalow. The place felt like a showroom or a magazine cover. Everything perfectly chosen and placed to present a picture that it just…wasn’t.

It felt, he reflected wryly, like the house he had grown up in.

“Howie and Grant already searched the place for anything useful, but the high coven hasn’t gotten here yet. We need them to think we’re looking for something, get them to waste resources trying to find it first. Toss the place?” Tommy asked, glancing back at Evan with a questioning look. Evan shrugged, turning a slow circle in the large, open-plan living space that took up most of the first floor. Something felt…off.

“They really didn’t find anything?” he asked, his eyes darting around the room.

“Nada,” Tommy confirmed, watching as Evan looked all around him. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, I just…there’s something…” he trailed off, the frustratingly feeling of something just out of his reach dancing at the edge of his senses. His eyes fell on a mirror propped up in the corner of a set of recessed bookshelves that had been built into the walls on either side of a large picture window in what Greenway had set up as his living room. Directly in front of the window was a large, ornate wooden writing desk. Evan tilted his head and followed the line of where the mirror was facing…to another mirror mounted on the wall by the stairs to the second story. The mirror was positioned oddly, slightly off-center of where Evan would expect it to be, just enough to look a little wonky. In fact, if he stood in front of that mirror and followed the line of where it was facing, he would find…

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Evan muttered.

“What?” Tommy demanded immediately.

In answer, Evan spun another slow circle in the center of the room, tracing the sightlines of multiple mirrors positioned all around the room. That was what he was feeling. He hadn’t quite shaken the chill of the between from his senses, after all…and there was quite a lot of the between in this room.

“He hid something else here,” Evan said, finding the mirror that was positioned in the northernmost part of the room and pacing away from it until he was as close to the center of where the sight lines of all five of the mirrors around the living space met as he could get. “Fucking smart bastard, I’ll give him that.”

“Evan, what are you talking about? I’m pretty sure Howie and Grant would have known to look in this between place.”

“Yeah, but they might not have realized how big the between is here,” Evan countered. “Like I said…it’s not something a lot of witches learn anymore.”

Tommy tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked curious, though, not dismissive. “You keep talking like the size of it can change. Isn’t space…you know, space? Like there have to be boundaries.”

“Ever been in one of those house of mirrors they do at fairs and theme parks?” Evan asked, centering himself and focusing hard. He murmured the appropriate spell and reached toward the desk, the way he had in the office building to find the flash drive. The way he’d—sort of, it was a little more complicated than he’d explained to Tommy—done to get them from the car to the porch to avoid the sunlight. Only this time, he reached further into the between. Through all the layers of it that Greenway had folded it upon itself, over and over, until only a witch or familiar who regularly used it to shift themselves through space and not just store and hide things in would have even realized there was that much of it to explore in this house.

Evan did not travel through the between regularly. It was not something that witches did anymore, the dangers of getting lost too great. But he had been very carefully trained by someone who had learned the art in times when it had been a valuable tool for survival.

His hand closed on something in the between, and he curled his fingers around it and yanked. There was a soft pop in the air, and when he looked at the empty desk again, there was a small, leatherbound ledger sitting innocuously in the center of it. “Gotcha,” he hissed. He hurried forward and scooped the ledger off the desk, pulling at the bands of elastic that bound it at each corner.

“Great work Ev—GET DOWN!” Tommy’s voice changed in a flash, rising to a bellow as he lunged at Evan. Between one breath and the next, Tommy had made it across the room and wrapped himself around Evan, pulling Evan tight against his chest and spinning them around so that Tommy’s back was to the window.

There was a loud sound of shattering glass.

The clatter of something hitting the desk.

And then the whole world around Evan exploded into a mass of light. And sound. And force.

Evan felt himself lifted off his feet, flung across the room. Tommy’s body was wrapped tight around him, the vampire’s arms shielding him protectively, his face pressed hard against Tommy’s throat. They hit the floor hard enough that the breath was knocked from Evan’s lungs, but he was still dimly aware of Tommy taking the brunt of the landing, rolling them with the momentum, one hand cradling the back of Evan’s head and keeping it from cracking on the hardwood floors as they came to a rolling halt.

Evan coughed, everything spinning around him in dizzying circles, his ears ringing so loudly he could barely hear anything over it. His whole body hurt, and when he pulled his head back from Tommy’s neck, the room was suddenly hazy with smoke. What…what had—

“Tommy?” he gasped, when the vampire made no move to let go, to get up. “Tommy, what—”

He could hardly hear his own voice, though he knew he was shouting. He gripped Tommy’s shoulder, more relief than he was willing to examine at the moment sweeping through him when he felt the vampire’s muscles bunch under his touch, felt Tommy shudder and start to struggle to get up. Something was wrong, though.

His vampire was moving too slowly, too sluggishly. When Evan blinked some of the hazy smoke out of his eyes, Tommy’s face—mere inches from his own—was twisted in a grimace of pain. Something hard pressed into the top of Evan’s abdomen, right under his breastbone, and he slowly became aware of a hot wetness seeping into his borrowed shirt. Gasping, he wrenched himself backwards enough so he could look down, a buzzing that had nothing to do with his ringing ears filling his head when his eyes focused on the massive, wickedly sharp chunk of splintered wood that was poking into his chest.

The massive, wickedly sharp chunk of splintered wood that had impaled Tommy through the back, gone clear through his body.

“Tommy! Tommy, what—”

“Evan…run,” his vampire managed to grit out, blood spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Aw come on Kinard. Let the witch stay.”

Evan’s heart sank, his eyes flying to the gaping hole where Greenway’s front window had been only seconds before. The blond vampire from the office building was clambering through the jagged opening, flanked by two other vampires that Evan hadn’t seen before. They were covered head to toe in the same getup that Tommy had been going to try to use to get across the sunny street—hoodies, gloves, long pants—but every inch of exposed skin was blistered and peeling, obviously burned by even what short exposure they’d had to the sun.

