#rebound rabbit

[fledermaus-art]

The kinder you are to your work, the kinder it is to you —

The truer you love your work, the more you can do!

[pokerized]

been having a normal one and have gotten myself thinking about "villain and violent / infant and innocent" as lloyd.

[rpftourney]

Best RPF Ship - Round 2 Match 3

Propaganda under cut

McLennon Propaganda

The OG, the blueprint, the background love story that reverberates in every love song after them, the RPF that probs shouldn’t count as its too canon to be considered fiction. Forget Beat the Meatles, forget John showing Paul and co he and Yoko’s sex tape in the studio, forget high John cutting up the clothes of the girl Paul was sleeping with with scissors (okay, well don’t forget them exactly), this rabbit hole goes way, way deeper.

Their whole story is a mix of the most romantic bullshit cliche ever and the surrealist unhinged obsession you could possibly get, like if Love Actually and Shakespearean tragedy had a psychosexually obsessed mutant baby. There’s:

A meet cute in 1957 so iconic there’s a whole damn plaque commemorating it.

Disapproving parents who try to keep them apart, only for them to choose each other

A ‘best friend’ rival that leads to a bust-up with on stage

A trip to Paris, yes really, when John turns 21 and he takes Paul and not his gf.

A honeymoon period where their friends notice that they seem to ‘love each other more than most marriages’

A psychic bond?? As you do.

And then the break up, which is cliched c h a o s. They fall out and rebound hard. They get married within eight days of each other: it's very normal. John writes funeral on Paul’s wedding photos as he’s so normal about it. John moves countries and sells some weirdly intimate Paul pictures including this one of Paul sleeping that he didn't take but had for some reason??

They invent the diss track to send shit to each other. John is also btw playing Paul's records in private and crying about how he loves him really. It’s the break up period which also spoiled us by giving us THESE quotes:

(click to read)

Fellas is it gay if you admit to your wife you thought of sleeping with your best friend???

Then comes the tragic writing about each other in songs and diaries all throughout the 70s/John thinking the ‘I Love You’s’ in one of Paul’s songs were for him/John writing erotica and heavily implying the subject is Paul/’estranged fiance’ phase. They seem to be on the verge of getting back together and then John is murdered. It’s tragic and horrible so let’s just say that Paul doesen’t take it well and spends the rest of his life defending John, stuffing his house and studio with John’s things, writing at least one tribute song in which he still loses it on at least once a tour or gets stuck repeating ‘I love you’ over and over again. It’s batshit, it's so fucking funny yet heartbreakingly tragic and in the end its just two people loving each other too much to ever let each other go. You can’t compete, sorry, this shit has been going on since 1957 and we’re getting a book about their love story coming out next year. With peace and love, it's over, your faves could never.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

27 / 1.7k / spreading rumors about dating Gaz, part 2

⬇ nsfw; mention of revenge porn

...

Gaz doesn't negotiate. He doesn't back down. When the situation calls for it, he knows when it's time to escalate.

That's why he fucks you on your dining room table instead of a public bathroom. Partly because he's not a slag. The idea of you possibly agreeing to do it--of giving him the same ammunition you gave your ex to humiliate you--leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Even if you started rumors and risked his reputation.

A growl rises in his throat at the thought of your ex having the gall to send him that video of you. Christ. What on Earth did you see in him?

Partly, though, he wants to fuck you in your own house so that when he next sees your prat of an ex-boyfriend, he can properly rub it in that fucker's face that you invited him in on the first date.

Or maybe he'll take a picture of your panties in his teeth. He hasn't decided yet.

You're strung out with pleasure, your bare back against the table. You’re caught between wondering why he wanted to fuck you after all and letting every last reservation about it vanish into nothing. You’ve always wanted this. You never thought it would happen.

"Sergeant," you gasp out. "Is this-- what about your reputation--?"

"Don't start." His fingers trail the lines of your body, his eyes fixed on the parts of you he caught only blurry glimpses of in your ex's video. It didn't do you justice.

He wants to pretend there's nothing to this besides convenience--you did owe him. Hell, you wanted to sleep with him. You always made that crystal clear. Now he's just allowing himself to give in to baser impulses like a dog snatching up a rabbit thrown into its path.

But you're right. This will look bad if someone finds out. He should worried, but it's hard to care about that when the thing competing for his attention is the filthy way your pussy swallows him again and again, seeing how slick you leave the base of his cock.

He should've used a condom. He knows for a fact you knew he didn't and you said nothing. He'd tell you off for it now, too, but he's absolutely certain it would just make you cum. The nerve of you.

His hips stutter for a second before he can banish that thought from his mind. He shouldn't like the idea of you being that obsessed. Acting like you'd do anything he asked. Christ, work would be a nightmare if this got out. Him actually sleeping with you. But then again, he suddenly doesn't much like the idea of you finding a different rebound. You'd just be thinking of him anyway, right? Wouldn’t you?

Whatever. He’ll deal with the fallout later. When he's not enjoying your body.

“Who’s going to know?” he murmurs, eyes falling to your chest. “Let it go.”

“Mkay,” you sigh out. There's nothing more you want than to please him right now.

"You'd do anything I asked, wouldn't you." It's not a question. You both know it's true. And he likes that--he hates admitting it, but he does. His eyes drop to your pussy again, and his hips pick up their pace.

You've spent months flirting with him, teasing him about taking you to bed. Now you're getting everything you want. He's right. Why would you care one goddamn second about the consequences? “Anything.”

He hates how needy you sound when you say that. You're too trusting. He's taking advantage of you. Don't you get that?

His grip on your hips tightens, pushing into you more and more roughly. Your moans rise in pitch and he has to grit his teeth.

“Good." He says lowly. "Then you won't tell a soul about this, will you?"

"But--ah, ngh..." You bite your lip as he stops thrusting and grinds himself into you. You gyrate your hips, needing friction. "But people already think we're together."

“Do they? That’s a bold claim.” You're overestimating how many people believe silly rumors. Besides, it's hardly your concern anymore. He lays his palms flat on the table on either side of you, bracing himself. Your skin is so soft; your neck tempts him, but he restrains himself. "You're keeping your mouth shut from now on, yeah?"

You let out a sound of frustration as he slows even further. You try to push your hips harder against his. "Sergeant, please!"

"You want this, don't you?" His voice is chilled, but the heat in his eyes as he stares down at your bucking hips is hardly discouraging. "You'll want it again. You'll keep wanting it."

"Ugh, yes," you snap, squeezing your thighs fruitlessly around his toned waist.

"As long as you don't tell a soul about this, I’ll see to it that you get what you want," he growls. "Not your team, your friends, your stupid ex. No one."

You open your mouth to question him again, but he pulls away and snaps his hips hard into yours. Whatever you were about to say dissolves into a string of semi-coherent affirmations. Yes, you'll keep it quiet. Yes, you'll pretend none of this ever happened. Yes, you'll never use his name on base again. Anything he wants. Just don't stop.

"Good girl. Good girl..." Easy enough. Now that he knows how to get his way with you, you shouldn't be such a problem anymore. He can’t help but be a little greedy, though. "You're not going to fuck anyone else, either."

"Never!"

He grunts in approval. "And you'll never--and I mean never --try to get back with your ex. Understand? You'll stay away from him."

You writhe and plead, winding your arms around his shoulders. He grabs your wrists and pins them to the table, the muscles in his arms taut.

"Do. You. Understand?" His voice comes down on you like low thunder, all around you.

"Yes!"

"Good. I'll know if you do. Mm…" His breathing grows shallow. Your heat is impossibly tight, and tightening up even more. He squeezes your wrists. "You going to cum?"

"C-Can I?" you breathe out. "Please, can I cum?"

His hips stutter and he has to close his eyes for a moment. God, he's never been tested like this.

"Sergeant, please!"

"Cum," he says, the word short and sharp like gunfire. "Cum on my cock. Right now."

He presses his thumb to your clit and you wail, clenching around him like you haven't cum in weeks. Your body rolls, practically convulses, your head knocking against your dining table as you arch up. He lets out a snarl, not slowing down despite how painfully tight you squeeze him.

Once you come down from the high, his pace never slowing, your swollen core twitches and spasms with overstimulation. You cry out, but you make yourself stay in place. You want to keep making him feel good. You want to make him feel better than he ever has.

"Cum inside me," you pant out. "I-I'm on birth control. You can-- please--"

"You're a liar," he growls through clenched teeth even as he picks up his pace.

"I promise," you plead. Even if you're a liar, and you are, you're not lying about this. God, you want him to do it so bad you can feel yourself clench up again at the thought.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm when he pulls out, spilling his load across your chest and stomach instead.

You clench down on nothing, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction even as your orgasm ebbs out of reach. You let your head fall back onto the table, your breathing heavy. You don't see his eyes running over you, deliberating.

"Sergeant?"

"Mm?"

"Do you maybe want my phone number?" Almost seems like a silly question. He has your address now anyway.

"Hm." He pulls away, picking up your discarded purse from the mess of clothes on the floor. He pulls out your phone and opens your texts, types in his number, and sends himself a quick message. Then he finds your conversation with your ex-boyfriend. His eyes narrow. The last texts exchanged were earlier tonight. And you started it. You told him you were out to dinner with someone else. Just to get a rise out of your ex. It obviously worked.

That's okay, he figures, opening the menu and blocking your ex's number. If there's one person he does want to know about this, it's that arsehole. Maybe now he'll stay away from you.

You sit up. "Kyle?"

His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. "Yeah?"

"Were you serious?"

"I was."

"Even about coming over again?"

"I mean every word I say.” He hands your phone back to you and begins to get dressed.

You watch him, grasping the edge of the table. "When will you be back?"

"My squad leaves on assignment tomorrow. Don't know how long it'll be." He zips up and grabs his t-shirt. "I'll text you."

"Right, right." You suppress a sigh. "Always got a job to do."

He slings his coat over his shoulder, then pauses. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but reach his hand out to your cheek. He runs the back of his finger over your jawline. Then he disguises the tender gesture by gripping your chin and pulling it up so you're looking him in the eye.

"Behave," he tells you, voice low. "No sleeping around. No flirting of any kind. Is that clear?"

Your heart pounds. You swallow and nod.

"Good," he says, holding your gaze a moment longer.

As he leaves, closing the door behind him, he curses himself.

This is not a good idea. What's he trying to do, fix you? Stupid, stupid, stupid. This isn't going to end well. You're not good for him. But damn if he doesn't feel more satisfied than he has in years.

He has no choice. If he wants you to behave, he'll have to keep your eyes on him. Whether he’s on base or not.

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Gaz / masterlist tag

[readychilledwine]

Batboys as coparents?

Batboy Coparenting Headcanons

Warnings - Azriel girlies aren't going to like this, slightly Harem mentioned, coparenting in general

Rhysand

You met Rhysand at a ball. Your father was one of his father's advisors, and it was love at first sight.

You two courted and married many years before he went under the mountain, leading to the birth of your daughter, Stella.

Stella is Rhysand's world, and when he became trapped, thoughts of her were what caused him to do everything he felt he had to.

He'd burn the world to keep her safe. He knew the mating bond would snap between you two. He just needed to get back to you for it to happen.

His world crashed down on him when it was Feyre instead. Then again, when he came home and a grown female stood where his sweet baby once did.

In his frustration and healing, you two still fucked like rabbits. Leading to yet another babe, one that grew as you watched your husband distant himself as he fell in love with Feyre.

You tried to leave so many times, but you love him, and he does love you. And slowly, so did Feyre.

Coparenting does not exist with Rhysand. Once you give birth, all three of you parent your new son, and in turn, your daughter.

When Feyre is pregnant with Nyx, the expectation is the same.

You three become a very happy throuple, with many, many children involved.

Cassian

I've given a little bit of a preview of this before. Peep Co Parents here

Cassian is the easiest to coparent with

You were a one night stand from a drunken forget Nesta night.

Finding out from Madja that you were pregnant terrified Cassian. He felt he had singlehandedly signed your death certificate

The babe had wings as to be expected, but somehow, you carried her to term and gave birth easily

Cassian struggled for awhile, he wanted it all. He felt he deserved the world.

