#please keep doing it. please keep existing and surviving

[mosabsdr]

💬 Just a Small Update, and a Big Thank You

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and family ♥️

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Life, Death, and the Space in Between Final Part (Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal)

Summary: Choices are made--and lives are changed forever.

Words: 2113

Warnings: Mentions of death, dying, language, magic, etc.

A/N: We made it to the end y'all... good luck, have tissues. Also--I need to redo my taglist so if you wanna be on it, lemme know.

Agatha paced back and forth in front of the campfire for what felt like hours, her feet worn raw and her nails bit into the quick as she chewed on them absently. Rio was sitting in the grass along the Road’s edge, a mighty tempest of wind and leaves shielding you from view.

From her.

She’d done a lot of terrible things in her lifetime—maimed, killed, psychologically tortured, technically killed Sparky—but of all the choices she’d ever made, this was the only one she felt ashamed of. Guilty as she imagined you lying in Rio’s lap, the color fading from your cheeks, the warmth of your skin cooling into something she never thought would be possible for someone so full of…

Life.

“There has to be something,” she hissed to herself, panic blossoming in her chest as she heard Rio whispering to you, her voice lost in the storm surrounding you both.

-X-

Delicate fingers threaded through your dirty hair, Rio’s face never more than a few inches away from your own.

“Please, baby. Please… you can’t do this to me… I don’t know how to exist without you. Please…” she pressed her forehead to yours, breathing you in as her voice cracked desperately. “I don’t know how to be Death without Life…”

You groaned in pain and Rio could only watch in heartbroken horror as the veins under your skin darkened, trailing from your temple down into your cheek, stopping just at the corner of your mouth.

“No, no, no…” she exhaled, eyes welling up with tears. “You can’t do this to me, (Y/N)! Stop! I can’t lose you too!”

-X-

Agatha’s heart split wide in her chest at the fear in Rio’s voice, her hands trembling as it settled in—truly—what she’d done. For centuries she’d blamed you both for the loss of Nicky. Hated seeing your faces, even when she couldn’t bring herself to truly forget them, because they just reminded her of him. Of your little boy that only had a few years of life with her…

But most of all, she hated herself for being able to save him. No matter how much magic she stole—what she learned and unlearned and relearned—nothing could undo what had been done. She couldn’t bring him back and she couldn’t bring herself to let go of her hatred…

And it cost her everything, in the end. Her lovers, her happiness…

“Having a child with us, it isn’t… sustainable, darling,” you had warned her, devastation on your features. “We aren’t meant to bring flesh and blood into existence. Even if we succeeded, the child wouldn’t survive the magic. Not for long… to be a cosmic being means mortal bodies cannot contain it. And the child would be, at least, half cosmic being. We’re not human, even if we wear its face and use its name. We are beings beyond existence and it would tear the child apart.”

And she had pleaded with you both to just—

Try.

Only to hate you when the truth of what you spoke came into being. Her little boy incapable of remaining in a mortal vessel, growing weaker with each passing day…

Never once had you lied to her. Never once did you pretend some divine intervention would save him. You had fought—every single day—to keep him breathing until the body was too damaged to continue on…

And she’d spit.

In.

Your.

Face.

Stumbling over to the maelstrom of Rio’s despair, Agatha kneeled in front of the swirling wind. “Was she right? About… Nicky? Is he… like you two?”

The storm froze, like a spinning door caught by a hand, and for a moment, she didn’t think Rio would answer her before—

“Yes. But he cannot leave the cosmic realms like she and I can. We tried… God, Agatha, we both tried so fucking hard to give him a way to see you again. Did you think we just forgot? That we didn’t care? (Y/N) spent every moment of ten years trying to find a way to let him travel back to this realm—and it nearly destroyed them both.”

A broken sob escaped Agatha’s throat before she could choke it back, tears trickling down her mud-smudged cheeks as the storm parted and you both came in view. Rio, with tears of her own and fear on her lips, and you…

Oh God, you…

“I’m so sorry,” Agatha whispered, crawling closer to your limp body. “You fucking idiot. You should’ve left me there. I deserved it.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, surprised when Rio didn’t protest. She simply held you tighter, tears dripping down her cheeks as she stared at the scene.

“Couldn’t… leave… you…” a shaky, raspy croak slipped from your lips.

Agatha choked out another violent, shattered sob as she cradled your face. Your skin was clammy beneath her touch—

“You should’ve. I would’ve deserved it! You… baby, we can’t… I can’t lose you. I just found you again…”

Your soft, stunned laugh devolved into a coughing fit as you curled tighter against Rio’s chest. “You haven’t called me ‘baby’ in a long time, Aggie.”

“I should’ve. I never should’ve stopped. Not with either of you.” Agatha’s eyes met Rio’s and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Rio’s shoulder as she cried. “I am so, so sorry.”

Rio stared down at your sickly, sunken face. “You’re dying, (Y/N), and I don’t know how to fix this. You were always the one who planned while I just burned everything to the ground and danced in the fire. I don’t… I don’t know how to be you! How to exist without you beside me! You’re my balance.”

She whimpered. “How do I live without the other half of my soul?”

As your breathing grew shallow, you nuzzled closer to Rio. “You’ll be okay… you’ve always been the stronger one, darling. Maybe now you both can find your peace together,” you whispered against her throat, feeling it tremble.

“No, no, no. Don’t do that. Don’t close your eyes. You have to give me more time to figure something out. Please…” Rio begged, clutching you like she was trying to keep your soul trapped in your body a little longer. “You can’t go yet.”

You pressed your hand weakly against her chest, where a heart would beat, and smiled faintly. “I will always be a part of you, baby. Death never truly exists without Life.”

Tears poured down her cheeks as she slid her hand atop yours, keeping it against her skin. “(Y/N), stay. I need you…”

Your breathing came in shorter gasps, body trembling as the veins darkened, spreading down your throat and hands, beyond the clothing on your torso…

“…you’re a part of me,” Rio mumbled, brows furrowing together as her grip tightened around your hand. “Oh, (Y/N), you fucking idiotic genius.”

You didn’t respond, body too weak and corrupted as you slumped against her, ever-slowly losing the battle to the realm of Death.

She lifted you up and carried you into the Road, laying you down in a patch of moonlight as she hurriedly yanked her dagger from its sheathe and ran it along her hand, watching the nearly onyx blood well up. Cutting a slit in your shirt, she pressed the blade over your heart and carved a small line down the center until, what was once almost white blood now turned black, bubbled to the surface.

“I am a part of you… you are a part of me… let your burdens be mine. Let me carry the weight of your calling with the strength of my being,” she murmured, covering the cut with her bleeding hand as she stared down at you. “C’mon, baby…”

Your body jerked once beneath her hand—a flicker, a twitch—but then…

Nothing.

Just silence.

“No,” Rio gasped, voice cracked and raw. “No, no, no—dammit, don’t do this to me!”

Agatha watched in silent grief as you remained still, the veins pulsing under your skin as it began to drag you under before…

“You can’t do this alone,” Agatha muttered in realization, dropping to her knees beside you and snagging Rio’s dagger, slicing her own hands open without hesitation. “Life and Death are a cycle but there was to be something to bridge them, right? That’s what us lowly mortals are—that bridge.”

She cut another line across your chest before reaching for Rio’s free hand and cutting her palm, a surprisingly clean line despite the trembling of her hand.

“I fucked this up. I ruined this… let me fix it now. Please.” Agatha looked at Rio softly, in a way she hadn’t in centuries. “Please, my love.”

Rio’s jaw clenched before she took Agatha’s hand in her own, watching Agatha suck in a deep, pained breath as Rio’s magic poured through her. It was hot and wrong, burning her alive from the inside out but she didn’t fight it as her other hand fell over your chest, her blood seeping into your wound.

Agatha gritted her teeth as the pain flared, her mortality flaring against a magic her body was never supposed to know—but she held, her blood mingling with Rio’s, mixing with yours, seeping into the line carved down your chest like ink bleeding into old parchment.

Rio leaned over you, her voice unsteady but firm. “Three parts. Life. Death. Mortal. A balance. A trinity.” Her thumb stroked your cheek, reverent, aching. “We don’t exist without each other—and we were never whole until we found Agatha. You said it yourself. We needed her… but now we need you.”

Agatha’s voice was raw as she echoed, “I bind myself to you. I hold the weight of what I’ve broken. I stay, because I love you. I stay because I’m sorry. Because I never stopped loving you, I just didn’t know how to grieve with you. How to not blame you…”

Their joined hands pressed down over your heart as they whispered in tandem—an incantation not spoken in words, but in feeling, in memory, in regret and love and desperate, clawing hope.

“Please, baby… we need you,” Rio begged softly.

Agatha laughed wetly. “You said I haven’t called you that in a long time. Open your eyes and I’ll never stop saying it. I promise… please, (Y/N).”

There was a heavy silence that settled over the Road as the coven watched in mournful silence as Life herself lay lifeless in the moonlight. Until—

The sky cracked open above them, not with sunlight, but with color—shimmering threads of violet, green, and white weaving together in the air like a loom being drawn taut. It was magnificent and utterly unnerving as it buried itself in your chest before the strand of green connected with Rio—and the purple wound itself around Agatha. Then, they swirled together, a perfect cord of color stringing you together.

The ground beneath you pulsed once—twice—before your body arched sharply, a breath catching in your throat, dragging air like you’d never tasted it before.

And then—

Your eyes opened.

“…holy fuck,” you muttered.

Rio’s laugh burst out, wild and disbelieving, soaked in tears and raw relief. “Oh my God—holy fuck is right.” Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb trembling as it stroked across your skin like she couldn’t believe it was warm again. Like she had to be sure she wasn’t lost in a grief-induced hallucination.

Agatha choked on a sob, half-laughing through it, her fingers hovering over your chest as she whispered, “You stubborn, stupid, beautiful creature…” Her voice cracked, falling into a hoarse whisper. “You came back.”

“…I can feel you. Both of you,” you murmured, blinking up at the barrage of color in the sky. “I… do I have two heartbeats now?”