Blondie pulled his hood back, glaring at Evan and Tommy, a nasty smirk firmly in place on his face. Evan’s eyes flicked between the three of them as Tommy tried to push at his shoulder, still struggling to get his feet under him, even as more blood spurted out from around the piece of fucking shrapnel sprouting out of his chest.

Tommy was hurt. Badly.

The vampire who had protected him over and over, even when it made no logical sense for him to do so. The vampire who had been kinder and gentler to him over the past two days than any one of his own kind had been over the past five years. His vampire, who had refused to let Evan walk into danger alone.

His vampire, who had given up his own coven to stay by Evan’s side, against odds that would have sent any sane person running for the hills. His vampire.

Evan curled his arm protectively over Tommy’s back and reached for every drop of magic in his body, the most dangerous spell Sally had ever taught him fairly exploding out of him in a rush of power.

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

I'm starting to agree a bit with people's interpretation of Wooly being that he tries to stay on script. In "Play My Way" (which I'm 99% sure is canon since it's an official Amanda 2 song and listed in the Amanda 2 game credits) Wooly's verse goes "Now watch us play our part, now watch us dance and sing, don't let it break your heart just play along and don't-" (before getting cut off by Amanda). So I do think he tries to stay on script a bit.

Though I don't think it's out of malicious intent. I think Wooly is just more avoidant about everything. Like, he doesn't like to think much about their situation since, to be fair, it's pretty upsetting.

Eventually, I'll have a full Amanda and Wooly analysis complete with quotes and clips but for now I'll just share the gist of this personal theory I'm working on. Basically, I think a big part of this has to do with memories. I don't think Amanda and Wooly remember everything from before, and it's possible in the beginning they remembered nothing at all.

Spoilers ahead:

For one thing, in the first game, Amanda only reacts to the name "Sam" in the context of the father chicken. In the second game she reacts to it a lot more and seems to know what happened to him, so I think it's safe to say she remembers that much now. I think the first game was Amanda slowly remembering more and more and trying to prompt us to go off script so we could jog her memory a bit more.

I don't even think she remembers everything in the second game. It's possible there is still more she doesn't recall, but at this point, it seems like she doesn't want to talk about it. Even when Wooly wasn't around, if we mentioned Hameln or the butcher, she immediately shuts down. She's telling us pretty clearly that she wants out, though.

Which is why I found it interesting in the librarian tape when Kate couldn't even confirm if Amanda wanted out of the tapes. She was certain it was Rebecca, but she couldn't tell where she was coming from. I think Kate started the process of Amanda getting her memories back, or maybe she sped it up by mentioning names and things that Rebecca would know, jogging Amanda's memory over time just like we did.

But here's the thing, all of this probably jogged Wooly's memory too.

I see it as a "would you rather be told an inconvenient truth or a comforting lie" situation. Amanda wants the truth, but Wooly would rather live a lie.

I mean, the truth is clearly something that is painful, sad, and scary. Once Amanda learns it, she says in the Goodnight tape that she tries not to think about it. But Amanda knew these memories were upsetting and wanted them back anyway. She doesn't seem to regret knowing the truth. But I think Wooly would've rathered all this stay forgotten. Sad and scary things make him uncomfortable, as we learn in the "when you feel bad" tape when you answer "tragedy" or "horror". I think he tries to avoid them in general.

Another thing, Amanda wants us to know what happened to her. That's abundantly clear in the second game. Personally, I think she was the one who helped us find the secret tapes. She sprinkled little hints throughout the tapes to let us. She might not have known excatly what was on those tapes, but she clearly knows that they have something to do with what happened to her. There could've been some research on Wooly too, but we just never found it. I mean, Amanda doesn't excatly like Wooly and she's kinda desperate for us to know the truth about what happened to her so... she probably wouldn't be too eager to share about Wooly.

What I'm trying to say is: the reason we never learn about Wooly is because Wooly doesn't want to know the truth, and by extension has no interest in us finding it. My guess is that Wooly would much rather just forget and have things return to how they were in like the Hide and Seek Pilot, for instance.

Which, let me remind you is canon.

Basically, my guess is Wooly would rather things go back to how they were when they didn't remember. Staying on script and never questioning anything because the answers to those questions are painful.

Edit: I'd also like to mention that Sheep symbolizes FOLLOWERS. Something that fits Wooly to a T. He's not the "bad guy" he's simply the bystander, which doesn't make him a good person but it also doesn't make him a villain.

It's late, I'm tired idk if I'm even making sense. Had to rewrite half of this cuz it got deleted. Hope you enjoy nonetheless!

[eirenical]

Like Father, Unlike Son (3168 words) by eirenical

Written for the @mysteriouslotuscasebookweek prompts "Role Reversal" (Day 2) and "Grief" (Day 4).

Rating: Explicit

Summary: In the wake of Shan Gudao's return, Li Lianhua is left broken and listless, nothing like his usual self. Fang Duobing is willing to do anything to bring him back, even if it means pretending, just for one night, to be someone he's not... someone he hopes he'll never become.

The yard was silent, the kind of silence that descends in the wake of a storm. Fang Duobing would have filled that space with noise, laughter, anything but this quiet stillness that Shan Gudao had left in his wake. But Li Lianhua stood barely two steps away, holding himself so very carefully, as though too large a breath might break every bone in his rib cage.