But you and Nesta did not feel that way. You both wanted to be someone's first choice.

Nesta was obviously his, leading to many days spent with Rhysand being a neutral 3rd party the best he could be.

Obviously, he wanted his niece with them at all times, especially with the recent birth of Nyx, but your role was vital to her survival.

You two settled on you maintaining primary custody until she was weened and eating solid foods, then you would go 50/50 with alternating holidays.

Cassian provides you with child support regardless of that agreement. He gives you enough to get into and cover a lavish loft for both of you and any needs his baby girl has.

Cassian sees paying your rent as ensuring his daughter has a home with you, and taking care of you is just as important to him as taking care of his daughter.

Once you two go to 50/50 and you are able to work more, you insist he stops, but he instead buys off your loft, now allowing his money to focus on his daughter's necessities.

This leads to you giving him and nesta a spare key, letting them know they can come by whenever they'd like.

The relationship between you and Nesta is a blossoming one. The two of you become very close friends, and she comes over for girls' nights one a week and mom's night one a week.

Her pregnancy is an absolute joy for all 4 of you, but Cassian still makes sure he speaks to you and your daughter privately, ensuring you two know this changes nothing. That he is there for the long haul.

Soon, there are no divided holidays. Just all of you as an odd family gathered together to celebrate.

Cassian is the fairytale dream coparent. Nothing can change my mind on that

Azriel

Azriel is the most difficult to coparent with.

You were one of his rebounds after Elain. You are allergic to the contraceptive tonics, and Azriel had been too lazy to take his.

You sighed as the healer in Windhaven told you it wasn't sickness but pregnancy.

You were to be the mother of a bastard's bastard, and the bastard had not even acknowledged your presence since he fucked you in the weapons shed.

You learned soon after his bond with Gwyn had snapped, and you knew instantly that this babe would not be a priority to him.

He ran into you, quite literally, when you were 7 months pregnant. He goes pale as he realizes his scent is lingering heavily on you.

"What are you going to do?"

"You're fucking joking. What the fuck do you think?"

Azriel tries to convince you many times to just give the baby up, and you can't tell if it is because of his guilt or because he is genuinely that uninterested.

Rhysand and Cassian are the ones who approach you, instantly stepping up where their brother is failing.

You give birth to his son, YOUR son, on Starfall, and pick the name Erebus much to Rhysand's glee.

Azriel is in and out of his life and shotty with helping you raise him despite Rhysand moving you to Velaris

You have no relationship with Gwyn and find out Azriel had not even bothered telling until Rhysand showed up one day with his son, shoving the boy into his arms and commanding him to bond with him.

Overall, raising a baby with Azriel is not a great experience, but you have his brothers to stand in his place, and you help you with your son.

[moonsaver]

A dance, A death, A dream,

for humanity slumbers for the final rest, and dreams after the final rest.

➸ On the neverending stage of Penacony; there lies a mysterious masquerade that serenades those whose dreams stretch further than the expanse of the night sky. In this masquerade, the marble floor extends infinitely, and the windows are dimly lit by the full moon. Several hands extend to you. Whose do you take?

➸A/n; NOT IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER AS TITLE SUGGESTS. my writing's gotten a bit rusty, and this is majorly inspired by the Acheron and Black swan dance. Please read it with a grain of salt. 2.2k words. Yandere themes, gn reader but they're implied to wear heels, so just yassify your self insert. Bad writing because I've been out of it for so long.

—————

A death

Scars, calluses, and a plethora of secrets remain buried on and under the skin of Blade's hand. He gently and firmly guides you out of your seat, and into the centre. The grip of his hand is firm on your waist, and the warmth seeps into your skin.

“I've seen you, many, many times..”

He whispers into your ear, as the music begins. The rasp of it sends chills down your spine, forming a few goosebumps along the way.

“We've scarcely met.” You reply,

“In my dreams.”

You stay silent. He continues,

“The long thread of destiny lingered around you. Our souls were tied.”

He turns you, and pulls you in again, your back pressed to his front. He leans down in an instant and whispers into your ear again,

“You waited for me.”

The clicks of your heels coincide with his agile footwork.

Blade remembers the same dream, played over and over in his mind. The bite on your jugular, the hand over your nape, the red blood staining his teeth like wine.

“You didn't leave.”

Your heart picks up. You close your eyes for a momentary relief that never comes. You feel your body tense, and your lungs slightly constrict.

“I.. didn't mean to.”

His grip only further tightens on you, and he pulls you in closer. The spinning almost leaves you dizzy, or perhaps it's something else?

“You left. Intentions seldom matter.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

He stays quiet. His hands make gentle work, and gracefully guide you through the steps.

“those threads.. all came together and formed a tapestry of us.”

There were a multitude of them, although more monotone in nature. White occasionally graced the vibrant red thread, but was sooner stained with a murky black the further it went, infecting the red with its impurity. The vibrancy dimmed to a dull, dreary maroon.

“Some of them..”, he continues, his rough fingers snake around your wrist, bringing it up to his lips, where he tenderly kisses the inside, “..were tied around your wrist.”

“Around your waist..”

You turn again, your back presses into his chest momentarily,

“Braided into your hair,”

He pulls you in, leaning close into your face, to the point your noses almost touch,

“..wrapped around your throat.”

To you – it's like the dance halts for a moment. Something wrong happens.

His tone is warning, bubbling over the edge,

“You were mine.”

He turns you again, and roughly pulls you in, knocking your breath out of your lungs. Your shocked eyes meet his.

“You are mine.”

Your heartbeat thumps loudly in your ears. Blade pushes you around, almost mocking the gentleness and grace the dance is supposed to exude, stripping it of it's vulnerability like the harsh snap of a bear trap over the tender leg of a rabbit,

“I've pined, longed and stained you. I've ripped you apart and put you back together. Do you think it matters whether you left intentionally?”

Your lungs struggle to fill completely, you almost stumble from the harsh and swift movements Blade forces you through, and you stutter trying to get any word out, 

“Yingxi–! Wait!”

He pulls you in one last time, your face buried into his chest,

“You can not leave. Not anymore.”

The music halts to a break.

The dance stops.

His breath fans over your neck, the constricted space between you two rebounding the warm air. His teeth graze your jugular.

“Our flesh is tied. Struggle all you want, but we are intertwined further than dried blood over a wound.”

And this is how it is meant to be. Your hand on his weakness. His mouth on your heart.

The music starts again.

—––––––

A dream

Sunday's familiar gloved hand wastes no time wrapping around yours. He flashes you a smile as you give him a look.

“There are far too many spectators present tonight.”

You sigh, and smile.

“Of course. I'll do my best.”

“Thank you. As will I.”

His hand settles on your back, settling into the slight curve, and you straighten up, muscle memory kicking into action.

“Tonight's crowd mumbles and scatters to mystery as a moth akin to a flame. Dreams are not enough to quench their curiosity.”

The dance starts, and you relax after the first few steps, synchronising effortlessly with him,

“However, tonight's realm extends far beyond a dream.”

This was new.

Sunday always answered your questions about Dreams in a shapeless, vague manner. He often said it was to protect you.

This time, it was a warning.

“How so?” You ask. You don't expect him to go beyond surface level.

“Prime System Hours are during Midnight. A beautiful time.” He gently turns you, and brings you in,

“And why is that?”

“At this time, dreams become heavy. The memoria is dense enough to tear the thin membrane between reality and illusions.”

His wings slightly flutter. You feel almost hypnotized.

“The Dream realm and parts of The Reverie merge and collide. It bizarrely stabilises the lavish, shared dreams.”

You blink at him, slightly confused.

“And at this time, it is also easy to awaken from one's dreams, or sleep too deeply.”

You suck in a breath. A vision flashes into your mind.

Sunday stands across the empty ballroom. The candles are blown out. The windows creak with the gentle air of the night. The deathly pale light of the moon illuminates the side of Sunday's face.

Wake up? Sleep? Dream?

You breathe out, almost as if your soul had been snatched out of your body and harshly shoved back in. 

“Guests confuse their dreams and reality. They believe it's time to awaken, when reality seems pleasant, and dreams become bitter. Memories and presence blur together in an incoherent puzzle.”

He swerves you effortlessly, muscle memory keeping you from stumbling. But this time, your mind feels hazy.

“By the time they feel their consciousness return, they've already deeply penetrated into the dream realm.”

You blink again, and you're back at the same place. Except, this time, Sunday is closer. He takes your hand, and pulls you in. The emptiness of the ballroom is almost frightening, especially due to your confused and hazed state,

“As to whether they've woken up or not, relies solely on their ability to distinguish Reverie and the Dreamscape, which blurs more with the effect of the memoria.”

His voice echoes in your head with clarity, but your eyes blur the two figures, the contrast inducing dizziness in you to the point where you're afraid you might even fall,

“As for you..” He continues, golden eyes gently grazing over your confused and hazy expression, a smile stretching out onto his eerily perfect face,

“It's not time to decipher that yet.”

The silhouette of Sunday's fingers snap over the pale backdrop of the moon.

You open your eyes.

Sunday is standing before you with a warm smile. The candelabras are still burning. The crowd applauds you two. You breathe heavily, unsure of what has happened, your body suddenly zapped of energy, exhaustion straining your muscles.

“You seem to have overexerted yourself.”

Sunday's gloved hand trails up your back to your shoulder, guiding you gently back into the crowd, towards an empty table.

“Come now. The dust of this ballroom may be dulling your senses.”

Dust?

You blink for a moment, head slightly hanging as you collect yourself.

Sunday breathes out an ‘o’, and then chuckles softly.

“Do not mind it, dear”,

Sunday eyes the creaking windows. It has been a while since they were repaired. The room may need to be renovated. The dust on the floor is reminiscent of all the people that one witnessed your first dance with Sunday. The lack of it was always a reminder of your time with Sunday, the dust clinging to your heels instead. He stares towards the empty hall, where you dream of an everlasting dance.

“It is my mistake. I was thinking about something else.”

–––––———

A dance

“What makes you think I'd really want to dance with you?”

You ask, almost disgruntled. Rightfully so, too. The blonde man had been continuously pestering you throughout the night, asking you to accompany him. For a dance, a walk through the garden, a visit to the food table. Finally, he'd asked you to strike a bet with him, if it meant you'd at least spend an iota of your time with him and solely him.

“I have my ways, you know?”

His agile fingers flick and swerve a coin between his hands, tossing and turning it skillfully. The tablecloth slightly crinkles under the movement of his arms,

“I'm not betting, by the way.”

You say, pausing for a moment to confirm if he's listening. His eyes are intent on yours. You continue,

“If you have to go so far just to dance with someone, aren't you better off just giving up?”

Your gaze lands on the coin for a moment, and you continue watching it with interest. At some point, you force yourself to look away from the coin he was toying with, and take a sip of your drink. You lean back into your chair.

“Like I said, I have my ways. What I really want from you after all this time.. isn't it tempting? Don't you want to know?”

He tosses the coin into the palm of his other hand, and encloses it, before opening it. The coin vanishes when he opens his hand. Mirroring you, he leans back into his seat, although his body language is much more open than yours.

“making bets is easy, isn't it? But it's more trustworthy than pulling a few strings behind your back, right?”

He gets up, and languidly walks over to you. He leans down slightly, his sunglasses slightly skewing enough so that his vibrant Signoian eyes bore deep into yours.

“And for you.. I've thought about an offer that's taken me a while to cultivate. Join me for a chat on the Balcony?”

You think for a moment, and hesitantly ask,

“..Why not talk here?”

Aventurine only casts a side-glance somewhere in the distance.

“Prying eyes, sweetheart.”

He extends an open hand to you. You slowly place yours in it, with a self-assuring sigh.

-

“Penacony's relationship with the IPC has been quite bitter. Even our reception wasn't ready to welcome us.”

The air of the night sky was cold, forming subtle goosebumps on your skin. Various clinks and muffled conversations could be heard from behind you, the glass door blurring the view of everyone inside. 