There, steadily in your chest, was the heartbeat you’d carried with you for eons—and a new, softer heartbeat you’d recognize anywhere.

Agatha’s.

You could hear the coven whispering amongst themselves excitedly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you sat upright, catching Agatha’s face between your hands and kissing her deeply, letting the moment linger as you tried to relearn the taste you’d lost so long ago.

“I’ve missed you, Aggie. I told you that you were always the piece of us we needed, even when it all fell apart…”

Agatha’s face broke with relieved devastation as she pressed her forehead against yours. Maybe things weren’t fixed—maybe it’d take lifetimes to unravel the hurt and anger and pain—but in that moment, none of it fucking mattered.

Because you came back…

And now Life and Death had the bridged the space in between.

[scarycranegame]

thinking about. transfems. and trans girls. and how cool they are.. literally if you're a tgirl or girl-adjacent transgender person i want you to know that. you are so wonderful and beautiful and kind and talented.. we need you on this site now more than ever, and im so sorry about literally everything that's happened here. none of you deserve to be treated like this; you deserve so much better, and i'm sincerely hoping that other people (especially people with power to instate significant change that affects a lot of people) will understand this and work towards making this a safer platform for all of you. please don't let anything that's happening right now on this literal hellsite make you think that you're any less than amazing; i love all of you so so so much <333 please stay safe out there!!!

[wildsaltair]

More Gladiator 4K shots from Paramount / Universal Studios!

[maxadieu]

hi! this may be a weird ass question but I saw your tags on the “I hate virus” post and got very curious! Why do you like virus? Do you have interesting facts about them to share? (idk how to explain but I enjoy learning new things on tumblr when passionate people explain them lol)

HII HII THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!

i think viruses are very lovely things and i like them a lot!! of course i'm not an expert on them, but i'll list some resources if you want to learn more!!

first of all, the post is right about the fact that viruses aren't alive. but also, can we appreciate that first? even if they were only bad (which they aren't), they aren't alive and have no cognizance of doing any bad. isn't it cool that these things can even exist, and not only exist, but affect all living organisms?

which can actually be a very good thing! while the post says that their only purpose is to fuck with us, that's not true at all! not only are they incapable of ill-intent, but also in a lot of ways they are extremely beneficial to us! (and there are sooo many viruses that are in our body that don't do anything at all to us!)

because they affect every organism, and viruses are everywhere, it affects things that are harmful to us. we have a gut biome filled with viruses in a similar way it's filled with bacteria.

which means, while there are viruses that negatively affect us, there are many that aid us by killing bad bacteria! if we didn't have viruses there might be an overabundance of well, everything. i dont think we'd be here without them

they don't always kill mindlessly either, otherwise they wouldn't have something to keep them replicating. this Kurzgesagt video goes more in depth about it, and they link their sources! i'll also link a lecture about it if you're interested!

[gaza-giving-tree]

Video: Hossam Al-Qazzaz has recently given us a glimpse of a day in the life of his family through a video he sent to us, featuring his infant daughter Habiba, son Bashar, and other daughter Diana. Despite their living conditions, Hossam does his best to keep his children's spirits high.

@hanon-qazaz

Story written by @rumiandroses

Imagine being born into a world where the first sounds you hear are explosions, the hum of drones, and the cries of your family fleeing for their lives. This is the reality for Habiba Al-Qazzaz, a precious baby girl who has known nothing but war, displacement, and hunger in her short life. Born in Gaza amidst the ongoing conflict that began on October 7, 2023, Habiba has spent much of her existence so far in uncertainty, hunger, and fear.

This precious little girl is not even a year old, and already, she has suffered through unimaginable hardship.

Her parents, Hossam and Hanan Al-Qazzaz, are doing everything they can to care for Habiba and her three siblings—Bashar (9), Hani (8), and Diana (4). But the relentless devastation of Gaza’s infrastructure has made survival nearly impossible. With no stable income and essential supplies priced beyond reach, the Al-Qazzaz family is fighting a daily battle just to keep their children warm, fed, and safe.

Their GoFundMe campaign has been their only lifeline, allowing them to afford the most basic necessities—food, water, milk for Habiba. Yet despite the thousands of people who have seen and shared their plea, donations have been coming in at a painfully slow pace. Since last year, they have managed to raise only €2,000, an amount tragically short of their €55,000 goal—the sum they had hoped would allow them to evacuate to Egypt with Hossam’s elderly parents and start anew.

Forced to Live on Top of Rubble

Images: (Top) Bashar, Hani, and Diana, still able to smile in spite of the devastation they've been forced to endure. (Bottom) Hossam Al-Qazzaz, as he does his best to clear their destroyed home of debris to make it slightly more suitable for habitation.

As time passed and donations fell short, the family was forced to abandon their dreams of escape. Instead, they now live atop the ruins of their destroyed home, sheltered only by a fragile tent that does little to protect them from the cold, roaming animals, or the ever-present danger of violence. Their reality is bleak, and their options are running out.

On February 8, 2025, Hanan reached out to us with an update on her family's condition:

Image: Hanan's update message to us, informing us of her family's current condition.

The freezing temperatures persist. Her children are crying for warmth in a shelter that provides no protection from the elements.

This is Not a Call for Comfort—It’s a Plea for Survival!

The Al-Qazzaz family is NOT asking for luxuries. They are asking for the bare minimum:

🧤🧣Warmth for their children.

🍞💧 Food and clean water.

🏠🚪A secure shelter.

With further violence looming, the time to act is NOW.

How You Can Help

🔹 Donate to the Al-Qazzaz Family’s GoFundMe to help provide food, warmth, and shelter for Habiba and her family. Every contribution—no matter how small—makes an impact. [DONATE HERE] 🍞💧🍼🧦🧣🧤🏥

🔹 Support the Chuffed Campaign created by our founder, Bethany-Grace, as an additional fundraiser to help the family rebuild their lives. This ensures they don’t have to choose between saving money for the future and feeding their children today. [DONATE HERE] 🌱🏠🛫🕊️

🔹 If you cannot donate, PLEASE share this post. The more people see their story, the greater the chance of reaching someone who can help. EVERY like, share, and repost helps.

The Al-Qazzaz family’s campaign has been vetted by @gazavetters and is #287 on their list of verified campaigns.

A Family of Resilience and Kindness

Hossam Al-Qazzaz is also the cousin of Falestine Asad, another courageous individual struggling to keep her infant child safe in war-torn Gaza. Both Hossam and Falestine are some of the kindest and humblest people you will ever meet. If you can, we encourage you to view and share both of their campaigns, and to donate if possible.

Together, we can help the Al-Qazzaz family find the security, warmth, and stability they so desperately need.

No child should have to suffer like these poor babies have.

Let’s all be part of the reason they make it through another day, and into a brighter, more peaceful future. 🙏🏻🕊️💗

[astonmartinii]

wherever the roots may lead you | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x antonelli!reader

when one takes an ancestry test they don’t usually expect to find out that their half brother is now racing in formula one…

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by yourbff, user1 and 1,578 others

yourusername: the whole office decided to do an ancestry test - WHY IS MY HALF BROTHER KIMI ANTONELLI???

view all comments

user1: girl i follow you for your pasta recipes why am i expected to know who this man is

user2: he’s a formula one driver?

user3: he’s A BABY

user4: the way this did not answer a single question

yourbff: bro you’re italian, there’s probably hundreds of kimi antonellis

yourusername: no one asked you to be logical about this

yourbff: let’s just not claim a random 18-year-old without verifying it

yourusername: well in the short five minutes i’ve known of his existence i have googled him and all the dates line up

youbff: not to support this delusion but you two do look freakishly similar

user5: i fear my kimi stanship has led me to dark places

user6: for real why is this girl yapping

user7: idk how i got here but they do look like they could be related …

user8: if they are it’s still probably not the weirdest thing to happen in f1 this week

user9: someone needs to study the sport and as to why it’s so fucking weird

olliebearman: who are you and why have you stolen kimi’s face

yourusername: excuse me?

olliebearman: you are excused

yourusername: what?

olliebearman: you are claiming to be related to kimi but i happen to know everything ever about him sooooooooo where have you been all this time?

yourusername: well i kind of just found out about this so i don’t have an answer for you right now?

olliebearman: i’ve got my eye on you weirdo

yourusername: okay?

kimiantonelli: wait!!! ollie how did you even find this post it’s got like 2k likes?

yourusername: omg read?

olliebearman: well it just came up on my explore page?

yourusername: no the fuck it didn’t

olliebearman: EXCUSE ME MISS, KEEP YOUR BEAK OUT OF BEARNELLI BUSINESS

yourusername: you’re doing your business in my comment section?

user10: i swear these fools are meant to be at media day

user11: nothing stops for bearnelli chaos clearly

estebanocon: @olliebearman yo? we were meant to be filming like 20 minutes ago?

olliebearman: oh? i was busy

yourusername: busy getting on my nerves

olliebearman: WHO ARE YOU?

yourusername: you’re on MY INSTAGRAM PAGE

olliebearman: i am a child WATCH HOW YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT A CHILD

olliebearman: @charles_leclerc dad stop her now

charles_leclerc: why are you pinging me during the press conference

olliebearman: this is important !!!!

charles_leclerc: @yourusername oh hi

yourusername: hello ???

kimiantonelli

liked by olliebearman, charles_leclerc and 590,300 others

tagged: yourusername

kimiantonelli: i thought getting points on my debut would be the craziest part of my week but turns out i have a half sister i never knew about ??? watch your back paddock i don’t think you can handle TWO antonellis

view all comments

user12: wait so that trainwreck the other day was REAL?

user13: smile and wave girl i have no clue what’s going on

user14: we need a weekly episode of drive to survive at this point omg

yourusername: we haven’t even met yet

yourusername: i am very excited to

kimiantonelli: OF COURSE WE SHOULD BE EXCITED

kimiantonelli: i knew you were out there i could feel you in my waters

yourusername: i’m not sure you have waters? like anatomically?