~Li Xiangyi is, indeed, a joke.~

Fang Duobing's first instinct had been to defend, to deny, to wipe those words from existence the moment Li Lianhua had spoken them. But Li Lianhua had been standing oh so carefully then, too, as though some part of him had already broken beyond repair, and a harsh word could wipe him from existence along with his words. Fang Duobing wondered, for the first time, if he was finally, truly, seeing Li Xiangyi before him—or what little was left of him after first his shixiong's death and then the battle at the Eastern Sea had taken everything from him. For the first time, he began to see what might have driven him to put himself away so thoroughly and become Li Lianhua. Faced with what he'd been faced with, Fang Duobing might have done the same.

Gently, he said, "He's gone. Why don't we go inside?"

Li Lianhua didn't answer, simply turned back the way they'd come from and took one shuffling step after another. At the threshold, he stumbled, foot catching on the raised doorway when he didn't lift it high enough. Fang Duobing caught him, gripping his arm above the elbow and pulling him close to keep him upright.

His body was shaking, a fine tremor that Fang Duobing hadn't been able to see but could feel now that they were pressed so close. "Li Lianhua?"

Continue Reading on AO3

Tags, detailed warnings, and notes below the cut.

November 4, 2024: At this point, I think I just need to accept the fact that my niche in this fandom is "fucked up and ill-advised sex that probably at least hints at Daohua somewhere in the background." 😅 Anyway, ever since I saw the scene where Shan Gudao reveals himself to Fang Duobing and Li Lianhua, I've wanted to write a fic where Li Lianhua turns to Fang Duobing for some very ill-advised comfort after that and lets himself pretend, just this once, that Fang Duobing is actually Shan Gudao. Brain decided today was the day? Enjoy? 😁👍👍

Fic Warnings: This is a little bit of a YMMV situation. The sex that happens in this fic is 100% consensual on both sides, but Fang Duobing is essentially role playing as his father and there is ZERO negotiation before that happens and, knowing Li Lianhua, they're not going to discuss it afterwards, either. Fang Duobing does have a little bit of a frantic moment where he's basically thinking "…this is kind of fucked up, isn't it? Maybe we should talk about it first? OK, never mind, lower brain just took over and made the decision for me." But he's still very much on board with what's going on and they both enjoy it in the end. But this is some VERY tangled relationship shit going on and if that squicks you, you might want to give this one a miss.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Fang Duobing, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi

Additional Tags: mentions of - Freeform, Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi - Freeform, Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi - Freeform, Past, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi/Shan Gudao - Freeform, Under-negotiated Kink, Light BDSM, Sexual Roleplay, Unrequited Love, Established Relationship, Episode Related, episode 32, Missing Scene, Trauma, Dealing with Trauma in Less Than Healthy Ways, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, ill-advised sex, Healing Sex, (...yes it's the same sex; make of that what you will XD), Mysterious Lotus Casebook Week 2024

[therealcocoshady]

So I was thinking if you’re taking requests maybe a Em x reader where she’s plus size, they’ve been friends for a while and someone makes a comment making fun of her weight or how Em would never be with someone like her & reader overhears Em’s confession/response? In need for a happy ending type of fic.

Kinktober - Day 20 - Size Difference

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : thank you for your request ! I think it fights right with the Kinktober Day 20 prompt, which is « Size Difference ». I hope you enjoy it 💕.

CW : Size difference - Plus sized reader - Fluff

The dining room was warm and buzzing with laughter and chatter as the evening settled into its comfortable rhythm. Marshall sat beside you, leaning back with that familiar, laid-back posture, fingers idly tapping the edge of his glass as he listened to some story being told across the table. You felt a flicker of contentment just sitting beside him, enjoying the moment. You loved a good dinner party : great food and good company. It was even better when Marshall was around : his humor and playful remarks were always the cherry on the cake. The two of you had been friends for years, your bond built on banter and that magnetic, unspoken understanding. There was a spark, sure, but you had always kind of danced around it, knowing it was always there, like a half-breath between you. It was playful and fun but, at the end of the day, he was him and you were, well, you. And even though you sometimes thought of how great it might be if the friendship turned into something more, you were simply grateful to be in his presence.

At one point during the dinner, you excused yourself to step outside, needing a breath of fresh air and maybe just a moment alone. As you headed for the balcony, you didn’t realize that your absence would become the focal point of a conversation you’d never intended to overhear. Marshall was taking a sip of his drink when he heard one of his friends, that you had not crossed paths with too often, chuckle, glancing toward the door you had just passed through.

“So, uh, what’s the deal between you and Y/N?” the guy asked, with that tone that conveyed his thought on your friendship, probably deeming unlikely. After all, most people wouldn’t expect one of the most successful rappers to be such good friends with a female, much less one that did not look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Marshall’s brow furrowed at the question. “We’ve been friends for a while. Why?” The guy shrugged, giving a half-smile. “Nothing, man. I’m just surprised. Thought you’d go for, you know…” He motioned vaguely with his hand. “Someone more your…size.”

Marshall’s eyes narrowed, but the guy kept going, oblivious. “Look, she's nice, sure, but I mean— she might get the wrong idea and think there’s something there. And, well, she’s not exactly…. In your league, you know what I’m saying?” A heaviness dropped in your chest. You didn’t mean to overhear a conversation you were obviously not privy to. You could feel your eyes starting to burn. How humiliating. You’d left your seat for a minute and people were making fun of you. Right when you thought you were having a great time. You stayed on the balcony, looking away, pretending not to hear anything, hoping the conversation would end soon, so that you could go back to your seat and pretend that nothing happened. You didn’t see Marshall glance toward the balcony door. “Yeah,” Marshall said, his tone cold, “you’re right.”