“Not even my friends were allowed to enter the dreamscape except me. How lucky, right?”

He says, sarcastically. His eyes continuously gauge your face for any expression and hint as to what you feel.

“You’re a little too quiet.. am I not interesting enough for you?” 

You stay silent for a bit too long. Aventurine knows what you're going to say next.

“Listen, that night..” you start, your voice gradually softening at the remembrance of the memory,

“Don't.” He cuts you off.

Neither of you speak. You open your mouth to, but close it after being unable to decide on what to say.

“I mean, you don't have to remind me.” His languid tone returns, but you don't believe it was the same as before.

“I know everything ended that night.. I didn't think you were so averse to blood.”

You stare at the bubbles in your drink, rise slowly from the bottom of your cup to the surface, and pop. You don't know when, but the background of joyful conversation and ballroom music fades into distant screams, ones that have haunted your dreams ever since then. Aventurine continues,

“It won't hurt to.. act one last time like it used to be, right? Just for one night. It's a masquerade, and everyone hides who they are for a moment's time of detachment. Their past, their decisions, their mistakes. All of it is buried for a single night.”

You hear the shuffle of his stiff jacket as he moves closer to you, hesitantly moving your gaze to him as you steel yourself.

“Just one last time. For old time's sake. As lovers from the past.”

His hand extends out to you. His other hand is behind his back, his grip tightening over a coin.

Heads, or tails?

You take his hand with a sigh,

“Just once. Never again.”

Aventurine smiles. Luck has always been on his side. If it works well, then your expectations will never be honoured. His greed is fatally more important to him than your wishes. It won't be the last time, as far as he's concerned.

The coin shines under his palm, the moonlight creeping through the gaps between his fingers hitting the metal just right, but neither of you catch the glint. Your eyes are trained onto the main floor, and his are trained onto you. The coin decides both of your fates.

And Luck has always been happy to write it in his favour.

—————————

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I just wanna see how Eliza and Fellow would interact. That’s all lol

For more proposals to the Ghost Bride, check out this post!

So tell me, do you wanna go?

"Hold it!"

The doors to the cafeteria flew open.

In strolled two figures. The smaller one, a cat boy, skipping, scattered flower petals down the aisle. The fox beastman that sauntered in after him was dressed in a smart suit with trailing tails, his cane and spats clack-clack-clacking rhythmically on the floor.

He made his way up to the Ghost Bride, stopping short a few paces to remove his top hat and dip into a theatrical bow. Replacing his headwear, he flashed a luminous smile.

"Oh my!" Eliza yelped, her undead heart leaping in her ribcage. "And who might this gentleman with the shoddy suit be?"

He visibly recoiled "U-Urk! Shoddy...?!"

Gidel waved his arms at him encouragingly, his loose sleeves flopping around like rabbit ears. Fellow made to clear his throat, rebounding.

"As it just so happens, I'm a traveling performer. I couldn't help but notice there was a big shindig going on, so I thought to invite myself in and see what all the hubbub was about!" He indicated a few of Eliza's servants. "Come to find out a princess is lookin' to get hitched! What a momentous occasion!"

He and Gidel shared in a round of applause. The servant ghosts exchanged confused looks, but awkwardly joined in clapping.

"Yes, that's right." Eliza gestured to a panic-stricken Idia. His expression was frozen in terror. "As you can see, I have already found my destined husband."

"Well, that won't do! It won't do at all."

"And why is that?"

Without missing a beat, Fellow cupped Eliza's cold hands in his own. "Because I should like to throw my hat in the ring to earn your hand, fair maiden!"

"WHAAAAT!?" The shriek came from Idia, who had been roused from his state of shock. "Sorry, did I already die and reincarnate into a scene straight out of a crappy, low-effort dating sim from 20 years ago?!"

"My dear, sweet Idia-sama!" Eliza cooed sympathetically. Her eyes were shiny and wet with tears. "Are you worried this raggamuffin will steal your beloved bride away? Have no fear, it'll be a challenge to match you." She turned to Fellow and folded her arms. "So? What is it that you have to offer?"

"I'm a free spirit, you see! No baggage to my name. Choose me, and you'll be free as a songbird." Fellow gestured to the open air. With the flick of his wrist, he spun his cane--a subtle deception, infusing the venue with a faint magical shimmer. "I can show you the world in all of its shining, shimmering splendor!"

The Ghost Bride's disinterested expression glazed over. "Oooh...!! That does sound rather romantic. Oh, the trot the globe with my beloved! And now that I get a closer look at you, my, you're quite handsome yourself despite your shoddy suit."

"C-Could you please not bring up my suit again?!" Fellow groaned. "But yes, I guarantee you that you won't regret a partnership with me. Life will be full of laughter and fun with Fellow Honest-sama at your side!"

He extended a hand to her and winked. (Idia's spirit almost cringed right out of his body.)

"Waaah, how dashing!!" Eliza's lashes fluttered. She giggles as if drunk on the sight of him, then nearly toppled over mid-swoon.

"I-Is she seriously falling for this?!" Idia sputtered in disbelief. "A-Am I saved at last?! Wait, but should I be this happy that I got dropped like a stale piece of toast on the sidewalk?!"

Keheheh, that's right. Just like putty in my hands, Fellow sneered to himself. My unique magic really comes in handy for things like this! Now for the finishing blow...!

"... By the way, how much do you make? It's a lot, right? Gotta be, since you're a princess and all."

"Eh?" Eliza's face immediately fell.

"Er..." He gulped, instantly realizing his mistake. "What I meant was--"

"REJECTED!!"

SMACK!!

"Yee-OUCH!!" Fellow skidded across the floor, clenching his swollen cheek. A harsh handprint had been left upon it, blooming bright red.

Gidel worriedly rushed to him. The boy helped prop Fellow up--he was yowling in pain, but his limbs were locked up, refusing to budge.

"What an unreliable man!" Eliza angrily huffed. "You weren't looking for love at all, just someone to leech resources off of! A man like that can't possibly be trusted."

She floated over to Idia and threw herself around him. "You're definitely the only one for me in this life, Idia-sama!!"

"G-Gweh?!" He choked on air, fear clawing at his throat once more. "W-Won't someone save me from this living hell?!?!?!"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Rebound 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You take a new path. You tell yourself it's to mix it up, to be a hit more spontaneous. You're downfall had come from being a creature of habit. 

So instead of north, you go south, away from the river and towards the ravine where trees slant and the land turns bumpy and peaty. You stop at the edge and peer down at the steep incline. You breathe in the slightly damp air, the night's rain still wet on the grass and bark. 

You're hypnotised by the lightheadedness caused by the drop. You slowly back up and walk along the border. You couldn't make the hike down though you've seen teens hanging around there. You press on, walking over even ground. 

A sudden snap has you on high alert. You look over your shoulder. You try not to think of Curtis, try not to assume or expect. You don't want to make a big deal of nothing. Lee always said you were good at that, where he did the opposite. 

There's no one there but you feel something beneath your foot. You look down. A snare. You've walked straight into a rabbit trap. Is it his? You wish you knew how reset it. Instead you'll have to leave his hard work spoiled. 

You make your way back to the road and follow it to your sister's house. He lingers in the back of your mind. You haven't seen him at the library. It's been weeks. You shouldn't care so much. You don't.  

He came when you weren't there. You know that. You saw his book in returns. Is he avoiding you? Were you that awkward? No, it's just Curtis. He avoids everyone. He's smart. Hammer Ford does not inspire trust. 

You enter the house, kicking the dirt off your shoes before you break the threshold. You leave the sneakers on the mat as you hear your sister with the kids. You look in on them and she gives you a sharp look as you offer a small wave. You cringe and go to the kitchen to get water. 

You hear the Bluey song play and your sister appears as you chug down a tall glass. You pull your lips of the brim and wipe the dribble down your chin. She looks tired. Kids do that to ya. 

"You've lost weight," Katie says. 

You should be proud for her noticing but even after two births, she's effortlessly petite. You nod, "yeah." 

"Great, and... how about a place? You found one yet?" 

She's never been particularly tactful. She gets that from your mother. Maybe that's why she's the favourite. 

"Looking," you assure her, "I have enough for a deposit now but not much around here." 

She nods and opens the fridge. She takes out two of the drinkable yogurts for the kids. You drink nervously. 

"I heard about him. Lee," she says as she stands on the other side of the island, "he's with some young one now." 

"Oh." 

"Good riddance," she sneers, "I never liked him. Never mentioned it but one time at Christmas... well, he made a suggestion." 

You frown. Why is she telling you this? It doesn't make you feel better. 

"Oh, I'm... sorry he did that." 

"We all tried to warn you," she shrugs. 

You finish your water and rinse the glass. It's easier than pointing out she was still a teen when you got engaged. Whatever. 

"Mom's coming for dinner tonight." 

You pause before you can set the glass in the rack. Great. Another judgement to come.  

"She wants you there too." 

"Okay," you don't argue. Twenty years of it with Lee, you don't need to keep it up. 

"Right, well, I gotta go look after the kids. Life, you know." 

She leaves and you put the glass down. You blink back her underhanded jab. You don't have kids or a husband or even a house. Look at her, taking in her tragic sister. How fucking merciful. 

🌲

Your mother barely acknowledges you when she gets there. She’s too caught up in her favourite and her grandchildren. You’re fine with it; used to it. You’re far enough in life that you know it isn’t worth it to try or care. Same as with your husband. Ex now. Officially. 

Finally, after the last months of struggling, you have some good news. The email was both a relief and a final punctuation. Now you can move on, just like Lee. 

You sit at the table. You have your chicken breast, a thoughtful portion of rice, and lots of green beans. You’re life might not be any more balanced but your meals are. 

As your mom finishes her preening and cooing over the messy toddler beside her, she turns to you. You know by the glint in her eye, it won’t be any different than your last conversation. Or any over the last how many decades. 

“How nice it is of Katie to take you in,” she chimes. 

“Yeah, very nice,” you gulp, “um, but not for much longer. Divorce is final. Lawyer’s fees will come off the alimony. Which I’m getting.” 

It feels nice to say it out loud. Hearing it come out of your own mouth makes it real. Makes it true. 

“When did you find this out?” Your sister chirps. 

“Couple hours ago.” 

“Wow,” both your mother and sister utter. 

“That’s great news,” your mother grins, “but you’re still divorced and childless. You don’t have much time left on the clock.” 

You look at your plate. For every win, they find a loss. Yes, that’s true, but you don’t want kids and after your marriage, you want a husband even less. One is just fine. 

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (16/22)

Chapter summary: You go through a difficult period following your breakup with Yelena, and you and Wanda end up falling down the rabbit hole for the second time around

Chapter word count: 6.4K | Warnings: Angst, Mild smut | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Before you say anything, I have a plan. Enjoy :) P.S. My requests are open

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Seventeen Part One

--

Sixteen

“And then she kissed you?” Agatha asks. She looks the same way she does when she’s actively participating in gossip, hanging onto every detail of the latest scandal that keeps most people entertained in their insignificant lives.

Wanda solemnly nods, as if validating a piece of tragic news.

“Why aren't you thrilled?” Agatha observes quietly, picking at her tooth with her fingernail. “I mean, doesn't that confirm that she still has feelings for you?”

“You remember what happened last time, right? When she did more than just kiss me?”

Agatha grimaces, “Right, of all places, in our stockroom." Then, her tone morphs into a more probing one, “But, did the kiss feel as if she just wanted to get into your pants?”

Wanda lets out a sigh, her heartbeat quickening as she reminisces about its tenderness. It felt akin to a first kiss—vulnerable, slightly apprehensive, tinged with anxiety, and yet, at the same time familiar—like finding her way back home.

It was perfect in every sense. 

But it was tainted by its very nature. It was a betrayal. And if there were truly raw feelings behind it, then it’s worse—it would mean that you have been emotionally unfaithful to Yelena. 

Wanda may have ruined yet another relationship.

In the midst of her internal struggle, she finally manages to answer Agatha, “It felt like hope,” giving voice to her undeniable feelings for you. “But she’s with Yelena.”