kimiantonelli: well i knew you existed before your post so explain that atheist

yourusername: i’m just going to let you have this one i think…

kimiantonelli: that is VERY wise

user15: i am losing my mind over the fact that these kids are talking for the first time in instagram comments

user16: i honestly wouldn’t expect anything less from this crop of rookies

jackdoohan: please do not lump me in with this nonsense

kimiantonelli: so our family love is nonsense to you

yourusername: jack!!!! after everything …. i can’t believe this!

jackdoohan: we’ve never spoken before?

yourusername: well in my familial research i watched the rookie round table and you ranked highly to me… but i see

jackdoohan: wOAH PAUSE

jackdoohan: my apologies

kimiantonelli: they all come crawling back …

user17: what is actually happening?

user18: so like has anyone stalked this girl? who even is she?

olliebearman: y/n y/ln is a 26-year-old marketing manager who lives in london. she runs a pasta-themed instagram account to apparently page homage to her ‘italian heritage’. she has no kids and no boyfriend or girlfriend. by most accounts she doesn’t have many friends or hobbies or money?

kimiantonelli: that’s like… kinda hot?

yourusername: you do you i guess

yourusername: also like that’s such a rude write up on me ???

olliebearman: so you don’t think i’m hot

kimiantonelli: that’s SO rude y/n

yourusername: you’re EIGHTEEN??? and also have this weird tension with my brother… idk i’m not a therapist?

olliebearman: i’ll call my dad again

yourusername: oh the one from the other post? please! i think he’s the best thing i found on my f1 stalkfest

charles_leclerc: well well well, i’m charles

olliebearman: NO?

kimiantonelli: ollie you gotta let her have something!

olliebearman: but if she falls for his dorky charms that might make us incestuous ???

kimiantonelli: i don’t know what that word means

olliebearman: my dad, dating your sister?

kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc you have to disown ollie now

charles_leclerc: okay, if i do that does that mean i can take y/n on a date

yourusername: DO IT NOW PLEASE

yourusername: woah! i mean, i’ll have to check my calendar

yourbff: she’s free, the lanky one was right, she doesn’t have many friends.

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,209,457 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: lost a son and won a date. congrats on the promotion oscar!

view all comments

user19: we are moving so fucking fast

user20: well it’s on theme…

user21: well we need to go from rb19 to that fucking aston martin

yourusername: as far as first dates go … well i didn’t think we’d be babysitting a 23-year-old

charles_leclerc: he’s fragile right now

yourusername: and he needed his emotional support not-boyfriend there as well?

yourusername: and that emotional support not-boyfriend needed to bring his friend who brought his maybe-boyfriend who brought his ‘surrogate brother’ which is MY BROTHER?

charles_leclerc: i’m sorry?

yourusername: i’m starting to think attachment issues and homosexual tension is just part of the job description to work in formula one

alexalbon: i don’t think you’re wrong on that

charles_leclerc: honestly i did plan for just a romantic dinner but things came up!

oscarpiastri: well i’m kind of sorry for crashing your date but as previously stated i was in a crisis…

yourusername: you did cry… but i thought that was just to get charles to get you dessert?

oscarpiastri: you can’t prove that…

oscarpiastri: ALSO why are you just coming for me when the others crashed and without a good reason like me?

yourusername: true ….

landonorris: i was taken by oscar !!!!! not my fault

yourusername: you made me move from my seat across from charles because you didn’t ‘like the lighting’?

landonorris: well that was very kind of you

charles_leclerc: you basically sat on her until she moved

landonorris: well maybe you should have stood up for your date!

georgerussell63: considering how badly lando is digging his grave, i’ll just say sorry and that i wasn’t completely aware it was a date

yourusername: how was it not very obvious? we were at a CANDLE LIT DINNER WITH A TWO PERSON TABLE YOU DRAGGED OVER A TABLE TO SIT WITH US

alexalbon: in our defence we were only going to escort kimi there but the curiosity got too much…

yourusername: are you just attaching to kimi because i’m not going to get annoyed at him

alexalbon: …….. um no?

kimiantonelli: y/n he brought me dessert and a funky little drink - MARRY HIM

yourusername: that’s a little fast buddy

charles_leclerc: so you wouldn’t marry me?

yourusername: take me on another date, just me, and we’ll see

user22: she’s stronger than me i would’ve proposed right here right now

user23: nothing more 2025 than an instagram comment proposal

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, olliebearman and 23,091 others

tagged: kimiantonelli & charles_leclerc

yourusername: so who was going to tell me this f1 shit was this crazy?

view all comments

user24: actually thinking about it, this girl must be having such intense emotional whiplash

user25: legit because what do you mean like last week she didn’t know what f1 was but now she’s related to the best rated rookie and dating (?) charles leclerc

user26: when will these situations happen upon me

charles_leclerc: did i win you over this weekend?

yourusername: maybe?

charles_leclerc: maybe?

yourusername: okay, yeah

yourusername: but you could’ve let kimi through :/

charles_leclerc: that’s kinda not the game of the game

yourusername: but he’s my brother ?

charles_leclerc: you make a compelling point…

charles_leclerc: but, amor, i wouldn’t let my own brother overtake me

yourusername: i see…

yourusername: it was worth a try sorry kimi

kimiantonelli: fear not we can try again when he’s more in love with you

yourusername: for everyone’s information: i do genuinely like charles, this ^^ is a joke !!!!!!! i understand the sanctity of formula one and that no one would genuinely let another through based on such a situation

kimiantonelli: okay miss PR AND MARKETING

yourusername: oh buddy you should see my DMs, that was necessary

charles_leclerc: what ???

yourusername: babe your fans are great but like a good 5% of them are like genuinely insane, like 51/50 level

charles_leclerc: oh yeah… i’m sorry

yourusername: oh no worries i’d be just that crazy for you

charles_leclerc: you aren’t?

yourusername: i don’t need to be, i have you don’t i?

charles_leclerc: oh hehehehhehehehe, you do

user27: WRITE THAT DOWN WRITE THAT DOWN

user28: i’m scared of her, but i need to be her

user29: you can’t be that good at making pasta and have rizz and date charles leclerc

user30: i fear y/n might actually be sniped, she’s a triple threat

oscarpiastri: do you see why i needed emotional support?

yourusername: well yes i get that now

yourusername: but please refrain from crashing dates in the future unless you have let us know promptly

oscarpiastri: i knew i’d get you on side, the leclerc family love me

oscarpiastri: @kimiantonelli watch out, i might overtake you next

kimiantonelli: i will slash your tyres, y/n will bail me out

yourusername: will i?

kimiantonelli: so you don’t love me?

olliebearman: I TOLD YOU SHE WAS NO GOOD

yourusername: first of all, ollie - i thought i’d managed to get you on side with my offering of pasta. second, i love you the most on the grid kimi, i just do not have the disposable cash of a formula one driver

kimiantonelli: fine, you make a point

kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc looks like it’s down to you now.

kimiantonelli: and you’d do anything for my sister, right?

charles_leclerc: ugh why are the rookies so crafty these days

yourusername: hmmmm?

charles_leclerc: YES I WOULD, FOR YOU

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,894,500 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: follow wherever the roots may take you, because sometimes it might lead you to the best thing ever

view all comments

user31: i mean meeting your girlfriend through her doing an ancestry test to find out she’s related to your coworker is one hell of a meet cute i’ll give them that

user32: ‘wherever the roots may take you’ okay mr leclerc when did we become a poet

user33: let’s add it to the words of wisdom

user34: the ferrari garage WISHES they could be him

kimiantonelli: well, i am pleasantly surprised with how this all unfolded, you’re definitely the best choice on the grid

yourusername: awwwww kimi thanks !!!

charles_leclerc: thanks?

olliebearman: CHARLES IS THE BEST CHOICE ON THE GRID ????

kimiantonelli: you want to date my sister? i thought you liked another antonelli?

olliebearman: oh!

olliebearman: yes!

olliebearman: … another antonelli for sure

charles_leclerc: @yourusername do i say anything

yourusername: no i want to watch ollie suffer after he’s done nothing but come for me

charles_leclerc: okay, amor

user35: this is how all men should be

user36: AGREE WITH EVERYTHING I SAY

user37: so like… where do we find them because i fear there’s only two ferrari drivers and many of us

yourusername: well i am certainly glad i followed mine

charles_leclerc: led you right to me

yourusername: wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

charles_leclerc: hehehehehehe i guess i have that effect on people

yourusername: PEOPLE?

charles_leclerc: just you xxxxx

yourusername: that’s what i thought

charles_leclerc: speaking of you… when can you come to another race?

yourusername: i’m very sorry to say babe but i do have a job

charles_leclerc: NOOOOOOOOOOO

yourusername: i know :( i don’t dream of labour

charles_leclerc: what do you dream of?

yourusername: there’s this really sexy monegasque formula one driver who has an amazing accent and the cutest little dog. he’s super determined and sounds even sexier when he’s angry on the radio or celebrating a win. you might know him?

charles_leclerc: i might…

yourusername: well you should BACK OFF because he’s MINE

charles_leclerc: yes, yes he is

user38: so like … how do we get her on drive to survive

yourusername: oh you know netflix have been calling my phone

user39: LETS GOOOOOOO

yourusername: don’t celebrate too soon, because you won’t like me when i delete all the cute footage of charles, that’s for my eyes only

user40: i would want you dead, but also real

lewishamilton: ummmmm so when can you come back @yourusername he’s being pathetic again

yourusername: he’s always pathetic that’s what i love about him

lewishamilton: but it’s particularly bad now, he’s carrying a picture of you and leo (it’s VERY badly photoshopped)

charles_leclerc: hey! joris was busy i had to make it myself

yourusername: that’s cute bby don’t listen to him

charles_leclerc: yeah leave me alone lewis

lewishamilton: what the hell, sure

fin.

note: if you couldn't tell i'm a big kimi stan LMAO

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

♡ FEM reader

♡ P2: Staying

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ameinasworld]

🎗️ Save Our Lives 🎗️

📝 Note: A week ago, I suddenly lost my fundraising campaign after GoFundMe decided to shut it down.