You could feel your heart drop. Of course you knew that Marshall was out of your league. Anyone could see that. And you knew he knew it too. But to hear him acknowledge it, as simple as that, it still hurt. You would have hoped he’d at least defend you and say what a great friend you were. You could feel a lump form in your throat, before he continued. “She’s way out of my league.” Marshall’s voice softened as he glanced back toward the balcony door. “She’s the kind of woman who’s smart and hilarious, who’s real and doesn’t fake a damn thing. She’s gorgeous and incredible and—well, you wouldn’t get it. Someone like her?” He paused, letting the words sink in. “She’d never go for someone like me.”

The guy stammered, clearly at a loss for words. “But I mean, what is it that you actually see in her?” Marshall shook his head, a glint of disbelief in his eyes as he looked his friend square in the face. “What do I see in her?” He gave a small laugh. “Everything. I mean, have you seen her?”

You thought you were about to cry from the humiliation, but then you heard Marshall’s voice, steady and honest, filling in every corner of doubt she’d ever had. By the time he finished, your cheeks felt hot. There was a moment of silence and you decided to come back. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, and approached the table, quietly slipping back into your seat beside him. Marshall glanced over, flashing her that signature, knowing smile, like you were his favorite person to see across the room. The conversation switched to another topic, moving on to some workplace gossip.

Without a word, you reached under the table and found his hand. His fingers stilled for a beat, then curled around yours, his thumb tracing a gentle pattern on your skin, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had. He looked over, and your eyes met, a silent understanding passing between you, deeper than words. “Out of your league, huh?” You whispered, your voice a mixture of teasing and something softer, more serious. He squeezed your hand gently, his demeanor oddly calm though you could see a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. “Way, way out of my league,” he murmured, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face.

You both focused on the table conversation, but neither of you could actually keep your attention from straying to the connection between your hands, fingers gently toying and tracing each other. Every once in a while, Marshall’s thumb would brush across your knuckles, a delicate and unhurried stroke that sent little shivers up your arm. You bit your lip, suppressing a smile, feeling your cheeks warm under the subtle, unspoken affection radiating from him. At one point, he leaned back casually, still holding your hand beneath the table, and threw in one of his usual sarcastic comments at something one of your friends said. But as he spoke, he lightly drew circles against your palm, his fingers grazing yours with a mix of playfulness and tenderness. It felt like a secret only the two of you shared, a silent language spoken in touch instead of words. You risked a glance at him, your eyes catching his for the briefest moment. He was mid-sentence, but when he saw you look, he shot you a crooked smile, raising one eyebrow in that mischievous way of his. He gave your hand another gentle squeeze, like he was saying, ‘I’ve got you.’

Your friends seemed oblivious, absorbed in their own conversations, while you and Marshall seemed to exist in your own bubble, a world of hidden smiles and quiet gestures. With each minute that passed, your confidence in this unspoken connection grew, and your touches became bolder. His hand slipped down to your wrist, feeling the steady rhythm of your pulse, while you traced your fingertips along the callouses on his, each touch a little thrill that left you wanting more. By dessert, you were leaning in just a little closer, your shoulder brushing his as you exchanged quick, playful whispers and comments about the evening’s conversations. The closeness of him, the warmth of his hand in yours, all made your heart pound in a way that was intoxicating.

Finally, as the evening wound down, people beginning to gather coats and say goodbyes, Marshall gave your hand one last squeeze, holding your gaze in a look that spoke volumes. As you stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut, the quiet tension that had been building all night seemed to close in around you. The moment you were alone, it was as though the air became charged, the silence between the two of you suddenly thick with every unspoken word and lingering look you’d shared at the dinner table.

You leaned back against the wall of the elevator, your breath catching as Marshall took a step closer. His gaze roamed over you, clearly taking in the way your dress hugged your curves, accentuating every line, every dip. He looked at you like he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried, and your pulse quickened, your body responding to the heat in his stare. He raised a hand, his fingers brushing along your cheek, trailing down to your jaw, gentle but deliberate. His voice was a low, warm rumble, barely above a whisper. “You’re so damn gorgeous, you know that?” You felt your cheeks flush, your lips parting, but before you could say anything, his mouth was on your, soft but insistent. The kiss was slow at first, like he was savoring every second, his hand slipping around to the back of your neck, holding you close as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pulled him closer, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his mouth against yours, the warmth of his body pressing into you. She could taste the faint hint of Diet Coke on his lips, feel the steady beat of his heart against your fingertips, and it made your head spin. Marshall’s hands slid down, resting on your hips, pulling you against him, his touch possessive yet tender. His lips moved to your jaw, then to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made you melt against him, your breath coming quicker with each soft, lingering touch. “You have no idea…” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “No idea how beautiful you are.”

His hand traced down your side, following the curve of your waist, fingers exploring every dip and line as though committing you to memory. You arched into him, your own hands roaming up to his shoulders, feeling the strength in him, the tension just beneath the surface. When he looked at you again, his eyes were filled with an intensity that made your knees weak. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek as he leaned in once more, capturing your mouth in another kiss that was deeper, needier. The world outside the elevator ceased to exist; there was only the warmth of his touch, the soft hum of the elevator, and the way he made you feel, like you were the only woman in the world.

[castiwls]

everything has changed .ᐟ

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'and all my walls stood tall painted blue. But I'll take 'em down, take 'em down, and open up the door for you'

Requested; anon

Notes; watching the election and finishing off reqs hopefully I can get them all done

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

“Good morning.” 

A smile pulled at his lips as your voice carried across the room from where you stood in front of the mirror. Your eyes found his in the reflection as you ran a hand through your hair to smooth it down.

“Morning.” He sighed rubbing a hand over his eyes as his body slowly woke up. “Not like you to be up so early?” He mumbled leaning back into the pillows as you grabbed your mug from the dresser. 

You hummed raising an eyebrow. “Check your alarm.” 

Sam frowned turning to look at the clock as you covered your smirk with the mug. 11 am. His eyebrows drew together as he looked at the clock in confusion, he never slept through his alarm.