“I never really had faith in that relationship to begin with,” Agatha retorts dismissively, cleaning her hands with a towel before reaching for one of the cookies on display.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Wanda chides.

“I’m only being honest,” Agatha says, unapologetic in her bluntness. “You were fucking each other like rabbits and then a few weeks later, she gets a girlfriend. That's a classic rebound scenario. I'm surprised the woman she's with allowed herself to be used like that.”

Wanda finds Agatha’s uninhibited words a little offensive, though she understands that their deepening friendship has allowed for such unfiltered honesty between them. Even though she's jealous of Yelena, Wanda understands that she is good for you. She doesn't like how Agatha talks about Yelena as if she's too naive to try a relationship with you.

Wanda feels she can relate with Yelena. Often, love makes us scared that we might never get a second chance, so we choose to take a leap of faith, despite the warning signs.

“So, what are you planning to do about it?” Agatha asks, taking a bite of her favorite cookie. Wanda makes a mental note to deduct that cookie from the stock count.

Wanda shakes her head, replying, “Nothing,”

Agatha pauses mid-chew, her eyes wide with shock. Wanda can't help but observe the crumbs of food lodged in her teeth. “You're not going to seize this opportunity?” Agatha questions, disbelief coating her voice.

“Y/N needs to sort things out,” Wanda lets out a heavy sigh. “Without my interference.”

“You’re not afraid of missing out on this chance?”

Wanda sidesteps Agatha's question with one of her own. “Why are you suddenly supportive? It wasn’t long ago when you couldn't stand her.”

“I’m supportive of you. I’m rooting for your happiness, dear. But I’ve seen you at your worst, and I think you’re putting on a brave face right now.”

Wanda's eyes dip down. Her friend isn’t entirely wrong.

“What happens if she decides to stay with Yelena?” Agatha probes further.

Wanda's response isn't immediate; she takes a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before replying softly, “Then I hope she’ll be very happy with her.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes, because of course, Wanda would say that. Even if you were being served to her on a silver platter, she’d worry for your happiness over her own. 

“And where does that leave you?” Agatha asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Wanda lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug, her face unreadable. “Living life as it comes, I guess. Just one day at a time.”

At this, Agatha decides to drop the subject. She has a strong feeling that Wanda’s just waiting for you to come to her, and when you do, she's certain that Wanda won't maintain this pretense of indifference. As for Wanda, she doesn’t want to obsess over what you’re doing or thinking. She doesn’t want to make the same mistake of hoping for an outcome that only you can decide.

Switching topics, Agatha raises an eyebrow and asks, “And the pup? Is he doing okay?”

Wanda smiles faintly, “I brought him home yesterday.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Agatha remarks. “Do you reckon Sparky masterminded all this to get Y/N to your place at an ungodly hour? Can dogs be that crafty?”

Wanda throws her an incredulous look. “Are you being serious right now?”

A wicked giggle slips from Agatha, spreading until Wanda finds herself laughing along. She doesn't notice the arrival of a guest until the distinct sound of the call bell jars her attention.

It’s Valkyrie, casually leaning against the countertop, looking awkward and so unlike her usual self.

Agatha casts a sly glance at Peter, who's been trying to catch her eye ever since Valkyrie stepped into the cafe. When Agatha isn't around, Peter fills her in on the latest happenings, a reliable source of juicy tidbits. Peter quirks his brows and discreetly nods towards Valkyrie, his mouth miming a silent message. Reading his lips, Agatha pieces together that this is the woman who recently found herself entangled in Wanda's intricate web.

Agatha sweeps her eyes over the woman appreciatively. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Wanda rubs her palms together, a habit she’s developed before taking a customer order. “Hi, Val! What is it for today? We have new beans delivered all the way from Niseko–”

“Actually,” Valkyrie softly cuts her off. “I was hoping we could talk?”

Agatha watches their exchange, an eager twinkle in her eyes. With the pace at which interesting events are unraveling, she may as well pop a bag of microwave popcorn to truly savor the unfolding drama.

Wanda nods and moves away from the counter, temporarily handing the reins to Agatha. They pick a spot in the furthest corner from the kitchen, well out of earshot, much to Agatha's disappointment.

“First off, I owe you an apology,” Valkyrie begins. “I’d blame it on the alcohol, but there’s no excuse for me pressuring you too much to take shots. That wasn’t cool at all. You already said no several times and I ignored you.”

Wanda waves her off casually. “Oh, it's alright. I appreciate the apology, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You couldn't have forced me to drink if I really didn't want to, right?”

Valkyrie's frown dips further at Wanda's easy dismissal of the issue. “No, Wanda. If I'd kept on, I might've pushed you into it even if you didn't want to. I'm just glad Y/N stepped in when she did.”

Something flashes in Wanda’s eyes at the mention of your name. Valkyrie catches it but opts to ignore it for the meantime.

“Yeah, I did feel a bit cornered that night,” Wanda concedes, a smile returning to her face. “But it's water under the bridge now. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

“You sure don't beat around the bush, do you?” Valkyrie attempts to lighten the mood, but her tension is evident in her shaky voice and the way her fingers fiddle with her watch.

Wanda chuckles. “It's a skill I've been honing lately.”

Taking a deep, measured breath, Valkyrie gathers her courage. "Alright, here it is..."

Wanda tilts her head at her curiously, wondering what it’s about.

“I like you,” Valkyrie blurts out. “I don’t normally confess to someone I’m not even dating, but you’re… incredible. That's how I feel about you and I thought you should know."

“Oh! Uh…” Wanda trails off, blushing at Valkyrie’s confession.

Valkyrie nibbles at her lip, observing as Wanda fumbles to put her thoughts into words. She silently hopes she's left Wanda speechless in a good way.

“There’s… someone,” Wanda manages to utter out eventually. “I've been in love with her for the better part of my life.” Or maybe her whole life, if she’s being brutally honest.

Valkyrie nods, her throat tightening to hold back the sting of rejection. “It's her, isn't it?” she ventures, silently alluding to you.

Wanda diverts her gaze and emits a modest laugh. She must have made her feelings too obvious for anyone to see.

“She’s my ex-wife,” is all the explanation Wanda offers.

“Wow,” Valkyrie looks taken aback by the revelation. “That sounds messy.”

“It's beyond messy,” Wanda retorts.

“Go on,” Valkyrie encourages.

Wanda looks at her, thoughtful. “Are you sure you want to delve into my past? It might take some time.”

Valkyrie smiles, already leaning in closer to signify that she’s all ears. “I made time this morning specifically to talk to you. I want to understand, at least, why I'm being rejected.”

Wanda chuckles softly at the gesture. Collecting her thoughts, she starts to narrate a condensed version of the turbulent history she's had, of how she ruined everything that’s good in her life.

When Wanda wraps up her story, Valkyrie simply says, "Wow, that's... pretty fucking messed up."

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Wanda admits, biting her lower lip, anxiety swirling in her gaze. She worries that revealing her darkest past may have cost her a budding friendship. “I think I saw your interest, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions and have the wrong idea. I just wanted us to be friends. I still do, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, I want to be friends with you, Wanda. More than the fact that you’re hot, we have a lot in common too.”

Wanda's cheeks tinge a soft pink at Valkyrie's flippant comment about her being ‘hot’.

“So, friends then?” Valkyrie extends her hand.

Wanda smiles in relief. “Friends.”

***

A phone call rouses you from sleep. You groggily glance at the clock and realize you've overslept.

“It’s done,” your lawyer's voice cuts through the grogginess as soon as you pick up the call.

Disoriented, you squint against the daylight streaming in through the window. “What are you referring to?” you inquire, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Vision has settled,” she elaborates, her words crisp and distinct. “And he caught a flight to Tokyo last night.”

“He's gone?”

“From what I've heard, he intended to use the settlement money to finance his studies overseas. He won't be returning in the near future. But even if he does decide to cut his trip short, you're safe. He has no legal means to trouble you anymore,” she assures you.

“You've got snitches now?” you quip, your eyes narrowing in suspicion even as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

Her laughter rings out through the phone, followed by a breezy, “You're welcome,” before she ends the call.

It's over. A chapter of your past has finally closed. Vision has physically left the city, and you've literally paid your dues. You hadn't realized you were in a kind of self-imposed cage until now, when a sense of liberation pulses through your veins.

Before you can fully indulge in the relief provided by your lawyer's news, however, a persistent knock at your door breaks your reverie. You can't help but wonder who it could be, and how they bypassed the building's security without a notification from the concierge.

As you pull the door open, you find yourself face to face with the last person you expected to see.

“Nat?”

She appears ready to tear you apart. For a moment, the thought crosses your mind, 'this is it, this is how I go, at the hands of my best friend'. Strangely, you're indifferent to whatever she might inflict on you. Having her here at least affords you an opportunity to have a conversation.

Yet, Natasha doesn't respond. She doesn't even spare you a glance. Instead, she brushes past you and starts gathering random items into a large duffel bag she brought along.

“Nat, can you please just talk to me?”

“What for, Y/N? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Yelena broke up with me,” you say.

Natasha scoffs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Nat, please,” you plead. “You can’t just cut me out forever. I’m your best–”

“Are you?!” The outburst that tears from her is enough to make you recoil. “Are you my friend, Y/N? I woke up to my sister on my doorstep, in shambles. All thanks to my ‘friend’.”

You wrap your arms around yourself as tremors course through your body. Tears start to flow down your cheeks at the mere mention of Yelena.

“You want to talk? Fine, I’ll talk,” Natasha rages on. “I stood by you through thick and thin. I held your hand through all the shit you went through last year. I brought you into my home. I took care of you. I loved you–” Natasha's voice catches on 'loved', and your heart shatters at her use of the past tense.

“–and you just betrayed me, like I meant nothing. You betrayed my sister like she meant nothing. We both cared about you, Y/N.” Her voice dwindles near the end, her next words coming out just above a whisper. “So, no, we’re not friends. Not anymore.”

“Nat, I’m s–”

“You know what? I can’t fucking do this. I’m just gonna send someone to collect Yelena's things. If I don’t, just throw out her stuff like you did with your relationship. Goodbye, Y/N.”

The door slams shut behind her. You find yourself on the floor, curled into a ball, as you grieve the friendship you’ve known all your life.

***

Dark screens and unreturned messages follow.

Yelena has blocked you on every possible platform, cutting off any form of communication. Natasha hasn't, but she leaves all your messages unread, allowing your calls to go unanswered, seemingly enjoying your desperation. Clint ignores your texts, and Kate only responded once, promising to try and speak to Yelena for you. That was a week ago, and there's been no word since. You didn't think you'd be back in the dark place you were in a year ago, and the worst part is, you brought it on yourself this time.

The only news you get about Yelena is from your own mother. A few days after Yelena left your shared apartment, your mother called to ask what had happened. Apparently, Yelena had told her the news herself and asked her to take care of you and make sure you were alright. Throughout the call, you cried silently, feeling the remnants of Yelena's care for you even after you broke her heart.

And your mother, perennially at odds with handling emotions, simply offered her condolences. Although by doing so, she offered more support than she did when you were weathering your divorce from Wanda the year before. With your latest tragedy out of the way, she proceeded to ask if you could make time to visit Montauk over the holidays.

***

Drinking is… a problem. Again. 

But you approach it with more caution this time. You don’t drink as much at home so you can avoid not showing up at work the next day. Rather, you sneak in a flask in the office, sipping from it from time to time to keep you the right amount of…adrift. You’re too good with numbers that even with a little haze in your head, the alcohol doesn’t interfere with your work. 

It interferes with other thoughts.

***

When Kate finally calls you, you’re in the middle of a disastrous presentation at work. Her words had been brief, only giving you the time (three in the afternoon) and location (The New York Public Library) where she wanted to meet. 

It takes some time for you to locate Kate within the vast elegance of the Rose Main Reading Room. She's tucked away in the northeast corner, engrossed in her work, even on a Sunday. A towering pile of books rises to her eye level on her desk.

“I can’t believe I was wrong about you.” Kate says without looking up as you settle on the vacant seat next to her.