💰 My campaign had reached $50000, but I only received $13000, which means I lost approximately $37000

💔 This campaign was meant to support my family and my brother-in-law’s family. It was not easy—I worked day and night to raise this amount to save my family from war and to treat my daughter. Now, I am starting again from scratch and need your support.

🌍 Hello again, I am Amina from Gaza.

🔥 I have been living in war, fear, and destruction for almost a year now, and we have no idea how much longer this will last.

🏠 We have been displaced from our home more than 10 times. Each time, I prayed it would be the last, but there was never any safety.

🚪 We were eventually forced to consider leaving, searching for security in a place where security does not exist.

💔 This war has drained our bodies and souls—we no longer have the energy to keep going.

🥶 We have endured hunger, thirst, cold, and unbearable hardships beyond human imagination.

🕊️ Never did we think we would experience this. We lost our loved ones.

😞 My friends are gone. I am left alone, searching for a way to survive.

⚠️ I don’t want to die, but I fear death, especially after my children and I barely escaped from under the rubble.

⚫ It was a horrifying experience—one that is impossible to imagine.

🖤 Being buried under rubble with your children, trapped in complete darkness, is a terrifying thought.

💭 Losing your dreams, your hopes, and the life you once planned—all in an instant.

⚰️ We do not deny death, but we do not want to live it over and over again.

🌅 I once had a beautiful life with my children and family, but suddenly, we lost everything.

⛺ Now, we live in a plastic tent, which no human can endure.

☀️ Standing inside it during the daytime feels like melting under the heat.

🦟 We suffer from insects, diseases, and a complete lack of privacy.

❓ Imagine living like this!

🩺 My sick daughter desperately needs medical care and proper treatment, but her condition is worsening daily.

💔 I fear losing her after already losing so many family members.

🏚️ I have lost my home, my job, and my entire previous life.

😢 Things here are worse than you can imagine. Reality is painful.

🚨 I do not want to die.

🙏 Please help me save my life and my children’s lives. We need to get out of here life is impossible.

❤️‍🔥 Your donation can save our lives.

✋ It is our only hope. Together, we can reach this goal.

💖 Please, help us.

🔹 My campaign has been verified by:

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@bilal-salah0

PayPal

[lastoneout]

I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.

We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.

The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.

Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.

And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.

As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.

Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[torpublishinggroup]

"5 Tips for Dating a Werewolf" by TJ Klune

1. If a werewolf has locked onto your scent, it is best to let them get as much of it as they can. If they are in shifted form, it might mean a wet nose to your face or a tongue in your hair. Fear not! They are, in a way, like a large dog, if a large dog were capable of human wants and whims. If you find yourself in such a position, do not move! Let the werewolf finish its scent-marking. It could take anywhere from five minutes to six days, so get comfortable!

2. Should you find yourself in possession of a dead animal left upon your doorstep, don’t scream and/or vomit! Chances are, it is from the same werewolf who sniffed you, wanting to make sure you are provided for. This is how a lycanthrope expresses interest. Be careful not to offend the wolf, as they might be watching from behind a tree or a bush. If you are averse to blood and gore, pretend someone dropped a cherry pie filled with bones on your porch.

(On the off chance that the dead animal was left by a cult and not a werewolf, please be prepared in case you are marked for a ritual sacrifice.)

3. Going on a date with a werewolf can be a fun event! Given that you might be in public, it would be best not to ask your werewolf suitor to “shift in the middle of an Applebee’s just to see if it scares the server into giving free appetizers.” While many people enjoy mozzarella sticks (especially when given under threat of fangs), using your werewolf in such a way to get fried cheese is considered bad form. Your werewolf has feelings, and no one likes to be used.

(If your werewolf does shift to get you cheese, reward them by telling them you think they are the greatest creature in existence. Positive reinforcement goes a long way!)

4. Uh oh. Your werewolf has driven you home, arches a single, devastating eyebrow, and says, “Are you going to invite me inside?”

Remember, werewolves aren’t vampires, meaning they do not need permission to enter your residence. However, good wolves always wait for permission before entering a dwelling that is not their own.

In this case, given the arched eyebrow, the werewolf is hoping to be invited inside for “adult activities.” This might include rolling on the carpet or having sex in the kitchen and/or up against a wall. If you choose to do this, you might see the werewolf’s eyes flashing. Good news! This means the wolf is having a wonderful time.

5. Your wolf stayed the night! How lucky are you? If you wake up the next morning with the shifter lying on top of you, it is very important that you do not move until they have decided to move on their own. Waking up a sleeping wolf can sometimes be difficult work, but if you keep a squeaky ball next to your bed, now is the time to put it to good use. Squeeze it near the wolf’s ear and ask, “Who’s a good boy? Who wants to play with the ball? Is it you? Is it you?” Your wolf will most likely glower at you and threaten your life, but if you squeeze the ball three times, the wolf will be distracted. Throw it to the floor, and as the wolf chases after it, consider making waffles! Werewolves love waffles.

(God help you if you make pancakes. You have been warned.)

If you have survived these first five steps, you are to be commended! That means you most likely will have a werewolf for the rest of your life. A werewolf is a commitment. Adopt, don’t shop!

[crystaldivination]

Ｉｎｆａｍｏｕｓ

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓?

Oh, you thought I wouldn't notice? You thought you could walk around with THAT energy and I wouldn't call you out? Please. You have reputation written all over you. Everyone knows what you're about —whether they like it or not. And baby, that's power.

So go ahead, pick your poison. Six piles, six different flavors of iconic infamy. But don't get it twisted —you are a problem. A beautiful, thrilling, addictive problem. One thing is for sure, I wouldn't have you any other way.

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

Pile 4 Pile 5 Pile 6

© crystaldivination ── all rights reserved.

𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 ☥ 🔪

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

Oh, sweetheart. You are the temptation people warn themselves about. You don’t just turn heads; you twist minds, unravel logic, and make people question their own sanity. You have a way of making people obsessed, and the worst part? You don’t even have to try.

You’ve got that dangerous charm —the type that leaves people ruined but coming back for more. You’re the reason for late-night texts, blocked numbers, and "I know I shouldn’t, but…" decisions.

Your energy is magnetic —irresistible, chaotic, and so dangerously intoxicating that people know they should stay away but can’t help themselves. You are in famous for the way you make people lose all sense of self-control. You play with fire like you were born in it. Love you? Hate you? It doesn’t matter —because in the end, you will be remembered.

You don’t just walk into a room; you make it tilt. The way you talk, the way you move —it’s addictive. People try to play it cool, but the second you lock eyes with them? Game over.

𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟:

Being everybody’s favorite mistake (and you know it).

Master manipulator (but in a fun way, right?)

Leaving people wanting more, even when they swore they were done with you.

You make people ruin their own lives over you —then leave them smiling about it.

You don’t do attachments, but damn, people get attached to YOU.

People love to call you toxic, but let’s be real —they eat it up and keep coming back. You’re not for the weak-hearted, and that’s what makes you legendary.

Your presence is a storm, unpredictable and impossible to ignore. Your words are poison-laced honey —sweet, addictive, and deadly in high doses. And the truth? You don’t chase. You ARE the chase.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫���� 𝐚 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫.

➽────────────────────────────❥

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐜𝐞-𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

Oh, poor them. They really thought they had a chance, huh? Aww. Your existence alone is a crash course in emotional survival. People get caught up in your presence, mistaking your indifference for a challenge. They think they can break through your walls, get you to care. Oh, how adorable.

You're infamous for your ability to turn hearts into shattered glass and walk away unbothered. It's not your fault they fell too deep —you never promised them forever.

You are self-sufficient, untouchable, and unapologetically detached. Love? Cute concept. But people get too comfortable. And you? You like your space. You'll be the best thing they've ever had, and then? You'll ghost.

The reality? You don't do messy emotions. Love is cute and all, but you have bigger things to focus on. Relationships? Fun while they last, but attachment? Not really your thing. You give just enough to keep them hooked, and then? You disappear. Not because you're cruel (okay, maybe just a little), but because you refuse to be tied down… or just because you get bored.

𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟:

Breaking hearts without breaking a sweat.

Your ability to make people fall for you... and then leave them on read.

Being emotionally unavailable, yet somehow, everyone's favorite person.

Leaving people staring at their ceiling at 3 AM, replaying every conversation.

You don't chase, you don't beg, you don't explain.

Your existence alone is a heartbreak anthem.

People romanticize you, write about you, cry about you. And what do you do? Keep it moving. Because darling, you're unreachable, untouchable, and undeniably unforgettable.

You're a legend in the game. Stay frosty, baby.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥-𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫.

➽────────────────────────────❥

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞

Rules? Boundaries? Never heard of them. You've been disrupting the system since birth, and honestly? You make rebellion look good. You have zero patience for limitations, and you don't take orders from anyone. The world tries to put you in a box, but you were born to break out.

You're the type to do exactly what people tell you not to do —just to prove a point. You don't take orders, you don't follow trends, and you sure as hell don't apologize.

You're infamous for your boldness, your defiance, and your ability to make people question EVERYTHING. Some people admire you. Others resent you because they wish they had the guts to do what you do. Either way? You keep them talking.

You've got main character energy, and everyone else is just trying to keep up. Society tells you to sit down, be quiet? You get louder. They say "that's impossible"? You do it twice and take pictures.

𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟:

Not giving a single damn about what anyone thinks.

Being ungovernable, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

Saying "I'll show you" instead of "I'm sorry."

You don't fit in. You stand out —and you LOVE It.

You challenge authority like it's a sport (and you always win).

You make people rethink everything they thought they knew.

You’re The Untamed Rebel Who Laughs in the Face of Authority. You are a revolution, a movement, a statement. They can try to keep up, but baby—they'll NEVER catch you. People either want to be you or be with you. Either way, they're obsessed.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥.