“How did I sleep through it?” He questioned turning back as you sat down beside him, one of your hands smoothing down the covers. “You didn’t sleep through it Sam. I turned it off.”

Your boyfriend shot you a betrayed look as you shrugged with a small smile. “You went to bed at 3 am last night. There was no way you were going to function on 3 hours sleep.”

Sam immediately went to defend himself but you cut him off. “I know you have. But you shouldnt.” 

His self-care habits had always been a point of annoyance in your relationship. His habits were none existent in your mind and that was something that had to change. The Sam Winchester you’d met had been a closed book when it came to relationships.

One to many heartbreaks had left him unsure to even take you up on your advances. Every girl he’d ever really liked was dead. He refused to watch that happen to you aswell. He rerufsed to see another person die because of him.

But you were nothing if not insistent and two years later you were both still here.

You were still here and he was actually happy.

You’d convinced him to take a chance and open up his heart one last time and so far he’d never been happier. 

“You turned off my alarm.” He shook his head taking your mug and placing it on the small table. “Someone had to let you get a good night rest, god knows you wont do it alone.” Sam chuckled pulling you back into his chest.

You yelped quietly at the movement, your chin resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “Your gonna be thanking me when you don’t get a migraine later.” You smiled. He hummed unconvinced as his hand idly ran over your back. 

He knew you had a point but admitting that would just allow you to gloat. Instead he shook his head again leaning down to press a kiss to your head as you got comfortable against his chest.

“Your not moving are you.”

You shook your head. “Nope.” You felt him shift back to lie down. “You know sleep debt is a thing right? You have years to make up for yet.”

Sam huffed qiietly, his hand pausing over your back as he watched you for a moment. He’d promised himself he’d never let himself get thise close to another person again yet you’d somehow managed to change that. 

And you also seemed set on changing his horrible sleeping patterns.

[jimxnslight]

Hey. Love your works. How are you?

For the prompts: 19. If you are okay with it, reading struggling after SA and finding it hard to tell taehyung about it ( only if you are ok with it)

Pairing: lawyer boyfriend!Taehyung x reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Sexual Assault (i.e. slapping, groping), accidental minor injury, some blood

A/N: so um did I say max 1k for the drabbles? I didn't, right? I don’t remember saying that at all, nope, not at all… okay so maybe I went a little overboard with this but in my defence this is a pretty heavy topic and I didn’t wanna just breeze over it like it was nothing. So I present to you this supersized (currently unedited) drabble

You never think it will happen to you. 

Sure, you’ve heard gruesomely detailed cases about women getting assaulted all the time on the news. You’ve read horrifying stories on Reddit of men committing atrocities against the opposite gender. You’ve even witnessed your own friend be catcalled on the bus during one of your girls' nights out. But you never think it will happen to you. 

Until one day it does. 

Until one day a man double your age grabs you while you're walking down the familiar hallway of your workplace. Until one day you’re being dragged into an empty meeting room before you can even think of screaming and shoved against the wall while your arms are restrained by hands that feel like they were made of iron. Until one day you have this man telling you how long he’s been waiting to get you alone, how annoying it has been to have had to hold back because of your “stupid boyfriend.”

You remember struggling at first, desperate to get away from a distant nightmare that had become reality, desperate to get this man as far away from you as humanly possible, but his next action had stopped you in your tracks. 

“Shut up,” he had snapped, and a sharp crack had sounded as his palm came in contact with your cheek. It shocked your senses, the fact that you’d been slapped in the building you had felt so comfortable working in for years, the fact that you had been so easily overcome. 

The realisation of how helpless you truly were in that moment seemed to strike you harder than any slap, the thought so jarring that you slowly felt the fight begin to drain from your limbs, fear settling to lock them in place instead. You couldn’t move, could barely even breathe, and you knew it had nothing to do with the steely grip the man had on you to keep you from running. Your strength was nothing in the face of his, and he seemed so angry and determined that you feared he might actually break your arms in a fit of rage if you tried to oppose him. 

You think that was when the numbness had begun to set in, because you couldn't remember feeling a stinging sensation on your cheek, the one you’re supposed to feel when a person is struck. In fact, you couldn’t remember feeling anything at all, even when you had watched the man’s hands roam over your chest and back greedily. Why hadn’t you screamed? Or cried? Or felt anything that wasn’t nothing at all?

That dazed state hadn’t dissipated even when the door to the meeting room had burst open to reveal your boyfriend’s friend and your co-worker, Jungkook, who had only taken a moment to process the situation before he had shoved the guy off of you and landed a harsh punch against his cheek.

You couldn’t remember what happened next. One second you were watching Jungkook angrily ask the man what he thought he was doing and then the next second you were standing here, staring blankly at the door to Taehyung’s familiar apartment. You felt like you were in a dream, everything surrounding you hazy and intangible as you watched your shaking fingers pull your keys from your pocket and unlock the door just like you always did. 

You were immediately greeted with the sound of the living room TV, and then the sight of your boyfriend stretched over the couch, two case files strewn out on the wooden coffee table before him as his attention jumped from the files to the series playing on the TV. 

At the sound of the door he turned to glance at you, a boxy smile overtaking his features.

“Hey, you’re back early,” he noted, his attention returning to the files, “how was work?”

It took a second for you to process the question, partly because the sight of his refined eyes and dark brown hair felt grounding and partly because that grounding effect seemed to tug at your hazy mind, attempting to pull you out of this thick fog you found yourself swimming in. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like that every time you felt yourself drifting away from the fog you could start to feel that man’s hands back on your body, as if they had been dipped in permanent ink and he had smeared it all over your skin. It made you feel dirty. It made you feel desperate to scrub it all off in the shower. 