“Wrong about me?” you ask, keeping your voice in a hushed tone.

“I had this fleeting thought that you might actually be a good person.” she says.

Swallowing hard, you struggle to find a response, well aware that Kate is just laying out the facts. What kind of person would cheat on their best friend's sister? What kind of person would throw away years of trust and a lifelong friendship?

“She told you?” you finally manage to ask.

“Yelena didn’t say much,” Kate says with a hint of sorrow. “But I've never seen her look so…” she trails off, struggling to find the right words, and eventually concludes, “She doesn't look like the Yelena I know.”

You’re afraid to ask what she means by that. You haven’t looked in the mirror yourself, in fear of seeing the results of your own wreckage.

“She quit today, you know?” Kate reveals, setting down her pen to give you her full attention. You don't see resentment in her eyes, only caution. This is the most compassion you've been shown since your relationship with Yelena fell apart. 

The news of Yelena's resignation hits you like a punch to the gut. She had a promising career ahead of her, and she'd found a supportive environment in her workplace. It's hard to believe she'd just abandon that so abruptly. You feel a wave of nausea at the thought.

“I sort of saw it coming,” Kate adds. “Not her resignation–God, I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't budge. I… I saw you running back to Wanda.”

Your eyes narrow curiously as you regard Kate. “How?” 

Kate sighs, pushing a pile of papers to the side to give you her full attention. “It's not a secret, you know. You might think you're being discreet, but you’re more transparent than you'd like to believe. You’re a completely different person when she’s around. I saw it during the 6-miler event we all joined by chance.”

There’s no point in denying any of that. The weeks that follow after that, you were crying to your mother regarding your conflicted feelings about Wanda. But if you had been aware of the signs as early as then, would things be different somehow?

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Kate,” you say, the words sounding weak and inadequate to your own ears.

“I know,” Kate says quietly, and there's a touch of sympathy in her eyes that makes you feel even worse. “But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen. And people are getting hurt because of it.”

You can sense that Kate is one of those people–by hurting Yelena, the girl she clearly loves. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you whisper. You wish there was another way to convey how sorry you are–a keyword to make it all go away.

“Yeah, me too. Mostly because I have to tell you that we can no longer be friends.” Kate says, looking genuinely upset about her decision, her gaze dropping to her hands as she twirls the pen between her fingers.

“I know,” you nod, appreciating her honesty. “Thank you.”

“Look, I have no idea how deep your thing with Wanda goes. All I know is you can’t keep running away. You can’t keep hiding behind the comfort of other people.”

You bob your head in acknowledgment, even though you're uncertain how to put her words into practice.

"Can you pass on a message to Yelena for me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously.

Kate lets out a sigh, her fingers halting their movement on the pen. “I’ll try. No promises though.”

“Could you tell her that I'm sorry...that I truly loved her?”

A moment of silence follows your request as Kate studies you, her lips pursed. It might seem hypocritical of you to make such a claim, but she refrains from passing judgment. But seeing your bloodshot eyes and your pale chapped lips and the lack of life in you, she thinks there’s probably some truth to it.

***

It takes you an additional week before you summon the courage to visit Wanda's apartment. 

Truth be told, you've been hiding away in shame, confining yourself to either your bedroom or your office, instructing your assistant to keep the door closed and not to disturb you, secluding yourself from the outside world. Aside from interactions at your work, you haven’t talked to anyone. 

A moment of misjudgment led you to lose everything that you were left with when you lost Wanda. But gradually, even as you were beating yourself up over and over again with the dissolution of your relationship with both Romanovs, Wanda became the only one you can think about. You can't escape her pull, no matter how hard you try. 

Eventually, you devolve into nothing more than a compulsion; a compelling need to see Wanda. Which is what brings you here, with your fist poised to knock on the door. But just before your knuckles make contact with the wooden panel, the door swings open, and Wanda's voice unthinkingly spills into the hallway where you stand.

“–let me ask if the neighbor has some sugar–” Wanda halts dead in her tracks as she comes face to face with you.

The timid smile on your face drops as soon as you realize she's not alone. Behind her, comfortably perched on the couch is Valkyrie.

“Seems like you're already entertained. I'll head out,” Valkyrie proposes, getting up on her feet. “I'll pick up my shirt when you come around for the run next week, sound good?”

Wanda nods in a daze to that, her eyes never leaving you.

"No, I should leave," you counter weakly.

“No, Y/N, please stay,” Wanda implores. “See you later, Val. Thanks for the shoes.”

You stiffen and step aside as Valkyrie moves to gather her belongings. When she finally approaches the door, standing next to you, she tilts her head to murmur a parting sentiment intended for your ears only.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I had a spill on my shirt. Don't let her down this time,” she whispers. 

Her words stun you into silence long after she's left.

“Y/N? Please, come in,” Wanda invites you, her voice trembling slightly. Nodding silently, you step inside.

You regard each other quietly, simply observing one another for what feels like an eternity. This isn’t how you imagined things would go when you thought about coming here this morning. You wanted to see Wanda because you needed to be with her. But now, all you can think about is Wanda and Valkyrie being all over each other.

“It’s been awhile,” Wanda offers, not really sure how to begin as you stay awkwardly near the door–as if you’re strategically placing yourself there in case you decide you want to run. She studies you, attempting to read your expression, to figure out what this could be about. She’s been thinking about the thumb drive that contained the video of her and Vision. Did you finally see it? Did you decide to pay him off?

Or is this about Yelena? Wanda’s been thinking if you came clean to your girlfriend about the kiss, wondering if you've managed to patch things up, and if Yelena has forgiven you.

If you’ve chosen to be with Yelena after all.

“Yeah, Valkyrie was here pretty early, wasn't she?” you state more than ask, a hint of bitterness edging your words. You glance at your watch, adding, “At 6:30 in the morning, no less.”

Wanda furrows her brows at your tone, as though she's on the receiving end of an unfounded accusation.

“She was on her morning run, dropped by to hand over a pair of shoes from her club's sponsor. Nothing more,” she explains.

You snort, "Sounds awfully convenient."

Rather than entertain your skepticism further, Wanda redirects the conversation elsewhere. What you presume about her and Valkyrie is the last of her worries right now.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Wanda asks, her voice a little unsure. When your eyes meet hers, Wanda sees the signs of sleepless nights and a certain emptiness that paints a clear picture.

You and Yelena are done.

And it's breaking you. Her heart aches, even knowing that you're now, technically, available. She never wanted this for you. And she can't help but feel that she messed up your happiness once again.

“I just... I needed to see you,” you admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Looks like you didn't waste any time though.”

“Valkyrie and I are just friends,” Wanda insists, the edge of her patience beginning to fray.

“You seriously think I'll believe that?” you shoot back.

Wanda heaves a sigh, exasperation seeping into her tone. “Believe whatever you want, Y/N. Doesn't change the truth.”

“She was wearing your shirt.” you highlight, not quite ready to drop the issue.

“She spilled coffee on herself. I gave her a clean one. That's it.”

“And I'm supposed to accept that at face value?” you challenge, an eyebrow arched skeptically in her direction.

“Yes, you are!” Wanda says firmly. “Because it's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you.”

I wouldn't lie to you. Her words reverberate within your skull, playing on repeat like a broken record.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? You're not sure whether you can still believe her.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda's plea rings out, sounding lost and desperate. She isn't even certain what she's asking for. What she does know is that you're teetering on the edge of a breakdown, still reeling from the pain of your breakup. 

You don’t look like you’re in the right mindset to talk about what you’re going through. About how you both left things. And as much as Wanda wants to figure this out with you, she can’t do anything if you’re not willing to trust her.

“Wouldn’t lie to me?” you repeat, your voice laced with sarcasm and a painful sort of humor. “Alright, let's put that to the test, shall we?”

Wanda's throat tightens. She's unsure where you're heading with this.

“Yelena and I broke up. She left me that same morning,” you start off casually, as if discussing the weather. “Because she deserved better. Because I am, as it turns out, selfish and deceitful, right?”

“No–”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Wanda's mouth snaps shut at your words, a sense of finality creeping into her. “...yes,” she admits quietly.

Slowly, you advance towards Wanda, your steps intentional and calculated. She remains rooted in her spot, refusing to back down.

“Do you feel happy that Yelena and I have broken up?” you ask.

Wanda looks hurt by your question. "Y/N, no, of course not–”

Your stoic expression tells her you're not buying it.

“Do you regret our kiss?” you probe, stepping closer, until Wanda finds herself backed against the wall. You lean in, foreheads almost touching, your dark eyes daring her to lie to you.

Wanda takes her time to answer, but when she finally does, her expression is resolute, as though she's trying to prove a point to you. “No, I don’t regret it,” she murmurs, her words a mere breath against your lips. Wanda looks so taken by the hungry look in your eyes that she fails to see what comes next.

The kiss this time is a stark contrast from the last. There’s an edge of danger to it, almost like the kiss that started Wanda’s downfall that culminated in a near-death experience, the kiss that was punishing and every bit of the hatred you harbored for her. 

But there's also a desperation to it–as if you're sinking and this kiss is your lifeline; a frayed, ragged lifeline that could only be the one to pull you back to the surface. 

As Wanda's head hits the wall with a soft thud, a pang of concern breaks through the haze of your fervor. Swiftly, you slide your hand between her head and the hard concrete, cushioning her as the urgency of your kiss escalates. Wanda almost sobs at the subtle tenderness behind your action, the considerate gesture leaving her somewhat taken aback, considering the harsh exchange you'd had just moments before.

No, this is nothing like your previous encounter.

You're not biting down to break skin. Your fingers aren't pressing into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your tongue isn't demanding or invasive, it's simply there, matching her rhythm and intensity. Wanda is unable to do anything but moan under you and rub her thighs together to relieve the pressure that’s building there.

Yet, you still don’t let her touch you. You don’t let her fingers venture up your stomach from under your shirt. Instead, you catch her hands, lacing your fingers through hers, and pull her arms above her head. All the while, your lips deftly trace a path down her throat. It’s soft and wet and so utterly delicate–everything Wanda thinks she hasn’t earned.

Nothing prepares her for the moment your hand makes contact with her core, even through the fabric of her shorts. She realizes just how much you’ve been holding back when you cup her forcefully, groaning from the heat and dampness that hits your palm.

If this means what Wanda thinks it means, she doesn’t want it to happen against the wall of her living room.

“Y/N?” she whispers raggedly in your ear, feeling the heel of your hand starting to grind against her clit. 

“Yeah…?” you moan against her heated cheek as your fingers slips beneath her panties and find wet, wiry curls.

“Fuck–” Wanda whimpers at the contact. “B-Bedroom, please.”

Following her lead, you hoist Wanda up and her legs instinctively coil around your waist. She directs you towards her bedroom with verbal cues, realizing you're far too engrossed in lavishing attention on the skin just above her breasts to care about bumping into furniture. Your hand drifts up her back, finding the clasp of her bra and skillfully unfastening it.

And then no words are spoken at all after that.

***

Wanda stirs awake near noon, realizing that she's skipped her therapy appointment. Instinctively, her hands reach out to the area beside her, expecting to feel your warmth. However, she is greeted only by the cool sheets of the bed, the space vacant.

You're gone.

While she had been lost in dreams where she had a second chance at the life she yearned to have with you, you had quietly dressed and slipped out of her apartment, leaving no trace or note behind. You had vanished as silently and swiftly as a dream at daybreak.

Wanda arches her back, mimicking the languid stretch of a cat, the resulting pops of her spine easing the tension more than the action itself. The sex was… phenomenal. She couldn’t think of a better word to describe it.

When a bit of the afterglow wears off, she is haunted by a question: What happens now?

More importantly, are you coming back? Or is this a one-time thing for you?

With a weighty sigh, Wanda allows herself to collapse back onto the mattress. Doubt creeps in as she begins to question whether her decision to let this unfold was the right one. After all, you’ve both been down this path before, sex was not a magic remedy that mended everything. 

What she couldn’t deny, however, is how gentle you were with her. You were making love to her, and nothing could sway Wanda from this belief. It sparks a tiny ray of hope within her that perhaps this time, you're ready to give her another chance.