➽────────────────────────────❥

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰

Some people are born peasants, and then there's you. You don't compete; you dominate. You're a strategist, a mastermind, the one pulling the strings while everyone else dances. You don't just win —you make it look effortless.

People like to think they're on your level, but they're not even in the same universe. You don't just walk into a room —you OWN it. Your presence demands respect, and if someone doesn't give it? You take it.

You are infamous for being ten steps ahead of everyone else. You see through people like glass, and you know exactly how to get what you want without ever breaking a sweat. Others try to control the game, but you wrote the rulebook.

Your presence alone is intimidating. You walk in, and suddenly, everyone's aware of their own inadequacies. Because you exude power. It's in your eyes, your posture, the way you say just enough to make people hang onto every word.

𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟:

Always getting what you want, one way or another.

Commanding respect without even asking.

Never letting anyone get the upper hand —ever.

You don't ask for power —you assume it.

You intimidate people just by existing.

Your confidence? Unshakable. Your presence? Unforgettable. Your success? Unstoppable. If people are afraid of you, good. They should be.

You're not playing the game, baby. You own it.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟒: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞.

➽────────────────────────────❥

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟓: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞

Now you see them, now you don't. You are a myth, a legend, a ghost story whispered at afterparties. A mystery, a puzzle no one can solve. You float in and out of people's lives, leaving them wondering if they ever really knew you at all. People remember you —but never in full detail. You come and go as you please, leaving just enough of an impression to haunt people's minds forever.

Your energy? Rare. Untouchable. You don't do small talk. You don't entertain nonsense.

You're infamous for your elusiveness, for the way you never fully let anyone in. People become obsessed with figuring you out, but they never do. Your energy is like a secret no one can quite grasp —and that's what makes you legendary.

You exist in a different realm, one that only the chosen few are granted access to. You don't seek attention, but somehow, it always finds you.

𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟:

Being the one they never quite figure out.

Appearing, wrecking the vibe (in a good way), and disappearing.

Making people question if they ever really knew you.

Nobody truly knows you, and that drives them CRAZY.

You're always there —but never really there.

People chase you, but you always stay out of reach.

You are a legend, a whisper, a fleeting dream. And just when they think they have you figured out? You're gone.

Mysterious. Elusive. Unforgettable. That's you.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐦, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡. 𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭.

➽────────────────────────────❥

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟔: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐁𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝

Oh, you? **You're a walking scandal. A chaotic masterpiece of impulse and pure vibes. People can't predict your next move— hell, YOU don't even know what it'll be. You thrive on mayhem, and let's be real —it suits you.

Some say you're reckless. Some say you're dangerous. But let's be honest: life would be BORING without you. The world too. You bring the fun, the thrill, the unexpected twist. If something's going down, you're either behind it or in the middle of it.

You're infamous for your wild unpredictability. You keep things exciting. You shake things up. You make people feel ALIVE —even if it's a little dangerous. And the best part? You wouldn't change a damn thing.

You ARE the drama. You live life on the edge, making questionable decisions and dragging others into the madness with you. People call you a daredevil— but baby, you call it LIVING.

𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟:

Living life on "f* it" mode 24/7.**

Being the reason "we are NEVER doing that again" stories exist.

Making even the most responsible people question their choices.

People never know what you're going to do next.

You say "yes" to chaos like it's a job requirement.

You turn even the most serious people into accomplices.

The world is your playground, and you're here to cause trouble. And honestly? I respect that. You are unfiltered energy, pure adrenaline in human form. And we LOVE you for it.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟔: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠).

➽────────────────────────────❥

So tell me... which brand of infamous are you? Because trust me, you're not fooling anybody —you've got LEGEND written all over you.

YOURS SINCERELY,

CRYSTAL.

© 2025 crystaldivination ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, edit, alter, or redistribute my work. Plagiarism in any form is prohibited.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

UnANTicipated

Male Ant Mimic Spider Hybrid Yandere x Gender Neutral Ant Hybrid Reader CW: Noncon, reader mildly drugged by venom, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, oviposition Word Count: 1.3k (Hope you enjoy the buffet of writing I have been cooking up, feel free to tip and please comment!)

On the post-apocalyptic continent that was once the US, almost everyone was a hybrid of human and animal.

There were still pure humans, but they were exceedingly rare.

It was thought that a virus combined with radiation caused the transformation.

You were an ant-hybrid. Unlike an actual ant, you could leave your colony and survive independently, but why would you wanna leave the colony?

You were a small drone, and the soldier ants kept you safe from many mutated beasts. The foragers brought food, and you worked construction! You made tunnels and expanded rooms.

You had never even been outside. There was no reason for you to leave the safety of the colony, you had no tasks out there.

The colony was massive and always growing. That's why you didn't think twice when you met a new ant that you had never met before.

A fellow builder named Echo.

He must have been new to building because he was not good at it all. Seemed his instincts were all wonky. And there was something about how he looked... he was bigger than many of the soldiers you had encountered.

You figured maybe he had been a soldier and suffered some type of injury. Or maybe he had gotten into trouble and removed from the service!

Oh well, he seemed friendly and was clearly putting forth a lot of effort into building.

You didn't want the foreman to yell at the new addition so you taught him everything you knew and supervised his work carefully.

Echo was such a sweetie. A fine member of the colony! You frequently ate lunch together, and he confirmed that he was a former soldier ant that had suffered internal injury. It was all he could do just to build and remain useful to the colony.

What an inspiration.

You always stared at him in wide-eyed admiration as he told you how he had fought victoriously against frog mutants, giant two-headed serpents, and even a rabid rat-bug.

He told you all about sunshine and the river and trees.

It sounded amazing. But no place for someone like you with all that danger lurking about.

You hung out more and more. You hung out after work, too. You always caught him staring at you. Maybe he had a crush on you? The thought made you pretty happy.

A real life kind hearted hero might actually like me!

You began developing a bit of a crush on him.

But your thoughts of romance were put on hold when the kidnappings began.

Apparently, spider mimic hybrids had snuck their way into the colony. Violating everyone's sense of safety. They had evidently taken ants to do who knows what with them!

Everyone was on high alert.

Thank whatever higher power existed that you had Echo at your side! He went with you everywhere to make sure you were safe.

He even suggested becoming roommates! All because he didn't want anything to happen to you.

There was no reason to refuse! You let him move in immediately.

That night, you went to bed like normal. But you woke up somewhere different. On a bed, but not yours. You were bound by some kind of stringy rope and felt a strong set of arms around you.

"Ah! You're awake! Welcome to our little love nest~"

You instantly recognized the voice as Echo.

"Echo? W-what's going on? I'm scared..."

Echo removed the fibrous material that bound you.

"Sorry, my prize. Had to keep you wrapped up and safe on the way here. It was a long trip, but I made sure you were cozy~"

Your head throbbed as you struggled to make sense of what exactly was going on. You became aware of a sore spot on your neck. You put a hand on it and felt a welt.

"Ah, sorry about that, I had to make sure you were still during the trip. No fussy struggles or crying."

Though by then, you were definitely starting to cry.

"You're upsetting me! Just tell me what's going on!!"

Your voice was trembling.

You tried to sit up but found yourself too weak to do so. Echo stepped in front of you and leaned down to your level.

For the first time, you saw the large man for what he actually was. All four of his eyes were open, his fangs flashing, his antenna actually a small set of limbs growing from his back.

Your antenna twitched furiously as you processed this new information.

He chuckled warmly and pet your antenna, causing an unwilling tingle between your legs.

"Oh, you liked that, didn't you?"

You whimpered as he pet you there some more before finally managing to shout.

"What the fuck do you want with me!?"

"What all us ant mimics want, my prize. A nice mate to stuff full of our eggs~"

You tried to struggle. To scream. But he placed webbing over your mouth before peeling off your clothing and pinning you to the bed.

"Shhh darling, you have such an easy task. Just calm down and take my babies."

He kissed your head to help calm you, though it did nothing to stop your shaking or quell your tears.

"You're so tiny. So perfect. My little trophy."

He took a gob of his thick precum on his fingers and gently massaged it into your entrance. You shuddered and looked at the cock that bobbed below him.

Definitely not an ant. It was huge and reinforced your fear. But you were in good hands. He made sure you were well stretched before proceeding.

Echo repositioned you so that your legs were over his shoulders, he aligned his cock with your hole, and drove deeply into you with a slow and steady movement.

Instantly, your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and you whimpered. He really knew how to wield his tool. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that he was pumping out pheromones that had your antenna twitching like crazy.

"Those kinds of sounds are much better to hear from you~"

He thrust in and out of you slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size. You made more of those delicious little whimpers he loved so much.

The spider peeled the webbing away from your lips.

"The webbing can come off if you promise to just make those beautiful noises for me~"

He kissed you deeply, tracing your lips with his tongue, trailing kisses down your neck until he was kissing the wound his fangs had left earlier.

"So warm inside~ I just know you'll be a nice snug incubator for my eggs~"

Echo nuzzled against your chest, arms caressing your sides almost greedily as he bred you.

"It was so hard keeping my hands off you before. All those weeks. You have no idea. No idea."

As he spoke he began driving his cock into you a bit more brutally. He just couldn't help himself.

"I didn't lie about those fights I was in. I'm such a strong mate for you, my perfect prize."

His sweaty balls slapped into you with every increasingly fervent thrust. He was desperate to release in you, to claim your insides for himself.

Your incoherent burbling and moans just encouraged him. Auditory evidence that he was the perfect man for you.

He could feel your shuddering around his cock as you came, pulling him quickly over the edge with you.

Echo's cock throbbed and pulsed as he deposited several eggs deep inside you. He pulled out with a loud plop before regarding your belly lovingly.

He kissed it.

You just played with his hair absently, too fucked out to do anything or process what had just happened.