But you couldn’t seem to get yourself to move towards the bathroom, too stuck in this autopilot mode that your mind seemed to cling to desperately to feign some form of ignorance. You watched yourself, as if you were some kind of spectator in your own body, walk into the kitchen just as you always did when you got back from work. As if following your daily routine would erase any remnant of the last hour from your memory. 

“It was fine,” you answered, your monotonous tone catching Taehyung’s attention. This time he gave you a sympathetic look as you mindlessly began pulling things out of the cabinets and fridge, his own hand moving to grab the remote and turn off the television. 

“Ah, I guess night shift isn’t exactly what you were expecting it to be…” he shook his head, misinterpreting the situation. He pushed himself off the sofa and began walking towards your form, “but it was only your first day, I’m sure it’ll get better as time passes.”

You quietly placed a head of lettuce - you don’t remember how it got in your hand - on a cutting board, while your other hand grabbed a knife. You had no clue what you were doing, no idea why you were cutting a head of lettuce right now, but you did know that you couldn’t look at Taehyung. Every time you did you could feel yourself slipping out of the daze that seemed to be keeping you together in front of him, could feel those hands groping at your body again.

Taehyung stepped beside you as he leaned against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and an encouraging look on his face, “and even if it does end up sucking, your manager did say the switch was temporary. You’ll be back on the dayshift in no time, trust me.”

Your silence continued, Taehyung’s words flying over your head as you focused on keeping your erratic breathing levelled and your hands steady. You felt like a bomb, the pressure building and building and building until it could no longer be contained by the numbing of your mind and explode all over the place. You didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. 

“Hey,” he said, shifting so that he wasn’t leaning against the counter anymore and instead facing you with one hand against the counter, “did something happen? You don’t need my help with suing anyone, do you?”

He’d added that last sentence to lighten the mood, but when you didn’t answer him he couldn't hide his worry. His tone dipped as he tried to get your attention, which was still on that head of lettuce. You tightened your grip on it, trying to hide the evident tremor in your fingers. 

“Y/N? Come on, say something. Was it really that stressful today?”

You took a shaky breath, “no, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, you’re clearly stressed over something. We can go out somewhere if you want? Or we can order takeout and watch movies here… Just ask me anything and we’ll do it.”

The pressure was nipping away at your composure, so much so that the feeling of your throat closing up barred you from answering him. You could feel a hand on your chest, another at your hip; there was one sliding up your back, one closing around your neck. He was everywhere. You closed your eyes. It was too much. You just wanted it all to stop. 

You just wanted it all to stop. 

“Y/N!”

Taehyung suddenly lunged for the knife just as a sharp pain shot from your hand, his fingers wrapping around the handle to pull it out of your grasp. There was a small trail of blood dripping from the new cut on your palm.

“You’re bleeding,” he announced, dropping the knife back onto the cutting board before quickly opening the medicine cabinet to bring out some band-aids, “it’s not too deep thank god, but try to staunch the bleeding with those paper towels just in case.”

But when Taehyung turned around he found you frozen in place, gaze hazily fixed on your bleeding palm. You tried to focus on that pain instead, hoping it could help you balance your breathing and stabilise your shaky arms and stop the hands. Those hands, that wouldn’t stop grabbing at your skin over and over and over. 

Taehyung, more confused than ever, walked over to where you were standing and grabbed a couple of paper towels, “please say something, Y/N, you’re worrying me.”

He reached over to wet the paper towel before cleaning your palm, and it was only then that he felt you trembling. His brows furrowed as he reached over once again, this time to place a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“God, you’re shaking-”

But the moment his fingers connected with your shoulder you flinched. It wasn’t a small reaction either. It was the kind that had you snapping backwards, your hand smacking against a pan that went crashing to the floor while your head bumped against an overhead cabinet. Taehyung’s eyes were wide, his entire body freezing as he watched you cave in on yourself. 

“Please…” you said, unable to produce anything more than a whisper, “please, don’t touch me.”

A look of hurt flashed on his face, and you felt awful for causing it. But, up until now, the touches of that man’s hand had been ghostly, merely whisps brushing against your skin, until Taehyung’s hand had made contact with you and suddenly they felt too real. It was as if you couldn’t differentiate his touch from that man’s, and that thought only pained you further, so much so that you felt your eyes begin to water.

Taehyung tried to take a step towards you, but you moved backwards further, causing him to pause. 

“Y/N, what’s going on?” He pleaded now, begging you to shed some light on the situation. You looked so pained, he couldn’t bear to see you like this, “please baby, why won’t you let me help you?”

You didn’t want to break down in front of him, didn’t want him to see you like this: so weak, so vulnerable, so incapable of pulling yourself together. 

And yet, at the soft tone of his voice, that’s exactly what Taehyung witnessed.

The tears came first, heavy as they slid down your cheeks before sobs began to rack your frame. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, causing you to drop to your knees as you began to cry into your hands. You’d tried so hard to keep yourself together, and yet here you were now, unravelling entirely at Taehyung’s feet. 

Silently, he walked to where you were bent over, slowly crouching so that he was on the same level as you. His hands were itching to pull you into his arms and hold you while you sobbed, his heart aching to lessen even a sliver of whatever you were going through in that moment, but after your earlier reaction to his touch he decided not to push it. Instead, he stayed crouched before you, dropping soft words of comfort to let you know that you weren’t alone, he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Eventually the story began to drop from your lips. You started from the very beginning, mentioning every detail of the experience as Taehyung struggled to keep his anger at bay the longer he listened. You went farther than that too, admitting to just how helpless and vulnerable you had felt in that moment and wondering how you were ever going to feel comfortable in your workplace again.

By the time you’d finished the anger and pain he felt was straining his chest, the urge to pull you closer reaching an unbearable level.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked instead, knowing that getting angry and emotional now wouldn’t help you in any way. Right now it was his turn to stay strong, so that he could be that pillar of support for you during a time like this. 