Maybe, just maybe, you're open to trying again.

Yet, the vacant space next to her feels almost accusatory. Wanda has never been fond of waiting. But it’s the only thing she can do for now.

After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

***

The call from her therapist comes at around nine in the evening. Wanda considers it a little unprofessional, given the late hour, but she supposes that Calliope sees at least a dozen patients a day. Truthfully, she’s been anticipating this call all day, especially after she deliberately skipped her session to–

A soft snore escapes from your half-open mouth, drawing Wanda’s attention momentarily.

–spend time with you. Wanda can’t explain it, but she’s afraid to bring this up to Calliope. And she knows that if she sees Calliope or talks to her, it would open the floodgates and everything will come rushing out before she can stop them.

She's missed two calls now, but the phone in her hand vibrates again and Calliope’s name stares back at her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda finally picks up.

“Hello, Wanda?”

“Hi,” Wanda replies, aiming to sound cheerful.

Calliope wastes no time getting to the purpose of this call. “You missed this morning’s session. Did something happen?”

Wanda's gaze drifts to you, sleeping soundly, your hair a mess as it spreads out in every direction. The sheets have slid down, exposing your bare back in a manner that makes her want to abandon the call and join you.

“Oh, uh... I just got tied up at the cafe. Sorry for not informing your secretary,” she hastily lies.

“So, everything's okay then?”

“Yes,” Wanda confirms, her eyes never leaving you as she replies honestly this time. Calliope seems satisfied with that and proceeds to book a slot for Wanda two days hence before ending the call.

You open an eye at her lazily, your voice muffled by the pillow as you ask, “Who was it?”

“No one,” Wanda says without batting an eye. “Just a supplier for the coffee shop.”

Your response is a drowsy murmur, your face sinking deeper into the pillow as you pursue the lingering traces of Wanda's scent. A smile tugs at Wanda's lips at the innocence of the gesture, despite the fact that you’re very naked under the covers. She hadn’t anticipated she’d see you again so soon, moreso that she’d sleep with you again right away when she does. But you had showed up unannounced, yet again, and casually asked Wanda if she'd eaten dinner already. Wanda had barely gotten the word ‘yes’ out, before you’re urgently reaching out and snatching her into a hungry kiss.

And then it was all lips and touches and her coming into your mouth three times until she had to literally cover herself with her hand just to get you to stop. 

Wanda's cheeks warm as she surrenders to the memory of your fervent reunion from only a few hours prior, but your sleep-laden murmurings, muffled as they are by the pillow your face is buried in, yank her back to the present. She chuckles lightly and perches herself at the edge of the bed, drawing a line along your back with her fingertips, raising goosebumps along the path.

"Can you repeat that?" she prompts, massaging your neck.

You lift your head slightly, your eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I said–do you need me to go?”

Wanda shakes her head, even though you can't see her. “Let’s just sleep,” she whispers.

Wanda gets up to remove her shirt over her head. Then, she slides back under the sheets and curls up against you. She presses her bare body to your back, fitting herself perfectly against your shape. Your warmth seeps into her, filling the cold spots that your absence had left behind.

Wanda notes that this is the first time you’re willing to stay since before you found out she cheated on you. She closes her eyes and allows herself to drift away. If you’re staying, then there's an opportunity to talk about this tomorrow.

***

Leaving a slumbering Wanda behind is not easy. You have to gingerly disentangle yourself from her grip to avoid waking her up. Initially, sleeping with Wanda was not part of your plan, but seeing her with Valkyrie had stirred a sense of jealousy within you that led to a powerful desire to claim Wanda as yours.

And so it kept happening, again and again–like a drug you just couldn't shake off.

You haven't really thought about what it all means. To be honest, you've been actively avoiding it. A week of overthinking has left you stuck at a dead-end, feeling numb and desperate to feel something, anything at all.

And in all this, Wanda is the only one who seems to fill the void, the only one who doesn't make you feel so alone.

***

“Dr. Williams?” Pietro says hesitantly as he picks up the call.

“Hi, Pietro. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time,” comes Calliope's voice, clear and loud.

“No, I was just–did we have a scheduled meeting that slipped my mind?” he inquires, wondering about the suddenness of this call. 

“We didn't,” Calliope assures him. “I'm actually calling about Wanda. Have you had a chance to speak with her recently?”

Pietro doesn’t like the sound of this. “No, I haven’t. Is she okay?”

“She missed her appointment this morning without notice. It’s the second time in a row. And I just got off the phone with her… she was deflective.”

“I'll check in with her,” Pietro promptly assures, before adding more softly, “Should I be worried?”

“She has agreed to meet me on Tuesday,” Calliope replies, deftly skirting around his question. “So, it may not be a pressing matter. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“No problem at all, Dr. Williams. Feel free to call anytime.”

As the call ends, Pietro is left alone with his thoughts. His mind is whirring with worry for Wanda, and he sits there for a moment, lost in thought. With a sigh, he places his phone back on the coffee table, a frown etching itself onto his face.

Feeling restless, he picks up his phone again, fingers swiping the screen with a certain degree of nervousness. His gallery opens up, a collection of countless memories frozen in pixels. He scrolls through it, stopping at a particular picture that still haunts him.

It's a hard image to look at, a memory of a particularly painful day. But he keeps it, just in case he needs it, a ghost hiding in his phone.

He knows, if push comes to shove, he has this to fall back on.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby | @swiftie1-0-1

[pnwnativeplants]

"Wherever they appear (or reappear), the presence of wolves makes an impact, but not just symbolically or politically. Wolves are a keystone species that play a vital role in and bring balance to ecosystems.

For example, the now-famous 1995 reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone National Park led to a surprising number of positive impacts for ecosystems in the region. Without their primary predator, elk had overgrazed much of the park. The resulting loss of vegetation negatively impacted populations of mice and rabbits, as well as the animals that prey on them. Songbirds found fewer available nest sites.

Even bears were impacted as the elk out-competed them for the berries they relied on. In riparian areas throughout the park, the absence of wolves had even more drastic impacts. Overgrazing in riparian areas led to erosion and stream sedimentation and a reduction of the abundance of beavers, fish, insects, birds, and river otters, compromising the health of entire aquatic systems. With wolves back in the mix, the ecosystem rebounded."

[taylorrepdetective]

This is something I’ve been curious about since I first stumbled down this rabbit hole and was trying to puzzle out if I thought Taylor really would fake relationships (this was in late 2017, so with joe) and one of the things I couldn’t understand was how people could so easily believe that after what happened in 2016 (breakup of her longest relationship to date, rebound with Tom, cancellation that apparently made her suicidal, her friends suddenly showing themselves to be traitors) that she could not just fall in love with joe but absolutely trust him unquestionably enough o write New Years Day 3 months in. And it wasn’t just NYD, but a lot of songs she wrote in fall 2016 that had a forevermore feel to them (is this the end of all the endings, trust him like a brother.) I simply chalked it up to people being a bit young and rooting for love and not really thinking, and them only knowing Taylor as this over-dramatic lover of love. But now seeing it happen again almost exactly the same (betrayal by her father figure business partner, betrayal by the man she though for sure that she’d marry, betrayal by the man she thought was the man who got away who also made marriage promises) and within weeks she has now fallen in love with another man who so so perfect for her that she would just trust him like a brother and fall into the marriage promises AGAIN. And not only that people will believe it, because yeah, she knows her audience, but also that people don’t side-eye this and say “you know what Taylor, maybe it’s time for you to be single for 5 minutes and just like, think about why you keep falling for these men that can’t give you what you want and work on yourself and your constant need to be hopelessly and forevermore in love all the time. Maybe there’s a different issue here?” Like. They think they are her friends, and this is what friends do for each other. I would be so worried about her getting into something YET AGAIN that seems too good to be true. But instead (because they aren’t her friends, they are her audience, enjoying the romcom entertainment of it all) they cheer it on.

Without a second thought. Without really a first good thought either.

Anyway, as always, fascinated by the insight into human nature of it all.

[yespleasetommyshelby]

I need you now - Modern!Tommy Shelby Imagine

Part 3 of Before he cheats - Based off of I Need You Now by Lady Antebellum

Requested - kinda - @jadesjam sent this as an idea for part 2 but I flipped and made it the third and final part of before he cheats! It hasn't been proofread so beware!

Enjoy! 🥰

------------

"No." I sighed for the upteenth time.

"Oh come on y/n, it's been weeks since all that shit with Tommy, it's about time you come and find yourself a rebound!" My longest friend Leah practically begged down the phone, her birthday was coming up and she'd been trying for the last hour to get me to go out for her pre-birthday bash.

"Le, you know I love you but I'm really not in the mood tonight, we'll do something in a couple days, okay?" I sighed, trying to find some middle ground so the conversation could end.

"Okay fine, but I'll hold you to that! Love you girl!" She cheered happily through the phone, my answer enough to stop the pestering, for now.

"Have fun babe, love you too!" I smiled before hanging up, the smile dropping from my face as soon as the beep sounds. "Guess it's just you and me." I whispered as I looked down at the shoebox in my lap.

Checking the time I couldn't help but laugh slightly at how the time had managed to get away from me, with the clock reading 1:04am I couldn't help but laugh slightly as I looked over the piles of photographs that were covering the floor. "Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor, reaching for the phone cause I can't fight it anymore." I sighed, picking one up and focusing on the smiling faces beaming back at me, it was from my 21st birthday around ten minutes after Tommy had officially asked me to be his. We were so happy, everyone was so happy that night, laughing and singing being the only thing to be heard throughout Small Heath that night as everybody celebrated their king finding his queen.

Putting the picture down I reached up to wipe the line tear that has slid down my cheek, sniffing quietly before I picked up another, this one of me and all of the Shelby siblings, Ada and John on one side with Tommy and Arthur the other, even at 16 years old and apparently seeing Greta, Tommy still has his arm round my shoulders, my head resting on his arm. Throwing the picture to the side I huffed as I rubbed my hands over my face, the thought of Greta leading me down a rabbit hole.

"I wonder if I ever cross your mind, for me it happens all the time." I spoke to myself, "Probably not, you've probably had a whole queue of women waiting for this to happen." My voice cracked as I said what I'd been thinking out loud for the first time. "Maybe I should just send a quick text..." I whispered, picking up my phone, opening Tommys contact I paused before starting to type.

It's 1am, I'm all alone and I need you now, I said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now.

Shaking my head I quickly deleted the message and locked my phone, throwing it onto the floor besides me. "Don't give him the satisfaction." I reminded myself with a sigh.

The loud shrill of phone made me shriek, my hand flying to my chest to try and soothe my racing heart. "Motherfuck." I breathed out, reaching over and seeing it's Leah calling.

"Hey Le, what's up?" I asked worried, knowing that she never called when she was out, unless there was a problem.

"Baaaaabe! You'll never guess where we are!" Her cheery voice burst through the phone making me wince slightly. "The garrison!" She squealed without waiting for an answer.

"That's great Leah, but I'm still not coming out tonight." I sighed, not understanding where she was going with this.

"Yeah, yeah, -- all depressed, I know, but I also know that lover -- is just as bad as -- are, if -- worse." She laughed through the phone, the music and voices in the background muffling half of her sentence.

"I can't hear you properly Le." I smiled slightly, her giggles infectious. "Le?" The beep of the phone indicated that she'd hung up. "What the hell was that about?" I muttered, my question answered two seconds later as my phone buzzed again.

I said that lover boy is even worse than you!

A message from Leah with an image of Tommy attached, say at the corner of the bar in the Garrison alone, his head in his hand as his other holds onto a glass of whisky - probably. Just from the zoomed out picture I could see his hair had been left to grow out and his shirt had been left untucked, something that had never happened before, in public anyway.

"Oh baby." I couldn't help but sigh, my heart breaking all over again at the picture.

---

Keeping my eyes down I swigged the last dribble of amber liquid from the glass raising it high before rapping it in the bar a couple times, a sign for the bartender to refill. Feeling the glass being moved from my fingertips I looked up, giving the bartender a nod of thanks as he slid the bow full glass back to me.