But that was okay, Echo was there to take care of all your needs. Forever.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Wake up (part 2)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky will not abandon you unconscious while hoping for answers about what viciousness is running through your body. After all, Hydra always takes everything a person has to offer.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: mentions of Bucky’s past; Bucky is going through some emotional shit here; Hydra; vomiting; seizure; guilt and self-blame; medical setting and distress; grief; PTSD; anxiety; panic attacks; so much angst

Author’s Note: A second part to Wake up has been the winner of my poll, so here we are. I’ve been sticking with the angst of the first part and I'm not gonna lie, this might have been the hardest thing I’ve written so far. So, please read the warnings before diving in and be beware that this does not end well. (I really don’t believe that all hope’s lost but read for yourself) But I actually do like how this turned out despite it hurting me so much lol. Let me know what you think ♡

part three

Angstober Masterlist | Masterlist

Bucky Barnes has lost a lot in his long life.

He has lost pieces of himself - some torn away violently, others slowly dissolving in his grasp no matter how hard he tried to keep them.

It was torturous and agonizing, prolonged over time, creating empty voids where something complete once used to be.

He has lost the weight and warmth of his own limb, his left arm stolen from him under the most excruciating circumstances, only to be replaced by a piece of metal that messed badly with his nerve endings.

His body bears the evidence. Scars marrying his flesh, muscle and sinew replaced by cold and unfeeling vibranium.

His mind has suffered even worse. Memories shattered, rewritten, erased. A name that once meant something - James Buchanan Barnes - reduced to something foreign, something he had to claw his way back to.

He has been unmade and remade too many times to count, his identity fractured into a thousand pieces. Each one holds remnants of the pain, of orders barked in languages he barely recognizes, of faces he was forced to forget the moment they fell.

His past is an open wound that never quite heals, no matter how much time passes. He has lost friends, family, freedom - every tether to the life he once lived.

But he survived.

Somehow, despite the things Hydra did to him, despite the decades of blood staining his hands, despite the decades of his limbs moving to another brain, despite the guilt slithering through his veins and dragging its nails down his spine. He survived.

He fought his way back. For you. Because of you. You helped him get himself back.

And that’s why this loss - your loss - would be different.

He doesn’t even acknowledge this with dramatics, doesn’t try to make it sound noble or poetic. It’s not something to be proud of. It’s just the truth. A certainty.

If you leave him, he will not survive. He would not even try.

A simple fact that is not simple at all.

It’s the most devastating, soul-crushing fact of his existence.

Because if you never open your eyes again - if those beautiful, expressive eyes, the ones that soften whenever they land on him, the ones that twinkle like stardust only for him because you love him so much - stay closed forever, then what reason does he have to go on?

If he never sees that smile again, the one that makes his knees weak, that makes his chest feel too small to hold everything he feels for you - the smile only made for him because you love him so much - then what point is there in taking another breath?

If you never wrap your arms around him again - never squeeze him so tightly he can feel your affection seep into him, warming the coldest, most forgotten parts of him, because you love him so much - then what is he supposed to do with himself?

If your lips never touch his again, never press against his skin, never ghost over his own in those kisses that steal his breath even if it is a simple peck, or if you end up breathlessly clinging to each other, all because you love him so much - then he might as well have nothing at all.

And if your voice - your sweet, adoring, and grounding voice - never speaks those three words again, the ones that leave him on this world, the ones that remind him that despite everything, despite all that he has done and all that he has lost, he is still capable of being loved - if he never gets to hear those words again, then there will be nothing left of him.

Because without you he is just a man with too many ghosts and too little purpose. A man trying to walk on broken legs, reaching for something, grasping at something, hoping for something, that will never be found.

He would not survive it. Not again. Not this time.

Bucky doesn’t remember the run to the med bay.

It went so fast but also way too slow.

Moments before, he was in your shared room, shaking you, begging for you to wake up, and then, he was barreling down the hallways, your body limp in his arms.

His boots slammed against the floor, his breath coming in ragged rasps. His grip around you was so tight that if you had been awake, you would have told him to ease up, that you weren’t going anywhere with that soft and gentle voice of yours. But you weren’t awake. It was only him.

He doesn’t remember how many doors he crashed through, doesn’t recall how many people shouted his name as he stormed through the compound like a man possessed.

All he could focus on was you, your weight in his arms, the unmanageable silence coming from you. It was too quiet. Too still.

You were and still are the only thing in his focus. The only thing in his mind.

The moment he bursts into the med bay, Bruce is already moving, eyes wide behind his glasses as he takes one look at Bucky’s desperate face - at you - and points to the nearest examination table.

“Put her down. Now.”

Bucky hesitates for only a second.

“Barnes!” Bruce snaps, voice sharp.

And Bucky moves, his hands trembling as he lowers you onto the cold metal table, his touch lingering longer than it should have, afraid you will leave him the moment he lets go.

Then Bruce is there, hands on you, tilting your head, checking your pulse. Bucky feels something inside him snap.

Bile surges up his throat, hot and acidic, and before he can stop himself, he staggers backward, barely making it to a medical waste bin before his stomach heaves violently. His whole body shakes with the force of it, his metal hand clutching the edge of the table so hard it groans under the pressure.

He only hears someone - Tony - mutter behind him. “Jesus. Alright, Barnes, maybe you should-”

“No.” His voice is hoarse, sore. He doesn’t even look up, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his entire body coiled so tightly he feels like he might snap in half.

He is not leaving.

He doesn’t hear whatever else is said because Bruce is calling for Dr. Cho, his voice tight, controlled but urgent. She appears within moments, already shrugging into her white coat as she assesses the situation with a practiced eye.

“Tell me everything,” she demands, moving beside Bruce as they work over you.

“She was exposed to something - some kind of airborne agent.” Bruce says quickly, Bucky not able to get a word out. “Came back from the mission fine, but then-”

“Then she wouldn’t wake up,” Bucky rasps, his voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He forces himself to step closer again, his fingers jerking at his sides. He wants to touch you, needs to touch you, but Bruce has already started attaching monitors to your chest, your temples, your wrist.

So Bucky can only stare at your unmoving face, and his gut contracts dreadfully, twisting like a wrung-out rag. A breath flees his mouth in a rough gust.

Because you are lying here, looking as if you are fading further away by the second.

Bucky is grateful that no one is paying him any mind.

Every ounce of attention in the room is on you, and that’s exactly where it needs to be. No one spares him so much as a glance, and hell, he is thankful to be ignored.

Because if they looked at him, they would see the way his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Even the metal seems to be quivering, the nerve endings in his shoulder acting up. They would see his chest rising and falling too fast, his breaths sharp and strained like he is moments from shattering into something unrecognizable.

But none of it matters. Because you are still lying there, too still, too limp, too silent, too pale against the stark white of the medical bay’s harsh lights.

The color has drained from your face, your lips slightly parted, your breathing faint but regular. It’s the only sign of life you give.

Your head remains tilted unnaturally to the side, strands of hair sticking to your cheek from the moisture of Bruce’s sensors as they gather data, searching for something that might explain what the hell is happening to you.

Tony is somewhere behind him, speaking hurriedly into his earpiece. “Yeah, well, tell me something useful, here, Fitz!” His voice is sharp, frustration a part of it, but there is something else there, too - something too close to fear. Bucky doesn’t hear that in Tony often. “I don’t care what Fury’s saying - no, I don’t care - just get me those samples analyzed faster.”

There are agitated voices somewhere to his left. Steve and Natasha. Steve is trying to get to him. Bucky knows it without turning around. He can feel his best friend's presence, hear the urgency in the way his boots scruff against the floor, the way his voice lowers as he mutters something to Natasha, arguing. But the redhead doesn’t budge, Steve doesn’t reach him, and Bucky is left standing in place, barely keeping himself upright.

Bruce and Dr. Cho are working in tandem over your body. Bruce adjusts the monitors, his fingers hovering over your wrist for a moment, measuring something by touch alone. His jaw is tight, his usual steady hands moving just a fraction quicker, his eyes switching between the data on the screen and your unmoving form.

Dr. Cho is settling up and IV, her hands deft as she inserts the needle into the delicate skin of your forearm. The bag above you fills with something clear, something Bucky doesn’t recognize, but he trusts her. He has to. She murmurs something to Bruce, and he nods, glancing at one of the monitors before adjusting the oxygen mask now resting over your face.

“We need a full toxicology scan,” Dr. Cho says, voice firm but calm. Something Bucky can’t manage right now. “Start running a metabolic panel and check for neurotoxins. If this was airborne, we need to know if it’s still in her system.”

Bruce is already moving, tapping rapidly at a tablet screen. “Her vitals are stable, but they’re low - lower than they should be. She’s there, but barely.”

Bucky’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into his palms, he is sure even the metal will have marks. His head is spinning, everything outside of you irrelevant to him. There is too much movement, too many sounds, too many people talking, but none of it matters because you still haven’t moved. You still haven’t opened your eyes.

His bones feel like they are collapsing. Like a house of cards caught in a slow fall.

And Bucky swears that if you don’t wake up soon, he won’t be able to breathe at all.

The waiting for results is maddening. He is hardly moving, hardly breathing, only able to wait for someone to say something that will make sense of this.

Bruce is the first to speak. He pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, squinting at the tablet in his hands like maybe if he looks at it long enough, the numbers will rearrange themselves into something different. Something fixable.

“There’s nothing,” he says, voice quieter than before. Stunned.

Bucky blinks, his body stiffening. “What?”

Bruce glances at Dr. Cho, but she is already busy studying the results on a separate screen, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Nothing toxic in her blood,” Bruce continues, carefully neutral. “No neurotoxins, no foreign substances - nothing that should be causing this.”

Bucky’s insides lurch, churning like a sea under a violent storm. He tilts his head forward as if he misheard, his mind running. “No. No, that’s not-” He gestures uncoordinatedly to where you still lay, unmoving, breath slow but there. “Look at her! There’s gotta be something.”

Dr. Cho finally speaks, measured but voice set. “Medically speaking, she should be awake.”

Bucky got shot in the chest once.

He still doesn’t know how he survived. It hurt like hell.

But those words are the bullet that will tear through his heart, make him crumble, kill him.