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, sniffling while your hands tried to dry your cheeks. Taehyung’s gaze softened at how defeated you sounded. 

“Y/N, look at me,” he said, causing your damp eyes to meet his, “none of this is your fault, you understand me? What that man did to you was wrong, and he deserves to rot in hell for it. I’ll make sure of that if you’ll let me.”

Taehyung shifted forward, taking care not to touch you as he placed his hand on the floor in front of you, “and you’re going to get through this. I know it hurts right now. I know you feel helpless and vulnerable, it’s normal to feel that way. But I know how strong you are, I know you will get through this. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way, that you can count on. I promise.”

Even though you felt embarrassed, letting it all out to Taehyung and knowing he would still be by your side no matter what felt like a huge relief. Perhaps a part of you had been afraid of what his reaction would be, which was stupid considering how many sexual assault victims you knew he’d defended before in court. But there had still been that little “what if…” taunting you in the back of your mind. You were glad that thought had been shot down now entirely. 

You sniffed as your gaze dropped to his hand, still placed on the floor in front of your knees. You lifted your own, extending it until you hesitantly brushed your fingers over the back of your palm. You were relieved when your body didn’t recoil or flinch, relieved that you could lace your fingers in between his without any bad feelings.

Perhaps there still was hope for you. Perhaps you weren’t entirely broken. 

“Y/N?” Taehyung whispered, squeezing your hand reassuringly in his. You looked up at him in question. 

“Can I hug you?”

Even though your nod was quick, because just the thought of him was comforting, you appreciated it when he slowly pulled you towards him, making sure that if you needed to back out at any time it was okay. But by the time he had pulled you halfway towards himself, it was you who threw your arms around his torso and buried your face in his shirt, Taehyung’s arms immediately encircling your form. His hands stroked your back softly, nothing like that man’s hands in the slightest. 

The two of you stayed like that for so long that by the time Taehyung spoke, you could feel your leg start to cramp from the hard floor and awkward position. 

“So,” he said, stroking your hair gently, “what do you want to do now?”

He wanted you to say the words so badly, to tell him to help you sue every last penny out of that man before throwing him in the worst jail Taehyung had heard of. He was more than ready to, the anger from before slithering back into chest like an enraged snake. He wasn’t a lawyer for nothing, and he’d show that man exactly what he was capable of. 

But you surprised him when you said none of that and instead said, “I want to take a shower.”

He chuckled, although it was more bittersweet knowing that a lot of women tended to feel “dirty” after being assaulted; he’d seen a lot of that in his line of work, and the thought of you feeling that way hurt his heart. 

“Do you want me to join you?” He asked, pulling the two of you from the ground, though his arms stayed fixed around your waist. 

You shook your head slowly, hoping he wouldn’t take any offence. You just felt like you needed a moment to yourself to sort some things out in your head, but Taehyung was quick to nod, instead placing a light kiss on your forehead. 

“Alright, just call if you need me, okay? In the meantime I’ll order some takeout,” he smiled, showcasing that beautifully boxy grin that you could stare at for hours if he let you. Taehyung was glad to see you give him a small smile of your own before you turned around and disappeared behind the doors to your shared bedroom. 

The moment he heard the shower turn on, the sound of his phone going off made him flinch. He walked over to the coffee table and picked it up, brows furrowing when he saw Jungkook’s name displayed on the screen before immediately pressing the answer button. 

“Hyung!” Jungkook yelled into the phone, his worry apparent, “is Y/N at your place?! I’ve been trying to find her for the last 30 minutes, but I think she left the building. There was this guy and I caught him trying to force himself on her, but after I shoved him away I turned around and she just disappeared. I-”

“Relax Jungkook,” Taehyung calmed him down, quickly explaining that you were at his place and everything was fine. But Jungkook being involved relieved Taehyung, because that meant he could trust him to be a credible witness and to send him some extra information. 

“I need you to send me the details of the guy that hurt her,” Taehyung said, noticing the malice in his voice but not finding it in himself to care. His gaze dropped to the abandoned case files thrown across the coffee table, knowing that he’ll have to give most of his cases away if he wanted to spend as much time on yours as he wanted to. 

Thankfully, Jungkook’s reply was immediate, “of course, anything you need.”

Taehyung smiled, not only because Jungkook was ready to help him defend you, but also for protecting you when he wasn’t there. If Jungkook hadn’t been there… well Taehyung didn’t want to think about it. A part of him thinks he might have actually been capable of committing murder. 

He took a breath trying to steady himself, focusing instead on what was within his limits at the moment. 

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

“I’ll need your help if I want to make that man regret ever being born.”

[justletmeon12]

Unpopular Idea

I know this goes against the whole ethos of Game Changer, but hear me out:

Episode in which the players screw with Sam instead of the other way around.

Contestants would obviously be those who've been messed with the most on prior episodes - Brennan, Rekha, Grant and/or Jess.

The mechanic might be some variant on "If you get a point, you can make Sam do something" or a live version of Fluxx.

[mittensmorgul]

There’s another post going around about this, but tumblr won’t let me reblog it but...

When I read a story written by a human being, I’m not just reading it because I want to read a coffee shop AU with a specific plot description. I’m reading it because it’s making a connection to another human storyteller and seeing a piece of them carved into the words. Storytelling is a human act of sharing joy, angst, tension, resolution, satisfaction. It’s an act of love.

Writing and reading a story isn’t just an act of creation and consumption. I hate that commercialism and AI are reducing it to that sort of transaction. Like oh, you need words on this subject and that’s the end of it. Like what we really needed was just a vending machine we can push buttons on to get a fix, as if the human creating the story wasn’t a factor. That the author’s life experience and views and feelings haven’t infused the words with their own unique touches.