Another shot of whisky, can't stop staring at the door, wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before. Rubbing my hand over my face I clenched my eyes as I thought of her, the reason I'd been sat here for the past few weeks doing nothing but drinking whisky after whisky and chain smoking till my chest hurt. Looking over at her door I couldn't help but think back to y/n's 21st birthday, the day we became official, she had come barreling into the garrison with her windswept hair and rosy cheeks absolutely fuming because she thought that everyone had forgot her birthday before the shout of surprise had her forgetting she was ever mad. Shaking my head I couldn't help but wonder if I ever cross her mind, for me it happens all the time, every little thing reminding me of her.

"Fuck sake." I growled to myself, pulling out my phone to check the time. "Quarter past fucking one and I'm sat drinking by myself, again, Thomas Shelby the king of fucking Small Heath aye." I chuckled ironically. Not like I hadn't had plenty of offers during my evenings rotting away at my own bar, but none of them were her, none of them were my y/n.

My heart started to race slightly as I noticed the missed call notification only to drop again as Arthur's name came into view. She said she didn't want to hear from me but surely one text won't hurt, right?

It's 1:15 I'm a little drunk and I need you now, I said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now, and I don't know how I can do without - I just need you now

I'll be at the Garrison - T x

"Fucking pathetic Tom." I shook my head before locking the phone, not realising my thumb had already hit send.

----

1:17, it had taken all of 3 minutes to reach the Garrison, shoving my hands into my pocket so said as I stared up at the gold sign above the door, a door that I'd walked through so may times before but never feeling like this. I jumped slightly as my phone buzzed at the same time as a group of girls can tumbling out the door, laughing and stumbling down the road as they held onto each other for support, I couldn't help but laugh slightly before pushing open the doors.

Stepping through the doorways Leah and the girls immediately caught my eye, giving me a quick wave she grinned before pointing over to the bar my eyes immediately landing on the mop top of black hair and slumped shoulders in the corner. Sending her a quick smile I slowly made my way over to Tommy, hesitantly taking a seat on the stool next to him.

"Not interested." He muttered making me jump slightly.

"Meh, I like your brother more anyway." I shrugged, giggling slightly as his head shot up, eyes wide as he stared at me.

"Y/n.." He breathed out, reaching his hand out he placed his palm on my cheek almost as though he was checking I was really there. "Y/n, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry." He muttered, pulling me forwards slightly and resting his forehead against mine.

"Tommy I-" I took a breath, struggling to think clearly being this close to him after so much time, the longest we'd been apart since we'd met some ten years ago now. "I'm sorry too, I should've let you explain, should've listened to you." My voice wobbled slightly, pulling away I used my sleeve to wipe away the tears that had started to fall before resting my hand on his.

"I figured it would be easier to just finish things, after hearing about you and Gracie I just couldn't think of anything else... And I just lost it.. I dunno Tom. I guess I just, I guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all." I whispered, knowing that over the past few weeks that's exactly how I'd felt, nothing.

"Hey, don't you dare apologise, these past few weeks have been nothing but my fault, and I promise you y/n with everything I have and will ever have, I will spend every day of our future making it up to you. If you'll let me, just one last chance, please." He trailed off, his eyes on mine the whole time.

"One chance Tommy, that's all we have left." I whispered, my grip tightening around his wrist slightly.

"That's all I need." He smirked standing up and pulling me along with him, his arms wrapping around my waist and mine came up around his neck, playing with the longer hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling me in he placed his lips on mine, moving in sync I couldn't help but smile, the Tommy shaped hole in my heart slowly shrinking.

"I missed you so much." He mumbled after we pulled away, resting his chin on the the top of my head as he pulled me into a hug, completely ignoring the looks he was getting from the punters who had never even seen him smile before.

"I missed you too Tommy." I sighed happily, resting my head on his chest, sending a quick wink to Leah as she caught my eye, making her erupt into screams, much to the confusion of everyone else.

"So that's how you found me aye?" Tommy chuckled, the sound echoing through his chest.

"She helped yeah, but there was also the text you sent." I giggled slightly, as I head the faint 'shit' leave his lips. "It's okay Tommy, I love it when you're cheesy." I grinned, patting his chest as I looked up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He chuckled as he shook his head. "I love you." He whispered, eyes locked onto mine.

"I love you too." I smiled, placing a quick peck to his lips before resting my head back against his chest. "Oh and Tom?" I muttered without looking up, only the slight hum letting me know he heard.

"I'm sorry about your car."

----

And there we have it! I know it's slightly shorter and I personally don't feel like this part is even nearly as good as the previous two, but hey, we move on!

Thank you for reading and I do hope you've enjoyed! 🥰❤️

[staticsattic]

I RISE FROM MY SLUMBER‼️‼️

Okay quick little yap about these drawings!

THE SECOND LADY IS HOW I THINK JOHNNYS MOTHER WOULDVE LOOKED LIKE!!

DONT GET ME WRONG JOHNNY IS A EVIL GUY! But I genuinely think about those times where he has regrets or weak moments, thinking about the life he could’ve had if he wasn’t taken as a child.

Kinda chose the song “Forwards beckon rebound “ mainly for that line! The way I interpret it to his story is obviously the “Villain and Violent” being Nancy and her actions, and his mother Judith as “infant and innocent “ since she didn’t know any better when it came to Nancy plus I imagine she was a very sweet lady. The next line being “both arms cradle you now” just gave me the idea that “oh they’re both his mothers either way so and he’s their son “ He is his own person yes but he learned his actions from Nancy but still has the heart of Judith (if that makes sense? )

Anyways the animals were obviously a snake and a rabbit but a little idea I had was to make it species that are from Texas because I thought it would be a missed opportunity not to. So the snake is a copperhead and the rabbit is an eastern cotton tail!

For “both arms cradle you now” the animals are attached the Johnny in some way, the snake wrapped around his neck and the rabbit sitting on his shoulder. The snake represents Nancy (ofc) and it’s wrapped around his neck because she taught him the violence and aggressiveness and plus she’s always at his neck for something.

The rabbit representing Judith is just sitting there on his shoulder because even in death she’s still his mother so it’s reasonable to say she’d always be watching him. (Nothing to specail for that one sorry 😔)

That’s all the yapping for today!! Sorry I was not active for a bit but I hope you guys like this!

[herejusttosufferalong]

Nic and Luke are something else. Never in my 30 years of life and participation in so many types of fandom, did I ever think I would legit ship irl people. Like that has never happened to me. I think the closest I got was with Tom and Zendaya with the initial Spiderman press and lip sync battle. But it was more of like a watch a few interviews and thought oh they would be cute and then went about my life.

The Lukola hold is real. Not them resurrecting my dead inner Tumblr girlie from the grave. So glad I found your blog recently to kinda vent these feelings. I always feel like talking about it on like TikTok,twitter etc, it runs the risk of the shipped parties seeing it and being uncomfy. I feel like with Tumblr one has to really seek it out so it feels a bit like if you're here you really wanted to know lol.

I was such a Bridgerton casual viewer, and Polin and Nic and Luke converted me. I think I was always invested in Pen and Colin from season 1 so maybe that's why season 3 drew me in more. Also prior to Bridgerton I loved Derry girls so I always had a soft spot for Nicola. So after part 1 dropped I was hooked I binged all their PR vids etc and accidentally fell down the Lukola rabbit hole.

The demisexual in me is both jealous and frustrated at them, like what do you mean you found this amazing deep friendship connection and you are doing nothing about it !?!?

I'm sure that this theory has been discussed before but I'm a bit new so not sure.

Pure Speculation Alert!

Part 1

I think they def may have expressed feelings during the filming of season 3. I think it was mutual but also confusing cause Luke was now getting out of a long term relationship and they were also playing characters. I'm not 100% timeline wise but Nic may have also been attached/ getting out of a relationship. Idk if anything physical happened it's possible. I think there may have been kissing. But being the professionals they are I think they agreed to but the feelings on the back burner cause it's not the right time and they could be confusing their characters' emotions with their own. So they decide to table the feelings and let the distance post filming give them space and clarity and allow Luke to heal from his break up properly.

In the off season Luke rebounds with A. It's casual but Nic feels like she gets her answer but also think let's see how the promo tour goes. They regroup on the PR tour and old rhythms fall in to place, feelings are bubbling back up. I think it reaches a fever pitch in Brazil. The atmosphere and alcohol loosen their tongues and they address the elephant in the room. Luke is still with A and probs tells Nic that it's a little bit more than casual but not official official and that he may be confused but wants to give it a shot with A cause she's been like patient (rolls eyes) while he does all this press and he also feels a little guilty being so flirty with Nic. They kind of hash it out but agree to be friends. But they are a bit shaky cause they're in a weird place.

.

[shadowqueenjude]

Protective Lorcan

Lorcan gave a shrug, praying they couldn’t scent his bluff as he bought her more time, bought himself time to work out the puzzle of their power. “I don’t even know her name.” She said quietly to Lorcan as they headed for the dirt road and the distant back of the line, “I don’t know what magic you possess, but if you can make my limp less noticeable—” Before she could finish, a force like a cool night wind pushed against her ankle and calf, then wrapped around it in a solid grip. A brace. She said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.” A shadow flickered in Lorcan’s eyes, along with another question. One she didn’t want to and couldn’t answer. His hand tightened on hers, demanding she look at him. She refused. Boots crunched, and then uniformed men were peering into the back of the wagon. “Out,” one ordered. “Line up.” The man’s eyes snagged on Marion. Lorcan’s arm tightened around her as an ugly, too-familiar light filled the soldier’s eyes. Lorcan bit back his snarl as he said to her, “Come, wife.” The soldier noticed him, then. The man backed away a step, a bit pale, then ordered the supplies be searched. Lorcan jumped out first, bracing his hands on Marion’s waist as he helped her off the wagon. When she made to step away, he tugged her back against him, an arm across her abdomen. He met each soldier’s stare as they passed and wondered who was looking after the dark-haired beauty in the front. Elide frowned as her boot sank deep into a pocket of mud. She yanked on it, ankle barking at bearing her weight, and gritted her teeth until— Lorcan’s magic pushed against her leg, an invisible hand freeing her boot, and she tumbled into him. His arm and side were as hard and unyielding as the magic he’d used, and she rebounded away, tall grass crunching beneath her. “Take your hand off me.” Lorcan, to her surprise, did so immediately. “Can you bring the clothes now?” She chucked her pile out. She’d bundled her underthings in her white shirt, and the leathers … They’d never be dry before morning—and would likely shrink beyond use if washed improperly. Lorcan stooped, picking up the bundle of clothes and trying not to peer into the tent to learn what she’d hidden beneath the bedroll. “What about standing guard?” Her hair was plastered to her head, heightening the sharp lines in her cheekbones, her fine nose. But her eyes were bright again, her full lips once more like a rosebud, as she said, “Please get them washed. Quickly.” Lorcan didn’t bother confirming as he carried her clothes away from the tent, leaving her to sit in partial nakedness inside. Ombriel was in the middle of cooking whatever was in the pot over the fire. Likely rabbit stew. Again. Lorcan examined the clothes in his hands. Thirty minutes later, he returned to the tent, plate of food in hand. Marion was perched on the bedroll, foot stretched out before her, blanket tucked under her shoulders. Her skin was so pale. He’d never seen such white unmarred skin. As if she’d never been let outside. Her dark brows furrowed at the plate—then at the bundle under his arm. “Ombriel was busy—so I washed your clothes myself.” She flushed. “A body is a body,” he repeated simply to her. “So are undergarments.” She frowned, but her attention was again riveted on the plate. He set it down before her. “I got you dinner, since I assumed you didn’t want to sit among everyone in your blanket.” He dumped the pile of clothes on her bedroll. “And I got you clothes from Molly. She’s charging you, of course. But at least you won’t sleep naked.”