Should be awake.

Should be awake.

But you fucking aren’t.

“You’re saying she’s fine,” he grits out, his tone steely, voiced with something dark. The same darkness that knots deep in his belly. “But she’s not moving, not waking up, not-” His voice breaks, and he presses his mouth closed so tightly to make a sound stop from boiling up. His head shakes vehemently. “There has to be something.”

“Bucky-” Bruce tries, but Bucky doesn’t let him finish.

“Check again.” His voice is lower now, dangerous, but everybody surely hears the desperation in his tone. “Check again, check everything - you must’ve missed something.”

Bruce exhales, rubbing his temples. “I’ve run the tests twice-”

“Damnit, then run it a fucking third time.” Bucky’s voice rises.

“We’ve checked everything. There is nothing wrong-”

“Then why isn’t she waking up?” Bucky roars, and suddenly, everyone in the room is dead silent.

Tony looks between Bucky and the doctors, his expression grim. Steve, who had edged closer, takes a careful step back, but looks at Bucky warningly, yet still utterly sympathetic. Natasha has just the slightest sheen over her eyes herself, but tries to keep her composure. Sam is standing in a corner, watching without a single remark. That’s new for him.

Even Bruce and Dr. Cho pause for just a second, eyes falling to him.

Then Dr. Cho exhales sharply, snapping her gloves off with quick, almost harsh movements. “Everyone out. Now.”

Tony raises a brow. “You kicking us out, doc?”

“Yes,” she replies curtly. “You’re all in the way. We need to focus. Here are too many people. This won’t help us and it won’t help her.”

Steve hesitates but eventually nods, throwing one last glance at Bucky and at you before stepping out, Tony following behind. Natasha slips out almost quickly, searching for a place to be alone. Sam leaves without a word, expression stony. The room empties.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

“Bucky,” Bruce says, softer now, as if he is speaking to a wild animal, careful not to startle it. “You should go too.”

Bucky doesn’t even blink. “No.”

Dr. Cho frowns unpleased, crossing her arms. “You’re not helping her by being here. You’re just getting in the way.”

“I’m not leaving,” Bucky grinds out, planting his feet like a goddamn mountain. His breathing is too rough, his pulse too high, but he doesn’t have time to care. The only thing he cares about is not to leave you.

Dr. Cho lets out a breath through her nose, but she doesn’t argue further. There is no time to fight with a stubborn ex-assassin who looks like he’s one wrong word away from losing his mind.

“Fine,” she relents, turning back to Bruce. “Then stay out of the way. We have work to do.”

Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge her.

Guilt sits in his chest like something rotten. It is an anxious tangle of nerves and dread and agony that curl in his stomach, inescapable. It’s as if his body is rejecting him all over again.

It feasts on every nerve and every cell and gnaws and gnaws and gnaws, hollowing him out from the inside.

He let himself believe that you were fine. That this is just his paranoia, just his need to keep you wrapped up, shielded from every possible danger - the worry he always feels for you, the way he clings so much.

But your chest rises and falls so slow and mechanical, and it’s not right. Your color is drained to the point that you look ghost-like. It’s as if your body is just pretending to be alive. As if it’s just waiting for something, stalling.

You look like you are already knocking on death’s door.

And they try to tell him there is nothing wrong.

The words make his scull vibrate with rage, but even more so with fear. Such a gripping and burning fear. His pulse is a single beat he can feel all along his skin.

Because what if there really is nothing? What if there is nothing to fix and you are already half gone?

His hands are trembling so hard, not even forming a fist can stop it.

He should have brought you here sooner. Should have forced you here the second you got back, should have ignored your reassurances, your sugary and alluring voice telling him that you feel fine and that you love him and there is nothing to worry about.

But he did worry.

He did have that awful, gut-deep feeling, a whisper in the back of his mind, telling him that something was wrong. But he convinced himself that it was just him. That you are fine. And you would be fine. And this was nothing. And there was nothing to worry about. That you would wake up and smile that soft smile at him and wish him a good morning, honey. You sleep well? with your endearing morning voice and all would be fine because you would be there and awake and with him and in his arms and the sun filtering in would illuminate your body and make you gleam in your ethereal glow and he would tell you you look beautiful and you would giggle and you would kiss him and you would tell him you love him and he would repeat it a thousand times over and-

He wants to throw up again, feeling the nausea rise. He wants to undo whatever led you here, wants to rip apart the universe until he finds the moment where he should have acted, should have saved you, should have known better.

Because things like that happen to Bucky Barnes.

The voices are there. Bruce and Cho speaking in hushed and clinical tones, words slipping past his ears. He hears them. Knows they are saying things that should matter. Should mean something.

But he can’t focus.

Because the only thing his brain registers, the only thing anchoring him to anything right now, is the slow and rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

It pounds in his eardrums, in the space behind his eyes, sinks beneath his skin. Unchanging. It should be a comfort. A reassurance. But it’s not.

It sounds too artificial - as if it’s the machine keeping you here instead of your own will. Instead of you.

His heart seems to try and outrun a fate that has not been decided yet. His hands flex and curl, doing nothing else. He is so helpless. Drowning in the air, like a scream caged behind his ribs with no way to escape.

Bucky is not a man who would ever think about praying.

But for you, he would sink down onto his knees and beg, beg until his lungs give out, plead until his voice dies, and him with it.

He wants to move. Wants to do something. But all he is forced to do is watch. Watch the way your body doesn’t stir, the way your lips remain slightly parted, breath scarcely there. You seem asleep in a way that isn’t right.

Bruce says something. He doesn’t catch it.

Dr. Cho responds, sharper this time, with a note of urgency in her tone. But Bucky still can’t process the words.

Because the beeping is the only thing.

The only proof that you are still here.

The sole factor preventing his thoughts from plunging into a darkness he can't drag his way out of.

The sound of your heartbeat, manufactured and distant, is the only thing between him and utter ruin.

And then it stutters.

Just for a second. A fracture of a hesitation, a hiccup in the mechanical pattern.

But it is clear.

And Bucky’s breath seizes, every nerve ending in his body lighting up under a fire that might just burn him to the ground.

Another stutter.

He lunges forward without thinking, knocking something over in the process, metal clattering against tile. Bruce shouts his name, Cho curses, but Bucky doesn’t hear anything.

Because something is happening.

The beeping stutters again. Then again.

Then your body jerks. A sudden, unnatural motion, like a puppet with its strings, yanked too hard. Your chest arches up, limbs jolting, fingers curling in on themselves like they don’t belong to you anymore.

The heart monitor lets out a rapid sequence of beeps, the steady pattern broken, discordant - like a song ripped apart note by note.

A seizure.

Bucky doesn’t even have time to feel the utter terror pumping up his belly and rushing up to his face in less than half a second, only that it is propelling him forward. He doesn’t care that Bruce and Cho are already moving, doesn’t care that there are hands trying to hold you down, voices shouting instructions.

He drops to his knees by your head because his legs won’t hold him up anymore. His hands reach instinctively - one cradling the back of your head, the other threading into your hair, gripping almost too tight, as if he can keep you here just by holding on. He never should have let go in the first place. Another thing to hate himself for.

“No, no, no, baby, baby, please-” His voice is wrecked. Shattered and gravelly, rasping against his throat like it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. The words barely make it past his lips, broken things gasped between strangled sobs.

“Stay with me, doll. Please. Please, don’t- don’t do this, you don’t get to do this, not to me, not to me-”

His breath is failing him, catching on every desperate syllable, every plea. His chest aches and caves under the panic and horror, he can’t hold himself up properly anymore. His forehead presses against yours, his tears hot where they land on your skin, his entire body shaking against you.

He is crying, saying things not even he understands. His voice is a single crack, a sound so undone it doesn’t sound human. He begs and begs and begs, but you continue to cramp.

A sob rips through him, brutal and loud, and he sucks in a desolate breath between the wreckage of his words.

He doesn’t know the way Cho and Bruce are working frantically, doesn’t hear the sounds of other people in white coats hectically running around.

All he knows is you.

And the way your body seizes beneath his hands, the way your face remains slack, the way your breath catches as if your body itself is deciding whether to keep you here or let you go.

Bucky grips you harder and presses his lips to your temple in a way that is almost rough.

“Stay with me,” he whimpers against your skin, voice not even a real whisper, hoarse and thick with cries. “I can’t lose you. Won’t survive. I won’t survive.”

You gasp.

Your body stills. Limbs falling back onto the hard table with a sharp clang.

And his world is falling apart, into itself, collapsing, crumbling. His eyes fail, not showing him the whole picture anymore, burning his vision away and replacing it with cruel pictures. He falls into an abyss so deep he won’t ever meet the ground and the reprieve of shattering into the floor-

Beep.

A single note.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It’s rhythmic. It’s there.

Your heart is still beating.

The sound sends a shockwave through his chest, his heart, his core, him. It rattles his ribs.

Bucky shudders. A deep, guttural sob rips through him and he buries his face against your hair, his arms wrapped so tightly around you it’s as if he’s trying to fuse you to him, trying to force the universe to let him keep you.

He chokes on a sound, nothing more than a shattered breath. His body sags, overwhelmed, drained, but his hands refuse to loosen their hold on you, careful of the cables attached to your body.

The chaos of the room dims just slightly, shifting to more focus.

“That-” Bruce analyses in a clipped tone. “That wasn’t just a seizure. That was an autonomic collapse. Her body just shut down.”

Bucky is still swimming in the aftershock of nearly losing you, he can’t comprehend anything other than the smell of your hair and skin.

“That’s not possible,” Cho considers, voice low, but there is just the tiniest hint of concern in her voice now. “Not without something triggering it.”

There is shuffling around him - machines being adjusted, readings being analyzed. But Bucky stays right there, forehead pressed to yours, his thumbs smoothing over your cheekbones as if you were made of glass. “Come back to me,” he breathes, pleading. “Please come back, please. I can’t- I can’t do this without you. Can’t do anything without you. Y/n, please!”