I’ve read hundreds of coffee shop AU’s over the years (and thousands of fics in general). I’ve seen many similar tropes reused across stories, and just like an AI would, I’ve learned things about writing them that I will always carry with me. But unlike an AI, a human author is not just the sum total of coffee shop AU’s we’ve consumed. Even if we used the same prompt, the same sets of tropes, the same characters. I will always choose the human-crafted story over the computer generated one.

Because again, I’m not just looking for a very specific fix via a series of words. I’m looking for a human connection through story.

Unlike an AI, I have BEEN to a coffee shop. I’ve had experiences in coffee shops. I’ve had funny little meet-cutes with people. I’ve accidentally spilled coffee on myself and knocked heads with someone as we both rushed to wipe it up. I know what it FEELS like. The machine doesn’t.

I’ve also read millions of things that aren’t fanfic, or coffee shop AU’s. I’ve experienced things OTHER than going to coffee shops and having meet-cutes. And I know what all those things feel like when processed through my personal human lens of experience, which is different from every other personal human lens of experience.

All the machine can do is spit out what it THINKS a human experience is, and I honestly don’t care about that at all. Fic is not a “product” to be “generated.” It’s an art form that connects us to other people who share the same love of a thing that we do.

People who, even when all writing the same characters in the same setting to the exact same prompt, will all add something or have a viewpoint about something or bring a completely different personality and life experience to the story that no one else on the planet could. That’s what I’m actually reading.

[sonknuxadow]

sorry mild hater moment incoming but . idk what it is with s/onadow fans (not all of them. just a very loud subsection) specifically and making every little thing shadow does about s/onadow even if its the biggest reach imaginable and immediately going "omg s/onadow" every time hes confirmed to be in some upcoming thing . or being so obsessed with the ship and letting it warp their perceptions of things so much to the point where they act like every little thing is a hint from sega that theyre in love for real. and they cant admit that its not canon or that just because they choose to interpret certain things romantically doesnt mean that thats actually what sega/the writers intended even if theres an obvious non so/nadow explanation for it

before people take this the wrong way i dont hate the ship i dont think that its completely baseless or that everyone who likes it is wrong and annoying or anything . but some of you look like this if im being honest

[alexjcrowley]

Hey I just want to know something: am I the stupidest person on the planet or the f1 fandom is built differently?

Everytime I go on a social media to look up f1 content I see cute/horny (let's be honest) edits and everybody calling the drivers pookie or making memes. And that's alright, I guess.

I most definitely know that a bunch of (mostly white) men in a very competitive male-dominated sport rooted more than many others in capitalism are probably going to have scandals around them. I am not that dumb. I also know that because probably none of them is scandal-free and people who get crushes/hyperfixation on them just learn to live with them, but I didn't think they just...ignored them? Swept them under the rug? Let me explain.

When I so much as stumble on a TikTok with a song by The 1975 or McCafferty- or hell even Lovejoy recently- I see comments flooding with "bUt DoN't YoU kNoW tHeY'rE pRoBlEmAtIC?". Same happened with content about cinema or books. And on Tumblr happens less but still happens. As soon as you mention something that has ties with sexism, racism, homophobia, etc. people will soon point it out to you. Maybe because they're some of those people with the obsession of only consuming "morally pure" content, maybe they genuinely want to inform you, maybe they fucking hate that song/book/movie and want to give YOU a reason to dislike it.

But can someone tell me if I'm fucking dumb and I managed to stumble in the wrong part of instagram/tumblr/TikTok or NOBODY fucking talks about the shit some drivers have done? Because I am stumbling on a LOT of shit done by drivers I really liked lately even though I have been interested in F1 for a while now. Not too long, but enough that I think I would have heard some stuff.

Like, if I spent like 6 months on the hashtag of Guy Who Drives, why am I now finding out that they said something really discriminatory? I am just confused, I simply thought it would have popped out sooner, but apparently it was buried under 500+ posts about their abs? Like what?

I get that anyway it's not like you can cancel a driver, no matter what shit they say they'll probably still going to be racing the next weekend, but why people don't talk about it? Was my socials' fault for showing me horny posts everytime I simply looked up the name of a guy or do people don't talk about this stuff in the f1 community because "what are you gonna do anyway"?

I am leaning towards the second option because there are a few things that happened while I was already watching f1 (not in order: Lando's comments about, Trump, Hornergate, most drivers saying Hornergate was just noise) and at first people were talking about it but then they just...stopped? Like, I don't know, personally the words of disenterest many drivers expressed about Hornergate made me change my opinion about them at least a little and people seemed so outraged at first but now...it's like it never happened. Everybody back thirsting on main for Ricciardo, Norris, etc.

Genuine question, is the general response of the f1 community to these behaviours "forgive and forget in time of the next gp"? Am I missing something? I don't think they should be crucified but why I have not seen more people talking about this stuff? The "serious sport bunch" seems to be uninterested in "gossip" or whatever happens outsid the tracks, the good old fashioned fandom is writing fanfiction/making edits/funny posts, who keeps tracks of this stuff?

I have never been interested in a sport before. In the artistic world (cinema, literature, etc.) some scandals can get you out of a job and a long lasting hatred from the community. In motorsports, because the success of a driver does not depend from his fans' engagement but can be "objectively proved" by results and victories, do people just...make peace with the fact that some athletes are pieces of shit?

I want to specify it one more time, I am NOT saying LET'S CANCEL ALL THE DRIVERS AND BOO THEM BECAUSE THEY HAVE DONE SOMETHING QRONG AT SOME POINT, I am asking:

how do you deal when an athlete you cheer for does something really fucked up, and you know other athletes in the same field are no saints?