Lorcan was about to leave when she said, “My uncle … He is a commander at Morath.” Lorcan froze. And looked right to the bedroll. But Marion continued between bites, “He … locked me in the dungeon once.” The wind in the grasses died; the campfire far beyond their tent flickered, the people around it huddling closer together as the nighttime insects went silent and the small, furred creatures of the plains scampered into their burrows. Marion either didn’t notice the surge of his dark power, the magic kissed by Death himself, or didn’t care. She said, “His name is Vernon, and he is clever and cruel, and he will likely try to keep you alive if you are caught. He wields people to gain power for himself. He has no mercy, no soul. There is no moral code that guides him.” She went back to her food, done for the night. Lorcan said quietly, “Would you like me to kill him for you?” “Why did he lock you in the dungeon?” Marion’s white throat bobbed once. Twice. She seemed to hold his stare through effort of will, through a refusal not to back down from him, but from her own fears. “Because he wished to see if his bloodline could be crossed with the Valg. That was why I was brought to Morath. To be bred like a prize mare.” Every thought emptied out of Lorcan’s head. He had seen and dealt and endured many, many unspeakable things, but this…

“Your foot has been ruined for years, though. He locked you in the dungeon that long?” “No,” she said, not even flinching at his rough description. “I was only in the dungeon for a week. The ankle, the chain … He did that to me long before.” “What chain.” She blinked. And he knew she’d meant to avoid telling him that one particular detail. But now that he looked … he could make out, among the mass of scars, a white band. And there, around her perfect, lovely other ankle, was its twin. A wind laced with the dust and coldness of a tomb gnawed through the field. Marion merely said, “When you kill my uncle, ask him yourself.”

Lorcan stilled. He said too calmly, “When you were in Morath, did someone—”

They stared each other down again. And Lorcan knew that if he wanted, he could wait until she was asleep, take it for himself, and vanish. See what might make her so protective of it. But he knew … some small, stupid part of him knew that if he took from this woman who had already had too much stolen from her … He didn’t know if there was any coming back from that. He’d done such despicable, vicious things over the centuries and hadn’t thought twice. He’d reveled in them, relished them, the cruelty. But this … there was a line. Somehow … somehow there was a godsdamned line here. He used a tendril of his magic to keep her foot stabilized. She never commented on it.

“As far as anyone’s concerned, you’re still my wife.”

“You barely bled the last time.” The last thing she wanted to do was have this conversation. “Perhaps my body finally felt safe enough to be normal.” Because even with him murdering that man, lying, and then spitting the truth about Aelin in her face … Lorcan would go up against any threat without a second thought. Perhaps for his own survival, but he’d promised her protection. She was able to sleep through the night because he lay on the floor between her and the door. “So … there’s nothing wrong, then.” He didn’t bother to look at her as he said it. But she cocked her head, studying the hard muscles of his back. Even while refusing to speak to him, she’d watched him—and made excuses to watch as he went through his exercises each day, usually shirtless. “No, there’s nothing wrong,” she said. At least, she hoped. But Finnula, her nursemaid, had always clicked her tongue and said her cycles were spotty—too light and irregular. For this one to have come precisely a month later … She didn’t feel like wondering about it. Lorcan said, “Good. It’d delay us if it were otherwise.”

Elide was sobbing. In terror and despair. Each sound whetted his rage into something so lethal Lorcan could barely see straight.

For the first time in five centuries, Lorcan knew true fear as Elide turned that knife on herself, the blade angled to plunge up and into her heart.

People inside the inn were stirring, wondering at the noise, wondering if it was safe to come out to see what had happened to the girl they’d so willingly betrayed. For a heartbeat, Lorcan debated ending that innkeeper. But Elide said, “Enough death.” Tears streaked through the splattered black blood on her cheeks—blood that was a mockery of the smattering of freckles. Blood, crimson and pure, ran from her nose down her mouth and chin, already caking. So he sheathed the hatchet and scooped her into his arms. She didn’t object. He carried her through the fog-wrapped town, to where their boat was tied. Already, onlookers had gathered, no doubt to scavenge their supplies when the ilken left. A snarl from Lorcan had them skittering into the mist.

Tears rolled down her face as she stared at the water. He didn’t know how to comfort, how to soothe—not in the way she needed. So he set down the pole and sat beside her on the crate, the wood groaning. “Who is Manon?”

“I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide.” She made to pull away, but he gripped her a little harder, keeping her eyes on him. “I will always find you,” he swore to her. Her throat bobbed. Lorcan whispered, “I promise.” When she awoke, clean strips of linen for her cycle were next to the bed. His own shirt, washed and dried overnight—now cut up for her to use as she would.

Keys aside, he didn’t want to see the look on Elide’s face if the ilken got there first. And they found whatever was left of the fire-breather and her court.

“What is … ,” Elide breathed, but Lorcan lunged for her, hurling them to the ground, covering her body with his. He threw a shield over them, plummeting hard and fast into his magic, the drop nearly uncontrolled. He didn’t have time to do anything but pour every ounce of power into his shield, into the one barrier that would keep them from being melted into nothing.

Ash continued to fall, clumping on Elide’s silky night-dark hair. He gently picked out a bit, then put a shield over her to keep it from landing on her again.

Elide screamed Lorcan’s name. He whirled, but not to the lion. Toward her, that furious face shooting toward her—

Lorcan flipped her over, his breathing ragged, his face bloody and pale as he took in her face, her arm. “ElideElideElide—” She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t see around the sensation that her arm was mere shredded flesh and splintered bone— Lorcan grabbed her face before she could look and snapped, “Why did you do that? Why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He lifted his head, his snarl so vicious it echoed in her bones, made the pain in her arm surge violently enough that she whimpered. He growled to the lion and the wolf, his shield a swirling, obsidian wind around them, “You’re dead. You’re both dead—”

Rowan let the shields drop, and then Lorcan was hurtling to Elide, who struggled to sit up, gaping at her nearly healed arm. Gavriel, wisely, backed away. Lorcan examined her arm, her face, needing to touch her, smell her— She reached to pull Elide up, but Lorcan stepped in and did it himself. He didn’t let go of Elide’s arm, and she tried not to lean into his warmth. Hellas damn him, he’d had to resort to giving his cut-up shirt to Whitethorn and Gavriel to hand to her for her cycle. He’d threatened to skin them alive if they’d said it was his, and Elide, with her human sense of smell, hadn’t scented him on the fabric.

A slight tremor rocked Lorcan’s hands, and he balled them into fists, squeezing hard. Five minutes. He’d go in five minutes, Aelin Galathynius and their plan be damned. Aelin had been trained to endure torture. Elide … He could see those scars on her from the shackles. See her maimed foot and ankle. She had endured too much suffering and terror already. He couldn’t allow her to face another heartbeat of it— “It’s likely a pass-through to a larger cavern, ” Lorcan murmured, as if he could see that fear on her face, too. Or scent it. Elide didn’t bother responding. But she couldn’t help the flicker of gratitude. “How much longer am I supposed to atone?” “Are you growing bored with it?” He snarled. She only glared at him. “I hadn’t realized you were even atoning.” “I came here, didn’t I?” “For whom, exactly? Rowan? Aelin?” “For both of them. And for you.”

And Elide would not survive it, this war, if all of them were dead. He couldn’t accept it, that possibility. Foolish and useless as it was, he couldn’t allow it to pass. To have either Erawan’s beasts or her uncle Vernon come to claim her again. Fool. He was an ancient, stupid fool. Yet the god at his shoulder did not tell him to run, or to fight. His choice, then. He wondered what the goddess who whispered to Elide made of this. Wondered what the woman herself was going to make of this as he said to Aelin, “Fine.” Vow or no, he debated throwing the queen into the ocean for the devastation that clouded Elide’s face.

my king fr🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ not even a second glance at Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Rebound 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You get up early on Saturday. You’ve made up your mind, you’re not going to let your ex ruin your progress. So you missed a few days, that doesn’t mean it’s over. You can always pick up and keep going. You’re not starting over, you’re finishing what you started.

You head into town first. It’ll add some extra kilometers to your daily walk, just a small dent in what you skipped. You stop by the bakery, closer to a cafe with its steaming espresso machines, and pick up an Americano for a boost. No dairy, no sweetener, you’re sticking to that at least.

You resist the call of the strawberry tarts in the display and thank the woman behind the counter. She’s younger than you and she owns this whole place. A pang of envy nips at you as you turn to go. You feel like you missed out on the years you could’ve built something of your own.

You set off, blowing over the slot of the cup’s lid. The brew fills your nose with its rich scent as you set down the path towards the trees. Up a hill and the coffee’s cool enough to taste. You nurse it slowly as you wind around the rise and fall of the village.

You enter the woods, this time from the opposite edge and the shade of the leaves cools the sweat on your nape. You sigh and take a rest, leaning on a tree as you savour the flavour of the diluted espresso.

You nearly spill as you hear a twig snap. You turn and look around either side of the tree. You’re not used to the strange noise of the wilderness. Out there, something’s always moving, something’s always fluttering or chittering.

The trail stretches on and you follow it down to the babbling stream. You’re close to done the coffee, you hadn’t thought about what to do with the cup. Oh well. You hang onto it as you near the water’s edge.

You stare down at yourself. The ripples distort your reflection and yet, not very much. You’ve got some padding to lose around your thighs and tummy. Maybe even your upper arms. You need to put more energy into walking. You’re older and your metabolism can’t keep up.

You sigh and drain the last of the coffee, choking the bitter dregs in the bottom. You crush the cup flat and slide the lid inside. You drop your shoulder and spin on your heel. A yelp lodges in your throat but can’t escape. You grip your chest as a figure stands watching, so silent and unmoving he nearly blends in with the trees.

“I– I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you,” you gasp as you drop your hand.

Curtis blinks and doesn’t say a word. He steps forward, treading down to the river, stopping just a foot away from you. It’s like he didn’t even hear you. You stutter and snap your mouth shut, slowly retreating.

“It’s fine,” he says at last and bends to dip his hands into the water. “Ran into some skunkweed.”

“Oh, uh, that’s… cruddy,” you utter awkwardly. “I was just going.”

He continues to stir his hands in the water. You back away and look down at the cup in your hands. The tweeting of birds tweaks in your ears.

“Nice to see you back,” he says, so low, you’re not sure he truly said a word.

You stop, “pardon?”

He stands and shakes his hands off, “out here.”

“What do you…”

“I have traps,” he gestures to the trees, “for rabbits.”

You frown, “oh, I didn’t see you…”

“Habit,” he shrugs, “hunter’s instinct, I guess.”

You flick your fingers over the curled brim of the cup. You know some people like the game around here but they usually go up to the northern patch, not down here. You nod and try to smile, “didn’t think there was any big game around here.”

He just stares at you, “I make do.”

“Right,” you shiver out a breath, “anyway… I’ll be off.”

He nods, “see ya around.”

“Sure, um, enjoy your book… and your hunting.”

You slowly make your way towards the trees. You pass between an oak and slender birch before you peek back. He just watches after you, unmoving. You try to shake off the goosebumps as you turn back to the path. You stop on the trail and crane back again. He’s gone.

The smell of moss and dirt drifts up from the river behind you. You crush the cup in your hand and the lid pops out. You bend to pick it up and hear something snap. You stand up so quickly it makes you dizzy. You whip around, searching, the trees adding to your disorientation.

You stumble and set yourself straight. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Faster. Faster. It’s just the wind, it’s just a squirrel or a rabbit. It’s nothing. Those twigs snapping, the branches rustling, it’s all just natural.

As you come in sight of the treeline and the open expanse of the fields, you’re almost running. You stop just as you escape the forest. You let the question bloom in your mind. How could he have seen you all as you had no idea he was there? Why hadn’t he said hello?

You slow but not much. Your lungs burn and your calves ache. You shouldn’t think too hard about it. Curtis is just quiet, he’s not much of a talker. Yet, the man you saw in the woods seemed much different than the one in the library. The way he looked at you, as if taking the measure of you, as if you were prey.

No, it’s all in your head. Don’t be silly. The woods are desolate and eerie, it plays tricks on you. Besides, look at you. You’re definitely not drawing any unwarranted attention. Not from anyone but your bitter ex.