Bruce releases a breath somewhere nearby. Bucky lost all his senses.

“I need to see the chemical breakdown of that gas - now,” he instructs.

“Come back. Come back to me, baby, come back,” Bucky croaks out, still not addressing the two discussing your situation, his voice rough and barely working. His lips don’t move from your temple.

Cho’s hands move over the tablet, scanning your vitals. “Her body didn’t just react to it. It adapted to it. And now-” She pauses, face tightening as she processes the data. “It’s waiting for something.”

Bucky heaves up a breath, a sick and swirling tension writhing in his stomach like a nest of snakes. “Waiting for what?” he finally acknowledges.

Bruce’s gaze flicks up, something apologetic and utterly pained behind his eyes. His voice is careful. “A command.”

Silence slams into the room like a sudden, vicious drop in pressure.

Bucky grows cold. The sickening sensation in him spreads. His hands tighten around you in instinctual protection.

Fucking Hydra.

“This wasn’t just some toxin or experiment,” Cho continues, flipping through the data, her expression darkening. “This was programmed. Her nervous system - her brain - it’s been put in a dormant state. Not a coma, not unconsciousness. Something else.”

Bucky is shaking his head before she even finishes speaking. “No. No, she - she’s right here, she’s breathing, she-”

But he can’t deny it. Can’t ignore the chilling, creeping terror worming around his spine, despair festering it. Because he knows this. Knows the way Hydra takes people and twists them, programs them like machines, like weapons, like him.

His stomach sinks, drops, falls - down, down, down. Falling into the abyss. Never to land. Never to return.

Nausea rolls over him in sick ways. But he can’t let him heave it up again. Because therefore, he would have to let go of you. And he will not do that.

“It’s got to be some kind of activation sequence,” Bruce says grimly. “A failsafe. Whatever was in that gas, it did something to her. Put her into a kind of-” he pauses, carefully glancing at Bucky, “-standby mode.”

Bucky’s jaw is hard, it would hurt if he could feel it. “Then wake her the fuck up.”

“We’re trying,” Cho snaps back, stress sharpening her usual calm tone. “But this isn’t just a medical problem, Barnes. It’s neurological. It’s programming.”

Bucky flinches. His fingers tangle in your hair and he tucks you impossibly closer. “She’s not a machine,”he spits out, voice shaking, harsher than he means it to be but not able to change it. “She’s not like-”

He stops himself. The words She’s not like me nearly escape, but he forces them back down his throat, though it burns.

Bruce and Cho exchange a look.

And that’s when Tony speaks up from the corner of the room - seemingly having allowed himself to come back inside - voice resolved, hard. “Then we need to figure out what the hell they were trying to turn her into.”

No. Please, god, no. Not her. Not you.

Bucky is unaware of his movements, of the way he is clutching you tighter, the way his body trembles, the sting in his throat from how ragged his breathing has been for the last couple of however long he’s been here already.

He can’t keep you from this. Can’t protect you from something that has already taken root inside you.

Just like it did in him.

His vision is a hot fog. The room nothing but a smear of sterile white light and moving shadows, the voices of Banner and Cho turning into indecipherable noise as they scramble for answers.

Tony is heading to his lap to probably run every scan known to a man on that goddamn gas. Steve is speaking too. Where did he come from? Since when is he here again? But Bucky doesn’t care. He doesn’t listen.

Because you are still motionless in his arms.

They are talking about activation sequences. Standby modes. Neurological programming. They’re using all these terms, these medical, scientific explanations - but none of them are saying what it really means.

Hydra did something to you.

Hydra put something in you.

And if there’s one thing Bucky knows, one thing that has been burned into his very being, it’s that Hydra does not give. It does not take halfway. It does not leave things unfinished.

They only ever take everything.

And only with a little bit of smoke in the air, you have been exposed to for mere minutes.

A rough, strangled sound makes its way up his throat, and it takes him a second to realize it’s even coming from him. A horrible, cracking noise of grief and rage and devastation. His fingers dig into the warmth of you, your neck, your back, your thigh, needing to feel you, needing to have you here with him even though his mind is screaming at him that all the parts of you he had are gone already.

But he won’t accept that.

Shaking fingers card through your hair, pushing damp strands away from your face, his metal hand cradling your cheek.

His voice is an aching whisper. “You’re stronger than me, you know that?” His breath shudders over the words, his quivering lips brushing against your forehead, lingering there. “You always have been.”

His thumb gently strokes over the hollow beneath your closed eye, his jaw clenching hard as he takes in the deep stillness of your body. His chest tries to draw in air but is constricted.

He can’t see you like this. You are never this still. Never motionless. You live in the moment - in bright, uncontainable energy.

“You’ll get through this.” Each word drags thickly from his throat. It hurts so much. Everything hurts so much. “I know you will. You always do. You always pull me with you, too.” His laugh is soft and hollow, broken like the man he is in process of becoming again. “Even when I didn’t want saving, you just-”

He swallows hard, squeezes his eyes together, and takes a deep breath filled with your scents. But it mingles with the sterile smell of that moisture and clinic. A tear slips past his lashes. Another follows.

“You never let go.”

His head bows, his forehead against your temple, a shallow gasp slips from his lips.

“And I won’t either.”

His flesh thumb presses lightly to your neck, enough to feel your pulse. He hears the beep of the monitor but he needs to feel it.

“I’m right here, baby,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He presses his lips to your temple, to your cheekbones, to your forehead, your nose, everywhere he likes. Everywhere he has to. He lets himself feel the warmth of you, the thumps of your heartbeat against his fingers.

Another tear slips past when he presses another strained whisper to your skin.

“I’d go anywhere with you. I’d follow you to the end of the world. But you gotta wake up, baby.”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice finally meets his ears, but it sounds too damn soft. As if he is talking to a wounded and aching creature.

As if he expects Bucky to break. He might. He will.

Bucky snaps his head up, and the look on his face must be something terrible because Steve actually takes a step back.

“You think I don’t know what this means?” Bucky growls, his voice a debris of sound. His hands shake so hard against you, he can’t even hold you as tight as he wants to anymore. And for the first time in his life, he hates the warmth of his flesh. Hates that the metal doesn’t run through both arms, because maybe then he wouldn’t have to feel this overpowering helplessness.

Maybe then he wouldn’t feel human enough to understand what it means to lose.

Maybe then he could just return to be the machine he was supposed to be all along.

He already feels himself going back to him.

“She’s not like me,” he snarls, voice catching on the words, breaking them apart. “She’s not going to be like me.”

No one answers him.

No one says no, of course not, she’s going to be fine, we’ll fix this, we’ll wake her up and this will just be another nightmare we all wake up from.

Because no one knows if that’s true.

Bruce’s fingers move over his tablet. “Whatever Hydra did… it’s not finished yet. We need to be prepared.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky’s voice is lethal, pure steel dipping into panic.

“It means,” Bruce hesitates, glancing at Steve for help but the blonde doesn’t seem to know better, so he continues. “We don’t know in what state she is in. This could have done anything to her-”

A low, animalistic sound rumbles from Bucky’s chest. “Then we stop it.”

Bruce looks at him, eyes trying to soften, but he seems too remorseful. “We don’t even know what it is yet.”

“We stop it,” Bucky repeats, harsher this time. Because the alternative is something he can’t think of.

He sways, a choking sense of deja vu inching up his spine. He knows this feeling. He’s lived this feeling. That moment, the harsh, dizzying drop into nothingness, when you realize you don’t know yourself anymore. That you never really did.

And now, Hydra is doing that to you.

Cho stiffens suddenly, eyes rapidly moving across the screen in front of her. “Wait - something’s changing-”

Every muscle in Bucky’s body locks as his gaze snaps to you, his breath stalling.

Your fingers. The barest twitch. A tiny, nearly imperceptible movement against his chest.

But it’s there.

Bucky sucks in a breath so sharp it burns. “She’s-”

Before he can finish, your entire body spasms intensely.

Alarms shriek. Machines stutter to life. A sharp, erratic beeping floods the room.

Your scream tears through the space. Guttural and fervent and wrong.

Bucky’s blood freezes mid-flow, turning to shards of ice beneath his skin.

Because you are screaming like you are dying.

And suddenly, everyone is rushing around. Bruce and Cho are lunging forward, Steve is cursing under his breath.

Bucky can’t move.

Frost crackles through his veins, leaving only numbness behind.

You continue screaming. It sounds like it’s affecting your vocal cords.

There is winter inside of Bucky.

His arms tighten around you, his body moving on pure instinct, pressing you to him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he gasps out, not even sure if you can hear him, but he can’t help it. He cups your face between his hands, hoping to still the way you thrash around and bump your head against the metal beneath you. “I’m here. It’s me, baby. It’s Bucky. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

But your screams don’t stop.

Your hands claw weakly at your own chest, at your throat, as if trying to get something out, as if your own skin is suffocating you. Your nails leave scratch marks on your collarbone.

And Bucky loses it.

“Do something!” he yells, his head whipping around to Bruce and Cho, his voice shredded with desperation. “Help her!”

Bruce quickly injects something into your IV, Cho adjusts the monitors as they beep wildly.

But Bucky doesn’t see any of it.

He only sees you.

His world narrows down to your face, to the way your lips part on a strained gasp, the way your body shakes in his grip, the way your screams turn to whimpers and then stop altogether.

Then, your eyes snap open.

Bucky stops breathing. Stops moving. Only stares agape.

Your gaze is on him, wide and glassy and soaked in terror.

But you look at him in a way you never looked at him ever before.

You look at him like you are not yourself anymore.

You look at him like you don’t know him.

You look at him like you don’t recognize him at all.

“Without you, the world means nothing to me.”

- Emily Brontë

Part three

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

Then your eyes land on her.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

Ellie.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then she smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle. You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence, then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't. She steps closer, “no?”

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

But you don't.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You kiss her.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement. Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move. You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost makes you roll your eyes, isn't the whole situation obvious enough?

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm. She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory. You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else. When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you. Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

And for now, that's enough.

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”